Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Status Quo by Mack Reynolds (debian ebook reader .txt) 📖
- Author: Mack Reynolds
Book online «Status Quo by Mack Reynolds (debian ebook reader .txt) 📖». Author Mack Reynolds
Larry Woolford decided he'd better hang on for at least a few more words. “You don't seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is undesirable in this country.”
The Professor's voice was reasonable. “Isn't that according to what it means to subvert?”
“You know what I mean,” Woolford said in irritation. “I don't usually think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of a movement, as exactly idealists.”
“Then you're wrong,” the Professor said definitely, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “History bears out that almost invariably revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point.”
Larry Woolford began to say, “Are you sure that you aren't interested in this move—”
But it was then that the knockout drops hit him.
He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He groaned and opened one eye experimentally.
Steve Hackett, far away, said, “He's snapping out of it.”
Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus.
“What happened?” he muttered.
“Now that's an original question,” Steve said.
Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He'd been stretched out on a couch in the Professor's combined living room and study.
Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve's, going about and in and out of the room.
Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, “My head's killing me. Damn it, what's going on?”
Steve said sarcastically, “You've been slipped a mickey, my cloak and dagger friend, and the bird has flown.”
“You mean the Professor? He's a bird all right.”
[pg 035]“Humor we get, yet,” Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. “Listen, I thought you people had pulled out of this case.”
Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. “So did I,” he moaned, “but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thought I'd tidy them up before leaving.”
“You tidied them up all right,” Steve grumbled. “This Professor Voss was practically the only lead I've been able to discover. An old friend of Self's. And you allowed him to get away before we even got here.”
One of Hackett's men came up and said, “Not a sign of him, Steve. He evidently burned a few papers, packed a suitcase, and took off. His things look suspiciously as though he was ready to go into hiding at a moment's notice.”
Steve growled to him, “Give the place the works. He's probably left some clues around that'll give us a line.”
The other went off and Steve Hackett sat down in one of the leather chairs and glowered at Larry Woolford. “Listen,” he said, “what did you people want with Susan Self?”
Larry shook his head for clarity and looked at him. “Susan? What are you talking about? You don't have any aspirin, do you?”
“No. What'd you mean, what am I talking about? You called Betsy Hughes and then sent a couple of men over to pick the Self kid up.”
“Who's Betsy Hughes?”
Steve shook his head. “I don't know what kind of knockout drops the old boy gave you, but they sure worked. Betsy's the operative we had minding Susan Self over in the Greater Washington Hilton. About an hour ago you got her on the phone, said your department wanted to question Susan, and that you were sending two men over to pick her up. The two men turned up with an order from you, and took the girl.”
Larry stared at him. Finally he said, “What time is it?”
“About two o'clock.”
Larry said, “I came into this house in the morning, talked to the Professor for about half an hour and then was silly enough to let him give me some loaded coffee. He was such a weird old buzzard that it never occurred to me he might be dangerous. At any rate, I've been unconscious for several hours. I couldn't've called this Betsy Hughes operative of yours.”
It was Steve Hackett's turn to stare.
“You mean your department doesn't have Susan Self?”
“Not so far as I know. The Boss told me yesterday that we were pulling out, that it was all in your hands. What would we want with Susan?”
“Oh, great,” Steve snarled. “There goes our last contact. Ernest Self, Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; they've all disappeared.”
“Look,” Larry said unhappily, “let's get me some aspirin and then let's go and see my chief. I have a sneaking suspicion our department is back on this case.”
Steve snorted sarcastically. “If you can foul things up this well when [pg 036] you're off the case, God only knows what you'll accomplish using your facilities on an all-out basis.”
The Boss said slowly, “Whoever we are working against evidently isn't short of resources. Abducting that young lady was no simple matter.” The career diplomat worked his lips in and out, in all but a pout.
Larry Woolford, who'd taken time out to go home, shower, change clothes and medicate himself out of his dope induced hangover, sat across the desk from him, flanked by Steve Hackett.
The Boss said sourly, “It would seem that I was in error. That our young Susan Self was not spouting fantasy. There evidently actually is an underground movement interested in changing our institutions.” He stirred in his chair and his scowl went deeper. “And evidently working on a basis never conceived of by subversive organizations of the past. The fact that they have successfully remained secret even to this department is the prime indication that they are attempting to make their revolutionary changes in a unique manner.”
Larry said, “The trouble is, we don't even know what it is they want.”
“However,” his superior said slowly, “we are beginning to get inklings.”
Steve Hackett said, “What inklings, sir? This sort of thing might be routine for you people, but my field is counterfeit. I, frankly, don't know what it's all about.”
The Boss looked at him. “We have a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one thing, we know that this Movement of ours has no affiliations with the Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we know, any foreign element whatsoever. If we take Miss Self's word, it is strictly an American phenomenon. From what little we know of Ernest Self and Peter Voss they might be in revolt against some of our current institutions but there is no reason to believe them, ah, un-American in the usually accepted sense of the word.”
The two younger men looked at him as though he was joking.
He shook his heavy head negatively. “Actually, what do we have on this so-called Movement thus far? Aside from treating Lawrence, here, to some knockout drops—and let us remember that Lawrence was present in the Professor's home without a warrant—all we have is the suspicion that they have manufactured a quantity of counterfeit.”
“A quantity is right,” Steve Hackett blurted. “If we're to accept what that Self kid told us, they have a few billion dollars worth of perfect bills on hand.”
“A strange amount for counterfeiters to produce,” The Boss said uncomfortably. “That is what puzzles me. Any revolutionary movement needs funds. Remember Stalin as a young man? He used to be in charge of the Bolshevik gang which robbed banks to raise funds for their underground newspapers. But a billion dollars? What in the world can they expect to need that amount for?”
[pg 037]Larry said, “Sir, you keep talking as though these characters were a bunch of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for the sake of the country. Actually, from what we know, they're nothing but a bunch of revolutionists.”
The Boss was shaking his head. “You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. Revolution, per se, is not illegal in the United States. Our Constitution was probably the first document of its kind which allowed for its own amendment. The men who wrote it provided for changing it either slightly or in toto. Whenever the majority of the American people decide completely to abandon the Constitution and govern themselves by new laws, they have the right to do it.”
“Then what's the whole purpose of this department, sir?” Larry argued. “Why've we been formed to combat foreign and domestic subversion?”
His chief sighed. “You shouldn't have to ask that, Lawrence. The present government cannot oppose the will of the majority if it votes, by constitutional methods, to make any changes it wishes. But we can, and do, unmask the activities of anyone trying to overthrow the government by force and violence. Any culture protects itself against that.”
“What are we getting at, sir?” Steve Hackett said, impatiently.
The Boss shrugged. “I'm trying to point out that so far as my department is concerned, thus far we have little against this Movement. Secret Service may have, what with this wholesale counterfeiting, even though thus far they seem to have made no attempt to pass the currency they have allegedly manufactured. We wouldn't even know of it, weren't it for our young Susan pilfering an amount.”
Larry said, desperately, “Sir, you just pointed out a few minutes ago that this Movement is a secret organization trying to make changes in some unique manner. In short, they don't figure on using the ballot to put over their revolution. That makes them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't it?”
The Boss said, “That's the difficulty; we don't know what they want. From your conversations with Susan Self and especially Professor Voss, evidently they think the country needs some basic changes. What these changes are, and how they expect to accomplish them, we don't know. Unless a foreign government is involved, or unless they plan to alter our institutions by violence, this department just doesn't have much jurisdiction.”
Steve Hackett snorted, “Secret Service does! If those bales of money the Self kid told us about are ever put into circulation, there'll be hell to pay.”
The Boss sighed. “Well,” he said, “Lawrence can continue on the assignment. If it develops in such manner as to indicate that this department is justified in further investigation, we'll put more men on it. Meanwhile, it is obviously more a Secret Service matter. I am sorry to intrude upon your vacation again, Lawrence.”
[pg 038]On awakening in the morning, Larry Woolford stared glumly at the ceiling for long moments before dragging himself from bed. This was, he decided, the strangest assignment he'd ever been on. In his day he'd trekked through South America, Common Europe, a dozen African states, and even areas of Southern Asia, combatting Commie pressures here, fellow-traveler organizations there, disrupting plots hatched in the Soviet Complex in the other place. On his home grounds in the United States he'd covered everything from out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing Communist activities of complexions from the faintest of pinks to the rosiest Trotskyite red. But, he decided he'd never expected to wind up after a bunch of weirds whose sole actionable activity to date seemed to be the counterfeiting of a fantastic amount of legal tender which thus far they were making no
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