Mack Reynolds - Equality - In the Year 2000

19. Major rejuvenation and significant extention of life span and vigor .

That was something! He wondered to what extent. Somebody—Edith, he thought—had already told him that man was no longer tied to his traditional three score years and ten.

20. Automated highways and moving sidewalks for local transportation .

21. Substantial progress toward anti-gravity .

22. Lifetime immunization against practically all diseases .

23. Understanding of cetacean languages .

That would mean communication with… well, porpoises, whales, and dolphins, wouldn’t it?

24. Wireless energy —

Before he could finish taking it in, his TV phone hummed. He switched off his auto-teacher screen and activated the phone. It was Edith.

“Have you forgotten that you promised to have lunch with us? Mother was to present one of her recipes.”

He said, “Sorry, Edie. I was all caught up in research. I’ll be right over.”

The Leete door opened at his approach, it too being keyed in to his face. He went on into the living room where both Edith and her mother were already at the dining room table.

Martha smiled at him. “I’ve already dialed for lunch. I hope you like Oysters Diablo.”

He took his customary place. “I’m an oyster man from way back but I don’t believe I know that dish.” He looked around. “Isn’t the doctor going to be with us? I’ve managed to accumulate some more questions about the changes that have taken place since my times.”

Mrs. Leete frowned slightly. “I can’t imagine where he is. He went out a short time ago on an errand that should have taken but a few minutes. Perhaps something came up. We can start without him.”

It was then that the living room door opened and Doctor Leete stumbled in. His clothes were rumpled and soiled, blood trickled from the side of his mouth, and one of his eyes was swollen.

The three at the table were on their feet instantly.

“Raymond!” Martha screamed.

Julian hurried to the side of the doctor. “What in the hell happened?” he asked as he led the older man to a couch.

Edith was at her father’s side, eyes wide. “Father! What on earth happened?”

Doctor Leete brought a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. He was gasping for breath.

He said, as though he couldn’t believe it himself, “I… I was just mauled by three young men in the elevator.”

“Mauled!” Martha Leete was next to her husband, her hand anxiously on his arm.

Julian had gone to the auto-bar. He came back with a stiff shot of brandy. “Here,” he said. “I know you don’t ordinarily drink, but you look as though you could use this. I thought you didn’t have juvenile delinquency any more. What did they take?”

The doctor looked at him blankly. “Take? What could they take? I have nothing worth taking. We don’t have money. Nobody wears jewelry. I have nothing anybody else couldn’t get by simply dialing the ultra-markets.”

Edith said, “But… I’ve never heard of such a thing… I’ve never heard of physical violence taking place in this building.”

Julian was the only one present familiar with such matters. He asked, “What did they do?”

The doctor shook his head, as though to clear it. “They got into the elevator with me. As we ascended, one suddenly struck me with his fist in the abdomen. Then the others began to hit me. That’s all I can remember, except… one thrust his hand into my jacket pocket.”

“For what?”

The doctor shook his head again, his breath coming more naturally now. “For nothing. There was nothing there.”

Martha said in bewilderment, “But this doesn’t make sense, Raymond. You have no enemies.”

Her husband put his hand in his jacket pocket, as though to demonstrate that there was nothing in it. Then he frowned. He withdrew a slip of paper and scowled at it. When he had read it, he shook his head in confusion.

Julian took the slip from him.

When a social revolution is pending and, for whatever reason, is not accomplished, reaction is the alternative. At such a time any reform measures proposed are concealed measures of reaction — Daniel DeLeon .

He handed the note to Martha Leete. She and Edith read it, both looking bewildered.

“Who in the hell’s Daniel DeLeon?” Julian asked.

The doctor had caught his breath by now. He said, mystified, “Was, not is. He was a revolutionist about 1900. Very prominent in socialist circles a century ago.”

Julian looked at Edith. “Can’t you call the police?”

“We don’t have police, in the old sense of the word,” she said, standing. “But I’ll call University Security.”

But something strange had come over the doctor’s face. He took the note back from his wife and reread it, then looked up and shook his head. “No, don’t do that. I want to think about this.”

And now Edith had a thoughtful look too.

She turned to Julian. “Jule, I’m sorry, but would you mind? It doesn’t look as though a very pleasant lunch is in the offing.”

“There’s nothing I can do?”

It was the doctor who answered him. “No. No, Julian. I’ll be all right. We’ll see you later.”

As bewildered as the Leetes, Julian returned to his own apartment. They had told him that crime had disappeared in this so-called Republic of the Golden Rule, that there were no more juvenile delinquents, that muggings were a thing of the past. Who in the name of whatever might be holy, would want to beat up kindly old Doctor Leete? He had no frame of reference in which to consider the problem. He gave it up and went into his kitchenette, to the little breakfast nook there. Hesitating momentarily, he dialed Information and asked for a ham sandwich and a bottle of beer.

Had it been possible for a computer voice to register a tone of surprise, it undoubtedly would have.

“Would you repeat that order, Mr. West?”

He repeated it, then said, impatiently, “You take two pieces of bread and butter each lightly on one side. You put between them a slice of ham, moderately thick, covered lightly with mustard, along with some lettuce. You serve it with a dill pickle.”

“Yes, Mr. West. We shall put the recipe in the kitchen data banks. But we do not serve beer in bottles, sir.”

“Well, serve it any damn way you wish,” he said.

“Very well, Mr. West.”

Shortly, the table sank down to return with his order. The beer was in a large glass and by the looks of the thick, rich head, it was draft. There was too much lettuce. He removed half of it and ate.

After lunch, there was nothing else he could think of to do so he went back to his study. He resumed his seat before the auto-teacher and took up his studies of Interlingua where he had left off.

In his determination to master the language as quickly as possible, so that he could get on with his studies—albeit on a grammar school level—he stuck to it with all the concentration he could muster, knocking off only twice to get himself a drink from the auto-bar.

To his surprise, when he checked the time he found that it was pushing eight o’clock, and then it came back to him that he had a date with young O’Callahan in the Cub Bar. Well, he was tired of studying. The break would be a relief.

He had heard no more from the Leetes, so he assumed that they were through with him for the day. They had enough on their minds not to want their charge underfoot. He deactivated his auto-teacher and left the apartment, taking the elevator down to the ground floor.