Master of None

by Neil Goble

fields?"

  "Not very many, I'll bet," Dwindle replied smartly.

  "None! Not even one! I tried running the cards through in every orderimaginable. We've bred a race of specialists and there's not a trulyeducated man among us!"

  "Say, you know what I bet? Even if you did find a guy who's like whatall you said ..."

  "Go ahead, Dwindle."

  "... I bet he wouldn't even go up there to Ganymede. I sure wouldn't!I'd be scared to death," Dwindle chattered, waving his finger. "How's hegonna get back, even if he gets there O.K.? Couldn't anyone fool me witha bunch of pretty talk; I know the government doesn't have a rocket thatcould take off again after it got there. Gotta have launching pads andcomputers and all that stuff. Government ever think about that?"

  Jones held his head in anguish. "Dwindle, why don't you be a good boyand run along to the snack bar for a coffee break? And bring me someaspirin when you come back."

  * * * * *

  Freddy the Fish, Willy and Oscar Fronk were occupying the same bench, acomradeship made necessary by the overpopulation of the park on such aglorious day. Oscar was surveying the passing girls and scouting forworthwhile cigarette stubs. Willy was admiring a hovering beetle's powerof flight, and Freddy was reading a discarded copy of _ScientificAmerican_.

  The beetle landed on Willy's sleeve and promptly located a gaping tearin the fabric, through which bare arm showed. Willy raised his otherhand menacingly.

  "Don't," Freddy barked, causing Willy to jump with enough force todislodge the beetle.

  "Aw, Freddy," Willy whined, "why dintcha lemme kill it? What good's astupid bug?"

  "That would have been a rather unfortunate kill, Willy, by your barehand on your bare arm. You must learn to be cognizant of our insectfriends and insect enemies."

  "So what's he, poison or sumpin'?"

  "Unpleasant, at least," Freddy said. "That was a blister beetle; smashit on your arm and you'll grow a nice welt. A member of the Meloidaefamily."

  "You mean bugs have families and all, too?" Willy asked.

  "Beetle 'families' are groupings of similar species of insects," Freddyexplained. "Not actually kinfolk. For instance, this beetle is relatedto the Lytta vesicatoria of southern Europe, more commonly known asthe--" Freddy glanced out of the corner of his eye at Oscar, hoping toshield the next bit of information from his perverted brain, andwhispered the name.

  Willy's eyes widened. "Hey, Oscar," he hollered, jumping up. "You hearwhat Freddy said? That bug I almost swatted's practically a SpanishFly!"

  "Which way'd he go?" Oscar squeaked, allowing his collection of stubs toscatter as he hopped around, looking on and under and behind the benchfor the escaping insect.

  "Hold it, hold it," Freddy commanded, trying to restore order. "I saidit's like it, not IS it. It doesn't have what it takes, so skip it,huh?"

  Willy and Oscar sat down again. "Freddy," Willy sighed with adoration,"how'd ya ever get so smart? I mean, bein' a bum and all?"

  "I keep telling you guys; I went to nothing but the finest universities.Well, except toward the end, when I was getting desperate, I guess Iwasn't so choosy."

  "Aw, g'wan now, Freddy. Collitches cost money, and you're as poor as therest of us. Bummin' for a cuppa coffee, and all the time talking aboutYale, and Oxford, and Hah-vad."

  "What would you say, Willy, if I told you that once I belonged to therichest family in Mississippi?"

  "I'd say Mississippi was a pretty poor state," Willy said, and Oscargiggled.

  "I once was Frederik Van Smelt, spoiled son of the wealthy shrimp andoyster scion. And there's nothing as bad, my father said, as spoiledSmelt. He disowned me, of course. I owned six Cadillacs--one right afterthe other, I wrecked them all. I traveled all over the world andprobably counteracted a billion dollars' worth of foreign aid. I waskicked out of the best schools in the world."

  "How come if you're so smart you flunked out of all them schools?" Oscarasked.

  "Me? Flunked out? I never made less than an A in any course I tookduring my eight years at war with college. I was expelled from nineschools and barely escaped the highway patrol when I was bootlegging atOklahoma University!"

  "Freddy," Willy said, "you're lyin' like a dog, butcha make it sound s'real!"

  * * * * *

  Jones squirmed uncomfortably in his seat in the briefing room, phrasingand rephrasing his thoughts. It seemed that no matter which arrangementof words he chose, it still was going to be obvious that he'd flopped.He re-examined his fingernails and selected one which was still longenough to chew.

  General Marcher concluded his current appraisal of the situation andbegan calling on the various individuals with whom certain phases ofOPERATION SPACE CASE had been entrusted. Jones groaned as each arose andgave favorable progress reports.

  "The pod is completed and has been tested, sir. It will by no means beplush, but it will be sufficiently comfortable even for the long voyageto Ganymede."

  "The guidance system is perfected to the extent that we need."

  "There are no further deceleration problems to be solved."

  "The crash program has been approved for the two-way rocket; it is onthe drawing board and current estimates are that the envoy can bebrought back in three years."

  "Ganymede has replied to our last message; a suitable artificialenvironment will be available for the envoy."

  "Personnel Specialist Jones?"

  Carlton gave his chin a final sweaty rub and slowly rose to his feet."General Marcher, sir," he choked, "I'm ... we're ... experiencing alittle difficulty finding a volunteer, so far--"

  "Negative perspiration on that count, Jones," the Project Officerinterrupted. "The draft has never been abolished; we can grab anyone youput your finger on! Now, who will it be?"

  "Sir, it doesn't seem to be that so much as ... well ... sir, has anyconsideration been given to perhaps sending a delegation rather than asingle envoy?"

  The general smiled broadly. "Now, that is more like it! I take it youmean you have a number of equally-qualified persons who have expressedan intense desire to go to Ganymede, and there is no way to impartiallyselect one of these men over the others? This is commendable. However,our space limitation clearly precludes sending more than one person. I'mafraid you will just have to make your choice from a hat."

  Jones turned a trifle redder. "That's not exactly the problem, either,sir."

  The general's smile wilted and became a frozen frown. "Just exactly whatare you trying to say, Jones?"

  "There's no one who can meet the qualifications, sir," Jones said,feeling sick at his stomach.

  "Are you telling me that in the entire United States, there is not oneperson who has a basic understanding of the twenty-four major fields?"

  "I'm afraid that's right, sir."

  "See me after the briefing, Jones. I'm certain that the ForemostPersonnel Specialist in the United States must have some further ideason this matter."

  Jones sank slowly back into his seat and covered his face with hishands. "I'm a goner," he whispered to himself. "Jones, you can bereplaced."

  Dwindle, sitting on his left, suddenly punched him vigorously in theribs. "Say, Mr. Jones," he rattled, "I just thought of a great idea."

  "Tell it to the general," Jones moaned. "Maybe then he'll realize what ahandicap I've been working under."

  * * * * *

  "Hi ya, Freddy," Willy said, sitting down on the bench and helpinghimself to some peanuts. "Workin' a crossword puzzle?"

  Freddy pocketed his pencil stub and laid aside the newspaper. "Naw, notthis time. Just playing around with one of those 'We're looking forbright young men' ads."

  "Freddy! Y'ain't thinkin' a gettin' a JOB?"

  "Nothing like that," Freddy laughed. "Just, exercising my mind. Fillingout one of those little tests they always have. Helps keep a fellasharp, you know."

  "Yeh, I seen the kind. Like what has pictures and you're supposed tofind
things wrong in the picture like dames with beards and dogs withsix feet?"

  "Kinda like that, only this one's all written and is a little tougher.You're supposed to send the answers in and whoever has good answers getsto take a tougher test and whoever does good on that test gets the job.Probably selling neckties on the corner or something."

  "No kiddin'. That what it says?"

  "Just says 'handsome rewards,' but that's probably close to it."

  "You gonna send it in?" Willy asked.

  "Naw, I just fill 'em out for fun, like I said. Can you imagine mepeddling neckties on the corner?"

  "Then how d'ya know if you got the right answers?"

  "Hell, I know the answers," Freddy bragged. "Like I said, this is justexercise. Mental gymnastics. Like this last one; it was pretty toughcompared to most of them. Had some questions about things I hadn't eventhought about since college, things I'd forgotten I knew. What good's aneducation if you forget what things you know?"

  "That's why I never bothered," Willy agreed. "'Cause I never couldremember things so good."

  "No, Willy. You've got it all wrong. I still know it, I just didn't knowI know it."

  "Aw, Freddy," Willy said unhappily. "You're pullin' my leg again!"

  "Suit yourself," Freddy smiled. "Hold down the bench for me, O.K.? I'llbe right back."

  Willy watched Freddy until he went into the little brick building in thecenter of the park, and then grabbed Freddy's newspaper and scamperedover to Oscar's bench.

  "Hey, you know how Freddy's always talkin' big about how much he knows,"Willy said breathlessly. "I got an idea how to call his bluff. He filledout one of these tests and says he knows all the answers. Let's sendit in and see if he's as smart as he says!"

  "Yeh! That's great, Willy!" Then Oscar's face darkened. "Wonder where wecan steal a stamp?"

  * * * * *

  "That was a pretty good idea of mine, about advertising in the paper,wasn't it, Mr. Jones?" Dwindle, America's Number One PersonnelSpecialist, asked his surly assistant.

  "Yes, Dwindle."

  Jones stared gloomily out the fourteenth story window into the park,where the local bums were loafing and sleeping and feeding peanuts tothe pigeons. He was nauseated with the prospect of having to address hisnew boss as "Mr. Dwindle," and was toying with the idea of abandoninghis specialty completely to join the ranks of the happy, carefreeunemployed. He watched as two uniformed policemen approached one of theless wholesome-appearing characters.

  "No, I don't suppose I could tolerate being in and out of jail everyweek on a vagrancy charge," he told himself. But then he smiled bitterlyas he thought of the strange parallel between the policemen arrestingthe bum and other officials, elsewhere in the United States, tappingrespectable citizens on the shoulder at this very moment.

  "Dwindle, do you really think it was wise to issue warrants to arrestall those persons who scored perfect on the first test? How many did yousay there were?"

  "Only a hundred or so," Dwindle smiled sweetly. "And besides, they'renot being arrested. General Marcher explained to you that they are beingdrafted into the service of the government. Honestly, sometimes I thinkyou worry too much."

  Jones turned back to the window, brooding over Dwindle's transformation."Maybe so," he sighed, watching the newly-arrested vagrant pointing anaccusing finger toward one of the other bums.

  * * * * *

  Willy strained and twisted, trying to reclaim his arm from thepoliceman's grip.

  "Honest, you guys. I didn't know it was against the law. Aw, I figgeredit was against the rules mebbe to send in somebody else's answers, butwe wuz only makin' a joke, Oscar 'n' me. Oscar's the one who actual putit in the mailbox and stole the stamp! I bet he's the one you're after!"

  "Now calm down, Willy," the beefy policeman coaxed. "No one's broken anylaw. Nobody's under arrest. We just want to chat a minute with whoeverit was filled out that test."

  "Yeh, Willy," the second policeman broke in, "if you didn't do it, and Ibelieve you when you say you didn't, then who did?"

  "What's it to ya?" Willy asked, his mouth twitching nervously.

  The first policeman glanced at the second and then back at Willy. "Well,it's like this, Willy," he said. "Whoever filled out those answers gotevery one of them right. The people who run the contest want to meetthe guy, see? And they asked us to help find him because we know youpeople better than anyone else does. See? That's all!"

  "Yeh," said the second. "That's all. Now who did it?"

  Willy stood with his jaw drooping for a moment. "You mean he got ever'last one of 'em right?" he asked. "Freddy was always braggin' about hisbrains, but me 'n' Oscar figgered he was makin' most of it up."

  "Freddy who? Freddy the Fish you mean?"

  "Yeh, Freddy." Willy perked up and turned toward Freddy's bench. "Hey,Freddy! Hey, you know that test you took in the newspaper that youdidn't know I sent in? You won the contest or sumpin'! Hey, that'sgreat!"

  * * * * *

  Jones and Dwindle watched the draftees file into the examination room.

  "I still don't see how this is going to solve the problem," Jonesfrowned.

  "I believe it will," Dwindle contradicted him. "Specialists in each ofthe major fields have been consulted, and each provided fiftyquestions."

  "The hardest questions they could think up, I imagine."

  "No, not at all. The purpose is to provide comprehensive coverage ofeach field. And each question is of the type that, if the examinee knowsthe answer, it can be reasonably assumed that he knows quite a bit inthat particular phase of the field. For instance, if he knows whatenzyme is associated with the stomach, he probably knows what enzyme isassociated with the liver."

  "I know one big problem you're going to run into," Jones sulked. "Justlike the IBM cards. You're going to find one guy who clobbers theElectronics part of the test but completely busts out in History andeverything else."

  "I don't think so," Dwindle said. "The preliminary test will have takencare of that. It was designed so that, in order to answer every questionright, a person would have to have at least a rudimentary knowledge ofall twenty-four major fields."

  As Jones was considering whether it would be better to slit his ownthroat or Dwindle's, General Marcher entered the room and approached.

  "Excellent. Excellent," the general declared. "A verydistinguished-looking group you've assembled here, Dwindle. Hello,Jones."

  "Yes, sir," Dwindle said, "with the possible exception of the seedy chapin the rear."

  Jones looked to the rear of the room, and his eyes bugged.

  Freddy the Fish, clean-shaven but tattered, was alternately wetting thepencil lead in his mouth and eating peanuts.

  "That's the bum who feeds sparrows in the park!" Jones gasped. "How didhe get out of jail so quick? I saw a couple of policemen haul him offjust a day or so ago."

  "This is where they hauled him to," General Marcher said. "It just sohappens that he answered every question right on the preliminaryexamination. He says his name's Freddy Smith, although I doubt that hecould prove it."

  "He says he never had a father," Dwindle added. "Says his family was toopoor."

  Jones stared at General Marcher, then stared at Dwindle, then turned andstared at Freddy the Fish, who had just left his seat and was amblingtoward the trio.

  "Looks like he's throwing in the towel," Jones, said happily. "He'sbringing his paper with him."

  "Maybe he just wants clarification on a question," Dwindle said.

  "I'm all done," Freddy said. "Who gets this?"

  "Go ahead, Dwindle," Carlton Jones smirked. "Grade the man's paper. He'sall done."

  Dwindle smiled uncertainly. "You're allowed all the time you need, Mr.Smith."

  "Oh, that's O.K. I'm done."

  Dwindle produced his red pencil and the answer sheet which had 1,200small circles punched in it. He sat down, placed the key over the testpaper, and bega
n searching for white spaces showing through.

  * * * * *

  "That's the last one, sir," Dwindle said six hours later as he added theone hundred twelfth graded test to the neat stack at the left of hisdesk. He stared through the thousand-plus holes in the answer key as ifexpecting the holes to shift.

  "And still no change in the standings?" General Marcher asked again.

  "Mr. Smith still has the best grade," Dwindle answered.

  "The percentages again?" the general asked.

  "Over all, ninety-six per cent