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

present, had been promoted to major, and had been under consideration for Upper-Middle caste.”

That last, Joe had not know about, however, he said now, “Also at present, expelled from participation in future fracases on any level of rank, and fined his complete resources beyond the basic common stock issued him as a Mid-Middle.” His voice was bitter.

Philip Holland said briskly, “The risks run by the ambitious.”

The office door opened and a tall stranger entered. He had a strange gait, one shoulder held considerably lower than the other, to the point that Joe would have thought it the result of a wound hadn’t the other obviously never been a soldier. The newcomer, office pallor heavily upon him, but his air of languor obviously assumed and artificial, darted his eyes around the room, to Holland, Nadine, and then to Joe where they rested for a moment.

He murmured some banality to Nadine, indicative of a long acquaintance and then approached Joe, who had automatically come to his feet, and extended a hand to be shaken. “I’m Frank Hodgson. You’re Joe Mauser. I’m not fracas buff, but I know enough about current developments to know that. Welcome aboard, Joe.”

Joe shook the hand offered, in some surprise.

“Welcome aboard?” he said.

Hodgson looked to Philip Holland, his eyebrows raised in question.

Holland said crisply, “You’re premature, Frank. Dr. Haer and Mauser have just arrived.”

“Oh.” The newcomer found himself a chair, crossed his legs and fumbled in his pocket for a pipe, leaving it to the others to resume the conversation he had interrupted.

Philip Holland said to Joe, “Frank is assistant to Wallace Pepper.” He looked at Hodgson and frowned. “I don’t believe you have any other title do you, Frank?”

“I don’t think so,” Frank yawned. “Can’t think of any.”

Joe Mauser looked from one to the other, confusion adding to confusion within him. Wallace Pepper was the long time head of the North American Bureau of Investigation, having held that position under at least four administrations.

Nadine said dryly, “Which goes to show you, Joe, just how much titles mean. Commissioner Pepper has been all but senile for the past five years. Frank, here, is the true head of the bureau.”

Frank Hodgson said mildly, “Why, Nadine, that’s a rather strong statement.”

Joe blurted, “Head of the Bureau of Investigation! I had gathered the impression I was being taken to meet some members of an underground, organized for the purpose of, as it was put, changing the present rules of government.”

Frank Hodgson grinned at Nadine and laughed softly, “That’s a gentle way of describing revolution.”

Holland looked at Joe Mauser and said briskly, “I’ll try to take you off the hook as quickly as possible, Joe. Tell me, when you hear the word revolution, what comes first to your mind?”

Joe, flustered, said, “Why, I don’t know. Fighting, riots, people running around in the streets with banners. That sort of thing.”

“Um-m-m,” Holland nodded, “The common conception. However, a social revolution isn’t, by definition, necessarily bloody. Picture a gigantic wheel, Joe. We’ll call it the wheel of history. From time to time it makes a turn, forward, we hope, but sometimes backward. Such a turn is a revolution. Whether or not there is anybody under the wheel at the time of turning, is beside the point. The revolution takes place whether or not there is bloodshed.”

He thought a moment. “Or you might compare it to childbirth. The fact that there is pain in childbirth, or, if through modern medical science, the pain is eliminated, is beside the point. Childbirth consists of a new baby coming into the world. The mother might even die, but childbirth has taken place. She might feel no pain whatsoever, under anesthetic, but childbirth has taken place.”

Joe said carefully, “I’m no authority, but it seems to me that usually if changes take place in a socioeconomic system without bloodshed, we call it evolution. Revolution is when they take place with conflict.”

Holland shook his head. “No. Poor definitions. Among other things, don’t confuse revolts, civil wars, and such with revolution. They aren’t the same thing. You can have civil war, military revolts and various civil disturbances without having a socioeconomic revolution. Let’s use this for an example. Take a fertile egg. Inside of it a chick is slowly developing, slowly evolving. But it is still an egg. The chick finally grows tiny wings, a beak, even little feathers. Fine. But so far it’s just evolution, within the shell of the egg. But one day that chick cannot develop further without breaking the shell and freeing itself of what was once its factor of defense but now threatens its very life. The shell must go. When that culminating action takes place, you have a revolutionary change and we are no longer dealing with an egg, but a chicken.”

Joe, one by one, looked at the three of them. He said, finally, to Nadine, rather than to the men, “What’s this got to do with me?”

She leaned forward in her earnestness. “All your life you’ve revolted against the status quo, Joe. You’ve beaten your head against the situation that confronted you, against a society you felt didn’t allow you to develop your potentialities. But now you admit you’ve been wrong. What is needed is to”⁠—she shot a defiant glance at Frank Hodgson, to his amusement⁠—“change the rules if the race is to get back onto the road to progress.” She shrugged. “Very well. You can’t expect it to be done single handed. You need an organization. Others who feel the same way you do. Here we are.”

He was truly amazed now. When he had finally admitted interest in what Nadine had hinted to be a subversive organization, he’d had in mind some secretive group, possibly making their headquarters in a hidden cellar, complete with primitive printing press, and possibly some weapons. He most certainly hadn’t expected to be introduced to the secretary of the Foreign Minister, and the working head of the North American Bureau of Investigation.

Joe blurted, “But⁠ ⁠… but you mean you Uppers are actually