The Status Civilization

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In the morning, the friendly oak tree dispensed breakfast and shavingequipment. Barrent ate, washed and shaved, and set out for the nearesttown. He had his objectives firmly in mind. He had to establish somesort of foolproof disguise, and he had to make contact with Earth'sunderground. When this was accomplished, he had to find out as much ashe could about Earth's secret police, military dispositions, and thelike.

  Group Two had worked out a procedure for accomplishing these objectives.As Barrent came to the outskirts of a town, he hoped that the Group'smethods would work. So far, the Earth he was on had very littleresemblance to the Earth which the Group had reconstructed.

  He walked down interminable streets lined with small white cottages. Atfirst, he thought every house looked the same. Then he realized thateach had one or two small architectural differences. But instead ofdistinguishing the houses, these niggling differences simply served topoint up the monotonous similarities. There were hundreds of thesecottages, stretching as far as he could see, each of them set upon alittle plot of carefully tended grass. Their genteel sameness depressedhim. Unexpectedly he missed the ridiculous, clumsy, make-shiftindividuality of Omegan buildings.

  He reached a shopping center. The stores repeated the pattern set by thehouses. They were low, discreet, and very similar. Only a closeinspection of window displays revealed differences between a food storeand a sports shop. He passed a small building with a sign that read,ROBOT CONFESSIONAL--_Open 24 hours a day._ It seemed to be some sort ofchurch.

  The procedure set by Group Two for locating the underground on Earth wassimple and straightforward. Revolutionaries, he had been told, are foundin greatest quantity among a civilization's most depressed elements.Poverty breeds dissatisfaction; the have-nots want to take from thosewho have. Therefore, the logical place to look for subversion is in theslums.

  It was a good theory. The trouble was, Barrent couldn't find any slums.He walked for hours, past neat stores and pleasant little homes,playgrounds and parks, scrupulously tended farms, and then past morehouses and stores. Nothing looked much better or worse than anythingelse.

  By evening, he was tired and footsore. As far as he could tell, he haddiscovered nothing of significance. Before he could penetrate any deeperinto the complexities of Earth, he would have to question the localcitizens. It was a dangerous step, but one which he could not avoid.

  He stood near a clothing store in the gathering dusk and decided upon acourse of action. He would pose as a foreigner, a man newly arrived inNorth America from Asia or Europe. In that way, he should be able to askquestions with a measure of safety.

  A man was walking toward him, a plump, ordinary-looking fellow in abrown business tunic. Barrent stopped him. "I beg your pardon," he said."I'm a stranger here, just arrived from Rome."

  "Really?" the man said.

  "Yes. I'm afraid I don't understand things over here very well," Barrentsaid, with an apologetic little laugh. "I can't seem to find any cheaphotels. If you could direct me--"

  "Citizen, do you feel all right?" the man asked, his face hardening.

  "As I said, I'm a foreigner, and I'm looking--"

  "Now look," the man said, "you know as well as I do that there aren'tany outlanders any more."

  "There aren't?"

  "Of course not. I've _been_ in Rome. It's just like here in Wilmington.Same sort of houses and stores. No one's an outlander any more."

  Barrent couldn't think of anything to say. He smiled nervously.

  "Furthermore," the man said, "there are no cheap lodgings anywhere onEarth. Why should there be? Who would stay in them?"

  "Who indeed?" Barrent said. "I guess I've had a little too much todrink."

  "No one drinks any more," the man said. "I don't understand. What sortof a game is this?"

  "What sort of a game do you _think_ it is?" Barrent asked, falling backon a technique which the Group had recommended.

  The man stared at him, frowning. "I think I get it," he said. "You mustbe an Opinioner."

  "Mmm," Barrent said, noncommittally.

  "Sure, that's it," the man said. "You're one of those citizens goesaround asking people's opinions. For surveys and that sort of thing.Right?"

  "You've made a very intelligent guess," Barrent said.

  "Well, I don't suppose it was too hard. Opinioners are always walkingaround trying to get people's attitudes on things. I would have spottedyou right away if you'd been wearing Opinioners' clothing." The manstarted to frown again. "How come you aren't dressed like an Opinioner?"

  "I just graduated," Barrent said. "Haven't had a chance to get theclothes."

  "Oh. Well, you should get the proper wear," the man said sententiously."How can a citizen tell your status?"

  "Just a test sampling," Barrent said. "Thank you for your cooperation,sir. Perhaps I'll have a chance to interview you again in the nearfuture."

  "Any time," the man said. He nodded politely and walked off.

  Barrent thought about it, and decided that the occupation of Opinionerwas perfect for him. It would give him the all-important right to askquestions, to meet people, to find out how Earth lived. He would have tobe careful, of course, not to reveal his ignorance. But working withcircumspection, he should have a general knowledge of this civilizationin a few days.

  First, he would have to buy Opinioners' clothing. That seemed to beimportant. The trouble was, he had no money with which to pay for it.The Group had been unable to duplicate Earth money; they couldn't evenremember what it looked like.

  But they had provided him with a means of overcoming even that obstacle.Barrent turned and went into the nearest costumer's.

  The proprietor was a short man with china-blue eyes and a salesman'sready smile. He welcomed Barrent and asked how he could be of service.

  "I need Opinioners' clothing," Barrent told him. "I've just graduated."

  "Of course, sir," the owner said. "And you've come to the right placefor it. Most of the smaller stores don't carry the clothing for anythingbut the more ... ah ... common professions. But here at JulesWonderson's, we have ready-wears for all of the five hundred and twentymajor professions listed in the Civil Status Almanac. I am JulesWonderson."

  "A pleasure," Barrent said. "Have you a ready-wear in my size?"

  "I'm sure I have," Wonderson said. "Would you care for a Regular or aSpecial?"

  "A Regular will do nicely."

  "Most new Opinioners prefer the Special," Wonderson said. "The littleextra simulated handmade touches increase the public's respect."

  "In that case I'll take the Special."

  "Yes, sir. Though if you could wait a day or two, we will be having in anew fabric--a simulated Home Loom, complete with natural weavingmistakes. For the man of status discrimination. A real prestige item."

  "Perhaps I'll come back for that," Barrent said. "Right now, I need aready-wear."

  "Of course, sir," Wonderson said, disappointed but hiding it bravely."If you'll wait just one little minute...."

  After several fittings, Barrent found himself wearing a black businesssuit with a thin edge of white piping around the lapels. To hisinexperienced eye it looked almost exactly like the other suitsWonderson had on display for bankers, stock brokers, grocers,accountants, and the like. But for Wonderson, who talked about thebanker's lapel and the insurance agent's drape, the differences were asclear as the gross status-symbols of Omega. Barrent decided it was justa question of training.

  "There, sir!" Wonderson said. "A perfect fit, and a fabric guaranteedfor a lifetime. All for thirty-nine ninety-five."

  "Excellent," Barrent said. "Now, about the money--"

  "Yes, sir?"

  Barrent took the plunge. "I haven't any."

  "You haven't, sir? That's quite unusual."

  "Yes, it is," Barrent said. "However, I _do_ have certain articles ofvalue." From his pocket he took three diamond rings with which the Groupon Omega had supplied him. "These stones are genuine diamonds, as anyjewel
er will be glad to attest. If you would take one of them until Ihave the money for payment--"

  "But, sir," Wonderson said, "diamonds and such have no intrinsic value.They haven't since '23, when Von Blon wrote the definitive workdestroying the concept of scarcity value."

  "Of course," Barrent said, at a loss for words.

  Wonderson looked at the rings. "I suppose these have a sentimentalvalue, though."

  "Certainly. We've had them in the family for generations."

  "In that case," Wonderson said, "I wouldn't want to deprive you of them.Please, no arguments, sir! Sentiment is the most priceless of emotions.I couldn't sleep nights if I took even one of these family heirloomsfrom you."

  "But there's the matter of payment."

  "Pay me at your leisure."

  "You mean you'll trust me, even though you don't know me?"

  "Most certainly," Wonderson said. He smiled archly. "Trying out yourOpinioner's methods, aren't you? Well, even a child knows that ourcivilization is based upon trust, not collateral. It is axiomatic thateven a stranger is to be trusted until he has conclusively andunmistakably proven otherwise."

  "Haven't you ever been cheated?"

  "Of course not. Crime is nonexistent these days."

  "In that case," Barrent asked, "what about Omega?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Omega, the prison planet. You must have heard of it."

  "I think I have," Wonderson said cautiously. "Well, I should have saidthat crime is _almost_ nonexistent. I suppose there will always be afew congenital criminal types, easily recognizable as such. But I'mtold they don't amount to more than ten or twelve individuals a year outof a population of nearly two billion." He smiled broadly. "My chancesof meeting one are exceedingly rare."

  Barrent thought about the prison ships constantly shuttling back andforth between Earth and Omega, dumping their human cargo and returningfor more. He wondered where Wonderson got his statistics. For thatmatter, he wondered where the police were. He had seen no militaryuniform since leaving the starship. He would have liked to ask about it,but it seemed wiser to discontinue that line of questioning.

  "Thank you very much for the credit," Barrent said. "I'll be back withthe payment as soon as possible."

  "Of course you will," Wonderson said, warmly shaking Barrent's hand."Take your time, sir. No rush at all."

  Barrent thanked him again and left the store.

  He had a profession now. And if other people believed as Wonderson did,he had unlimited credit. He was on a planet that seemed, at firstglance, to be a utopia. The utopia presented certain contradictions, ofcourse. He hoped to find out more about them over the next few days.

  Down the block, Barrent found a hotel called The Bide-A-Bit. He engageda room for the week, on credit.