The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

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       The teachers who are resigning, for instance, are the nincompoops who've got to be pruned out so that competent teachers can come in. And, with the higher salaries, more and more competent men and women are going to be attracted to the job. The universities are going to be freer and better places to work in; they won't be monopolies any more.

      "Monopolies?" Lou said.

      In restraint of knowledge, Malone thought. The old monopoly was in restraint of trade, and legal action helped to kill that kind. The monopoly in restraint of knowledge took a little more killing, but you're doing the job quite nicely. And not only in the schools.

       The factional fights are having the same result. Look at the AAAM, for instance. That organization is a monopoly, pure and simple. Simple, anyhow. And what the factional fights are doing to it is just breaking up the monopoly and letting knowledge free again.

       And then we come to Congress. Senators and representatives are having a terrible time, some of them. There's a fight going on between Furbisher and Deeks because Deeks has discovered some evidence against Furbisher. Who's having the terrible time?

       All of them?

       Nope. Furbisher is. Deeks isn't.

       And that's the way it's going all over. The useful, necessary legislation is going through Congress now without being cluttered up by stupid dam bills and water bills and other idiocies that simply clog the works.

       And then, of course, there are the gang wars. Now, I feel as sorry for the Sanitation Department as anybody, but at least they're cleaning the streets for good now. The boys who are dying off and getting sent to hospitals and jails are just the ones who should have been sent away long ago. Everybody knows that, but nobody can prove it.

       Except the PRS.

       And the PRS is busy doing just what it can about that proof.

       And all it takes is a few of you. I don't know how many--I don't know how many of you there really are, for that matter. But it must be a fair number to stock all your branches with "top-level" executives and the lower-level men and women who really believe in the PRS blind, and do their best to keep it working.

       There are probably a lot of ways it might work, but the simplest and best way I can think of is this one: there's a clearing-house sort of set-up, and information comes in from various telepathic spies working for the PRS, about various projected activities of the imbecile contingent.

       And, from this information, you figure out the best time and place for lightning to strike, and you select the kind of lightning it's going to be. Here it's a misplaced letter, there some "facts" that aren't facts, and somewhere else a dropped package of secret records. Somebody goofs--and is exposed.

       Maybe it works on the local-organization level. Maybe there are teams all over the country, all ready to synchronize their minds and jab somebody in the thought processes at just the right time, in just the right way, as soon as they get the word. That's one way of doing it, maybe the best way.

       There are others, but it doesn't really matter how that end of it works. The important thing is that it does work.

       And, when it works, it can certainly create quite a mess. Yes-sirree, Bob. Or Lou, as the case may be.

       I sure hope somebody's picking all this up, because I'd hate to have to explain it again when I get there.

       Are you there, anybody?

      Malone imagined he heard Lou's voice. "Yes, Ken," she said. "Yes, I'm here."

      But, of course, there was no way for them to get through to him. They were telepathic, but Kenneth J. Malone wasn't he told himself sadly.

      Hello, out there, he thought. I hope you've been listening so far, because there isn't going to be too much more. But there are a couple of things that still need to be cleared up. I've got some answers, but there are others I'm going to need.

       There's Russia, for instance. It does seem to me as if your teams in Russia, whatever they're calling themselves, are having a lot more fun than the U. S. teams. For one thing they've got an easier job.

       In this country, the teams are looking for ways to get rid of the blockheads, and there are a lot of them. In Russia, you don't have to get rid of the blockheads. All you have to do is clear the road for them. And you can do that by fouling up the more intelligent people.

      "Intelligent people?" he could hear Lou say.

      Intelligence doesn't mean good sense, Malone thought. I don't doubt that the men who are maintaining Russia's power are intelligent men-- but what they're doing is bad for the world as a whole, in the long run.

       So you foul them up, and leave the blockheads a clear field to run the country into the ground. And that's easier than fouling up the blockheads.

       Sure it is.

       There are fewer intelligent, active people around than there are blockheads.

       Always were.

       And maybe there always will be--but not if the PRS can help it.

      Oh, and by the way, Malone thought. You do know how I spotted you, don't you? You were tuned in then, weren't you?

       And I don't mean just Lou. I mean all of you.

       In a world of blind men, the man who can see stands out. In a world of the insane, the sane man stands out.

       And in a world where organizations are regularly being confused and fouled up--either as whole organizations, or through your attempts to get rid of individual members--a smooth-running, efficient organization stands out like a sore thumb.

       Frankly, it took me longer to see it than it should have.

       But I've got the answer at last--the main answer. Though, as I say, there are some others I'd like to have.

       Like, for instance, Russia. And exactly what did happen that night in Moscow.

      Chapter 14

       Table of Contents

      At this point Malone suddenly became aware of a sound that was not coming from his own mind. It was coming from somewhere behind his car, and it was a very loud sound. It was, he discovered when he looked back, the siren of a highway patrolman on a motorcycle, coming toward him at imminent risk of life and limb and waving frantically with an unbelievably free hand.

      Malone glanced down at the speedometer. With a sigh, he realized that his reflexes had allowed him a little leeway, and that he was going slightly over the legal speed limit for this СКАЧАТЬ