Kalin by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb [Tubb, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780441428021
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1969-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

It grew colder as the sun dipped lower beneath the horizon. One of the men stirring the contents of the strutted bag that was their caldron looked up and sniffed the air.

"It's getting close to winter," he said. "Too close. If we hope to live through it we'd better get in some fuel."

"Why bother?" A thin piebald stretched his broken boots closer to the fire. "We can go up near the smelter like we did last time."

"Sure," agreed the cook. "Then the wind changes and another seven of us die from the fumes. Or the guards make a raid and ten more of us wear the collar for 'stealing' their waste heat. No thanks. I'll stay free even if I have to freeze doing it."

"Free!" The piebald spat into the fire. In the glow of the flames his mottled face writhed in contempt. "How the hell are we free? Free to starve? To die?"

"We've got a choice," said a man from the shadows. "We don't have to jump when some overseer thumbs a switch."

"We don't have to eat their food either," snapped the piebald. "You see that food? Good and rich and filling. They dress decent, too. And live in shelters instead of out here on a junk heap. They even get time for recreation," he added. "And a bit of money to spend."

The man in the shadows laughed. "That's right. Facsimile women to spend it on. Surrogate women and surrogate wine. Living it up by spending pretend money on pretended dissipation. Robots to cuddle and chemicals to disorient the senses. But they can't get really drunk. Not that. They've got to keep a clear head for work." He laughed again. "Do you know why they do it? Give the slaves tokens to use as local cash?"

The mutant sneered. "Tell me."

"You can't take away a privilege a man hasn't got. So you give him something he doesn't want to lose. The more he hangs onto it, the greater hold you've got over him. Simple."

"That's right," said the piebald. "Now tell me one society that doesn't operate in exactly the same way. Listen," he said. "I was born on Zell. My folks worked a farm. Half of what they grew was theirs—less taxes. I guess they never saw more than a third of any crop they raised. And you know what? The tax assessors came around and told them they'd have to pay another ten percent. The king was getting married or something. He let them sweat for two days and then came back and told them how lucky they were. They were one of the chosen few to have their taxes cut by five percent. You know what? They were grateful. Grateful!"

"Didn't they know they were still going to pay an extra five percent?"

"Sure they knew. They weren't dumb. Not when it came to figures. But they were so relieved that it was only a five instead of a ten percent increase that they almost kissed the tax assessor's rear.

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