Mack Reynolds: Ability Quotient

The professor nodded and flicked on a desk screen. He looked into it and made a rueful moue. “You are not in a very good bargaining position, I fear. Currently, your sole source of finances is your Guaranteed Annual Income. Of course, as a veteran, all your school expenses are paid.”

Bert Alshuler held his peace.

The other said, “Your GAI will be doubled during the period you work with us. If you finish the whole project, that is, if you remain with us for as long as we wish, you will be awarded an additional five thousand pseudo-dollars.” He twisted his mouth in amusement. “Which will undoubtedly be meaningless to you.”

Alshuler scowled. “Why? Five thousand is no small sum to a student, and that’s all I am now.”

“Because, Mr. Alshuler, if the project is a success, by that time you will be wealthy beyond your dreams of avarice.”

Bert Alshuler looked at him sarcastically. “I have some pretty avaricious dreams,” he said. “Why will I be wealthy? Frankly, I’ve always been a little on the lazy side. I rather doubt that I’ve got the push to make myself very rich in the world as it is today.”

“I can’t tell you at this stage of the game,” the professor said.

The other grunted and thought about it He said finally, “How many other students are there in this deal?”

Katz hesitated before saying, “One other in the whole university. We would have liked to have more controls but the nature of the experiment is such that the fewer we have connected with it, the better.”

“Why does it have to be kept secret?”

“I can’t tell you at this stage,” the professor said again. “However, if you do decide to cooperate, then you must pledge not to discuss it with anyone whomsoever that is not connected with the project.”

Alshuler cocked his head slightly. “How do you know I’d keep the pledge?”

“Among the other tests you took was one for veracity. We must trust you to keep your word, and shall.”

“Make it three times the amount of my government Guaranteed Annual Income and I’ll accept for the first semester. From then on I’ll either renew or drop out, each semester that comes up.”

“Very well. However, you won’t be doing your studying by semesters.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t tell you at this stage, but you’ll probably find out on your own in very short order.” There was a tone in Leonard Katz’ voice that indicated that the interview was over.

Bert Alshuler stood. “Kay. When do I start? Where do I go to sign up, or whatever?”

The professor stood too and extended a hand to be shaken. “You just signed up,” he smiled. “You’ll be contacted.”

When Bert Alshuler had gone, another entered the office from an adjoining room. He was attired in the uniform of a lieutenant general of Security and was scowling.

Katz looked up at him, “What do you think, my dear General Paul?”

The other shook his head. “He doesn’t sound very cooperative.”

“We don’t want a wishy-washy. We want a man with push, his own ideas, with strength.”

“But we also need somebody we can control. I’d say take this slowly, until we’re sure about him.”

“Very well. Possibly you are correct.”

Bert Alshuler took an express elevator from the fiftieth floor of the high-rise building that housed the administration offices, including that of Professor Leonard Katz, to the ground floor and strode through the masses of milling students and instructors out onto the campus.

He muttered skeptically, “Beyond my dreams of avarice.”

He would have taken on the offer at the original price, that is, double the Guaranteed Annual Income that was the right of every citizen of the United States of the Americas. He had asked for triple just to see what Katz reply would be and had expected to be refused. Surely, no matter how high his Ability Quotient, as the professor had called it, there must be scores of others who had placed approximately as high. But evidently they had wanted him , and fairly badly. The professor hadn’t hesitated at all. He wondered now what the other’s response would have been if he had demanded even more. He might keep it in mind, if he decided to remain on a second semester or more—but what had that been about his not being on a semester basis?

He lit out across the campus to one of the auto-cafes which he found almost deserted at this early time of the day. However, Jim Hawkins was seated at a corner table where they usually met.

When Bert came up, Jim said, “Scram. I’m waiting for a girl.”

“So am I,” Bert said, taking a chair across from the other. “So far, the right one hasn’t come along, old buddy.” He began fishing his Identity Card from his pocket.

Jim said, “This is the right one, but I saw her first. Scram.”

“What’s this scram thing?”

“Go away.”

Bert put the card in the table slot and said, “How about a beer? I’m springing.” He said into the screen, “Two large glasses of beer.”

His old time army buddy said, “You’ve got a lot to learn, freshman. When you’re living the student life on Guaranteed Annual Income, you can’t go around buying beers for people this early in the day. By the end of the month you’ll be starving.”

The table top dipped and rose again with two chilled glasses of beer. They reached out for them.

“Mother’s milk,” Jim said appreciatively. “You all signed up?”

“I suppose so.”

“What courses are you taking? Maybe I can give you some words of wisdom, old buddy.”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I thought you said you were all signed up.” Jim took a long draught, half emptying the glass. He was a tall, thin specimen, prone to sprawl his lanky body all over anything sprawlable upon, and his face was as easy going as his form.

Bert Alshuler caught himself. Katz had emphasized that he was to discuss the mysterious project with absolutely no one.

He said, “Look. You were here last year. Who is Professor Leonard Katz?”

Jim Hawkins finished the rest of his beer and looked clown into the glass longingly. “Katz? You won’t be having anything to do with him. He’s a big mucky-muck. Always working on some government research program or other. He doesn’t teach.” He wiped the back of his right hand over his mouth to clean off the last of the beer head and added, “Katz doesn’t even know you exist.”

Bert said, “Another brew?”

Jim looked at him. “I keep warning you, old buddy. You can’t afford to waste your dough on booze.”

Bert ordered two more beers and said, “I just got a windfall, beyond my dreams of avarice.”

Jim grunted skepticism and said, “Then you’d better make it three beers. Here comes Jill.” He came to his feet, his expression subtly changed.

A pint-sized girl was approaching the table. Though quite petite, she had the graceful stride of an athlete or possibly a professional dancer. Her features, delicate save for a slightly wide mouth, bore no make-up whatsoever. A natural type, somewhat out of tune these days, Bert thought.

Even as he also stood, Bert wondered why it was that six and a half footers, such as Jim Hawkins, so often went for girls in the five foot category. Who was left for those poor girls who exceeded six feet in altitude?

She said, “Hi, Jim,” and looked at Bert.

Jim groaned and said, “All my instincts tell me not to introduce you, Killer, but I suppose I can’t get around it. Jill Masterson, Albert Alshuler. Jill, Bert. Watch out for him, Sweetie Pie, when it comes to women, he’s a fink.”

Jill held out a hand, man fashion. “Any enemy of Jim’s is a friend of mine,” she said. “He has the most fascinating enemies.”