“We are trying to find a substance that cannot be duplicated,” explained Channing. “Given time, we will. Until then, I’m helpless.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been hoping that we could control the situation until something sensible could be worked out. It slipped out of hand. I’d suggest that you stop operations because of the absolute impossibility of keeping your thumb on things. I’d forget the counterfeiting angle entirely and start building up a force to guard against riots, mob rule, and minor intercommunity warfare.”
“I think you’re right,” said Hughes, and Channing knew that the head of the Interplanetary Criminal Office was nodding his head.
Channing hung up the telephone and toyed with three copies of the judge’s watch that were keeping identical time. He shook his head and wondered how it was all going to end.
-
Conversion from production line to duplicator came all over the Solar System in about ten days. Terran Electric‘s own staff fabricated a duplicator capable of handling an object the size of a locomotive, and plant-sized duplicators were formed, one after the other, on flat cars that rolled from the maw of the huge machine. For payment, Terran Electric accepted blocks of stock in the purchasing companies, and the wealth and holdings of Terran Electric mounted high and began to look like the major company that would ultimately control all merchandising and manufacture in the System.
And thirty days after the conversion came, the wheels ground to a stop. Industry was finished. Work had ceased. Plants lay idle, nothing to do—and no one to do it for them.
Keg Johnson looked up as Linna entered. There was a worried look on her face that caused Keg to inquire immediately as to its cause.
She tossed a diamond bracelet on the desk and snorted: “That!”
Keg picked it up. “Looks all right to me,” he said. “Like the real article. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing that I can tell,” his wife grumbled. “Excepting that my maid has one like it. Exactly.”
“I’m not too surprised,” laughed Keg. “I’ve been warning you of that.”
“But what’s the world coming to? If my maid can afford a diamond bracelet like this, she won’t be working for me very long.”
“At that, you’re probably right I’d treat her with the most delicate of care,” said Keg.
“She’s my maid!”
“Look, Linna, You’re not up-to-date. I can predict people sleeping in gold beds and eating from solid-platinum dishes before the hysteria dies out. The economic setup has gone to pot, Unna, and we’re trying to work it out.”
“But what’s the world coming to?”
“It isn’t a matter of what it’s coming to, it’s a matter of where it has gone. My technicians tell me metals will be rated in value as per their atomic number. Uranium is more expensive than lithium because the transmutation factor is higher. It takes a little more power and more matter from the matter bank in the instrument to make uranium than lithium; ergo, uranium will cost more.”
“Then if this diamond bracelet is worthless, can’t we get some uranium jewelry?”
“Sure—if you want it. But remember it is radioactive and therefore not to be worn too close to the skin. It isn’t as bad as radium, for instance, but it’s bad enough. Besides, Linna, the matter of uranium’s value over lithium is a matter of a few tenths of a percent.”
“Urn. And how much is a pound of uranium worth, these days?”
“In Terran dollars about forty-seven million, six hundred fifty-thousand, three hundred and eight.”
“Are you kidding?” demanded Linna. “How can Marie afford—”
“Linna, dollars are worthless these days. Monetary holdings are worthless. Stocks and bonds are likewise useless. Interplanetary isn’t shipping a thing. Venus Equilateral is handling sentimental messages only, and they’d be running at a loss if it weren’t for the fact that they’re out in space, where power comes from Sol.”
“But what is going on?”
“The death of an economic system.”
“But why? Keg, you know I’ve never questioned your ability. You have always enjoyed the run of big business. Whenever I’ve needed or wanted anything, it has been available. I write checks and never question the balance. But this has me stopped. What has happened, specifically?”
“Channing and Franks invented a gadget that will reproduce anything.”
“It is just that?”
“That and only that,” said Keg.
“But it seems to me that this would make everybody live in a world of plenty.”
“It will. That’s why we’ll have people sleeping in solid-gold beds, and enjoying silver plumbing. Platinum will have no more value than a slab of lead of the same weight. You see, Linna, when they can duplicate anything—in quantity—it includes money, stocks, bonds, and jewelry as well as radio receivers, automobiles, refrigerators, and table lamps. No one will take one dime’s worth of money because it is valueless. Why should I sell my fountain pen for fifty dollars when I can make fifty dollars by pushing a button? Or the other guy can make a fountain pen by pushing a button? Follow?”
“But the public utilities? What of them?”
“That’s the cinder in the eye, Linna. Somebody’s got to work!”
“Well, I’ve heard it said that someone will like to do everything—someone will find pleasure in digging latrines, if you look for him long enough.”
“Not good enough. Barney Carroll likes to tinker with radio. He’s good, too. But it’s a hobby, and Barney’s tinkering will not produce anything like a commercial receiver. Oh, it’ll work, and as good as any set, but no one would have the thing in the living room because it has no artistic appeal. But say it did. Fine. Then what about the automobile boys? Has anyone ever tried to make his own automobile? Can you see yourself trusting a homemade flier? On the other hand, why should an aeronautical engineer exist? Study is difficult, and study alone is not sufficient. It takes years of practical experience to make a good aeronautical engineer. If your man can push buttons for his living, why shouldn’t he relax?”
“But what are we going to do?”
“Linna, I bought this place so that we could work it out. There is one thing that cannot be duplicated,”
“Yes?”
“Service.”
“Meaning?”
“You can’t machine-clean the house. You can’t machine-write books, music, or moving pictures. You can’t machine-maintain machinery. You can’t machine-doctor a burst appendix. And so forth. You can duplicate antiques until they have no value. Rembrandt is going to be a household word. The day of the antique is gone, Linna, and the eventual trend will be toward the unique. Mark my words, there will one day be ‘unique shops’ that deal in nothing but items which they can certify as never having been duplicated.”
“But if service is of value,” said Linna doubtfully, “how am I going to get along?”
“You’ll be of service,” Keg said harshly, “or you‘ll not get along.”
“So?”
“Look, Linna. You’re my wife. As my wife, you‘ve been spoiled. That’s my fault, I liked to spoil you. In the early days I couldn’t spoil you because we were in no financial position to do any spoiling, but now you’ve become a parasite, Linna. You and your dinners and your jewels and your cars and your sleek, vacuum-brained friends. Patron of the arts! Nuts. Bum poetry, slapdash canvases, weird discordant music. No, it’s not entirely your fault. I’ve sponsored it because I thought it gave you pleasure.
“But we’re all on the same level now,” he continued reflectively. “No one is any better than his brains. I’ve been graced. It has been my very lucky lot to be in a position where I can sway men to my will. Fabriville is mine—and yet it belongs to every man in it equally. I can’t get along without them, and they can’t get along without Fabriville.”
“But how is it going to work out?”
“I don’t know. It’s
tough. We have three physicians and two surgeons and a couple of high-powered diagnosticians. The question is this: how much time should Mrs. Jones desire of Dr. Hansen? She has a bit of rheumatism. Larkin, on the other hand, has a bad case of gallstones. Obviously, these two must not enjoy equal call upon Dr. Hansen. Furthermore, these two must not be expected to pay the same figure.”
“Pay the same figure?”
“In service, Linna. The board of strategy sits for several hours each day deciding upon things like this—and it is not simple. How many hours of gardening is worth removing gallstones? And what happens to Dr. Hansen when he has seventeen gardeners, four butlers, nine chauffeurs, fifteen cooks, and twelve of each of the rest?”
“Um. I see.”
“But how do we tackle it? Until someone gets a medium of exchange, we’re forced to go on the barter-and-trade basis. Fabriville will toss out anyone who isn’t paying his way by working. In return, he has free call upon the market, the manufacturing center, and the professionals. Thank God that hoarding is silly in a realm of plenty.”
“But what can I do?” Linna wailed.
“Help. Go out and help in the hospital.”
“But I’m your wife.”
“So what?” said Keg flatly. I’m working. I get no more for this than Joe Doakes, who is out there painting the flagpole.”
“But—”
“Sure, I like to do this. But Joe Doakes always wanted to run up a flagpole on a bosun’s chair and paint it. We’re exactly even. At least in Fabriville we aren’t doing without anything. Eventually the rest of the worlds will fall in line and there will be enough of stuff for everyone, but until that time arrives we’ll be seeing trouble.”
“The rest of the worlds?”
“There’ll be riots and small-town wars. I only hope we can get our fence up before they decide to call on us.”
“You’ve sort of created an oasis here,” said Linna. “But how long will it last?”
“Until Channing and Franks come up with some substance that cannot be run through their own duplicator. I hope it will not be too long.”
-
Out in the Trojan position ahead of Venus, Venus Equilateral moved in its quiet way. Like Fabriville, Venus Equilateral was self-sufficient. Furthermore, Don Channing had declared a closed corporation, and the three thousand inhabitants of the relay station were all in accord.
Business was running low. Yet the salaries went on, even increased, while prices went dropping to ridiculously low levels.
With a closed system such as Venus Equilateral, such an artificial economy was possible by mere basic control. The crime angle was nil on Venus Equilateral. With three thousand people living in a cylinder of steel three miles long and a mile in diameter, crime and general mistiness were eradicated by the simple means of making it too hard to conduct anything illegal. The citizens of Venus Equilateral were patriotic to the nth degree.
So the situation was less strained man in Fabriville. Though work moved slowly, there was still more than plenty for everyone, and the people were satisfied.
They were an unsuspicious lot and so they did not think it off-color when a small spacecraft of the plutocrat class came circling up to the south end landing stage. The craft landed, and a tall, broad-shouldered man emerged and asked for Channing. He was escorted along a mile of car-way in the outer skin of the station and then whipped up toward the center of the station for five hundred feet. He was led along the broad corridor and shown the main office of the Director of Communications.
Don Channing’s secretary opened the door and said: “A Mr. Lauras Towle to see you, Dr. Channing.”
Don nodded.
Towle entered behind the girl, who introduced him to Don and to Walt Franks. Then she left.
And as the door closed, Towle whipped out a revolver and pointed it at Channing. Walt slid forward off his chair and brought the chair around over his head with a single, flowing motion. Towle ducked the thrown chair, faded backward, and fired at Don.
The shot pinged against the steel wall, flaking off some of the plastic covering.
Don dropped to the floor and came up with his waste-paper basket, which he hurled at Towle. Towle ducked, fended it aside with his left hand, and tried to level the gun again. Walt Franks reached into an open file drawer and grabbed a large handful of papers, which he threw at Towle. They fluttered and filled the air for a moment, which distracted Towle long enough for Channing to leap over the desk.
Don and Walt closed on Towle in a high-low tackle, Don jumping at the man’s head and shoulders from the desk top, while Franks hit Towle sidewise at thigh level in a crashing tackle. They rolled over and over and Towle lost his revolver.
The papers were still fluttering to the floor when they came to rest with Towle neatly squelched beneath Channing and Franks. Towle tried to heave them off.
Don almost knocked Towle’s jaw loose with a stinging backhand slap. “Don’t try,” snarled Don, “you’re had—right now!”
“You stinking—”
“Shaddup,” growled Channing, “and start explaining what this is for.”
“I’m ruined!”
“Try it again and we’ll ruin you some more,” Don promised. “I have an aversion to being shot at.”
“So have I,” said Walt.
“He wasn’t shooting at you,” said Don.
“No, but I’d have been next, wouldn’t I, Lazarus?”
“Lauras,” Towle snarled.
“Now look,” said Don in a voice that gave no idea of softness, “you’re licked from here on in. This weapon of yours is now ours, and we’ll hang it in the museum with other mementoes of our having been shot at. Luckily, this makes the first time that it has been close. Say—you aren’t an old crony of Hellion Murdoch?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Good. Now, as I was saying, we‘ve disarmed you—Walt, take a prowl of his person and see if he has any more lethal instruments concealed thereupon—and we’re inclined to get up off the floor and resume our roles as gentlemen. Besides, I want to know what you had in mind besides assassination.”
They lifted the man from his supine position and planted him roughly in an overstaffed chair. Don and Walt sat on one edge of the desk, ready to move in with the first wrong move.
Don snapped the communicator and spoke to the girl outside. “Mr. Towle had an accident with an exploding cigar, Lorraine. No one need enter.”
“Now,” he said to Towle, “precisely what gives?”
“I’m ruined.”
“Yep. You are. But why?”
“You ruined me.”
“Me?” asked Channing. “Not that I know of.”
“I’m bankrupt.”
“Bankrupt?” Channing laughed.
Towle bristled at the laugh. “It’s no laughing matter, Channing. For most of my life I’ve been saving to retire. In the turn of a wrist, you’ve made all my savings useless.”
“Are you starving?”
“No.”
“Are you homeless?”
“No.”
“Are you being deprived of anything?”
“Um—no.”
“Then what’s all the shooting for?”
“But my savings?”
“Look, Towle, you worked hard for them, I do not doubt. But you’ve got just what you wanted, anyway. You have a duplicator?”
“Of course. I bought it early.”
“Good. Then use it and quit worrying about your savings.”
“But the years of deprivation to build up that fortune.”
“Tough,” said Channing. “I suppose you’re mad because the foolish grasshopper is now enjoying the same benefits as the ambitions ant. That’s not right, I suppose. But on the other hand, why should any man be a slave to toil?”
“ ‘Man shall earn his bread by the sweat of his brow’.”
“Baloney. Next you’ll be telling me that men were better off with a ten-hour day and a six-day week.”
“Nor did they have as much fun,” said Channing. “Nor were there as many developments made in the fields of science and industry. Men slaved and worked and lived and died without ever seeing the pleasure of the country sky. The radio would have been useless without leisure to enjoy its offerings. And who will say that radio is a useless science?”
“But it’s not right that I should have slaved to acquire a retirement fortune only to have it wiped out.”
“Look, Towle, the whole system is undergoing a radical change in the economic structure. By the same token, Venus Equilateral is a ruined concern. We’ve dropped from ten million paid messages per day to a mere handful. Those we send through because we are bound by agreement to maintain service at all costs. We aren’t making expenses, if you feel like hollering about money. Would you like a few million?” Channing asked suddenly.
“I have—”
“And you used your duplicator to run up your fortune, first thing, didn’t you?” asked Channing scathingly.
“Naturally.”
“And you’re sore because everyone else did the same thing. Towle, you’re a dope. You’ve been feeling very virtuous about working like a slave for your fortune, which would probably keep you in cakes and lodging for the rest of your life. You’ve been promising starvation and pauperism to anyone who bought anything that seemed the slightest bit frivolous to you. Now that the ax has slipped, you’re mad because the guy who liked to ramble amid the roses is not going to starve to death as per schedule. What’s wrong with you? You’re not going hungry. You’ll be better off than before. As soon as we get this mess ironed out, you’ll be able to enjoy life as before. Your savings are safe. As soon as we get a medium of exchange that works, you’ll be credited—the government took care of that as soon as the bottom fell out of the monetary system. Call ‘em dollars, credits, or whathaveyou’s, they’ll all be prorated and you’ll then enjoy your fortune—though it won’t be as much fun because no man is going to have to slave again. You’re a crazy man, Towle, and as such I’m sending you back to Terra under guard. We’ll let the psychologists work over you. Maybe they can make you behave.”
Complete Venus Equilateral (1976) SSC Page 37