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

Description
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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βAs it stands, Baron Haer knows every troop dispensation I make. All I know of his movements are from my cavalry scouts. I repeat, I am no butcher, sir. I will gladly cross swords with Baron Haer another day, when I, too, haveβ ββ β¦ what did you call the confounded things, Paul?β
βGliders,β Lieutenant Colonel Warren said.
XIMajor Joseph Mauser, now attired in his best off-duty Category Military uniform, spoke his credentials to the receptionist. βI have no definite appointment, but I am sure the Baron will see me,β he said.
βYes, sir.β The receptionist did the things that receptionists do, then looked up at him again. βRight through that door, major.β
Joe Mauser gave the door a quick double rap and then entered before waiting an answer.
Balt Haer, in mufti, was standing at a far window, a drink in his hand, rather than his customary swagger stick. Nadine Haer sat in an easy-chair. The girl Joe Mauser loved had been crying.
Joe Mauser, suppressing his frown, made with the usual amenities.
Balt Haer without answering them, finished his drink in a gulp and stared at the newcomer. The old stare, the aloof stare, an aristocrat looking at an underling as though wondering what made the fellow tick. He said, finally, βI see you have been raised to Rank Major.β
βYes, sir,β Joe said.
βWe are obviously occupied, major. What can either my sister or I possibly do for you?β
Joe kept his voice even. He said, βI wanted to see the Baron.β
Nadine Haer looked up, a twinge of pain crossing her face.
βIndeed,β Balt Haer said flatly. βYou are talking to the Baron, Major Mauser.β
Joe Mauser looked at him, then at his sister, who had taken to her handkerchief again. Consternation ebbed up and over him in a flood. He wanted to say something such as, βOh no,β but not even that could he utter.
Haer was bitter. βI assume I know why you are here, major. You have come for your pound of flesh, undoubtedly. Even in these hours of our griefβ ββ
βIβ ββ β¦ I didnβt know. Please believeβ ββ β¦β
ββ¦ You are so constituted that your ambition has no decency. Well, Major Mauser, I can only say that your arrangement was with my father. Even if I thought it a reasonable one, I doubt if I would sponsor your ambitions myself.β
Nadine Haer looked up wearily. βOh, Balt, come off it,β she said. βThe fact is, the Haer fortunes contracted a debt to you, major. Unfortunately, it is a debt we cannot pay.β She looked into his face. βFirst, my fatherβs governmental connections do not apply to us. Second, six months ago, my father, worried about his health and attempting to avoid certain death taxes, transferred the family stocks into Baltβs name. And Balt saw fit, immediately before the fracas, to sell all Vacuum Tube Transport stocks, and invest in Hovercraft.β
βThatβs enough, Nadine,β her brother snapped nastily.
βI see,β Joe said. He came to attention. βDr. Haer, my apologies for intruding upon you in your time of bereavement.β He turned to the new Baron. βBaron Haer, my apologies for your bereavement.β
Balt Haer glowered at him.
Joe Mauser turned and marched for the door which he opened then closed behind him.
On the street, before the New York offices of Vacuum Tube Transport, he turned and for a moment looked up at the splendor of the building.
Well, at least the common shares of the concern had skyrocketed following the victory. His rank had been upped to Major, and old Stonewall Cogswell had offered him a permanent position on his staff in command of aerial operations, no small matter of prestige. The difficulty was, he wasnβt interested in the added money that would accrue to him, nor the higher rankβ βnor the prestige, for that matter.
He turned to go to his hotel.
An unbelievably beautiful girl came down the steps of the building. She said, βJoe.β
He looked at her. βYes?β
She put a hand on his sleeve. βLetβs go somewhere and talk, Joe.β
βAbout what?β He was infinitely weary now.
βAbout goals,β she said. βAs long as they exist, whether for individuals, or nations, or a whole species, life is still worth the living. Things are a bit bogged down right now, but at the risk of sounding very trite, thereβs tomorrow.β
SubversiveThe young man with the brown paper bag said, βIs Mrs. Coty in?β
βIβm afraid she isnβt. Is there anything I can do?β
βYouβre Mr. Coty? I came about the soap.β He held up the paper bag.
βSoap?β Mr. Coty said blankly. He was the epitome of mid-aged husband complete to pipe, carpet slippers and office-slump posture.
βThatβs right. Iβm sure she told you about it. My nameβs Dickens. Warren Dickens. I sold herβ ββ
βLook here, you mean to tell me in this day and age you go around from door to door peddling soap? Great guns, boy, youβd do better on unemployment insurance. Itβs permanent now.β
Warren Dickens registered distress. βMr. Coty, could I come in and tell you about it? If I can make the first delivery to you instead of Mrs. Coty, shucks, itβll save me coming back.β
Coty led him back into the living room, motioned him to a chair and settled into what was obviously his own favorite, handily placed before the telly. Coty said tolerantly, βNow then, whatβs this about selling soap? What kind of soap? What brand?β
βOh, it has no name, sir. Thatβs the point.β
The other looked at him.
βThatβs why we can sell it for three cents a cake, instead of twenty-five.β Dickens opened the paper bag and fished out an ordinary enough looking cake of soap and handed it to the older man.
Mr. Coty took it, stared down at it, turned it over in his hands. He was still blank. βWell, whatβs different about it?β
βThereβs nothing different about it. Itβs the same as any other soap.β
βI mean, how come you sell it for three cents a cake, and whatβs the fact it has no name got to do with it?β
Warren Dickens leaned forward and went into what was obviously a strictly routine pitch. βMr. Coty,
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