"Mack Reynolds - Criminal In Utopia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

MACK REYNOLDS

Criminal in Utopia

Mack Reynolds is a unique writer in modern science fiction student of political economy, world traveler, the son of radical parents, and himself a onetime lecturer for the Socialist Labor Party. He is one of the few to treat such issues as Third World development problems, multinational corporations, and the connections between economic relationships and modernization. Over the years he has built an enormous body of work on socioeconomic themes.
"Criminal in Utopia" finds him at the top of his form as he portrays a society operating entirely on the principle of credit. The story is really a careful extrapolation of present trends and conditions-certainly the Western world has already reached the point where serious alterations in the supply of credit would result in severe social and economic dislocations.
On a personal level, most of us are aware of the revolutionary effect on purchasing patterns and mercantile life caused by the proliferation of credit cards, which are now accepted for such diverse goods and services as gas, food, clothing, entertainment, and college tuition. While it is true that credit (at least in small amounts) is now relatively easy to obtain, the system has a number of disconcerting side effects, not the least of which is the amount of information on the personal lives of millions accumulating in the memory banks of computers. There are legal means developing to stop this practice. On the other hand, the development of credit has led to a variety of rackets involving theft and fraud. Mack Reynolds turns his attention to the latter problem with a story that proves that even in the future, skillful individuals will find a way to beat the system.

Rex Moran dialed his wrist teevee phone for the time and looked at the clock face that appeared on the screen. A robot voice said, "When the bell rings it will be exactly two minutes until eight hours." A tiny bell rang.

Rex Moran grunted and looked about the small apartment. He had better get going.
First, though, he took his Universal Credit Card from an inner pocket of his jerkin and inserted it in the slot of his standard teevee phone which sat on his living cum bedroom's sole table. He said into the screen, "Credit balance check, please."
Within moments, a robot voice said, "Ten shares of Inalienable Basic. No shares of Variable Basic. Current cash credit, one dollar and twenty-three cents."
"One dollar and twenty-three cents," he muttered. "Holy living Zoroaster. I didn't think I'd have to start with that little on hand."
He dialed Credit and waited until a face faded in on the screen. It was a businesslike, brisk, possibly impatient face.
"Jason May, here. Assistant Credit Manager, Inalienable Basic Dividends," he said.
Rex Moran put his Uni-Credit Card on the screen and said, "I'd like an advance on my dividends."
The other was seated at a desk. "Just a moment, please," he said and touched a button. He listened to a report on a desk phone screen then looked back at Moran. "You're already two months ahead."
"I know that," Rex Moran said doggedly, "but it's an emergency. "
"It is always an emergency, Mr. Moran," the other said flatly. "What is the emergency? Your records show that you are almost invariably as far ahead as you can get on your monthly dividends. As you must know, the government charges interest on such advances. In the long run, Mr. Moran, you lose."
"I know, I know," Rex Moran said, an element of complaint in his voice. "I've had a long set of bad luck. One thing after another."
"What is the current emergency, please?"
Rex Moran wished he had thought this out in more detail before launching into his fling. He said, "I've got a sick brother, I have to go help. "
"Where is this brother, Mr. Moran?"
"In Panama City."
"One moment, please." The other went back to one of his desk screens. In only moments he looked up again with a sigh.
"Mr. Moran, the computer banks have no records of you having a brother at all, in Panama City or anywhere else. Request denied. And Mr. Moran . . ."

"Yeah?" Rex Moran said in disgust.
"It is a minor offense to lie to a credit manager in attempt to secure an advance on dividends. I shall take no action on this occasion, but the fact will be entered on your record in the computer banks."
"Oh, great," Rex Moran growled. He flicked off his screen. "I didn't expect that to work anyway," he muttered.
He thought over his plans for a few minutes, then squared his shoulders and dialed the local branch of the ultra-market, on his auto delivery box. He was a man in his early thirties, mildly burly in build and with a not really unpleasant but a broken face of one who has either seen military combat, or perhaps been a pugilist. In actuality, neither was the case.
The ultra-market in the screen, he dialed the children's toy section, boys' toys, and then military-type toys. He finally narrowed it down to guns and dialed one that came to only seventy-cents. It would have to do. He put his Uni-Credit Card in the slot, his thumbprint on the screen and ordered the toy.
Within minutes, it was in the auto-delivery box, and he put it in the side pocket of his jerkin. It was on the smallish side, but black and at any distance at all realistic enough for his purpose.
He moved over to his library booster teevee screen and dialed a newspaper, then the paper of two weeks previous and the obituaries. He went through several papers before he found the one that seemed most likely, by the address and the information in the item, and made some notes with his stylo.
Finally, he dialed the address and waited until a face faded in on his phone screen.
The other frowned at him, in lack of recognition.
Rex Moran said, "Mr. Vassilis? My name is Roy McCord."
The other was a tired-looking obvious aristocrat, perhaps a few years the other side of sixty.
Still frowning, he said, "What can I do for you, Mr. McCord?"
"I just got back into town and heard the bad news. I'm a friend forgive me, Mr. Vassilis--was a friend of Jerry Jerome."
The other's face lightened slightly and then went sad. "Ah, I see. I am afraid he hadn't mentioned your name, but then Jerome had many friends of whom I knew little."
"Yes, sir. I'd like the opportunity to offer my condolences in person," Rex Moran began.
The older man was frowning slightly and began to respond.

But Moran hurried on. "But I also have something of Jerry's that I suppose should go to you."
Rex Moran managed to look slightly embarrassed. "Well, sir, I . . . well, I think it would be better if I just brought it over."
The other was mystified. However, he shrugged. "Very well, young man. Let me see, I shall be free at, say nine hours this morning, and should be able to give you a few minutes."
"Fine, sir. I'll be there." Rex Moran switched off the screen before the other could say anything further.
For a moment he stared down at the blank screen, then shifted muscles in his shoulders. "First step," he said. "So far, so good. Maybe I shouldn't have used this phone, but in the long run it won't make any difference."