FOUR
TED BENTELEY stood by the kitchen door inhaling warm smells of cooking food. The Davis house was pleasant and bright. Al Davis, minus his shoes, was sitting contentedly before the tv set in the living room, gazing earnestly at the ads. His pretty brown-haired wife Laura was preparing dinner.
“If that’s protine,” Benteley said to her, “it’s the best job of adulteration I’ve smelled.”
“We never have protine,” Laura answered briskly. “We tried it the first year we were married, but you can taste it no matter how they fix it up. It’s terribly costly to buy natural foods, of course, but it’s worth it. Protine is for the unks.”
“If it wasn’t for protine,” Al said, overhearing her, “the unks would have starved to death back in the twentieth century. You’re always passing out typical layman-type misinformation. Allow me to give you the straight dope.”
“Please do,” Laura said.
“Protine isn’t a natural algae. It’s a mutant that started out in culture tanks in the Middle East and gradually crept onto a variety of fresh-water surfaces.”
“I know that. When I go into the bathroom in the morning don’t I find the darn stuff growing all over the wash basin and the pipes and in the tub and in the—fixture?”
“It also grows over the Great Lakes,” Al said scientifically.
“Well, this isn’t protine,” Laura said to Ted. “This is a real beef roast, real spring potatoes and green peas and white rolls.”
“You two are living better than when I last saw you,” Benteley said. “What happened?”
A complex look crossed Laura’s dainty face. “Didn’t you hear? Al jumped a whole class. He beat the Government Quiz; he and I studied together every night after he got home from work.”
“I never heard of anybody beating the Quizzes. Was it mentioned on tv?”
“As a matter of fact it was.” Laura frowned resentfully. “That awful Sam Oster talked about it the whole length of a program. He’s that rabble-rouser who has such a big following among the unks.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know him,” Benteley admitted.
On the tv, glorious ads played back and forth like liquid fire. One after another they rose, hung for an instant, and then dropped away. Ads were the highest art-form; the finest creative talent was at work behind them. Ads combined color, balance, rhythm, and a restless aliveness that pulsed from the screen and into the cozy Davis living room. From hidden hi-fi speakers mounted within the walls random combinations of accompanying sound drifted.
“The Convention,” Davis said, indicating the screen. “They’re advertising for applicants and giving quite a bonus.”
A vortex of foaming light and color-texture lapping across the screen symbolized the Challenge Convention. The billowing mass broke apart, held, and reformed in new combinations. A pattern of unusually excited spheres danced their way across, and the accompanying music rose to a fever pitch.
“What’s it saying?” Benteley asked.
“I can switch to the 1-Channel, if you want. Then you’ll have it straight.”
Laura hurried in with silver and china for the table. “Don’t put that 1-Channel on; all the unks watch that. That’s why they have it both ways, this for us and the literal for them.”
“You’re wrong, honey,” AI said seriously. “The 1-Channel is for news and factual information. The s-Channel is for pleasure. I enjoy watching it this way, but—” He waved his hand and the circuit switched abruptly. The vivid swirls of color and sound winked out. In their place the placid features of the Westinghouse news announcer appeared. “Here’s the same thing.”
Laura set the table and returned to the kitchen in a flurry of activity. The living room was friendly and comfortable. One wall was transparent; below the house stretched out the city of Berlin clustered around the Farben Hill, a vast towering center cone, black against the night sky. Bits of cold light drifted and rushed in the gloom: surface cars dancing like yellow sparks in the chill night shadows, disappearing into the vast cone like incandescent moths into the chimney of a cosmic lamp.
“How long have you been in fealty to Verrick?” Benteley asked Al Davis.
Al tore himself away from the tv screen; it was now describing new experiments in C-plus reactors. “What’s that, Ted? I guess about three or four years.”
“You’re satisfied?”
“Sure, why not?” Al gestured around the pleasant, well-furnished living room. “Who wouldn’t be satisfied?”
“I’m not talking about this. I had the same thing over at Oiseau-Lyre; most classified people have set-ups like this. I’m talking about Verrick.”
Al Davis struggled to catch Benteley’s drift. “I never see Verrick. He’s been at Batavia, up until today.”
“You knew I’d sworn in to Verrick?”
“You told me this afternoon.” Davis kindly face beamed up at Benteley, relaxed and untroubled. “I hope that means you’ll be moving over here.”
“Why?”
Davis blinked. “Well, because then well see more of you and Julie.”
“I haven’t been living with Julie for six months,” Benteley said impatiently. “That’s all off. She’s on Jupiter as some sort of work-camp official.”
“Well, I didn’t know. I haven’t seen you for a couple of years. I was as surprised as hell to see your face on the ipvic.”
“I came over with Verrick and his staff.” Benteley’s voice hardened with irony. “When Oiseau-Lyre released me I headed directly for Batavia. I wanted to get out of the Hill system once and for all. I went straight to Reese Verrick.”
“You did the right thing.”
“Verrick tricked me! He was quacked, out of the Directorate completely. I knew somebody was bidding up the Hills, somebody with plenty of funds. I wanted nothing to do with it—and now look.” Benteley’s resentment increased. “Instead of getting away from it, I’m where it’s dirtiest. It’s the last place on Earth I wanted to be.”
Indignation crept into Davis’ tolerant face. “Some of the nicest people I know are Verrick’s serfs.”
“They’re people who don’t care how they make their money.”
“You want to penalize Verrick because he’s a success? He’s made this Hill run. Is it his fault nobody else can operate like he can? There’s a natural selection and evolution. Those who can’t survive fall by the way.”
“Verrick fired our research labs.”
“Our? Say, you’re with Verrick, now.” Davis’ indignation boiled over. “That’s a hell of a way to talk! Verrick is your protector and you’re standing here—”
“All right, boys,” Laura exclaimed, cheeks flushed with domestic prowess. “Dinner’s on the table, and I want you to go get some chairs for us to sit on. Al, you wash your hands before we eat. And put on your shoes.”
“Sure, honey,” Davis said obediently, getting to his feet
“Can I help?” Benteley asked.
“Just find yourself a chair and sit down. We have real coffee. Do you take cream? I can’t remember.”
“Yes,” Benteley said. “Thanks.” He pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down moodily.
“Don’t look so sad,” Laura said to him. “See what you’re getting to eat. Aren’t you living with Julie any more? I’ll bet you eat out all the time, at restaurants where they serve that awful protine stuff.”
Benteley toyed with his knife and fork. “You have a nice place here,” he said presently.
“When I saw you last you were living in a Hill dorm. But you weren’t married then.”
“Remember when you and I were living together?” Laura began cutting the twine that held the rolled-roast together. “That wasn’t more than a month, as I remember.”.
“A little under a month,” Benteley agreed, remembering back. He relaxed somewhat, thawed by the smell of hot food, the bright living room, the pretty woman sitting across from him.
“That’s when you were still under fealty to Oiseau-Lyre, before you lost your classification.”
Al appeared, sat down, unfolded his napkin, and rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “It sure smells good,” he announced. “Let’s get going; I’m starved.”
While they ate, the tv murmured and spilled out a flickering tide of light into the living room. Benteley listened between conversations, his mind only half on what Laura and Al were saying.
“… Quizmaster Cartwright has announced the dismissal of two hundred Directorate employees,” the announcer was saying. “The reason given is b.s.r.”
“Bad security risk,” Laura murmured, sipping her coffee. “That’s what they always say.”
The announcer continued:
. . . Convention plans are booming. Already, hundreds of thousands of applications are flooding the Convention Board and the Westinghouse Hill office. Reese Verrick, the former Quizmaster, has agreed to handle the multiplying technical details in order to set in motion what promises to be the most exciting and spectacular event of the decade . . .
“You bet,” Al said. “Verrick has that Hill under lock. He’ll have this thing humming.”
“Is old Judge Waring still sitting on the Board?” Laura asked him. “He must be a hundred years old, by now.”
“He’s still on the Board. He won’t resign, not until he’s dead. That crusty old fossil! He ought to get out of the way and let somebody younger take over.”