Читать книгу Commune 2000 AD - Mack Reynolds - Страница 7

Ted Swain stared at him. What possible connection could there be?”

Englebrecht was impatient. “See here, my boy, if you aren’t interested in this research …”

Ted said hurriedly, “Oh, it’s not that. The … the concept is simply so new to me.”

“Of course. However, you must admit that according to Morgan and Bandelier primitive society was communal. Based on the family, based on what amounted to an early form of communism. No such thing as private property. Often, even women were held in common.”

The man obviously had no idea of what he was talking about. Ted said desperately, “But the present-day communes are not composed of related families, necessarily, and though perhaps some of them practice community ownership, that isn’t necessarily the rule. It’s … well, it’s practically impossible to compare these modern developments in communal living with what pertained in Neolithic times.”

Englebrecht smirked. “Are you so sure?”

Ted Swain stared at him again.

Englebrecht said, “I understand that you, yourself, live in what amounts to a commune.”

Was the man completely drivel happy?

“Admittedly,” the academician said, with a brush of a fat hand, “it is not a clan society. What is the basic idea of the town into which you have retreated?”

Ted said unhappily, “Possibly ‘retreated’ is valid, but I never thought of it as a commune. We’re a community of possibly a thousand singles.”

“Singles?” the other said triumphantly, as though he had gained a telling point.

“Why, yes. None of us are married, though some live together. We have approximately eight hundred homes with a community center. Most of us are people like myself, students, some working in the arts, bachelor types, both male and female, who have jobs but want privacy in their off hours. That sort of thing. But I wouldn’t call it a commune.”

He felt somewhat desperate. This was falling apart by the minute. The man was flat, he hadn’t the vaguest idea of how things spun. How in the hell could he be holding down a department in a major university city?

“All right, very well, of course. Your commune, escaping from the pseudocities, stresses singles. Others stress doubles …” Englebrecht chuckled lewdly “… of any sex. Some with children, some without. Others are so-called extended families, where every man is married to every woman and the children are the children of all. And, I submit, isn’t that the communal society of most-primitive man?”

He didn’t know what he was talking about, and here he was head of the goddamned department, Ted Swain told himself all over again.

Ted said, with care, “Well, something like that However, although it’s not my subject, I don’t think very many of these present-day communes are based on the extended family. They’re usually based on a community of interest.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for instance, a new mobile town commune is shaping up in a camping area near where I live. I haven’t been over but I’ve heard about it. There are already some two hundred trailers and other mobile homes. Their, ah, theme is the arts. It’s a mobile art colony. You either have to be an artist, or be deeply interested in the arts. Other mobile towns, so I understand, might consist of none but elderly people, still others, sports-oriented people who take their town from one sporting event to the next.”

Ted Swain thought about it for a moment, then continued, “Then up in the area they used to call Vermont, I know of an agricultural commune. Modern farming isn’t practical in that area, as we know, so they had no difficulty getting permission from the Production Congress to take over several thousand acres. They farm it in the old manner, even using horses and mules rather than mechanical equipment. I suppose you might say they’re glorified gardeners, rather than farmers, but that’s their hobby, and that’s the theme of their establishment.”

Brian Fitz came in with the steaming cups of coffee, served first the academician and then his guest.

Englebrecht was saying, “Of course, fine. Very well. That is exactly what we want. Your task will be to seek out these various communes and find out all there is to find out about them. Acquire your material and then collate it. You might do several papers as you go along. Eventually, you will be able to put it all together and then write your dissertation, say some two hundred pages, comparing the ancient communes with those of the present. My boy, I absolutely guarantee you’ll get your degree.”

A tiny red light made itself evident on the academician’s desk and he frowned.

“Confound it, is a man not even safe from interruption in his own escape sanctum? See who that is, Brian.”

The secretary bustled out.

Ted Swain was frowning faintly at the patterns of sunlight on the floor. Finally he said, “Just what sort of material did you have in mind?”

His host rubbed plump hands together in satisfaction. “Everything, my boy. Find out everything; what motivates them, what their goals are. Dig into their economics.”

“Economics? What economics? They’re practically all on Universal Guaranteed Income, just like the rest of us. One of the reasons they formed into these communes is that they weren’t given jobs on muster day and banded together, retreating into their own hobbies or pleasures.”

Brian Fitz reentered the room, followed by another man. He said, “Academician Dollar is calling, sir.”

Franz Englebrecht came to his feet, teaming, his hand outstretched. “Ah, George. A pleasure to see you.”

Ted Swain stood too. He had never met the man before but had seen him on TV broadcasts on occasion. George O. Dollar was this region’s head of the National Data Banks, a position of no small importance. With the redivision of the former fifty states into more reasonable, easier-to-administer regions, a director of a regional section of the National Data Banks was an impressive rank.

The newcomer was cut from the same mold as was Englebrecht. That is, he was pushing sixty, was overweight in an era when few persons allowed themselves to be, was conservatively dressed and customarily wore an expression that in an earlier day would have been called that of a politician.

Dollar reached over the desk and shook Franz Englebrecht’s hand. “We must get together more often. I was in the neighborhood and couldn’t resist dropping by.” He looked questioningly at Ted Swain. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all, not at all, George. Meet Doctor Theodore Swain, one of the candidates under my wing for the academician degree.”

George Dollar shook Swain’s hand and he and Ted mumbled through the usual amenities while Fitz brought up a chair for the newcomer.

Dollar laughed pleasantly. “An academician, eh? Well, I’ll tell you, with the new teaching methods so many degrees are being taken that I wouldn’t be surprised if, in the near future, the Education Guild will come up with a higher one, still more difficult to achieve.” He laughed again, in deprecation. “Then we’d have Bachelor’s degree, Master’s, Doctor’s, Academician’s …” He looked over at his friend. “What could we call the next one, Franz?”

“Zoroaster forbid,” Englebrecht said jovially, reseating himself. “It was all I could do to make academician. It wasn’t as easy as it is today, when we were struggling along, was it, George?”

Ted Swain said, “It’s not as easy as all that today, either.”

The data-banks head looked at him. “What’s the subject of your dissertation, Doctor Swain?”

Ted Swain said unhappily, “Contrasts between primitive and modern communes.”

“Fascinating. I’m anxious to see it when you publish.”

“Very kind of you,” Ted muttered.

“No, I mean it. It will be invaluable to me. I’m anxious to get such a work into the data banks.”

Ted looked at him. “You mean it’s a good idea?”

“Certainly it is from my viewpoint. Our coverage of the commune phenomenon is a farce. Any additional data we can get will be most welcome. And perhaps it will lead to others delving into them. Just what aspects of the commune culture were you going to investigate?”

Ted shifted slightly in his chair. “That was just what we were discussing when you entered, sir.”

Englebrecht looked at the newcomer. “Any suggestions, George?”

The other grimaced thoughtfully. “Why, yes. And if Doctor Swain will contact me later, I’ll have additional ones. I’ll put some of my boys on it.” He turned to Ted, who was now feeling considerably better about the whole thing. “The communes differ radically, you undoubtedly know. It is difficult to find any two that are basically the same. Each has a different theme …” was that word again. “Each, uh, goes to hell in its own way. And almost all of them cooperate very poorly with the National Data Banks, and statistics in general. Most seem in sullen revolt against the data banks.”

He made a gesture with both hands, as though in despair. “Our civilization is based on data banks and the computers. How can we serve these people if they don’t keep us informed?”

He pursed his lips in thought and cocked his head slightly. “Almost any data on the make-up of these communes is of value to us; their raison d’être, their goals, their composition, so far as age groups, sexes, political beliefs and …”

“Political beliefs?” Ted said.

“Yes, certainly. An increasing number of the communards don’t participate in even the civil elections. Most aren’t eligible to participate in the guild elections, because they hold no jobs, but they don’t bother to vote in the civil elections, either. To put it bluntly, they’re anarchists.”

Ted Swain looked at the data-banks man. “Under our system, no person is obligated to vote. Nor, for that matter, to submit statistics on himself to his data-bank dossier.”

“That is true, though I’m not sure that there shouldn’t be such requirements. For the individual’s own good, understand? For instance, your medical record. Theoretically, from the time of your birth—even before, since we have the records of your parents and often your grandparents—every report on your health, every time you consult a doctor, is filed away. Suppose you are a resident of this Eastern area of our country but take a trip out to the West Coast and have an accident. Within moments, the doctor who treats you can have your complete medical record.”

“Admittedly,” Ted nodded. “But on the other hand, any National Security officer who busts you also has a complete record of your criminal career.”

Englebrecht laughed in deprecation. “Why not? Who in the world has a criminal record these days?”

“Some of those who live in the more far-out communes,” Dollar replied wryly. “Crime might be at a minimum, nowadays, since we’ve dispensed with money, but there is still some, usually psychopathic. The data banks should have records, even of criminals, for the sake of the criminal. How can he be treated if we don’t know what’s wrong with him?”

Dollar was pursing his lips. He said, “It occurs to me, Doctor Swain, that you are in an ideal position to make your investigation. You’ll be far more efficient than representatives from the data banks. They won’t suspect you. You can pretend that you wish to join them. You’re in the most favorable age group, have no present job position, are single—in short, an ideal recruit for any of a hundred or more of these communes.”

Englebrecht beamed. “Of course, of course,” he said. “Exactly what I had in mind.”

They discussed it further, both of the older men making suggestions on just what Ted should seek out in his research. Both demanded that he keep in touch with them, and allow them to peruse his early papers. Both thought that they would have additional suggestions when they had mulled it over a bit.

When Ted left, the other visitor stayed on, obviously to chat about old times. Two sixty-year-old cronies, reliving their youths.

In the elevator, returning to the motor pool in the basements of the administration building, Ted worried it over. He had the damnedest feeling that, in spite of the manner in which the conversation had gone, Dollar had already known about his proposed dissertation before he had entered. That his dropping in and inadvertently meeting Ted was a put-up matter, rehearsed beforehand.

For one thing, how had George Dollar known that Ted Swain was both without employment and single? No one had mentioned those facts, though Englebrecht knew of them.

The thing was that it didn’t make sense. What possible reason could the two have to snowball him into researching the communes?