Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

more the idea of being atomized, or of being served up as a roast by my starving

neighbors. Here is what you can expect:

The front door bell rings. Mr. Joseph Public, solid citizen, goes to answer

it. He recognizes a neighbor. “Hi, Jack! What takes you out so late?”

“Got some dope for you, Joe. Relocation orders-I was appointed an emergency

deputy, you know.”

“Hadn’t heard, but glad to hear. Come in and sit down and tell me about it.

How do the orders read? We stay, don’t we?”

“Can’t come in-thanks. I’ve got twenty-three more stops to make tonight. I’m

sorry to say you don’t stay. Your caravan will rendezvous at Ninth and Chelsea,

facing west, and gets underway at noon tomorrow.”

“What!”

“That’s how it is. Sorry.”

“Why, this is a damned outrage! I put in to stay here-with my home town as

second choice.”

The deputy shrugged. “So did everybody else. But you weren’t even on the

list of essential occupations from which the permanent residents were selected. Now,

look-I’ve got to hurry. Here are your orders. Limit yourself to 150 pounds of

baggage, each, and take food for three days. You are to go in your own car-you’re

getting a break-and you will be assigned two more passengers by the convoy captain,

two more besides your wife I mean.”

Joe Public shoved his hands in his pockets and looked stubborn. “I won’t be

there.”

“Now, Joe, don’t take that attitude. I admit it’s kinda rough, being in the

first detachment, but you’ve had lots of notice. The newspapers have been full of

it. It’s been six months since the President’s proclamation.”

“I won’t go. There’s some mistake. I saw the councilman last week and he

said he thought I would be all right. He-”

“He told everybody that, Joe. This is a Federal order.”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s from the Angel Gabriel. I tell you I won’t go.

I’ll get an injunction.”

“You can’t, Joe. This has been declared a military area and protests have to

go to the Provost Marshal. I’d hate to tell you what he does with them. Anyhow, you

can’t stay here-it’s no business of mine to put you out; I just have to tell you-but

the salvage crews will be here tomorrow morning to pull out your plumbing.

“They won’t get in.”

“Maybe not. But the straggler squads will go through all of these houses

first.”

“I’ll shoot!”

“I wouldn’t advise it. They’re mostly ex-Marines.”

Mr. Public was quiet for a long minute. Marines. “Look, Jack,” he said

slowly, “suppose I do go. I’ve got to have an exemption on this baggage limitation

and I can’t carry passengers. My office files alone will fill up the back seat.”

“You won’t need them. You are assigned as an apprentice carpenter. The

barracks you are going to are only temporary.”

“Joseph! Joseph! Don’t stand there with the door open! Who is it?” His wife

followed her voice in.

He turned to tell her; the deputy took that as a good time to leave.

At eleven the next morning he pulled out of the driveway, gears clashing. He

had the white, drawn look of a man who has been up all night. His wife slept beside

him, her hysteria drowned in a triple dose of phenobarbital.

That is dispersion. If you don’t believe it, ask any native-born citizen of

Japanese blood. Nothing less than force and police organization will drive the

peasants off the slopes of Vesuvius. The bones of Pompeii and Herculaneum testify to

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that. Or, ask yourself- will you go willingly and cheerfully to any spot and any

occupation the government assigns to you? If not, unless you are right now working

frantically to make World War III impossible, you have not yet adjusted yourself to

the horrid facts of the Atomic Age.

For these are the facts of the Atomic Age. If we are not to have a World

State, then we must accept one of two grim alternatives: A permanent state of total

war, even in “peace” time, with every effort turned to offense and defense, or relax

to our fate, make our peace with God, and wait for death to come out of the sky. The