Chapter Five
No society is eager for its own dissolution and all societies try— instinctively, as it were—to perpetuate the status quo.
As bewildered as the Leetes, Julian returned to his own apartment. They had told him that crime had disappeared in this so-called Republic of the Golden Rule, that there were no more juvenile delinquents, that muggings were a thing of the past. Who in the name of whatever might be holy, would want to beat up kindly old Doctor Leete? He had no frame of reference in which to consider the problem. He gave it up and went into his kitchenette, to the little breakfast nook there. Hesitating momentarily, he dialed Information and asked for a ham sandwich and a bottle of beer.
Had it been possible for a computer voice to register a tone of surprise, it undoubtedly would have.
“Would you repeat that order, Mr. West?”
He repeated it, then said, impatiently, “You take two pieces of bread and butter each lightly on one side. You put between them a slice of ham, moderately thick, covered lightly with mustard, along with some lettuce. You serve it with a dill pickle.”
“Yes, Mr. West. We shall put the recipe in the kitchen data banks. But we do not serve beer in bottles, sir.”
“Well, serve it any damn way you wish,” he said.
“Very well, Mr. West.”
Shortly, the table sank down to return with his order. The beer was in a large glass and by the looks of the thick, rich head, it was draft. There was too much lettuce. He removed half of it and ate.
After lunch, there was nothing else he could think of to do so he went back to his study. He resumed his seat before the auto-teacher and took up his studies of Interlingua where he had left off.
In his determination to master the language as quickly as possible, so that he could get on with his studies —albeit on a grammar school level—he stuck to it with all the concentration he could muster, knocking off only twice to get himself a drink from the auto-bar.
To his surprise, when he checked the time he found that it was pushing eight o’clock, and then it came back to him that he had a date with young O’Callahan in the Cub Bar. Well, he was tired of studying. The break would be a relief.
He had heard no more from the Leetes, so he assumed that they were through with him for the day. They had enough on their minds not to want their charge underfoot. He deactivated his auto-teacher and left the apartment, taking the elevator down to the ground floor.
He looked about the huge, Grecian-style lobby, wondering where the Cub Bar might be.
A bright young thing, done up in the usual coveralls which seemed to be the most popular garb for either sex, came up to him and said in Interlingua, “May I help you? You’re Mr. West, aren’t you?”
He said haltingly, in the same language, “Why, yes. Thank you. I was looking for the Cub Bar.”
“The Cub Bar is just down there. At the end of that corridor. It’s fascinating to meet you, Mr. West.”
She was looking at him smilingly, as though expecting him to say something further, but all he could think of was, “Thank you, very much.”
She looked disappointed, turned and left. He watched her go, feeling somehow inadequate, but he didn’t know why.
The Cub Bar, it turned out, had little to bear out its name, so far as the bars with which he had been familiar with in the past were concerned. And he had been familiar with a good many.
About all it had in common with the places he remembered was rather dim light. There was no bar, complete with barman, at which one could sit. There was no jukebox, thank God, although there was very faint background music issuing from somewhere he couldn’t determine. There were booths and there were tables, and the walls were tastefully done with paintings, largely representational, and very beautiful tapestries.
He located Sean O’Callahan, or, rather, the archaeology-history student located him and was waving. Julian made his way over to the booth. Two others were seated with him, both of them older men, in their fifties or early sixties.
Sean stood at his approach, looking more pleased than Julian thought was called for.
He slid into the booth and waited for the introductions. He had rather expected the persons Sean O’Callahan had wanted him to meet to be contemporaries of the younger man.
Sean said, “Julian West Van Hass, may I introduce William Dempsey Harrison and Frederic Madison Ley.”
On a quick sizing-up, Harrison emanated energy and even aggression, a stocky, confident type in excellent physical shape for his years. Ley reminded him more of the movie star of yesteryear, a sleepy, otherwise expressionless look about his face. His body had just slightly gone to flab. Even before he spoke, Julian was of the opinion that he wasn’t much given to talk.
They shook hands, went through the usual amenities, then Harrison, with a quick wave of his hand to indicate their three glasses, said, “We’ve already ordered. What would you like?”
To his surprise, Harrison and Ley obviously had highballs of one sort or another. Only Sean had a beer glass before him.
Julian asked for Scotch and soda, and Harrison, who seemed to be senior member of the team, put his transceiver in the payment slot of the table and dialed for it.
Ley drawled, “Yeah, we used to drink a lot of Scotch in the old days. It’s mostly belly-wash they drink now.”
Julian’s drink came. He raised his glass by way of a toast. “Sean tells me that I’m quite a freak, what with being a war veteran and all.”
Ley said quickly, “I was in ’Nam.”
Harrison looked at him. “Yes, but it was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”
The other lapsed into silence. It was obvious that he deferred to the aggressive Harrison.
Sean beamed. He was pleased with his success in pulling off this gathering.
Harrison stared at Julian West for a long moment. “We’ve been hearing about you on the News for a long time. You know, of those who went into hibernation, you’re the first to be awakened. And nobody else was put under for something like ten years after you volunteered.”
“So I understand,” Julian said easily. “But I didn’t exactly volunteer. No old soldier ever volunteers. With me, it was a matter of going into stasis, or dropping dead in my tracks at any moment.”
Harrison nodded. “At any rate, you’re the one person around who really remembers the old days.”
“I remember them,” Ley growled.
Harrison didn’t even look at him. “You were a kid,” was all he said.
He leaned back to observe Julian some more. He seemed to come to some conclusion. “What do you think of our present socioeconomic system, Mr. West, after several weeks with us?” There was a cautious note in his voice that Julian couldn’t quite understand.
“Why, I suppose it’s the nearest thing to Utopia that the race has ever achieved.”
Harrison said carefully, “There have been other ‘near Utopias,’ you know.”
Julian took another pull at his drink. “It’s not my field, but… An example?”
Harrison put his elbows on the table and tented his fingertips. In a somewhat condescending manner he replied, “Ancient Egypt, for instance.”
Julian laughed a little. “Oh come now, you’re putting me on. Say ‘Ancient Egypt’ to me and the first picture that flashes to mind is an overseer with a whip giving it to a dozen slaves who are pushing an oversized cut stone
