by Larry Niven
"Now, damn it, that's not fair," Mac Stevens insisted.
"It's close enough, Mac, and you know it. If we want a conviction, we have to spend hours and days in courtrooms, and for what? Even if we do it, the yo-yo gets bail and probation."
"So what do you do, Mr. Bonner?" Reedy asked.
"We grit our teeth and play the game," Bonner said. "And try to see that no repeat offenders get in here. We do have the right to keep the bums away from our people."
And how would we do that on a starship? Tony Rand wondered. Hmmm. We'd have to have criminal law. Justice, if you will. Which is hard to automate ... and not my department.
The food was good, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Most had second helpings. Rand started to tell them about some of the problems he'd had in getting the conveyor belt system working properly, but he saw they weren't interested.
Finally Sir George looked up and said, "Surely there's a lot of wastage? You can't possibly predict how much will be eaten."
"We do better than you think," Bonner said.
"Yes, and they sell the leftovers to Las Angeles welfare institutions," Stevens said grimly. "Churches, skid row missions, that sort of thing. There's no waste because the Los Angeles poor live an Todos Santos's garbage."
"Now, that's not true," Rand said. "The garbage goes to the pig farms-"
"He means that only the untouched portions are sold for human consumption," Bonner said. "And he's right, the real garbage feeds animals. And, Mac, you may not like feeding your welfare people on our leftovers, but I notice you don't complain about the water we supply."
The sun fell into the sea and the iceberg offshore winked with navigation lights. The darkness of the holograph was lovely, but it made the low ceiling press down even more heavily. Sir George glanced around again. "I shouldn't think Americans would like surveillance while they eat."
"The Corporation doesn't much like the expense of providing it, either," Bonner said. "Now tell me what I should do? Despite everything the FROMATES do get into Todos Santos. And they do try to poison people-"
"They don't think it's poison," Stevens said.
"LSD is poison," Bonner said. "If my people want to turn on, they'll do it themselves. They don't need help from eaters. And slipping acid into the food isn't all the honorable Friends of Man and the Earth do. They've also tried blowing up the kitchens, as well as other parts of Todos Santos. They tried-well, their diseased minds come up with pretty ingenious stunts.
"So we have to watch for them, and we can't abandon the Commons. Wouldn't if we could. Most of our residents like the Commons. Some never eat anywhere else. After all, it's our most democratic institution."
"Why do these criminals dislike you so much?" Sir George asked. "Surely they know your people are not unhappy here-"
Bonner and Stevens laughed together, a shared joke, which Rand could have joined if he wanted to, but the memory was too painful. Genevieve had lived with an eco-freak after she left Tony's bed. Tony tried to be objective, but he found it difficult.
"The FROMATES claim to be ecologists," Bonner said. "As if I didn't have some of the best ecological talent in the world available to my staff. Only they can save the Earth-"
"Art's not being quite fair," Stevens said. "I've got no use for terrorists, but the FROMATES have a point. They claim that if Todos Santos succeeds, there'll be no barrier to population growth. Not even famine and overcrowding can stop the population bomb, until it's too late for everyone and everything. Actually their best arguments are fiction. They're backing a movie made from an old science fiction novel, The Godwhale, about how the human race crowds itself until no humans are left."
"I take it you agree with them," Sir George asked.
"No. But they do have their share of truth. Todos Santos uses enormous resources to produce an elite that enjoys-" He clamped his lips firmly together. "I'd rather you saw everything for yourself."
Saw what? Rand wondered. Something not working right? Where?
"I saw the demonstrators outside," Sir George said. "Do you often have serious attempts at sabotage? Bombs, that sort of thing?"
"More than I like," Bonner said. "But they don't often get past Security. Setting off a bomb's pretty hard when the guards are looking over your shoulder."
"Isn't there anywhere the guards don't watch?"
"Not many places."
A young family came over to their part of the table and sat next to Art Bonner. The man was about thirty, and his wife considerably younger. There were two boys with them, about six and eight years old. All wore the neat slacks and wrinkle-free shirts that seemed to be standard dress, and all four wore resident badges. Like most resident badges these were personalized. The parents' had color drawings with their names in stylized calligraphy; the children's had cartoons. The shirts had complementary patterns of wild color, designed so that you could see from a distance that they were a family, although each shirt was different.
The man sat next to Bonner and examined Art's badge with care before he spoke. "I thought I recognized you, Mr. Bonner."
"Good evening," Bonner said pleasantly. He looked at their badges: Cal and Judy Phillips. The color had already told him they were resident stockholders, and the badge identified his business: Executive Row Clothing Rental, 25th Level Mall.
Bonner gestured to his companions. "Mister Phillips, this is Tony Rand, the Chief Engineer. Our visitors are Mr. Stevens of the Los Angeles Mayor's Office, and Sir George Reedy of the Canadian government."
Phillips's eyes widened slightly. He nodded pleasantly to the others, then began to gather dishes for himself and his family. He spoke in a low voice that they could just make out if they listened hard enough.
The newcomers talked only to each other for a while, but when Cal Phillips was certain that Bonner was finished with his meal, he said, "Mister Bonner, my shower is not delivering enough water."
Bonner frowned. "You've had Maintenance in to check?"
"Yes, sir. They say everything's fine."
"But it isn't," Judy Phillips said. "I used to be able to rinse off completely, and now I can't. And there's been no water allowance reduction in our neighborhood."
"Where?" Rand asked.
"Forty-four, West, R-ring," Judy answered.
"Hmm. Could be the computer. I don't think there's-"
"Leave it to Maintenance, Tony," Bonner said. He frowned for a moment. "All right, someone will look into it."
"Thank you," Cal Phillips said. "If you've a few minutes-"
"Not tonight," Bonner said pleasantly. "I have to show my guests around. If you'll excuse us-"
"Certainly," Cal and Judy Phillips chorused.
"We'll have coffee at my place," Bonner said to his guests when they were away from the table. "And we can discuss the economics of the situation, Sir George. Expect that will bore you to tears, Tony-"
Was Bonner trying to get rid of him? Rand wandered. Why would he do that? But it had happened before, when there was diplomacy to discuss.
Before they reached the outside of the Common Room, Bonner had heard five more complaints, been given three separate solutions to problems in garbage disposal-one interesting enough that Rand took out a notebook and wrote it down-and had been encouraged not to give in to outside pressures from the Teamsters.
When they reached the corridor, people obviously recognized Bonner, but they didn't speak to him, except to wish him a pleasant evening.
"We'll head an up to my place," Bonner said. "Sure you can't join us, Tony?"
Definitely a hint, Rand decided. "Thanks, Art, but I think I'd better turn in early," Rand said.
He watched them get onto an elevator.
There were other residents in the elevators, and they didn't speak to Bonner either as he led his guests to a corner of the 47th floor. An apartment door opened as they approached. He ushered them into a large carpeted room. The view of the city was magnificent on two sides of them.
Long lines of light t
hat were streets overflowing with traffic; dotted lines of empty lighted streets; tall buildings with more patterns of light; a bank of fog rolling in from the bay, shrouding the iceberg, its top far below them; Los Angeles lay in splendor around them.
MacLean Stevens stood at the windows basking in the light. "Now that's a city," he said. "Alive and lovely and free."
"Splendid," Sir George said. "Really lovely."
"Especially from here," Bonner added. "Pimm's Cup again, Sir George?"
"Thank you, I'll have brandy-"
."Carlos Primero be all right?"
"Splendid. Thank you."
They took seats. They watched the solid coffee table for a moment, a duplicate of the one in Bonner's office.
"Customs again," Reedy said.
Bonner looked puzzled.
"The residents. They are permitted to speak to you in the Commons, but not in the corridors."
"More or less," Bonner said. "Not so much permitted as-well, as you say, a custom."
MacLean Stevens started to say something, but caught himself.
"Actually," Bonner said, "anyone can speak to anyone in the Commons. If you hadn't been along they'd have talked my arm off. They were being polite to outside visitors."
"And why was everyone so interested in garbage disposal?" Reedy asked.
"It's the 'Problem of the Week'," Bonner said. "Every week we have something the residents are asked to think about. If they come up with a good idea, we use it. Works more often than you think."
"I see. And you eat in the Commons regularly?"
"Reasonably so. I'm exempt from the requirement, of course, although I'm not so certain that's wise. Getting out and meeting the residents is just plain good politics. If Nixon had gone drinking in bars once in a while, he'd have served two full terms as President. For that matter, Mac, your Mayor would benefit by getting out and meeting some random citizens."
"Sure. With fifty bodyguards."
"See?" Bonner said. "I don't need bodyguards. Not in Todos Santos. I can go meet anyone I like. Ah. Here are our drinks."
The coffee table opened to reveal three large snifters of brandy.
Reedy asked, "Is an automatic bartender standard in all apartments?"
"It's not automated," MacLean Stevens said. "Somewhere in this building a very human bartender poured those drinks."
Bonner nodded agreement. "Most places get deliveries by jitney to their outside door. Executive and luxury suites have direct conveyors."
"A service reserved for the higher castes," Stevens said. "Kings, Queens, and Drones." He lifted his glass. "Cheers."
"That's a very old image, Mac." Bonner lifted his own glass in reply. "Cheers. I suppose you could call the executives kings and queens, and the major stockholders drones, but what's the sense of it? Sir George, Mac doesn't like Todos Santos-but his wife wants to live here. Doesn't she, Mac?"
Stevens nodded sourly.
"You'll notice he doesn't say he can't afford to bring her here, either," Bonner said. "I've offered him nearly every job in my department."
Stevens fidgeted nervously, then glanced at his watch. "Sir George, I really must be leaving soon."
"Good heavens, yes, of course you'll have to get back to your family. I'm very sorry-"
"You needn't leave," Bonner said. "We have guest suites. Please stay on, Sir George. What time is your first appointment in the morning?"
"Well, actually I had expected to return here-"
"That's settled, then. I'll have a guest suite with same toilet articles laid out for you. You've no family with you in Los Angeles."
He didn't say it as a question. Stevens wandered for a moment, then nodded. Bonner would have had MILLIE check airline and hotel reservations.
"I would enjoy staying over, if Mr. Stevens doesn't mind," Reedy said.
"No, of course not. I can find my way out, Art. Can you have my chopper meet me?"
"Sure."
Stevens downed the last of his brandy and stood. "Be seeing you. I'll come by for Sir George in the morning. Call City Hall about an hour before you're ready to leave, if you please."
"We'll get him back to you," Bonner assured him. He walked with Stevens across the thick carpets to the entryway. "Bring Janice with you next time. Sometime when you're not showing the Commons-"
Stevens nodded. "Thanks." The door slid open for him, then closed.
"Poor Mac," Bonner said as he came back to his seat. "His wife really enjoys this place, and Mac thinks coming here is a chore. Excuse me a moment, please?" He frowned in concentration.
Reedy could hear the instructions: That is, he could hear MILLIE listening to them. MacLean Stevens leaving 47-001 now. Full Protection. Call LAFD for his helicopter.
ACKNOWLEDGED.
Bonner said, "I expect you've got a few more questions."
"Millions," Reedy agreed. "I don't know where to begin. Uh - I say, Mr. Bonner, I can't help noticing that your relationship with Mr. Stevens is rather peculiar."
Bonner grinned broadly. "That's not the way I'd put it, but yes. Mac is convinced that this place couldn't exist without Los Angeles. To him we're no more than a vampire sucking up sustenance from his city. And since he's got an ungovernable mess out there, naturally he resents our order and tranquility even mare."
"I see. And yet you're friends."
"I wish we were closer friends. He's a very good man, Sir George. But then you've seen that."
"Yes. Is his theory correct, by the way?"
Bonner hesitated for only a second. "Certainly. In a way. There have been several experiments in arcologies, Sir George. This is the only one that has succeeded."
"You're quite the largest and best financed."
Bonner nodded. "True. But that isn't all of it, I think. We have had a lot of success. Not just avoiding deterioration, we've had growth and improvement and we make a profit far the stockholders and financiers. The earlier arcologies need massive tax subsidies, Todos Santos pays taxes. As few as possible, but we pay."
Sir George nodded agreement. "I know. It's the purpose of my visit. Why?"
"Our independence and lack of tax strangulation," Bonner said quickly. "We make our own laws, and no one outside bothers us. Dictatorial efficiency. 'The first bloom of fascism.' I make the trains run on time. I even build trains."
"Seriously-"
"I am being serious. We do have efficient administration. Simply getting out from under the dead hand of government, chopping out bureaucratic deadwood-that's worth a lot."
Reedy nodded again. "That's the standard explanation, but I am not at all certain that I accept the standard theories, else I'd not be here. I am looking for what the sociologists and economists may have missed. Most of them hate you from theoretical principles. Or love you from others."
"Something else you've seen," Bonner said. "Security. Nobody has to be afraid in Todos Santos. Everyone in this place can talk to everyone else, and not be afraid. I think that's worth something, too."
"But what of Stevens's theory?"
Bonner smiled. "I'll jump Mac's gun, since he'll tell you all about it tomorrow anyway. But do keep in mind what I said. Without our communications, upwards and downwards and sideways, the rest wouldn't matter.
"Now, Mac Stevens believes that without the resources of a big city to draw on we'd never make Todos Santos anything like self sufficient. We'd forget something vital, and it would take time and effort to correct. That's why he said you couldn't build an arcology out in your undeveloped lands."
"I see. But there was an experiment like that. In India." Reedy leaned back in the comfortable chair and sniffed brandy. "Back when the United States was sending aid to India. The Rockefeller Foundation tried to build an instant industrial complex in an undeveloped village and farming region."
Bonner nodded. "MILLIE has the details, if you're interested. Yes. And the project failed dismally, for precisely the reasons I've mentioned. Sure. Sir George, I won't try to hide from you just how much we
depend on Los Angeles. I know, because MILLIE monitors everything coming into this place. I know where every dollar goes out of here, too. I think Mac's absolutely right, you have to be near a big city, near enough to draw on its resources, or your arcology's going to flop. Economically, socially, in every way."
"But certainly that's not enough by itself. It can't explain your economic successes."