Decker, disclaimed the 'outworn and futile' ideas of democracy and human equality, and substituted a system in which human beings were evaluated 'functionally'—that is to say, by the role each filled in the economic sequence. The underlying thesis was that it was right and proper for a man to exercise over his fellows whatever power was inherent in his function, and that any other form of social organization was silly, visionary, and contrary to the
'natural order.'
The complete interdependence of modern economic life seems to have escaped him entirely.
His ideas were dressed up with a glib mechanistic pseudopsychology based on the observed orders of precedence among barnyard fowls, and on the famous Pavlov conditioned reflex experiments on dogs. He failed to note that human beings are neither dogs nor chickens. Old Dr. Pavlov ignored him entirely, as he had ignored so many others who had blindly and unscientifically dogmatized about the meaning of his important, but strictly limited, experiments.
Functionalism did not take hold at once—during the '30s almost everyone, from truck driver to hatcheck girl, had a scheme for setting the world right in six easy lessons; and a surprising percentage managed to get their schemes published. But it gradually spread. Functionalism was particularly popular among little people everywhere who could persuade themselves that their particular jobs were the indispensable ones, and that therefore, under the 'natural order,' they would be top dogs. With so many different functions actually indispensable such self- persuasion was easy.
Gaines stared at Van Kleeck for a moment before replying. 'Van,' he said slowly,
'you don't really think you can get away with this, do you?'
The little man puffed out his chest. ' 'Why not? We have gotten away with it. You can't start Strip 20 until I am ready to let you, and I can stop the whole road, if necessary.'
Gaines was becoming uncomfortably aware that he was dealing with unreasonable conceit, and held himself patiently in check. 'Sure you can, Van—but how about the rest of the country? Do you think the United States army will sit quietly by and let you run California as your private kingdom?'
Van Kleeck looked sly. 'I've planned for that. I've just finished broadcasting a manifesto to all the road technicians in the country, telling them what we have done, and telling them to arise, and claim their rights. With every road in the country stopped, and people getting hungry, I reckon the President will think twice before sending the army to tangle with us. Oh, he could send a force to capture, or kill, me—
I'm not afraid to die!—but he doesn't dare start shooting down road technicians as a class, because the country can't get along without us— consequently, he'll have to get along with us—on our terms!'
There was much bitter truth in what he said. If an uprising of the road technicians became general, the government could no more attempt to settle it by force than a man could afford to cure a headache by blowing out his brains. But was the uprising general?
'Why do you think that the technicians in the rest of the country will follow your lead?'
'Why not? It's the natural order of things. This is an age of machinery; the real power everywhere is in the technicians, but they have been kidded into not using their power with a lot of obsolete catch phrases. And of all the classes of technicians, the most important, the absolutely essential, are the road technicians. From now on they run the show— it's the natural order of things!' He turned away for a moment and fussed with some papers on the desk before him; then he added: 'That's all for now, Gaines—I've got to call the White House, and let the president know how things stand. You carry on, and behave yourself, and you won't get hurt.'
Gaines sat quite still for some minutes after the screen cleared. So that's how it was. He wondered what effect, if any, Van Kleeck's invitation to strike had had on road technicians elsewhere. None, he thought—but then he had not dreamed that it could happen among his own technicians. Perhaps he had made a mistake in refusing to take time to talk to anyone outside the road. No—if he had stopped to talk to the Governor, or the newspapermen, he would still be talking. Still—
He dialed Davidson.
'Any trouble in any other sectors, Dave?'
'No, chief.'
'Or on any other road?'
'None reported.'
'Did you hear my talk with Van Kleeck?'
'I was cut in—yes.'
'Good. Have Hubbard call the President and the Governor, and tell them that I am strongly opposed to the use of military force as long as the outbreak is limited to this one road. Tell them that I will not be responsible if they move in before I ask for help.'
Davidson looked dubious. 'Do you think that is wise, chief?'
'I do! If we try to blast Van and his red-hots out of their position, we may set off a real, countrywide uprising. Futhermore, he could wreck the road so that God himself couldn't put it back together. What's your rolling tonnage now?'
'Fifty-three percent under evening peak.'
'How about Strip 20?'
'Almost evacuated.'
'Good. Get the road clear of all traffic as fast as possible. Better have the chief of police place a guard on all entrances to the road to keep out new traffic. Van may stop all the strips any time—or I may need to myself. Here is my plan: I'm going down inside with these armed cadets. We will work north, overcoming any resistance we meet. You arrange for watch technicians and maintenance crews to follow immediately behind us. Each rotor, as they come to it, is to be cut out, then hooked into the Stockton control board. It will be a haywire rig, with no safety interlocks, so use enough watch technicians to be able to catch trouble before it happens.
'If this scheme works, we can move control of the Sacramento Sector nght out from under Van's feet, and he can stay in his Sacramento control office until he gets hungry enough to be reasonable.'
He cut off and turned to the subsector engineer of the watch. 'Edmunds, give me a helmet—and a pistol.'
'Yes, sir.' He opened a drawer, and handed his chief a slender, deadly-looking weapon. Gaines belted it on, and accepted a helmet, into which he crammed his head, leaving the antinoise ear flaps up. Blekinsop cleared his throat.
'May ... uh ... may I have one of those helmets?' he inquired.
'What?' Gaines focused his attention. 'Oh—You won't need one, Mr. Blekinsop.
I want you to remain right here until you hear from me.'
'But—' The Australian statesman started to speak, thought better of it, and subsided.
From the doorway the cadet engineer of the watch demanded the chief engineer's attention. 'Mr. Gaines, there is a technician out here who insists on seeing you—a man named Harvey.'
'Can't do it.'
'He's from the Sacramento Sector, sir.'
'Oh! Send him in.'
Harvey quickly advised Gaines of what he had seen and heard at the guild meeting that afternoon. 'I got disgusted and left while they were still jawin', chief. I didn't think any more about it until Strip 20 stopped rolling. Then I heard that the trouble was in Sacramento Sector, and decided to look you up.'
'How long has this been building up?'
'Quite some time, I guess. You know how it is. There are a few soreheads everywhere, and a lot of them are Functionalists. But you can't refuse to work with a man just because he holds different political views. It's a free country.'
'You should have come to me before, Harvey.' Harvey looked stubborn. Gaines studied his face. 'No, I guess you are right. It's my business to keep tabs on your mates, not yours. As you say, it's a free country. Anything else?'
'Well—now that it has come to this, I thought maybe I could help you pick out the ringleaders.'
'Thanks. You stick with me. We are going down inside and try to clear up this mess.'
The office door opened suddenly, and a technician and a cadet appeared, lugging a burden between them. They deposited it on the floor, and waited.
It was a young man, quite evidently dead. The front of his dungaree jacket was soggy with blood. Gaines
