The Junkmakers Read online

  Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Robert Cicconetti, and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from If: Worlds of Science Fiction July 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  THE JUNKMAKERS

  BY ALBERT TEICHNER

  ERIC WAS THE BEST ROBOT THEY'D EVER HAD--PERFECTLY TRAINED, EVER THOUGHTFUL, A JOY TO OWN. NATURALLY THEY HAD TO DESTROY HIM!

  * * * * *

  I

  Wendell Hart had drifted, rather than plunged, into the undergroundmovement. Later, discussing it with other members of the Savers'Conspiracy, he found they had experienced the same slow, almost casualawakening. His own, though, had come at a more appropriate time, justa few weeks before the Great Ritual Sacrifice.

  The Sacrifice took place only once a decade, on High Holy Day at dawnof the spring equinox. For days prior to it joyous throngs of workershelped assemble old vehicles, machine tools and computers in thepublic squares, crowning each pile with used, disconnected robots. Inthe evening of the Day they proudly made their private heaps on theneat green lawns of their homes. These traditionally consisted ofhousehold utensils, electric heaters, air conditioners and the familyservant.

  The wealthiest--considered particularly blessed--even had two or threeautomatic servants beyond the public contribution, which theydestroyed in private. Their more average neighbors crowded into theirgardens for the awesome festivities. The next morning everyone couldreturn to work, renewed by the knowledge that the Festival of AcuteShortages would be with them for months.

  Like everyone else, Wendell had felt his sluggish pulse gaining newlife as the time drew nearer.

  A cybernetics engineer and machine tender, he was down to ten hours aweek of work. Many others in the luxury-gorged economy had evensmaller shares of the purposeful activities that remained. At night hedreamed of the slagger moving from house to house as it burned, meltedand then evaporated each group of junked labor-blocking devices. Heeven had glorious daydreams about it. Walking down the park side ofhis home block, he was liable to lose all contact with the outsideworld and peer through the mind's eye alone at the climacticdestruction.

  Why, he sometimes wondered, are all these things so necessary to ourresurrection?

  Marie had the right answer for him, the one she had learned by rote inearly childhood: "All life moves in cycles. Creation and progressmust be preceded by destruction. In ancient times that meant we had todestroy each other; but for the past century our inherent need fornegative moments has been sublimated--that's the word the newsbroadcasts use--into proper destruction." His wife smiled. "I'm onlygiving the moral reason, of course. The practical one's obvious."

  Obvious it was, he had to concede. Men needed to work, not out ofeconomic necessity any more but for the sake of work itself. Still aman had to wonder....

  * * * * *

  He had begun to visit the Public Library Archives, poring over mustyreferences that always led to maddeningly frustrating dead ends. Forthe past century nothing really informative seemed to have beenwritten on the subject.

  "You must have government authorization," the librarian explained whenhe asked for older references. Which, naturally, made him add a littlesuspicion to his already large dose of wonder.

  "You're tampering with something dangerous," Marie warned. "It wouldmake more sense for you to take long-sleep pills until the work cyclepicks up."

  "I _will_ get to see those early references," he said through clenchedteeth.

  He did.

  All he had needed to say at the library was that his work in sociologyrequired investigation of some twentieth century files. The librarian,a tall, gaunt man, had given him a speculative glance. "Of course, youdon't have government clearance.... But we get so few inquiries insociology that I'm willing to offer a little encouragement." Hesighed. "Don't get many inquiries altogether. Most people just can'tstand reading. You might be interested to know this--one of the bestheadings to research in sociology is _Conspicuous consumption_."

  Then it was Wendell's turn to glance speculatively. The older man,around a healthy hundred and twenty-five, had a look of earnestdedication about him that commanded respect as well as confidence.

  "Conspicuous consumption? An odd combination of words. Never heard ofthat before. I will look it up."

  The librarian was nervous as he led his visitor into a referencebooth. "That's about all the help I can offer. If anything comes up,just ring for me. Burnett's the name. Uh--you won't mention I put youon the file without authorization, I hope."

  "Certainly not."

  As soon as he was alone he typed _Conspicuous consumption_ into thequery machine.

  It started grinding out long bibliographical sheets as well ascross-references to _Obsolescence, Natural_; _Obsolescence,Technological_; _Obsolescence, Planned_, plus even odder items such as_Waste-making, Art of_ and _Production, Stimulated velocity of_. Howdid such disparate subjects tie in with each other?

  * * * * *

  By the end of the afternoon he began to see, if only dimly, to whatthe unending stream of words on the viewer pointed.

  For centuries ruling classes had made a habit of conspicuously wastinggoods and services that were necessities for the mass of men. It wasthe final and highest symbol of social power. By the time of Louis XIVthe phenomenon had reached its first peak. The second came in thetwentieth century when mass production permitted millions to devotetheir lives to the acquisition and waste of non-essentials. Hart'stwenty-second century sensibilities were repelled by the examplesgiven. He shuddered at the thought of such anti-social behavior.

  But a parallel development was more appealingly positive in itsimplications. As the technological revolution speeded up, devices weresuperseded as soon as produced. The whole last half of the 1900's wasfilled with instances where the drawing board kept outstripping theassembly line.

  Hart remembered this last change from early school days but the later,final development was completely new and shocking to him. Advertisinghad pressured more and more people to replace goods _before_ they woreout with other goods that were, essentially, no improvement on theirpredecessors! Eventually just the word "NEW" was enough to triggerbuying panics.

  There had been growing awareness of what was happening, even sporadicresistance to it by such varied ideologies as Conservative Thrift,Asocial Beatnikism and Radical Inquiry. But, strangely enough, veryfew people had cared. Indeed, anything that diminished consumption wasviewed as dangerously subversive.

  "And rightly so!" was his first, instinctive reaction. His second,reasoned one, though, was less certain.

  The contradiction started to give him a headache. He hurried from thescanning room, overtaxed eyes blinking at the rediscovery of daylight.

  Burnett walked him to the door. "Not feeling well?" he inquired.

  "I'll be all right. I just need a few days real work." He stopped."No, that's not why. I'm confused. I've been reading crazy thingsabout obsolescence. They used to have strange reasons for it. Why,some people even said replacements were not always improvements andwere unnecessary!"

  Burnett could not completely hide his pleasure. "You've been gettinginto rather deep stuff."

  "Deep--or nonsensical!"

  "True. True. Come back tomorrow and read some more."

  "Maybe I will." But he was happy to get away from the librarybuilding.

  Marie was horrified when he told her that evening about his studies."Don't go back there," she pleaded. "It's dangero
us. It's subversive!How could people say such awful things? You remember that Mr. Johnsonaround the corner? He seemed such a nice man, too, until they arrestedhim without giving a reason ... and how messed up he was when he gotout last year. I'll bet that kind of talk explains the whole thing.It's crazy. Everyone knows items start wearing out and they have to bereplaced."

  "I realise that, honey, but it's interesting to speculate. Don't wehave guaranteed freedom of thought?"

  She threw up her hands as if dealing with a child. "Naturally we havefreedom of thought. But you should have the right thoughts, shouldn'tyou? Wendell, promise me you won't go back to that library."

  "Well--"

  "Reading's a very risky thing anyway." Her eyes were saucer-roundwith fright. "Please, darling. Promise."

  "Sure, you're right, honey. I promise."

  * * * * *

  He meant it when he said it. But that night, tossing from side toside, he felt less certain. In the morning, as he went out, Marieasked him where he was going.

  "I want to observe the preparations for the Preliminary Rites."

  "Now that," she grinned, "is what I call _healthy_ thinking."

  For a while he did stand around the Central Plaza along with thousandsof other idlers, watching the robot dump trucks assemble the piles ofdiscarded equipment. The crowd cheered loudly as an enormous crane wasknocked over on its side.

  "There's fifty millions worth out there!" a bystander exulted. "It'sgoing to be the biggest Preliminary I've ever seen."

  "It certainly will be!" he said, catching a little of the other man'senthusiasm despite his previous doubts.

  Preliminary Rites were part of the emotion-stoking that preceded theHighest Holy Day. Each Rite was greater and more destructive thanthose that had gone before. As tokens of happy loyalty, viewers threwhats and watches and stickpins onto the pile just prior to the entryof the slaggers. What better way could be found for each man tomanifest his common humanity?

  After a while doubt started assailing him again, and Hart foundhimself returning almost against his will to the Library Building.Burnett greeted him cordially. "To-day's visit is completely legal,"he said. "Anyone doing olden time research is automatically authorizedif he has been here before."

  "I hope my thought can be as legal," Hart blurted out. "Well--that wasjust a joke."

  "Oh, I can recognize a joke when I hear one, my friend."

  Hart went to his booth, feeling the man's eyes measuring him moreintently than ever. It was almost a welcome relief to start readingthe reference scanner once more.

  But not for long. As the wider pattern unfolded, his anxiety stateintensified.

  It was becoming perfectly obvious that many, many replacements used tobe made long before they were needed. And it was still true. _I shouldnot be thinking such thoughts_, he told himself, _I should be outsidein the Plaza, being normal and human_.

  But he could see how it had come about, step by step. First there hadbeen pressure from the ruling echelons, many of whose members onlymaintained their status through excessive production. Then, much moreimportant, there had been the willful blindness of the masses whowanted to keep their cozy, familiar treadmills going.

  He slammed down the _off_ button and went out to the librarian's desk."Do people want to work all the time," he said, "for the sake of workalone?"

  He immediately regretted the question. But Burnett did not seem tomind. "You've only stated the positive reason, Mr. Hart. The negativeone could be stronger--the fear of what they would have to do if theydid not have to work much over a long period."

  "What would it mean?"

  "Why, they would have to start thinking! Most people don't mindthought if it's concentrated in a narrow range. But if they have tothink in a broad range to keep boredom away--no, that's too high aprice for most of them! They avoid it when they can. And under presentcircumstances they can." He stopped. "Of course that's a purelyhypothetical fiction I'm constructing."

  Hart shook his head. "It sounds awfully real to be purely--" He, too,caught himself up. "Of course, you're only positing a fiction."

  Burnett started putting his desk papers away. "I'm leaving now. ThePreliminary begins soon. Want to come?"

  The man's face was stolidly blank except for his brown eyes whichburned like a zealot's. Fascinated by them, Hart agreed. It would bebest to return anyway. Some of the bystanders had looked too curiouslyat him when he had left. Who would willingly leave a Rite when it wasapproaching its climax?

  II

  The Plaza was now thronged and the sacrificial pile towered over ahundred feet in the cleared center area. Then, as the first collective_Ah!_ arose, a giant slagger lumbered in from the east, the directionprescribed for such commencements. Long polarity arms glided smoothlyout of the central mechanism and reached the length for TotalDestruction.

  "That's the automatic setting," parents explained to their children.

  "When?" the children demanded eagerly.

  "Any moment now."

  Then the unforeseen occurred.

  There was a rumbling from inside the pile and a huge jagged patchworkof metal shot out, smashing both arms. The slagger teetered, swayingmore and more violently from side to side until it collapsed on itsside. The rumbling grew. And then the pile, like a mechanical cancer,ripped the slagger apart and then absorbed it.

  The panicking crowd fell back. Somewhere a child began crying,provoking more hubbub. "Sabotage!" people were crying. "Let's getaway!"

  Nothing like this had ever happened before. But Hart knew instantlywhat had caused it. Some high-level servo mechanisms had not beenthoroughly disconnected. They had repaired their damages, then imposedtheir patterns on the material at hand.

  A second slagger came rushing into the square. It dischargedimmediately; and the pile finally collapsed and disintegrated as itwas supposed to.

  The crowd was too shocked to feel the triumph it had come for, butHart could not share their horror. Burnett eyed him. "Better lookindignant," he said. "They'll be out for blood. Somebody must havesabotaged the setup."

  "Catch the culprits!" he shouted, joining the crowd around him. "Stopanti-social acts!"

  "Stop anti-social acts!" roared Burnett; and, in a whisper: "Hart,let's get out of here."

  As they pushed their way through the milling crowd, a loudspeaker boomedout: "Return home in peace. The instincts of the people are good. Healthydestruction forever! The criminals will be tracked down ... if theyexist."

  "A terrible thing, friend," a woman said to them.

  "Terrible, friend," Burnett agreed. "Smash the anti-social elementswithout mercy!"

  Three children were clustered together, crying. "I wanted to set theright example for them," said the father to anyone who would listen."They'll _never_ get over this!"

  Hart tried to console them. "Next week is High Holy Day," he said, butthe bawling only increased.

  The two men finally reached a side avenue where the crowd was thinner."Come with me," Burnett ordered, "I want you to meet some people."

  * * * * *

  He sounded as if he were instituting military discipline but Hart,still dazed, willingly followed. "It wasn't such a terrible thing," hesaid, listening to the distant uproar. "Why don't they shut up!"

  "They will--eventually." Burnett marched straight ahead and lookedfixedly in the same direction.

  "The thing could have gobbled up the city if there hadn't been asecond slagger!" said a lone passerby.

  "Nonsense," Burnett muttered under his breath. "You know that, Hart.Any self-regulating mechanism reaches a check limit sooner than that."

  "It has to."

  They turned into a large building and went up to the fiftieth floor."My apartment," said Burnett as he opened the door.

  There were about fifteen people in the large living room. They rose,smiling, to greet their host. "Let's save the self-congratulations forlater," snapped Burnett. "These were merely our own prel
iminaries.We're not out of the woods yet. This, ladies and gentlemen, is ournewest recruit. He has seen the light. I have fed him basic data andI'm sure we're not making a mistake with him."

  Hart was about to demand what was going on when a short man with eyesas intense as Burnett's proposed a toast to "the fiasco in the Plaza."Everyone joined in and he did not have to ask.

  "Burnett, I don't quite understand why I am here but aren't you takinga chance with me?"

  "Not at all. I've followed your reactions since your first visit tothe library. Others here have also--when you were completely unawareof being observed. The gradual shift in viewpoint is familiar to us.We've all been through it. The really important point is that you nolonger like the kind of world into which you were born."

  "That's true, but no one can change it."

  "We _are_ changing it," said a thin-faced young woman. "I work in aservo lab and--."

  "Miss Wright, time enough for that later," interrupted Burnett. "Whatwe must know now, Mr. Hart, is how much you're willing to do for yournew-found convictions? It will be more work than you've ever dreamedpossible."

  He felt as exhilarated as he did in the months after High Holy Day."I'm down to under ten hours labor a week. I'd do anything for yourgroup if I could get