[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 blocksdown the street, shortly after driving into Kingston. The local officesof Vacuum Tube Transport, undoubtedly. Baron Haer would be doing hisrecruiting for the fracas with Continental Hovercraft there if for noother reason than to save on rents. The Baron was watching pennies onthis one and that was bad. 

In fact, it was so bad that even as Joe Mauser let his sports hovercarsink to a parking level and vaulted over its side he was stillquestioning his decision to sign up with the Vacuum Tube outfit ratherthan with their opponents. Joe was an old pro and old pros do not get tobe old pros in the Category Military without developing an instinct tostay 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 snappinessof the uniform and the stock shares offered, but an old pro consideredcarefully such matters as budget. Baron Haer was watching every expense, was, it was rumored, figuring on commanding himself and calling uponrelatives and friends for his staff. Continental Hovercraft, on theother hand, was heavy with variable capital and was in a position tohire Stonewall Cogswell himself for their tactician. 

However, the die was cast. You didn't run up a caste level, not to speakof two at once, by playing it careful. Joe had planned this out; foronce, old pro or not, he was taking risks. 

Recruiting line-ups were not for such as he. Not for many a year, many afracas. He strode rapidly along this one, heading for the offices ahead, noting only in passing the quality of the men who were taking servicewith Vacuum Tube Transport. These were the soldiers he'd be commandingin the immediate future and the prospects looked grim. There were fewveterans among them. Their stance, their demeanor, their . .. Well, youcould tell a veteran even though he be Rank Private. You could tell aveteran of even one fracas. It showed. 

He knew the situation. The word had gone out. Baron Malcolm Haer was duefor a defeat. You weren't going to pick up any lush bonuses signing upwith him, and you definitely weren't going to jump a caste. In short, nomatter what Haer's past record, choose what was going to be the winningside--Continental Hovercraft. Continental Hovercraft and old StonewallCogswell who had lost so few fracases that many a Telly buff couldn'tremember a single one. 

Individuals among these men showed promise, Joe Mauser estimated even ashe walked, but promise means little if you don't live long enough tocash in on it. 

Take that small man up ahead. He'd obviously got himself into a hasslemaintaining his place in line against two or three heftier would-besoldiers. The little fellow wasn't backing down a step in spite of theattempts of the other Lowers to usurp his place. Joe Mauser liked to seesuch spirit. You could use it when you were in the dill. 

As he drew abreast of the altercation, he snapped from the side of hismouth, "Easy, lads. You'll get all the scrapping you want withHovercraft. Wait until then. "

He'd expected his tone of authority to be enough, even though he was inmufti. He wasn't particularly interested in the situation, beyond givingthe little man a hand. A veteran would have recognized him as anold-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 BaronHaer's kids, or something?"

Joe Mauser came to a halt and faced the other. He was irritated, largelywith himself. He didn't want to be bothered. Nevertheless, there was noalternative now. 

The line of men, all Lowers so far as Joe could see, had fallen silentin an expectant hush. They were bored with their long wait. Nowsomething would break the monotony. 

By tomorrow, Joe Mauser would be in command of some of these men. In aslittle as a week he would go into a full-fledged fracas with them. Hecouldn't afford to lose face. Not even at this point when all, includinghimself, 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 ofJoe Mauser which put him in his early thirties, gave him five footeleven of altitude and about one hundred and eighty pounds. His clothescasted him Low-Lower--nothing to lose. As with many who have nothing tolose, he was willing to risk all for principle. His face now registeredthat ideal. Joe Mauser had no authority over him, nor his friends. 

Joe's eyes flicked to the other two who had been pestering the littlefellow. They weren't quite so aggressive and as yet had come to noconclusion about their stand. Probably the three had been unacquaintedbefore 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 steppedcloser. His right hand lanced forward, not doubled in a fist but fingersclose together and pointed, spear-like. He sank it into the other'sabdomen, immediately below the rib cage--the solar plexus. 

He had misestimated the other two. Even as his opponent crumpled, theywere upon him, coming in from each side. And at least one of them, hecould see now, had been in hand-to-hand combat before. In short, anotherpro, like Joe himself. 

He took one blow, rolling with it, and his feet automatically went intothe shuffle of the trained fighter. He retreated slightly to erectdefenses, plan attack. They pressed him strongly, sensing victory in hisretreat. 

The one mattered little to him. Joe Mauser could have polished off theoaf in a matter of seconds, had he been allotted seconds to devote. Butthe second, the experienced one, was the problem. He and Joe were wellmatched 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 thereason for the whole hassle. He waded in now as big as the next man sofar as spirit was concerned, but a sorry fate gave him to attack thewrong man, the veteran rather than the tyro. He took a crashing blow tothe side of his head which sent him sailing back into the recruitingline, now composed of excited, shouting verbal participants of the fray. 

However, the extinction of Joe Mauser's small ally had taken a moment ortwo and time was what Joe needed most. For a double second he had theoaf alone on his hands and that was sufficient. He caught a flailingarm, turned his back and automatically went into the movements whichresult in that spectacular hold of the wrestler, the Flying Mare. Justin time he recalled that his opponent was a future comrade-in-arms andtwisted the arm so that it bent at the elbow, rather than breaking. Hehurled the other over his shoulder and as far as possible, to take thescrap out of him, and twirled quickly to meet the further attack of hissole 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 beingduplicated. But while the three Lowers had failed to respond to JoeMauser's tone of authority, there was no similar failure now. 

The owner of the voice, beautifully done up in the uniform of VacuumTube Transport, complete to kilts and the swagger stick of the officerof Rank Colonel or above, stood glaring at them. Age, Joe estimated, even as he came to attention, somewhere in the late twenties--an Upperin caste. Born to command. His face holding that arrogant, contemptuousexpression once common to the patricians of Rome, the Prussian Junkers, the British ruling class of the Nineteenth Century. Joe knew theexpression well. How well he knew it. On more than one occasion, he haddreamt 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, aschoolboy before the principal. 

Joe said, evenly, "A private disagreement, sir. "

"Disagreement!" the Upper snorted. His eyes went to the three fallencombatants, who were in various stages of reviving. "I'd hate to see youlads 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 thelaughter was just short of uproarious. 

Which seemed to placate the kilted officer. He tapped his swagger stickagainst the side of his leg while he ran his eyes up and down Joe Mauserand the others, as though memorizing them for future reference. 

"All right, " he said. "Get back into the line, and you trouble makersquiet down. We're processing as quickly as we can. " And at that point headded insult to injury with an almost word for word repetition of whatJoe had said a few moments earlier. "You'll get all the fighting youwant from Hovercraft, if you can wait until then. "

The four original participants of the rumpus resumed their places invarious stages of sheepishness. The little fellow, nursing an obviouslyaching jaw, made a point of taking up his original position even whiledarting a look of thanks to Joe Mauser who still stood where he had whenthe fight was interrupted. 

The Upper looked at Joe. "Well, lad, are you interested in signing upwith Vacuum Tube Transport or not?"

"Yes, sir, " Joe said evenly. Then, "Joseph Mauser, sir. CategoryMilitary, Rank Captain. "

"Indeed. " The officer looked him up and down all over again, hisnostrils high. "A Middle, I assume. And brawling with recruits. " He helda long silence. "Very well, come with me. " He turned and marched off. 

Joe inwardly shrugged. This was a fine start for his pitch--a finestart. He had half a mind to give it all up, here and now, and head onup to Catskill to enlist with Continental Hovercraft. His big schemewould wait for another day. Nevertheless, he fell in behind thearistocrat and followed him to the offices which had been his originaldestination. 

 * * * * *

Two Rank Privates with 45-70 Springfields and wearing the Haer kilts insuch wise as to indicate permanent status in Vacuum Tube Transport cameto the salute as they approached. The Upper preceding Joe Mauser flickedhis 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 ofarrogant ease?

There were desks in here, and typers humming, as Vacuum Tube Transportoffice workers, mobilized for this special service, processed volunteersfor the company forces. Harried noncoms and junior-grade officers buzzedeverywhere, failing miserably to bring order to the chaos. To the rightwas a door with a medical cross newly painted on it. When itoccasionally popped open to admit or emit a recruit, white-robeddoctors, male nurses and half nude men could be glimpsed beyond. 

Joe followed the other through the press and to an inner office at whichdoor he didn't bother to knock. He pushed his way through, waved ingreeting with his swagger stick to the single occupant who looked upfrom the paper- and tape-strewn desk at which he sat. 

Joe Mauser had seen the face before on Telly though never so tired asthis and never with the element of defeat to be read in the expression. Bullet-headed, barrel-figured Baron Malcolm Haer of Vacuum TubeTransport. Category Transportation, Mid-Upper, and strong candidate forUpper-Upper upon retirement. However, there would be few who expectedretirement in the immediate future. Hardly. Malcolm Haer found tooobvious a lusty enjoyment in the competition between Vacuum TubeTransport and its stronger rivals. 

 * * *

Joe came to attention, bore the sharp scrutiny of his chosencommander-to-be. The older man's eyes went to the kilted Upper officerwho 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 lastsentence was added lazily. 

The older Haer shot an irritated glance at his son. "Possibly for thesame reason mercenaries usually enlist for a fracas, Balt. " His eyescame back to Joe. 

Joe Mauser, still at attention even though in mufti, opened his mouth togive his name, category and rank, but the older man waved a handnegatively. "Captain Mauser, isn't it? I caught the fracas betweenCarbonaceous 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 weregoing. 

The older Haer was scowling at him. "Confound it, what are you doingwith no more rank than captain? On the face of it, you're an old hand, ahighly experienced veteran. "

_An old pro, we call ourselves_, Joe said to himself. _Old pros, we callourselves, among ourselves. _

Aloud, he said, "I was born a Mid-Lower, sir. "

There was understanding in the old man's face, but Balt Haer saidloftily, "What's that got to do with it? Promotion is quick and based onmerit in Category Military. "

At a certain point, if you are good combat officer material, you speakyour mind no matter the rank of the man you are addressing. On thisoccasion, Joe Mauser needed few words. He let his eyes go up and downBalt Haer's immaculate uniform, taking in the swagger stick of the RankColonel 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 spiritnow. You are quite correct. My son, though a capable officer, I assureyou, has probably not participated in a fraction of the fracases youhave to your credit. However, there is something to be said for thetraining 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 wetook a high loss of officers when the Douglas-Boeing outfit rang in somefast-firing French _mitrailleuse_ we didn't know they had. As mysuperiors took casualties I was field promoted to acting battalioncommander, to acting regimental commander, to acting brigadier. Forthree days I held the rank of acting commander of brigade. We won. "

Balt Haer snapped his fingers. "I remember that. Read quite a paper onit. " He eyed Joe Mauser, almost respectfully. "Stonewall Cogswell gotthe credit for the victory and received his marshal's baton as aresult. "

"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, atthe time, quite a promotion. "

 * * * * *

Baron Haer was remembering, too. "That was the fracas that brought onthe howl from the Sovs. They claimed those _mitrailleuse_ were post-1900and violated the Universal Disarmament Pact. Yes, I recall that. Douglas-Boeing was able to prove that the weapon was used by the Frenchas far back as the Franco-Prussian War. " He eyed Joe with new interestnow. "Sit down, captain. You too, Balt. Do you realize that CaptainMauser is the only recruit of officer rank we've had today?"

"Yes, " the younger Haer said dryly. "However, it's too late to call thefracas off now. Hovercraft wouldn't stand for it, and the CategoryMilitary Department would back them. Our only alternative isunconditional 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 easyshrug and swung a leg over the edge of his father's desk in the way of aseat. 

Joe Mauser found a chair and lowered himself into it. Evidently, thefoppish Balt Haer had no illusions about the spot his father had got thefamily 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. Hedismissed Balt Haer's defeatism from his mind and came back to JoeMauser. "As I say, you're the only officer recruit today. Why?"

Joe said evenly, "I wouldn't know, sir. Perhaps freelance CategoryMilitary men are occupied elsewhere. There's always a shortage oftrained 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 itwell. Then why are _you_ signing up with Vacuum Tube Transport ratherthan 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 afool. I realize there is scarcely a soul in the West-world that expectsanything 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 amongthe 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 thenewcomer and becoming obviously more puzzled. He put in, "Well, what inZen motivates you if it isn't the stock we offer?"

Joe glanced at the younger Haer to acknowledge the question but he spoketo the Baron. "Sir, like you said, you're no fool. However, you've beensucked in, this time. When you took on Hovercraft, you were thinking interms of a regional dispute. You wanted to run one of your vacuum tubedeals up to Fairbanks from Edmonton. You were expecting a minor fracas, involving possibly five thousand men. You never expected Hovercraft toparlay it up, through their connections in the Category MilitaryDepartment, to a divisional magnitude fracas which you simply aren'tlarge enough to afford. But Hovercraft was getting sick of yourcorporation. You've been nicking away at them too long. So they decidedto do you in. They've hired Marshal Cogswell and the best combatofficers in North America, and they're hiring the most competentveterans they can find. Every fracas buff who watches Telly, figuresyou've had it. They've been watching you come up the aggressive way, thehard way, for a long time, but now they're all going to be sitting onthe 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 motionof his head to the outer offices where the recruiting was proceeding. "Those men out there are rejects from Catskill, where old BaronZwerdling is recruiting. Either that or they're inexperiencedLow-Lowers, too stupid to realize they're sticking their necks out. Notone man in ten is a veteran. And when things begin to pickle, you wantveterans. "

Baron Malcolm Haer sat back in his chair and stared coldly at CaptainJoe Mauser. He said, "At first I was moderately surprised that an oldtime mercenary like yourself should choose my uniform, rather thanZwerdling's. Now I am increasingly mystified about motivation. So allover again I ask you, captain: Why are you requesting a commission in myforces 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 wereshort enough of competent officers that they gave him an acting ratingand pay scale of major and command of a squadron of cavalry. Joe Mauserwasn'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 toreveal the big scheme. And, meanwhile, they could use him to whip theRank Privates into shape. 

He had left the offices of Baron Haer to go through the red tapeinvolved in being signed up on a temporary basis in the Vacuum TubeTransport forces, and reentered the confusion of the outer offices wherethe Lowers were being processed and given medicals. He reentered in timeto run into a Telly team which was doing a live broadcast. 

Joe Mauser remembered the news reporter who headed the team. He'd runinto him two or three times in fracases. As a matter of fact, althoughJoe held the standard Military Category prejudices against Telly, he hada basic respect for this particular newsman. On the occasions he'd seenhim before, the fellow was hot in the midst of the action even whenthings were in the dill. He took as many chances as did the averagecombatant, 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 tospot the celebrities and near celebrities. He zeroed in on Joe now, making flicks of his hand to direct the cameras. Joe, of course, wasfully aware of the value of Telly and was glad to co-operate. 

"Captain! Captain Mauser, isn't it? Joe Mauser who held out for fourdays in the swamps of Louisiana with a single company while his rankingofficers reformed behind him. "

That was one way of putting it, but both Joe and the newscaster who hadcovered the debacle knew the reality of the situation. When the fronthad collapsed, his commanders--of Upper caste, of course--had hauledout, leaving him to fight a delaying action while they mended theirfences with the enemy, coming to the best terms possible. Yes, that hadbeen the United Oil versus Allied Petroleum fracas, and Joe had emergedwith little either in glory or pelf. 

The average fracas fan wasn't on an intellectual level to appreciateanything other than victory. The good guys win, the bad guyslose--that's obvious, isn't it? Not one out of ten Telly followers ofthe fracases was interested in a well-conducted retreat or holdingaction. They wanted blood, lots of it, and they identified with thewinning side. 

Joe Mauser wasn't particularly bitter about this aspect. It was part ofhis 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, everytime you'd copped one, and how long you'd been in the hospital. Fans whocould remember, even better than you could, every time the situation hadpickled 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 slightesttrickle of spittle at the sides of their mouths. They usually wanted anautograph, 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 thanonce, and even when I was too scared to use my side arm, you'd bescanning away with your camera. "

"Ha ha, listen to the captain, folks. I hope my boss is tuned in. Butseriously, Captain Mauser, what do you think the chances of Vacuum TubeTransport are in this fracas?"

Joe looked into the camera lens, earnestly. "The best, of course, or Iwouldn't have signed up with Baron Haer, Freddy. Justice triumphs, andanybody who is familiar with the issues in this fracas, knows that BaronHaer is on the side of true right. "

Freddy said, holding any sarcasm he must have felt, "What would you saythe issues were, captain?"

"The basic North American free enterprise right to compete. Hovercrafthas held a near monopoly in transport to Fairbanks. Vacuum TubeTransport wishes to lower costs and bring the consumers of Fairbanksbetter service through running a vacuum tube to that area. What could bemore in the traditions of the West-world? Continental Hovercraft standsin the way and it is they who have demanded of the Category MilitaryDepartment a trial by arms. On the face of it, justice is on the side ofBaron Haer. "

Freddy Soligen said into the camera, "Well, all you good people of theTelly world, that's an able summation the captain has made, but itcertainly doesn't jibe with the words of Baron Zwerdling we heard thismorning, does it? However, justice triumphs and we'll see what the fieldof combat will have to offer. Thank you, thank you very much, CaptainMauser. All of us, all of us tuned in today, hope that you personallywill run into no dill in this fracas. "

"Thanks, Freddy. Thanks all, " Joe said into the camera, before turningaway. He wasn't particularly keen about this part of the job, but youcouldn't underrate the importance of pleasing the buffs. In the long runit was your career, your chances for promotion both in military rank andultimately 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, wasonly a minor celebrity, he appreciated every chance he had to beinterviewed by such a popular reporter as Freddy Soligen. 

 * * * * *

Even as he turned, he spotted the four men with whom he'd had his spatearlier. The little fellow was still to the fore. Evidently, the othershad decided the one place extra that he represented wasn't worth thetrouble he'd put in their way defending it. 

On an impulse he stepped up to the small man who began a grin ofrecognition, a grin that transformed his feisty face. A revelation ofan inner warmth beyond average in a world which had lost much of itshuman warmth. 

[Illustration]

Joe said, "Like a job, soldier?"

"Name's Max. Max Mainz. Sure I want a job. That's why I'm in thiseverlasting 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 Imean. "

Joe said dryly, "See here, Mainz, you'll probably find more pickledsituations 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 turnto be processed. The sergeant said, "Lad, take a good opportunity whenit 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 withhim. "

Joe couldn't remember ever having run into the sergeant before, but hesaid, "Thanks, sergeant. "

The other said, evidently realizing Joe didn't recognize him, "We weretogether on the Chihuahua Reservation, on the jurisdictional fracasbetween the United Miners and the Teamsters, sir. "

It had been almost fifteen years ago. About all that Joe Mauserremembered of that fracas was the abnormal number of casualties they'dtaken. His side had lost, but from this distance in time Joe couldn'teven 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 youwant I should hustle this lad though, captain--"

"Please do, sergeant. " Joe added to Max, "I'm not sure where my billetwill be. When you're through all this, locate the officer's mess andwait there for me. "

"Well, O. K. , " Max said doubtfully, still scowling but evidently aservant of an officer, if he wanted to be or not. 

"Sir, " the sergeant added ominously. "If you've had basic, you knowenough how to address an officer. "

"Well, yessir, " Max said hurriedly. 

Joe began to turn away, but then spotted the man immediately behind MaxMainz. He was one of the three with whom Joe had tangled earlier, theone who'd obviously had previous combat experience. He pointed the manout to the sergeant. "You'd better give this lad at least temporary rankof corporal. He's a veteran and we're short of veterans. "

The sergeant said, "Yes, sir. We sure are. " Joe's former foe lookedproperly thankful. 

 * * * * *

Joe Mauser finished off his own red tape and headed for the street tolocate a military tailor who could do him up a set of the Haer kilts andfill his other dress requirements. As he went, he wondered vaguely justhow many different uniforms he had worn in his time. 

In a career as long as his own from time to time you took semi-permanentpositions in bodyguards, company police, or possibly the permanentcombat troops of this corporation or that. But largely, if you wereambitious, you signed up for the fracases and that meant into a uniformand 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 movingyoung woman who caromed off him. He caught her arm to prevent her fromstumbling. She looked at him with less than thanks. 

Joe took the blame for the collision. "Sorry, " he said. "I'm afraid Ididn't see you, Miss. "

"Obviously, " she said coldly. Her eyes went up and down him, and for amoment 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 hadan elusive beauty which would have been even the more hadn't her faceprojected quite such a serious outlook. Her features were more delicatethan those to which he was usually attracted. Her lips were less full, but still-- He was reminded of the classic ideal of the British RomanticPeriod, the women sung of by Byron and Keats, Shelly and Moore. 

She said, "Is there any particular reason why you should be staring atme, 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 anerroneous conclusion. She said, "Captain? You mean that with everyoneelse I know drawing down ranks from Lieutenant Colonel to BrigadierGeneral, you can't make anything better than Captain?"

Joe winced. He said carefully, "I came up from the ranks, Miss. Captainis quite an achievement, believe me. "

"Up from the ranks!" She took in his clothes again. "You mean you're aMiddle? You neither talk nor look like a Middle, captain. " She used thecaste rating as though it was not _quite_ a derogatory term. 

Not that she meant to be deliberately insulting, Joe knew, wearily. Howwell he knew. It was simply born in her. As once a well-educatedaristocracy had, not necessarily unkindly, named their status inferiors_niggers_; or other aristocrats, in another area of the country, hadnamed theirs _greasers_. Yes, how well he knew. 

He said very evenly, "Mid-Middle now, Miss. However, I was born in theLower 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 andturned 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 Igo in here, captain?"

Now it came to him why he had thought he recognized her. She had basicfeatures similar to those of that overbred poppycock, Balt Haer. 

"Sorry, " Joe said. "I suppose under the circumstances, you can. I wasabout to tell you that they're recruiting with lads running around halfclothed. Medical inspections, that sort of thing. "

She made a noise through her nose and said over her shoulder, even asshe sailed on. "Besides being a Haer, I'm an M. D. , captain. At theludicrous 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 accentand his unlikely education. When you'd copped one you had plenty ofopportunity in hospital beds to read, to study, to contemplate--and tofester away in your own schemes of rebellion against fate. And Joe hadcopped many in his time. 

III

By the time Joe Mauser called it a day and retired to his quarters hewas exhausted to the point where his basic dissatisfaction with thetrade he followed was heavily upon him. 

He had met his immediate senior officers, largely dilettante Uppers withprecious little field experience, and was unimpressed. And he'd met hisown junior officers and was shocked. By the looks of things at thisstage, Captain Mauser's squadron would be going into this fracas bothundermanned with Rank Privates and with junior officers composed largelyof temporarily promoted noncoms. If this was typical of Baron Haer'stotal force, then Balt Haer had been correct; unconditional surrenderwas 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 tohis surprise, the small man he had selected earlier in the day to be hisbatman entered from an inner room, also resplendent in the Haer uniformand obviously happily so. 

He helped his superior out of the jacket with an ease that held nosubservience but at the same time was correctly respectful. You'd havethought him a batman specially trained. 

Joe grunted, "Max, isn't it? I'd forgotten about you. Glad you found ourbillet all right. "

Max said, "Yes, sir. Would the captain like a drink? I picked up abottle of applejack. Applejack's the drink around here, sir. Makes atopnotch highball with ginger ale and a twist of lemon. "

Joe Mauser looked at him. Evidently his tapping this man for orderly hadbeen sheer fortune. Well, Joe Mauser could use some good luck on thisjob. 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 motelon the old road between Kingston and Woodstock. There was a shower and atiny kitchenette in each cottage. That was one advantage in a fracasheld in an area where there were plenty of facilities. Such militaryreservations as that of the Little Big Horn in Montana and particularlysome of those in the South West and Mexico, were another thing. 

Joe lowered himself into the room's easy-chair and bent down to untiehis laces. He kicked his shoes off. He could use that drink. He beganwondering all over again if his scheme for winning this Vacuum TubeTransport versus Continental Hovercraft fracas would come off. The morehe saw of Baron Haer's inadequate forces, the more he wondered. Hehadn't expected Vacuum Tube to be in _this_ bad a shape. Baron Haer hadbeen riding high for so long that one would have thought his reputationfor victory would have lured many a veteran to his colors. Evidentlythey 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 returnalmost immediately. The little man slid into a chair, drink awkwardly inhand. 

His superior sized him up, all over again. Not much more than a kid, really. Surprisingly aggressive for a Lower who must have been raisedfrom childhood in a trank-bemused, Telly-entertained household. The factthat he'd broken away from that environment at all was to his credit, itwas considerably easier to conform. But then it is always easier toconform, to run with the herd, as Joe well knew. His own break hadn'tbeen 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 anorderly conducts himself in the presence of his superior. " Joe tookanother pull and yawned. "Well, forget about it. With any man who goesinto 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 hisofficer 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. Hesaid, "On two occasions I've had an orderly save my life. I'm not takingany 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 withBaron Haer, Max?"

The other shrugged it off. "The usual. The excitement. The idea of allthose 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 makingUpper-Lower. "

Joe said sourly, "One fracas and you'll be over that desire to have thebuffs watching you on Telly while they sit around in their front roomssucking on tranks. And you'll probably be over the desire for theexcitement, too. Of course, the share of stock is another thing. "

"You aren't just countin' down, captain, " Max said, an almost surlyovertone in his voice. "You don't know what it's like being born with nomore 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 everybodygets issued enough shares to insure him a basic living all the way fromthe cradle to the grave, like they say. But let me tell you, you're aMiddle and you don't realize how basic the basic living of a Lower canbe. "

Joe yawned. If he hadn't been so tired, there would have been moreamusement in the situation. 

Max was still dogged. "Unless you can add to those shares of stock, it'spretty drab, captain. You wouldn't know. "

Joe said, "Why don't you work? A Lower can always add to his stock byworking. "

Max stirred in indignity. "Work? Listen, sir, that's just one more fieldthat's been automated right out of existence. Category Food Preparation, Sub-division Cooking, Branch Chef. Cooking isn't left in the hands ofslobs 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, almostscientists like. And most of them are Uppers, mind you. "

Joe Mauser sighed inwardly. So his find in batmen wasn't going to be aswonderful as all that, after all. The man might have been born into thefood preparation category from a long line of chefs, but evidently heknew precious little about his field. Joe might have suspected. Hehimself had been born into Clothing Category, Sub-division Shoes, BranchRepair--Cobbler--a meaningless trade since shoes were no longerrepaired but discarded upon showing signs of wear. In an economy ofcomplete abundance, there is little reason for repair of basiccommodities. It was high time the government investigated categoryassignment and reshuffled and reassigned half the nation's population. But then, of course, was the question of what to do with thetechnologically unemployed. 

 * * * * *

Max was saying, "The only way I could figure on a promotion to a highercaste, or the only way to earn stock shares, was by crossing categories. And you know what that means. Either Category Military, or CategoryReligion and I sure as Zen don't know nothing about religion. "

Joe said mildly, "Theoretically, you can cross categories into any fieldyou want, Max. "

Max snorted. "Theoretically is right . .. Sir. You ever heard aboutanybody born a Lower, or even a Middle like yourself, cross categoriesto, say, some Upper category like banking?"

Joe chuckled. He liked this peppery little fellow. If Max worked out aswell as Joe thought he might, there was a possibility of taking himalong to the next fracas. 

Max was saying, "I'm not saying anything against the old time way ofdoing 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 raisehis caste or to earn some additional stock shares. "

The applejack had worked enough on Joe for him to rise against one ofhis pet peeves. He said, "That term, the old time way, is strictly Tellytalk, Max. We don't do things _the old time way_. No nation in historyever has--with the possible exception of Egypt. Socio-economics are in acontinual flux and here in this country we no more do things in the waythey did fifty years ago, than fifty years ago they did them the way theAmerican 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 todayis an outgrowth of what went earlier. The welfare state, the freezing ofthe status quo, the Frigid Fracas between the West-world and theSov-world, industrial automation until useful employment is all butneedless--all these things were to be found in embryo more than fiftyyears ago. "

"Well, maybe the captain's right, but you gotta admit, sir, that mostlywe do things the old way. We still got the Constitution and thetwo-party system and--"

Joe was wearying of the conversation now. You seldom ran into anyone, even in Middle caste, the traditionally professional class, interestedenough in such subjects to be worth arguing with. He said, "TheConstitution, Max, has got to the point of the Bible. Interpret it theway you wish, and you can find anything. If not, you can always make anew amendment. So far as the two-party system is concerned, what effectdoes it have when there are no differences between the two parties? Thatphase of pseudo-democracy was beginning as far back as the 1930s whenthey began passing State laws hindering the emerging of new politicalparties. By the time they were insured against a third party working itsway through the maze of election laws, the two parties had become sosimilar that elections became almost as big a farce as over in theSov-world. "

"A farce?" Max ejaculated indignantly, forgetting his servant status. "That means not so good, doesn't it? Far as I'm concerned, election dayis tops. The one day a Lower is just as good as an Upper. The one dayhow many shares you got makes no difference. Everybody has everything. "

"Sure, sure, sure, " Joe sighed. "The modern equivalent of the RomanBacchanalia. Election day in the West-world when no one, for just thatone 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 itis to be a Lower and--"

Joe snapped suddenly, "I was born a Mid-Lower myself, Max. Don't give methat nonsense. "

Max gaped at him, utterly unbelieving. 

Joe's irritation fell away. He held out his glass. "Get us a couple ofmore drinks, Max, and I'll tell you a story. "

By the time the fresh drink came, Joe Mauser was sorry he'd made theoffer. He thought back. He hadn't told anyone the Joe Mauser story inmany a year. And, as he recalled, the last time had been when he waswell into his cups, on an election day at that, and his listener hadbeen a Low-Upper, a hereditary aristocrat, one of the one per cent ofthe upper strata of the nation. Zen! How the man had laughed. He'droared his amusement till the tears ran. 

However, Joe said, "Max, I was born in the same caste you were--averagefather, mother, sisters and brothers. They subsisted on the basic incomeguaranteed from birth, sat and watched Telly for an unbelievable numberof hours each day, took trank to keep themselves happy. And thought Iwas crazy because I didn't. Dad was the sort of man who'd take his beltoff to a child of his who questioned such school taught slogans as _Whatwas good enough for Daddy is good enough for me_. 

"They were all fracas fans, of course. As far back as I can remember thepicture is there of them gathered around the Telly, screamingexcitement. " Joe Mauser sneered, uncharacteristically. 

"You don't sound much like you're in favor of your trade, captain, " Maxsaid. 

Joe came to his feet, putting down his still half-full glass. "I'll makethis epic story short, Max. As you said, the two actually valid methodsof rising above the level in which you were born are in the Military andReligious Categories. Like you, even I couldn't stomach the latter. "

Joe Mauser hesitated, then finished it off. "Max, there have been fewsocieties that man has evolved that didn't allow in some manner for thecompetent or sly, the intelligent or the opportunist, the brave or thestrong, to work his way to the top. I don't know which of these Ipersonally fit into, but I rebel against remaining in the lowercategories 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 isgoing to stand in the way. Is that clearer?"

"Yessir, " Max said, taken aback. 

IV

After routine morning duties, Joe Mauser returned to his billet andmystified Max Mainz by not only changing into mufti himself but havingMax do the same. 

In fact, the new batman protested faintly. He hadn't nearly, as yet, gotover the glory of wearing his kilts and was looking forward to paradingaround town in them. He had a point, of course. The appointed time forthe fracas was getting closer and buffs were beginning to stream intotown to bask in the atmosphere of threatened death. Everybody knew whata military center, on the outskirts of a fracas reservation such as theCatskills, was like immediately preceding a clash between rivalcorporations. The high-strung gaiety, the drinking, the overtranking, the relaxation of mores. Even a Rank Private had it made. Admiringcivilians to buy drinks and hang on your every word, and more importantstill, sensuous-eyed women, their faces slack in thinly suppressedpassion. It was a recognized phenomenon, even Max Mainz knew--thisdesire on the part of women Telly fans to date a man, and then watch himlater, killing or being killed. 

"Time enough to wear your fancy uniform, " Joe Mauser growled at him. "Infact, tomorrow's a local election day. Parlay that up on top of all thefracas fans gravitating into town and you'll have a wingding the likesof 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 twowere settled into the bucket seats, hit the lift lever with the butt ofhis left hand. Aircushion-borne, he trod down on the accelerator. 

Max Mainz was impressed. "You know, " he said. "I never been in one ofthese swanky sports jobs before. The kinda car you can afford on theincome of a Mid-Lower's stock aren't--"

"Knock it off, " Joe said wearily. "Carping we'll always have with usevidently, but in spite of all the beefing in every strata fromLow-Lower to Upper-Middle, I've yet to see any signs of organizedprotest against our present politico-economic system. "

[Illustration]

"Hey, " Max said. "Don't get me wrong. What was good enough for Dad isgood 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 topreserve the status quo, our People's Capitalism. " They were reachingthe outskirts of town, crossing the Esopus. The airport lay only a mileor so beyond. 

It was obviously too deep for Max, and since he didn't understand, heassumed his superior didn't know what he was talking about. He said, tolerantly, "Well, what's wrong with People's Capitalism? Everybodyowns 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 aresult they manage to do all right for themselves. The Party hierarchyover there are like our Uppers over here. "

"Yeah. " Max was being particularly dense. "I've seen a lot about it onTelly. You know, when there isn't a good fracas on, you tune to one ofthem 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 acorporation'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 outand they're distributed among one hundred thousand and one persons. Onehundred thousand of these own one share apiece, but the remainingstockholder 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 theillusion that this is a People's Capitalism, with all stock in the handsof the People. Actually, as ever before, the stock is in the hands ofthe Uppers, all except a mere dribble. They own the country and they runit for their own benefit. "

Max shot a less than military glance at him. "Hey, you're not one ofthese Sovs yourself, are you?"

They were coming into the parking area near the Administration Buildingof the airport. "No, " Joe said so softly that Max could hardly hear hiswords. "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 lightaircraft 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 fewof the officers involved in this fracas have been renting outtaxi-planes almost as fast as they're available. "

That didn't surprise Joe Mauser. Any competent officer made a point ofan aerial survey of the battle reservation before going into a fracas. Aircraft, of course, couldn't be used _during_ the fray, since theypostdated the turn of the century, and hence were relegated to thecemetery 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 militaryusage and you'd have a howl go up from the military attaches from theSov-world that would be heard all the way to Budapest. Not a fracaswent by but there were scores, if not hundreds, of military observers, keen-eyed to check whether or not any really modern tools of war werebeing illegally utilized. Joe Mauser sometimes wondered if theWest-world observers, over in the Sov-world, were as hair fine in theirliving up to the rules of the Universal Disarmament Pact. Probably. But, for that matter, they didn't have the same system of fighting fracasesover 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 athird-rate celebrity, really. Luck hadn't been with him so far as thebuffs were concerned. They wanted spectacular victories, murderoussituations in which they could lose themselves in vicarious sadisticthrills. Joe had reached most of his peaks while in retreat, orcommanding a holding action. His officers appreciated him and so did theultra-knowledgeable fracas buffs--but he was all but an unknown to theaverage 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 fighthis way out against difficult odds, using spectacular tactics indesperation, he was almost always off camera. Purely luck. On top ofskill, determination, experience and courage, you had to have luck inthe 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, hebegan 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 stronglybuilt. His voice was clipped, clear and had the air of command as thoughborn with it. He, like Joe, wore mufti and now extended his hand to beshaken. 

"I hear you've signed up with Baron Haer, captain. I was ratherexpecting 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 tacticianas freelanced and he was more than that. He was a judge of men and astickler for detail. And right now, if Joe Mauser knew Marshal StonewallCogswell as well as he thought, Cogswell was smelling a rat. There wasno reason why old pro Joe Mauser should sign up with a sure loser likeVacuum Tube when he could have earned more shares taking a commissionwith Hovercraft. 

He was looking at Joe brightly, the question in his eyes. Three or fourof his staff were behind a few paces, looking polite, but Cogswelldidn't bring them into the conversation. Joe knew most by sight. Goodmen 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 satisfactoryconclusion. "Baron Haer's connections, eh? He's probably offered to backyou 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 thehard way. His path wasn't as long as Joe's was going to be, but longenough and he knew how rocky the climb was. How very rocky. 

Joe said, stiffly, "I'm afraid I'm in no position to discuss mycommander's military contracts, marshal. We're in mufti, but afterall--"

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 foryou in the coming fracas. Possibly we'll find ourselves aligned togetheragain at some future time. "

"Thank you, sir, " Joe said, once more having to catch himself to preventan automatic salute. 

Cogswell and his staff went off, leaving Joe looking after them. Eventhe marshal's staff members were top men, any of whom could haveconducted a divisional magnitude fracas. Joe felt the coldness in hisstomach again. Although it must have looked like a cinch, the enemywasn't taking any chances whatsoever. Cogswell and his officers wereundoubtedly here at the airport for the same reason as Joe. They wanteda thorough aerial reconnaissance of the battlefield-to-be, before theissue was joined. 

 * * *

Max was standing at his elbow. "Who was that, sir? Looks like a realtough 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 oftimes on Telly, but never out of uniform. I thought he was taller thanthat. "

"He fights with his brains, " Joe said, still looking after the craggyfield 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'ssupposed to be a student of a top general back in the American CivilWar. Uses some of the original Stonewall's tactics. "

Max was out of his depth. "American Civil War? Was that much of afracas, captain? It musta been before my time. "

"It was quite a fracas, " Joe said dryly. "Lot of good lads died. Ahundred years after it was fought, the _reasons_ it was fought seemedabout 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. Hisaircraft was ready. Joe made his way to the hangars, followed by MaxMainz. He was going to pilot the airplane himself and old StonewallCogswell would have been surprised at what Joe Mauser was looking for. 

V

By the time they had returned to quarters, there was a message waitingfor Captain Mauser. He was to report to the officer commandingreconnaissance. 

Joe redressed in the Haer kilts and proceeded to headquarters. 

The officer commanding reconnaissance turned out to be none other thanBalt Haer, natty as ever, and, as ever, arrogantly tapping his swaggerstick against his leg. 

"Zen! Captain, " he complained. "Where have you been? Off on a trankkick? We've got to get organized. "

Joe Mauser snapped him a salute. "No, sir. I rented an aircraft to scoutout the terrain over which we'll be fighting. "

"Indeed. And what were your impressions, captain?" There was an overtonewhich suggested that it made little difference what impressions acaptain of cavalry might have gained. 

Joe shrugged. "Largely mountains, hills, woods. Good reconnaissance isgoing to make the difference in this one. And in the fracas itselfcavalry is going to be more important than either artillery or infantry. A Nathan Forrest fracas, sir. A matter of getting there fustest with themostest. "

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 tookthis as it came, having been through it before. The dilettante amateur'sdislike of the old pro. The amateur in command who knew full well he wasless capable than many of those below him in rank. 

"Of course, captain, " Balt Haer flicked his swagger stick against hisleg. "But to the point. Your squadron is to be deployed as scouts undermy 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 somegrandiose 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 VacuumTube Transport can extract itself from what would seem a poor positionat best. "

In all there were four others in the office, two women clerksfluttering away at typers, and two of Balt Haer's junior officers. Theyseemed 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 Itold anybody and it leaked, it'd never be effective, not even this firsttime. "

Haer observed him coldly. "And you think me incapable of keeping yoursecret, ah, _gimmick_, I believe is the idiomatic term you used. "

Joe Mauser's eyes shifted around the room, taking in the other four, whowere now looking at him. 

Bait Haer rapped, "These members of my staff are all trusted Haeremployees, Captain Mauser. They are not fly-by-night freelancers hiredfor a week or two. "

Joe said, "Yes, sir. But it's been my experience that one person canhold a secret. It's twice as hard for two, and from there on it's adecreasing 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 littleconfidence in a supposed gimmick that will rescue our forces fromdisaster and I rather dislike the idea of a captain of one of mysquadrons dashing about with such a bee in his bonnet when he should beobeying my commands. "

Joe kept his voice respectful. "Then, sir, I'd request that we take thematter to the Commander in Chief, your father. "

"Indeed!"

Joe said, "Sir, I've been working on this a long time. I can't afford torisk throwing the idea away. "

Bait Haer glared at him. "Very well, captain. I'll call your bluff, comealong. " 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 washis son. It had only been the day before that he had taken Joe on, butalready he had seemed to have aged in appearance. Evidently, each hourthat went by made it increasingly clear just how perilous a position hehad assumed. Vacuum Tube Transport had elbowed, buffaloed, bluffed andedged itself up to the outskirts of the really big time. The Baron'sability, his aggressiveness, his flair, his political pull, had allhelped, but now the chips were down. He was up against one of thebiggies, and this particular biggy was tired of ambitious little VacuumTube 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 schemewhich you think will bring victory in spite of what seems a disastroussituation. "

"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 inhis first fracas. I deserve to be given some leeway. "

Balt Haer snorted. "Gambling everything! What in Zen would _you_ have togamble, captain? The whole Haer family fortunes are tied up. Hovercraftis out for blood. They won't be satisfied with a token victory and anegotiated compromise. They'll devastate us. Thousands of mercenarieskilled, with all that means in indemnities; millions upon million inexpensive military equipment, most of which we've had to hire and willhave to recompensate for. Can you imagine the value of our stock afterStonewall Cogswell has finished with us? Why, every two by four truckingoutfit in North America will be challenging us, and we won't have theforces to meet a minor skirmish. "

Joe reached into an inner pocket and laid a sheaf of documents on thedesk of Baron Malcolm Haer. The Baron scowled down at them. 

Joe said simply, "I've been accumulating stock since before I waseighteen and I've taken good care of my portfolio in spite of taxes andthe various other pitfalls which make the accumulation of capitalpractically impossible. Yesterday, I sold all of my portfolio I waslegally allowed to sell and converted to Vacuum Tube Transport. " Headded, dryly, "Getting it at an excellent rate, by the way. "

Balt Haer mulled through the papers, unbelievingly. "Zen!" heejaculated. "The fool really did it. He's sunk a small fortune into ourstock. "

Baron Haer growled at his son, "You seem considerably more convinced ofour defeat than the captain, here. Perhaps I should reverse yourpositions of command. "

His son grunted, but said nothing. 

Old Malcolm Haer's eyes came back to Joe. "Admittedly, I thought you onthe romantic side yesterday, with your hints of some scheme which wouldlead us out of the wilderness, so to speak. Now I wonder if you mightnot really have something. Very well, I respect your claimed need forsecrecy. Espionage is not exactly an antiquated military field. "

"Thank you, sir. "

But the Baron was still staring at him. "However, there's more to itthan that. Why not take this great scheme to Marshal Cogswell? Andyesterday you mentioned that the Telly sets of the nation would be tunedin 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 ofyoung Balt Haer and addressed himself to the older man. "You havepolitical pull, sir. Oh, I know you don't make and break presidents. Youcouldn't even pull enough wires to keep Hovercraft from making this adivisional magnitude fracas--but you have pull enough for my needs. "

Baron Haer leaned back in his chair, his barrel-like body causing thatarticle 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 buffcelebrity. I don't have any illusions about the fickleness of the Tellyfans, but for a day or two I'll be on top. If at the same time I hadyour all out support, pulling what strings you could reach--"

"Why then, you'd be promoted to Upper, wouldn't you, captain?" Balt Haerfinished 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 captainsays he will defeat Stonewall Cogswell in return for you sponsoring hisbecoming a member of the nation's elite. "

 * * * * *

"Good Heavens, is the supposed cream of the nation now selected on nohigher a level than this?" There was sarcasm in the words. 

The three men turned. It was the girl Joe had bumped into the daybefore. The Haers didn't seem surprised at her entrance. 

"Nadine, " the older man growled. "Captain Joseph Mauser who has beengiven a commission in our forces. "

Joe went through the routine of a Middle of officer's rank beingintroduced to a lady of Upper caste. She smiled at him, somewhatmockingly, and failed to make standard response. 

Nadine Haer said, "I repeat, what is this service the captain can renderthe house of Haer so important that pressure should be brought to raisehim 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? Ihave 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 thousandsof 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 ofpreventing the human race from replenishing itself. "

The girl was obviously not the type to redden, but her anger wasmanifest. She spun on her brother. "If the race continues its presentmaniac course, possibly more effective methods of birth control _are_the most important development we could make. Even to the ultimatediscovery 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 thatsilly skirt. A professional soldier! A killer! In my opinion the mostuseless occupation ever devised by man. Parasite on the best and usefulmembers 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 agesabout the need for, the glory of, the sacrifice of the professionalsoldier. How they defend their country. How they give all for the commongood. Zen! What nonsense. "

Balt Haer was smirking sourly at her. "The theory today is, Nadine, oldthing, that professionals such as the captain are gathering experiencein case a serious fracas with the Sovs ever develops. Meanwhile histraining is kept at a fine edge fighting in our inter-corporation, inter-union, or union-corporation fracases that develop in our privateenterprise society. "

She laughed her scorn. "And what a theory! Limited to the weapons whichprevailed before 1900. If there was ever real conflict between theSov-world and our own, does anyone really believe either would stick tosuch arms? Why, aircraft, armored vehicles, yes, and nuclear weapons androckets, would be in overnight use. "

Joe was fascinated by her furious attack. He said, "Then, what would yousay was the purpose of the fracases, Miss--"

"Circuses, " she snorted. "The old Roman games, all over again, and ahundred times worse. Blood and guts sadism. The quest of a frustratedperson for satisfaction in another's pain. Our Lowers of today are asuseless and frustrated as the Roman proletariat and potentially they'rejust as dangerous as the mob that once dominated Rome. Automation, thesecond industrial revolution, has eliminated for all practical purposesthe need for their labor. So we give them bread and circuses. And everyyear that goes by the circuses must be increasingly sadistic, death onan increasing scale, or they aren't satisfied. Once it was enough tohave fictional mayhem, cowboys and Indians, gangsters, or G. I. S versusthe Nazis, Japs or Commies, but that's passed. Now we need _real_ bloodand guts. "

Baron Haer snapped finally, "All right, Nadine. We've heard this lecturebefore. I doubt if the captain is interested, particularly since youdon't seem to be able to get beyond the protesting stage and have yet tocome 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 theirTelly sets, taking trank pills to put them in a happy daze and watchingsadistic fracases to keep them in thrills, and their minds from theircondition. "

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 athim. "I don't know man's goal, if there is one. I'm not even sure it'simportant. It's the road that counts. The endeavor. The dream. Theeffort expended to make a world a better place than it was at the timeof your birth. "

[Illustration]

Balt Haer said mockingly, "That's the trouble with you, Sis. Here we'vereached Utopia and you don't admit it. "

"Utopia!"

"Certainly. Take a poll. You'll find nineteen people out of twenty happywith things just the way they are. They have full tummies and security, lots of leisure and trank pills to make matters seem even rosier thanthey are--and they're rather rosy already. "

"Then what's the necessity of this endless succession of bloodyfracases, 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 JoeMauser. "Very well, captain, you have my pledge. I wish I felt asoptimistic as you seem to be about your prospects. That will be all fornow, captain. "

Joe saluted and executed an about face. 

 * * * * *

In the outer offices, when he had closed the door behind him, he rolledhis eyes upward in mute thanks to whatever powers might be. He hadsomehow gained the enmity of Balt, his immediate superior, but he'dalso gained the support of Baron Haer himself, which countedconsiderably more. 

He considered for a moment, Nadine Haer's words. She was obviously amalcontent, but, on the other hand, her opinions of his chosenprofession weren't too different than his own. However, given thisvictory, this upgrading in caste, and Joe Mauser would be in a positionto retire. 

The door opened and shut behind him and he half turned. 

Nadine Haer, evidently still caught up in the hot words between herselfand her relatives, glared at him. All of which stressed the beauty hehad 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 wasraised 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. Iwonder if I could have the pleasure of your company at some nearbyrefreshment--"

"My, how formal an invitation, captain. I suppose you had in mindsitting and flipping back a few trank pills. "

Joe looked at her. "I don't believe I've had a trank in the past twentyyears, Miss Haer. Even as a boy, I didn't particularly take to having mysenses dulled with drug-induced pleasure. "

Some of her fury was abating, but she was still critical of theprofessional mercenary. Her eyes went up and down his uniform in scorn. "You seem to make pretenses of being cultivated, captain. Then why yourchosen profession?"

He'd had the answer to that for long years. He said now, simply, "I toldyou I was born a Lower. Given that, little counts until I fight my wayout of it. Had I been born in a feudalist society, I would haveattempted to batter myself into the nobility. Under classicalcapitalism, I would have done my utmost to accumulate a fortune, enoughto reach an effective position in society. Now, under People'sCapitalism . .. "

She snorted, "Industrial Feudalism would be the better term. "

". .. I realize I can't even start to fulfill myself until I am a memberof the Upper caste. "

Her eyes had narrowed, and the anger was largely gone. "But you chosethe military field in which to better yourself?"

"Government propaganda to the contrary, it is practically impossible toraise yourself in other fields. I didn't build this world, possibly Idon't even approve of it, but since I'm in it I have no recourse but tofollow 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 talkingabout. In fact, there's a small coffee bar around the corner where it'dbe possible for one of Baron Haer's brood to have a cup with one of herfather's officers of Middle caste. "

VI

The following morning, hands on the pillow beneath his head, Joe Mauserstared up at the ceiling of his room and rehashed his session withNadine Haer. It hadn't taken him five minutes to come to the conclusionthat he was in love with the girl, but it had taken him the rest of theevening to keep himself under rein and not let the fact get through toher. 

He wanted to talk about the way her mouth tucked in at the corners, butshe was hot on the evolution of society. He would have liked to havekissed that impossibly perfectly shaped ear of hers, but she was all forexploring the reasons why man had reached his present impasse. Joe wasfor holding hands, and staring into each other's eyes, she was fordelving into the differences between the West-world and the Sov-worldand the possibility of resolving them. 

Of course, to keep her company at all it had been necessary to suppresshis own desires and to go along. It obviously had never occurred to herthat a Middle might have romantic ideas involving Nadine Haer. It hadsimply not occurred to her, no matter the radical teachings sheadvocated. 

Most of their world was predictable from what had gone before. In spiteof popular fable to the contrary, the division between classes hadbecome increasingly clear. Among other things, tax systems were suchthat it became all but impossible for a citizen born poor to accumulatea fortune. Through ability he might rise to the point of earningfabulous sums--and wind up in debt to the tax collector. A greatinventor, a great artist, had little chance of breaking into the domainof what finally became the small percentage of the population now knownas Uppers. Then, too, the rising cost of a really good education becamesuch that few other than those born into the Middle or Upper castescould afford the best of schools. Castes tended to perpetuatethemselves. 

Politically, the nation had fallen increasingly deeper into thetwo-party system, both parties of which were tightly controlled by thesame group of Uppers. Elections had become a farce, a great nationalholiday in which stereotyped patriotic speeches, pretenses of unitybetween all castes, picnics, beer busts and trank binges predominatedfor one day. 

Economically, too, the augurs had been there. Production of the basicshad become so profuse that poverty in the old sense of the word hadbecome nonsensical. There was an abundance of the necessities of lifefor all. Social security, socialized medicine, unending unemploymentinsurance, old age pensions, pensions for veterans, for widows andchildren, for the unfit, pensions and doles for this, that and theother, had doubled, and doubled again, until everyone had security forlife. The Uppers, true enough, had opulence far beyond that known by theMiddles and lived like Gods compared to the Lowers. But all hadsecurity. They had agreed, thus far, Joe and Nadine. But then had comedebate. 

 * * * * *

"Then why, " Joe had asked her, "haven't we achieved what your brothercalled it? Why isn't this Utopia? Isn't it what man has been yearningfor, down through the ages? Where did the wheel come off? What happenedto the dream?"

Nadine had frowned at him--beautifully, he thought. "It's not the firsttime 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 ofcommunism with a sort of military-priesthood at the top. "

She had nodded, her face serious, as always. "And for themselves, theRomans more or less had it--at the expense of the nations theyconquered, 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 thatset off a new count down in his blood, "a ruling caste and asocio-economic system perpetuates itself, just so long as it ever can. No matter what damage it may do to society as a whole, it perpetuatesitself even to the point of complete destruction of everything. 

"Remember Hitler? Adolf the Aryan and his Thousand Year Reich? When itbecame obvious he had failed, and the only thing that could result fromcontinued resistance would be destruction of Germany's cities andmillions of her people, did he and his clique resign or surrender?Certainly not. They attempted to bring down the whole German structurein a G�tterdammerung. "

Nadine Haer was deep into her theme, her eyes flashing her conviction. "A socio-economic system reacts like a living organism. It attempts tolive on, indefinitely, agonizingly, no matter how antiquated it mighthave become. The Roman politico-economic system continued for centuriesafter it should have been replaced. Such reformers as the Gracchusbrothers were assassinated or thrust aside so that the entrenchedelements 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, somewhatuncomfortably, "Well, what would replace what we have now? If you tookpower from you Uppers, who could direct the country? The Lowers? That'snot even funny. Take away their fracases and their trank pills andthey'd go berserk. They don't _want_ anything else. "

Her mouth worked. "Admittedly, we've already allowed things todeteriorate much too far. We should have done something long ago. I'mnot sure I know the answer. All I know is that in order to maintain thestatus quo, we're not utilizing the efforts of more than a fraction ofour people. Nine out of ten of us spend our lives sitting before theTelly, sucking tranks. Meanwhile, the motivation for continued progressseems to have withered away. Our Upper political circles are afraid someseemingly minor change might avalanche, so more and more we lean uponthe old way of doing things. "

Joe had put up mild argument. "I've heard the case made that the Lowersare fools and the reason our present socio-economic system makes it sodifficult to rise from Lower to Upper is that you cannot make a foolunderstand he is one. You can only make him angry. If some, who are notfools, are allowed to advance from Lower to Upper, the vast mass who arefools will be angry because they are not allowed to. That's why theMilitary Category is made a channel of advance. To take that road, a mangives up his security and he'll die if he's a fool. "

Nadine had been scornful. "That reminds me of the old contention byracial segregationalists that the Negroes _smelled_ bad. First they putthem in a position where they had insufficient bathing facilities, theirdiet inadequate, and their teeth uncared for, and then protested thatthey couldn't be associated with because of their odor. Today, we areborn within our castes. If an Upper is inadequate, he neverthelessremains an Upper. An accident of birth makes him an aristocrat;environment, family, training, education, friends, traditions and lawsmaintain him in that position. But a Lower who potentially has thegreatest of value to society, is born handicapped and he's hard put notto wind up before a Telly, in a mental daze from trank. Sure he's afool, he's never been _allowed_ to develop himself. "

 * * * * *

Yes, Joe reflected now, it had been quite an evening. In a life of morethan thirty years devoted to rebellion, he had never met anyone sooutspoken as Nadine Haer, nor one who had thought it through as far asshe had. 

He grunted. His own revolt was against the level at which he had foundhimself in society, not the structure of society itself. His whole_raison d'�tre_ was to lift himself to Upper status. It came as a shockto 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 MaxMainz grinning in at him. Joe was mildly surprised at his orderly notknocking 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 youthink you should address an officer by his first name?"

Max Mainz came fully into the bedroom, his grin still wider. "Youforgot! 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 andhave a few drinks in one of the Upper bars?"

Joe grunted, but began to arise. "What'll that accomplish? On electionday, most of the Uppers get done up in their oldest clothes and goslumming down in the Lower quarters. "

Max wasn't to be put off so easily. "Well, wherever we go, let's getgoing. Zen! I'll bet this town is full of fracas buffs from as far asPhilly. And on election day, to boot. Wouldn't it be something if Ifound me a real fracas fan, some Upper-Upper dame?"

Joe laughed at him, even as he headed for the bathroom. As a matter offact, 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'reall the same. Upper, Lower, or Middle. "

"Yeah?" Max grinned back at him. "Well, I'd like the pleasure of findingout if that's true by personal experience. "

VII

In a far away past, Kingston had once been the capital of the UnitedStates. For a short time, when Washington's men were in flight after thedebacle of their defeat in New York City, the government of the UnitedColonies had held session in this Hudson River town. It had been its onemoment of historic glory, and afterward Kingston had slipped back intobeing a minor city on the edge of the Catskills, approximately halfwaybetween New York and Albany. 

Of most recent years, it had become one of the two recruiting centerswhich bordered the Catskill Military Reservation, which in turn was oneof the score or so population cleared areas throughout the continentwhere rival corporations or unions could meet and settle theirdifferences in combat--given permission of the Military CategoryDepartment of the government. And permission was becoming ever easier toacquire. 

It had slowly evolved, the resorting to trial by combat to settledisputes between competing corporations, disputes between corporationsand unions, disputes between unions over jurisdiction. Slowly, butpredictably. 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 wasthe union organizing in Colorado when armed elements of the WesternFederation of Miners shot it out with similarly armed "detectives" hiredby the mine owners, and later with the troops of an unsympathetic Stategovernment. 

By the middle of the Twentieth-Century, unions had become one of thebiggest businesses in the country, and by this time a considerableamount of the industrial conflict had shifted to fights between them forjurisdiction over dues-paying members. Battles on the waterfront, assassination and counter-assassination by gun-toting goon squadsdominated by gangsters, industrial sabotage, frays between pickets andscabs--all were common occurrences. 

But it was the coming of Telly which increasingly brought such conflictsliterally before the public eye. Zealous reporters made ever greatereffort to bring the actual mayhem before the eyes of their viewers, andnever were their efforts more highly rewarded. 

A society based upon private endeavor is as jealous of a vacuum as isMother Nature. Give a desire that can be filled profitably, and themeans can somehow be found to realize it. 

 * * *

At one point in the nation's history, the railroad lords had dominatedthe economy, later it became the petroleum princes of Texas andelsewhere, but toward the end of the Twentieth Century thecommunications industries slowly gained prominence. Nothing was moregreatly 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 thefictional and nonfictional programs presented him. Even in the earliestyears of the industry, producers had found that murder and mayhem, warand frontier gunfights, took precedence over less gruesome subjects. Music was drowned out by gunfire, the dance replaced by the shuffle ofcowboy and rustler advancing down a dusty street toward each other, their fingertips brushing the grips of their six-shooters, thecomedian's banter fell away before the chatter of the gangster's tommygun. 

And increasing realism was demanded. The Telly reporter on the scene ofa police arrest, preferably a murder, a rumble between rival gangs ofjuvenile delinquents, a longshoreman's fray in which scores of workerswere hospitalized. When attempts were made to suppress such broadcasts, the howl of freedom of speech and the press went up, financed by tycoonsclever enough to realize the value of the subjects they covered soadequately. 

The vacuum was there, the desire, the _need_. Bread the populace had. Trank was available to all. But the need was for the circus, thevicious, sadistic circus, and bit by bit, over the years and decades, the way was found to circumvent the country's laws and traditions tosupply the need. 

Aye, a way is always found. The final Universal Disarmament Pact whichhad totally banned all weapons invented since the year 1900 and providedfor complete inspection, had not ended the fear of war. And thus therewas excuse to give the would-be soldier, the potential defender of thecountry 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 suchfracases. Slowly a department of government evolved. The MilitaryCategory became as acceptable as the next, and the mercenary a valued, even idolized, member of society. And the field became practically theonly one in which a status quo orientated socio-economic system allowedfor advancement in caste. 

Joe Mauser and Max Mainz strolled the streets of Kingston in an extremeof atmosphere seldom to be enjoyed. Not only was the advent of adivisional magnitude fracas only a short period away, but the freedom ofan election day as well. The carnival, the Mardi Gras, the fete, thefiesta, of an election. Election Day, when each aristocrat became only aman, and each man an aristocrat, free of all society's artificiallyconceived, caste-perpetuating rituals and taboos. 

Carnival! The day was young, but already the streets were thick withrevelers, with dancers, with drunks. A score of bands played, youngstersin particular ran about attired in costume, there were barbeques andflowing beer kegs. On the outskirts of town were roller coasters andferris 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 tocall a Mid-Middle by his first name. "No trank, " he said. "Alcohol forme. Mankind's old faithful. "

"Well, " Max debated, "get high on alcohol and bingo, a hangover in themorning. 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'sstart 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 bythe appearance of the building and by the entry, it was probably theswankiest hotel in town. He shrugged. So far as he was concerned, heappreciated the greater comfort and the better service of his Middlecaste bars, restaurants and hotels over the ones he had patronized whena Lower. However, his wasn't an immediate desire to push into thepreserves of the Uppers; not until he had won rightfully to theirstatus. 

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 waslittle to indicate caste level, and ordinarily given the correct air ofnonchalance, Joe Mauser, in uniform, would have been able to goanywhere, without so much as a raised eyebrow--until he had presentedhis 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 daycelebrants, politicians involved in the day's speeches and voting, higher ranking officers of the Haer forces, having a day off, andvarious Uppers of both sexes in town for the excitement of the fracas tocome. 

"Beer, " Joe said to the bartender. 

"Not me, " Max crowed. "Champagne. Only the best for Max Mainz. Give mesome of that champagne liquor I always been hearing about. "

Joe had the bill credited to his card, and they took their bottles andglasses to a newly abandoned table. The place was too packed to haveawaited the services of a waiter, although poor Max probably would haveloved such attention. Lower, and even Middle bars and restaurants wereuniversally automated, and the waiter or waitress a thing of yesteryear. 

Max looked about the room in awe. "This is living, " he announced. "Iwonder 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 oftenstayed in the larger cities, in hostelries as sumptuous as this, thoughonly of Middle status. Kingston's best was on the mediocre side. Hesaid, "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 thatmatter, they might brush you off. It's not as though an Upper went to aMiddle or Lower hotel and asked for accommodations. But what do youwant, 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 bestdrink 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 ofthe 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, thefirst time I drank sparkling wine, sir. "

"Indeed, " Haer said. "I can imagine. " He fluttered a hand. "LieutenantColonel Paul Warren of Marshal Cogswell's staff, and Colonel LajosArp�d, of Budapest--Captain Joseph Mauser. "

Joe Mauser came to his feet and clicked his heels, bowing from the waistin approved military protocol. The other two didn't bother to come totheir feet, but did condescend to shake hands. 

The Sov officer said, disinterestedly, "Ah yes, this is one of yourfabulous customs, isn't it? On an election day, everyone is quiteentitled to go anywhere. Anywhere at all. And, ah"--he made a soundsomewhat like a giggle--"associate with anyone at all. "

Joe Mauser resumed his seat then looked at him. "That is correct. Acustom going back to the early history of the country when all men wereconsidered equal in such matters as law and civil rights. Gentlemen, mayI 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. Fora man with your ambitions, I'm surprised. "

The infantry officer the younger Haer had introduced as LieutenantColonel 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 marshalin a fracas on the Little Big Horn reservation. Your company was pinneddown on a knoll by a battery of field artillery. The Marshal sent me toyour relief. We sneaked in, up an arroyo, and were able to get most ofyou out. "

"I was wounded, " the colonel said, the superciliousness gone and astrange 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. Hehad a vague feeling that he was being defended by Captain Mauser, but hedidn't know how, or why. 

Balt Haer had been occupied in shouting fresh drinks. Now he turned backto the table. "Well, colonel, it's all very secret, these ambitions ofCaptain Mauser. I understand he's been an aide de camp to MarshalCogswell in the past, but the marshal will be distressed to learn thaton this occasion Captain Mauser has a secret by which he expects to routyour forces. Indeed, yes, the captain is quite the strategist. " BaltHaer laughed abruptly. "And what good will this do the captain? Why onmy father's word, if he succeeds, all efforts will be made to make thecaptain a caste equal of ours. Not just on election day, mind you, butall three hundred sixty-five days of the year. "

Joe Mauser was on his feet, his face expressionless. He said, "Shall wego, Max? Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure. Colonel Arp�d, a privilege tomeet you. Colonel Warren, a pleasure to renew acquaintance. " Joe Mauserturned 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 enoughto be angry about. The man's a clod. "

Warren looked at him bleakly. "I wasn't angry, Balt. The last time I sawCaptain Mauser I was slung over his shoulder. He carried, tugged anddragged 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 senseJoseph Mauser has. Considerable ability, he has. He's one of the bestcombat 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. " Warrengrunted in sour memory. "Had the Telly cameras been focused on JoeMauser, there at the Little Big Horn, he would have been a month longsensation 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 weshould discuss the business before us. If your father is in agreement, the fracas can begin in three days. " He turned to the representative ofthe Sov-world. "You have satisfied yourselves that neither force isviolating the Disarmament Pact?"

Lajos Arp�d 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 casteofficer. He said now, "Pardon me. As you know, this is my first visit tothe, uh _West_. I am fascinated. If I understand what just transpired, our Captain Mauser is a capable junior officer ambitious to rise in rankand status in your society. " He looked at Balt Haer. "Why are youopposed to his so rising?"

Young Haer was testy about the whole matter. "Of what purpose is anUpper caste if every Tom, Dick and Harry enters it at will?"

Warren looked at the door through which Joe and Max had exited from thecocktail 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 theSov-world we seek out such ambitious persons and utilize theirabilities. "

Lieutenant Colonel Warren laughed abruptly. "So do we here_theoretically_. We are _free_, whatever that means. However, " he addedsarcastically, "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 ofours, Colonel Arp�d. "

The Sov military observer clucked his tongue. "An indication of adeclining society. "

Balt Haer turned on him. "And is it any different in your world?" hesaid sneeringly. "Is it merely coincidence that the best positions inthe Sov-world are held by Party members, and that it is all butimpossible for anyone not born of Party member parents to become one?Are not the best schools filled with the children of Party members? Arenot only Party members allowed to keep servants? And isn't it so that--"

Lieutenant Colonel Warren said, "Gentlemen, let us not start World WarThree at this spot, at this late occasion. "

VIII

Baron Malcolm Haer's field headquarters were in the ruins of a farmhouse in a town once known as Bearsville. His forces, and those ofMarshal Stonewall Cogswell, were on the march but as yet their mainbodies had not come in contact. Save for skirmishes between cavalryunits, there had been no action. The ruined farm house had been a victimof an earlier fracas in this reservation which had seen in itscomparatively brief time more combat than Belgium, that cockpit ofEurope. 

There was a sheen of oily moisture on the Baron's bulletlike head andhis officers weren't particularly happy about it. Malcolm Haercharacteristically went into a fracas with confidence, an aggressiveconfidence so strong that it often carried the day. In battles past, ithad become a tradition that Haer's morale was worth a thousand men; theenergy he expended was the despair of his doctors who had been warninghim for a decade. But now, something was missing. 

A forefinger traced over the military chart before them. "So far as weknow, 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 themarshal. It's probably a fake. If we have any superiority at all, it'sour artillery. "

"And the old fox wouldn't want to join the issue on the plains, downnear the river, " a colonel added. "It's his game to keep up into themountains with his cavalry and light infantry. He's got Jack Alshuler'scavalry. 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, asheaf 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 Hurleyreport concentrations of Cogswell's infantry and artillery near Ashokanreservoir. "

"Nonsense, " somebody snapped. "We'd have him. "

The younger Haer slapped his swagger stick against his bare leg andkilt. "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 Hovercraftforces are screening everything they do with heavy cavalry units. I toldyou we needed more--"

"I don't need your advice at this point, " his father snapped. The olderHaer went back to the map, scowling still. "I don't see what he expectsto 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 wasstanding to attention, looking at Baron Haer. 

The Baron glowered at him. "What is the meaning of this cavalierintrusion, captain? Certainly, you must have your orders. Are you underthe illusion that you are part of my staff?"

"No, sir, " Joe Mauser clipped. "I came to report that I am ready to putinto execution--"

"The great plan!" Balt Haer ejaculated. He laughed brittlely. "Thesecond 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 secretplan. "

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 theupstart 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. Hekept his voice level however, even under the chuckling scorn of hisimmediate superior, Balt Haer. 

He said, "Sir, I will be able to tell you where Marshal Cogswell is, andevery troop at his command. "

For a moment there was silence, all but a stunned silence. Then themajor who had suggested the Saugerties field command headquarters were afake, blurted a curt laugh. 

"This is no time for levity, captain, " Balt Haer clipped. "Get to yourcommand. "

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 thisafternoon. I'll be back at that time. " He spun on his heel and leftthem. 

Balt Haer rushed to the door after him, shouting, "Captain! That's anorder! Return--"

But the other was obviously gone. Enraged, the younger Haer began toshrill commands to a noncom in the way of organizing a pursuit. 

His father called wearily, "That's enough, Balt. Mauser has evidentlytaken leave of his senses. We made the initial mistake of encouragingthis 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 otherinformation have your scouts come up with?"

IX

At the Kingston airport, Joe Mauser rejoined Max Mainz, his face drawnnow. 

"Everything go all right?" the little man said anxiously. 

"I don't know, " Joe said. "I still couldn't tell them the story. OldCogswell is as quick as a coyote. We pull this little caper today, andhe'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. "Yousure you been checked out on these things, captain?"

"Yes, " Joe said. "I bought this particular soaring glider more than ayear ago, and I've put almost a thousand hours in it. Now, where's thepilot of that light plane?"

A single-engined sports plane was attached to the glider by a fifty-footnylon rope. Even as Joe spoke, a youngster poked his head from theplane's window and grinned back at them. "Ready?" he yelled. 

"Come on, Max, " Joe said. "Let's pull the canopy off this thing. Wedon't want it in the way while you're semaphoring. "

A figure was approaching them from the Administration Building. Auniformed man, and somehow familiar. 

"A moment, Captain Mauser!"

Joe placed him now. The Sov-world representative he'd met at Balt Haer'stable in the Upper bar a couple of days ago. What was his name? ColonelArp�d. Lajos Arp�d. 

The Hungarian approached and looked at the sailplane in interest. "As arepresentative of my government, a military attache checking uponpossible violations of the Universal Disarmament Pact, may I requestwhat you are about to do, captain?"

Joe Mauser looked at him emptily. "How did you know I was here and whatI was doing?"

The Sov colonel smiled gently. "It was by suggestion of MarshalCogswell. He is a great man for detail. It disturbed him that an . .. What did he call it? . .. An _old pro_ like yourself should join withVacuum Tube Transport, rather than Continental Hovercraft. He didn'tthink it made sense and suggested that possibly you had in mind somescheme that would utilize weapons of a post 1900 period in your effortsto bring success to Baron Haer's forces. So I have investigated, CaptainMauser. "

"And the marshal knows about this sail plane?" Joe Mauser's face wasblank. 

"I didn't say that. So far as I know, he doesn't. "

"Then, Colonel Arp�d, 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 usedin 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. Butthose were powered craft. This is a glider, invented and in use beforethe year 1900 and hence open to utilization. "

The Hungarian clipped, "But the Wright Brothers didn't fly even glidersuntil--"

Joe looked him full in the face. "But you of the Sov-world do not admitthat 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 hisname was, didn't invent flight of heavier than air craft, the glider wasflown variously before 1900, including Otto Lilienthal in the 1890s, andwas designed as far back as Leonardo da Vinci. "

The Sov-world colonel stared at him for a long moment, then gave aninane giggle. He stepped back and flicked Joe Mauser a salute. "Verywell, captain. As a matter of routine, I shall report this use of anaircraft for reconnaissance purposes, and undoubtedly a commission willmeet to investigate the propriety of the departure. Meanwhile, goodluck!"

 * * * * *

Joe returned the salute and swung a leg over the cockpit's side. Max wasalready in the front seat, his semaphore flags, maps and binoculars onhis lap. He had been staring in dismay at the Sov officer, now wasrelieved that Joe had evidently pulled it off. 

Joe waved to the plane ahead. Two mechanics had come up to steady thewings for the initial ten or fifteen feet of the motorless craft'spassage over the ground behind the towing craft. 

Joe said to Max, "did you explain to the pilot that under nocircumstances 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 commerciallines, but he'd never been in a glider. 

They began lurching across the field, slowly, then gathering speed. Andas the sailplane took speed, it took grace. After it had been pulled ahundred feet or so, Joe eased back the stick and it slipped gently intothe air, four or five feet off the ground. The towing airplane wasstill taxiing, but with its tow airborne it picked up speed quickly. Another two hundred feet and it, too, was in the air and beginning toclimb. 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 headswiveled to look back at them. Joe Mauser waved to him and dropped therelease lever which ejected the nylon rope from the glider's nose. Theplane dove away, trailing the rope behind it. Joe knew that the planepilot would later drop it over the airport where it could easily beretrieved. 

In the direction of Mount Overlook he could see cumulus clouds and thedark turbulence which meant strong updraft. He headed in that direction. 

Except for the whistling of wind, there is complete silence in a soaringglider. Max Mainz began to call back to his superior, was taken back bythe volume, and dropped his voice. He said, "Look, captain. What keepsit up?"

Joe grinned. He liked the buoyance of glider flying, the nearestapproach of man to the bird, and thus far everything was going well. Hetold Max, "An airplane plows through the air currents, a glider rides ontop of them. "

"Yeah, but suppose the current is going down?"

"Then we avoid it. This sailplane only has a gliding angle ratio of oneto twenty-five, but it's a workhorse with a payload of some four hundredpounds. A really high performance glider can have a ratio of as much asone to forty. "

Joe had found a strong updraft where a wind ran up the side of amountain. He banked, went into a circling turn. The gauge indicated theywere climbing at the rate of eight meters per second, nearly fifteenhundred feet a minute. 

Max hadn't got the rundown on the theory of the glider. That was obviousin his expression. 

Joe Mauser, even while searching the ground below keenly, went into itfurther. "A wind up against a mountain will give an updraft, stormclouds will, even a newly plowed field in a bright sun. So you go fromone 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 feetforward for each one you drop. If you started a mile high, you could gotwenty-five miles before you touched ground. " He cut himself offquickly. "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 achart on his lap. He growled, "What are they doing there? That's atleast a full brigade of cavalry. Here, let me have those glasses. "

With his knees gripping the stick, he went into a slow circle, as hestared down at the column of men. "Jack Alshuler, " he whistled insurprise. "The marshal's crack heavy cavalry. And several batteries ofartillery. " He swung the glasses in a wider scope and the whistle turnedinto a hiss of comprehension. "They're doing a complete circle of thereservation. They're going to hit the Baron from the direction ofPhoenicia. "

X

Marshal Stonewall Cogswell directed his old fashioned telescope in thedirection 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. "Thenwhat 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. Butpractically useless in a fracas of movement. "

They were standing before the former resort hotel which housed themarshal's headquarters. Other staff members were streaming from thebuilding, and one of the ever-present Telly reporting crews werehurriedly setting up cameras. 

The marshal turned and barked, "Does anybody know what in Zen thatconfounded thing, circling up there, is?"

Baron Zwerdling, the aging Category Transport magnate, head ofContinental Hovercraft, hobbled onto the wooden veranda and stared withthe others. "An airplane, " he croaked. "Haer's gone too far this time. Too far, too far. This will strip him. Strip him, understand. " Then headded, "Why doesn't it make any noise?"

Lieutenant Colonel Paul Warren stood next to his commanding officer. "Itlooks 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, analbatross, a gull--"

"A vulture, you mean, " Cogswell snarled. He watched it for another longmoment, 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 faceas shocked as the rest of them. Now he faced his chief, and lowered theglasses, 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 gunson wagon wheels, or something. Keep him from coming low. "

"He doesn't have to come low, " Cogswell growled unhappily. He spun onLieutenant Colonel Warren again. "When were they invented?" He jerkedhis thumb upward. "Those things. "

Warren was twisting his face in memory. "Some time about the turn of thecentury. "

"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. Ifthere are two pilots up there to relieve each other, they could stayuntil food and water ran out. "

"How much weight do they carry?"

"I'm not sure. One that size, certainly enough for two men and anyequipment they'd need. Say, five hundred pounds. "

Cogswell had his telescope glued to his eyes again, he muttered underhis breath, "Five hundred pounds! They could even unload dynamite overour horses. Stampede them all over the reservation. "

"What's going on?" Baron Zwerdling shrilled. "What's going on MarshalCogswell?"

Cogswell ignored him. He watched the circling, circling craft for a fullfive minutes, breathing deeply. Then he lowered his glass and swept theassembled officers of his staff with an indignant glare. "Ten Eyck!" hegrunted. 

An infantry colonel came to attention. "Yes, sir. "

Cogswell said heavily, deliberately. "Under a white flag. A dispatch toBaron Haer. My compliments and request for his terms. While you're atit, 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. Isuggest you sue for terms as short of complete capitulation as you canmake them. "

"You call yourself a soldier--!" the transport tycoon began to shrill. 

"Yes, sir, " Cogswell snapped. "A soldier, not a butcher of the ladsunder me. " He called to the Telly reporter who was getting as much ofthis as he could. "Mr. Soligen, isn't it?"

 * * *

The reporter scurried forward, flicking signals to his cameramen forproper coverage. "Yes, sir. Freddy Soligen, marshal. Could you tell theTelly fans what this is all about, Marshal Cogswell? Folks, you all knowthe famous marshal. Marshal Stonewall Cogswell, who hasn't lost a fracasin nearly ten years, now commanding the forces of ContinentalHovercraft. "

"I'm losing one now, " Cogswell said grimly. "Vacuum Tube Transport haspulled a gimmick out of the hat and things have pickled for us. It willbe debated before the Military Category Department, of course, andundoubtedly the Sov-world military attaches will have things to say. Butas it appears now, the fracas as we have known it, has beenrevolutionized. "

"Revolutionized?" Even the Telly reporter was flabbergasted. "You meanby that thing?" He pointed upward, and the lenses of the camerasfollowed his finger. 

"Yes, " Cogswell growled unhappily. "Do all of you need a blueprint? Doyou think I can fight a fracas with that thing dangling above me, throughout the day hours? Do you understand the importance ofreconnaissance in warfare?" His eyes glowered. "Do you think Napoleonwould have lost Waterloo if he'd had the advantage of perfectreconnaissance such as that thing can deliver? Do you think Lee wouldhave 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 Iknow of his movements are from my cavalry scouts. I repeat, I am nobutcher, 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 Militaryuniform, spoke his credentials to the receptionist. "I have no definiteappointment, but I am sure the Baron will see me, " he said. 

"Yes, sir. " The receptionist did the things that receptionists do, thenlooked up at him again. "Right through that door, major. "

Joe Mauser gave the door a quick double rap and then entered beforewaiting 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 aneasy-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 andstared at the newcomer. The old stare, the aloof stare, an aristocratlooking 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 Ipossibly 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, MajorMauser. "

Joe Mauser looked at him, then at his sister, who had taken to herhandkerchief again. Consternation ebbed up and over him in a flood. Hewanted to say something such as, "Oh _no_, " but not even that could heutter. 

Haer was bitter. "I assume I know why you are here, major. You have comefor your pound of flesh, undoubtedly. Even in these hours of ourgrief--"

"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 yourambitions myself. "

Nadine Haer looked up wearily. "Oh, Balt, come off it, " she said. "Thefact 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 toavoid certain death taxes, transferred the family stocks into Balt'sname. And Balt saw fit, immediately before the fracas, to sell allVacuum 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 forintruding upon you in your time of bereavement. " He turned to the newBaron. "Baron Haer, my apologies for _your_ bereavement. "

Balt Haer glowered at him. 

Joe Mauser turned and marched for the door which he opened then closedbehind him. 

On the street, before the New York offices of Vacuum Tube Transport, heturned and for a moment looked up at the splendor of the building. 

Well, at least the common shares of the concern had skyrocketedfollowing the victory. His rank had been upped to Major, and oldStonewall Cogswell had offered him a permanent position on his staff incommand of aerial operations, no small matter of prestige. Thedifficulty was, he wasn't interested in the added money that wouldaccrue 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. Shesaid, "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 forindividuals, or nations, or a whole species, life is still worth theliving. Things are a bit bogged down right now, but at the risk ofsounding 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.