The Complete LaNague

by F. Paul Wilson

  But Doc Zack had his own lists and he sent word to the students who had signed up for his class, and to favored students from past years, that he would be giving the first lecture as scheduled in the course catalogue. Anyone who was interested was welcome to come and listen. Radmon Sayers was also informed of the time and location of the lecture, but by a more circuitous route. He would see to it that Dr. Zachariah Brophy's first and last lecture of the new semester would have a much larger audience than the regents or anyone else anticipated.

  “I'M NOT EXACTLY overwhelmed by the turnout this morning,” Doc Zack said, strolling back and forth across the front of the classroom in his usual speaking manner, looking as cadaverous as ever. “But I guess it would be hoping too much to see a standing-room-only crowd before me. I know that the prices of everything are keeping two jumps ahead of salary increases, and that many of you here are risking your places in this glorious institution just by being here. For that I thank you, and commend your courage.”

  He craned his neck and looked around the room. “I see some familiar faces here and some new ones, too. That's good.” One of the new faces sat in the last row. He was young enough to pass for a student, but the square black vid recorder plate he held in the air, its flat surface following Zack wherever he went, gave him away as something more. This would be Sayers’ man, recording the lecture. Zack took a deep breath… time to take the plunge.

  “What we're going to discuss here today may not seem like economics at first. It will concern the government – our government, the Imperium. It's a monster story in the truest, Frankensteinian sense, of a man-made creature running amuck across the countryside, blindly destroying everything it touches. But this is not some hideous creature of sewn-together cadavers; this creature is handsome and graceful and professes only to have our best interests at heart, desiring only to help us.

  “Where most of its power lies is in the economy of our land. It creates the money, controls its supply, controls the interest rates that can be charged for borrowing it, controls, in fact, the very value of that money. And the hand that controls the economy controls you – each and every one of you. For your everyday lives depend on the economy: your job, the salary you receive for working that job, the price of your home, the clothes on your back, the food you eat. You can no more divorce a functioning human being from his or her ambient economy than from his or her ambient air. It's an integral part of life. Control a being's economic environment and, friend, you control that being.

  “Here on the out-worlds, we live in a carefully controlled economy. That's bad enough. But what's worse is that the controlling hand belongs to an idiot.”

  He paused a moment to let that sink in, glancing at the recorder plate held aloft at the rear of the room, noting that it was aimed in such a way that if it happened to include any of the students in its frame, only backs of heads would be visible.

  “Let's take a look at this handsome, ostensibly well-meaning meaning, idiotic monster we've created and see what it's doing to us. I think you'll soon see why I've subtitled this course. Our Enemy, the State. Let's see what it does to help those of us who can't seem to make ends meet. I won't start in on the Imperial Dole Program – you all know what a horrendous mess that is. Everybody has something bad to say about the dole. No… I think I'll start with the program that's been most praised by the people within the government and press: the Food Voucher Program.

  “As it stands now, a man with a family of four earning 12,000 marks a year is eligible for 1,000 marks’ worth of food vouchers to supplement his income and help feed his family. That's okay, you say? You don't mind some of your taxes going to help some poor working stiff make ends meet? That's lucky for you, because nobody asked you anyway. Whether you like it or not, approve of it or not, he's going to get the 1,000 marks.

  “But putting that aside, did you realize that the Imperium taxes this man 2,200 marks a year? That's right. It takes 2,200 marks out of his pocket in little bits and pieces via withholding taxes during each pay period. And the withholding tax is a very important concept as far as the government is concerned. It is thereby allowed to extract the income tax almost painlessly, and to force the employer to do all the accounting for the withholding tax free of charge, despite the fact that slavery has never been allowed in the out-worlds. It needs the withholding tax, because if the Imperium tried to extract all the year's income taxes at once it would have the entire citizenry out in the streets with armfuls of rocks… it wouldn't last a standard year.

  “But back to our food voucher recipient: his 2,200 marks are collected each year, sent to the Regional Revenue Center, and from there shipped to the Central Treasury in Primus City – if Robin Hood doesn't get it first.” This brought a laugh and a smattering of applause from the class. “Now don't forget that everybody who handles it along the way gets paid something for his time – from the lowliest programmer to the Minister of the Treasury, everyone takes a chunk. Then the money has to be appropriated by the legislature into the Bureau of Food Subsidization, and the case workers have to decide who's eligible, and how much the eligibles should get, and somebody has to print up the vouchers, and somebody has to run the maintenance machinery to keep the floors of the Bureau of Food Subsidization clean and so on, ad nauseam. Everybody along the line gets paid something for his or her efforts.

  “In the end, our lowly citizen gets his thousand marks’ worth of food vouchers, but in the process, not only has his 2,200 marks in taxes been consumed by the bureaucracy, but an additional 830 marks of your taxes as well. A total of 3,030 marks! That's right: it costs 3.03 marks in taxes for our enemy, the Imperium, to give a single mark's worth of benefits. And has anyone along the line suggested that we just cut this poor citizen's taxes by a thousand marks? Of course not! That would save us all a net of 2,000 marks, but it would also mean cutting appropriations, and fewer do-nothings in the Revenue Service and the Bureau of Food Subsidization, and who knows

  where else. The men who run these bureaus and run these out-worlds don't want that. And they have the say and we don't. And that's why the Imperium is our enemy, because it is filled with these men.”

  Zack paused briefly here for breath and to allow himself to cool. He always got worked up talking about the excesses and idiocy of the Imperium, and had to be careful not to say more than he meant to.

  “And so you can see why you have to understand the working of a large and powerful government if you are to understand modern economics. The Food Voucher System is only a very obvious example. There are economic machinations going on within the Imperium which are far more subtle and far more sinister than the buffoonery of the Bureau of Food Subsidization, and we shall delve into those at a later date. But first we must teach you all some of the rudiments of free market economics, a realm of economic theory that has been the victim of de facto censorship in teaching centers from here to Earth for centuries. We'll begin with von Mises, then–”

  Noticing alarmed expressions on the faces of some of the students, and sensing that the focus of their attention had suddenly shifted to a point somewhere behind him, Zack turned around. Two university security men stood in the doorway.

  “We have a report of an unauthorized class being conducted here,” the burly one on the right said. “Are you a member of the faculty, sir?”

  “Of course I am!”

  “And what course is this?”

  “Economics 10037: Our Enemy, the State.”

  The guard on the left, taller but equally well muscled, frowned disapproval and scanned the readout on his pocket directory. “Didn't think so,” he said, glancing at his partner. “There's no such course.”

  “What's your name?” said the burly one.

  “Zachariah Brophy, Ph.D.”

  Again the pocket directory was scanned. Again a negative readout. “No one on the faculty by that name.”

  “Now wait just a minute! I've been teaching here for twenty years! I'll have you know–”

 
“Save it, pal,” the burly one said, taking Zack's elbow. “We're going to escort you to the gate and you can find yourself somewhere else to play school.”

  Zack pulled his arm away. “You'll do no such thing! I demand that you call the regents’ office and check that.”

  “This is a direct link to the regents’ computer,” the taller guard said, holding up his pocket directory. “The information out of here is up to the minute – and it says you don't belong here. So make it easy for all of us and come quietly.”

  “No! I won't go anywhere quietly! This is supposed to be a university, where all points of view can be heard, where inquiring minds can pick and choose among a variety of ideas. I won't be stifled!” He turned to the class. “Now, as I was saying–”

  The two guards behind him could be seen glancing at each other and shrugging. Each stepped forward and, grabbing an elbow and an armpit, dragged Doc Zack backward from the classroom.

  “Let me go!” Zack shouted. He dug his heels into the floor, struggled to free his arm but to no avail. As a last desperate hope, he turned to the class. “Some of you help me, please! Please! Don't let them take me away like this!”

  But as they dragged him out through the door and around the corner and down the hall, no one moved, and that was what hurt most of all.

  “…NOW I THINK you all know that it's not my policy to editorialize. I merely report the news the way it happens. But I believe that what we've just seen is so extraordinary that I must comment upon it. The exclusive eyewitness recording of the expulsion of Professor Zachariah Brophy from the campus of the University of the Out-worlds that was just replayed was obtained because I had heard that this renegade professor was determined to give his treasonous course despite the fact that his superiors had canceled it. I sent a recorder technician to the classroom to see just how the regents would handle such an incident, and you have seen the results yourselves tonight.

  “I must say that I, as a citizen of the Imperium, am proud of what I have just seen. Enormous amounts of our tax marks are spent yearly to keep the University of the Out-worlds one of the top institutions of learning in Occupied Space. We cannot allow a few malcontents to decide that they are wiser than the board of regents and to teach whatever they see fit, regardless of academic merit. We especially cannot allow someone like Professor Zachariah Brophy, impressive as his credentials might be, to denigrate the Imperium, which supports the university, and therefore denigrate the university itself by his unfounded and inflammatory criticism.

  “I support freedom of speech to the fullest, but when it's being done on my time and being supported by my tax dollars, then I want some control over what's being said. Otherwise, let Professor Brophy take his podium to Imperium Park and give his message to whoever wishes to gather and listen. And to anyone else who tries to waste the taxpayers’ money by trying to besmirch the Imperium at their expense, let this be a warning.”

  The final segment of the recording, wherein Doc Zack was dragged kicking and pleading from the classroom, was rerun, and then Radmon Sayers’ face filled the screen again.

  “And now, new word from Earth on the mysterious behavior of Eric Boedekker, the wealthy asteroid mining magnate, who has just sold the remainder of his asteroid mineral rights to a consortium of prospectors for an undisclosed but undoubtedly enormous sum. Still no hint as to what he's doing or plans to do with all that credit.

  “And on Neeka–”

  Metep VII touched a stud on the armrest of his chair and the holovid globe went dark. “That Sayers is a good man,” he told Haworth, who sat an arm's length away to his left.

  “Think so?”

  “Sure. Look how he defended the regents. That could have been a very embarrassing recording. It would take nothing to exploit it into an example of repression of academic freedom, freedom of speech, creeping fascism, or whatever other nonsense you want. But Sayers turned it into a testimonial to the way the regents and the Imperium are ever on guard against misuse and abuse of educational taxes. He turned it into a plus for us and kept Brophy a miscreant instead of elevating him to a martyr.”

  “You think he's on our side, then?”

  “Definitely. Don't you?”

  “I don't know.” Haworth was pensive. “I really don't know. If he were really on our side, I don't think he would have shown that recording at all.”

  “Come now – he's a newsman! He couldn't pass up a story like that.”

  “Yes, that's very obvious. But it all seems too pat. I mean, how did he happen to know that Brophy would be giving that lecture against the orders of the regents?”

  “Probably one of the students told him.”

  “Possible. But do you realize that even if the regents had left Brophy to his own devices and let him give his course as originally scheduled with no interference, only a few thousand would have heard him over the closed-circuit vid? And if it weren't for Sayers, only twenty or thirty would have heard him today. But now, after showing that recording on the prime time news, Professor Brophy's message has reached millions. Millions!”

  “Yes, but it was a silly message. There are a dozen stories like that going around every month about waste in government. Nobody pays them too much mind.”

  “But the contempt in his voice,” Haworth said, frowning. “The utter contempt… it came across so strongly.”

  “But it doesn't matter, Daro. Sayers negated any points that old bird managed to score by painting him as a tax waster and a disloyal employee.”

  “Did he? I hope so. Maybe he made Brophy look silly to you and me, but what about all those sentimental slobs out there? How did Brophy look to them? Are they going to remember what Radmon Sayers said about him, or is the one thing that sticks in their minds going to be the image of a skinny old man being forcibly dragged from view by a couple of young, husky, uniformed guards?”

  “AND WHAT WAS all that supposed to prove?” Broohnin asked as Radmon Sayers’ face faded from the globe.

  “It proves nothing,” LaNague replied. “Its purpose was merely to plant a seed in the backlot of the public mind to let it know what kind of power the Imperium has.”

  “I'm not impressed. Not a bit. We could have had a full-scale riot on the campus if we had planned it right. The Imperial Guard would have been called out and then Sayers would have really had something to show on his news show.”

  “But the effect wouldn't have been the same, Den,” Zack said from his seat in the corner. “There's big competition for on-campus placement at U. of O., and people seeing the students out on the grounds rioting would only resent the sight of rare opportunity being wasted. They'd want the Imperial Guard to step in; they'd cheer them on. And people would get hurt, which is what we're trying to avoid.”

  “We could see to it that a lot of the Guard got hurt!” Broohnin said with a grin. “And if a few students got banged up, all the better. I mean, after all, you wanted to show the oppressive powers of the Imperium. What better evidence than a few battered skulls?”

  Zack shook his head in exasperated dismay and looked at LaNague. “I give up. You try.”

  LaNague didn't relish the task. He was beginning to think of Broohnin more and more as a lost cause. “Look at it this way: the Imperium is not an overtly oppressive regime. It controls the populace in a more devious manner by controlling the economy. And it controls life within its boundaries as effectively via the economy as with a club. The indirection of the Imperium's controls makes us forget that it still has the club and is holding it in reserve. The only reason we don't see the club is because the Imperium has found ways to get what it wants without it. But as soon as necessity dictates, out it will come. And it will be used without hesitation. We didn't want the club brought out today, because that would mean bloodshed. We just wanted the public to get a peek into the sack where it's kept… just a reminder that it's there.”

  “And it was relatively painless,” Zack said, rubbing his axillae. “The worst I got out of it was a couple of so
re armpits.”

  “But what the public saw,” LaNague continued, “was an elderly man–”

  “Not so elderly!”

  “–who is a renowned professor, being pulled from the classroom by force. He wasn't destroying the campus or disrupting the educational process. All he was doing was standing and talking – teaching! – a group of students. And for that he was dragged away by two uniformed men. And believe me, there's something in the sight of uniformed henchmen laying their hands on a peaceful civilian that raises the hackles of out-worlders.”

  “But what did they do? There've been no protests, no cries of outrage, no taking to the streets? Nothing!”

  “Right,” LaNague said. “And there won't be, because it was a minor incident. Doc Zack wasn't arrested and he wasn't beaten to a pulp. But he was silenced and he was dragged away by force. And I think people will remember that.”

  “And so what if they do?” Broohnin said, as belligerent as ever. “The Imperium isn't weakened one erg.”

  “But its image is. And that's enough for now.”

  “Well, it's not enough for me!” Broohnin rose and wandered aimlessly around the room, pulling something from his pocket as he moved. LaNague watched him pop whatever it was under his tongue – he guessed it to be a mood elevator – and stand and wait for it to take effect. Yes, Broohnin was definitely on the brink. He would have to be watched closely.

  “Hear about the meeting?” Zack said into the tension-filled silence.

  “What meeting?” LaNague said.

  “Metep and the Council of Five. Word's come down that they've called a special hush-hush super-secret enclave next week. Even Krager's cutting his vacation short and coming back for it.”

  “Sounds important. Anybody know what it's about?”

  Zack shrugged. “Ask Den… One of his people picked it up.”