Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) π

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Dallas McCord βMackβ Reynolds was an American science fiction writer who authored almost two hundred short stories and novellas, was a staple in all the major science fiction and fantasy magazines and published dozens of science fiction novels. He began his writing career in the late 1940s. His fiction focused on exploring and challenging both the socioeconomic themes of the day and the implications of the Cold War that raged throughout his career. A thoughtful writer of speculative fiction, many of Mack Reynoldsβ predictions have come to pass, including the credit-card economy, remote warfare and a worldwide computer network. His thoughts about the outcomes of both the Soviet and western political and economic systems are still highly relevant.
This collection gathers stories that were published in Analog, Astounding Science Fiction, Amazing Stories and others. Ordered by date of first publication, they range from spy adventures to the ultimate expression of corporate warfare and from a very short 1000-word story to full-blown novellas.
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- Author: Mack Reynolds
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Joe Mauser and Max Mainz strolled the streets of Kingston in an extreme of atmosphere seldom to be enjoyed. Not only was the advent of a divisional magnitude fracas only a short period away, but the freedom of an election day as well. The carnival, the Mardi Gras, the fΓͺte, the fiesta, of an election. Election Day, when each aristocrat became only a man, and each man an aristocrat, free of all societyβs artificially conceived, caste-perpetuating rituals and taboos.
Carnival! The day was young, but already the streets were thick with revelers, with dancers, with drunks. A score of bands played, youngsters in particular ran about attired in costume, there were barbeques and flowing beer kegs. On the outskirts of town were roller coasters and ferris wheels, fun houses and drive-it-yourself miniature cars. Carnival!
Max said happily, βYou drink, Joe? Or maybe you like trank, better.β Obviously, he loved to roll the otherβs first name over his tongue.
Joe wondered in amusement how often the little man had found occasion to call a Mid-Middle by his first name. βNo trank,β he said. βAlcohol for me. Mankindβs old faithful.β
βWell,β Max debated, βget high on alcohol and bingo, a hangover in the morning. But trank? You wake up with a smile.β
βAnd a desire for more trank to keep the mood going,β Joe said wryly. βGet smashed on alcohol and you suffer for it eventually.β
βWell, thatβs one way of looking at it,β Max argued happily. βSo letβs start off with a couple of quick ones in this here Upper joint.β
Joe looked the place over. He didnβt know Kingston overly well, but by the appearance of the building and by the entry, it was probably the swankiest hotel in town. He shrugged. So far as he was concerned, he appreciated the greater comfort and the better service of his Middle caste bars, restaurants and hotels over the ones he had patronized when a Lower. However, his wasnβt an immediate desire to push into the preserves of the Uppers; not until he had won rightfully to their status.
But on this occasion the little fellow wanted to drink at an Upper bar. Very well, it was election day. βLetβs go,β he said to Max.
In the uniform of a Rank Captain of the Military Category, there was little to indicate caste level, and ordinarily given the correct air of nonchalance, Joe Mauser, in uniform, would have been able to go anywhere, without so much as a raised eyebrowβ βuntil he had presented his credit card, which indicated his caste. But Max was another thing. He was obviously a Lower, and probably a Low-Lower at that.
But space was made for them at a bar packed with election day celebrants, politicians involved in the dayβs speeches and voting, higher ranking officers of the Haer forces, having a day off, and various Uppers of both sexes in town for the excitement of the fracas to come.
βBeer,β Joe said to the bartender.
βNot me,β Max crowed. βChampagne. Only the best for Max Mainz. Give me some of that champagne liquor I always been hearing about.β
Joe had the bill credited to his card, and they took their bottles and glasses to a newly abandoned table. The place was too packed to have awaited the services of a waiter, although poor Max probably would have loved such attention. Lower, and even Middle bars and restaurants were universally automated, and the waiter or waitress a thing of yesteryear.
Max looked about the room in awe. βThis is living,β he announced. βI wonder what theyβd say if I went to the desk and ordered a room.β
Joe Mauser wasnβt as highly impressed as his batman. In fact, heβd often stayed in the larger cities, in hostelries as sumptuous as this, though only of Middle status. Kingstonβs best was on the mediocre side. He said, βTheyβd probably tell you they were filled up.β
Max was indignant. βBecause Iβm a Lower? Itβs election day.β
Joe said mildly, βBecause they probably are filled up. But for that matter, they might brush you off. Itβs not as though an Upper went to a Middle or Lower hotel and asked for accommodations. But what do you want, justice?β
Max dropped it. He looked down into his glass. βHey,β he complained, βwhatβd they give me? This stuff tastes like weak hard cider.β
Joe laughed. βWhat did you think it was going to taste like?β
Max took another unhappy sip. βI thought it was supposed to be the best drink you could buy. You know, really strong. Itβs just bubbly wine.β
A voice said, dryly, βYour companion doesnβt seem to be a connoisseur of the French vintages, captain.β
Joe turned. Balt Haer and two others occupied the table next to them.
Joe chuckled amiably and said, βTruthfully, it was my own reaction, the first time I drank sparkling wine, sir.β
βIndeed,β Haer said. βI can imagine.β He fluttered a hand. βLieutenant Colonel Paul Warren of Marshal Cogswellβs staff, and Colonel Lajos ArpΓ d, of Budapestβ βCaptain Joseph Mauser.β
Joe Mauser came to his feet and clicked his heels, bowing from the waist in approved military protocol. The other two didnβt bother to come to their feet, but did condescend to shake hands.
The Sov officer said, disinterestedly, βAh yes, this is one of your fabulous customs, isnβt it? On an election day, everyone is quite entitled to go anywhere. Anywhere at all. And, ahββ βhe made a sound somewhat like a giggleβ ββassociate with anyone at all.β
Joe Mauser resumed his seat then looked at him. βThat is correct. A custom going back to the early history of the country when all men were considered equal in such matters as law and civil rights. Gentlemen, may I present Rank Private Max Mainz, my orderly.β
Balt Haer, who had obviously already had a few, looked at him dourly. βYou can carry these things to the point of the
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