chauffeur’s cap.
Armanruder said to Bat, “How do you mean, you’ll be up tonight?”
Bat told him the day’s developments and the older man was obviously disturbed. “Why in the world did you two have to go into town?”
“I told you that. We sensed a sullen quality and wanted to check up on it. We certainly weren’t looking for trouble and would have avoided it if we could.”
“From what you said, that ne’er-do-well, young Zogbaum, precipitated the fight.”
“Not really. You could feel it in the air. Had we known, of course, we wouldn’t have gone into town. But we didn’t. I don’t think it’s too important, especially since we’ll be pulling out tomorrow. Nevertheless, it won’t hurt for a couple of us to patrol the town tonight.”
“I suppose so,” the other said, then looked at his butler cum chauffeur. “Two more of the same for Miss Paskov and me, Manuel. Mr. Hardin isn’t drinking.”
“Yes, sir.” The Spanish American turned to go. If Bat had it correctly, Manuel and his wife, Concha, had come from New Mexico or Arizona. Their Spanish would be invaluable on this move down to South America.
Bat looked after the slightly built servant and must have had an element of questioning on his face.
Dean Armanruder misunderstood it. He said, “You’re wondering why Manuel would take a job like this in these days of NIT? It’s a fact that servants are few indeed in the States any more. Only the truly wealthy can afford them. But it’s not that with Manuel and Concha; I pay them little more than they would get in the way of NIT.”
Bat Hardin was mildly surprised at the other. What business was it of Bat’s?
Armanruder chuckled and said, “Poor Manuel is over a barrel. He’s not eligible for NIT.”
“Oh? I was under the impression that he was an American citizen.”
Armanruder chuckled again. “Yes. But not all citizens are eligible for NIT. You see, friend Manuel was caught at falsifying his income tax. He and his wife were collecting their NIT but working on the side to augment their fortunes. Very, very bad. When the computers check you out and catch you, you’re no longer eligible for NIT and in this day and age of unemployment you have your work cut out finding a position.”
Bat said, “Actually, that wasn’t what I was thinking, though. The thought went through my mind, there but for luck go you or I.”
Nadine Paskov said in bored impatience, “Oh, good heavens.”
But Armanruder shook his head. “Speak for yourself, perhaps, Hardin, but not for me. Luck is not involved. Manuel Chauvez and I come from different strata in society. It was fated that he occupy his position and I, mine. At his birth he was slated to be a servant or the equivalent, I to be among the top one percent of our system.”
He settled back in his chair, made a dome of his fingers and his tone became slightly pompous. “The fact of the matter is, Hardin, that our present Meritocracy doesn’t differ as much as all that from previous socio-economic systems. Down through recorded history the real developments of the human race have been made by about one percent of the population.
“Discoveries, inventions, breakthroughs, new arts and sciences, the things that count in the advancing of the race. Under all social systems, not just Meritocracy, the elite came to the top and directed, planned or developed.”
Bat was feeling perverse. He said sourly, “Or, at least, they could claim they were and who was in a position to argue?”
The older man shook a finger at him negatively. “No, you’re incorrect. Hardin, the human race has been on Earth for something like a million years. Up until about eight thousand years ago it progressed very slowly indeed under a system of what you might call primitive communism, community ownership of such property as existed and largely democratic institutions based on family and clan. It wasn’t until the advent of class divided society and private ownership of the means of production that the race began to forge ahead. Obviously, no single person invented the institution of chattel slavery but if one had he should have been listed as one of the greatest benefactors the race has had.”
Bat Hardin’s eyebrows went up but he let the other proceed.
Armanruder went on pontifically. “If anyone was to have the leisure time#longdash#leisure from primary labor, that is#longdash#to develop the sciences and arts, it meant that the overwhelming majority of people in a society must sacrifice themselves so that a small minority could be free. Say, five percent of the population. And that five percent must be the elite, and was. But even among them, the slave-owning class, only about one percent made the great advances.”
“Once again,” Bat said dryly, “how do you know they were really elite, that they had the best brains and abilities?”
The former corporation manager shook his finger again. “Because if they weren’t, the true elite emerged and displaced them.”
“Always?”
“Always. Under the older socio-economic systems, slavery, feudalism, classical capitalism, it might take time, but sooner or later those with the true abilities took command.” He thought about it for a moment, then added, “Admittedly, it sometimes took quite a while to depose the incapable and you usually had to shoot them out. No ruling class or caste will give up its position of power and wealth without resistance. That’s one point where the Meritocracy is superior over past systems.”
“How do you mean?” Bat said. He was antagonized by the other’s pomposity but the subject fascinated him, since it struck so near to home.
The older man said, “Under the Meritocracy you seek and reach your level. It’s a system that fits the human race because it’s one that is stratified, because people are. It’s a highly disciplined society, as the universe is. It’s a society in which individuals can freely move from one level to another but only by their own abilities. Nothing counts except your own individual achievements.”
“Oh, Lord, all this is boring me spitless,” Nadine Paskov said.
Bat Hardin came to his feet. He had a few arguments in his mind but he said, “I should be getting on my rounds.” He added wryly, “I suppose the manner in which we do the little governing that is needed in these mobile towns is the last of the old time democracy.”
Armanruder chuckled. “Yes. And do you see who our fellow townsmen elected to the executive committee? We who, before retirement, were most successful in our positions in society. You don’t find men like your impetuous friend Zogbaum on the executive committee.”
VII
As Bat Hardin walked back to his own home, with the intention of getting a little sleep before relieving Al Castro, he muttered, “No. And you don’t see me on the executive committee either.”
It came to him that high intelligence wasn’t the only requirement to get to the top in this each-man-for- himself-and-the-devil-take-the-hindmost world. You had to have the push and aggression of a Dean Armanruder. A lazy genius isn’t one. When Armanruder had first come to the mobile art colony, he had begun operating, volunteering his services, taking over responsibilities. Most of the town’s members did a minimum of participating in its required community work. Oh, there were few complete shirkers but the average citizen was too taken up with his art work, his family, the maintenance of his mobile home, to find time for lengthy committee meetings, the handling of accounts, the making of decisions involving the community.
Within a month, Dean Armanruder had been elected to the executive committee and within two months was dominating it. Not that Bat Hardin was complaining. The other was efficient, intelligent, farseeing. It was seldom that he took a stand with which Bat disagreed. Had New Woodstock been under a town manager, as was the case with many of the larger mobile towns and cities, Bat’s vote would have gone for Dean Armanruder.
He relieved Al Castro at ten o’clock and patrolled the town with Luke Robertson, a tall, lanky, slow-moving fellow who did sculpturing in iron and who seemed to have an inordinate affection for Bat Hardin, as did his wife, for that matter. Bat wasn’t quite sure why. But when somebody likes you, for whatever reason, you have a tendency to like him in return. In actuality, Bat had to admit that he didn’t appreciate Luke’s work, in fact, it was exactly the sort of abstract, meaningless#longdash#to Bat Hardin#longdash#sort of thing that he actively disliked. Bat’s tastes
