Дэймон Найт - Orbit 6

“Church and charity. People surrendered their faith in us to put it in the governments, but they’re losing that now, and the delegates sense it. Perhaps the faith won’t return to us, but there’s a chance it might.”

“And so I’m to be wined and dined.”

The Pope nodded. “And courted too, I should imagine. The French are very enthused about this; their penal system has been at loose ends ever since they lost their African colonies over fifty years ago.”

Miss Bushnan had been staring at her lap, smoothing her skirt absently where it lay across her knees; she looked up suddenly, meeting his eyes. “And you? What are they going to offer you?”

“Not the lost sees of eastern Europe, you may be sure. Mostly flattery, I suspect.”

“And if we oppose them—”

“If we oppose them we will be raising standards about which all the millions who detest the idea, and all the millions more who will come to detest it when they see it in operation, can rally.”

“My husband — my former husband, technically — is in prison, Your Holiness. Did you know that?”

“No, of course not. If I had—”

“We plan to be remarried when he is released, and I know from visiting him what the alternative to the motion is. I know what we’ve got now. It’s not as though they’re going to be snatched from some Arcadia.”

Unexpectedly Sal was at her elbow again. “Phone, Miss Bushnan.”

The American delegate’s puffy face filled the screen. “Miss — ah — Bushnan?”

She nodded.

“This is — ah — a pleasure I have had to postpone too long.”

In order to save him time she said, “I’ve heard about the decision to ask the observers to vote.”

“Good, good.” The American delegate drummed his fingers on his desk and seemed to be trying to avoid her eyes. “Miss Bushnan, are you aware of the — ah — financial crisis now confronting our nation?”

“I’m not an economist—”

“But you are an informed laywoman. You know the situation. Miss Bushnan, there are close to a quarter of a million men and women in state and federal prisons today, and to maintain each of them there costs — costs us, Miss Bushnan, the taxpayers — five thousand dollars a year each. That’s a total of a billion dollars a year.”

“I believe you brought out those figures during your speech at the third session.”

“Perhaps I did. But we are all interested in restoring the preeminent place the United States once held in world affairs, aren’t we? Miss Bushnan, to do that we have had to take quite a few pages from the Soviet book. And it’s been good for us. We’ve learned humility, if you like.”

She nodded.

“We used to believe in job security for everybody, and a wage based on classification and seniority. That was what we called Free Enterprise, and we were proud of it. Well, the Communists showed us differently: incentives, and discipline for underachievers. They forced us to the wall with those until we learned our lesson, and now — well, you can say whatever you like, but by God things are better.”

“So I understand,” Miss Bushnan said. Here it came.

“Now they’ve got a new trick,” the American delegate continued. “They used, you know, to have these gangs of — ah — laborers out in Siberia. Then one day some smart commissar thought to himself: By God, if the peasants can grow more vegetables on private plots, couldn’t the prisoners be used more effectively that way too?”

“If I recall your speech correctly,” Miss Bushnan said, “you pointed out that if half the federal and state prisoners could be leased out to private owners at five thousand a year, the revenue would take care of the remaining half.”

“Lessees, not owners,” the American delegate said. “Lessees with option to renew. It will lift a billion dollar millstone from about our nation’s neck.”

“But,” Miss Bushnan continued innocently, “surely we could do the same thing without entering into the international agreement being discussed here.”

“No, no.” The American delegate waved a hand in protest. “We should enter the world community with this. After all, Miss Bushnan, international trade is one of the few, and one of the strongest, cohesive forces. We need by all means to establish a supranational market structure.”

The Pope, sitting outside the range of the American delegate’s view, said softly, “Ask him if they’re still going to call them slaves.”

Miss Bushnan inquired obediently, “Are you still going to call them slaves? I mean in the final agreement.”

“Oh, yes.” The American delegate leaned closer to the scanner and lowered his voice. “In English language usage. I don’t mind telling you, however, that we — I mean the British and Canadians as well as our own country — have had a hard time getting that one past the Soviets. It comes from the root-word ‘slav,’ you know, and they don’t like that. But it’s a selling word. People like the idea of having slaves; robots have gotten us used to it and tranquilizers and anti-aggressants have made it practical; what’s more, it’s a link with the past at a time when too many such links are phasing out. People feel manipulated today, Miss Bushnan. They want to be master of someone themselves.”

“I see. And it will get them out of prison. Place them in decent surroundings.”

“Oh, it certainly will. And — ah — you asked about the necessity of an international agreement and an international market a moment ago. You must remember that our nation needs hard currencies very badly today; and we have the curse — or, ah — the blessing, blessing if you think of it in a positive fashion, of having the highest crime rate among major nations. The United States will be an exporter in this market, Miss Bushnan.”

“I see,” Miss Bushnan said again.

“You may have heard some of these rumors about the Soviets pressing a certain number of — ah — country people into the market to satisfy the demand. These are slanders, of course, and in any event that sort of thing would be unthinkable in the United States. I understand you’re a wealthy woman, Miss Bushnan; your father is in the government, I suppose?”

“He was,” Miss Bushnan said. “He’s dead now. The Department of Agriculture.”

“Then with a family background of public service you understand that in a democracy we have to listen to the voice of the people; and the people want this. The — ah— most recent polls have shown seventy-nine percent favoring. I won’t try to hide the fact that it would be an embarrassment to our country if you voted in opposition, and it would not benefit the organization you represent — in fact it would do it a great deal of harm.”

“Are you threatening us?”

“No, of course not. But I’m asking you to consider what would happen to your organization if you lost your tax-exempt status. I believe a vote in opposition to the motion might — ah — make Washington feel that you were engaged in political activity. That would mean loss of the exemption, naturally.”

“But a vote in favor of the motion wouldn’t be political activity?”

“Washington would expect your organization to support this humanitarian cause as a matter of course. I doubt very much that the matter would come up. You must understand, Miss Bushnan, that when — ah — a measure as revolutionary as this is under consideration humanity must be practically unanimous. Even a token opposition could be disastrous.”

Paraphrasing the Pope, Miss Bushnan said, “It would raise a standard about which all the millions who detest the idea could rally.”

“Millions is surely an exaggeration; thousands perhaps. But in principle you are correct, and that must not be allowed to happen. Miss Bushnan, Washington has sent me a dossier on you. Did you know that?”