III
By the time Joe Mauser called it a day and retired to his quarters hewas exhausted to the point where his basic dissatisfaction with thetrade he followed was heavily upon him.
He had met his immediate senior officers, largely dilettante Uppers withprecious little field experience, and was unimpressed. And he'd met hisown junior officers and was shocked. By the looks of things at thisstage, Captain Mauser's squadron would be going into this fracas bothundermanned with Rank Privates and with junior officers composed largelyof temporarily promoted noncoms. If this was typical of Baron Haer'stotal force, then Balt Haer had been correct; unconditional surrenderwas to be considered, no matter how disastrous to Haer family fortunes.
Joe had been able to take immediate delivery of one kilted uniform. Now,inside his quarters, he began stripping out of his jacket. Somewhat tohis surprise, the small man he had selected earlier in the day to be hisbatman entered from an inner room, also resplendent in the Haer uniformand obviously happily so.
He helped his superior out of the jacket with an ease that held nosubservience but at the same time was correctly respectful. You'd havethought him a batman specially trained.
Joe grunted, "Max, isn't it? I'd forgotten about you. Glad you found ourbillet all right."
Max said, "Yes, sir. Would the captain like a drink? I picked up abottle of applejack. Applejack's the drink around here, sir. Makes atopnotch highball with ginger ale and a twist of lemon."
Joe Mauser looked at him. Evidently his tapping this man for orderly hadbeen sheer fortune. Well, Joe Mauser could use some good luck on thisjob. He hoped it didn't end with selecting a batman.
Joe said, "An applejack highball sounds wonderful, Max. Got ice?"
"Of course, sir." Max left the small room.
Joe Mauser and his officers were billeted in what had once been a motelon the old road between Kingston and Woodstock. There was a shower and atiny kitchenette in each cottage. That was one advantage in a fracasheld in an area where there were plenty of facilities. Such militaryreservations as that of the Little Big Horn in Montana and particularlysome of those in the South West and Mexico, were another thing.
Joe lowered himself into the room's easy-chair and bent down to untiehis laces. He kicked his shoes off. He could use that drink. He beganwondering all over again if his scheme for winning this Vacuum TubeTransport versus Continental Hovercraft fracas would come off. The morehe saw of Baron Haer's inadequate forces, the more he wondered. Hehadn't expected Vacuum Tube to be in _this_ bad a shape. Baron Haer hadbeen riding high for so long that one would have thought his reputationfor victory would have lured many a veteran to his colors. Evidentlythey hadn't bitten. The word was out all right.
Max Mainz returned with the drink.
Joe said, "You had one yourself?"
"No, sir."
Joe said, "Well, Zen, go get yourself one and come on back and sit down.Let's get acquainted."
"Well, yessir." Max disappeared back into the kitchenette to returnalmost immediately. The little man slid into a chair, drink awkwardly inhand.
His superior sized him up, all over again. Not much more than a kid,really. Surprisingly aggressive for a Lower who must have been raisedfrom childhood in a trank-bemused, Telly-entertained household. The factthat he'd broken away from that environment at all was to his credit, itwas considerably easier to conform. But then it is always easier toconform, to run with the herd, as Joe well knew. His own break hadn'tbeen an easy one. "Relax," he said now.
Max said, "Well, this is my first day."
"I know. And you've been seeing Telly shows all your life showing how anorderly conducts himself in the presence of his superior." Joe tookanother pull and yawned. "Well, forget about it. With any man who goesinto a fracas with me, I like to be on close terms. When things pickle,I want him to be on my side, not nursing some peeve brought on by hisofficer trying to give him an inferiority complex."
The little man was eying him in surprise.
Joe finished his highball and came to his feet to get another one. Hesaid, "On two occasions I've had an orderly save my life. I'm not takingany chances but that there might be a third opportunity."
"Well, yessir. Does the captain want me to get him--"
"I'll get it," Joe said.
When he'd returned to his chair, he said, "Why did you join up withBaron Haer, Max?"
The other shrugged it off. "The usual. The excitement. The idea of allthose fans watching me on Telly. The share of common stock I'll get.And, you never know, maybe a promotion in caste. I wouldn't mind makingUpper-Lower."
Joe said sourly, "One fracas and you'll be over that desire to have thebuffs watching you on Telly while they sit around in their front roomssucking on tranks. And you'll probably be over the desire for theexcitement, too. Of course, the share of stock is another thing."
"You aren't just countin' down, captain," Max said, an almost surlyovertone in his voice. "You don't know what it's like being born with nomore common stock shares than a Mid-Lower."
Joe held his peace, sipping at his drink, taking this one more slowly.He let his eyebrows rise to encourage the other to go on.
Max said doggedly, "Sure, they call it People's Capitalism and everybodygets issued enough shares to insure him a basic living all the way fromthe cradle to the grave, like they say. But let me tell you, you're aMiddle and you don't realize how basic the basic living of a Lower canbe."
Joe yawned. If he hadn't been so tired, there would have been moreamusement in the situation.
Max was still dogged. "Unless you can add to those shares of stock, it'spretty drab, captain. You wouldn't know."
Joe said, "Why don't you work? A Lower can always add to his stock byworking."
Max stirred in indignity. "Work? Listen, sir, that's just one more fieldthat's been automated right out of existence. Category Food Preparation,Sub-division Cooking, Branch Chef. Cooking isn't left in the hands ofslobs who might drop a cake of soap into the soup. It's done automatic.The only new changes made in cooking are by real top experts, almostscientists like. And most of them are Uppers, mind you."
Joe Mauser sighed inwardly. So his find in batmen wasn't going to be aswonderful as all that, after all. The man might have been born into thefood preparation category from a long line of chefs, but evidently heknew precious little about his field. Joe might have suspected. Hehimself had been born into Clothing Category, Sub-division Shoes, BranchRepair--Cobbler--a meaningless trade since shoes were no longerrepaired but discarded upon showing signs of wear. In an economy ofcomplete abundance, there is little reason for repair of basiccommodities. It was high time the government investigated categoryassignment and reshuffled and reassigned half the nation's population.But then, of course, was the question of what to do with thetechnologically unemployed.
* * * * *
Max was saying, "The only way I could figure on a promotion to a highercaste, or the only way to earn stock shares, was by crossing categories.And you know what that means. Either Category Military, or CategoryReligion and I sure as Zen don't know nothing about religion."
Joe said mildly, "Theoretically, you can cross categories into any fieldyou want, Max."
Max snorted. "Theoretically is right ... sir. You ever heard aboutanybody born a Lower, or even a Middle like yourself, cross categoriesto, say, some Upper category like banking?"
Joe chuckled. He liked this peppery little fellow. If Max worked out aswell as Joe thought he might, there was a possibility of taking himalong to the next fracas.
Max was saying, "I'm not saying anything against the old time way ofdoing things or talking against the government, but I'll tell you,captain, every year goes by it gets harder and harder for a man to raisehis caste or to earn some additional stock shares."
The applejack had worked enough on Joe for him to rise against one ofhis pet peeves. He said, "That term, the old time way, is strictly Tellytalk, Max. We don't do things _the old time way_. No
nation in historyever has--with the possible exception of Egypt. Socio-economics are in acontinual flux and here in this country we no more do things in the waythey did fifty years ago, than fifty years ago they did them the way theAmerican Revolutionists outlined back in the Eighteenth Century."
Max was staring at him. "I don't get that, sir."
Joe said impatiently, "Max, the politico-economic system we have todayis an outgrowth of what went earlier. The welfare state, the freezing ofthe status quo, the Frigid Fracas between the West-world and theSov-world, industrial automation until useful employment is all butneedless--all these things were to be found in embryo more than fiftyyears ago."
"Well, maybe the captain's right, but you gotta admit, sir, that mostlywe do things the old way. We still got the Constitution and thetwo-party system and--"
Joe was wearying of the conversation now. You seldom ran into anyone,even in Middle caste, the traditionally professional class, interestedenough in such subjects to be worth arguing with. He said, "TheConstitution, Max, has got to the point of the Bible. Interpret it theway you wish, and you can find anything. If not, you can always make anew amendment. So far as the two-party system is concerned, what effectdoes it have when there are no differences between the two parties? Thatphase of pseudo-democracy was beginning as far back as the 1930s whenthey began passing State laws hindering the emerging of new politicalparties. By the time they were insured against a third party working itsway through the maze of election laws, the two parties had become sosimilar that elections became almost as big a farce as over in theSov-world."
"A farce?" Max ejaculated indignantly, forgetting his servant status."That means not so good, doesn't it? Far as I'm concerned, election dayis tops. The one day a Lower is just as good as an Upper. The one dayhow many shares you got makes no difference. Everybody has everything."
"Sure, sure, sure," Joe sighed. "The modern equivalent of the RomanBacchanalia. Election day in the West-world when no one, for just thatone day, is freer than anyone else."
"Well, what's wrong with that?" The other was all but belligerent."That's the trouble with you Middles and Uppers, you don't know how itis to be a Lower and--"
Joe snapped suddenly, "I was born a Mid-Lower myself, Max. Don't give methat nonsense."
Max gaped at him, utterly unbelieving.
Joe's irritation fell away. He held out his glass. "Get us a couple ofmore drinks, Max, and I'll tell you a story."
By the time the fresh drink came, Joe Mauser was sorry he'd made theoffer. He thought back. He hadn't told anyone the Joe Mauser story inmany a year. And, as he recalled, the last time had been when he waswell into his cups, on an election day at that, and his listener hadbeen a Low-Upper, a hereditary aristocrat, one of the one per cent ofthe upper strata of the nation. Zen! How the man had laughed. He'droared his amusement till the tears ran.
However, Joe said, "Max, I was born in the same caste you were--averagefather, mother, sisters and brothers. They subsisted on the basic incomeguaranteed from birth, sat and watched Telly for an unbelievable numberof hours each day, took trank to keep themselves happy. And thought Iwas crazy because I didn't. Dad was the sort of man who'd take his beltoff to a child of his who questioned such school taught slogans as _Whatwas good enough for Daddy is good enough for me_.
"They were all fracas fans, of course. As far back as I can remember thepicture is there of them gathered around the Telly, screamingexcitement." Joe Mauser sneered, uncharacteristically.
"You don't sound much like you're in favor of your trade, captain," Maxsaid.
Joe came to his feet, putting down his still half-full glass. "I'll makethis epic story short, Max. As you said, the two actually valid methodsof rising above the level in which you were born are in the Military andReligious Categories. Like you, even I couldn't stomach the latter."
Joe Mauser hesitated, then finished it off. "Max, there have been fewsocieties that man has evolved that didn't allow in some manner for thecompetent or sly, the intelligent or the opportunist, the brave or thestrong, to work his way to the top. I don't know which of these Ipersonally fit into, but I rebel against remaining in the lowercategories of a stratified society. Do I make myself clear?"
"Well, no sir, not exactly."
Joe said flatly, "I'm going to fight my way to the top, and nothing isgoing to stand in the way. Is that clearer?"
"Yessir," Max said, taken aback.