"But see here, the dividend will hardly pay for operations and sickness. Suppose the idlers fall sick?"
Davis looked surprised. "Hadn't you gathered that health service is free? It obviously has to be. The community can't afford to let anyone be sick for fear of contagion and unsocial mal-adjustment. If medicine hadn't been socialized we couldn't have stamped out syphilis and gonorrhea for example, and our present social standards couldn't have developed. Medical men are public servants and among the most highly paid in the community."
"Doesn't that tend to make medicine un-enterprising and give it a tendency to fall into a rut?"
"Did it for the army and navy in your day? Before your time they were private professions, you will remember. However, a physician need not be a public servant. He can hang out his shingle if he likes. But with higher returns for public practice, plus every opportunity for research with unlimited facilities and no economic restrictions on the expense of treatment, practically all of the best ones prefer to work for the government."
"That reminds me of another objection. Won't everybody ask to be treated by the best physicians?"
"They ask, but if a physician has more cases than he can handle, he picks the interesting and difficult ones, and mediocre physicians get the commonplace ones. That works out best for everybody. In your day a wealthy hypochondriac could command the services of valuable men who should have been on the difficult cases."
"That's fair enough, I guess. Medicine has always fascinated me."
"You ought to fly up to the United States Medical Academy some day and get them to show you around. It will open your eyes. We've made a lot of progress in the last hundred and fifty years."
"Thanks for the idea. I'll do that someday. But to return to our argument. I'm a die-hard. Everything may appear rosy right now, but I believe that I see the seeds of decay in this system. Doesn't it encourage the reproduction of the unfit in unlimited numbers? Wasn't Malthus right in the long run? Aren't you steadily weakening the race by making life too easy?"
"I don't believe so. I think your fears are groundless. The pathologically unfit are inhibited from breeding by a combination of special economic inducements and the mild coercion of the threat of Coventry. The exceptionally brilliant and creative persons are sought after as parents. A famous surgeon, musician, or inventor will receive literally thousands of invitations to impregnate women who desire exceptional children or covet the social honor of bearing the offspring of genius. From a physical standpoint the race is being re-tailored by the development of gland therapy and immunization. A baby born today will never grow excessively fat nor emaciated, and couldn't catch typhoid fever if he slept with a victim of it. Instead of protecting a child from infection we modify the genes of his grandfather so that the baby has ten times the hardihood of a jungle savage. As for Doctor Malthus, he lived before the day of voluntary conception. If we need to limit the population, we are prepared to do it."
"Well, you've given me a lot to chew over and a lot of new angles to investigate. But I can't help feeling that there's a black swan lurking. Maybe I'll be back at you in a few days."
Davis chuckled. "Go to it, son. You've given me the first real workout I've had in years. Is there any more port in that bottle? That's enough. Thanks."
XI
Olga arrived one morning to find Perry walking the floor, and smoking. A pile of cigarette stubs alongside a barely-touched breakfast showed his state of mind. He flung her a curt greeting. Olga grinned.
"Little Merry Sunshine, no less. What's the matter, dopey? Come down with the Never-Get-Overs?"
Perry ground the butt of his cigarette savagely into a saucer. "All very well for you to joke, but it's serious to me. It's this damned place. I'm sick of it."
Olga's face became serious. "What's the trouble with this place, Perry? Anything wrong? Anything you need? Somebody been unkind to you?"
He scowled. "No. Nothing you can do anything about. The place is swell , and everybody is decent to me. I'm just sick of it, that's all. I know I have to stay here and need to stay here, and I'm not arguing about my sentence, but you can't make me like it. I'm going stir-crazy."
Olga's face cleared. "Why, Perry, you don't have to stay here."
"What? Why don't I? I was sent here for treatment."
"Surely. And you should spend quite a bit of your time here just for our convenience in treating you. But you are free to move around."
"Do you mean that?"
"I always mean what I say."
Perry's face lit up. "Stand clear, boys! Here we go! Say, where can I hire a sky car?"
"Take mine, if you like. I won't be needing it."
"That gives me an idea. Are you busy today? Could you come along? We could have a picnic."
"Why yes, I guess I could go. Sure you wouldn't rather be alone?"
"Hell, no. You're the perfect companion. You don't bother a fellow when he doesn't want to talk."
"Okay. Let's go. I'll see about something to eat."
A short while later Perry pressed back on the stick and they shot into the air at maximum lift. Higher and higher he took them, clear to the ceiling for the little craft. Then he spread his wings and accelerated to maximum speed. They shot along silently except for the muffled whir of the screw. Olga lounged on the cushions and watched him with the half smile of approval with which a mother watches a child at play. Tiring of straight flight, Perry put the machine through its paces, rotor maneuvering, climbing by wing, crashing, quick turns. Presently he leveled off, and spoke. "That was fun. I wish I had my old crate here, though. I'd show you some real acrobatics. Did you ever loop, or fly upside down? Or a power dive in formation? That'll take the enamel off your teeth. This is a grand little boat but it's a baby carriage with shock absorbers compared with our old fighting jobs."
"That sounds exciting, but wasn't it terribly dangerous?"
"Sure it was dangerous, unless you knew your job. Even then it wasn't a tea party. Lots of my pals got theirs from carelessness, or engine failure or something. But it was grand sport. Funny, I never got hurt in the air, but a measly little spill out of an automobile finishes me off. Only it didn't finish me." He grinned boyishly. "Damn funny thing about me popping over all these years. It worried me a lot at first. I was afraid I'd go to sleep and wake up somebody else. You know that Hindu pal of Gordon's. You remember he came to see me. He seems to think that Gordon and I are the same hombre using different memory tracks. I didn't understand it and don't see how he can prove it, but he claims that if Gordon comes back at all I'll simply have two memories. He talked a lot about serial observers and serial time sense. I didn't get it, but he did manage to reassure me." Olga patted his hand. "That's good. I'm glad."
"The best part about it is that I can go ahead and be a citizen of this world now and not feel like a freak. Say, are you hungry?"
"Not very, but I can usually eat." She patted her soft expanse of tummy.
"I kinda skipped breakfast. Let's drop down somewhere and eat outdoors."
"Okay. Where are we?" They bent over the map screen and Olga glanced out. She placed her finger on the map. "How about it?"
"Twenty minutes more or less. It's an inspiration."
"I'll get lunch ready while you whip up the horses." Half an hour later they were sitting at the south rim of the Grand Canyon, eating silently while they drank in the ageless wonder of the place. Perry broke the silence. "You know I've seen this many times before, twice since my arrival in this period and several times in my early life. It makes me feel as if the thing that happened to me in time is just a casual incident of no more import than the ten seconds of unconsciousness of a lightly knocked out boxer. Time has moved on here in the past hundred and fifty years, but the change is not perceptible."