Chapter 6

THX walked stolidly down the pedestrian corridor, following the directional signs that led to Mercicontrol Station 7B73.

“Help reduce critical noise levels in this area. Be sure to report all decibal surges in excess of one-point-five on the miura-wiegand scale.”

The corridor was practically empty at this hour, and unusually quiet.

He reached the Mercicontrol station, with its symbol of a stylized marijuana leaf blazoned next to the station number. He hesitated before the door. Then, face grim with determination, he pushed through the black plastic door, which swung shut behind him.

He had expected something like a hospital, or at least an infirmary such as the one up by the assembly center. Instead it was little more than an oversized prayer booth. There was a comfortable-looking contour chair with headrest and three viewscreens set into the otherwise blank wall in front of it. The other walls seemed bare. Everything was colored a cool pastel, and from the inevitable overhead speaker, a woman’s voice was giving a lecture of some sort:

“Load alteration can be achieved only with adequate gating. High-speed gating is dangerous and may result in impaired unity gain. Reduce the setting time of the dosage by one- third…”

No one else was in the tiny room. Frowning with uncertainty, THX fidgeted by the door.

“Yes, what seems to be the trouble?” a man’s voice said smoothly. It sounded like a tape.

“I… I need some advice… psychological advice. For a friend.”

A click. Then, “Very well. Please sit down. A trained psychologist will be with you momentarily.”

Uneasily, THX got into the chair. “This isn’t for myself, you understand. It’s for a friend.”

No answer.

Then a different voice, friendly, alive, asked, “What can we do for you today?”

The viewscreens were still blank, but at least the overhead lecture had been cut off.

THX answered nervously, “I… uh, I have a friend who’s troubled…”

“Have you tried the prayer booths? Most problems can be handled by conventional prayer.”

“It’s not me!” THX repeated hastily. “I’m talking about… my friend. He… he’s too upset to come to you himself…”

“I see.”

Abruptly the central viewscreen lit up with the image of an intense, middle-aged man hunched forward in a chair identical to the one that THX sat in.

“A friend?” he said unbelievingly.

THX nodded.

“All right, what’s your… friend’s problem?”

It’s hot in here. “He—eh, well, he’s committed a crime…”

The psychologist’s eyebrows raised the barest millimeter.

“Oh? Then perhaps you should be talking to the police.”

“No… not yet. He needs help.” A sudden fear flashed through THX. “These medical visits are private, aren’t they? I mean, this conversation isn’t being recorded or monitored?”

For the first time, the psychologist smiled. “All medical discussions are privileged. No records, no monitoring. The sacredness of the doctor-patient relationship is one of the cornerstones of our society.”

THX tried to relax. But the fear was still there.

“Besides,” the psychologist said, “if you’re merely talking about your friend, there’s no need for you to be afraid.”

“Yes… but it’s a serious matter. For him.”

“I understand. Why don’t you just tell me all about it?”

Nodding, THX answered, “I… don’t know how to begin…”

“You said your friend committed a crime. Was it a serious crime?”

“Sexact.” The word came out almost involuntarily, fast and clipped.

The psychologist looked impressed. “Ah-hah. I thought so. How did it happen?”

“W… with his roommate. A natural-born.”

“Hmm. Male or female?”

“The roommate? Female.”

Shaking his head, the psychologist muttered, “When will they learn? No matter what the conditioning, you can’t put opposite sexes together without causing trouble. Especially if one of them’s a natural-born.”

“They’ve both stopped taking sedatives and everything else… no boosters, no tranquilizers… nothing!” THX blurted.

“I thought so. This is very serious, you know.”

“I know.”

The psychologist said, “If the police find out, and they will in time, your friend will be jailed. His roommate, being a natural-born, will undoubtedly be destroyed.”

“No!”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Society must protect itself. We can’t allow indiscriminate procreation to pollute our gene pool. It’s taken generations to bring society to its present high level of efficiency. If we let sex take over again—start dropping genetically random babies everywhere—where will we be?”

“But—” THX caught himself barely in time. “But… my friend is… so attracted to her. It seems so good to be with her—he claims. Why is sex a crime?”

With a patient smile, the psychologist answered, “Sex isn’t a crime. There are plenty of healthy, safe sexual outlets that society approves of. It’s unregulated sex that’s dangerous. There was a time when men and women just coupled together, driven by uncontrolled and unregulated sexual drives. The children they had were genetically inferior. And there were too many of them. The world suffered from a population explosion. It was so overcrowded that mankind permanently polluted the atmosphere and oceans up above. Why do you think we live safe and happy underground? Because indiscriminate, sex-driven, unthinking people wrecked the world up on the surface. They killed themselves off, while we disciplined ourselves and built a strong, stable society here below.”

THX had learned all that in history class as a child. But now it sounded unreal, hollow.

“Sex is fine, and a natural thing,” the psychologist went on. “But it was never meant to dominate human life. The trouble with unregulated sex is that it forces people to interrelate with other people. Whether it’s best for them or not. In our society, we’ve learned how to channel the sex drive. You can have all the sex you want or need, without the messy business of getting a partner. You have your sacred privacy, your holy isolation.”

THX thought of being in bed with LUH, of holding her, feeling her warmth, the softness of her body against his. He squeezed his eyes shut. I must be insane!

“And the children we produce in our clinics,” the psychologist continued, “are genetically superior in every way. Carefully matched, sperm and egg. Not dependent on who meets whom and where. Not dependent on the size of a woman’s breast or a man’s penis. All these trivial factors, all these emotional bits of nonsense, have been regulated out of the system. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” THX agreed hastily.

“People don’t realize how lucky they are. And we have a complete pharmacology of drugs to help overcome the primitive instincts that still threaten us every day.” The psychologist shook his head sadly. “When I think of how diligently and patiently the biochemical engineers work every day to produce new drugs, new aids to keep people contented and happy—the thought of a man or woman deliberately evading drug dosages is enough to make me angry.”

THX nodded glumly.

“But—that’s exactly why we have drugs. To help us to avoid such emotional nonsense.” The psychologist held up a yellow capsule. “Have you tried these yet? They’re called neuracol. Very effective.

“Uh, no… I don’t think they’re on the market—are they?”

Smiling as he popped the pill into his mouth, the psychologist mumbled, “No, suppose not yet.” He took a large gulp of water.

“Well… I’d advise your friend to seek medical help in person. Naturally, since he’s guilty of drug evasion and sexact we’d have to notify the police. But with proper medical attention, perhaps he could be cured. It would be a shame to have him jailed and consumed. Or destroyed.”

“Yes… I’ll have a talk with him…”

The psychologist nodded and smiled his cheeriest smile as he watched THX get up out of the contour chair. The man’s face was a classic picture of guilt, fear and uncertainty.

Leaning back in his own chair, the psychologist touched a button on the control desk before him and re-ran the tape of THX’s interview.

He almost laughed at the man’s transparent lies. “THX 1138. Medical file, please,” he said to the microphone set into the control desk.

Instantly the screens before him flashed THX’s medical history. Nothing unusual.

“Roommate file.”

One of the screens showed a photograph of LUH, with her record superimposed over it.

The psychologist glanced at the white lettering and symbols, then concentrated on her picture.

With a slow-grin, he thought, I can hardly blame him. If I were going to kill myself, that’s as good a way to do it as any.

He reached into a pocket and took out two more pills, swallowing them without water. With his other hand, he flicked the switch that would send THX’s interview to Control’s attention.