Short Fiction, Mack Reynolds [best book reader txt] 📗

never considered the cost of clothing. And, as ever, when Joe saw her newly, after a period of a day or more away, he was taken with her intensity and her almost brittle beauty. What was it that the aristocrat seemed able to acquire after but a generation or two of what they were pleased to call breeding? That aloof quality, the exquisite gentility.

“Joe,” Nadine said, “you’ll be pleased to meet Philip Holland, Category Government, Rank Secretary. Phil, Major Joseph Mauser.”

The other, possibly forty, shook hands firmly and looked into Joe’s face. He had a crisp manner. “Good heavens, yes,” he said. “That remarkable innovation of using an engineless aircraft for reconnaissance. My old friend, Marshal Cogswell, was speaking of it the other day. I assume that in advance you purchased stock in the firms which manufacture such craft, major. They must be booming.”

Joe grimaced wryly. “No, sir. I wasn’t smart enough to think of that. Professional soldiers are traditionally stupid. What was the old expression? They can take their shirts off without unbuttoning their collars.”

Philip Holland cocked his head, even as he chuckled. “I detect a note of bitterness, major.”

Nadine said airily, “Joe is ambitious, thinking the answer to all his problems lies in jumping his caste to Upper.”

Joe looked at her impatiently to where she sat on a Mid-Twentieth Century type sofa.

Philip Holland said, “Possibly he’s right, my dear. Each of us have different needs to achieve such happiness as is possible to man.”

To Joe, he sounded just vaguely on the stuffy side, even through the crispness. By nature nervous and quick moving, Holland seemed to try and project an air of calm which didn’t quite come off. Joe wondered what his relationship to Nadine could be, a twinge of jealousy there. But that was ridiculous. Nadine must be in the vicinity of thirty. Obviously, she knew, and had known, many men as attracted to her as was Joe Mauser⁠—And men in her own caste, at that. Somehow, though, he felt Holland was no Upper. The other simply didn’t have the air.

Joe said to him, “Nadine doesn’t get my point. I contend that in a strata divided society, it’s hard to realize yourself fully until you’re a member of the upper caste. Admittedly, perhaps you won’t even if you are such a member, but at least you haven’t the obstacles with which the lower class or classes are beset.”

“Interestingly stated,” Holland said briskly. He returned to his chair from which he had arisen to shake hands with Joe, and looked at Nadine. “You said, on introducing us, that Joe would be glad to meet me, my dear. Why, especially?”

Nadine laughed. “Because I have been practicing your arguments upon him.”

Both of the men frowned at her.

Nadine looked at Joe. “Phil Holland’s the most interesting man I know, I do believe. He’s secretary to Marlow Mannerheim, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and simply couldn’t be more privy to the inner workings of government. It was Phil who convinced me that something is wrong with our socioeconomic system.”

“Oh?” Joe said. He wasn’t really interested. Let society solve its problems. He had his own. And they were sufficient unto themselves as well as the day thereof. However, conversation was to be kept moving. He needled the other. “I’ve heard it contended that any type of government is good given capable, intelligent personnel to run it, or bad if not so managed. What was the example I read somewhere? Both heaven and hell are despotisms.”

Phil Holland shrugged. “An interesting observation. However, institutions, including socio-political ones, can become outdated. When they do, no matter how intelligent, capable and honest the governmental heads, that socio-political system can be a hell. If, at such time there are capable, intelligent persons available, they will take such measures as are necessary to change the institutions.”

Nadine had come to her feet. “The subject is my favorite, but I must change. Joe is taking me a-gliding, and I’m sure this frock isn’t de rigueur. You gentlemen will excuse me?” She was off before they had time to come to their feet.

Joe Mauser settled himself again, crossing his legs. He said, idly, “And you think our basic institutions have reached the state of needing change?”

“Perhaps, although as a member of the Government Category, it should hardly be my position to advocate such.” He seemed to switch subjects. “Have you read much of the Roman ludi, the games as we call them?”

“The gladiators and such?” Joe shrugged. “I’ve read a bit about them. It’s been pointed out, in fact by Dr. Haer, among others, that basically our present day fracases serve the same purposes. That instead of bread and circuses, provided by the Roman patricians to keep the unemployed Roman mob from becoming restive, we give them trank pills and Telly violence.”

“Um-m-m,” Holland nodded, “but that isn’t the point I was making right now. What I was thinking was that at first the Roman games were athletic affairs without bloodshed. It wasn’t until 264 BC that three pairs of slaves were sent in to fight with swords. By 183 BC the number had gone up to sixty pairs. By 145 BC ninety pairs fought for three days. But that was just the beginning. They really got under way with the dictators. Sulla put a hundred lions into the arena, but Julius Caesar topped that with four hundred and Pompey that with six hundred, plus over four hundred leopards and twenty elephants. Augustus beat them all with three thousand five hundred elephants and ten thousand men killed in a series of games. But it was the emperors who really expanded the ludi. Trajan had ten thousand animals killed in the arena to celebrate his victory over the Dacians, not to mention eleven thousand people.

“Are you surprised at my memory? The subject has always fascinated me. For one thing, I am a great believer in the theory that history repeats itself. As time went on, arenas were built all over the empire, even