Produced by Greg Weeks, Sankar Viswanathan, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction, February andMarch, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that thecopyright on this publication was renewed.
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BY H. BEAM PIPER AND JOHN J. McGUIRE
_There's some reaction these days that holds scientists responsible for war. Take it one step further: What happens if "book-learnin'" is held responsible ...?_
Illustrated by van Dongen
Chester Pelton retracted his paunch as far as the breakfast seat wouldpermit; the table, its advent preceded by a collection ofmouth-watering aromas, slid noiselessly out of the pantry and clickedinto place in front of him.
"Everything all right, Miss Claire?" a voice floated out after it frombeyond. "Anything else you want?"
"Everything's just fine, Mrs. Harris," Claire replied. "I suppose Mr.Pelton'll want seconds, and Ray'll probably want thirds and fourths ofeverything." She waved a hand over the photocell that closed thepantry door, and slid into place across from her brother, who alreadyhad a glass of fruit juice in one hand and was lifting platter coverswith the other.
"Real eggs!" the boy was announcing. "Bacon. Wheat-bread toast." Helooked again. "Hey, Sis, is this real cow-made butter?"
"Yes. Now go ahead and eat."
As though Ray needed encouragement, Chester Pelton thought, watchinghis son use a spoon--the biggest one available--to dump gobs of honeyon his toast. While he was helping himself to bacon and eggs, he couldhear Ray's full-mouthed exclamation: "This is real bee-comb honey,too!" That pleased him. The boy was a true Pelton; only needed onebite to distinguish between real and synthetic food.
"Bet this breakfast didn't cost a dollar under five C," Ray continued,a little more audibly, between bites.
]
That was another Pelton trait; even at fifteen, the boy was learningthe value of money. Claire seemed to disapprove, however.
"Oh, Ray; try not to always think of what things cost," she reproved.
"If I had all she spends on natural food, I could have a this-season'smodel 'copter-bike, like Jimmy Hartnett," Ray continued.
Pelton frowned. "I don't want you running around with that boy, Ray,"he said, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Under his daughter's lookof disapproval, he swallowed hastily, then continued: "He's not thesort of company I want my son keeping."
"But, Senator," Ray protested. "He lives next door to us. Why, we cansee Hartnett's aerial from the top of our landing stage!"
"That doesn't matter," he said, in a tone meant to indicate that thesubject was not to be debated. "He's a Literate!"
"More eggs, Senator?" Claire asked, extending the platter andgesturing with the serving knife.
He chuckled inwardly. Claire always knew what to do when his temperstarted climbing to critical mass. He allowed her to load his plateagain.
"And speaking of our landing stage, have you been up there, thismorning, Ray?" he asked.
They both looked at him inquiringly.
"Delivered last evening, while you two were out," he explained. "Newwinter model Rolls-Cadipac." He felt a glow of paternal pleasure asClaire gave a yelp of delight and aimed a glancing kiss at the top ofhis bald head. Ray dropped his fork, slid from his seat, and boltedfor the lift, even bacon, eggs, and real bee-comb honey forgotten.
With elaborate absent-mindedness, Chester Pelton reached for theswitch to turn on the video screen over the pantry door.
"Oh-oh! Oh-oh!" Claire's slender hand went out to stop his own. "Nottill coffee and cigarettes, Senator."
"It's almost oh-eight-fifteen; I want the newscast."
"Can't you just relax for a while? Honestly, Senator, you're killingyourself."
"Oh, rubbish! I've been working a little hard, but--"
"You've been working too hard. And today, with the sale at the store,and the last day of the campaign--"
"Why the devil did that idiot of a Latterman have the sale advertisedfor today, anyhow?" he fumed. "Doesn't he know I'm running for theSenate?"
"I doubt it," Claire said. "He may have heard of it, the way you'veheard about an election in Pakistan or Abyssinia, or he just may notknow there is such a thing as politics. I think he does know there's aworld outside the store, but he doesn't care much what goes on in it."She pushed her plate aside, poured a cup of coffee, and levered acigarette from the Readilit, puffing at it with the relish of themorning's first smoke. "All he knows is that we're holding our salethree days ahead of Macy & Gimbel's."
"Russ is a good businessman," Pelton said seriously. "I wish you'dtake a little more interest in him, Claire."
"If you mean what I think you do, no thanks," Claire replied. "Isuppose I'll get married, some day--most girls do--but it'll be tosomebody who can hang his business up at the office before he comeshome. Russ Latterman is so married to the store that if he married metoo, it'd be bigamy. Ready for your coffee?" Without waiting for ananswer, she filled his cup and ejected a lighted cigarette from thebox for him, then snapped on the video screen.
It lit at once, and a nondescriptly handsome young man was grinningtoothily out of it. He wore a white smock, halfway to his knees, and,over it, an old-fashioned Sam Browne belt which supported a bulkyleather-covered tablet and a large stylus. On the strap which crossedhis breast five or six little metal badges twinkled.
"... Why no other beer can compare with delicious, tangy, Cardon'sBlack Bottle. Won't you try it?" he pleaded. "Then you will see foryourself why millions of happy drinkers always Call For Cardon's. Andnow, that other favorite of millions, Literate First Class Elliot C.Mongery."
Pelton muttered: "Why Frank sponsors that blabbermouth of a Mongery--"
Ray, sliding back onto the bench, returned to his food.
"Jimmy's book had pictures," he complained, forking up another mixtureof eggs, bacon, toast and honey.
"Book?" Claire echoed. "Oh, the instructions for the 'copter?"
"Pipe down, both of you!" Pelton commanded. "The newscast--"
Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery, revealed by a quick leftquarter-turn of the pickup camera, wore the same starchy white smock,the same Sam Browne belt glittering with the badges of theorganizations and corporations for whom he was authorized to practiceLiteracy. The tablet on his belt, Pelton knew, was really acamouflaged holster for a small automatic, and the gold stylus was agas-projector. The black-leather-jacketed bodyguards, of course, werediscreetly out of range of the camera. Members of the AssociatedFraternities of Literates weren't exactly loved by the non-readingpublic they claimed to serve. The sight of one of those starchy,perpetually-spotless, white smocks always affected Pelton like a redcape to a bull. He snorted in disdain. The raised eyebrow toward theannouncer on the left, the quick, perennially boyish smile, followedby the levelly serious gaze into the camera--the whole act might havebeen a film-transcription of Mongery's first appearance on the video,fifteen years ago. At least, it was off the same ear of corn.
"That big hunk of cheese," Ray commented. For once, Pelton didn'tshush him; that was too close to his own attitude, at least infamily-breakfast-table terminology.
"... First of all; for the country, and especially the Newer New Yorkarea, and by the way, it looks as though somebody thought somebodyneeded a little cooling off, but we'll come to that later. Here's theforecast: Today and tomorrow, the weather will continue fine; warm inthe sun, chilly in the shadows. There won't be anything to keep youfrom the polls, tomorrow, except bird-hunting, or a last chance at agame of golf. This is the first time within this commentator's memorythat the w
eather has definitely been in favor of the party out ofpower.
"On the world scene: You'll be glad to hear that the survivors of thewrecked strato-rocket have all been rescued from the top of MountEverest, after a difficult and heroic effort by the Royal Nepalese AirForce.... The results of last week's election in Russia are beingchallenged by twelve of the fourteen parties represented on theballot; the only parties not hurling accusations of fraud are theDemocrats, who won, and the Christian Communists, who are about asinfluential in Russian
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