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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mercenary, by Dallas McCord Reynolds
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mercenary
+
+Author: Dallas McCord Reynolds
+
+Illustrator: Lloyd Birmingham
+
+Release Date: January 20, 2008 [EBook #24370]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MERCENARY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+MERCENARY
+
+ Every status-quo-caste society in history
+ has left open two roads to rise above your
+ caste: The Priest and The Warrior. But in
+ a society of TV and tranquilizers--the
+ Warrior acquires a strange new meaning....
+
+BY MACK REYNOLDS
+
+ILLUSTRATED BY BIRMINGHAM
+
+
+Joseph Mauser spotted the recruiting line-up from two or three blocks
+down the street, shortly after driving into Kingston. The local offices
+of Vacuum Tube Transport, undoubtedly. Baron Haer would be doing his
+recruiting for the fracas with Continental Hovercraft there if for no
+other reason than to save on rents. The Baron was watching pennies on
+this one and that was bad.
+
+In fact, it was so bad that even as Joe Mauser let his sports hovercar
+sink to a parking level and vaulted over its side he was still
+questioning his decision to sign up with the Vacuum Tube outfit rather
+than with their opponents. Joe was an old pro and old pros do not get to
+be old pros in the Category Military without developing an instinct to
+stay away from losing sides.
+
+Fine enough for Low-Lowers and Mid-Lowers to sign up with this outfit,
+as opposed to that, motivated by no other reasoning than the snappiness
+of the uniform and the stock shares offered, but an old pro considered
+carefully such matters as budget. Baron Haer was watching every expense,
+was, it was rumored, figuring on commanding himself and calling upon
+relatives and friends for his staff. Continental Hovercraft, on the
+other hand, was heavy with variable capital and was in a position to
+hire Stonewall Cogswell himself for their tactician.
+
+However, the die was cast. You didn't run up a caste level, not to speak
+of two at once, by playing it careful. Joe had planned this out; for
+once, old pro or not, he was taking risks.
+
+Recruiting line-ups were not for such as he. Not for many a year, many a
+fracas. He strode rapidly along this one, heading for the offices ahead,
+noting only in passing the quality of the men who were taking service
+with Vacuum Tube Transport. These were the soldiers he'd be commanding
+in the immediate future and the prospects looked grim. There were few
+veterans among them. Their stance, their demeanor, their ... well, you
+could tell a veteran even though he be Rank Private. You could tell a
+veteran of even one fracas. It showed.
+
+He knew the situation. The word had gone out. Baron Malcolm Haer was due
+for a defeat. You weren't going to pick up any lush bonuses signing up
+with him, and you definitely weren't going to jump a caste. In short, no
+matter what Haer's past record, choose what was going to be the winning
+side--Continental Hovercraft. Continental Hovercraft and old Stonewall
+Cogswell who had lost so few fracases that many a Telly buff couldn't
+remember a single one.
+
+Individuals among these men showed promise, Joe Mauser estimated even as
+he walked, but promise means little if you don't live long enough to
+cash in on it.
+
+Take that small man up ahead. He'd obviously got himself into a hassle
+maintaining his place in line against two or three heftier would-be
+soldiers. The little fellow wasn't backing down a step in spite of the
+attempts of the other Lowers to usurp his place. Joe Mauser liked to see
+such spirit. You could use it when you were in the dill.
+
+As he drew abreast of the altercation, he snapped from the side of his
+mouth, "Easy, lads. You'll get all the scrapping you want with
+Hovercraft. Wait until then."
+
+He'd expected his tone of authority to be enough, even though he was in
+mufti. He wasn't particularly interested in the situation, beyond giving
+the little man a hand. A veteran would have recognized him as an
+old-timer and probable officer, and heeded, automatically.
+
+These evidently weren't veterans.
+
+"Says who?" one of the Lowers growled back at him. "You one of Baron
+Haer's kids, or something?"
+
+Joe Mauser came to a halt and faced the other. He was irritated, largely
+with himself. He didn't want to be bothered. Nevertheless, there was no
+alternative now.
+
+The line of men, all Lowers so far as Joe could see, had fallen silent
+in an expectant hush. They were bored with their long wait. Now
+something would break the monotony.
+
+By tomorrow, Joe Mauser would be in command of some of these men. In as
+little as a week he would go into a full-fledged fracas with them. He
+couldn't afford to lose face. Not even at this point when all, including
+himself, were still civilian garbed. When matters pickled, in a fracas,
+you wanted men with complete confidence in you.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man who had grumbled the surly response was a near physical twin of
+Joe Mauser which put him in his early thirties, gave him five foot
+eleven of altitude and about one hundred and eighty pounds. His clothes
+casted him Low-Lower--nothing to lose. As with many who have nothing to
+lose, he was willing to risk all for principle. His face now registered
+that ideal. Joe Mauser had no authority over him, nor his friends.
+
+Joe's eyes flicked to the other two who had been pestering the little
+fellow. They weren't quite so aggressive and as yet had come to no
+conclusion about their stand. Probably the three had been unacquainted
+before their bullying alliance to deprive the smaller man of his place.
+However, a moment of hesitation and Joe would have a trio on his hands.
+
+He went through no further verbal preliminaries. Joe Mauser stepped
+closer. His right hand lanced forward, not doubled in a fist but fingers
+close together and pointed, spear-like. He sank it into the other's
+abdomen, immediately below the rib cage--the solar plexus.
+
+He had misestimated the other two. Even as his opponent crumpled, they
+were upon him, coming in from each side. And at least one of them, he
+could see now, had been in hand-to-hand combat before. In short, another
+pro, like Joe himself.
+
+He took one blow, rolling with it, and his feet automatically went into
+the shuffle of the trained fighter. He retreated slightly to erect
+defenses, plan attack. They pressed him strongly, sensing victory in his
+retreat.
+
+The one mattered little to him. Joe Mauser could have polished off the
+oaf in a matter of seconds, had he been allotted seconds to devote. But
+the second, the experienced one, was the problem. He and Joe were well
+matched and with the oaf as an ally really he had all the best of it.
+
+Support came from a forgotten source, the little chap who had been the
+reason for the whole hassle. He waded in now as big as the next man so
+far as spirit was concerned, but a sorry fate gave him to attack the
+wrong man, the veteran rather than the tyro. He took a crashing blow to
+the side of his head which sent him sailing back into the recruiting
+line, now composed of excited, shouting verbal participants of the fray.
+
+However, the extinction of Joe Mauser's small ally had taken a moment or
+two and time was what Joe needed most. For a double second he had the
+oaf alone on his hands and that was sufficient. He caught a flailing
+arm, turned his back and automatically went into the movements which
+result in that spectacular hold of the wrestler, the Flying Mare. Just
+in time he recalled that his opponent was a future comrade-in-arms and
+twisted the arm so that it bent at the elbow, rather than breaking. He
+hurled the other over his shoulder and as far as possible, to take the
+scrap out of him, and twirled quickly to meet the further attack of his
+sole remaining foe.
+
+That phase of the combat failed to materialize.
+
+A voice of command bit out, "Hold it, you lads!"
+
+The original situation which had precipitated the fight was being
+duplicated. But while the three Lowers had failed to respond to Joe
+Mauser's tone of authority, there was no similar failure now.
+
+The owner of the voice, beautifully done up in the uniform of Vacuum
+Tube Transport, complete to kilts and the swagger stick of the officer
+of Rank Colonel or above, stood glaring at them. Age, Joe estimated,
+even as he came to attention, somewhere in the late twenties--an Upper
+in caste. Born to command. His face holding that arrogant, contemptuous
+expression once common to the patricians of Rome, the Prussian Junkers,
+the British ruling class of the Nineteenth Century. Joe knew the
+expression well. How well he knew it. On more than one occasion, he had
+dreamt of it.
+
+Joe said, "Yes, sir."
+
+"What in Zen goes on here? Are you lads overtranked?"
+
+"No, sir," Joe's veteran opponent grumbled, his eyes on the ground, a
+schoolboy before the principal.
+
+Joe said, evenly, "A private disagreement, sir."
+
+"Disagreement!" the Upper snorted. His eyes went to the three fallen
+combatants, who were in various stages of reviving. "I'd hate to see you
+lads in a real scrap."
+
+That brought a response from the non-combatants in the recruiting line.
+The _bon mot_ wasn't that good but caste has its privileges and the
+laughter was just short of uproarious.
+
+Which seemed to placate the kilted officer. He tapped his swagger stick
+against the side of his leg while he ran his eyes up and down Joe Mauser
+and the others, as though memorizing them for future reference.
+
+"All right," he said. "Get back into the line, and you trouble makers
+quiet down. We're processing as quickly as we can." And at that point he
+added insult to injury with an almost word for word repetition of what
+Joe had said a few moments earlier. "You'll get all the fighting you
+want from Hovercraft, if you can wait until then."
+
+The four original participants of the rumpus resumed their places in
+various stages of sheepishness. The little fellow, nursing an obviously
+aching jaw, made a point of taking up his original position even while
+darting a look of thanks to Joe Mauser who still stood where he had when
+the fight was interrupted.
+
+The Upper looked at Joe. "Well, lad, are you interested in signing up
+with Vacuum Tube Transport or not?"
+
+"Yes, sir," Joe said evenly. Then, "Joseph Mauser, sir. Category
+Military, Rank Captain."
+
+"Indeed." The officer looked him up and down all over again, his
+nostrils high. "A Middle, I assume. And brawling with recruits." He held
+a long silence. "Very well, come with me." He turned and marched off.
+
+Joe inwardly shrugged. This was a fine start for his pitch--a fine
+start. He had half a mind to give it all up, here and now, and head on
+up to Catskill to enlist with Continental Hovercraft. His big scheme
+would wait for another day. Nevertheless, he fell in behind the
+aristocrat and followed him to the offices which had been his original
+destination.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two Rank Privates with 45-70 Springfields and wearing the Haer kilts in
+such wise as to indicate permanent status in Vacuum Tube Transport came
+to the salute as they approached. The Upper preceding Joe Mauser flicked
+his swagger stick in an easy nonchalance. Joe felt envious amusement.
+How long did it take to learn how to answer a salute with that degree of
+arrogant ease?
+
+There were desks in here, and typers humming, as Vacuum Tube Transport
+office workers, mobilized for this special service, processed volunteers
+for the company forces. Harried noncoms and junior-grade officers buzzed
+everywhere, failing miserably to bring order to the chaos. To the right
+was a door with a medical cross newly painted on it. When it
+occasionally popped open to admit or emit a recruit, white-robed
+doctors, male nurses and half nude men could be glimpsed beyond.
+
+Joe followed the other through the press and to an inner office at which
+door he didn't bother to knock. He pushed his way through, waved in
+greeting with his swagger stick to the single occupant who looked up
+from the paper- and tape-strewn desk at which he sat.
+
+Joe Mauser had seen the face before on Telly though never so tired as
+this and never with the element of defeat to be read in the expression.
+Bullet-headed, barrel-figured Baron Malcolm Haer of Vacuum Tube
+Transport. Category Transportation, Mid-Upper, and strong candidate for
+Upper-Upper upon retirement. However, there would be few who expected
+retirement in the immediate future. Hardly. Malcolm Haer found too
+obvious a lusty enjoyment in the competition between Vacuum Tube
+Transport and its stronger rivals.
+
+       *       *       *
+
+Joe came to attention, bore the sharp scrutiny of his chosen
+commander-to-be. The older man's eyes went to the kilted Upper officer
+who had brought Joe along. "What is it, Balt?"
+
+The other gestured with his stick at Joe. "Claims to be Rank Captain.
+Looking for a commission with us, Dad. I wouldn't know why." The last
+sentence was added lazily.
+
+The older Haer shot an irritated glance at his son. "Possibly for the
+same reason mercenaries usually enlist for a fracas, Balt." His eyes
+came back to Joe.
+
+Joe Mauser, still at attention even though in mufti, opened his mouth to
+give his name, category and rank, but the older man waved a hand
+negatively. "Captain Mauser, isn't it? I caught the fracas between
+Carbonaceous Fuel and United Miners, down on the Panhandle Reservation.
+Seems to me I've spotted you once or twice before, too."
+
+"Yes, sir," Joe said. This was some improvement in the way things were
+going.
+
+The older Haer was scowling at him. "Confound it, what are you doing
+with no more rank than captain? On the face of it, you're an old hand, a
+highly experienced veteran."
+
+_An old pro, we call ourselves_, Joe said to himself. _Old pros, we call
+ourselves, among ourselves._
+
+Aloud, he said, "I was born a Mid-Lower, sir."
+
+There was understanding in the old man's face, but Balt Haer said
+loftily, "What's that got to do with it? Promotion is quick and based on
+merit in Category Military."
+
+At a certain point, if you are good combat officer material, you speak
+your mind no matter the rank of the man you are addressing. On this
+occasion, Joe Mauser needed few words. He let his eyes go up and down
+Balt Haer's immaculate uniform, taking in the swagger stick of the Rank
+Colonel or above. Joe said evenly, "Yes, sir."
+
+Balt Haer flushed quick temper. "What do you mean by--"
+
+But his father was chuckling. "You have spirit, captain. I need spirit
+now. You are quite correct. My son, though a capable officer, I assure
+you, has probably not participated in a fraction of the fracases you
+have to your credit. However, there is something to be said for the
+training available to we Uppers in the academies. For instance, captain,
+have you ever commanded a body of lads larger than, well, a _company_?"
+
+Joe said flatly, "In the Douglas-Boeing versus Lockheed-Cessna fracas we
+took a high loss of officers when the Douglas-Boeing outfit rang in some
+fast-firing French _mitrailleuse_ we didn't know they had. As my
+superiors took casualties I was field promoted to acting battalion
+commander, to acting regimental commander, to acting brigadier. For
+three days I held the rank of acting commander of brigade. We won."
+
+Balt Haer snapped his fingers. "I remember that. Read quite a paper on
+it." He eyed Joe Mauser, almost respectfully. "Stonewall Cogswell got
+the credit for the victory and received his marshal's baton as a
+result."
+
+"He was one of the few other officers that survived," Joe said dryly.
+
+"But, Zen! You mean you got no promotion at all?"
+
+Joe said, "I was upped to Low-Middle from High-Lower, sir. At my age, at
+the time, quite a promotion."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Baron Haer was remembering, too. "That was the fracas that brought on
+the howl from the Sovs. They claimed those _mitrailleuse_ were post-1900
+and violated the Universal Disarmament Pact. Yes, I recall that.
+Douglas-Boeing was able to prove that the weapon was used by the French
+as far back as the Franco-Prussian War." He eyed Joe with new interest
+now. "Sit down, captain. You too, Balt. Do you realize that Captain
+Mauser is the only recruit of officer rank we've had today?"
+
+"Yes," the younger Haer said dryly. "However, it's too late to call the
+fracas off now. Hovercraft wouldn't stand for it, and the Category
+Military Department would back them. Our only alternative is
+unconditional surrender, and you know what that means."
+
+"It means our family would probably be forced from control of the firm,"
+the older man growled. "But nobody has suggested surrender on any terms.
+Nobody, thus far." He glared at his officer son who took it with an easy
+shrug and swung a leg over the edge of his father's desk in the way of a
+seat.
+
+Joe Mauser found a chair and lowered himself into it. Evidently, the
+foppish Balt Haer had no illusions about the spot his father had got the
+family corporation into. And the younger man was right, of course.
+
+But the Baron wasn't blind to reality any more than he was a coward. He
+dismissed Balt Haer's defeatism from his mind and came back to Joe
+Mauser. "As I say, you're the only officer recruit today. Why?"
+
+Joe said evenly, "I wouldn't know, sir. Perhaps freelance Category
+Military men are occupied elsewhere. There's always a shortage of
+trained officers."
+
+Baron Haer was waggling a finger negatively. "That's not what I mean,
+captain. You are an old hand. This is your category and you must know it
+well. Then why are _you_ signing up with Vacuum Tube Transport rather
+than Hovercraft?"
+
+Joe Mauser looked at him for a moment without speaking.
+
+"Come, come, captain. I am an old hand too, in my category, and not a
+fool. I realize there is scarcely a soul in the West-world that expects
+anything but disaster for my colors. Pay rates have been widely posted.
+I can offer only five common shares of Vacuum Tube for a Rank Captain,
+win or lose. Hovercraft is doubling that, and can pick and choose among
+the best officers in the hemisphere."
+
+Joe said softly, "I have all the shares I need."
+
+Balt Haer had been looking back and forth between his father and the
+newcomer and becoming obviously more puzzled. He put in, "Well, what in
+Zen motivates you if it isn't the stock we offer?"
+
+Joe glanced at the younger Haer to acknowledge the question but he spoke
+to the Baron. "Sir, like you said, you're no fool. However, you've been
+sucked in, this time. When you took on Hovercraft, you were thinking in
+terms of a regional dispute. You wanted to run one of your vacuum tube
+deals up to Fairbanks from Edmonton. You were expecting a minor fracas,
+involving possibly five thousand men. You never expected Hovercraft to
+parlay it up, through their connections in the Category Military
+Department, to a divisional magnitude fracas which you simply aren't
+large enough to afford. But Hovercraft was getting sick of your
+corporation. You've been nicking away at them too long. So they decided
+to do you in. They've hired Marshal Cogswell and the best combat
+officers in North America, and they're hiring the most competent
+veterans they can find. Every fracas buff who watches Telly, figures
+you've had it. They've been watching you come up the aggressive way, the
+hard way, for a long time, but now they're all going to be sitting on
+the edges of their sofas waiting for you to get it."
+
+Baron Haer's heavy face had hardened as Joe Mauser went on relentlessly.
+He growled, "Is this what everyone thinks?"
+
+"Yes. Everyone intelligent enough to have an opinion." Joe made a motion
+of his head to the outer offices where the recruiting was proceeding.
+"Those men out there are rejects from Catskill, where old Baron
+Zwerdling is recruiting. Either that or they're inexperienced
+Low-Lowers, too stupid to realize they're sticking their necks out. Not
+one man in ten is a veteran. And when things begin to pickle, you want
+veterans."
+
+Baron Malcolm Haer sat back in his chair and stared coldly at Captain
+Joe Mauser. He said, "At first I was moderately surprised that an old
+time mercenary like yourself should choose my uniform, rather than
+Zwerdling's. Now I am increasingly mystified about motivation. So all
+over again I ask you, captain: Why are you requesting a commission in my
+forces which you seem convinced will meet disaster?"
+
+Joe wet his lips carefully. "I think I know a way you can win."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+His permanent military rank the Haers had no way to alter, but they were
+short enough of competent officers that they gave him an acting rating
+and pay scale of major and command of a squadron of cavalry. Joe Mauser
+wasn't interested in a cavalry command this fracas, but he said nothing.
+Immediately, he had to size up the situation; it wasn't time as yet to
+reveal the big scheme. And, meanwhile, they could use him to whip the
+Rank Privates into shape.
+
+He had left the offices of Baron Haer to go through the red tape
+involved in being signed up on a temporary basis in the Vacuum Tube
+Transport forces, and reentered the confusion of the outer offices where
+the Lowers were being processed and given medicals. He reentered in time
+to run into a Telly team which was doing a live broadcast.
+
+Joe Mauser remembered the news reporter who headed the team. He'd run
+into him two or three times in fracases. As a matter of fact, although
+Joe held the standard Military Category prejudices against Telly, he had
+a basic respect for this particular newsman. On the occasions he'd seen
+him before, the fellow was hot in the midst of the action even when
+things were in the dill. He took as many chances as did the average
+combatant, and you can't ask for more than that.
+
+The other knew him, too, of course. It was part of his job to be able to
+spot the celebrities and near celebrities. He zeroed in on Joe now,
+making flicks of his hand to direct the cameras. Joe, of course, was
+fully aware of the value of Telly and was glad to co-operate.
+
+"Captain! Captain Mauser, isn't it? Joe Mauser who held out for four
+days in the swamps of Louisiana with a single company while his ranking
+officers reformed behind him."
+
+That was one way of putting it, but both Joe and the newscaster who had
+covered the debacle knew the reality of the situation. When the front
+had collapsed, his commanders--of Upper caste, of course--had hauled
+out, leaving him to fight a delaying action while they mended their
+fences with the enemy, coming to the best terms possible. Yes, that had
+been the United Oil versus Allied Petroleum fracas, and Joe had emerged
+with little either in glory or pelf.
+
+The average fracas fan wasn't on an intellectual level to appreciate
+anything other than victory. The good guys win, the bad guys
+lose--that's obvious, isn't it? Not one out of ten Telly followers of
+the fracases was interested in a well-conducted retreat or holding
+action. They wanted blood, lots of it, and they identified with the
+winning side.
+
+Joe Mauser wasn't particularly bitter about this aspect. It was part of
+his way of life. In fact, his pet peeve was the _real_ buff. The type,
+man or woman, who could remember every fracas you'd ever been in, every
+time you'd copped one, and how long you'd been in the hospital. Fans who
+could remember, even better than you could, every time the situation had
+pickled on you and you'd had to fight your way out as best you could.
+They'd tell you about it, their eyes gleaming, sometimes a slightest
+trickle of spittle at the sides of their mouths. They usually wanted an
+autograph, or a souvenir such as a uniform button.
+
+Now Joe said to the Telly reporter, "That's right, Captain Mauser.
+Acting major, in this fracas, ah--"
+
+"Freddy. Freddy Soligen. You remember me, captain--"
+
+"Of course I do, Freddy. We've been in the dill, side by side, more than
+once, and even when I was too scared to use my side arm, you'd be
+scanning away with your camera."
+
+"Ha ha, listen to the captain, folks. I hope my boss is tuned in. But
+seriously, Captain Mauser, what do you think the chances of Vacuum Tube
+Transport are in this fracas?"
+
+Joe looked into the camera lens, earnestly. "The best, of course, or I
+wouldn't have signed up with Baron Haer, Freddy. Justice triumphs, and
+anybody who is familiar with the issues in this fracas, knows that Baron
+Haer is on the side of true right."
+
+Freddy said, holding any sarcasm he must have felt, "What would you say
+the issues were, captain?"
+
+"The basic North American free enterprise right to compete. Hovercraft
+has held a near monopoly in transport to Fairbanks. Vacuum Tube
+Transport wishes to lower costs and bring the consumers of Fairbanks
+better service through running a vacuum tube to that area. What could be
+more in the traditions of the West-world? Continental Hovercraft stands
+in the way and it is they who have demanded of the Category Military
+Department a trial by arms. On the face of it, justice is on the side of
+Baron Haer."
+
+Freddy Soligen said into the camera, "Well, all you good people of the
+Telly world, that's an able summation the captain has made, but it
+certainly doesn't jibe with the words of Baron Zwerdling we heard this
+morning, does it? However, justice triumphs and we'll see what the field
+of combat will have to offer. Thank you, thank you very much, Captain
+Mauser. All of us, all of us tuned in today, hope that you personally
+will run into no dill in this fracas."
+
+"Thanks, Freddy. Thanks all," Joe said into the camera, before turning
+away. He wasn't particularly keen about this part of the job, but you
+couldn't underrate the importance of pleasing the buffs. In the long run
+it was your career, your chances for promotion both in military rank and
+ultimately in caste. It was the way the fans took you up, boosted you,
+idolized you, worshipped you if you really made it. He, Joe Mauser, was
+only a minor celebrity, he appreciated every chance he had to be
+interviewed by such a popular reporter as Freddy Soligen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Even as he turned, he spotted the four men with whom he'd had his spat
+earlier. The little fellow was still to the fore. Evidently, the others
+had decided the one place extra that he represented wasn't worth the
+trouble he'd put in their way defending it.
+
+On an impulse he stepped up to the small man who began a grin of
+recognition, a grin that transformed his feisty face. A revelation of
+an inner warmth beyond average in a world which had lost much of its
+human warmth.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Joe said, "Like a job, soldier?"
+
+"Name's Max. Max Mainz. Sure I want a job. That's why I'm in this
+everlasting line."
+
+Joe said, "First fracas for you, isn't it?"
+
+"Yeah, but I had basic training in school."
+
+"What do you weigh, Max?"
+
+Max's face soured. "About one twenty."
+
+"Did you check out on semaphore in school?"
+
+"Well, sure. I'm Category Food, Sub-division Cooking, Branch Chef, but,
+like I say, I took basic military training, like most everybody else."
+
+"I'm Captain Joe Mauser. How'd you like to be my batman?"
+
+Max screwed up his already not overly handsome face. "Gee, I don't know.
+I kinda joined up to see some action. Get into the dill. You know what I
+mean."
+
+Joe said dryly, "See here, Mainz, you'll probably find more pickled
+situations next to me than you'll want--and you'll come out alive."
+
+The recruiting sergeant looked up from the desk. It was Max Mainz's turn
+to be processed. The sergeant said, "Lad, take a good opportunity when
+it drops in your lap. The captain is one of the best in the field.
+You'll learn more, get better chances for promotion, if you stick with
+him."
+
+Joe couldn't remember ever having run into the sergeant before, but he
+said, "Thanks, sergeant."
+
+The other said, evidently realizing Joe didn't recognize him, "We were
+together on the Chihuahua Reservation, on the jurisdictional fracas
+between the United Miners and the Teamsters, sir."
+
+It had been almost fifteen years ago. About all that Joe Mauser
+remembered of that fracas was the abnormal number of casualties they'd
+taken. His side had lost, but from this distance in time Joe couldn't
+even remember what force he'd been with. But now he said, "That's right.
+I thought I recognized you, sergeant."
+
+"It was my first fracas, sir." The sergeant went businesslike. "If you
+want I should hustle this lad though, captain--"
+
+"Please do, sergeant." Joe added to Max, "I'm not sure where my billet
+will be. When you're through all this, locate the officer's mess and
+wait there for me."
+
+"Well, O.K.," Max said doubtfully, still scowling but evidently a
+servant of an officer, if he wanted to be or not.
+
+"Sir," the sergeant added ominously. "If you've had basic, you know
+enough how to address an officer."
+
+"Well, yessir," Max said hurriedly.
+
+Joe began to turn away, but then spotted the man immediately behind Max
+Mainz. He was one of the three with whom Joe had tangled earlier, the
+one who'd obviously had previous combat experience. He pointed the man
+out to the sergeant. "You'd better give this lad at least temporary rank
+of corporal. He's a veteran and we're short of veterans."
+
+The sergeant said, "Yes, sir. We sure are." Joe's former foe looked
+properly thankful.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Joe Mauser finished off his own red tape and headed for the street to
+locate a military tailor who could do him up a set of the Haer kilts and
+fill his other dress requirements. As he went, he wondered vaguely just
+how many different uniforms he had worn in his time.
+
+In a career as long as his own from time to time you took semi-permanent
+positions in bodyguards, company police, or possibly the permanent
+combat troops of this corporation or that. But largely, if you were
+ambitious, you signed up for the fracases and that meant into a uniform
+and out of it again in as short a period as a couple of weeks.
+
+At the door he tried to move aside but was too slow for the quick moving
+young woman who caromed off him. He caught her arm to prevent her from
+stumbling. She looked at him with less than thanks.
+
+Joe took the blame for the collision. "Sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I
+didn't see you, Miss."
+
+"Obviously," she said coldly. Her eyes went up and down him, and for a
+moment he wondered where he had seen her before. Somewhere, he was sure.
+
+She was dressed as they dress who have never considered cost and she had
+an elusive beauty which would have been even the more hadn't her face
+projected quite such a serious outlook. Her features were more delicate
+than those to which he was usually attracted. Her lips were less full,
+but still-- He was reminded of the classic ideal of the British Romantic
+Period, the women sung of by Byron and Keats, Shelly and Moore.
+
+She said, "Is there any particular reason why you should be staring at
+me, Mr.--"
+
+"Captain Mauser," Joe said hurriedly. "I'm afraid I've been rude,
+Miss--Well, I thought I recognized you."
+
+She took in his civilian dress, typed it automatically, and came to an
+erroneous conclusion. She said, "Captain? You mean that with everyone
+else I know drawing down ranks from Lieutenant Colonel to Brigadier
+General, you can't make anything better than Captain?"
+
+Joe winced. He said carefully, "I came up from the ranks, Miss. Captain
+is quite an achievement, believe me."
+
+"Up from the ranks!" She took in his clothes again. "You mean you're a
+Middle? You neither talk nor look like a Middle, captain." She used the
+caste rating as though it was not _quite_ a derogatory term.
+
+Not that she meant to be deliberately insulting, Joe knew, wearily. How
+well he knew. It was simply born in her. As once a well-educated
+aristocracy had, not necessarily unkindly, named their status inferiors
+_niggers_; or other aristocrats, in another area of the country, had
+named theirs _greasers_. Yes, how well he knew.
+
+He said very evenly, "Mid-Middle now, Miss. However, I was born in the
+Lower castes."
+
+An eyebrow went up. "Zen! You must have put in many an hour studying.
+You talk like an Upper, captain." She dropped all interest in him and
+turned to resume her journey.
+
+"Just a moment," Joe said. "You can't go in there, Miss--"
+
+Her eyebrows went up again. "The name is Haer," she said. "Why can't I
+go in here, captain?"
+
+Now it came to him why he had thought he recognized her. She had basic
+features similar to those of that overbred poppycock, Balt Haer.
+
+"Sorry," Joe said. "I suppose under the circumstances, you can. I was
+about to tell you that they're recruiting with lads running around half
+clothed. Medical inspections, that sort of thing."
+
+She made a noise through her nose and said over her shoulder, even as
+she sailed on. "Besides being a Haer, I'm an M.D., captain. At the
+ludicrous sight of a man shuffling about in his shorts, I seldom blush."
+
+She was gone.
+
+Joe Mauser looked after her. "I'll bet you don't," he muttered.
+
+Had she waited a few minutes he could have explained his Upper accent
+and his unlikely education. When you'd copped one you had plenty of
+opportunity in hospital beds to read, to study, to contemplate--and to
+fester away in your own schemes of rebellion against fate. And Joe had
+copped many in his time.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+By the time Joe Mauser called it a day and retired to his quarters he
+was exhausted to the point where his basic dissatisfaction with the
+trade he followed was heavily upon him.
+
+He had met his immediate senior officers, largely dilettante Uppers with
+precious little field experience, and was unimpressed. And he'd met his
+own junior officers and was shocked. By the looks of things at this
+stage, Captain Mauser's squadron would be going into this fracas both
+undermanned with Rank Privates and with junior officers composed largely
+of temporarily promoted noncoms. If this was typical of Baron Haer's
+total force, then Balt Haer had been correct; unconditional surrender
+was to be considered, no matter how disastrous to Haer family fortunes.
+
+Joe had been able to take immediate delivery of one kilted uniform. Now,
+inside his quarters, he began stripping out of his jacket. Somewhat to
+his surprise, the small man he had selected earlier in the day to be his
+batman entered from an inner room, also resplendent in the Haer uniform
+and obviously happily so.
+
+He helped his superior out of the jacket with an ease that held no
+subservience but at the same time was correctly respectful. You'd have
+thought him a batman specially trained.
+
+Joe grunted, "Max, isn't it? I'd forgotten about you. Glad you found our
+billet all right."
+
+Max said, "Yes, sir. Would the captain like a drink? I picked up a
+bottle of applejack. Applejack's the drink around here, sir. Makes a
+topnotch highball with ginger ale and a twist of lemon."
+
+Joe Mauser looked at him. Evidently his tapping this man for orderly had
+been sheer fortune. Well, Joe Mauser could use some good luck on this
+job. He hoped it didn't end with selecting a batman.
+
+Joe said, "An applejack highball sounds wonderful, Max. Got ice?"
+
+"Of course, sir." Max left the small room.
+
+Joe Mauser and his officers were billeted in what had once been a motel
+on the old road between Kingston and Woodstock. There was a shower and a
+tiny kitchenette in each cottage. That was one advantage in a fracas
+held in an area where there were plenty of facilities. Such military
+reservations as that of the Little Big Horn in Montana and particularly
+some of those in the South West and Mexico, were another thing.
+
+Joe lowered himself into the room's easy-chair and bent down to untie
+his laces. He kicked his shoes off. He could use that drink. He began
+wondering all over again if his scheme for winning this Vacuum Tube
+Transport versus Continental Hovercraft fracas would come off. The more
+he saw of Baron Haer's inadequate forces, the more he wondered. He
+hadn't expected Vacuum Tube to be in _this_ bad a shape. Baron Haer had
+been riding high for so long that one would have thought his reputation
+for victory would have lured many a veteran to his colors. Evidently
+they hadn't bitten. The word was out all right.
+
+Max Mainz returned with the drink.
+
+Joe said, "You had one yourself?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Joe said, "Well, Zen, go get yourself one and come on back and sit down.
+Let's get acquainted."
+
+"Well, yessir." Max disappeared back into the kitchenette to return
+almost immediately. The little man slid into a chair, drink awkwardly in
+hand.
+
+His superior sized him up, all over again. Not much more than a kid,
+really. Surprisingly aggressive for a Lower who must have been raised
+from childhood in a trank-bemused, Telly-entertained household. The fact
+that he'd broken away from that environment at all was to his credit, it
+was considerably easier to conform. But then it is always easier to
+conform, to run with the herd, as Joe well knew. His own break hadn't
+been an easy one. "Relax," he said now.
+
+Max said, "Well, this is my first day."
+
+"I know. And you've been seeing Telly shows all your life showing how an
+orderly conducts himself in the presence of his superior." Joe took
+another pull and yawned. "Well, forget about it. With any man who goes
+into a fracas with me, I like to be on close terms. When things pickle,
+I want him to be on my side, not nursing some peeve brought on by his
+officer trying to give him an inferiority complex."
+
+The little man was eying him in surprise.
+
+Joe finished his highball and came to his feet to get another one. He
+said, "On two occasions I've had an orderly save my life. I'm not taking
+any chances but that there might be a third opportunity."
+
+"Well, yessir. Does the captain want me to get him--"
+
+"I'll get it," Joe said.
+
+When he'd returned to his chair, he said, "Why did you join up with
+Baron Haer, Max?"
+
+The other shrugged it off. "The usual. The excitement. The idea of all
+those fans watching me on Telly. The share of common stock I'll get.
+And, you never know, maybe a promotion in caste. I wouldn't mind making
+Upper-Lower."
+
+Joe said sourly, "One fracas and you'll be over that desire to have the
+buffs watching you on Telly while they sit around in their front rooms
+sucking on tranks. And you'll probably be over the desire for the
+excitement, too. Of course, the share of stock is another thing."
+
+"You aren't just countin' down, captain," Max said, an almost surly
+overtone in his voice. "You don't know what it's like being born with no
+more common stock shares than a Mid-Lower."
+
+Joe held his peace, sipping at his drink, taking this one more slowly.
+He let his eyebrows rise to encourage the other to go on.
+
+Max said doggedly, "Sure, they call it People's Capitalism and everybody
+gets issued enough shares to insure him a basic living all the way from
+the cradle to the grave, like they say. But let me tell you, you're a
+Middle and you don't realize how basic the basic living of a Lower can
+be."
+
+Joe yawned. If he hadn't been so tired, there would have been more
+amusement in the situation.
+
+Max was still dogged. "Unless you can add to those shares of stock, it's
+pretty drab, captain. You wouldn't know."
+
+Joe said, "Why don't you work? A Lower can always add to his stock by
+working."
+
+Max stirred in indignity. "Work? Listen, sir, that's just one more field
+that's been automated right out of existence. Category Food Preparation,
+Sub-division Cooking, Branch Chef. Cooking isn't left in the hands of
+slobs who might drop a cake of soap into the soup. It's done automatic.
+The only new changes made in cooking are by real top experts, almost
+scientists like. And most of them are Uppers, mind you."
+
+Joe Mauser sighed inwardly. So his find in batmen wasn't going to be as
+wonderful as all that, after all. The man might have been born into the
+food preparation category from a long line of chefs, but evidently he
+knew precious little about his field. Joe might have suspected. He
+himself had been born into Clothing Category, Sub-division Shoes, Branch
+Repair--Cobbler--a meaningless trade since shoes were no longer
+repaired but discarded upon showing signs of wear. In an economy of
+complete abundance, there is little reason for repair of basic
+commodities. It was high time the government investigated category
+assignment and reshuffled and reassigned half the nation's population.
+But then, of course, was the question of what to do with the
+technologically unemployed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Max was saying, "The only way I could figure on a promotion to a higher
+caste, or the only way to earn stock shares, was by crossing categories.
+And you know what that means. Either Category Military, or Category
+Religion and I sure as Zen don't know nothing about religion."
+
+Joe said mildly, "Theoretically, you can cross categories into any field
+you want, Max."
+
+Max snorted. "Theoretically is right ... sir. You ever heard about
+anybody born a Lower, or even a Middle like yourself, cross categories
+to, say, some Upper category like banking?"
+
+Joe chuckled. He liked this peppery little fellow. If Max worked out as
+well as Joe thought he might, there was a possibility of taking him
+along to the next fracas.
+
+Max was saying, "I'm not saying anything against the old time way of
+doing things or talking against the government, but I'll tell you,
+captain, every year goes by it gets harder and harder for a man to raise
+his caste or to earn some additional stock shares."
+
+The applejack had worked enough on Joe for him to rise against one of
+his pet peeves. He said, "That term, the old time way, is strictly Telly
+talk, Max. We don't do things _the old time way_. No nation in history
+ever has--with the possible exception of Egypt. Socio-economics are in a
+continual flux and here in this country we no more do things in the way
+they did fifty years ago, than fifty years ago they did them the way the
+American Revolutionists outlined back in the Eighteenth Century."
+
+Max was staring at him. "I don't get that, sir."
+
+Joe said impatiently, "Max, the politico-economic system we have today
+is an outgrowth of what went earlier. The welfare state, the freezing of
+the status quo, the Frigid Fracas between the West-world and the
+Sov-world, industrial automation until useful employment is all but
+needless--all these things were to be found in embryo more than fifty
+years ago."
+
+"Well, maybe the captain's right, but you gotta admit, sir, that mostly
+we do things the old way. We still got the Constitution and the
+two-party system and--"
+
+Joe was wearying of the conversation now. You seldom ran into anyone,
+even in Middle caste, the traditionally professional class, interested
+enough in such subjects to be worth arguing with. He said, "The
+Constitution, Max, has got to the point of the Bible. Interpret it the
+way you wish, and you can find anything. If not, you can always make a
+new amendment. So far as the two-party system is concerned, what effect
+does it have when there are no differences between the two parties? That
+phase of pseudo-democracy was beginning as far back as the 1930s when
+they began passing State laws hindering the emerging of new political
+parties. By the time they were insured against a third party working its
+way through the maze of election laws, the two parties had become so
+similar that elections became almost as big a farce as over in the
+Sov-world."
+
+"A farce?" Max ejaculated indignantly, forgetting his servant status.
+"That means not so good, doesn't it? Far as I'm concerned, election day
+is tops. The one day a Lower is just as good as an Upper. The one day
+how many shares you got makes no difference. Everybody has everything."
+
+"Sure, sure, sure," Joe sighed. "The modern equivalent of the Roman
+Bacchanalia. Election day in the West-world when no one, for just that
+one day, is freer than anyone else."
+
+"Well, what's wrong with that?" The other was all but belligerent.
+"That's the trouble with you Middles and Uppers, you don't know how it
+is to be a Lower and--"
+
+Joe snapped suddenly, "I was born a Mid-Lower myself, Max. Don't give me
+that nonsense."
+
+Max gaped at him, utterly unbelieving.
+
+Joe's irritation fell away. He held out his glass. "Get us a couple of
+more drinks, Max, and I'll tell you a story."
+
+By the time the fresh drink came, Joe Mauser was sorry he'd made the
+offer. He thought back. He hadn't told anyone the Joe Mauser story in
+many a year. And, as he recalled, the last time had been when he was
+well into his cups, on an election day at that, and his listener had
+been a Low-Upper, a hereditary aristocrat, one of the one per cent of
+the upper strata of the nation. Zen! How the man had laughed. He'd
+roared his amusement till the tears ran.
+
+However, Joe said, "Max, I was born in the same caste you were--average
+father, mother, sisters and brothers. They subsisted on the basic income
+guaranteed from birth, sat and watched Telly for an unbelievable number
+of hours each day, took trank to keep themselves happy. And thought I
+was crazy because I didn't. Dad was the sort of man who'd take his belt
+off to a child of his who questioned such school taught slogans as _What
+was good enough for Daddy is good enough for me_.
+
+"They were all fracas fans, of course. As far back as I can remember the
+picture is there of them gathered around the Telly, screaming
+excitement." Joe Mauser sneered, uncharacteristically.
+
+"You don't sound much like you're in favor of your trade, captain," Max
+said.
+
+Joe came to his feet, putting down his still half-full glass. "I'll make
+this epic story short, Max. As you said, the two actually valid methods
+of rising above the level in which you were born are in the Military and
+Religious Categories. Like you, even I couldn't stomach the latter."
+
+Joe Mauser hesitated, then finished it off. "Max, there have been few
+societies that man has evolved that didn't allow in some manner for the
+competent or sly, the intelligent or the opportunist, the brave or the
+strong, to work his way to the top. I don't know which of these I
+personally fit into, but I rebel against remaining in the lower
+categories of a stratified society. Do I make myself clear?"
+
+"Well, no sir, not exactly."
+
+Joe said flatly, "I'm going to fight my way to the top, and nothing is
+going to stand in the way. Is that clearer?"
+
+"Yessir," Max said, taken aback.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+After routine morning duties, Joe Mauser returned to his billet and
+mystified Max Mainz by not only changing into mufti himself but having
+Max do the same.
+
+In fact, the new batman protested faintly. He hadn't nearly, as yet, got
+over the glory of wearing his kilts and was looking forward to parading
+around town in them. He had a point, of course. The appointed time for
+the fracas was getting closer and buffs were beginning to stream into
+town to bask in the atmosphere of threatened death. Everybody knew what
+a military center, on the outskirts of a fracas reservation such as the
+Catskills, was like immediately preceding a clash between rival
+corporations. The high-strung gaiety, the drinking, the overtranking,
+the relaxation of mores. Even a Rank Private had it made. Admiring
+civilians to buy drinks and hang on your every word, and more important
+still, sensuous-eyed women, their faces slack in thinly suppressed
+passion. It was a recognized phenomenon, even Max Mainz knew--this
+desire on the part of women Telly fans to date a man, and then watch him
+later, killing or being killed.
+
+"Time enough to wear your fancy uniform," Joe Mauser growled at him. "In
+fact, tomorrow's a local election day. Parlay that up on top of all the
+fracas fans gravitating into town and you'll have a wingding the likes
+of nothing you've seen before."
+
+"Well yessir," Max begrudged. "Where're we going now, captain?"
+
+"To the airport. Come along."
+
+Joe Mauser led the way to his sports hovercar and as soon as the two
+were settled into the bucket seats, hit the lift lever with the butt of
+his left hand. Aircushion-borne, he trod down on the accelerator.
+
+Max Mainz was impressed. "You know," he said. "I never been in one of
+these swanky sports jobs before. The kinda car you can afford on the
+income of a Mid-Lower's stock aren't--"
+
+"Knock it off," Joe said wearily. "Carping we'll always have with us
+evidently, but in spite of all the beefing in every strata from
+Low-Lower to Upper-Middle, I've yet to see any signs of organized
+protest against our present politico-economic system."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Hey," Max said. "Don't get me wrong. What was good enough for Dad is
+good enough for me. You won't catch me talking against the government."
+
+"Hm-m-m," Joe murmured. "And all the other cliches taught to us to
+preserve the status quo, our People's Capitalism." They were reaching
+the outskirts of town, crossing the Esopus. The airport lay only a mile
+or so beyond.
+
+It was obviously too deep for Max, and since he didn't understand, he
+assumed his superior didn't know what he was talking about. He said,
+tolerantly, "Well, what's wrong with People's Capitalism? Everybody
+owns the corporations. Damnsight better than the Sovs have."
+
+Joe said sourly. "We've got one optical illusion, they've got another,
+Max. Over there they claim the proletariat owns the means of production.
+Great. But the Party members are the ones who control it, and, as a
+result they manage to do all right for themselves. The Party hierarchy
+over there are like our Uppers over here."
+
+"Yeah." Max was being particularly dense. "I've seen a lot about it on
+Telly. You know, when there isn't a good fracas on, you tune to one of
+them educational shows, like--"
+
+Joe winced at the term _educational_, but held his peace.
+
+"It's pretty rugged over there. But in the West-world, the people own a
+corporation's stock and they run it and get the benefit."
+
+"At least it makes a beautiful story," Joe said dryly. "Look, Max.
+Suppose you have a corporation that has two hundred thousand shares out
+and they're distributed among one hundred thousand and one persons. One
+hundred thousand of these own one share apiece, but the remaining
+stockholder owns the other hundred thousand."
+
+"I don't know what you're getting at," Max said.
+
+Joe Mauser was tired of the discussion. "Briefly," he said, "we have the
+illusion that this is a People's Capitalism, with all stock in the hands
+of the People. Actually, as ever before, the stock is in the hands of
+the Uppers, all except a mere dribble. They own the country and they run
+it for their own benefit."
+
+Max shot a less than military glance at him. "Hey, you're not one of
+these Sovs yourself, are you?"
+
+They were coming into the parking area near the Administration Building
+of the airport. "No," Joe said so softly that Max could hardly hear his
+words. "Only a Mid-Middle on the make."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Followed by Max, he strode quickly to the Administration Building,
+presented his credit identification at the desk and requested a light
+aircraft for a period of three hours. The clerk, hardly looking up,
+began going through motions, speaking into telescreens.
+
+The clerk said finally, "You might have a small wait, sir. Quite a few
+of the officers involved in this fracas have been renting out
+taxi-planes almost as fast as they're available."
+
+That didn't surprise Joe Mauser. Any competent officer made a point of
+an aerial survey of the battle reservation before going into a fracas.
+Aircraft, of course, couldn't be used _during_ the fray, since they
+postdated the turn of the century, and hence were relegated to the
+cemetery of military devices along with such items as nuclear weapons,
+tanks, and even gasoline-propelled vehicles of size to be useful.
+
+Use an aircraft in a fracas, or even _build_ an aircraft for military
+usage and you'd have a howl go up from the military attaches from the
+Sov-world that would be heard all the way to Budapest. Not a fracas
+went by but there were scores, if not hundreds, of military observers,
+keen-eyed to check whether or not any really modern tools of war were
+being illegally utilized. Joe Mauser sometimes wondered if the
+West-world observers, over in the Sov-world, were as hair fine in their
+living up to the rules of the Universal Disarmament Pact. Probably. But,
+for that matter, they didn't have the same system of fighting fracases
+over there, as in the West.
+
+Joe took a chair while he waited and thumbed through a fan magazine.
+From time to time he found his own face in such publications. He was a
+third-rate celebrity, really. Luck hadn't been with him so far as the
+buffs were concerned. They wanted spectacular victories, murderous
+situations in which they could lose themselves in vicarious sadistic
+thrills. Joe had reached most of his peaks while in retreat, or
+commanding a holding action. His officers appreciated him and so did the
+ultra-knowledgeable fracas buffs--but he was all but an unknown to the
+average dim wit who spent most of his life glued to the Telly set,
+watching men butcher each other.
+
+On the various occasions when matters had pickled and Joe had to fight
+his way out against difficult odds, using spectacular tactics in
+desperation, he was almost always off camera. Purely luck. On top of
+skill, determination, experience and courage, you had to have luck in
+the Military Category to get anywhere.
+
+This time Joe was going to manufacture his own.
+
+A voice said, "Ah, Captain Mauser."
+
+Joe looked up, then came to his feet quickly. In automatic reflex, he
+began to come to the salute but then caught himself. He said stiffly,
+"My compliments, Marshal Cogswell."
+
+The other was a smallish man, but strikingly strong of face and strongly
+built. His voice was clipped, clear and had the air of command as though
+born with it. He, like Joe, wore mufti and now extended his hand to be
+shaken.
+
+"I hear you've signed up with Baron Haer, captain. I was rather
+expecting you to come in with me. Had a place for a good aide de camp.
+Liked your work in that last fracas we went through together."
+
+"Thank you, sir," Joe said. Stonewall Cogswell was as good a tactician
+as freelanced and he was more than that. He was a judge of men and a
+stickler for detail. And right now, if Joe Mauser knew Marshal Stonewall
+Cogswell as well as he thought, Cogswell was smelling a rat. There was
+no reason why old pro Joe Mauser should sign up with a sure loser like
+Vacuum Tube when he could have earned more shares taking a commission
+with Hovercraft.
+
+He was looking at Joe brightly, the question in his eyes. Three or four
+of his staff were behind a few paces, looking polite, but Cogswell
+didn't bring them into the conversation. Joe knew most by sight. Good
+men all. Old pros all. He felt another twinge of doubt.
+
+Joe had to cover. He said, "I was offered a particularly good contract,
+sir. Too good to resist."
+
+The other nodded, as though inwardly coming to a satisfactory
+conclusion. "Baron Haer's connections, eh? He's probably offered to back
+you for a bounce in caste. Is that it, Joe?"
+
+Joe Mauser flushed. Stonewall Cogswell knew what he was talking about.
+He'd been born into Middle status himself and had become an Upper the
+hard way. His path wasn't as long as Joe's was going to be, but long
+enough and he knew how rocky the climb was. How very rocky.
+
+Joe said, stiffly, "I'm afraid I'm in no position to discuss my
+commander's military contracts, marshal. We're in mufti, but after
+all--"
+
+Cogswell's lean face registered one of his infrequent grimaces of humor.
+"I understand, Joe. Well, good luck and I hope things don't pickle for
+you in the coming fracas. Possibly we'll find ourselves aligned together
+again at some future time."
+
+"Thank you, sir," Joe said, once more having to catch himself to prevent
+an automatic salute.
+
+Cogswell and his staff went off, leaving Joe looking after them. Even
+the marshal's staff members were top men, any of whom could have
+conducted a divisional magnitude fracas. Joe felt the coldness in his
+stomach again. Although it must have looked like a cinch, the enemy
+wasn't taking any chances whatsoever. Cogswell and his officers were
+undoubtedly here at the airport for the same reason as Joe. They wanted
+a thorough aerial reconnaissance of the battlefield-to-be, before the
+issue was joined.
+
+       *       *       *
+
+Max was standing at his elbow. "Who was that, sir? Looks like a real
+tough one."
+
+"He is a real tough one," Joe said sourly. "That's Stonewall Cogswell,
+the best field commander in North America."
+
+Max pursed his lips. "I never seen him out of uniform before. Lots of
+times on Telly, but never out of uniform. I thought he was taller than
+that."
+
+"He fights with his brains," Joe said, still looking after the craggy
+field marshal. "He doesn't have to be any taller."
+
+Max scowled. "Where'd he ever get that nickname, sir?"
+
+"Stonewall?" Joe was turning to resume his chair and magazine. "He's
+supposed to be a student of a top general back in the American Civil
+War. Uses some of the original Stonewall's tactics."
+
+Max was out of his depth. "American Civil War? Was that much of a
+fracas, captain? It musta been before my time."
+
+"It was quite a fracas," Joe said dryly. "Lot of good lads died. A
+hundred years after it was fought, the _reasons_ it was fought seemed
+about as valid as those we fight fracases for today. Personally I--"
+
+He had to cut it short. They were calling him on the address system. His
+aircraft was ready. Joe made his way to the hangars, followed by Max
+Mainz. He was going to pilot the airplane himself and old Stonewall
+Cogswell would have been surprised at what Joe Mauser was looking for.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+By the time they had returned to quarters, there was a message waiting
+for Captain Mauser. He was to report to the officer commanding
+reconnaissance.
+
+Joe redressed in the Haer kilts and proceeded to headquarters.
+
+The officer commanding reconnaissance turned out to be none other than
+Balt Haer, natty as ever, and, as ever, arrogantly tapping his swagger
+stick against his leg.
+
+"Zen! Captain," he complained. "Where have you been? Off on a trank
+kick? We've got to get organized."
+
+Joe Mauser snapped him a salute. "No, sir. I rented an aircraft to scout
+out the terrain over which we'll be fighting."
+
+"Indeed. And what were your impressions, captain?" There was an overtone
+which suggested that it made little difference what impressions a
+captain of cavalry might have gained.
+
+Joe shrugged. "Largely mountains, hills, woods. Good reconnaissance is
+going to make the difference in this one. And in the fracas itself
+cavalry is going to be more important than either artillery or infantry.
+A Nathan Forrest fracas, sir. A matter of getting there fustest with the
+mostest."
+
+Balt Haer said amusedly. "Thanks for your opinion, captain. Fortunately,
+our staff has already come largely to the same conclusions. Undoubtedly,
+they'll be glad to hear your wide experience bears them out."
+
+Joe said evenly, "It's a rather obvious conclusion, of course." He took
+this as it came, having been through it before. The dilettante amateur's
+dislike of the old pro. The amateur in command who knew full well he was
+less capable than many of those below him in rank.
+
+"Of course, captain," Balt Haer flicked his swagger stick against his
+leg. "But to the point. Your squadron is to be deployed as scouts under
+my overall command. You've had cavalry experience, I assume."
+
+"Yes, sir. In various fracases over the past fifteen years."
+
+"Very well. Now then, to get to the reason I have summoned you.
+Yesterday in my father's office you intimated that you had some
+grandiose scheme which would bring victory to the Haer colors. But then,
+on some thin excuse, refused to divulge just what the scheme might be."
+
+Joe Mauser looked at him unblinkingly.
+
+Balt Haer said: "Now I'd like to have your opinion on just how Vacuum
+Tube Transport can extract itself from what would seem a poor position
+at best."
+
+In all there were four others in the office, two women clerks
+fluttering away at typers, and two of Balt Haer's junior officers. They
+seemed only mildly interested in the conversation between Balt and Joe.
+
+Joe wet his lips carefully. The Haer scion was his commanding officer.
+He said, "Sir, what I had in mind is a new gimmick. At this stage, if I
+told anybody and it leaked, it'd never be effective, not even this first
+time."
+
+Haer observed him coldly. "And you think me incapable of keeping your
+secret, ah, _gimmick_, I believe is the idiomatic term you used."
+
+Joe Mauser's eyes shifted around the room, taking in the other four, who
+were now looking at him.
+
+Bait Haer rapped, "These members of my staff are all trusted Haer
+employees, Captain Mauser. They are not fly-by-night freelancers hired
+for a week or two."
+
+Joe said, "Yes, sir. But it's been my experience that one person can
+hold a secret. It's twice as hard for two, and from there on it's a
+decreasing probability in a geometric ratio."
+
+The younger Haer's stick rapped the side of his leg, impatiently.
+"Suppose I inform you that this is a command, captain? I have little
+confidence in a supposed gimmick that will rescue our forces from
+disaster and I rather dislike the idea of a captain of one of my
+squadrons dashing about with such a bee in his bonnet when he should be
+obeying my commands."
+
+Joe kept his voice respectful. "Then, sir, I'd request that we take the
+matter to the Commander in Chief, your father."
+
+"Indeed!"
+
+Joe said, "Sir, I've been working on this a long time. I can't afford to
+risk throwing the idea away."
+
+Bait Haer glared at him. "Very well, captain. I'll call your bluff, come
+along." He turned on his heel and headed from the room.
+
+Joe Mauser shrugged in resignation and followed him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The old Baron wasn't much happier about Joe Mauser's secrets than was
+his son. It had only been the day before that he had taken Joe on, but
+already he had seemed to have aged in appearance. Evidently, each hour
+that went by made it increasingly clear just how perilous a position he
+had assumed. Vacuum Tube Transport had elbowed, buffaloed, bluffed and
+edged itself up to the outskirts of the really big time. The Baron's
+ability, his aggressiveness, his flair, his political pull, had all
+helped, but now the chips were down. He was up against one of the
+biggies, and this particular biggy was tired of ambitious little Vacuum
+Tube Transport.
+
+He listened to his son's words, listened to Joe's defense.
+
+He said, looking at Joe, "If I understand this, you have some scheme
+which you think will bring victory in spite of what seems a disastrous
+situation."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The two Haers looked at him, one impatiently, the other in weariness.
+
+Joe said, "I'm gambling everything on this, sir. I'm no Rank Private in
+his first fracas. I deserve to be given some leeway."
+
+Balt Haer snorted. "Gambling everything! What in Zen would _you_ have to
+gamble, captain? The whole Haer family fortunes are tied up. Hovercraft
+is out for blood. They won't be satisfied with a token victory and a
+negotiated compromise. They'll devastate us. Thousands of mercenaries
+killed, with all that means in indemnities; millions upon million in
+expensive military equipment, most of which we've had to hire and will
+have to recompensate for. Can you imagine the value of our stock after
+Stonewall Cogswell has finished with us? Why, every two by four trucking
+outfit in North America will be challenging us, and we won't have the
+forces to meet a minor skirmish."
+
+Joe reached into an inner pocket and laid a sheaf of documents on the
+desk of Baron Malcolm Haer. The Baron scowled down at them.
+
+Joe said simply, "I've been accumulating stock since before I was
+eighteen and I've taken good care of my portfolio in spite of taxes and
+the various other pitfalls which make the accumulation of capital
+practically impossible. Yesterday, I sold all of my portfolio I was
+legally allowed to sell and converted to Vacuum Tube Transport." He
+added, dryly, "Getting it at an excellent rate, by the way."
+
+Balt Haer mulled through the papers, unbelievingly. "Zen!" he
+ejaculated. "The fool really did it. He's sunk a small fortune into our
+stock."
+
+Baron Haer growled at his son, "You seem considerably more convinced of
+our defeat than the captain, here. Perhaps I should reverse your
+positions of command."
+
+His son grunted, but said nothing.
+
+Old Malcolm Haer's eyes came back to Joe. "Admittedly, I thought you on
+the romantic side yesterday, with your hints of some scheme which would
+lead us out of the wilderness, so to speak. Now I wonder if you might
+not really have something. Very well, I respect your claimed need for
+secrecy. Espionage is not exactly an antiquated military field."
+
+"Thank you, sir."
+
+But the Baron was still staring at him. "However, there's more to it
+than that. Why not take this great scheme to Marshal Cogswell? And
+yesterday you mentioned that the Telly sets of the nation would be tuned
+in on this fracas, and obviously you are correct. The question becomes,
+what of it?"
+
+The fat was in the fire now. Joe Mauser avoided the haughty stare of
+young Balt Haer and addressed himself to the older man. "You have
+political pull, sir. Oh, I know you don't make and break presidents. You
+couldn't even pull enough wires to keep Hovercraft from making this a
+divisional magnitude fracas--but you have pull enough for my needs."
+
+Baron Haer leaned back in his chair, his barrel-like body causing that
+article of furniture to creak. He crossed his hands over his stomach.
+"And what are your needs, Captain Mauser?"
+
+Joe said evenly, "If I can bring this off, I'll be a fracas buff
+celebrity. I don't have any illusions about the fickleness of the Telly
+fans, but for a day or two I'll be on top. If at the same time I had
+your all out support, pulling what strings you could reach--"
+
+"Why then, you'd be promoted to Upper, wouldn't you, captain?" Balt Haer
+finished for him, amusement in his voice.
+
+"That's what I'm gambling on," Joe said evenly.
+
+The younger Haer grinned at his father superciliously. "So our captain
+says he will defeat Stonewall Cogswell in return for you sponsoring his
+becoming a member of the nation's elite."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Good Heavens, is the supposed cream of the nation now selected on no
+higher a level than this?" There was sarcasm in the words.
+
+The three men turned. It was the girl Joe had bumped into the day
+before. The Haers didn't seem surprised at her entrance.
+
+"Nadine," the older man growled. "Captain Joseph Mauser who has been
+given a commission in our forces."
+
+Joe went through the routine of a Middle of officer's rank being
+introduced to a lady of Upper caste. She smiled at him, somewhat
+mockingly, and failed to make standard response.
+
+Nadine Haer said, "I repeat, what is this service the captain can render
+the house of Haer so important that pressure should be brought to raise
+him to Upper caste? It would seem unlikely that he is a noted scientist,
+an outstanding artist, a great teacher--"
+
+Joe said, uncomfortably, "They say the military is a science, too."
+
+Her expression was almost as haughty as that of her brother. "Do they? I
+have never thought so."
+
+"Really, Nadine," her father grumbled. "This is hardly your affair."
+
+"No? In a few days I shall be repairing the damage you have allowed,
+indeed sponsored, to be committed upon the bodies of possibly thousands
+of now healthy human beings."
+
+Balt said nastily, "Nobody asked you to join the medical staff, Nadine.
+You could have stayed in your laboratory, figuring out new methods of
+preventing the human race from replenishing itself."
+
+The girl was obviously not the type to redden, but her anger was
+manifest. She spun on her brother. "If the race continues its present
+maniac course, possibly more effective methods of birth control _are_
+the most important development we could make. Even to the ultimate
+discovery of preventing all future conception."
+
+Joe caught himself in mid-chuckle.
+
+But not in time. She spun on him in his turn. "Look at yourself in that
+silly skirt. A professional soldier! A killer! In my opinion the most
+useless occupation ever devised by man. Parasite on the best and useful
+members of society. Destroyer by trade!"
+
+Joe began to open his mouth, but she overrode him. "Yes, yes. I know.
+I've read all the nonsense that has accumulated down through the ages
+about the need for, the glory of, the sacrifice of the professional
+soldier. How they defend their country. How they give all for the common
+good. Zen! What nonsense."
+
+Balt Haer was smirking sourly at her. "The theory today is, Nadine, old
+thing, that professionals such as the captain are gathering experience
+in case a serious fracas with the Sovs ever develops. Meanwhile his
+training is kept at a fine edge fighting in our inter-corporation,
+inter-union, or union-corporation fracases that develop in our private
+enterprise society."
+
+She laughed her scorn. "And what a theory! Limited to the weapons which
+prevailed before 1900. If there was ever real conflict between the
+Sov-world and our own, does anyone really believe either would stick to
+such arms? Why, aircraft, armored vehicles, yes, and nuclear weapons and
+rockets, would be in overnight use."
+
+Joe was fascinated by her furious attack. He said, "Then, what would you
+say was the purpose of the fracases, Miss--"
+
+"Circuses," she snorted. "The old Roman games, all over again, and a
+hundred times worse. Blood and guts sadism. The quest of a frustrated
+person for satisfaction in another's pain. Our Lowers of today are as
+useless and frustrated as the Roman proletariat and potentially they're
+just as dangerous as the mob that once dominated Rome. Automation, the
+second industrial revolution, has eliminated for all practical purposes
+the need for their labor. So we give them bread and circuses. And every
+year that goes by the circuses must be increasingly sadistic, death on
+an increasing scale, or they aren't satisfied. Once it was enough to
+have fictional mayhem, cowboys and Indians, gangsters, or G.I.s versus
+the Nazis, Japs or Commies, but that's passed. Now we need _real_ blood
+and guts."
+
+Baron Haer snapped finally, "All right, Nadine. We've heard this lecture
+before. I doubt if the captain is interested, particularly since you
+don't seem to be able to get beyond the protesting stage and have yet to
+come up with an answer."
+
+"I have an answer!"
+
+"Ah?" Balt Haer raised his eyebrows, mockingly.
+
+"Yes! Overthrow this silly status society. Resume the road to progress.
+Put our people to useful endeavor, instead of sitting in front of their
+Telly sets, taking trank pills to put them in a happy daze and watching
+sadistic fracases to keep them in thrills, and their minds from their
+condition."
+
+Joe had figured on keeping out of the controversy with this firebrand,
+but now, really interested, he said, "Progress to where?"
+
+She must have caught in his tone that he wasn't needling. She frowned at
+him. "I don't know man's goal, if there is one. I'm not even sure it's
+important. It's the road that counts. The endeavor. The dream. The
+effort expended to make a world a better place than it was at the time
+of your birth."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Balt Haer said mockingly, "That's the trouble with you, Sis. Here we've
+reached Utopia and you don't admit it."
+
+"Utopia!"
+
+"Certainly. Take a poll. You'll find nineteen people out of twenty happy
+with things just the way they are. They have full tummies and security,
+lots of leisure and trank pills to make matters seem even rosier than
+they are--and they're rather rosy already."
+
+"Then what's the necessity of this endless succession of bloody
+fracases, covered to the most minute bloody detail on the Telly?"
+
+Baron Haer cut things short. "We've hashed and rehashed this before,
+Nadine and now we're too busy to debate further." He turned to Joe
+Mauser. "Very well, captain, you have my pledge. I wish I felt as
+optimistic as you seem to be about your prospects. That will be all for
+now, captain."
+
+Joe saluted and executed an about face.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the outer offices, when he had closed the door behind him, he rolled
+his eyes upward in mute thanks to whatever powers might be. He had
+somehow gained the enmity of Balt, his immediate superior, but he'd
+also gained the support of Baron Haer himself, which counted
+considerably more.
+
+He considered for a moment, Nadine Haer's words. She was obviously a
+malcontent, but, on the other hand, her opinions of his chosen
+profession weren't too different than his own. However, given this
+victory, this upgrading in caste, and Joe Mauser would be in a position
+to retire.
+
+The door opened and shut behind him and he half turned.
+
+Nadine Haer, evidently still caught up in the hot words between herself
+and her relatives, glared at him. All of which stressed the beauty he
+had noticed the day before. She was an almost unbelievably pretty girl,
+particularly when flushed with anger.
+
+It occurred to him with a blowlike suddenness that, if his caste was
+raised to Upper, he would be in a position to woo such as Nadine Haer.
+
+He looked into her furious face and said, "I was intrigued, Miss Haer,
+with what you had to say, and I'd like to discuss some of your points. I
+wonder if I could have the pleasure of your company at some nearby
+refreshment--"
+
+"My, how formal an invitation, captain. I suppose you had in mind
+sitting and flipping back a few trank pills."
+
+Joe looked at her. "I don't believe I've had a trank in the past twenty
+years, Miss Haer. Even as a boy, I didn't particularly take to having my
+senses dulled with drug-induced pleasure."
+
+Some of her fury was abating, but she was still critical of the
+professional mercenary. Her eyes went up and down his uniform in scorn.
+"You seem to make pretenses of being cultivated, captain. Then why your
+chosen profession?"
+
+He'd had the answer to that for long years. He said now, simply, "I told
+you I was born a Lower. Given that, little counts until I fight my way
+out of it. Had I been born in a feudalist society, I would have
+attempted to batter myself into the nobility. Under classical
+capitalism, I would have done my utmost to accumulate a fortune, enough
+to reach an effective position in society. Now, under People's
+Capitalism ..."
+
+She snorted, "Industrial Feudalism would be the better term."
+
+"... I realize I can't even start to fulfill myself until I am a member
+of the Upper caste."
+
+Her eyes had narrowed, and the anger was largely gone. "But you chose
+the military field in which to better yourself?"
+
+"Government propaganda to the contrary, it is practically impossible to
+raise yourself in other fields. I didn't build this world, possibly I
+don't even approve of it, but since I'm in it I have no recourse but to
+follow its rules."
+
+Her eyebrows arched. "Why not try to change the rules?"
+
+Joe blinked at her.
+
+Nadine Haer said, "Let's look up that refreshment you were talking
+about. In fact, there's a small coffee bar around the corner where it'd
+be possible for one of Baron Haer's brood to have a cup with one of her
+father's officers of Middle caste."
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+The following morning, hands on the pillow beneath his head, Joe Mauser
+stared up at the ceiling of his room and rehashed his session with
+Nadine Haer. It hadn't taken him five minutes to come to the conclusion
+that he was in love with the girl, but it had taken him the rest of the
+evening to keep himself under rein and not let the fact get through to
+her.
+
+He wanted to talk about the way her mouth tucked in at the corners, but
+she was hot on the evolution of society. He would have liked to have
+kissed that impossibly perfectly shaped ear of hers, but she was all for
+exploring the reasons why man had reached his present impasse. Joe was
+for holding hands, and staring into each other's eyes, she was for
+delving into the differences between the West-world and the Sov-world
+and the possibility of resolving them.
+
+Of course, to keep her company at all it had been necessary to suppress
+his own desires and to go along. It obviously had never occurred to her
+that a Middle might have romantic ideas involving Nadine Haer. It had
+simply not occurred to her, no matter the radical teachings she
+advocated.
+
+Most of their world was predictable from what had gone before. In spite
+of popular fable to the contrary, the division between classes had
+become increasingly clear. Among other things, tax systems were such
+that it became all but impossible for a citizen born poor to accumulate
+a fortune. Through ability he might rise to the point of earning
+fabulous sums--and wind up in debt to the tax collector. A great
+inventor, a great artist, had little chance of breaking into the domain
+of what finally became the small percentage of the population now known
+as Uppers. Then, too, the rising cost of a really good education became
+such that few other than those born into the Middle or Upper castes
+could afford the best of schools. Castes tended to perpetuate
+themselves.
+
+Politically, the nation had fallen increasingly deeper into the
+two-party system, both parties of which were tightly controlled by the
+same group of Uppers. Elections had become a farce, a great national
+holiday in which stereotyped patriotic speeches, pretenses of unity
+between all castes, picnics, beer busts and trank binges predominated
+for one day.
+
+Economically, too, the augurs had been there. Production of the basics
+had become so profuse that poverty in the old sense of the word had
+become nonsensical. There was an abundance of the necessities of life
+for all. Social security, socialized medicine, unending unemployment
+insurance, old age pensions, pensions for veterans, for widows and
+children, for the unfit, pensions and doles for this, that and the
+other, had doubled, and doubled again, until everyone had security for
+life. The Uppers, true enough, had opulence far beyond that known by the
+Middles and lived like Gods compared to the Lowers. But all had
+security. They had agreed, thus far, Joe and Nadine. But then had come
+debate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Then why," Joe had asked her, "haven't we achieved what your brother
+called it? Why isn't this Utopia? Isn't it what man has been yearning
+for, down through the ages? Where did the wheel come off? What happened
+to the dream?"
+
+Nadine had frowned at him--beautifully, he thought. "It's not the first
+time man has found abundance in a society, though never to this degree.
+The Incas had it, for instance."
+
+"I don't know much about them," Joe admitted. "An early form of
+communism with a sort of military-priesthood at the top."
+
+She had nodded, her face serious, as always. "And for themselves, the
+Romans more or less had it--at the expense of the nations they
+conquered, of course."
+
+"And--" Joe prodded.
+
+"And in these examples the same thing developed. Society ossified. Joe,"
+she said, using his first name for the first time, and in a manner that
+set off a new count down in his blood, "a ruling caste and a
+socio-economic system perpetuates itself, just so long as it ever can.
+No matter what damage it may do to society as a whole, it perpetuates
+itself even to the point of complete destruction of everything.
+
+"Remember Hitler? Adolf the Aryan and his Thousand Year Reich? When it
+became obvious he had failed, and the only thing that could result from
+continued resistance would be destruction of Germany's cities and
+millions of her people, did he and his clique resign or surrender?
+Certainly not. They attempted to bring down the whole German structure
+in a Goetterdammerung."
+
+Nadine Haer was deep into her theme, her eyes flashing her conviction.
+"A socio-economic system reacts like a living organism. It attempts to
+live on, indefinitely, agonizingly, no matter how antiquated it might
+have become. The Roman politico-economic system continued for centuries
+after it should have been replaced. Such reformers as the Gracchus
+brothers were assassinated or thrust aside so that the entrenched
+elements could perpetuate themselves, and when Rome finally fell,
+darkness descended for a thousand years on Western progress."
+
+Joe had never gone this far in his thoughts. He said now, somewhat
+uncomfortably, "Well, what would replace what we have now? If you took
+power from you Uppers, who could direct the country? The Lowers? That's
+not even funny. Take away their fracases and their trank pills and
+they'd go berserk. They don't _want_ anything else."
+
+Her mouth worked. "Admittedly, we've already allowed things to
+deteriorate much too far. We should have done something long ago. I'm
+not sure I know the answer. All I know is that in order to maintain the
+status quo, we're not utilizing the efforts of more than a fraction of
+our people. Nine out of ten of us spend our lives sitting before the
+Telly, sucking tranks. Meanwhile, the motivation for continued progress
+seems to have withered away. Our Upper political circles are afraid some
+seemingly minor change might avalanche, so more and more we lean upon
+the old way of doing things."
+
+Joe had put up mild argument. "I've heard the case made that the Lowers
+are fools and the reason our present socio-economic system makes it so
+difficult to rise from Lower to Upper is that you cannot make a fool
+understand he is one. You can only make him angry. If some, who are not
+fools, are allowed to advance from Lower to Upper, the vast mass who are
+fools will be angry because they are not allowed to. That's why the
+Military Category is made a channel of advance. To take that road, a man
+gives up his security and he'll die if he's a fool."
+
+Nadine had been scornful. "That reminds me of the old contention by
+racial segregationalists that the Negroes _smelled_ bad. First they put
+them in a position where they had insufficient bathing facilities, their
+diet inadequate, and their teeth uncared for, and then protested that
+they couldn't be associated with because of their odor. Today, we are
+born within our castes. If an Upper is inadequate, he nevertheless
+remains an Upper. An accident of birth makes him an aristocrat;
+environment, family, training, education, friends, traditions and laws
+maintain him in that position. But a Lower who potentially has the
+greatest of value to society, is born handicapped and he's hard put not
+to wind up before a Telly, in a mental daze from trank. Sure he's a
+fool, he's never been _allowed_ to develop himself."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Yes, Joe reflected now, it had been quite an evening. In a life of more
+than thirty years devoted to rebellion, he had never met anyone so
+outspoken as Nadine Haer, nor one who had thought it through as far as
+she had.
+
+He grunted. His own revolt was against the level at which he had found
+himself in society, not the structure of society itself. His whole
+_raison d'etre_ was to lift himself to Upper status. It came as a shock
+to him to find a person he admired who had been born into Upper caste,
+desirous of tearing the whole system down.
+
+His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and the face of Max
+Mainz grinning in at him. Joe was mildly surprised at his orderly not
+knocking before opening the door. Max evidently had a lot to learn.
+
+The little man blurted, "Come on, Joe. Let's go out on the town!"
+
+"_Joe?_" Joe Mauser raised himself to one elbow and stared at the other.
+"Leaving aside the merits of your suggestion for the moment, do you
+think you should address an officer by his first name?"
+
+Max Mainz came fully into the bedroom, his grin still wider. "You
+forgot! It's election day!"
+
+"Oh." Joe Mauser relaxed into his pillow. "So it is. No duty for today,
+eh?"
+
+"No duty for anybody," Max crowed. "What'd you say we go into town and
+have a few drinks in one of the Upper bars?"
+
+Joe grunted, but began to arise. "What'll that accomplish? On election
+day, most of the Uppers get done up in their oldest clothes and go
+slumming down in the Lower quarters."
+
+Max wasn't to be put off so easily. "Well, wherever we go, let's get
+going. Zen! I'll bet this town is full of fracas buffs from as far as
+Philly. And on election day, to boot. Wouldn't it be something if I
+found me a real fracas fan, some Upper-Upper dame?"
+
+Joe laughed at him, even as he headed for the bathroom. As a matter of
+fact, he rather liked the idea of going into town for the show. "Max,"
+he said over his shoulder, "you're in for a big disappointment. They're
+all the same. Upper, Lower, or Middle."
+
+"Yeah?" Max grinned back at him. "Well, I'd like the pleasure of finding
+out if that's true by personal experience."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+In a far away past, Kingston had once been the capital of the United
+States. For a short time, when Washington's men were in flight after the
+debacle of their defeat in New York City, the government of the United
+Colonies had held session in this Hudson River town. It had been its one
+moment of historic glory, and afterward Kingston had slipped back into
+being a minor city on the edge of the Catskills, approximately halfway
+between New York and Albany.
+
+Of most recent years, it had become one of the two recruiting centers
+which bordered the Catskill Military Reservation, which in turn was one
+of the score or so population cleared areas throughout the continent
+where rival corporations or unions could meet and settle their
+differences in combat--given permission of the Military Category
+Department of the government. And permission was becoming ever easier to
+acquire.
+
+It had slowly evolved, the resorting to trial by combat to settle
+disputes between competing corporations, disputes between corporations
+and unions, disputes between unions over jurisdiction. Slowly, but
+predictably. Since the earliest days of the first industrial revolution,
+conflict between these elements had often broken into violence,
+sometimes on a scale comparable to minor warfare. An early example was
+the union organizing in Colorado when armed elements of the Western
+Federation of Miners shot it out with similarly armed "detectives" hired
+by the mine owners, and later with the troops of an unsympathetic State
+government.
+
+By the middle of the Twentieth-Century, unions had become one of the
+biggest businesses in the country, and by this time a considerable
+amount of the industrial conflict had shifted to fights between them for
+jurisdiction over dues-paying members. Battles on the waterfront,
+assassination and counter-assassination by gun-toting goon squads
+dominated by gangsters, industrial sabotage, frays between pickets and
+scabs--all were common occurrences.
+
+But it was the coming of Telly which increasingly brought such conflicts
+literally before the public eye. Zealous reporters made ever greater
+effort to bring the actual mayhem before the eyes of their viewers, and
+never were their efforts more highly rewarded.
+
+A society based upon private endeavor is as jealous of a vacuum as is
+Mother Nature. Give a desire that can be filled profitably, and the
+means can somehow be found to realize it.
+
+       *       *       *
+
+At one point in the nation's history, the railroad lords had dominated
+the economy, later it became the petroleum princes of Texas and
+elsewhere, but toward the end of the Twentieth Century the
+communications industries slowly gained prominence. Nothing was more
+greatly in demand than feeding the insatiable maw of the Telly fan,
+nothing, ultimately, became more profitable.
+
+And increasingly, the Telly buff endorsed the more sadistic of the
+fictional and nonfictional programs presented him. Even in the earliest
+years of the industry, producers had found that murder and mayhem, war
+and frontier gunfights, took precedence over less gruesome subjects.
+Music was drowned out by gunfire, the dance replaced by the shuffle of
+cowboy and rustler advancing down a dusty street toward each other,
+their fingertips brushing the grips of their six-shooters, the
+comedian's banter fell away before the chatter of the gangster's tommy
+gun.
+
+And increasing realism was demanded. The Telly reporter on the scene of
+a police arrest, preferably a murder, a rumble between rival gangs of
+juvenile delinquents, a longshoreman's fray in which scores of workers
+were hospitalized. When attempts were made to suppress such broadcasts,
+the howl of freedom of speech and the press went up, financed by tycoons
+clever enough to realize the value of the subjects they covered so
+adequately.
+
+The vacuum was there, the desire, the _need_. Bread the populace had.
+Trank was available to all. But the need was for the circus, the
+vicious, sadistic circus, and bit by bit, over the years and decades,
+the way was found to circumvent the country's laws and traditions to
+supply the need.
+
+Aye, a way is always found. The final Universal Disarmament Pact which
+had totally banned all weapons invented since the year 1900 and provided
+for complete inspection, had not ended the fear of war. And thus there
+was excuse to give the would-be soldier, the potential defender of the
+country in some future inter-nation conflict, practical experience.
+
+Slowly tolerance grew to allow union and corporation to fight it out,
+hiring the services of mercenaries. Slowly rules grew up to govern such
+fracases. Slowly a department of government evolved. The Military
+Category became as acceptable as the next, and the mercenary a valued,
+even idolized, member of society. And the field became practically the
+only one in which a status quo orientated socio-economic system allowed
+for advancement in caste.
+
+Joe Mauser and Max Mainz strolled the streets of Kingston in an extreme
+of atmosphere seldom to be enjoyed. Not only was the advent of a
+divisional magnitude fracas only a short period away, but the freedom of
+an election day as well. The carnival, the Mardi Gras, the fete, the
+fiesta, of an election. Election Day, when each aristocrat became only a
+man, and each man an aristocrat, free of all society's artificially
+conceived, caste-perpetuating rituals and taboos.
+
+Carnival! The day was young, but already the streets were thick with
+revelers, with dancers, with drunks. A score of bands played, youngsters
+in particular ran about attired in costume, there were barbeques and
+flowing beer kegs. On the outskirts of town were roller coasters and
+ferris wheels, fun houses and drive-it-yourself miniature cars.
+Carnival!
+
+Max said happily, "You drink, Joe? Or maybe you like trank, better."
+Obviously, he loved to roll the other's first name over his tongue.
+
+Joe wondered in amusement how often the little man had found occasion to
+call a Mid-Middle by his first name. "No trank," he said. "Alcohol for
+me. Mankind's old faithful."
+
+"Well," Max debated, "get high on alcohol and bingo, a hangover in the
+morning. But trank? You wake up with a smile."
+
+"And a desire for more trank to keep the mood going," Joe said wryly.
+"Get smashed on alcohol and you suffer for it eventually."
+
+"Well, that's one way of looking at it," Max argued happily. "So let's
+start off with a couple of quick ones in this here Upper joint."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Joe looked the place over. He didn't know Kingston overly well, but by
+the appearance of the building and by the entry, it was probably the
+swankiest hotel in town. He shrugged. So far as he was concerned, he
+appreciated the greater comfort and the better service of his Middle
+caste bars, restaurants and hotels over the ones he had patronized when
+a Lower. However, his wasn't an immediate desire to push into the
+preserves of the Uppers; not until he had won rightfully to their
+status.
+
+But on this occasion the little fellow wanted to drink at an Upper bar.
+Very well, it was election day. "Let's go," he said to Max.
+
+In the uniform of a Rank Captain of the Military Category, there was
+little to indicate caste level, and ordinarily given the correct air of
+nonchalance, Joe Mauser, in uniform, would have been able to go
+anywhere, without so much as a raised eyebrow--until he had presented
+his credit card, which indicated his caste. But Max was another thing.
+He was obviously a Lower, and probably a Low-Lower at that.
+
+But space was made for them at a bar packed with election day
+celebrants, politicians involved in the day's speeches and voting,
+higher ranking officers of the Haer forces, having a day off, and
+various Uppers of both sexes in town for the excitement of the fracas to
+come.
+
+"Beer," Joe said to the bartender.
+
+"Not me," Max crowed. "Champagne. Only the best for Max Mainz. Give me
+some of that champagne liquor I always been hearing about."
+
+Joe had the bill credited to his card, and they took their bottles and
+glasses to a newly abandoned table. The place was too packed to have
+awaited the services of a waiter, although poor Max probably would have
+loved such attention. Lower, and even Middle bars and restaurants were
+universally automated, and the waiter or waitress a thing of yesteryear.
+
+Max looked about the room in awe. "This is living," he announced. "I
+wonder what they'd say if I went to the desk and ordered a room."
+
+Joe Mauser wasn't as highly impressed as his batman. In fact, he'd often
+stayed in the larger cities, in hostelries as sumptuous as this, though
+only of Middle status. Kingston's best was on the mediocre side. He
+said, "They'd probably tell you they were filled up."
+
+Max was indignant. "Because I'm a Lower? It's _election_ day."
+
+Joe said mildly, "Because they probably are filled up. But for that
+matter, they might brush you off. It's not as though an Upper went to a
+Middle or Lower hotel and asked for accommodations. But what do you
+want, justice?"
+
+Max dropped it. He looked down into his glass. "Hey," he complained,
+"what'd they give me? This stuff tastes like weak hard cider."
+
+Joe laughed. "What did you think it was going to taste like?"
+
+Max took another unhappy sip. "I thought it was supposed to be the best
+drink you could buy. You know, really strong. It's just bubbly wine."
+
+A voice said, dryly, "Your companion doesn't seem to be a connoisseur of
+the French vintages, captain."
+
+Joe turned. Balt Haer and two others occupied the table next to them.
+
+Joe chuckled amiably and said, "Truthfully, it was my own reaction, the
+first time I drank sparkling wine, sir."
+
+"Indeed," Haer said. "I can imagine." He fluttered a hand. "Lieutenant
+Colonel Paul Warren of Marshal Cogswell's staff, and Colonel Lajos
+Arpad, of Budapest--Captain Joseph Mauser."
+
+Joe Mauser came to his feet and clicked his heels, bowing from the waist
+in approved military protocol. The other two didn't bother to come to
+their feet, but did condescend to shake hands.
+
+The Sov officer said, disinterestedly, "Ah yes, this is one of your
+fabulous customs, isn't it? On an election day, everyone is quite
+entitled to go anywhere. Anywhere at all. And, ah"--he made a sound
+somewhat like a giggle--"associate with anyone at all."
+
+Joe Mauser resumed his seat then looked at him. "That is correct. A
+custom going back to the early history of the country when all men were
+considered equal in such matters as law and civil rights. Gentlemen, may
+I present Rank Private Max Mainz, my orderly."
+
+Balt Haer, who had obviously already had a few, looked at him dourly.
+"You can carry these things to the point of the ludicrous, captain. For
+a man with your ambitions, I'm surprised."
+
+The infantry officer the younger Haer had introduced as Lieutenant
+Colonel Warren, of Stonewall Cogswell's staff, said idly, "Ambitions?
+Does the captain have ambitions? How in Zen can a Middle have ambitions,
+Balt?" He stared at Joe Mauser superciliously, but then scowled.
+"Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
+
+Joe said evenly, "Yes, sir. Five years ago we were both with the marshal
+in a fracas on the Little Big Horn reservation. Your company was pinned
+down on a knoll by a battery of field artillery. The Marshal sent me to
+your relief. We sneaked in, up an arroyo, and were able to get most of
+you out."
+
+"I was wounded," the colonel said, the superciliousness gone and a
+strange element in his voice above the alcohol there earlier.
+
+Joe Mauser said nothing to that. Max Mainz was stirring unhappily now.
+These officers were talking above his head, even as they ignored him. He
+had a vague feeling that he was being defended by Captain Mauser, but he
+didn't know how, or why.
+
+Balt Haer had been occupied in shouting fresh drinks. Now he turned back
+to the table. "Well, colonel, it's all very secret, these ambitions of
+Captain Mauser. I understand he's been an aide de camp to Marshal
+Cogswell in the past, but the marshal will be distressed to learn that
+on this occasion Captain Mauser has a secret by which he expects to rout
+your forces. Indeed, yes, the captain is quite the strategist." Balt
+Haer laughed abruptly. "And what good will this do the captain? Why on
+my father's word, if he succeeds, all efforts will be made to make the
+captain a caste equal of ours. Not just on election day, mind you, but
+all three hundred sixty-five days of the year."
+
+Joe Mauser was on his feet, his face expressionless. He said, "Shall we
+go, Max? Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. Colonel Arpad, a privilege to
+meet you. Colonel Warren, a pleasure to renew acquaintance." Joe Mauser
+turned and, trailed by his orderly, left.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Lieutenant Colonel Warren, pale, was on his feet too.
+
+Balt Haer was chuckling. "Sit down, Paul. Sit down. Not important enough
+to be angry about. The man's a clod."
+
+Warren looked at him bleakly. "I wasn't angry, Balt. The last time I saw
+Captain Mauser I was slung over his shoulder. He carried, tugged and
+dragged me some two miles through enemy fire."
+
+Balt Haer carried it off with a shrug. "Well, that's his profession.
+Category Military. A mercenary for hire. I assume he received his pay."
+
+"He could have left me. Common sense dictated that he leave me."
+
+Balt Haer was annoyed. "Well, then we see what I've contended all along.
+The ambitious captain doesn't have common sense."
+
+Colonel Paul Warren shook his head. "You're wrong there. Common sense
+Joseph Mauser has. Considerable ability, he has. He's one of the best
+combat men in the field. But I'd hate to serve under him."
+
+The Hungarian was interested. "But why?"
+
+"Because he doesn't have luck, and in the dill you need luck." Warren
+grunted in sour memory. "Had the Telly cameras been focused on Joe
+Mauser, there at the Little Big Horn, he would have been a month long
+sensation to the Telly buffs, with all that means." He grunted again.
+"There wasn't a Telly team within a mile."
+
+"The captain probably didn't realize that," Balt Haer snorted.
+"Otherwise his heroics would have been modified."
+
+Warren flushed his displeasure and sat down. He said, "Possibly we
+should discuss the business before us. If your father is in agreement,
+the fracas can begin in three days." He turned to the representative of
+the Sov-world. "You have satisfied yourselves that neither force is
+violating the Disarmament Pact?"
+
+Lajos Arpad nodded. "We will wish to have observers on the field,
+itself, of course. But preliminary observation has been satisfactory."
+He had been interested in the play between these two and the lower caste
+officer. He said now, "Pardon me. As you know, this is my first visit to
+the, uh _West_. I am fascinated. If I understand what just transpired,
+our Captain Mauser is a capable junior officer ambitious to rise in rank
+and status in your society." He looked at Balt Haer. "Why are you
+opposed to his so rising?"
+
+Young Haer was testy about the whole matter. "Of what purpose is an
+Upper caste if every Tom, Dick and Harry enters it at will?"
+
+Warren looked at the door through which Joe and Max had exited from the
+cocktail lounge. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it again,
+and held his peace.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Hungarian said, looking from one of them to the other, "In the
+Sov-world we seek out such ambitious persons and utilize their
+abilities."
+
+Lieutenant Colonel Warren laughed abruptly. "So do we here
+_theoretically_. We are _free_, whatever that means. However," he added
+sarcastically, "it does help to have good schooling, good connections,
+relatives in positions of prominence, abundant shares of good stocks,
+that sort of thing. And these one is born with, in this free world of
+ours, Colonel Arpad."
+
+The Sov military observer clucked his tongue. "An indication of a
+declining society."
+
+Balt Haer turned on him. "And is it any different in your world?" he
+said sneeringly. "Is it merely coincidence that the best positions in
+the Sov-world are held by Party members, and that it is all but
+impossible for anyone not born of Party member parents to become one?
+Are not the best schools filled with the children of Party members? Are
+not only Party members allowed to keep servants? And isn't it so that--"
+
+Lieutenant Colonel Warren said, "Gentlemen, let us not start World War
+Three at this spot, at this late occasion."
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+Baron Malcolm Haer's field headquarters were in the ruins of a farm
+house in a town once known as Bearsville. His forces, and those of
+Marshal Stonewall Cogswell, were on the march but as yet their main
+bodies had not come in contact. Save for skirmishes between cavalry
+units, there had been no action. The ruined farm house had been a victim
+of an earlier fracas in this reservation which had seen in its
+comparatively brief time more combat than Belgium, that cockpit of
+Europe.
+
+There was a sheen of oily moisture on the Baron's bulletlike head and
+his officers weren't particularly happy about it. Malcolm Haer
+characteristically went into a fracas with confidence, an aggressive
+confidence so strong that it often carried the day. In battles past, it
+had become a tradition that Haer's morale was worth a thousand men; the
+energy he expended was the despair of his doctors who had been warning
+him for a decade. But now, something was missing.
+
+A forefinger traced over the military chart before them. "So far as we
+know, Marshal Cogswell has established his command here in Saugerties.
+Anybody have any suggestions as to why?"
+
+A major grumbled, "It doesn't make much sense, sir. You know the
+marshal. It's probably a fake. If we have any superiority at all, it's
+our artillery."
+
+"And the old fox wouldn't want to join the issue on the plains, down
+near the river," a colonel added. "It's his game to keep up into the
+mountains with his cavalry and light infantry. He's got Jack Alshuler's
+cavalry. Most experienced veterans in the field."
+
+"I know who he's got," Haer growled in irritation. "Stop reminding me.
+Where in the devil is Balt?"
+
+"Coming up, sir," Balt Haer said. He had entered only moments ago, a
+sheaf of signals in his hand. "Why didn't they make that date 1910,
+instead of 1900? With radio, we could speed up communications--"
+
+His father interrupted testily. "Better still, why not make it 1945?
+Then we could speed up to the point where we could polish ourselves off.
+What have you got?"
+
+Balt Haer said, his face in sulk, "Some of my lads based in West Hurley
+report concentrations of Cogswell's infantry and artillery near Ashokan
+reservoir."
+
+"Nonsense," somebody snapped. "We'd have him."
+
+The younger Haer slapped his swagger stick against his bare leg and
+kilt. "Possibly it's a feint," he admitted.
+
+"How much were they able to observe?" his father demanded.
+
+"Not much. They were driven off by a superior squadron. The Hovercraft
+forces are screening everything they do with heavy cavalry units. I told
+you we needed more--"
+
+"I don't need your advice at this point," his father snapped. The older
+Haer went back to the map, scowling still. "I don't see what he expects
+to do, working out of Saugerties."
+
+A voice behind them said, "Sir, may I have your permission--"
+
+Half of the assembled officers turned to look at the newcomer.
+
+Balt Haer snapped, "Captain Mauser. Why aren't you with your lads?"
+
+"Turned them over to my second in command, sir," Joe Mauser said. He was
+standing to attention, looking at Baron Haer.
+
+The Baron glowered at him. "What is the meaning of this cavalier
+intrusion, captain? Certainly, you must have your orders. Are you under
+the illusion that you are part of my staff?"
+
+"No, sir," Joe Mauser clipped. "I came to report that I am ready to put
+into execution--"
+
+"The great plan!" Balt Haer ejaculated. He laughed brittlely. "The
+second day of the fracas, and nobody really knows where old Cogswell is,
+or what he plans to do. And here comes the captain with his secret
+plan."
+
+Joe looked at him. He said, evenly, "Yes, sir."
+
+The Baron's face had gone dark, as much in anger at his son, as with the
+upstart cavalry captain. He began to growl ominously, "Captain Mauser,
+rejoin your command and obey your orders."
+
+Joe Mauser's facial expression indicated that he had expected this. He
+kept his voice level however, even under the chuckling scorn of his
+immediate superior, Balt Haer.
+
+He said, "Sir, I will be able to tell you where Marshal Cogswell is, and
+every troop at his command."
+
+For a moment there was silence, all but a stunned silence. Then the
+major who had suggested the Saugerties field command headquarters were a
+fake, blurted a curt laugh.
+
+"This is no time for levity, captain," Balt Haer clipped. "Get to your
+command."
+
+A colonel said, "Just a moment, sir. I've fought with Joe Mauser before.
+He's a good man."
+
+"Not that good," someone else huffed. "Does he claim to be clairvoyant?"
+
+Joe Mauser said flatly. "Have a semaphore man posted here this
+afternoon. I'll be back at that time." He spun on his heel and left
+them.
+
+Balt Haer rushed to the door after him, shouting, "Captain! That's an
+order! Return--"
+
+But the other was obviously gone. Enraged, the younger Haer began to
+shrill commands to a noncom in the way of organizing a pursuit.
+
+His father called wearily, "That's enough, Balt. Mauser has evidently
+taken leave of his senses. We made the initial mistake of encouraging
+this idea he had, or thought he had."
+
+"_We?_" his son snapped in return. "I had nothing to do with it."
+
+"All right, all right. Let's tighten up, here. Now, what other
+information have your scouts come up with?"
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+At the Kingston airport, Joe Mauser rejoined Max Mainz, his face drawn
+now.
+
+"Everything go all right?" the little man said anxiously.
+
+"I don't know," Joe said. "I still couldn't tell them the story. Old
+Cogswell is as quick as a coyote. We pull this little caper today, and
+he'll be ready to meet it tomorrow."
+
+He looked at the two-place sailplane which sat on the tarmac.
+"Everything all set?"
+
+"Far as I know," Max said. He looked at the motorless aircraft. "You
+sure you been checked out on these things, captain?"
+
+"Yes," Joe said. "I bought this particular soaring glider more than a
+year ago, and I've put almost a thousand hours in it. Now, where's the
+pilot of that light plane?"
+
+A single-engined sports plane was attached to the glider by a fifty-foot
+nylon rope. Even as Joe spoke, a youngster poked his head from the
+plane's window and grinned back at them. "Ready?" he yelled.
+
+"Come on, Max," Joe said. "Let's pull the canopy off this thing. We
+don't want it in the way while you're semaphoring."
+
+A figure was approaching them from the Administration Building. A
+uniformed man, and somehow familiar.
+
+"A moment, Captain Mauser!"
+
+Joe placed him now. The Sov-world representative he'd met at Balt Haer's
+table in the Upper bar a couple of days ago. What was his name? Colonel
+Arpad. Lajos Arpad.
+
+The Hungarian approached and looked at the sailplane in interest. "As a
+representative of my government, a military attache checking upon
+possible violations of the Universal Disarmament Pact, may I request
+what you are about to do, captain?"
+
+Joe Mauser looked at him emptily. "How did you know I was here and what
+I was doing?"
+
+The Sov colonel smiled gently. "It was by suggestion of Marshal
+Cogswell. He is a great man for detail. It disturbed him that an ...
+what did he call it? ... an _old pro_ like yourself should join with
+Vacuum Tube Transport, rather than Continental Hovercraft. He didn't
+think it made sense and suggested that possibly you had in mind some
+scheme that would utilize weapons of a post 1900 period in your efforts
+to bring success to Baron Haer's forces. So I have investigated, Captain
+Mauser."
+
+"And the marshal knows about this sail plane?" Joe Mauser's face was
+blank.
+
+"I didn't say that. So far as I know, he doesn't."
+
+"Then, Colonel Arpad, with your permission, I'll be taking off."
+
+The Hungarian said, "With what end in mind, captain?"
+
+"Using this glider as a reconnaissance aircraft."
+
+"Captain, I warn you! Aircraft were not in use in warfare until--"
+
+But Joe Mauser cut him off, equally briskly. "Aircraft were first used
+in combat by Pancho Villa's forces a few years previous to World War I.
+They were also used in the Balkan Wars of about the same period. But
+those were powered craft. This is a glider, invented and in use before
+the year 1900 and hence open to utilization."
+
+The Hungarian clipped, "But the Wright Brothers didn't fly even gliders
+until--"
+
+Joe looked him full in the face. "But you of the Sov-world do not admit
+that the Wrights were the first to fly, do you?"
+
+The Hungarian closed his mouth, abruptly.
+
+Joe said evenly, "But even if Ivan Ivanovitch, or whatever you claim his
+name was, didn't invent flight of heavier than air craft, the glider was
+flown variously before 1900, including Otto Lilienthal in the 1890s, and
+was designed as far back as Leonardo da Vinci."
+
+The Sov-world colonel stared at him for a long moment, then gave an
+inane giggle. He stepped back and flicked Joe Mauser a salute. "Very
+well, captain. As a matter of routine, I shall report this use of an
+aircraft for reconnaissance purposes, and undoubtedly a commission will
+meet to investigate the propriety of the departure. Meanwhile, good
+luck!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Joe returned the salute and swung a leg over the cockpit's side. Max was
+already in the front seat, his semaphore flags, maps and binoculars on
+his lap. He had been staring in dismay at the Sov officer, now was
+relieved that Joe had evidently pulled it off.
+
+Joe waved to the plane ahead. Two mechanics had come up to steady the
+wings for the initial ten or fifteen feet of the motorless craft's
+passage over the ground behind the towing craft.
+
+Joe said to Max, "did you explain to the pilot that under no
+circumstances was he to pass over the line of the military reservation,
+that we'd cut before we reached that point?"
+
+"Yes, sir," Max said nervously. He'd flown before, on the commercial
+lines, but he'd never been in a glider.
+
+They began lurching across the field, slowly, then gathering speed. And
+as the sailplane took speed, it took grace. After it had been pulled a
+hundred feet or so, Joe eased back the stick and it slipped gently into
+the air, four or five feet off the ground. The towing airplane was
+still taxiing, but with its tow airborne it picked up speed quickly.
+Another two hundred feet and it, too, was in the air and beginning to
+climb. The glider behind held it to a speed of sixty miles or so.
+
+At ten thousand feet, the plane leveled off and the pilot's head
+swiveled to look back at them. Joe Mauser waved to him and dropped the
+release lever which ejected the nylon rope from the glider's nose. The
+plane dove away, trailing the rope behind it. Joe knew that the plane
+pilot would later drop it over the airport where it could easily be
+retrieved.
+
+In the direction of Mount Overlook he could see cumulus clouds and the
+dark turbulence which meant strong updraft. He headed in that direction.
+
+Except for the whistling of wind, there is complete silence in a soaring
+glider. Max Mainz began to call back to his superior, was taken back by
+the volume, and dropped his voice. He said, "Look, captain. What keeps
+it up?"
+
+Joe grinned. He liked the buoyance of glider flying, the nearest
+approach of man to the bird, and thus far everything was going well. He
+told Max, "An airplane plows through the air currents, a glider rides on
+top of them."
+
+"Yeah, but suppose the current is going down?"
+
+"Then we avoid it. This sailplane only has a gliding angle ratio of one
+to twenty-five, but it's a workhorse with a payload of some four hundred
+pounds. A really high performance glider can have a ratio of as much as
+one to forty."
+
+Joe had found a strong updraft where a wind ran up the side of a
+mountain. He banked, went into a circling turn. The gauge indicated they
+were climbing at the rate of eight meters per second, nearly fifteen
+hundred feet a minute.
+
+Max hadn't got the rundown on the theory of the glider. That was obvious
+in his expression.
+
+Joe Mauser, even while searching the ground below keenly, went into it
+further. "A wind up against a mountain will give an updraft, storm
+clouds will, even a newly plowed field in a bright sun. So you go from
+one of these to the next."
+
+"Yeah, great, but when you're between," Max protested.
+
+"Then, when you have a one to twenty-five ratio, you go twenty-five feet
+forward for each one you drop. If you started a mile high, you could go
+twenty-five miles before you touched ground." He cut himself off
+quickly. "Look, what's that, down there? Get your glasses on it."
+
+Max caught his excitement. His binoculars were tight to his eyes.
+"Sojers. Cavalry. They sure ain't ours. They must be Hovercraft lads.
+And look, field artillery."
+
+Joe Mauser was piloting with his left hand, his right smoothing out a
+chart on his lap. He growled, "What are they doing there? That's at
+least a full brigade of cavalry. Here, let me have those glasses."
+
+With his knees gripping the stick, he went into a slow circle, as he
+stared down at the column of men. "Jack Alshuler," he whistled in
+surprise. "The marshal's crack heavy cavalry. And several batteries of
+artillery." He swung the glasses in a wider scope and the whistle turned
+into a hiss of comprehension. "They're doing a complete circle of the
+reservation. They're going to hit the Baron from the direction of
+Phoenicia."
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+Marshal Stonewall Cogswell directed his old fashioned telescope in the
+direction his chief of staff indicated.
+
+"What is it?" he grunted.
+
+"It's an airplane, sir."
+
+"Over a military reservation with a fracas in progress?"
+
+"Yes, sir." The other put his glasses back on the circling object. "Then
+what is it, sir? Certainly not a free balloon."
+
+"Balloons," the marshal snorted, as though to himself. "Legal to use.
+The Union forces had them toward the end of the Civil War. But
+practically useless in a fracas of movement."
+
+They were standing before the former resort hotel which housed the
+marshal's headquarters. Other staff members were streaming from the
+building, and one of the ever-present Telly reporting crews were
+hurriedly setting up cameras.
+
+The marshal turned and barked, "Does anybody know what in Zen that
+confounded thing, circling up there, is?"
+
+Baron Zwerdling, the aging Category Transport magnate, head of
+Continental Hovercraft, hobbled onto the wooden veranda and stared with
+the others. "An airplane," he croaked. "Haer's gone too far this time.
+Too far, too far. This will strip him. Strip him, understand." Then he
+added, "Why doesn't it make any noise?"
+
+Lieutenant Colonel Paul Warren stood next to his commanding officer. "It
+looks like a glider, sir."
+
+Cogswell glowered at him. "A what?"
+
+"A glider, sir. It's a sport not particularly popular these days."
+
+"What keeps it up, confound it?"
+
+Paul Warren looked at him. "The same thing that keeps a hawk up, an
+albatross, a gull--"
+
+"A vulture, you mean," Cogswell snarled. He watched it for another long
+moment, his face working. He whirled on his chief of artillery. "Jed,
+can you bring that thing down?"
+
+The other had been viewing the craft through field binoculars, his face
+as shocked as the rest of them. Now he faced his chief, and lowered the
+glasses, shaking his head. "Not with the artillery of pre-1900. No,
+sir."
+
+"What can you do?" Cogswell barked.
+
+The artillery man was shaking his head. "We could mount some Maxim guns
+on wagon wheels, or something. Keep him from coming low."
+
+"He doesn't have to come low," Cogswell growled unhappily. He spun on
+Lieutenant Colonel Warren again. "When were they invented?" He jerked
+his thumb upward. "Those things."
+
+Warren was twisting his face in memory. "Some time about the turn of the
+century."
+
+"How long can the things stay up?"
+
+Warren took in the surrounding mountainous countryside. "Indefinitely,
+sir. A single pilot, as long as he is physically able to operate. If
+there are two pilots up there to relieve each other, they could stay
+until food and water ran out."
+
+"How much weight do they carry?"
+
+"I'm not sure. One that size, certainly enough for two men and any
+equipment they'd need. Say, five hundred pounds."
+
+Cogswell had his telescope glued to his eyes again, he muttered under
+his breath, "Five hundred pounds! They could even unload dynamite over
+our horses. Stampede them all over the reservation."
+
+"What's going on?" Baron Zwerdling shrilled. "What's going on Marshal
+Cogswell?"
+
+Cogswell ignored him. He watched the circling, circling craft for a full
+five minutes, breathing deeply. Then he lowered his glass and swept the
+assembled officers of his staff with an indignant glare. "Ten Eyck!" he
+grunted.
+
+An infantry colonel came to attention. "Yes, sir."
+
+Cogswell said heavily, deliberately. "Under a white flag. A dispatch to
+Baron Haer. My compliments and request for his terms. While you're at
+it, my compliments also to Captain Joseph Mauser."
+
+Zwerdling was bug-eyeing him. "Terms!" he rasped.
+
+The marshal turned to him. "Yes, sir. Face reality. We're in the dill. I
+suggest you sue for terms as short of complete capitulation as you can
+make them."
+
+"You call yourself a soldier--!" the transport tycoon began to shrill.
+
+"Yes, sir," Cogswell snapped. "A soldier, not a butcher of the lads
+under me." He called to the Telly reporter who was getting as much of
+this as he could. "Mr. Soligen, isn't it?"
+
+       *       *       *
+
+The reporter scurried forward, flicking signals to his cameramen for
+proper coverage. "Yes, sir. Freddy Soligen, marshal. Could you tell the
+Telly fans what this is all about, Marshal Cogswell? Folks, you all know
+the famous marshal. Marshal Stonewall Cogswell, who hasn't lost a fracas
+in nearly ten years, now commanding the forces of Continental
+Hovercraft."
+
+"I'm losing one now," Cogswell said grimly. "Vacuum Tube Transport has
+pulled a gimmick out of the hat and things have pickled for us. It will
+be debated before the Military Category Department, of course, and
+undoubtedly the Sov-world military attaches will have things to say. But
+as it appears now, the fracas as we have known it, has been
+revolutionized."
+
+"Revolutionized?" Even the Telly reporter was flabbergasted. "You mean
+by that thing?" He pointed upward, and the lenses of the cameras
+followed his finger.
+
+"Yes," Cogswell growled unhappily. "Do all of you need a blueprint? Do
+you think I can fight a fracas with that thing dangling above me,
+throughout the day hours? Do you understand the importance of
+reconnaissance in warfare?" His eyes glowered. "Do you think Napoleon
+would have lost Waterloo if he'd had the advantage of perfect
+reconnaissance such as that thing can deliver? Do you think Lee would
+have lost Gettysburg? Don't be ridiculous." He spun on Baron Zwerdling,
+who was stuttering his complete confusion.
+
+"As it stands, Baron Haer knows every troop dispensation I make. All I
+know of his movements are from my cavalry scouts. I repeat, I am no
+butcher, sir. I will gladly cross swords with Baron Haer another day,
+when I, too, have ... what did you call the confounded things, Paul?"
+
+"Gliders," Lieutenant Colonel Warren said.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+Major Joseph Mauser, now attired in his best off-duty Category Military
+uniform, spoke his credentials to the receptionist. "I have no definite
+appointment, but I am sure the Baron will see me," he said.
+
+"Yes, sir." The receptionist did the things that receptionists do, then
+looked up at him again. "Right through that door, major."
+
+Joe Mauser gave the door a quick double rap and then entered before
+waiting an answer.
+
+Balt Haer, in mufti, was standing at a far window, a drink in his hand,
+rather than his customary swagger stick. Nadine Haer sat in an
+easy-chair. The girl Joe Mauser loved had been crying.
+
+Joe Mauser, suppressing his frown, made with the usual amenities.
+
+Balt Haer without answering them, finished his drink in a gulp and
+stared at the newcomer. The old stare, the aloof stare, an aristocrat
+looking at an underling as though wondering what made the fellow tick.
+He said, finally, "I see you have been raised to Rank Major."
+
+"Yes, sir," Joe said.
+
+"We are obviously occupied, major. What can either my sister or I
+possibly do for you?"
+
+Joe kept his voice even. He said, "I wanted to see the Baron."
+
+Nadine Haer looked up, a twinge of pain crossing her face.
+
+"Indeed," Balt Haer said flatly. "You are talking to the Baron, Major
+Mauser."
+
+Joe Mauser looked at him, then at his sister, who had taken to her
+handkerchief again. Consternation ebbed up and over him in a flood. He
+wanted to say something such as, "Oh _no_," but not even that could he
+utter.
+
+Haer was bitter. "I assume I know why you are here, major. You have come
+for your pound of flesh, undoubtedly. Even in these hours of our
+grief--"
+
+"I ... I didn't know. Please believe ..."
+
+"... You are so constituted that your ambition has no decency. Well,
+Major Mauser, I can only say that your arrangement was with my father.
+Even if I thought it a reasonable one, I doubt if I would sponsor your
+ambitions myself."
+
+Nadine Haer looked up wearily. "Oh, Balt, come off it," she said. "The
+fact is, the Haer fortunes contracted a debt to you, major.
+Unfortunately, it is a debt we cannot pay." She looked into his face.
+"First, my father's governmental connections do not apply to us. Second,
+six months ago, my father, worried about his health and attempting to
+avoid certain death taxes, transferred the family stocks into Balt's
+name. And Balt saw fit, immediately before the fracas, to sell all
+Vacuum Tube Transport stocks, and invest in Hovercraft."
+
+"That's enough, Nadine," her brother snapped nastily.
+
+"I see," Joe said. He came to attention. "Dr. Haer, my apologies for
+intruding upon you in your time of bereavement." He turned to the new
+Baron. "Baron Haer, my apologies for _your_ bereavement."
+
+Balt Haer glowered at him.
+
+Joe Mauser turned and marched for the door which he opened then closed
+behind him.
+
+On the street, before the New York offices of Vacuum Tube Transport, he
+turned and for a moment looked up at the splendor of the building.
+
+Well, at least the common shares of the concern had skyrocketed
+following the victory. His rank had been upped to Major, and old
+Stonewall Cogswell had offered him a permanent position on his staff in
+command of aerial operations, no small matter of prestige. The
+difficulty was, he wasn't interested in the added money that would
+accrue to him, nor the higher rank--nor the prestige, for that matter.
+
+He turned to go to his hotel.
+
+An unbelievably beautiful girl came down the steps of the building. She
+said, "Joe."
+
+He looked at her. "Yes?"
+
+She put a hand on his sleeve. "Let's go somewhere and talk, Joe."
+
+"About what?" He was infinitely weary now.
+
+"About goals," she said. "As long as they exist, whether for
+individuals, or nations, or a whole species, life is still worth the
+living. Things are a bit bogged down right now, but at the risk of
+sounding very trite, there's tomorrow."
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    This etext was produced from _Analog_ April 1962. Extensive research
+    did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this
+    publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors
+    have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mercenary, by Dallas McCord Reynolds
+
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