David Brin: The Fourth Vocation of George Gustaf

Hamilton grinned and sat back with his feet up on his desk. In a world that valued competent eclecticism over anything else, all the vocations guarded their professional status jealously. Hamilton had himself served on juries of professional bankers, screening hundreds of amateur financiers every year… each trying to convince the judges to award him the “second hat.”

And now Hamilton had almost certainly won one of his own. Dr. George Gustaf wasn’t the only man talented enough to attain more than one vocation!

He had to admit that the Gustaf fellow had class. The man was taking the growing public attention with remarkable calm. He had even invited Hamilton to a special meeting of the Bath and Garter, somehow leaving Hamilton with the feeling that he had been done a great honor.

Clan leaders from all over the world had flown in for the meeting. Many of the men and women were clearly skilled professionals, and most were obviously worried about the growing notoriety. But Gustaf had appeared unconcerned, radiating an assurance that soon calmed the others.

Hamilton had been disappointed in the ritualistic aspects of the meeting. There weren’t even any of the funny hats or arcane symbols of his own Loyal Order. There was some mild bowing and an occasional sheepish “my lord”… but nothing kinky at all.

Still, underlying it all were subtleties that Hamilton took note of… attitudinal cues he carefully recorded. Something very unusual was going on here. The members of this group took it all quite a bit more seriously than participants in a normal ritual club. He had left the gathering with more than just a pile of notes.

“I’ve transcribed my impressions of the meeting,” he told the android. “Have you finished your historical survey?”

Dan’s translucent head bobbed in assent. “I have, Hamilton. And I think the history will make an ideal introduction to our book. I will try to write up a lucid description of what a monarchy was. A lot of people who never took up the right avocations won’t have heard of it.”

“Good idea.” That would save Hamilton a lot of time. Already the members of his basketball team were complaining because he was neglecting his athletic hobby. Success was commendable, they reminded him quite rightly, but obsession was illegal.

“Did you uncover anything interesting?”

“Yes, Hamilton. I found that the records shown us by Dr. Gustaf were genuine. When I showed them to the AAA-class androids at the records division they became quite interested. Apparently George Gustaf’s ‘bloodline’ is correct.”

Hamilton grinned. “Amazing.” Of course this would keep the robo-psychiatrist out of delusional therapy. That pleased Hamilton. He actually liked the man.

“So how did you like working with triple-A androids?”

The AnMan returned his version of a smile. “About the way you feel about becoming a professional sociologist, Hamilton.”

“That good?” Hamilton grinned back.

The city of Orleans was interested, to say the least. For the first time in memory, people were actually juggling their schedules to get time off to watch a… parade .

It was a modest affair, as ritual parades went. There were no floats, no teams of amateur acrobats or struggling amateur aerocyclists. The procession was mostly afoot or on horseback, led by a small band of tall men who raised the neck-hairs of onlookers with the eerie, tugging noise of bagpipes.

The mood was ebullient. At the embarkation point there was a delay while a crowd gathered around the hereditary leader of the Bath and Garter, collecting autographs.

“Please! Please, dear ladies and gentlemen!” Farrell Cooper called out with archaic formality. “His Grace has a schedule to keep. Please! May we have some room here? You there! Mind the horses!”

Two of the large pipers arrived to help the amateur proctors push back the crowd. George Gustaf looked up after signing the book a young woman held out for him; she clutched it to her breast and gasped as he winked at her. Gustaf motioned for the pipers and proctors to let one man through the cordon.

“Hello, Mr. Smith,” he said. He shook Hamilton’s hand then turned to take another autograph book. “Come to watch another phenomenon in vivo ? I must say, your articles have made a quaint little hereditary chore into a gigantic responsibility!”

Hamilton smiled back at the young man.

“Well, isn’t that what being a king is all about, Dr. Gustaf? From my own reading, I’d say it was often harder work than anything else… at least for the monarchs who tried to be good at it. Tell me something, do you ever wonder what it would have been like? I mean if…

“If the monarchies had never declined? If I was the inheritor of true power, instead of the leader of a ritual club? Well, of course I’ve thought about it, Mr. Smith. I’d have been guilty of a faulty imagination if I hadn’t!”

Gustaf finished with the last autograph seeker, waved at the crowd, then turned to look at Hamilton seriously.

“As to the reasons my ancestors had for merging their bloodlines the way they did—long after most of them had lost power—I’m as much in the dark as you are. But I can tell you something of the result.

“I’ll not deny that there is something within me that resonates with the emotions of this crowd. I’ve always had an instinct for people—and androids, for that matter. And I score at the top of the scale on all of the aptitude tests for leadership and justice-sense.”

“I know. Your amateur courtroom is one of the most popular, and the pros never overturn your decisions.”

Gustaf shrugged.

“So the question is, did my ancestors bestow something unusual upon me? Or is it all coincidence? It’s an interesting topic for speculation, though it doesn’t really matter all that much.”

Farrell Cooper came up alongside. He nodded quickly at Hamilton, then spoke to his club leader.

“Your Grace, we are behind schedule. If it pleases you, may we mount so the vanguard doesn’t get too far ahead of us?”

Hamilton smiled. He’d had plenty of time to get used to Cooper’s fixation. Gustaf caught his eye with a wink.

“We’ll talk more later, Hamilton. I hope to have a chance to tell you how much I’ve been edified by your micro-sociological treatise on the Bath and Garter.”

Hamilton felt himself blushing. It was an involuntary reaction, and he hurried to cover it up.

“One last question, Dr. Gustaf, before you go.” Hamilton motioned to the crowd. “How do you account for this outpouring of feeling toward you and your club, here in Orleans and in the other towns you’ve visited during this tour?”

Gustaf frowned.

“ You’re the sociologist, Hamilton…”

“Just guess, please. I’d like your gut feeling.”

Gustaf knitted his brow. He glanced at the people who lined the sidewalks, craning for a better view, waving when his glance came their way. He looked seriously at Hamilton.

“I’d say it’s because they are lonely, bored, and cut loose from their past. Personally, I find it unfortunate that society hasn’t found a way to fill this need. Not everyone is as happy with the Total Social State as you and I. But then perhaps you’ll be the one to figure out this social dynamic, hmmm?”

A man came up leading a large roan stallion. Gustaf mounted. The spirited animal snorted and pulled, but the robo-psychologist expertly calmed and brought it into line.

Gustaf smiled at Hamilton.

“Personally, I get all the vicarious connection with the past I’ll ever need. What I’m really interested in is winning another honorary profession! You know how that feels!”

He winked once again, then wheeled his stallion into line with a row of armored men.