“Oh, yes. Proposition #2 is cooking as nicely as #1,” Nick said, and tapped a quick code into his board. “It went back to have a couple of loopholes deleted, and if there’s no further snag … Ah, good. Coming up in about two minutes.”
Suzy Dellinger said absently, “You know, I always wondered what democracy might smell like. Finally I detect it in the air.”
“Curious that it should arrive in the form of electronic government,” Sweetwater murmured.
Brad Compton glanced at her. “Not really, when you think about the history of liberty. It’s the story of how principle has gradually been elevated above the whim of tyrants. When the law was defined as more powerful than the king, that was one great breakthrough. Now we’ve come to another milestone. We’re giving power to more people than have ever before enjoyed it, and—”
“And it makes me feel,” Nick interrupted, “the way they must have felt when they started the first nuclear chain reaction. Will there still be a world in the morning?”
There was a short pause, silent but for the hum of the electrical equipment, as they contemplated the continental pre-empt scheduled for the day after tomorrow. From 0700 local until 1900 every veephone on the continent would display, over and over, two propositions, accompanied by a spoken version for the benefit of the illiterate. Most would be in English, but some would be in Spanish, some in Amerind languages, some in Chinese … the proportions being based on the latest continental census. After each repetition would follow a pause, during which any adult could punch into the phone his or her code, followed by a “yes” or a “no.”
And according to the verdict, the computers of the continent would respond.
Proposition #1 concerned the elimination of all but voluntary poverty. Proposition #2—
“Here it comes,” Nick said, scanning the columns of figures and code groups appearing on his screen. “Seems to be pretty well finalized. Categorizes occupations on three axes. One: necessary special training, or uncommon talent in lieu—that’s to cover people with exceptional creative gifts like musicians or artists. Two: drawbacks like unpredictable hours and dirty working conditions. Three: social indispensability.”
Brad slapped his thigh. “What a monument to Claes College!”
“Mm-hm. There’ll be a footnote on every single printout explaining that if we’d paid attention to what the Claes group discovered by working among the Bay Quake refugees this could have been settled a generation back. … Hmm! Yes, I think this balances out very nicely. For instance, a doctor will score high on special training and social importance too, but he can only get into the top pay bracket if he accepts responsibility for helping emergency cases, instead of keeping fixed office hours. That puts him high on all three scales. And a garbage collector, though rating low on special training, will do well on scales two and three. All public servants like police and firemen will automatically score high on scale three and most on scale two as well, and—oh, yes. I like the look of it. Particularly since a lot of parasites who were at the top in the old days will now pay tax at ninety percent because they score zero on all three axes.”
“Zero?” someone demanded in disbelief.
“Why not? People in advertising, for example.”
The questioner’s eyebrows rose. “Never thought of that before. But it figures.”
“Think they’ll stand for it?” Kate said nervously, patting Bagheera who lay at her side. Since meeting Natty Bumppo he had refused to be left out of sight of her, although he and the dog had exhibited mutual tolerance, as favorable a reaction as might have been hoped for.
“Their choice is to close down the net,” Nick said, and snapped his fingers. “Thereby breaking their own necks. Suzy, you look worried.”
The mayor nodded. “Even if they don’t deliberately blow the net when they find they can’t interfere with our pre-empt, to make some kind of grand suicidal gesture … there’s another and more disturbing question.”
“What?”
“Are people scared into their right minds yet?”
The following silence was broken by the soft buzz of an incoming call. Kate switched it to her board and put on her phones.
Seconds later she uttered a loud gasp, and all heads turned to her.
Peeling off her phones again, she spun her chair, her cheeks as pale as paper and her eyes wide with fear.
“It can’t be true! It simply can’t be true! My God, it’s already twenty past one—the plane must have taken off!”
“What? What?” A chorus of anxious voices.
“That caller claimed to be a cousin of Miskin Breadloaf. The would-be bomber you arrested, Ted. She says Precipice is going to be attacked with nukes at 0130!”
“Ten minutes? We can’t possibly evacuate the town in ten minutes!” Suzy whispered, clenching her fists and staring at the wall clock as though willing it to show some earlier time.
“We’ll have to try!” Ted snapped, jumping to his feet and heading for the door. “I’ll get Nat to rouse everybody and—” He checked. Nick had suddenly launched into a burst of furious activity, punching his board with fingers that flew faster than a pianist’s.
“Nick! Don’t waste time—move! We need everybody’s help!”
“Shut up!” Nick grated between clenched teeth. “Go on, wake the town, get everybody away that you can … but leave me alone!”
“Nick!” Kate said, taking an uncertain pace toward him.
“You too! Run like hell—because this may not work!”
“If you’re going to stay then I—”
“Go, damn it!” Nick hissed. “Go!”
“But what are you trying to do?”
“Shut—up—and—go!”
Suddenly Kate found herself out in the chilly dark, and at her side Bagheera was trembling, the hairs on his nape raised and rough under her fingers. There was incredible noise: the dogs barking, Ted shouting through a bullhorn, everybody who could find any means of banging or rattling or clanging using it to create a racket no one could have slept through.
“Leave town! Run like hell! Don’t take anything, just run!”
From nowhere a dog appeared in front of her. Kate stopped in alarm, wondering whether she could hold Bagheera back if he was frightened and confused enough to pounce.
The dog wagged its great tail. She abruptly recognized Natty Bumppo.
Head low, neck in a concave bend, in a wholly uncharacteristic puppy-like posture, he approached Bagheera, giving a few more ingratiating strokes with his tail. Bagheera’s nape hairs relaxed; he allowed Nat to snuff his muzzle, though his claws were half-unsheathed.
What was the meaning of this pantomime? Should Nat not be on duty, waking people with his barking?
And then Bagheera reached a conclusion. He stretched his neck and rubbed his cheek against Natty Bumppo’s nose. His claws disappeared.
“Kate!” someone shouted from behind her. She started. Sweetwater’s voice.
“Kate, are you all right?” The tall Indian woman came running to her side. “Why aren’t you—? Oh, of course. You daren’t let loose Bagheera!”
Kate took a deep breath. “I thought I couldn’t. Nat just set me right.”
“What?” Sweetwater stared incomprehension.
“If human beings had half the insight of this dog … !” Kate gave a near-hysterical laugh, releasing her grip on Bagheera’s collar. Instantly Natty Bumppo , turned around and went bounding into the darkness with Bagheera matching him stride for stride.
“Kate, what the hell are you talking about?” Sweetwater insisted.
“Didn’t you see? Nat just made Bagheera a freeman of Precipice!”
“Oh, for—! Kate, come with me! We only have seven minutes left!”