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

explanation.” Tracy sat down on a couch himself and sized up the older man, even as he lit his pipe.

Moncure, still breathing heavily in his indignation, took control of himself well enough to be seated. “Well, sir?” he bit out.

Tracy said curtly, “Frank Tracy, Bureau of Economic Subversion.”

“Bureau of Economic Subversion!” Moncure said indignantly. “What in the name of all that’s holy is the Bureau of Economic Subversion?”

Tracy pointed at him with the pipe stem. “I’ll ask a few questions first, please. How many branches of your nefarious outfit are presently under operation?”

The other glared at him, but Tracy merely returned the pipe to his mouth and glowered back.

Finally Moncure snapped, “There is no purpose in hiding any of our affairs. We have opened preliminary offices only in Chicago and New York. Freer Enterprises is but in its infancy.”

“Praise Allah for that,” Tracy muttered sarcastically.

“And thus far we have dealt only in soap. However, as our organization gets under way we plan to branch out into a score, and ultimately hundreds of products.”

Tracy said, “You can forget about that, Moncure. Freer Enterprises comes to a halt as of today. Do you realize that your business tactics would lead to a complete collapse of gainful employment and eventually to a depression such as this nation has never seen before?”

“Exactly!” Moncure snapped in return.

It was Tracy’s turn to react. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Do you mean that you are deliberately attempting to undermine the economy of the United States of the Americas? Remember, Mr. Moncure, you are under arrest and anything you say may be held against you.”

“Undermine it!” Moncure said heatedly. “Bring it crashing to the ground is the better term. There has never been such an abortion developed in the history of political economy.”

He came to his feet again and began storming up and down the room. “A full three quarters of our employed working at nothing jobs, gobbledygook jobs, non-producing jobs, make-work jobs, red-tape bureaucracy jobs. At a time when the nation is supposedly in a breakneck economic competition with the Soviet Complex, we put our best brains into advertising, entertainment and sales, while they put theirs into science and industry.”

He stopped long enough to shake an indignant finger at the surprised Tracy. “But that isn’t the worst of it. Have you ever heard of planned obsolescence?”

Tracy acted as though on the defensive. “Well⁠ ⁠… sure⁠ ⁠…”

“In the Soviet Complex, and, for that matter, in Common Europe and other economic competitors of ours, they simply don’t believe in planned obsolescence and all its related nonsense. Razor blades, everywhere except in this country, don’t go dull after two or three shaves. Cars don’t fall apart after two or three years, or even become so out of style that the owner feels that he’s losing status by being seen in it, the owners expect to keep them half a lifetime. Automobile batteries don’t go to pieces after eighteen months, they last for a decade. And on and on!”

The old boy was really unwinding now. “Nor is even that the nadir of this socioeconomic hodgepodge we’ve allowed to develop, this economy of production for sale, rather than production for use.” He stabbed with his finger. “I think one of the best examples of what was to come was to be witnessed way back at the end of the Second War. The idea of the ball-bearing pen was in the air. The first one to hurry into production gave his pen a tremendous buildup. It had ink enough to last three years, it would make many carbon copies, you could use it under water. And so on and so forth. It cost fifteen dollars, and there was only one difficulty with it. It wouldn’t write. Not that that made any difference because it sold like hotcakes what with all the promotion. He wasn’t interested in whether or not it would write, but only in whether or not it would sell.” Moncure threw up his hands dramatically. “I ask you, can such an economic system be taken seriously?”

“What’s your point?” Tracy growled dangerously. He’d never met one this far out, before.

“Isn’t it obvious? Continue this ridiculous economy and we’ll lose the battle for men’s minds. You can’t have an economic system that allows such nonsense as large scale unemployment of trained employees, planned obsolescence, union featherbedding, and an overwhelming majority of those who are employed wasting their labor on unproductive employment.”

Tracy said, “Then if I understand you correctly, Freer Enterprises was deliberately organized for the purpose of undermining the economy so that it will collapse and have to be reorganized on a different basis.”

“That is exactly correct,” Moncure said defiantly. “I am devoting my whole fortune to this cause. And there is nothing in American law that prevents me from following through with my plans.”

“You’re right there,” Tracy said wryly. “There’s nothing in American law that prevents you. However, you see, I have no connection whatsoever with the American government.” He slipped the gun from its holster.

Frank Tracy made his way wearily into LaVerne’s domain. She looked up from the desk. “Everything go all right, Mr. Tracy?”

“I suppose so. Tell Comrade Zotov that I’m back from Chicago, please.”

She clicked switches, said something into an inner-office communicator, then looked up again. “He’ll see you immediately, Mr. Tracy.”

Pavel Zotov looked up from his endless paperwork and wheezed the sigh of a fat man. He correctly interpreted the expression of his field operative. “Pour us a couple of drinks, Frank, or would you rather have it Frol, today?”

His best field man grunted as he walked over to the bar. “Vodka, eh? Chort vesmiot how tired one can become of this everlasting bourbon.” He reached into the refrigerator compartment and brought forth a bottle of iced Stolichnaya. He poured two three-ounce charges and brought them back to his bureau chief’s desk.

They toasted silently, knocked back the colorless spirit. Pavel Zotov said, “Well, Frol?”

The man usually called Frank Tracy said, “The worst case yet. This one had quite a clear picture