Equality: In the Year 2000

Chapter Five The Year 2, New Calendar

As bewildered as the Leetes, Julian returned to his own apartment. They had told him that crime had disappeared in this so-called Republic of the Golden Rule, that there were no more juvenile delinquents, that muggings were a thing of the past. Who in the name of whatever might be holy, would want to beat up kindly old Doctor Leete? He had no frame of reference in which to consider the problem. He gave it up and went into his kitchenette, to the little breakfast nook there. Hesitating momentarily, he dialed Information and asked for a ham sandwich and a bottle of beer.

Had it been possible for a computer voice to register a tone of surprise, it undoubtedly would have.

“Would you repeat that order, Mr. West?”

He repeated it, then said, impatiently, “You take two pieces of bread and butter each lightly on one side. You put between them a slice of ham, moderately thick, covered lightly with mustard, along with some lettuce. You serve it with a dill pickle.”

“Yes, Mr. West. We shall put the recipe in the kitchen data banks. But we do not serve beer in bottles, sir.”

“Well, serve it any damn way you wish,” he said.

“Very well, Mr. West.”

Shortly, the table sank down to return with his order. The beer was in a large glass and by the looks of the thick, rich head, it was draft. There was too much lettuce. He removed half of it and ate.

After lunch, there was nothing else he could think of to do so he went back to his study. He resumed his seat before the auto-teacher and took up his studies of Interlingua where he had left off.

In his determination to master the language as quickly as possible, so that he could get on with his studies—albeit on a grammar school level—he stuck to it with all the concentration he could muster, knocking off only twice to get himself a drink from the auto-bar.

To his surprise, when he checked the time he found that it was pushing eight o’clock, and then it came back to him that he had a date with young O’Callahan in the Cub Bar. Well, he was tired of studying. The break would be a relief.

He had heard no more from the Leetes, so he assumed that they were through with him for the day. They had enough on their minds not to want their charge underfoot. He deactivated his auto-teacher and left the apartment, taking the elevator down to the ground floor.

He looked about the huge, Grecian-style lobby, wondering where the Cub Bar might be.

A bright young thing, done up in the usual coveralls which seemed to be the most popular garb for either sex, came up to him and said in Interlingua, “May I help you? You’re Mr. West, aren’t you?”

He said haltingly, in the same language, “Why, yes. Thank you. I was looking for the Cub Bar.”

“The Cub Bar is just down there. At the end of that corridor. It’s fascinating to meet you, Mr. West.”

She was looking at him smilingly, as though expecting him to say something further, but all he could think of was, “Thank you, very much.”

She looked disappointed, turned and left. He watched her go, feeling somehow inadequate, but he didn’t know why.

The Cub Bar, it turned out, had little to bear out its name, so far as the bars with which he had been familiar with in the past were concerned. And he had been familiar with a good many.

About all it had in common with the places he remembered was rather dim light. There was no bar, complete with barman, at which one could sit. There was no jukebox, thank God, although there was very faint background music issuing from somewhere he couldn’t determine. There were booths and there were tables, and the walls were tastefully done with paintings, largely representational, and very beautiful tapestries.

He located Sean O’Callahan, or, rather, the archaeology-history student located him and was waving. Julian made his way over to the booth. Two others were seated with him, both of them older men, in their fifties or early sixties.

Sean stood at his approach, looking more pleased than Julian thought was called for.

He slid into the booth and waited for the introductions. He had rather expected the persons Sean O’Callahan had wanted him to meet to be contemporaries of the younger man.

Sean said, “Julian West Van Hass, may I introduce William Dempsey Harrison and Frederic Madison Ley.”

On a quick sizing-up, Harrison emanated energy and even aggression, a stocky, confident type in excellent physical shape for his years. Ley reminded him more of the movie star of yesteryear, a sleepy, otherwise expressionless look about his face. His body had just slightly gone to flab. Even before he spoke, Julian was of the opinion that he wasn’t much given to talk.

They shook hands, went through the usual amenities, then Harrison, with a quick wave of his hand to indicate their three glasses, said, “We’ve already ordered. What would you like?”

To his surprise, Harrison and Ley obviously had highballs of one sort or another. Only Sean had a beer glass before him.

Julian asked for Scotch and soda, and Harrison, who seemed to be senior member of the team, put his transceiver in the payment slot of the table and dialed for it.

Ley drawled, “Yeah, we used to drink a lot of Scotch in the old days. It’s mostly belly-wash they drink now.”

Julian’s drink came. He raised his glass by way of a toast. “Sean tells me that I’m quite a freak, what with being a war veteran and all.”

Ley said quickly, “I was in ’Nam.”

Harrison looked at him. “Yes, but it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

The other lapsed into silence. It was obvious that he deferred to the aggressive Harrison.

Sean beamed. He was pleased with his success in pulling off this gathering.

Harrison stared at Julian West for a long moment. “We’ve been hearing about you on the News for a long time. You know, of those who went into hibernation, you’re the first to be awakened. And nobody else was put under for something like ten years after you volunteered.”

“So I understand,” Julian said easily. “But I didn’t exactly volunteer. No old soldier ever volunteers. With me, it was a matter of going into stasis, or dropping dead in my tracks at any moment.”

Harrison nodded. “At any rate, you’re the one person around who really remembers the old days.”

“I remember them,” Ley growled.

Harrison didn’t even look at him. “You were a kid,” was all he said.

He leaned back to observe Julian some more. He seemed to come to some conclusion. “What do you think of our present socioeconomic system, Mr. West, after several weeks with us?” There was a cautious note in his voice that Julian couldn’t quite understand.

“Why, I suppose it’s the nearest thing to Utopia that the race has ever achieved.”

Harrison said carefully, “There have been other ‘near Utopias,’ you know.”

Julian took another pull at his drink. “It’s not my field, but… An example?”

Harrison put his elbows on the table and tented his fingertips. In a somewhat condescending manner he replied, “Ancient Egypt, for instance.”

Julian laughed a little. “Oh come now, you’re putting me on. Say ‘Ancient Egypt’ to me and the first picture that flashes to mind is an overseer with a whip giving it to a dozen slaves who are pushing an oversized cut stone along on rollers for a half-finished pyramid in the background. That’s Utopia?”

The other waggled a finger at him. “There are a good many misconceptions, even among anthropologists, about the early dynasties of Egypt. The Pharaoh was not a king, Mr. West, and the people were not slaves. Later, things were to change—please keep that in mind—but the early Pharaohs, both of the Upper and Lower so-called kingdoms, were the equivalent of tribal chieftains, elected by the clan elders. And slavery had not evolved as yet. The people were comparatively free and their institutions democratic. The clan elders were elected by the clansmen; they were not hereditary. Even Menes, the Pharaoh who is accredited with uniting Upper and Lower Egypt, was not a monarch but a revered war chief and high priest. At this stage, the Egyptians as a people maintained a surprising standard of living as compared to the rest of the world. Considering that nine-tenths of the human race at the time were wearing animal skins—the Egyptians already had cotton—and surviving as best they could in a Neolithic hunting-and-gathering economy, Egypt was a Utopia indeed. It was after the first ten dynasties or so that the democratic institutions eroded, at least in part, and the clan chiefs became hereditary, as did the Pharaohs. Slavery was introduced, though to a lesser degree than is usually supposed. The everyday Egyptian was not a slave beaten with whips.”

Julian was out of his depth. Wondering how in the hell the conversation had taken this bent, he commented, “Well, I suppose a case could be made for what you say. I suppose it’s a comparative thing—Utopia. Undoubtedly, a thousand years from now our descendants will look upon this period and consider us semi-barbarians.”

“Possibly, if this present socioeconomic system continues, Mr. West.”

Julian sipped his drink and frowned at the other questioningly. Harrison didn’t seem particularly interested in his drink, nor did Sean or the dour Ley.

Harrison said, “The pyramids of Gizeh, the greatest constructions of antiquity, were built during the Fourth Dynasty, roughly 2700 B.C. So was the Sphinx, one of the most noble pieces of sculpture ever produced. In this early Utopia of ours, art was well established. The point I was building up to is that three thousand years were to pass without any fundamental changes in Egyptian art, its sciences, its technology; in short, its way of life. There was seemingly no need for change. The Nile fed them abundantly, their clothing needs were minimal, as were their housing needs in that climate. They had it made, so to speak. Oh, there were ups and downs on the political scene. For about a hundred years the Hyksos, the so-called shepherd-kings, ruled them, and at another point the black Nubians took over. But these conquerors didn’t basically change the socioeconomic system. It was still a comparatively stilted Utopia for the average Egyptian. It wasn’t until the coming of the Greeks under Alexander and the progressive rule of the Ptolemies that Egypt began to break out of the cocoon in which she had existed for three millennia.”

“I see,” Julian said, not seeing at all. “And another example of Utopia in the past?”

Harrison thought for a moment, finally taking a sip of his drink.

“The Mayans, perhaps. They were on the scene possibly as early as 1500 B.C. One of their first cities, Tikal, in Guatemala, is also one of their most impressive. The temple of the Jaguar God is over one-hundred sixty feet, one of the highest and most beautiful of Mayan pyramids. Early in the game they reached an astonishingly advanced level of mathematics, having hit upon the zero many centuries before the Europeans had it; likewise in astronomy, in medicine, in architecture and other arts. As in the case of the Egyptians, they too had it made. Guatemala, Chiapas, and Yucatan are lush. Actually, the Mayans ate better than the Spanish at the time of the conquest. They, like the early Egyptians, had a tribal society, perhaps top-heavy with the priesthood, but the people were free. Slavery, as we know it, was unknown. Their fabulous pyramids, temples, and governmental buildings, such as the House of the Governors in Uxmal, were built by communal labor, during the months of the year not needed for agricultural work. It was, Mr. West, a Neolithic Utopia.” He paused and, without asking, dialed another Scotch for Julian.

“And so?” Julian prodded. He couldn’t get the drift. Sean had said these friends had wanted to talk about firsthand accounts of the mid-twentieth century. But here he was getting a rundown on ancient history.

Harrison went on. “One of their last cities, built shortly before the coming of the Spanish, was Mayapan. Mr. West, it was little, if at all, more advanced than Tikal. More than a thousand years earlier they had achieved a calendar more accurate than our own Gregorian, and had hit upon the zero, but where were their new advances? They had achieved a Neolithic Utopia and then they stopped. And for nearly two thousand years they remained stagnant.”

“I don’t think you’re getting through to me,” Julian said. “What’s the point?”

The other ignored him. “Now, the Incas were another thing. They too were a Neolithic people to begin with. Ambitious and aggressive, in a couple of centuries they had dominated the Cuzco valley, but it wasn’t until about 1440 A.D. that their power exploded. By 1493 they ruled from Quito, Ecuador, to the Rio Maule in Chile. Their art, particularly in metallurgy and textiles, has not been surpassed to this day. Their engineering of roads, bridges, and irrigation projects was superb. They worked copper, tin, bronze, gold, and silver and knew smelting, alloying, casting, inlaying, soldering, riveting, and incrustation. Their medicine too was higher than the level that prevailed in Europe at the time and their diet was superior. They had even taken to the sea and evidently had craft capable of crossing the Pacific, as noted in Hyderthal’s Kon Tiki experiment. However, the Inca civilization was no stagnant Utopia, Mr. West, but a vital, expanding, healthy society on its way into the future. In many respects it is a pity the Spanish arrived when they did with their superior weapons. It would have been historically interesting to see what the Incas could have accomplished.”

“Your point?” Julian said impatiently. His new drink had arrived and he began on it.

“My point is,” Harrison said, “that man cannot afford Utopia. Man is an aggressive, impatient, striving animal and has been since he issued forth from the caves to conquer his world. He cannot afford to hesitate, to speak of coming to a halt. If he does, he stagnates and eventually dies—as the Egyptian culture died, as the Mayan culture died.”

Sean O’Callahan and the quiet Ley nodded. “Yes,” Sean agreed. “A Utopia dies.”

Julian thought that possibly at last they were getting to the point of this meeting.

He said, “This particular Utopia doesn’t seem to be dying. It’s developing like crazy in all directions.”

Harrison shook his head. “No. Not as it should be. Ninety-eight percent of our population is not being utilized. They sit around doing make-work. Our civilization is stagnating, Mr. West.”

“Yeah,” Ley echoed. “Back in the 1960s and earlier, if somebody had it on the ball, he could fight his way to the top, make his mark on the world. Look at Hitler. Started off as a poor boy and fought his way up to be the most powerful man in the world. And he didn’t need any goddamned computers to tell him whether or not he could do it.”

Sean laughed lightly. “Not exactly the example I would use,” he said.

William Dempsey Harrison brought forth his transceiver and flicked the stud for the time. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to be running along.” He looked at Julian. “There’s quite a bit more I wanted to discuss with you, but perhaps you’ve got enough to reflect upon. Can we get together again?”

“Why, of course.” In actuality, Julian didn’t know exactly where he stood with this man, or how he felt about him. Obviously, the other wasn’t satisfied with the status quo. Thus far, Julian West had met only the Leetes, who were. He wouldn’t mind knowing a bit more about what was wrong with Utopia.

Harrison stood. “I’ll get in touch through Sean, here.” He hesitated. “Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this conversation to any of the Leete family.”