The Status Civilization (17 page)

A man was walking toward him, a plump, ordinary-looking fellow in a brown business tunic. Barrent stopped him. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I’m a stranger here, just arrived from Rome.”

“Really?” the man said.

“Yes. I’m afraid I don’t understand things over here very well,” Barrent said, with an apologetic little laugh. “I can’t seem to find any cheap hotels. If you could direct me—”

“Citizen, do you feel all right?” the man asked, his face hardening.

“As I said, I’m a foreigner, and I’m looking—”

“Now look,” the man said, “you know as well as I do that there aren’t any outlanders any more.”

“There aren’t?”

“Of course not. I’ve
been
in Rome. It’s just like here in Wilmington. Same sort of houses and stores. No one’s an outlander any more.”

Barrent couldn’t think of anything to say. He smiled nervously.

“Furthermore,” the man said, “there are no cheap lodgings anywhere on Earth. Why should there be? Who would stay in them?”

“Who indeed?” Barrent said. “I guess I’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“No one drinks any more,” the man said. “I don’t understand. What sort of a game is this?”

“What sort of a game do you
think
it is?” Barrent asked, falling back on a technique which the Group had recommended.

The man stared at him, frowning. “I think I get it,” he said. “You must be an Opinioner.”

“Mmm,” Barrent said, noncommittally.

“Sure, that’s it,” the man said. “You’re one of those citizens goes around asking people’s opinions. For surveys and that sort of thing. Right?”

“You’ve made a very intelligent guess,” Barrent said.

“Well, I don’t suppose it was too hard. Opinioners are always walking around trying to get people’s attitudes on things. I would have spotted you right away if you’d been wearing Opinioners’ clothing.” The man started to frown again. “How come you aren’t dressed like an Opinioner?”

“I just graduated,” Barrent said. “Haven’t had a chance to get the clothes.”

“Oh. Well, you should get the proper wear,” the man said sententiously. “How can a citizen tell your status?”

“Just a test sampling,” Barrent said. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir. Perhaps I’ll have a chance to interview you again in the near future.”

“Any time,” the man said. He nodded politely and walked off.

Barrent thought about it, and decided that the occupation of Opinioner was perfect for him. It would give him the all-important right to ask questions, to meet people, to find out how Earth lived. He would have to be careful, of course, not to reveal his ignorance. But working with circumspection, he should have a general knowledge of this civilization in a few days.

First, he would have to buy Opinioners’ clothing. That seemed to be important. The trouble was, he had no money with which to pay for it. The Group had been unable to duplicate Earth money; they couldn’t even remember what it looked like.

But they had provided him with a means of overcoming even that obstacle. Barrent turned and went into the nearest costumer’s.

The proprietor was a short man with china-blue eyes and a salesman’s ready smile. He welcomed Barrent and asked how he could be of service.

“I need Opinioners’ clothing,” Barrent told him. “I’ve just graduated.”

“Of course, sir,” the owner said. “And you’ve come to the right place for it. Most of the smaller stores don’t carry the clothing for anything but the more … ah … common professions. But here at Jules Wonderson’s, we have ready-wears for all of the five hundred and twenty major professions listed in the Civil Status Almanac. I am Jules Wonderson.”

“A pleasure,” Barrent said. “Have you a ready-wear in my size?”

“I’m sure I have,” Wonderson said. “Would you care for a Regular or a Special?”

“A Regular will do nicely.”

“Most new Opinioners prefer the Special,” Wonderson said. “The little extra simulated handmade touches increase the public’s respect.”

“In that case I’ll take the Special.”

“Yes, sir. Though if you could wait a day or two, we will be having in a new fabric—a simulated Home Loom, complete with natural weaving mistakes. For the man of status discrimination. A real prestige item.”

“Perhaps I’ll come back for that,” Barrent said. “Right now, I need a ready-wear.”

“Of course, sir,” Wonderson said, disappointed but hiding it bravely. “If you’ll wait just one little minute …”

After several fittings, Barrent found himself wearing a black business suit with a thin edge of white piping around the lapels. To his inexperienced eye it looked almost exactly like the other suits Wonderson had on display for bankers, stock brokers, grocers, accountants, and the like. But for Wonderson, who talked about the banker’s lapel and the insurance agent’s drape, the differences were as clear as the gross status-symbols of Omega. Barrent decided it was just a question of training.

“There, sir!” Wonderson said. “A perfect fit, and a fabric guaranteed for a lifetime. All for thirty-nine ninety-five.”

“Excellent,” Barrent said. “Now, about the money—”

“Yes, sir?”

Barrent took the plunge. “I haven’t any.”

“You haven’t, sir? That’s quite unusual.”

“Yes, it is,” Barrent said. “However, I
do
have certain articles of value.” From his pocket he took three diamond rings with which the Group on Omega had supplied him. “These stones are genuine diamonds, as any jeweler will be glad to attest. If you would take one of them until I have the money for payment—”

“But, sir,” Wonderson said, “diamonds and such have no intrinsic value. They haven’t since ’23, when Von Blon wrote the definitive work destroying the concept of scarcity value.”

“Of course,” Barrent said, at a loss for words.

Wonderson looked at the rings. “I suppose these have a sentimental value, though.”

“Certainly. We’ve had them in the family for generations.”

“In that case,” Wonderson said, “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of them. Please, no arguments, sir! Sentiment is the most priceless of emotions. I couldn’t sleep nights if I took even one of these family heirlooms from you.”

“But there’s the matter of payment.”

“Pay me at your leisure.”

“You mean you’ll trust me, even though you don’t know me?”

“Most certainly,” Wonderson said. He smiled, archly. “Trying out your Opinioner’s methods, aren’t you? Well, even a child knows that our civilization is based upon trust, not collateral. It is axiomatic that even a stranger is to be trusted until he has conclusively and unmistakably proven otherwise.”

“Haven’t you ever been cheated?”

“Of course not. Crime is nonexistent these days.”

“In that case,” Barrent asked, “what about Omega?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Omega, the prison planet. You must have heard of it.”

“I think I have,” Wonderson said cautiously. “Well, I should have said that crime is
almost
nonexistent. I suppose there will always be a few congenital criminal types, easily recognizable as such. But I’m told they don’t amount to more than ten or twelve individuals a year out of a population of nearly two billion.” He smiled broadly. “My chances of meeting one are exceedingly rare.”

Barrent thought about the prison ships constantly shuttling back and forth between Earth and Omega, dumping their human cargo and returning for more. He wondered where Wonderson got his statistics. For that matter, he wondered where the police were. He had seen no military uniform since leaving the starship. He would have liked to ask about it, but it seemed wiser to discontinue that line of questioning.

“Thank you very much for the credit,” Barrent said. “I’ll be back with the payment as soon as possible.”

“Of course you will,” Wonderson said, warmly shaking Barrent’s hand. “Take your time, sir. No rush at all.”

Barrent thanked him again and left the store.

He had a profession now. And if other people believed as Wonderson did, he had unlimited credit. He was on a planet that seemed, at first glance, to be a utopia. The utopia presented certain contradictions, of course. He hoped to find out more about them over the next few days.

Down the block, Barrent found a hotel called The Bide-A-Bit. He engaged a room for the week, on credit.

Chapter Twenty-Six

In the morning, Barrent asked directions to the nearest branch of the public library. He decided that he needed as much background out of books as he could get. With a knowledge of the history and development of Earth’s civilization, he would have a better idea of what to expect and what to watch out for.

His Opinioner’s clothing allowed him access to the closed shelves where the history books were kept. But the books themselves were disappointing. Most of them were Earth’s ancient history, from earliest beginnings to the dawn of atomic power. Barrent skimmed through them. As he read, some memories of prior reading returned to him. He was able to jump quickly from Periclean Greece to Imperial Rome, to Charlemagne and the Dark Ages, from the Norman Conquest to the Thirty Years’ War, and then to a rapid survey of the Napoleonic Era. He read with more care about the World Wars. The book ended with the explosion of the first atom bombs. The other books on the shelf were simply amplifications of various stages of history he had found in the first book.

After a great deal of searching, Barrent found a small work entitled, “The Postwar Dilemma, Volume 1,” by Arthur Whittler. It began where the other histories had left off; with the atomic bombs exploding over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Barrent sat down and began to read carefully.

He learned about the Cold War of the 1950s, when several nations were in possession of atomic and hydrogen weapons. Already, the author stated, the seeds of a massive and stultifying conformity were present in the nations of the world. In America, there was the frenzied resistance to communism. In Russia and China, there was the frenzied resistance to capitalism. One by one, all the nations of the world were drawn into one camp or the other. For purposes of internal security, all countries relied upon the newest propaganda and indoctrination techniques. All countries felt they needed, for survival’s sake, a rigid adherence to state-approved doctrines.

The pressure upon the individual to conform became both stronger and subtler.

The dangers of war passed. The many societies of Earth began to merge into a single superstate. But the pressure to conform, instead of lessening, grew more intense. The need was dictated by the continued explosive increase in population, and the many problems of unification across national and ethnic lines. Differences in opinion could be deadly; too many groups now had access to the supremely deadly hydrogen bombs.

Under the circumstances, deviant behavior could not be tolerated.

Unification was finally completed. The conquest of space went on, from moon ship to planet ship to star ship. But Earth became increasingly rigid in its institutions. A civilization more inflexible than anything produced by medieval Europe punished any opposition to existing customs, habits, beliefs. These breaches of the social contract were considered major crimes as serious as murder or arson. They were punished similarly. The antique institutions of secret police, political police, informers, all were used. Every possible device was brought to bear toward the all-important goal of conformity.

For the nonconformists, there was Omega.

Capital punishment had been banished long before, but there was neither room nor resources to take the growing number of criminals who crammed prisons everywhere. The world leaders finally decided to transport these criminals to a separate prison world, copying a system which the French had used in Guiana and New Caledonia, and the British had used in Australia and early North America. Since it was impossible to rule Omega from Earth, the authorities didn’t try. They simply made sure that none of the prisoners escaped.

That was the end of volume one. A note at the end said that volume two was to be a study of contemporary Earth. It was entitled
The Status Civilization.

The second volume was not on the shelves. Barrent asked the librarian, and was told that it had been destroyed in the interests of public safety.

Barrent left the library and went to a little park. He sat and stared at the ground and tried to think.

He had expected to find an Earth similar to the one described in Whittler’s book. He had been prepared for a police state, tight security controls, a repressed populace, and a growing air of unrest. But that, apparently, was the past. So far, he hadn’t even seen a policeman. He had observed no security controls, and the people he had met did not seem harshly repressed. Quite the contrary. This seemed like a completely different world. …

Except that year after year, the ships came to Omega with their cargoes of brainwashed prisoners. Who arrested them? Who judged them? What sort of a society produced them?

He would have to find out the answers himself.