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Written Circa
1945 - Unfinished
Tomorrow’s Locksmiths
By Charles R. Tanner
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The Honorable Hanip Sidney was eavesdropping. Sunk
deep in his chair, eyes closed and with headphones to his
ears, Mr. Sidney was a picture of the enrapt music lover;
and had anyone suggested that he could have been listening
to anything other than some far-off concert, he would have
been highly indignant. Nevertheless - - the Honorable Hanip
Sidney was eavesdropping.
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A close observer might have noticed that the earplugs
of the phone were set just a little too high on Mr. Sidney’s
ears, might have noticed, too, that the phone cord dangled
loosely in his lap and was not connected to the compact
little vest pocket radio at all; but the, Mr. Sidney was
quite well aware that there were no close observers. In
fact, this compartment of the air-bus carried no one except
Mr. Sidney and the objects of his attention, two gentlemen
in the seat in front of him, who were carrying on an active
conversation in a subdued tone.
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Of the two the little redheaded man was the more
voluble. The lanky individual by the window contented
himself with an occasional “Yes” or “No” and with frequent
significant glances back at Sidney. But the glances were
wasted on his companion, who had a story to tell and was
quite obviously determined to tell it.
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“You know perfectly well, Lether,” he was saying,
“that we members of the Eugenic Board have to exercise a
certain amount of discretion. The Eugenic Act has proven
the most unpopular law that the Industries ever tried to
enforce. People are trying to evade it everywhere.
Marrying under false records, bribing the doctors- - and
these boot-lovers- -. Hundreds of men have been sent to the
farms, and the Chap houses are overflowing all over the
country. I won’t hesitate to say that if the law was
enforced rigidly among the better class of people, the
leaders, you understand, we’d have a rebellion on our hands
in the country in five years! That’s why I say we must
exercise discretion. Grind eugenics into the mob, if you
must, cram it down their throats entirely, but when it comes
to the Honorables and Misters… gently, Lether, gently.”
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Lether, apparently, disagreed. He scowled and
muttered something that the attentive ears of Mr. Sidney
failed to catch, something about the law being the same for
all. The redheaded one gave a snorting laugh.
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“Come up, Lether,” he scoffed, “that may have been all
right in the good old days of the Republic, but remember the
Industries run the country today. Besides,” and his face
took on a more serious look, “we’ve got to temper justice
with mercy. Why, just last month, a young Mister came to
me, and confided that he was in love. He was of good
family, and rated 746 GAN, but had fallen in love with a
young girl in Drugs. She was a fine physical specimen,
rated NER, but only 249 mentally. She loved him, too, was
plainly wild about him, but of course it was an impossible
match. Still, they were so much in love that my heart just
went to ‘em.”
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“I can imagine it,” interposed the taciturn Lether,
drily.
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“Well, it did,” the other went on, “So at last I began
to check over their past ratings and I finally found a
loophole. Not saying how, but I managed to rate him 648 HUT
and her 626 KAY. They were married at once and left for a
honeymoon in California. And before they left, the man
presented me with this,” and holding up his hand, the
redheaded one displayed a ring that held a diamond almost as
big as a pea.
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“Love still laughs at locksmiths, eh, Lether?” he
chuck slyly.
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Lether’s scowl, which seemed to be habitual with him,
turned for a moment to a look of greedy envy and then
deepened as he spoke; “You’re as crooked as a sign-light,
Ambrose,” he said, “Don’t you know that as soon as your
young gentleman tires of his bride, he’ll have their ratings
checked over and get the marriage annulled?”
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“I believe that is the method they use,” said Ambrose,
giving a hypocritical sigh, “but what difference does that
do? I’ll still have my ring, Lether.”
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“Lether’s only reply was a furious snort of disgust
that had in it more of envy than indignation, and he turned
and looked out of the window at the landscape flying by
below them.
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The Honorable Mr. Sidney, convinced that he had heard
all that was necessary for his purpose, removed the earplugs
and slipping them into the same pocket that contained his
radio, turned his attention also to the scene that was
flying beneath.
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For fully ten minutes they had been flying over the
towering skyscrapers of Staten Island and now they were over
the bay and approaching Manhattan Gardens. Mr. Sidney,
contents with the events of the last few moments, permitted
himself to grow philosophical. He looked down at the woods
and fields far below him, at the mansions of the Magnates,
and at the skyline, hazy in the distance. What wonderful
changes had taken place in this part of the city since he
was a boy. The old city changed eternally, it seemed, and
eternally grew. He could remember how, on his first visit
to Manhattan, all the Island had been a vast mass of great
buildings, old buildings and new, all jumbled together
rising, tower on tower, as if in a battle for sunlight and
air. For many years, Lower Manhattan had been the mightiest
of the works of man and indeed, it had seemed that the only
change possible could be when some vast tower was torn down
to make room for one still vaster.
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But then came Murray’s rebellion and the great “fire”,
and now, of all the great buildings south of Fortieth
Street, only the ruins of the old Metropolitan Tower
remained. Murray, the “Last of the Republicans” had done a
thorough job in his attempt to wipe the city of the Magnates
off the map, and today all of the south part of the Island
was a vast garden in which rose the wonderful homes of the
more prosperous of the Magnates. And at what was once
Fortieth Street rose the Façade, a mighty fifty story
building that stretched its uniform architecture from the
East River to the Hudson.
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The airbus sped past the towering ruin of the
Metropolitan, and Mr. Sidney roused himself from his
reverie. Ambrose and Lether also stirred themselves and as
the plane, which had lessened its speed considerably,
suddenly darted toward one of the huge openings in the upper
part of the Façade, they arose to depart. The bus drove
into the entrance, struck the runners with a jolt that
nearly threw Mr. Sidney off his feet and came at last to a
stop.
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As the door swung open and the three left the car, a
babble of sound broke upon their ears. Bells siren and
loudspeakers mingled their mechanical uproar with the shouts
of hundreds of people, who, forced to raise their voices in
order to be heard, only served to add to the din. Not far
away, several men were shouting something in unison, and a
dapper, gray-haired man with the word “Pilot” on his cape
passed close to Mr. Sidney, crying out to some unseen
person, “Thirty-two! And when I’ve brought in that
commuter from Paterson, I have to transfer to the Brooklyn
stage!” Sidney recognized him as being one of the bus
pilots who, seated high in their towers, brought the radio
controlled busses to their destination. His further remarks
were drowned in a sudden clamor from a loud speaker nearby
that suddenly proclaimed to the world that “Harlem Transfer,
Lower Side.” Would be found at elevator eighteen, and then
lapsed into an idiotic jingle that extolled the virtues of
“Hinnon’s Modern Artey Shoppey!”
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But all the noise and hubbub made little impression on
Hanip Sidney. It was only subconsciously that he noticed
the pilot or the cries of the loud speakers, for he was
occupied in keeping the tow eugenists in sight without
bringing undue attention to himself. They were making their
way through the crowd in the direction of the elevators, and
as their destination became more definite, Sidney saw that
he would have to hurry, as the car that they were about to
board already held over a hundred people and would soon be
full. But by a most unceremonious haste, he managed to
enter the car simultaneously with Ambrose and Lether, and
indeed, he was not a moment too soon, for with a clang the
doors swung shut behind him and as the speed of the
helicopters lessened, the elevator dropped to the ground
floor.
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“Twenty-one,” called the nasal tones of Lether’s voice
after a moment, and Mr. Sidney saw that he was bidding
Ambrose adieu. The honorable gentleman breathed a sigh of
relief. This was what he had been waiting for- - a chance
to speak with Ambrose alone. The twenty-first floor was
reached, Lether departed, and the elevator continued its
drop.
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They reached the ground floor, passed it, and dropped
six more floors before Ambrose saw fit to depart. He and
Sidney were almost the last to leave the elevator and as
Ambrose hastened off down a corridor, Sidney fell in beside
him, with an inconsequential remark about the weather.
Ambrose replied noncommittally, evidently none too anxious
to start a conversation with a stranger, but Sidney
persisted.
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“Aren’t you Mister Ambrose, the eugenist?” he asked.
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This brought a grin to the face of the redheaded one.
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“Just plain Ambrose,” he answered, “No Mister to it.
The Board doesn’t award its titles to ordinary eugenists
yet. I’m just plain Pier Ambrose, 882 KAL.”
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“And I am the Honorable Hanip Sidney, 704 CAR,” said
Sidney, extending his hand.
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The other shook hands in sudden puzzled amaze.
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“Not Sidney, the Food Controller?” he asked, and when
Sidney answered in the affirmative, he went on shrewdly:
“Well, sir, just what do you want with me? The man who has
charge of all the food supplies entering Manhattan doesn’t
stop an ordinary eugenist on the street and talk with him
for nothing.”
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But Sidney’s instinctive caution prevented him from at
once coming to the point. He stroked his long jaw
thoughtfully, a habit of his when desirous of expressing
himself carefully, and at last he spoke.
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“I, ah- happened to overhear a casual conversation
that you had with a friend on the bus, this morning,” he
began, hesitatingly, and then, as Ambrose looked at him in
startled anxiety, he went on: “The conversation, you may
recall, dwelt on the - ah - discretionary powers of the
Eugenic Board in dealing with the more unusual cases which
come under its notice. Ah - in fact, one case in particular
was mentioned. Now it just happens that I know of a case
very similar, and I thought that if – ah – that if you could
handle it in a similar manner, it might be possible for me
to persuade the board of Magnates to affix the title of
Mister to your name, in spite of the fact that you are,
pardon me, only a eugenist, as you say.”
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Ambrose, whose emotions during this speech had run
from fear of arrest to an easy confidence, now spoke up,
carefully using just the right amount of caution to appeal
to the discreet Mr. Sidney.
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“I can’t do everything, of course, sir,” he said, “but
I won’t say it couldn’t be done. But I’d want to be fully
protected. You know, it’s quite possible that some of the
higher-ups might misunderstand if they found out. And I
wouldn’t attempt to take the case unless I understood
absolutely all the details,” he added, significantly.
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Sidney hesitated. It was not his nature to place
confidence in any man, more than was necessary, but he
realized that here was a case that must prove the exception
to the rule, so after a moment, he spoke.
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“The young lady in question is named Doris Moder, and
she is one of the under-secretaries in Transportation. I
suppose you must be already aware that I, myself, am the man
involved. I have only seen Moder about a dozen times, and
then only at the office where she works. But she is a very
beautiful young lady and I must admit that she has made a
very decided impression on me. Of course,” he continued,
gazing down at his slight, rather unprepossessing figure,
“it is quite beyond my expectations that I could get her to
care for me. Our physical natures are too entirely
opposed. In fact, although I have spoken to her several
times, I doubt if she even remembers me. It would be quite
impossible for me to win her without help, and that, - ah –
is why I have come to you.”
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“But, see here, Mr. Sidney, do you expect me to rate
this girl for you and win you her favor too? If this Moder
isn’t in love with you, changing her rating isn’t going to
actually change her nature, you know.”
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“Well - ah - I had thought perhaps- -“ Sidney
hesitated. He didn’t know exactly what he had thought.
“Isn’t it possible that there might be some special way of
rating her- -?”
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Ambrose replied vaguely, and the two continued their
way, discussing various angles of the plot. As they talked,
they walked down a seemingly endless corridor, and at last
paused before a door bearing Ambrose’s name.
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“Now Mr. Sidney,” said the eugenist, “Here’s my
apartment. Will you come in for a while?”
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“No,” answered Sidney, glancing at his watch, “I
really haven’t the time. But I would like to have you give
your attention to my case at once, if possible. Remember- -
Hanip Sidney, 704 CAR, and Doris Moder, whose rating is, I
believe, 592 MON.”
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Ambrose drew out a notebook and scratched the ratings
down.
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“If you will be so good as to call me, say, a week
from today,” he suggested.
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“A week from today,” echoed the Honorable Hanip
Sidney, and in a moment was strutting off down the corridor,
highly pleased with himself.
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It was morning, a week later. The Honorable Hanip
Sidney was in his library. Reclining at his ease, his
slender figure clad only in a tunic of flowered silk, he
drowsed as he listened to the droning voice of a phonograph,
reading classics of modern poetry. It was early morning
yet, entirely too early for work, so Mr. Sidney whiled away
his time with poetry and picture play until at last the
clock struck ten. Then he arose and stepping to his
dressing closet, began to attire himself for the office.
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His negligee tunic was exchanged for one of plain dark
blue, with a high collar; wool sox and shoes of a
wonderfully soft leather covered his feet, and finishing off
with a necktie and a gaily colored vest, Mr. Sidney was
ready for his office.
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He returned to the library and strode to the far side
of the room. Here a desk stood, a desk that had only a
small space in the center for writing; all the rest being
covered with the knobs, dials and switches. Above the desk,
on the wall, was a large white panel, divided into nine
sections; and as Mr. Sidney manipulated the dials and
switches, the faces of young men and women flashed out in
the sections until the entire panel was filled. At the same
time, the room was filled with the clatter of bookkeeping
machines, telepans, tickers and all the other complicated
paraphernalia of a twenty-second century business
establishment. The Honorable Hanip Sidney was in his
office.
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Mr. Sidney turned another dial or two and then seated
himself at his desk.
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“Hano Yamadira,” he called into the transmitter of his
telepan, and the figure of a young Japanese-American in the
first section of the panel raised his head.
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“Here, sir,” came his voice, clearly, “Nothing to
report this morning, sir.”
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“Emet Keen,” Sidney called, and the second figure
looked up.
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“Returns in from exchanges on Australian mutton,” he
answered, “Report forwarded by teleautograph. It should be
at your desk, now, sir.”
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“George Johnson,” Sidney went on, and the third figure
answered. The roll-call continued until all nine had
answered and made their reports, and then Mr. Sidney busied
himself with checking over the written reports that lay upon
his desk. It was after eleven when he finished and leaned
over to touch a button on the side of his desk. The young
man in the second panel looked up.
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“Get me a clear wave through to Pier Ambrose, the
eugenist,” said Sidney, and with a nod, Emet Keen began to
manipulate the dials on his own desk. A moment later his
face faded almost from view, and then was replaced by the
grinning, freckled face of the ruddy Ambrose.
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“Ah, it’s the Honorable Mr. Sidney,” he exclaimed as
he recognized the food controller, “I’m glad you called,
sir. I’ve just about got that Doris Moder case all worked
out.”
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Emet Keen, seated before his telepan in his home
across the Hudson, had been on the point of tuning out the
muffled voices of the two men, but as the name of Doris
Moder was mentioned, he leaned suddenly forward and turned
up a rheostat. Although the faces of the two men rem
invisible, their voices now came in sharp and clear. Keen
remained an attentive listener to their conversation.
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“You see, it’s like this,” Ambrose was saying, “It
wouldn’t do any good to simply put you in the same class
with Moder. That would still allow her to choose among
about a hundred thousand men. So, you see, it will be
necessary to put you in a special class of some kind.”
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“Well, what have you done?” came the voice of Sidney.
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“I’ve fixed it all up. Have you ever heard of the GOR
ratings?”
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“No, I don’t believe I have.”
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“Well, the class GOR is reserved for a special
rating. On certain rare occasions, two people are found who
are so well matched and of such superior attainments that it
is considered necessary for the Good of the Race that they
have children. These people are given GOR ratings and
married to each other for a greater or lesser period: and
there have been penalties provided, even, for people who
refuse to mate when given the rating.”
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“And you plan to put Moder and I into this class?”
asked Sidney.
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“Exactly. Not by a special assignment, though.
Seeing that this is the latter part of May, I thought it
would be all right if you would wait until the regular June
assignments. You know, in the rush and flurry of making the
annual reassignments, a good many things can be overlooked.”
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“That will be very satisfactory, Ambrose, I suppose
you have picked our numbers and corrected checkings already
haven’t you?”
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Ambrose chuckled.
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“Sure. You’re to be 796 GOR and Moder will be 792
GOR. Just be patient for a week or two, Mr. Sidney, and
everything will be pansies.”
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“Very well, then. I trust you, Ambrose. Goodbye.”
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“Goodbye, Mr. Sidney,” answered the eugenist, and the
telepan was silent.
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For a moment, Keen sat dumfounded, in indignant
amazement.
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“The damned pike!” he muttered then, “The damned,
sneaking little pike!”
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Hurriedly he twisted the dials, and in a moment the
face of a girl appeared upon the screen of his telepan.
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“Atlantic Ground Transport, Section; Moder speaking,”
her voice began, mechanically, and the, recognizing Keen;
“Oh, excuse me, Emet. What do you want?”
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“It’s something important, Doris. Have we a clear
wave?”
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“I think so, Emet. Wait a minute,” the girl gave her
attention to her desk for a moment and then said, “Go on,
now we’re clear.”
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“Doris,” began Keen, “Do you know my boss, the
Honorable Hanip Sidney?”
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“Why yes, I believe I do. I’ve seen him in the
central office, several times. He has tried to flirt with
me, once or twice.”
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“Well, listen, Doris. I’ve just overheard something
that looks pretty bad,” and Keen related to her the details
of the conversation that he had just heard.
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“Emet!” she cried as she grasped the significance of
his story, and then she went on in anxiety; “Oh, Emet, what
can we do? And I was so certain that you and I would rate
close enough this year to be married. Oh, dearest, this
will spoil all our plans! We simply must do something to
prevent them from doing this.”
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“They shan’t get away with it,” swore Keen, “We’re a
step ahead of them in knowing what they’re up to, and we’ve
got over two weeks to circumvent them. Don’t worry, Doris.
We’ll find some way to prevent them from going through with
this thing.”
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Doris brightened as she saw the determined look on
Keen’s face.
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“I hope so,” she smiled, as she prepared to tune out,
“We must beat them somehow,” and her face faded from Keen’s
screen.
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Doris Moder had great confidence in Keen, and, too,
she had the civilized person’s blind trust in the
authorities that made her certain that all that was
necessary to win justice was to submit proof of her case.
But as the weeks sped by, it became increasingly evident
that the powerful two against whom they had pitted
themselves were not to be beaten easily. In fact, after ten
days of vain worry, it began to appear that perhaps they
were not to be beaten at all!
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Keen’s attempts to interest the proper authorities in
the case were met with a curious lack of interest. He was
sent from one bureau to another, hundreds of questions were
asked him, one complicated paper after another he was asked
to fill out and swear to, but the net result amounted to
nothing. He realized, a full week before the assignments
were made, that he was merely wasting his time.
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Doris, too, failed in her attempt to get her rating
certified, being told plainly that she was a special case
and would have to wait until after the June assignments for
her certification.
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So it was with sinking hearts that they awaited the day of
the new assignments, and when it arrived, found that the
worst had happened, even as they had expected. Keen had
been assigned to 641 RIC and Doris to 792 GOR! Keen tried
to get Doris on the telepan at once but it was well
afternoon when at least he succeeded in dialing her. As her
face swam into view on the screen, Keen imagined that he
noticed her wiping her eyes furtively, but by the time the
image sharpened, she was smiling, as usual.
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“I’m so glad to see you, Emet,” she began, the moment
she saw his face, “I’ve put in a terrible morning. That
miserable little Sidney had been here all morning. Came to
congratulate me, he said, and to get better
acquainted with one whom, he hoped, would soon be his
bride! Emet, I’ve never hated anyone, the way I hate him!
If you could have seen the sweet, sanctimonious look on his
face- -“ but here Doris’s indignation choked her and she was
unable to go on.
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“What did you say to him.” asked Keen.
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“What didn’t I say! I told him I knew all about his
disgraceful plot- - and that worried him for a
moment, too, I’ll tell you,- - and I told him just what I
thought of him, physically and mentally, and I would up by
saying that I’d go to a Chap house before I’d marry him for
a single night!”
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In spite of himself, Keen laughed. He knew from
experience how unwise it was to incur the displeasure of the
spirited Doris. After a moment, Doris laughed, too, and
then went on: “I guess I did become pretty excited, and he
kept trying to calm me, but at last he got serious and told
me that the laws were made to be obeyed; and that if I
didn’t feel like marrying him, I could board at a Chap house
until I did. Then he lifted his cap off of his head in that
old fashioned way of, and said goodbye.”
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“Was he very angry when he left?”
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“Oh, no. He calmed down considerably as he said
goodbye, and when he left, he seemed to be in quite good
spirits.”
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“Uhhuh! I thought so! I know that boss of mine,
Doris. He’s thought of some mischief, I’ll bet an eagle.
I’m coming right over to your apartment, dear. I’ve got an
idea that may fix things up for us. It’s about the only
thing left to do- -” and Keen snapped off the telepan, and
hastened out of his room.
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On the roof of his hotel, he chartered a small
helicopter and rose in a magnificent sweep over Manhattan,
and then, setting his gliders, he dropped to the hotel in
East Brooklyn in which Doris had her apartment. But though
his trip took less than half an hour, he entered Doris’s
apartment to find her gone. Unable to account for her
absence, he went at once to the phonograph, and there, sure
enough, found a record with his name scratched on it.
Starting the machine, he listened to Doris’s voice: “I’m
sorry I’ll not be able to meet you, Emet,” she said, “There
is a eugenist here named Pier Ambrose, and he has two
policemen with him. They have some sort of a charge against
me, and Ambrose says if I don’t marry Sidney at once, I’ll
have to go to a Chap house. I’ve told him I’d die before
I’d so much as speak to Sidney again, so they are taking me
to Madison Chap House, Emet.”
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Keen swore viciously at this disquieting news. The
huge government apartments for women known as Chaperon
houses were little more than prisons. Here all women who
violated the eugenic laws in any way were sent; and the
houses, like the farms on which the male violators were
isolated, were always filled to overflowing. The “guests”,
as they were officially called, were allowed practically no
freedom, their only contact with the world being by telepan;
and although this enabled the women, most of whom were
office workers, to continue their work, it curtailed their
social intercourse almost completely, for they were not even
allowed to speak with outsiders without the permission and
supervision of a matron.
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Keen saw that the arrest of Doris, therefore, put a
decided crimp in the half-formed plans that he had made,
and, indeed, made them now seem impossible of consummation.
He had hoped that before the Eugenic Board took drastic
action, he might persuade Doris to flee with him to Brazil,
but the suddenness of her arrest ended for a time any such
plans as this.
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He remained in the apartment for a while, uncertain of
what course to take next, and at last left and returned to
his home in Jersey.
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For several days following the arrest of Doris, Keen
spent his spare time in elaborating the vague plans that he
had made and in haunting the esplanade in front of the
Madison Chaperon House. He hoped eventually to see Doris,
and on the third day he was at last rewarded by catching a
glimpse of her in a window on the seventh floor. For a
while he was unable to attract her attention, but at last
she glanced down, and seeing him, waved mournfully. Keen at
once began a series of gestures designed to convey to her
the facts that he was going away, that he would be back,
late that night, and that she should watch for him. At
length he managed to make himself understood and, waving
goodbye, he departed.
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He spent a busy afternoon and returned that night with
several good-sized bundles, and was delighted to find that,
as he had hoped, the street was entirely deserted. A
hundred years before, such a thing would have been quite
impossible, but today, when two-thirds of the work and
nine-tenths of the amusements were accomplished at home, it
was not uncommon to find the streets in the business section
quite empty as this early hour of the morning.
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Keen placed his bundles on the ground and proceeded to
open them. The first proved to be a toy rocket plane of the
type that had recently been quite popular with school boys;
the second was a small wireless controller to run it by.
The third and largest package, which Keen opened last,
revealed a long ladder of metal mesh. His packages opened,
Keen scribbled a note and, placing it in the rocket, set
about starting the little plane on its way. Above him, he
could see the light in Doris’s window, and with this as a
guide, he caused the rocket to rise slowly in a spiral.
Higher and higher it rose, jerking forward abruptly now and
then, or stopping altogether, as Keen’s inexperienced hands
moved the radio controls; but at last, with a final twist of
the dials, he shot it forward, straight into the open
window.
-
-
A moment later, Doris looked out of the window and
shook her head violently. Keen nodded “yes” quite as
emphatically, and Doris disappeared, to appear almost at
once with the rocket, to which she had affixed an answer to
his note. Keen again picked up the controller and lifted
the rocket out of her hands, succeeding, after a short time,
in bringing it down in safety. Doris had written: “Emet,
dear: You simply mustn’t risk yourself by coming up here. I
don’t care how good your plan is. You know we wouldn’t have
a chance of escape. Please don’t come up.”
-
-
But Keen felt that too much was at stake to allow
Doris’s momentary despair conquer him; and so he continued
his preparations for her escape. One end of the ladder was
fastened to the rocket and again Keen started it on its
journey aloft. It was harder work guiding it, this time,
for it was burdened with the weight of the ladder: and, too,
Keen had to keep twisting the ladder to keep it from
becoming tangled as the rocket spiraled up; but at last he
saw it reach the window, and he darted it in with a sigh of
relief. There was a moment of hesitation and then Doris
waved to him that all was well, and he hastily mounted the
ladder. He reached the safety of the window, pulled the
ladder up after him, and, turning, clasped Doris in his
arms.
-
-
For several moments the Eugenic laws, the Chap house
and everything else were forgotten in the rapture of their
reunion, but at last Keen released the girl and turned to
look out of the window.
-
-
“All’s well below,” he whispered, “Let’s get out of
here at once, while there’s still a chance.”
-
-
Doris smiled uncertainly.
-
-
“The danger isn’t down there, Emet,” her hushed voice
said, fearfully, “It’s over here,” and, glancing to where
she pointed, Keen saw the glistening face of a telepan.
-
-
“The matron checks up on us at all hours of the day,”
whispered the girl, “She’s liable to be listening at any
time. You must be ready to hide if the plate flows- - “ the
words had not left her lips before the screen began to
lighten. Keen made ignominious dive for the bed, and was
under it before the telepan reached a clear focus. At once
he heard the sharp voice of the matron.
-
-
“Are you talking to yourself, Moder?” it asked, and at
Doris’s mumbled protest went on: “Don’t deny it. If I hear
any more of that, I’ll have you under mental examination
before morning! Remember, now!”
-
-
For a moment the room was brilliantly lighted, as the
matron threw a search ray around the room; but her
inspection was only perfunctory and in a moment the room was
again dark. Keen emerged sheepishly from his hiding place,
and in silence gestured toward the window. Doris nodded
resignedly; time could not be wasted now in discussing the
possibility of escape. The ladder was again lowered from
the window and, stepping out on the ladder, she closed her
eyes to shut out the sight of the street far below, and
began to climb hastily down. Keen followed her as soon as
possible, and in a few moments, they were hurrying away
south on Madison Avenue.
-
-
“Emet,” said the girl, after a while, “What are your
plans? How do you ever expect to avoid arrest for this?”
-
-
“We’re going to Brazil,” answered Keen, “We’re going
to leave this infernal country and start over in a land
where there is still some freedom. We’ll take a flyer in
the morning and- -”
-
-
“But how can we take a flyer without passports or
identification records? You know, the law won’t allow us to
leave the country without the proper formalities.
-
-
Keen smiled. “Laws,” he said, “were made to be broken
especially these Eugenic laws. It cost me two hundred
eagles beside the regular fare, but we fly on the
Magalhaens in the morning.”
-
-
Doris sighed with relief. For the first time, the
wild adventure on which she entrusted herself to Keen’s
ladder began to show signs of being successful. She
snuggled closer to her lover and as they strode along the
deserted street, he put an arm about her possessively.
-
-
“Just a short distance now, dear,” he said,
encouragingly, “There’s a launch at the Forty-fifth Street
dock to take us to the flyer, and- -”
-
-
His voice was drowned in the raucous roar of a siren
from the police speaker on the corner of a building they
were passing. Keen’s face paled and a sob burst
involuntarily from Doris’s lips. Before they had time to so
much as hope that the call might be other than the one they
feared, a harsh voice broke from the speaker and they knew
that, all over the island, other speakers shooting the same
words.
-
-
“Notice to all officers,” it called, and repeated,
“Notice to all officers. Escaped from Madison Avenue
Chaperon House; one Doris Moder, 792 GOR. Escaped by
window, evidently with assistance from without. Accomplice,
if any, believed to be Emet Keen, 641 RIC. Arrest Moder on
charge of escape from Government Supervision. Hold Keen for
questioning, or on charge of abduction if found with Moder.
Notice to all officers- -”
-
-
It was rambling on, but Keen and the girl at his side
paid no more attention. They knew that it was virtually
impossible to reach the boat that awaited them now, but they
determined to make a final dash for liberty, for it was but
little over a quarter of a mile to the dock. Wildly they
fled down the deserted street and once more hope was
beginning to stir them when Emet suddenly stopped and
clapped his hand to his breast.
-
-
“Oh Emet! What is it?” cried Doris in alarm.
-
-
“Electric loop,” cried Keen, seizing her hand and
dashing in the opposite direction, but he had not proceeded
twenty feet before he was again stopped; and this time he
made no attempt to run away. Instead he smiled ruefully
and: They’ve got us, Doris,” he said, “We’re surrounded by a
‘radio lasso’. Nothing to do but wait until the peekers
pinch us. I’m sorry I got you into this, dear.”
-
-
Doris made no answer except to kiss him. He clasped
her in his arms and locked in each other’s embrace, they
defiantly awaited the coming of the law.
-
-
The trial of Doris Moder attracted little comment in
the news of the day. Hanip Sidney used his influence to
keep things quiet, well knowing that the searchlight of
publicity would light up his own interest in this girl who
had defied the forces of the law in America’s second largest
city. And for the same reason that her trial was a quiet
one, that of Keen was, too.
-
-
There was little that the law could do to Doris. She
was being held until she married the Honorable Mr. Sidney.
Sidney professed his willingness to marry her, while she
still persisted in defying him. The court found that there
was nothing that could be done save to return her to the
Chap house until she agreed to marry him. So Doris found
herself back on Madison Avenue, little the worse for her
daring attempt at escape.
-
-
With Keen, however, things were different. A more
serious crime than his could scarcely be imagined in this
day and age of paternalistic laws. He was actually taken to
the Bellevue and given a thorough and rigid mental
examination. At last the doctors regretfully pronounced him
sane and his trial was set for a week in the future. He
hired a lawyer who, realizing that he had but a single plea
in extenuation, attempted to reopen the insanity question.
But Keen lacked the funds necessary to bribe an alienist to
declare him insane, and the lawyer foresaw that his plea
must fail for lack of witnesses. After this he lost
interest in the case, realizing its hopelessness, and the
day of the trial came with little hope for Emet.
-
-
The long drawn out formalities of the trial began.
Legal procedure, that living fossil, had changed but little
since the days of the American pioneers, and except for the
dress of the people, the courtroom might have been a scene
in the nineteenth or twentieth centuries. In spite of the
fact that science had discovered a dozen lie detecting
machines and truth compelling drugs, witnesses were still
allowed to give oath and then perjure themselves like
gentlemen. So it was that Hanip Sidney took the stand and
neatly and mot completely wove a case around Keen that made
the sycophantic jury positive that he must be given the most
decisive punishment possible. They found him guilty of
abduction and recommended drastic action.
-
-
“641 RIC, known as Emet Keen, stand up,” spoke the
honorable court, sonorously, and then, as Keen rose: “Emet
Keen, you have been tried by a jury of your peers and found
guilty of abducting a ward of the Government of the United
States of America. That crime in itself is serious enough,
and for that crime, and that alone, I must sentence you.
But that ward was not an ordinary woman, but one whom our
scientists, in their wisdom, have declared to be an
exceptional member of our species, one who might better the
race through her offspring. You, therefore, did harm not
only to that woman, to the excellent gentleman who is her
fiancé and to our great government, but you attempted to do
untold harm to the whole human race! For that last crime, I
cannot, unfortunately, punish you. But for the crime of
abduction, I can and do.
-
-
“641 RIC, I sentence you to be discharged from the
service of the Food Industry, which employs you, without
recommendation and without hope of service in any other
industry in the country. And be it so recorded.”
-
-
For a moment there was silence in the court. Then, as
a murmur arose among those who had attended the trial, Keen
arose and stumbled blindly to the door. No one attempted to
stop him: he was free, at liberty to come and go as he
wished, freer, indeed, than he had ever been in the life
before, for, born in this industrial, paternalistic era, he
had never known, indeed had never heard of unemployment save
that of those men who were, like himself, sentenced to it
for some serious “crime”. A man was under the supervision
of his Industry almost from birth, his mother and father
receiving an increase in salary at his birth, which made him
almost a bond-servant of the Industry. And after his
education, he was at once assigned to a position from which
he was freed only by death or promotion. Or discharge,
which was almost tantamount to a death-sentence… nearly 80
percent of the suicides in the past ten years were men who,
for some reason or another, had received a discharge.
-
-
He left the courtroom, rambled aimlessly through a
maze of halls and corridors and was emerging on the public
way before he was aware that for some time a man had been
walking along beside him. He raised his eyes and glanced at
a stranger who, for some reason, seemed to be taking a
decided interest in him. As the stranger observed that Keen
at last had noticed him, he extended his hand and spoke.
-
-
“Hullo!” he said, grinning, “I’m Texan Vorst. Triple
naught XYZ.”
-
-
Still in a daze, Keen looked at him vaguely. 000
XYZ? Suddenly he remembered. That was imaginary eugenic
number that was humorously applied to the Pariahs, that
strange group of discharged men that were rumored to be
eking out a miserable living in the sewers and abandoned
subways of Manhattan and Brooklyn. Keen looked at his
acquaintance with a little greater interest. If he was to
make any attempt to live in the city from now on, it was
such men as this who would probably be his intimates.
-
-
It was a lean, hard face into which Keen looked, a
face with high cheekbones and sandy hair that grew long in
the back in defiance of the customs of the day. The blue
eyes looked out from beneath prominent brows and the lips
were set in a hard line that belied the popular notion that
the Pariahs were but a group of starving, sniveling
beggars. Vorst’s tall spare figure was clad in clean
well-tailored tunic and vest, and in all, there was little
to indicate that he might not have been some respectable
member of the middle class. Keen found time to wonder at
his obvious respectability, for he remained silent for some
time after introducing himself, evidently well aware that
Keen was appraising him, but at last he spoke again.
-
-
“I heard them sentence you to discharge, Keen, and
before you get despondent and try to end it, like so many
do, I want to show you something of the life of my class.
Your rating was pretty high, intellectually, and we Pariahs
can’t afford to lose a man like you. Will you come home
with me, to supper and to meet a few of my friends? I want
to see what you think of our organization.”
-
-
“Organization?” questioned Keen, “An organization of
the Pariahs, Vorst? I’ve never heard of that before.”
-
-
“Few have,” answered the Pariah, “It’s no secret, but
we don’t advertise it. We’ve been a little society within
Society from over twenty years now, but there are few who
know about it. But my invitation, what about it?”
-
-
Though Keen’s surprise was growing momentarily, he was
careful not to show it, and though such an invitation from a
Pariah would have only elicited indignation, a few weeks
before, he now grasped at it as a drowning man at a straw.
Here would be, at the very least, a chance to forget his
troubles at a time when that was almost essential. He
smiled and extended his hand.
-
-
“I’ll be mighty glad to go with you, Vorst.” he said,
“This discharge business hits a fellow pretty hard at first,
doesn’t it?”
-
-
“Like diving into cold water,” Vorst answered with a
short laugh, “But like the water, it’s fine after you’re
once in.”
-
-
For a while they walked on in silence; Keen followed
his companion down one street and up another, they entered
an elevator and descended to an underground level, until
finally, in one of the most dilapidated sections of the
city, Vorst halted before the door of an ancient apartment
and, unlocking the door, bade Keen enter.
-
-
Keen’s spirits again began to droop at the thought of
having to live in such a home as this for the rest of his
life, but Vorst, noting his sudden change of appearance,
slapped him on the back cheerfully.
-
-
“Don’t lose heart at the looks of the entrance, Keen,”
he said, “This is just camouflage for our Industrial
friends.” As he spoke he led the way to the rear of the
apartment, and lifting a trapdoor in the floor, led the way
down the steps into what Keen recognized as being actually
one of the ancient abandoned subways that honeycombed the
city.
-
-
“Welcome to New Liberty, the city within a city,”
smiled Vorst, and Keen looked around in amaze. The scene
might almost have been one in one of the lower levels of the
city, so clean and brilliantly lighted was it. A paved
street ran thru the center of the tube, a street about ten
or twelve feet wide, while the balance of the tube, on
either side, was divided off and turned into homes and
apartments, with even, occasionally, a store with tastefully
decorated windows. Toward one of the apartments, not far
from the place where they entered, Vorst led his new friend,
and opening the door, called out: “Hey, sis! Here’s our new
visitor. Call up Maynard and Lish, will you? And what have
you got to eat?”
-
-
Keen locked around him in amazement as he entered the
apartment, for the room bore every sign of culture and
comfort. He was forced to admit that even in his most
prosperous moments, he had not been used to such an
excellent home as this. While he stared about him in
surprise, a girl entered the room and, as she hesitated in
the doorway, Vorst exclaimed, “Meet Emet Keen, sis, the bold
abductor whom I expect to persuade to join our colony.
Keen, this is my sister Helen.”
-
-
The introductions acknowledged, Helen Vorst excused
herself and went to call the two men of whom Vorst had
spoken, and while they awaited their arrival, the tall
Pariah prepared a lunch, and as they ate, he laid his
proposition before Keen.
-
-
“You see,” he explained, “for over two hundred years,
the sewers, the air vents and the deserted subways of New
York have been inhabited by the lowest class of the city.
At first, it was only the derelicts of society who lived
here, worthless relics of the old individualistic era. But
as time went on, and as the world grew better, the class of
people who inhabited these forgotten corners of the city
became better. Although still desperately poor, they were
no longer ignorant or disease ridden, and so it was
inevitable that they would attempt to better themselves. It
is only within the last twenty years, however, that they
have been organized to any extent.
-
-
“We have quite a number living down here now, nearly
twenty thousand, I believe, all told. And we are as honest
and as respectable as any of the people that you’ll find up
above… A lot more so, if you’ll take our word for it.
-
-
“Of course, we
don’t work for the Industries. We work for ourselves, and
that’s the secret of our prosperity. In the twenty years
that we have been organized, we have come all the way from
abject poverty to the comfort and luxury that you see here.
-
-
"We have a sort of understanding with the Industries. We
get our raw materials by purchase from them, turn out
finished goods by hand and sell them at a nice profit. It's
an old fashioned method but does it work! There's quite a
demand among the Honorables and their ladies for our hand
made goods. A sort of fad, see? And there'd be a terrible
howl if they couldn't get their hand-knitted tunics, and
hand-made furniture, for example. So the Industrial
bosses. Although they know of our existence down here,
leave us alone, and we wax fat. We charge for our goods on
a monetary basis, the people pay us with checks on the
various industries, and a regular rate of exchange is
allowed us. We have an office down here, and everything is
carried on in quite a business-like manner.
-
-
"And that's where you come in, Keen. We need a good man in
the office, and you're the good man. What d'ye say?"
-
-
Keen extended his hand and Worst clasped it.
-
-
"Okeh, Keen," he smiled, "You're one of us."
-
-
They finished their meal and returned to the other room,
where they found that Vorst's two friends had arrived,
bringing a third man with them. Again Keen was pleasantly
surprised at the evident culture of these men whom he had
always believed to be mere beggars, if not worse. Two of
the men, those whom Vorst introduced as El Maynard and
George Lish, were tall sturdy blonds, the other, Ossip
Pragny, was a dark bearded little hunchback who bowed
gravely as he took Keen's hand.
-
-
The five men made themselves comfortable, and after each had
lighted his favorite form of tobacco, Vorst began the
conversation with a reference to Keen‘s trial.
-
-
“He‘s just another victim of these infernal Eugenic laws,”
barked Lish, after Vorst had outlined the story of the
trail. "If those laws last for another twenty years, most
of New York will have been discharged for violation of them
and will be living down here with us."
-
-
Which might be a fine thing for us,- - and a better
thing for the City," laughed Vorst, ”but don't worry, there
aren‘t very many men who would have the courage to defy the
Industries to the extent of trying to kidnap one of their
wards right out of a Chap house."
-
-
"I don't suppose that I‘d have had the courage
myself," admitted Keen, "if it hadn't been that I knew that
this girl's rating was as crooked as a sign-light. Somehow
or other, the injustice of it made me forget all about the
illegal aspects of it. You see, I heard Hanip Sidney, the
Food Controller and one of the eugenists planning to rate
her, a full month before the June assignments were made."
-
-
Maynard scowled viciously as he heard this.
-
-
"Another case similar to mine," he murmured, "This
damned tyranny is making the government of the Magnates the
most terrible scourge in history. Sooner or later this
country must revert again to democracy, if not peaceably,
then through bloody revolution. When was there, during the
days of the Republic, a law to compare with this accursed
Eugenic Act?"
-
-
"Did you ever hear of the so-called Prohibition
Amendment to the Constitution of the old Republic?“ asked
Vorst, "You know what I mean, that old law that forb de the
sale or manufacture of alcoholic beverages?" and as the
others smiled he went on: "No, El, I’m afraid a democracy
isn't the answer. Tyranny is just as possible under a
democracy as under an oligarchy like ours. Besides,
civilization has reached a point where a democracy is as
outworn as a monarchy would be."
-
-
Ossip Pragny assented eagerly.
-
-
"Right you are, Texan," he cried, "The time has come
when there is but one remedy for our social ills and that is
a new and equitable distribution of wealth and the
establishment of a communal type of economics."
-
-
Vorst threw up his hands in mock despair.
-
-
"lt’s beginning again, Keen," he mourned, "The eternal
argument between our world-savers, El Maynard the Democrat
and Ossip Pragny, the communist. When will you fellows learn
that as soon as power or wealth is divided equally among
all, it immediately begins to concentrate itself again into
the hands of the few. Every one of the great systems of
governing that has been developed is dependent on one thing:
The enforcing of laws controlling the economics of the
nation. But be your nation an autocracy, a democracy or a
communal socialism, it is necessary to employ men to enforce
those laws. Can’t you see that no matter what the type of
government is, those men will twist the laws to their
advantage and thus defeat the very system they were called
upon to defend?“
-
-
Maynard and Pragny objected mechanically. They had no
answer ready, they merely objected so that the argument
might be continued.
-
-
Vorst went on, gradually warming to his subject: "Just
look at the course of history. Three great types of
government have been attempted: the autocracy of force, the
democracy and the autocracy of wealth. The second was merely
a phase between the first and the third. And today after
living through nearly ten thousand years of civilization, we
sit here crying under the tyranny of our lords."
-
-
"Well, Vorst," said Maynard, “You admit that democracy
was merely a phase, as you say. lf democracy had been given
a fair trial don't you think it might work."
-
-
"But democracy can't be given a fair trial,"
Vorst answered, "lf there is one thing that history teaches
us, it is that republics are the breeding ground of
autocracy. A democracy defeats its own ends before it has
had time to prove its efficiency. Can you think of a
republic that did not eventually have its dictator? And that
goes for the Soviets, too, Ossip. The Russian Soviet
Republics, the Chinese soviets of half a century later, and
even the South African Soviets, all succumbed at last to
Dictatorships.
-
-
"And so with the history of our own country. It was
one of the first of the modern republics, and throughout its
history, we read of ’boss' after 'boss'. To be sure, these
bosses never were able to seize control of the entire
country, but for a good many years there was net a single
large city in the nation that did not have its petty ’feudal
lord'. During the latter half of the nineteenth century,
this country was much more like the feudal ages than it was
like a true democracy. And how easily the republic passed
into the Industrial Oligarchy when the time came. With the
exception of Murray’s belated rebellion, the transition was
entirely bloodless."
-
-
Vorst paused and Maynard took advantage of the pause
to ask: "Then what do you expect to bring about a
more perfect form of government?"
-
-
Worst threw up his hands in a gesture of ignorance.
-
-
“Time, I suppose. Evolution and education. Further
scientific discoveries in the field of economics and
sociology, both of which sciences are in their infancy.
Beyond that, I'll admit, l don’t know. But be sure that all
the patent cures invented by our forefathers, such as you
fellows have been talking about, are no more the real thing
than the tyranny of the Magnates. When the real ideal state
is established, it will function as well under a King as
under a president and congress. Of that l am sure.” Pragny
shook his head in violent agreement.
-
-
"I can't see it your way, Texan," he began, "Laws
could be made that would protect the individual and yet be
for the greatest good of the greatest number. Could the
people be educated to surrender their individual desires to
the good of the state- -"
-
-
"Impossible, Ossip," cried Maynard, "the only
salvation is a return to the individualistic freedom of our
forefathers, with its private enterprise and- -"
-
-
"Private enterprise,“ snorted Vorst, "The very thing
that has resulted in the conditions that we are crying
against today!" He arose end beckoned to Keen. "Let’s get
out of here, old man," he said, laughing, "This argument
will continue until we return, I promise you. And I want to
show you our office and give you an idea of what you will
have to do in your new job.“
-
-
Keen followed the Pariah, and soon found himself
wending his way through a series of forgotten subways and
ventilator tubes until at last they came to a huge room that
had been remodeled to act as the office of the organized
Pariahs. A good dozen desks were arranged along one side of
the room while on the other a complicated collection of
filing cabinets were ranged along the wall. The absence of
telepans and copying machines gave the office a quaint
old-fashioned appearance, but Keen could see that the
equipment was nevertheless quite efficient, and was moved
again to wonder at the elaborate organization that the
Pariahs had achieved,
-
-
Vorst called one of the men of the office to him and
introduced Keen as the man who would take charge of the food
exchange. The other nodded and in quite a business-like
manner led Keen away and at once began to instruct him in
his duties. Vorst remained for a while and then departed,
promising Keen that he would call for him in the evening.
-
-
It was several hours before Keen was able to grasp the
system used by the Pariahs in their books, but at last it
dawned on him that the method used was the same as that of
the Industries, minus an enormous amount of red tape. After
this he learned rapidly, and when Vorst celled for him that
evening, he could truthfully say that he was already fairly
proficient in his new work. Vorst congratulated him and
insisted that he come and stay with him until he managed to
find a place to live.
-
-
"It'll probably be a week or two before you can get
settled," he said, "And in the meantime there are a thousand
and one things that you'll have to learn about our life
here. In some ways, of course, we‘re far behind the rest of
the world; but in others, we think, at least, that we
are just as far ahead."
-
-
So Keen returned home with Texan Vorst, but he was not
destined to find a home among the Pariahs, for the very next
day occurred an event that was to ultimately bring to a
close the entire adventure in which he had been evolved.
-
-
The duties to which Keen had been assigned consisted
of taking orders for food from the various groups into which
the Pariahs were ordered, along with the "money“ for the
same, that is, the checks that they had received from above.
These checks, together with a large order, made up from the
small ones, were sent to the Food Center in Upper Manhattan
and in due course the food was delivered, together with a
receipted bill for the same, one copy of which was kept and
filed by Keen and several others that he signed and returned
to the Center. It was a very primitive method, but was
almost the only system that could be used, due to the queer
relations existing between the Pariahs and the Industries.
-
-
So it was that on the second day that Keen worked in
the office of the Pariahs, a delivery of foodstuffs was made
on an order that had been submitted six weeks before. Though
it had never seemed strange to him when he worked for the
Industry, the idea of all the red tape that made it
necessary to order goods six weeks in advance now brought a
sarcastic smile to his face, a smile that turned to a scowl
as he noticed the signature on the bottom of the bill.
"Hanip Sidney, H. Mr.,- -796 GOR,” he read, and snorted his
disgust.
-
-
"The damned little pike," he muttered, and then looked
at the bill with a sudden intensified interest? was it
possible- -? Yes, the date stared out at him from the top
of the bill, quite unmistakable-- Hay 50, 2118. He gazed at
it in unbelieving joy for a moment and then, with a shout,
dashed madly from the office, waving the bill wildly about
his head. The other men gazed after him in amazement for a
moment and then returned to their work with queer smiles on
their faces. They had formed a new opinion of their new
colleague.
-
-
But hastening down the corridor of the ancient subway,
careless of the opinion of his fellow workers, Keen hurried
to Vorst's home and burst in, crying for Texan. The big
fellow rushed into the room in amaze, wondering at Keen‘s
sudden and excited appearance, but the latter soon
explained.
-
-
"See this bill of goods?" he cried, "See the date?
May 30th! And signed- - Hanip Sidney, 796GOR! But Sidney
didn't get that rating until the second of June, when the
June assignments were made!”
-
-
"But I don't see how that will help you," said Vorst
slowly.
-
-
"Why, don't you see? If Sidney knew that he rated 796
GOR before he received his assignment, it proves that there
was something crooked there. He knew, weeks ahead of time,
that his number would be 796 GOR. It was on his mind quite
a bit, I suppose. And in a moment of absent-mindedness, he
must have signed it to this bill, without thinking! It
proves he's crooked, Texan."
-
-
"But that still won't help you, Emet. You'll still be
under sentence for abduction, you know."
-
-
"Phooey Who cares? Sidney and Doris will have to be
reassigned and Doris will be given her freedom. And then
Doris can come down here and live with me. if course, we
can't have any children, but even that may straighten its lf
out, in time.
-
-
"But how are you going to get in touch with the proper
authorities? You don't suppose that the courts will pay any
attention to a Pariah who has a complaint against the
honorable Food Controller, do you?"
-
-
But Keen's happiness at his fortunate discovery was
not to be shattered by Vorst's practical pessimism.
-
-
"Oh, let tomorrow's problems take care of themselves,"
he said happily, "I've had enough good luck for one day,
anyhow,“ and carefully tucking his precious bill in an inner
pocket, he started back to the office.
-
-
When he returned to his new hone in the evening, he
found that Vorst had called in Maynard, Lish and Pragny for
a conference. The five ate supper and then called a council
of war to decide what had best be done with the “papers", as
Vorst called them.
-
-
The three friends had already been told of the
evidence against Sidney, and Maynard and Pragny shared the
opinion of Vorst, but Lish approached the matter from a
different angle. His was a rather odd
-
nature, reminding one of that ancient character, “Sherlock
Holmes", and he dispassionately began to weigh the few
chances that Keen had.
-
-
"As you say, Texan, this evidence will have no bearing
on Keen's discharge. There is only one person who can
restore him to his old place in the lndustry, and that is
Edmund Lucas, the Food Magnate, himself. is a matter of
fact, Lucas is the only min who can do anything for him, for
you know as well as l do that if this matter were taken to
the lower courts, Sidney's lawyers would soon have the case
so complicated that Keen could never afford to carry it
through to a finish. l think, if you look into the matter
carefully, you'll have to admit that an interview with the
food magnate is Keen’s only chance of getting anywhere.
Lucas is said to be as straight as a Hamilton beam, and the
least he would do would be to have Keen‘s girl and Sidney
reassigned. and it might mean a pardon for Keen, too.”
-
-
"But how do you ever expect Keen to get an interview
with Lucas? A cat may look at a king, I know, but he gets
little chance to chat with him, over the teacups.“
-
-
But Lish was unable to offer any suggestion as to how
this could be accomplished and for a while the group
appeared to be up against a stone wall. At last Maynard
slapped his thigh and; "I've got it!" he cried, and then, as
the others clamored for details, he laughed and pointed to
Pragny.
-
-
“The old aristocrat here," he answered them, “let him
get a letter of introduction from Kendal!"
-
-
Vorst let out a whoop of jog and he and Lish both
seized Maynard by the hands, shouting their congratulations.
-
-
"You see," explained Worst, after Keen had stood in
impatient amaze for some moments, “Our dear friend Ossip, in
spite of his apparent communistic leanings, is really quite
an aristocrat," and then, ignoring Pragny's protesting
objections, he waved him aside and went on: “He's one of the
best chess players in New York City; in fact, before the
trouble that brought him down here, he was champion of New
York for two years. Now it happens that Ira Kendall, the
Paper Magnate, is an inveterate chess player, and knew
Pragny in his better days. And in spite of Pragny's present
situation, he still has our communistic friend up to his
house once every week. Oh, they're the best of friends, I
assure you. And El’s idea is to have Ossip secure you a
letter of introduction to Lucas from Kendall. Hill it
work?- - Why, Keen, you‘re as good as back at your old job,
right now."
-
-
It was with a mingled feeling of determination and
trepidation that Keen stood in the office of the great Food
Magnate, some ten days later. Ossip Pragny had had
exceptional luck at his next meeting with the Paper Magnate,
finding him in an extremely cheerful mood, and it had taken
but little pleading to secure a letter of introduction for
Keen to Lucas. The letter had been duly submitted with a
request for an interview and new Keen awaited the moment
when he would be admitted to the presence of the man who,
more than anyone else in history, might be called the
dictator of the United States. For the Board of Magnates,
who now ruled the country, and of which Lucas was chairman,
not only ruled over, but actually owned, almost the entire
pro city of the once free republic. ·
-
-
Keen wondered what sort of a man the agnate would turn
out to be. Of course, his physical characteristics were as
familiar to Keen as were his own, for he had seen him in
photograph and telepan a thousand times, but he had little
idea of what the nan's nature was. Would he turn out to be
what many people believed him to be: the crafty tyrannical
boss of a tyrannical group of oligarchs? Or would he appear
as he was pictured in the pep-meetings, as the almost
omniscient, kindly foster-father of American business?
Keen's speculations were interrupted as a secretary
beckoned and he entered through the huge carved doors into
the Sanctum of the Magnate.
-
-
It was a luxurious room in which he found himself, a
room the walls of which were covered with telepan screens
and reference charts and whose only furnishings were a
marvelously thick rug and a massive old desk, behind which,
almost lost, sat the slight figure of the Magnate. He was an
elderly man, much smaller than his pictures made him seem,
Keen noted, and his countenance would have been almost
cherubic, had it not been for a huge walrus—like moustache
that was obviously worn to add fierceness to an otherwise
mild appearance. The young man walked forward and bowed
before him, and
-
after a moment of appraisal the Magnate spoke:
-
-
"So you're a Pariah, eh? Don't look like my idea of
one, I must say."
-
-
“I've only been discharged for about two weeks, Sir,“
Keen explained, "And I hope to be reinstated, if you will
listen to my case. It won't take me long to state it, Sir."
-
-
“Rather determined, aren‘t you, young fellow? Bringing
your case all the way up to me, I mean to say? Aren't there
courts to I settle all that sort of thing?"
-
-
"Well, Sir," answered Keen, boldly, “I wanted it really
settled. The courts are for the support of the lawyers,
not for the dispensing of justice."
-
-
It was a bold speech, and he waited uncertainly to see
how the "agnate would take it. Lucas raised his eyebrows
quizzically for a moment, and then broke into a smile.
-
-
"Well," said the little man, "suppose you let me hear
this case and see what my opinion is. 'I'll admit I flatter
myself to the extent of believing that I'm something of a
student of human nature. Let's see if you can convince me
that you're in the right in this matter."
-
-
So Keen launched forth into his story, telling the
details just as they had occurred and dramatically reserving
the story of his finding of the damning receipt until the
last. Lucas interrupted him often, quizzing him like a
witness under cross-examination, and showing a particular
interest in the business of the overheard conversation
between Sidney and Ambrose. At the end of his story, Keen
drew his bill triumphantly from his pocket and cast it down
before the food lord. Lucas snatched it up, looked at it
carefully, and then broke into a laugh.
-
-
“So that's the kind of subordinates I have, eh? Poor
work, Mr. Sidney, dreadfully poor work. Your mind certainly
wasn't on your business when you committed this blunder." He
turned to Keen as he spoke and went on frankly: “Ordinarily,
I wouldn't consider your case for a moment, for it’s a
belief of mine that when a man has worked himself up to a
position as high as Honorable, he should be allowed a
certain amount of liberty with the laws, as a reward for his
services. But when a man makes the mistake of growing
absentminded during business hours, and makes such a blunder
as this, the time has come when somebody else must take his
place."
-
-
He rang a bell as he spoke and said to the secretary,
who appeared almost at once: "Get Hanip Sidney on the
phone." The secretary nodded and disappeared, and in a
moment, a telepan on the wall glowed, showing a picture of
the familiar home of Manhattan’s Food Controller. The room,
however was empty, and the voice of the autophone was heard
exclaiming: "Mr. Sidney has left to make a report to the
Magnate. He will return at two o'clock."
-
-
"On his way here, eh?" muttered Lucas, "Well, let him
come. We'll see what he has to say for himself. I can stand
for anything but inefficiency, but, by Hanner, I won't stand
for that! And while we're waiting, I suppose you'd like to
screen your sweetheart and tell her the good news that
she‘ll soon be out of that chap house, wouldn't you?
-
-
Keen assented eagerly, and in a moment, the Magnate
had had a connection made with the Madison Chap House and
Keen saw the harsh features of the matron in charge. But
when Lucas asked to be connected with Doris Moder, the
matron looked at him in amazed surprise.
-
-
"Moder isn’t here anymore, Sir," she said
hesitatingly, "She left not more than twenty minutes ago
with the Honorable Hanip Sidney. Hr. Sidney had a transfer
for her, to Paterson Chap House, Sir."
-
-
With a burst of profane invective that would have done
credit to a rocketeer, the Food Magnate switched off the
Chap house and rang for his secretary. The news of Sidney's
new action seemed to have galvanized him into astonishingly
rapid action.
-
-
"Was Hanip Sidney here any time this morning, Kagen?“
he barked, and the secretary nodded hesitatingly in the
affirmative.
-
-
“He came about half an hour ago, sir. He asked me with
whom you were speaking, and I explained and told him the
name of this man. After that, he left quite hurriedly.“
-
-
"And flew to Madison Chap house, with the crazy idea
of abducting Moder, in his own fashion! Lost his head
completely, the poor fool."
-
-
Again the string of expletives broke from the lips of
the little man, and he turned to his desk to dial another
number on his telepan. In a moment he had the Traffic Bureau
of the Transportation Industry and was shouting staccato
questions at the clerk in charge. Keen watched the dynamic
figure in amazement, his respect for Lucas's efficiency
growing momentarily greater. Io wonder this man had risen to
be the greatest figure in America. .
-
-
In a moment, it seemed, Lucas had obtained the
necessary information.
-
-
“Sidney left, not ten minutes ago, gig the Hudson
traffic lane. Hudson reports him as saying he was taking an
insane relative of his to a hospital in Montreal. Montreal,
phooey He has a summer home in Columbia, and I'll bet a
thousand eagles that we'll find him there. Kagen!” he
bellowed through the open door, and the secretary once more
appeared.
-
-
“Kagen" Lucas want on, hardly stopping for breath,
"Charter a fast plane and take Emet Keen up to Hanip
Sidney's lodge in Columbia. You know, the old hunting lodge
that I sold him, year before last. You know where it is.
Keen, go on up there and get your girl and tell her you’re
both pardoned. I'll see that you’re given your proper
ratings when you get back. And about Sidney, Keen. I give
you carte blanche,” and as Keen and Kagen, inspired
by his breathless haste, dashed through the doer, he called
out after them: "Get that, Keen, carte blanche!"
-
-
Followed closely by Keen, Kagen took the steps to the
roof two at a time, leaped into the helicopter which stood
there, and pulling Keen in after him, hurled it into the
air. A few minutes later, he dropped it to the roof of the
Facade and, springing out, began shouting at once for a
plane. A speedy little machine of the moth type was provided
at once and while it was being filled with fuel, Kagen
excused himself and in a moment returned with a pair of
radio guns, the same weapons that had thrown a charge of
electricity around Keen when he was captured and which he
had called a ”radio lasso".
-
-
“Sidney has evidently become panic-stricken," he
explained, “There's no telling how dangerous he'll be, if we
find him. We might just as well be prepared for anything."
-
-
He handed one of the guns to Keen as he spoke, and
stowing the other in his pocket, he climbed into the plane.
Keen followed and at once the plane swung into the air and
headed north.
-
-
As Keen watched the city flying by beneath him, he
found time to wonder at the amazing actions of Sidney,
during the last four or five hours. The Food Controller was
quite evidently beside himself with fear. The news that
Keen had obtained an interview with Lucas had apparently
come after many days of worry that had begun when Doris
defied him and went to a Chap house rather than become his
bride. To the Food Controller, the fact that Keen had an
interview with Lucas had been proof that he had some
evidence against him. And so Sidney had fled and in fleeing,
had committed one more blunder in attempting to take Doris
with him.
-
-
Could Keen have seen the Honorable Hanip Sidney as he
taxied his plane to a stop on the little landing field in
front of his lodge in the woods, he would have realized that
his speculations were indeed true. all the confidence, all
the smug self-esteem was gone from the little man; he was
panic-stricken to a degree that would have seemed impossible
to anyone who was not a keen judge of human nature. Doris
Moder, sitting mute in the cockpit in front of him, knew
quite well that she was dealing with a manmade dangerous by
fear, and she governed herself accordingly. Not once, by
word or gesture, did she reveal that she was watching her
chance to , circumvent him; no, to all appearances she was
as frightened of him as he was of the justice that he
thought he was leaving behind. Even when he gestured for
her to get out of the plane and, at the point of an
automatic pistol, forced her to go into the house, she did
not rebel, but meekly obeyed him, watching every minute for
the chance that she hoped would come.
-
-
Sidney locked her in a room and returned to the plane,
and it was while he has steering it into a hangar that he
noticed the other plane hovering far above. He leaped from
his own machine and streaked for the house and when Kagen
and Keen dashed up to the door, a few minutes later, it was
to find it bolted and no signs of life about the place. But
Sidney's plane, standing in front of the hangar, convinced
them that the man was within and they drew apart from the
house for a conference to decide on how they should force an
entrance.
-
-
Sidney watched them from within, noted their
hesitation and smiled a crafty smile. He was again beginning
to have confidence in himself; the comparative safety of the
house and the fact that no one could approach it without
exposing themselves to the danger of being shot gave him an
exaggerated sense of his own security. All his life, Sidney
had lived in the safe security of the city, and as a matter
of fact, had never before so much as attempted to fire at a
moving target, but he held the belief usual among men
ignorant of firearms, that it is only necessary to point in
the general direction of an object and fire, in order to
score a hit.
-
-
Then, too, he held the whip hand, he thought, in that
he held a hostage. The two without might have conceivably
attempted to starve him out or to burn the building, had not
Doris been safely locked in that rear room. The Honorable
Hanip Sidney was beginning to have quite a favorable opinion
of himself as a thorough-going villain. He patted his
revolver and glanced out at the two men who still huddled
close to their plane, down by the hangar. Mr. Sidney drew
himself up to his full height and laughed a melodramatic
laugh.
-
-
"Richard is himself again!“ he said, with a chuckle,
quoting from his favorite play, and in an excess of bravado,
fired a shot in the general direction of Kagen and Keen.
The two instantly disappeared behind the plane and Sidney
laughed again. He raised the gun and waved it above his
head- - and his hand was suddenly seized in two firm small
ones that in a moment had wrenched the automatic from him
and had him covered. He whirled about and uttered a cry of
dismay as he realized that it was Doris Moder that had
stolen up behind him.
-
-
“But- - but I thought I locked you in that room- -" he
whined, his bravado melting like a snow-ball before a fire,
"I locked you in that room, you know!"
-
-
Doris laughed. "You locked one of the doors, yes. he
you know so little about your own house that you don't know
there is a connecting door that opens into the other bed
room? I was out of that room almost as soon as you put me
into it!"
-
-
"I didn't know,“ wailed Sidney, "I didn’t know. I've
only been here once before. I only bought this place a year
or two ago.”
-
-
Doris waited to hear no more; she curtly ordered him
out of the house and in a moment the two men without were
amazed to see Sidney emerge from the door, his hands in the
air, followed immediately by the determined girl.
-
-
She marched him down to the hangar, turned the gun
over to Keen, and then leaned wearily against the plane.
Keen smiled grimly, handed the gun to Kagen and whispered as
he did so: "Get her into the plane, Kagen. I’ll be ready to
leave in about ten minutes. wait for me here," then, turning
to Sidney, he barked suddenly and fiercely, "You! You come
around to the back of the house with me!” and as Sidney
hesitated, he grasped him roughly by the back of the collar
and hustled him out of sight around the corner of the
building.
-
-
With a broad smile on his lips, Kagen assisted Doris
into the plane, sat her in the most comfortable seat, and
then, noticing the questioning leak in her eyes, recounted
briefly the adventures that Teen and he had met with that
day.
-
-
As he finished his story, keen appeared from behind
the lodge and climbed into the plane. "Well, let's get back
to New York, Kagen," he said, and in a moment, the plane was
rising and leaving the hunting lodge and Hanip Sidney far
below.
-
-
“Did you hurt him much?" asked Doris, hesitatingly,
after a few moments of silence.
-
-
“Oh, no! Not much,” answered Keen, smiling, and then,
as he blew on the bruised and tender knuckles of his right
hand: “Well, no so very much.”
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