Arthur Zagat - The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IX

They all groaned their disapproval.

“A good point, Hart, but it doesn’t prove what you think. It just shows that a minority enjoy innate capacities and environmental variations that make the transition to philosopher easier.”

“And you haven’t proven anything about the incurious majority.”

“This does, though: whenever there was a favorable period the majority who could, as you put it, see beyond the ends of their noses increased. Our era is just the opposite. We are trapped in a vicious circle. Those noses are usually so close to the grindstone that men are afraid to raise their heads. We are breaking that circle!”

“It’s a terribly important thing to aim for, Burnett, but—” He brought up another doubt and somebody else answered it immediately.

For the next half hour, as one uncertainty was expressed after another, everybody joined in the answers until inexorable logic forced his surrender.

“All right,” he conceded, “I will do anything I can—not to make work for myself, but to help mankind rise above it.”

Except for a brief, triumphant glance in Johnson’s direction, Burnett gave no further attention to what had happened and plunged immediately into practical matters.

To halt the blind worship of work, the Rites had first to be discredited. And to discredit the Rites, the awe inspired by their infallible performance had to be weakened. The sabotage of the Preliminary had been the first local step in that direction. There had been a few similar, if smaller, episodes, executed by other groups, but they had received as little publicity as possible.

“Johnson, you pulled one so big this time that they can’t hide it. Twenty thousand witnesses! When it comes to getting things done you’re the best we have!”

The little man grinned. “But you’re the one who knows how to pick recruits and organize our concepts. This is how it worked. I re-fed the emptied cryotron memory box of a robot discard with patterns to deal with anything it was likely to encounter in a destruction pile. I kept the absolute-freeze mechanism in working order, but developed a shield that would hide its activity from the best pile detector.” He spread a large tissue schematic out on the floor and they all gathered around it to study the details. “Now, the important thing was to have an external element that could resume contact with a wider circuit, which could in turn start meshing with the whole robot mechanism and then through that mechanism into the pile. This little lever made the contact at a pre-fed time.”

Miss Wright was enthusiastic. “That contact is half the size of any I’ve been able to make. It’s crucially important,” she added to Hart. “A large contact can look suspicious.”

While others took miniphotos of the schematic, Hart studied the contact carefully. “I think I can reduce its size by another fifty per cent. Alloys are one of my specialties—when I get a chance to work at them.”

“That would be ideal,” said Burnett. “Then we could set up many more discarded robots without risk. How long will it take?”

“I can rough it out right now.” He scribbled down the necessary formulas and everyone photographed that too.

“Maximum security is now in effect,” announced Burnett. “You will destroy your copies as soon as you have transferred them to edible base copies. At the first hint of danger you will consume them. Use home enlargers for study. In no case are you to make permanent blowups that would be difficult to destroy quickly.” He considered them sternly. “Remember, you are running a great risk. You’re not only opposing the will of the state but the present will of the vast majority of citizens.”

“If there are as many other underground groups as you indicate,” said Hart, “they should have this information.”

“We get it to them,” answered Burnett. “I’m going on health leave from my job.”

“And what will be your excuse?” Wright demanded anxiously.

“Nervous shock,” smiled their leader. “After all, I did see today’s events in the Plaza.”

When Hart reached home his wife was waiting for him. “Why did you take so long, Wendell. I was worried sick. The radio says anti-socials are turning wild servos loose. How could human beings do such a thing?”

“I was there. I saw it all happen.” He frowned. “The crowd was so dense I couldn’t get away.”

“But what happened? The way the news was broadcast I couldn’t understand anything.”

He described the situation in great detail and awaited Marie’s reaction. It was even more encouraging than he had hoped for. “I understand less than before! How could anything reactivate that rubble? They put everything over five years old into the piles, and the stuff’s supposed to be decrepit already. You’d almost think we were destroying wealth before its time, because if those disabled mechanisms reactivate—” She came to a dead halt. “That’s madness! Oh, I wish High Holy Day were here already so I could get back to work and stop this empty thinking!”

Her honest face was more painfully distorted than he had ever seen it before, even during the universal pre-Rite doldrums. “Only a few more days to go,” he consoled. “Don’t worry, honey. Everything’s going to be all right. Now I’d like to be alone in the study for a while. I’ve been through an exhausting time.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

The last word triggered the entry of Eric, the domestic robot, pushing the dinner cart ahead of him. “No food to-night,” Hart insisted. The shining metal head nodded its assent and the cart was wheeled out.

“That’s not a very humane thing to do,” she scolded. “Eric’s not going to be serving many more meals—”

“Good grief, Marie, just leave me alone for a while, will you?” He slammed the study door shut, warning himself to display less nervousness in the future as he listened to her pacing outside. Then she went away.

The projector gave him a good-sized wall image to consider. He spent most of the night calculating where he could place tiny self-activators in the “obsolescent” robots that were to be donated by his plant. Then he set up the instruction tapes to make the miniature contacts. Production then would be a simple job, only taking a few minutes, and during a working day there were always many periods longer than that when he was alone on the production floor.

But thinking the matter out without computers was much more difficult. Human beings ordinarily filled their time on a lower abstracting level.

When he unlocked the study door in the morning he was startled to see Marie bustling down the corridor, pushing the food service cart herself. That did not make sense, especially considering last night’s statement about Eric.

“I thought you’d want breakfast early,” she coughed.

“You didn’t have to bother, honey. Eric could have done it.”

If she had been prying, the cart might have been a prop to take up as soon as he came out. On the other hand, what could she in her technical ignorance make of such matters anyway?

It was best not to rouse any deeper suspicions by openly noticing her wifely nosiness. At breakfast they pretended nothing had happened, devoting the time to mutually disapproved cousins, but all day long he kept wondering whether ignorant knowledge couldn’t be as dangerous as the knowing kind.

The next morning, after a long sleep, he went to the factory for the first of his semi-weekly work periods.

He sat before a huge console, surveying scores of dials, at the end of a machine that was over five hundred yards long. Today it was turning out glass paper the color of watered blood, made only for Ritual publications, packing it in sheets and dispatching them in automatic trucks; but the machine could be adjusted to everything from metal sheeting to plastic felts. At the far end sat another man, diminished by distance, busily tending more dials that could really take care of themselves.