Level 7

enjoyed.

Not so P-867, who had a ready explanation for it all. “The type of man selected for PBX operations,” she said, “would have a compulsion to clean himself frequently. For men like you and your fellow-officers, to be deprived of the comfort of a well-equipped and ever-available bathroom would not be just an inconvenience, but a serious disturbance. You might develop neurotic symptoms and goodness knows what else! So it’s perfectly reasonable the way it is.”

It occurred to me that I did like to wash my hands often, though I had never thought of it in terms of psychological compulsion. It seemed simply a hygienic habit. Still, her explanation made me feel rather uneasy—as her remarks usually did—and to hide my confusion I said something about the principle of equality and about chivalry towards women. On both these grounds one could argue that P-867 and the others were entitled to as much comfort as we PBX officers enjoyed.

She said this was absolute nonsense. “That old prejudice, chivalry, is completely out of date in an atomic era,” she asserted, adding with a laugh: “Next thing, you’ll want to fight rockets on horseback and wearing armour.” And as for equality, this was a principle which had no place on Level 7. I was doing a different job from hers, and I had been selected for this job because I myself was different in my emotional setup. The facilities which I enjoyed were not a privilege, but were necessary if I was to do my job efficiently, and that was all there was to it.

“But what about your job?” I asked. “Doesn’t your comfort make any difference?”

“Not as much,” she answered. “Take this washing business: a psychologist would get rid of that compulsion in himself—if he ever had it—long before he finished his training. I find our overcrowded bathroom a nuisance, of course, but it wouldn’t make me neurotic even if I couldn’t wash for a month.” And she giggled.

That remark struck me as most unpleasant, and for a moment I could not help feeling physically repelled by her. It occurred to me that if she were a perfect mistress of her science she would have been more wary of telling me about her disregard for hygiene—if she cared what I thought of her, as she seemed to.

APRIL 6

Earlier today the loudspeaker announced that a new programme will be inaugurated on Level 7: a series of live talks entitled ‘Know Thy Level’. The half-hour talks, to be given daily, will cover various aspects of life on Level 7.

This announcement has aroused a fair amount of interest. People down here have begun to look around them and learn about their environment, if only in a despairing attempt to adjust themselves to something they instinctively dislike. The new talks will be instructive, besides relieving the monotony.

People are especially curious about the fact that these will be live talks and not tape-recorded ones. There is such a lot of automation down here that one comes to assume that anything like a series of talks will have been canned long in advance, to be served up when and as often as required. That this is not the case is some consolation for the twelve-day limit of the music tapes, if one can judge by the fact that some of the people who took that business hardest have been discussing the new programme most enthusiastically. X- 107 thinks the talks will be very interesting: “We’ve got to know the world we live in, haven’t we?” he remarked just now.

I wonder if this programme may not have been specially arranged to counteract the disappointment felt over the music tapes. It is in their interest not to let us get too depressed.

Perhaps not. It could equally as well be that the programme was planned from the start, but not put out until we had had time to get adjusted to the new conditions. In the first few days down here most people would have been brooding too much to pay any attention to a series of lectures; but now that the initial shock has passed the talks may consolidate whatever adjustment we have been able to make.

It must be X-107’s influence which makes me puzzle about it like this. Through my discussions with him I seem to have acquired his habit of analysing every event and arrangement and weighing various arguments and alternatives. To begin with I took one side and X-107 took another, but these days it seems that I can do without him: I carry on the dialogues with myself, inventing arguments both for and against any given theory. I suppose this must mean that I am becoming more self-sufficient. A self-sufficient citizen of the self-sufficient world of Level 7.

Anyway, we shall soon learn all about the arrangements on Level 7. We shall understand the instructions which at present we just blindly carry out. So far we have been given commands—dehydrated mental food; now we shall be given the reasons for the commands—a real juicy meal. At least, I hope so.

The first programme is due any time now, and I shall have to break off writing this to listen to it. Here comes the announcement: the first talk in the new ‘Know Thy Level’ series, ‘Communications on Level 7’.

The talk is over. It was delivered in a clear and lively manner—by a woman, but not one of those who usually make announcements through the loudspeaker. A rather deep contralto voice. I would like to hear her sing.

The talk itself contained little that I did not know before. It explained the elaborate communications system on Level 7.

There was first the ‘general’ loudspeaker system whose announcements were heard everywhere—in working-rooms, in private rooms, in the lounge, in bathrooms and so on. Then there was the ‘functional’ system which transmitted instructions to a specific branch of the crew—the psychologists, say, or the PBX officers. Lastly there was the ‘private’ system which occasionally reacted to the problems of individual men and women. The three systems worked inter-dependently over the same set of speakers, and if it happened that two or more systems were competing for the use of the loudspeaker at the same time, the one which had priority would automatically cut out the others. In order of priority the functional system always came first, the general second and the private last.

The crew had means of communicating with the command as well. One had only to press one of the special red buttons (evidently connected to microphones) and one’s voice would be received by the communications centre and there, as at a telephone exchange, be connected to the appropriate authority, according to the nature of the message. But this system was to be used only in cases of real emergency: sickness, malfunctioning of installations, and things like that. (The speaker made no mention of hidden microphones operating without the button, such as the one X-107 and I detected in our room the other day. Perhaps they are only installed in PBX officers’ rooms.)

I had noticed the red buttons around before, of course, with their instructions: “In case of emergency press and speak.” But I have never used one so far. The only times I have felt like doing so were when I wanted to shout: “Let me out of here.”

The talk was restricted to Level 7’s internal communications. There was no mention of contact between Level 7 and the outside world, though this must exist or we should never know when to push the buttons or anything else. Information on that topic would have been fascinating, because it would have been a link with all we had left behind up there. Which is probably why it was not included in the talk: they do not want anything to remind us of life on the surface; we must get adjusted to life 4,400 feet down. So, no talk of any world outside our world.

This gives an ironical twist to ‘Know Thy Level’ “Don’t bother about other worlds,” the title seems to say. “Know about the only one you’ll ever live in.”

APRIL 7

An extraordinary thing happened in the lounge today. Usually people there form small groups of two or three, talking quietly with each other, and often hardly speaking at all. This time the picture was different. One