by Robert Bloch
9. Eric Donovan--2031
Eric was glad to get to the office and shut the door. Lately he'd hadthis feeling whenever he went out, this feeling that people werestaring at him. It wasn't just his imagination: they did stare. Everyyounger person over a yard high got stared at nowadays, as if theywere freaks. And it wasn't just the staring that got him down, either.
Sometimes they muttered and mumbled, and sometimes they called names.Eric didn't mind stuff like "dirty Naturalist." That he couldunderstand--once upon a time, way back, everybody who was against theLeff Law was called a Naturalist. And before that it had still anothermeaning, or so he'd been told. Today, of course, it just meant anyonewho was over five feet tall.
No, he could take the ordinary name-calling, all right. But sometimesthey said other things. They used words nobody ever uses unless theyreally hate you, want to kill you. And that was at the bottom of it,Eric knew. They did hate him, they _did_ want to kill him.
Was he a coward? Perhaps. But it wasn't just Eric's imagination. Younever saw anything about such things on the telescreens, butNaturalists were being killed every day. The older people were stillin the majority, but the youngsters were coming up fast. And therewere so many _more_ of them. Besides, they were more active, and thiscreated the illusion that there were Yardsticks everywhere.
Eric sat down behind his desk, grinning. _Yardsticks._ When he was akid it had been just the other way around. He and the rest of them whodidn't get shots in those early days considered themselves to be thenormal ones. And _they_ did the name-calling. Names like "runt" and"half-pint" and "midgie." But the most common name was the one thatstuck--Yardstick. That used to be the worst insult of all.
But now it wasn't an insult any more. Being taller was the insult.Being a dirty Naturalist or a son-of-a-Naturalist. Times certainly hadchanged.
Eric glanced at the communicator. Almost noon, and it had not flickedyet. Here he'd been beaming these big offers, you'd think he'd getsome response to an expensive beaming program, but no. Maybe that wasthe trouble--nobody liked _big_ things any more. Everything was small.
He shifted uneasily in his chair. That was one consolation, at least;he still had old-time furniture. Getting to be harder and harder tofind stuff that fitted him these days. Seemed like most of the firmsmaking furniture and bedding and household appliances were turning outthe small stuff for the younger generation. Cheaper to make, lessmaterial, and more demand for it. Government allocated size prioritiesto the manufacturers.
It was even murder to ride public transportation because of thespace-reductions. Eric drove his own jetter. Besides, that way wassafer. Crowded into a liner with a gang of Yardsticks, with only a fewother Naturalists around, there might be trouble.
Oh, it was getting to be a Yardstick world, and no mistake. Smallerfurniture, smaller meals, smaller sizes in clothing, smallerbuildings--
That reminded Eric of something and he frowned again. Dammit, whydidn't the communicator flick? He should be getting some kind ofinquiries. Hell, he was practically _giving_ the space away!
But there was only silence, as there had been all during this pastweek. That's why he let Lorette go. Sweet girl, but there was no workfor her here any more. No work, and no pay, either. Besides, the placespooked her. She'd been the one who suggested leaving, really.
"Eric, I'm sorry, but I just can't take this any more. All alone inthis huge building--it's curling my toes!"
At first he tried to talk her out of it. "Don't be silly, luscious!There's Bernstein, down on ten, and Saltonstall above us, and Wallabyand Son on fourteen, I tell you, this place is coming back to life, Ican feel it! I'll beam for tenants next week, you'll see--"
Actually he'd been talking against his own fear and Lorette must haveknown it. Anyway, she left. And now he was here alone.
_Alone._
Eric didn't like the sound of that word. Or the absence of soundbehind it. Three other tenants in a ninety-story building. Three othertenants in a place that had once held three thousand. Why, fifty yearsago, when this place went up, you couldn't buy a vacancy. Where hadthe crowds gone to?
He knew the answer, of course. The Leff shots had created the newgeneration of Yardsticks, and they lived in their own world. Theirshrunken, dehydrated world of doll-houses and miniatures. They'ddeserted the old-fashioned skyscrapers and cut the big apartmentbuildings up into tiny cubicles; two could occupy the space formerlyreserved for one.
That had been the purpose of the Leff shots in the first place--to putan end to overcrowding and conserve on resources. Well, it had workedout. Worked out too perfectly for people like Eric Donovan. EricDonovan, rental agent for a building nobody wanted any more; aninety-storey mausoleum. And nobody could collect rent from ghosts.
_Ghosts._
Eric damned near jumped through the ceiling when the door opened andthis man walked in. He was tall and towheaded. Eric stared; there wassomething vaguely familiar about his face. Something about those ears,that was it, those ears. No, it couldn't be, it wasn't possible--
Eric stood up and held out his hand. "I'm Donovan," he said.
The towheaded man smiled and nodded. "Yes, I know. Don't you rememberme?"
"I thought I knew you from someplace. You wouldn't be--Sam Wolzek?"
The towheaded man's smile became a broad grin. "That's not what youwere going to say, Eric. You were going to say 'Handle-head,' weren'tyou? Well, go on, say it. I don't mind. I've been called a lot worsethings since we were kids together."
"I can't believe it," Eric murmured. "It's really you! Old Handle-headWolzek! And after all these years, turning up to rent an office fromme. Well, what do you know!"
"I didn't come here to rent an office."
"Oh? Then--"
"It was your name that brought me. I recognized it on the beamings."
"Then this is a social call, eh? Well, that's good. I don't get muchcompany these days. Sit down, have a reef."
Wolzek sat down but refused the smoke. "I know quite a bit about yoursetup," he said. "You and your three tenants. It's tough, Eric."
"Oh, things could be worse." Eric forced a laugh. "It isn't as if mybucks depended on the number of tenants in the building. Governmentsubsidizes this place. I'm sure of a job as long as I live."
"As long as you live." Wolzek stared at him in a way he didn't like."And just how long do you figure that to be?"
"I'm only twenty-six," Eric answered. "According to statistics, thatgives me maybe another sixty years."
"Statistics!" Wolzek said it like a dirty word. "Your life-expectancyisn't determined by statistics any more. I say you don't have sixtymonths left. Perhaps not even sixty days."
"What are you trying to hand me?"
"The truth. And don't go looking for a silver platter underneath it,either."
"But I mind my own business. I don't hurt anybody. Why should I be inany danger?"
"Why does a government subsidy support one rental manager to sit herein this building every day--but ten guards to patrol it every night?"
Eric opened his mouth wide before shaping it for speech. "Who told youthat?"
"Like I said, I know the setup." Wolzek crossed his legs, but hedidn't lean back. "And in case you haven't guessed it, this is abusiness call, not a social one."
Eric sighed. "Might have figured," he said. "You're a Naturalist,aren't you?"
"Of course I am. We all are."
"Not I."
"Oh yes--whether you like it or not, you're a Naturalist, too. As faras the Yardsticks are concerned, everyone over three feet high is aNaturalist. An enemy. Someone to be hated, and destroyed."
"Think I'd believe that? Sure, I know they don't like us, and whyshould they? We eat twice as much, take up twice the space, and Iguess when we were kids we gave a lot of them a hard time. Besides,outside of a few exceptions like ourselves, all the younger generationare Yardsticks, with more coming every year. The older people holdthe key positions and the power. Of course there's a lot of frictionand resent
ment. But you know all that."
"Certainly." Wolzek nodded. "All that and more. Much more. I know thatup until a few years ago, no Yardstick held any public office orgovernment position. Now they're starting to move in, particularly inEuropasia. But there's so many of them now--adults, in their earlytwenties--that the pressure is building up. They're impatient, gettingout of hand. They won't wait until the old folks die off. They wantcontrol now. And if they ever manage to get it, we're finished forgood."
"Impossible!" Eric said.
"Impossible?" Wolzek's voice was a mocking echo. "You sit here in thistomb and when somebody tells you that the world you know has died, yourefuse to believe it. Even though every night, after you sneak homeand huddle up inside your room trying not to be noticed, ten guardspatrol this place with subatomics, so the Yardstick gangs won't breakin and take over. So they won't do what they did down south--overrunthe office buildings and the factories and break them up, cut themdown to size for living quarters."
"But they were stopped," Eric objected. "I saw it on the telescreen,the security forces stopped them--"
"Crapola!" Wolzek pronounced the archaicism with studied care. "Yousaw films. Faked films. Have you ever traveled, Eric? Ever been downsouth and seen conditions there?"
"Nobody travels nowadays. You know that. Priorities."
"I travel, Eric. And I know. Security forces don't suppress anythingin the south these days. Because they're made up of Yardsticks now;that's right, Yardsticks exclusively. And in a few years that's theway it will be up here. Did you ever hear about the Chicagee riots?"
"You mean last year, when the Yardsticks tried to take over thesynthetic plants at the Stockyards?"
"Tried? They _succeeded_. The workers ousted management. Over fiftythousand were killed in the revolution--oh, don't look so shocked,that's the right word for it!--but the Yardsticks won out in the end."
"But the telescreen showed--"
"Damn the telescreen! I know because I happened to be there when ithappened. And if _you_ had been there, you and a few million otherostriches who sit with your heads buried in telescreens, maybe wecould have stopped them."
"I don't believe it. I can't!"
"All right. Think back. That was last year. And since the first ofthis year, what's happened to the standard size meat-ration?"
"They cut it in half," Eric admitted. "But that's because of Agshortages, according to the telescreen reports--" He stood up,gulping. "Look here, I'm not going to listen to any more of this kindof talk. By rights, I ought to turn your name in."
"Go ahead." Wolzek waved his hand. "It's happened before. I wasreported when I blasted the Yardsticks who shot my father down when hetried to land his jet in a southern field. I was reported when theykilled Annette."
"Annette?"
"You remember that name, don't you, Eric? Your first girl, wasn't she?Well, I'm the guy who married her. Yes, and I'm the guy who talked herinto having a baby without the benefit of Leff shots. Sure, it'sillegal, and only a few of us ever try it any more, but we both agreedthat we wanted it that way. A real, life-sized, normal baby. Orabnormal, according to the Yardsticks and the stupid government.
"It was a dirty scum of a government doctor who let her die on thetable when he discovered the child weighed seven pounds. That's when Ireally woke up, Eric. That's when I knew there was going to be onlyone decision to make in the future--kill or be killed."
"Annette. She died, you say?"
Wolzek moved over and put his hand on Eric's shoulder. "You nevermarried, did you, Eric? I think I know why. It's because you felt theway I did about it. You wanted a regular kid, not a Yardstick. Onlyyou didn't quite have the guts to try and beat the law. Well, you'llneed guts now, because it's getting to the point where the law can'tprotect you any more. The government is made up of old men, andthey're afraid to take action. In a few years they'll be pushed out ofoffice all over the world. We'll have Yardstick government then, allthe way, and Yardstick law. And that means they'll cut us down tosize."
"But what can you--we--do about it?"
"Plenty. There's still a little time. If we Naturalists can only gettogether, stop being just a name and become an organized force, maybethe ending will be different. We've got to try, in any case."
"The Yardsticks are human beings, just like us," Eric said, slowly."We can't just declare war on them, wipe them out. It's not their_fault_ they were born that way."
Wolzek nodded. "I know. Nothing is anybody's fault, really. This wholebusiness began in good faith. Leffingwell and some of the othergeniuses saw a problem and offered what they sincerely believed was asolution."
"But it didn't work," Eric murmured.
"Wrong. It worked only too well. That's the trouble. Sure, weeliminated our difficulties on the physical level. In less than thirtyyears we've reached a point where there's no longer any danger ofovercrowding or starvation. But the psychological factor is somethingwe can't cope with. We thought we'd ended war and the possibilities ofwar a long time ago. But it isn't foreign enemies we must fear today.We've created a nation divided into Davids and Goliaths--and David andGoliath are always enemies."
"David killed Goliath," Eric said. "Does that mean we're going todie?"
"Only if we're as stupid as Goliath was. Only if we wear ourtelescreens like invincible armor and pay no attention to theslingshot in David's hands."
Eric lit a reef. "All right," he said. "You don't have to lecture. I'mwilling to join. But I'm no Goliath, really. I never had a fight in mylife. What could I do to help?"
"You're a rental agent. You have the keys to this building. The guardsdon't bother you by day, do they? You come and go as you please. Thatmeans you can get into the cellars. You can help us move the stuffdown there. And we'll take care of the guards some night, after that."
"I don't understand."
The friendly pressure on Eric's shoulder became a fierce grip. "Youdon't have to understand. All you do is let us plant the stuff in thecellars and let us get rid of the guards afterwards in our own way.The Yardsticks will do the rest."
"You mean, take over the building when it's not protected?"
"Of course. They'll take it over completely, once they see there's noopposition. And they'll remodel it to suit themselves, and within amonth there'll be ten thousand Yardsticks sitting in this place."
"The government will never stand still for that."
"Wake up! It's happening all over, all the time, and nothing is beingdone to prevent it. Security is too weak and officials are too timidto risk open warfare. So the Yardsticks win, and I'm going to see thatthey win this place."
"But how will that help us?"
"You don't see it yet, do you? And neither will the Yardsticks. Until,some fine day three or four months from now, we get around to whatwill be planted in the cellars. Somebody will throw a switch, milesaway, and--boom!"
"Wolzek, you couldn't--"
"It's coming. Not only here, but in fifty other places. We've got tofight fire with fire, Eric. It's our only chance. Bring this thing outinto the open. Make the government realize this is war. Civil war.That's the only way to force them to take real action. We can't do itany other way; it's illegal to organize politically, and petitions dono good. We can't get a hearing. Well, they'll have to listen to theexplosions."
"I just don't know--"
"Maybe you're the one who should have married Annette after all."Wolzek's voice was cold. "Maybe you could have watched her, watchedher scream and beg and die, and never wanted to move a muscle to doanything about it afterwards. Maybe you're the model citizen, Eric;you and the thousands of others who are standing by and letting theYardsticks chop us down, one by one. They say in Nature it's thesurvival of the fittest. Well, perhaps you're not fit to survive."
Eric wasn't listening. "She screamed," he said. "You heard herscream?"
Wolzek nodded. "I can still hear her. I'll always hear her."
"Yes." Eric blinked abruptly. "When do we start?"
W
olzek smiled at him. It was a pretty good smile for a man who canalways hear screaming. "I knew I could count on you," he murmured."Nothing like old friends."
"Funny, isn't it?" Eric tried to match his smile. "The way things workout. You and I being kids together. You marrying my girl. And then, usmeeting up again this way."
"Yes," said Wolzek, and he wasn't smiling now. "I guess it's a smallworld."