Prescription for Chaos (47 page)

"A sort of electronic telepathy?" she said.

"Not exactly," said Mike, "because no one else is aware of the thought as yet. The signal accompanying the thought has only been recorded. But it can be transferred provided a second person's recent memory is first triggered, and then while that small section of the brain is sensitized, the stored signal previously taken from another brain is transmitted to it. It's a clumsy procedure, but it works."

"But what happens?" asked Sue. "Does the second person seem to receive a thought from the first person?"

"Oh, no. The second person finds himself suddenly with
two complete sets
of memories. He has his own memories as he plans the other man's death. He has also the memories of the other man, as he approaches the spot, as he hears the footsteps behind him, as he turns, as he sees the knife, as suddenly he realizes he hasn't time to get out of the way—it's all there in full detail,
just as clearly as if he lived it himself
."

"Oh," said Sue, her eyes widening.

"You know," said Mike, "the impression a narrow escape will make. The man, for instance, who jams his car to a halt at the cliff-edge, to admire the view, and who suddenly feels the brake pedal go all the way to the floor. That man can get the parking brake on before the car starts to roll, but when he steps out of the car, looks at the pool of brake fluid underneath, then looks down over the edge of the cliff, something happens inside of him. His mind can't help putting that brake fluid and the cliff-edge together. He is likely to wake up in a sweat for some time afterward. It's much the same thing with the would-be killer, who also puts two and two together. The victim's memory is now his own, seen from within, and experienced just as the victim experienced it. When he thinks of the incident, the murderer can't help identifying with the victim."

Sue shivered, "I don't believe I want to try any murders."

"No," said Mike.

He glanced at the front page photographs in the newspaper she was holding, and pointed out the horror-struck face of Johnston's wife.

"It makes quite a difference," he said, "if the victim turns out to be yourself."

The three tough youthful figures rose intently from the shrubbery, to watch the elderly man stroll through the sunlit park toward the lake. Briefly they studied his neatly pressed expensive blue suit, his stylish black cane, and his air of peaceful assurance. Then the tallest of the three jerked his head, and they were out from behind the brush.

They crossed the grass swiftly, almost silently.

Eric Morgan felt the warmth of the sun through his suit, breathed the comparative freshness of the air, enjoyed the park's varied shades of green and brown, and light and shadow. Ahead, still out of sight, was the lake. Today, the lake should be calm, reflecting the trees along the shore, though on a more breezy day the waves would sparkle, and—

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp buzz—a sound that seemed right in his head.

There was an instant before Morgan's nearly automatic reaction could operate. In that instant, his attention was drawn to the chain of associations roused by the buzz, and, for a moment, he seemed to be back there at the beginning, two years ago, looking at the small white card, like a business card, that Ben Stevenson had handed him:

Benjamin L. Stevenson
Associate
The Prudent Assurance Co.
 

Morgan blinked at the card, then looked at Stevenson.

"What's this, Ben? I thought you'd retired, too."

Stevenson grinned.

"I
have
retired."

There was something carefree about Stevenson that puzzled Morgan.

"Retired from W-S," said Morgan, referring to Stevenson's old company, "and working for this Prudent Assurance outfit?"

Stevenson continued to smile.

"Not working
for
them. Working
with
them."

Morgan, faintly irritated, glanced back at the card, and on impulse turned it over. The reverse side bore an address and phone number in Stevenson's handwriting. Morgan started to hand it back, but Stevenson stopped him.

"I wrote that down for you. Listen, Eric, how does retirement hit
you
."

"You want a frank answer?"

"That's why I asked."

"I figure everybody dies sometime. I also figure everybody
retires
sometime. Retirement is like death and taxes. And old age. You're stuck with it. That's how I feel about retirement."

Stevenson nodded. "My own feelings exactly."

"But, what good—"

"That's why I gave
you
the card. I have to pass that card to someone. It's a condition of association with Prudent."

"Wait a minute. 'Association' means employment? Or
what
?"

"Go to that address and they'll tell you."

"Generous of them." Morgan's eyes narrowed. "What's their line of business?"

"Assurance company."

"They're insurers?"

"Not in the usual sense. If you have an automobile accident insurance policy, then you're insured against auto accidents, right?"

Morgan frowned. "Go on."

"But," said Stevenson, "you can wrap the car around a light pole any time. All your insurance means is—you or your heirs will receive a certain amount of reimbursement—a cash payment, or protection against being forced to pay damages—in case of an auto accident. Prudent is different."

"How?"

"Its policy aims to protect you against
the actual situation specified
."

There was a silence as Morgan stared at Stevenson.

Stevenson smiled, and raised his hand.

"If you're interested, they'll tell you about it. I have to go now. See you."

Morgan blankly raised his hand in good-bye, then, during his solitary lunch, he glanced again at the card, looked up at the phone booth in the back of the restaurant, then glanced at his watch. Like a blow at the back of the head, it came to him again that he had
nothing to do
this afternoon. A succession of empty days stretched out before him like vacant subway platforms in a deserted city. He got up, paid his check, and went outside, calculating the shortest route to the Prudent office.

Twenty-five minutes later, he stood before a tall narrow marble-faced building, and read its discreet bronze plaque:

He crossed the marble pavement, pushed open one of the short row of polished glass doors, and went in. A line in the building directory caught his attention:

Prudent Assurance, Information 401

Morgan stepped into the nearest elevator, and punched the button for the fourth floor. 401 proved to be a large room divided into cubicles. A pretty girl flashed a smiled at him, and directed him to a Mr. Benvenuto.

Morgan, unable to fit the arrangement into his experience, shook hands with Benvenuto, and held out Stevenson's card.

"A business acquaintance of mine recommended Prudent. He said you don't
reimburse
—say—accident victims who have one of your policies. You provide
against the accident's happening in the first place
."

Benvenuto studied the card briefly, and smiled.

"Did Mr. Stevenson draw a distinction between the approach of an insurer and
our
approach, so far as policies are concerned?"

"He drew the distinction I've just mentioned."

Benvenuto returned the card, and sat back.

"The usual insurance company policy is based on probabilities.
Our
policies are based on probabilities. But there is a difference. We attempt to
alter the probabilities
in our policy-holders' favor. What do you consider to be the usual basis of an insurance company's operations?"

Morgan, frowning, settled back.

"The idea is that there are
bound
to be a certain number of accidents. Other things being equal, the cost of these accidents will naturally fall on those who
have
the accidents. These costs will often be so heavy as to ruin people financially. But—by spreading the costs over a great number of individuals, each individual has to bear only a small share of the total expense, whether he had an accident or not. And he
can
bear that share of the expense. The underlying principle insurance companies are based on is—'Many hands make light labor.'"

Benvenuto nodded. "The drawback is that many hands make light labor
only
if the burden stays below a certain limit."

Morgan thought a moment, nodded, and spoke dryly.

"Yes, the idea doesn't work too well if the many hands are carrying a stock tank—open at the top and they have to pass under a waterfall while they're carrying it."

"No. And that, in principle, is almost exactly what
has
happened. Someone hit lightly by a car used to be embarrassed. How clumsy to get in the way! A jury asked to award a verdict against an honest man who had accidentally bumped someone else was likely to award just enough to cover the actual real visible damage. But the existence of the insurance company has changed all that. Now the jury may well decide to wring a big award from the insurance company. And a person only lightly damaged, knowing the jury may so decide, sees the chance to get a big award, and acts accordingly. The same general principle holds to one degree or another in hospital insurance, fire insurance, malpractice insurance, and what-have-you. The many hands pick up the open-topped water tank, and, lo! the burden is light! Then they pass under the waterfall of public attitudes and stagger out on the other side scarcely able to bear the burden. Hospital
insurance
now costs, just for the premiums, what a considerable stay in the hospital used to cost. A year's car insurance can cost more now than the car itself once cost."

Morgan nodded. "But what can you do about it?"

"There are other ways to make light labor."

"Such as?"

"Stronger individuals, a lighter burden, a better handle on the load, some way to permit those who want to bear part of the burden to
not
be forced to let go. Different applications of the same underlying principle, which is
to lower the ratio of load to strength applied
."

Morgan looked at Benvenuto intently. "The principle is clear enough. But how do you
apply
it!"

Benvenuto smiled. "Our approach is the by-product of an unexpected discovery. I'm sure you're familiar with some variation of the parlor game played by one person studying cards and 'sending' a mental image of what he sees, while another person 'receives'—or tries to receive—what is sent?"

"Yes."

"And are you also aware that TV sets can be built at home, as part of various correspondence-school courses of instruction?"

"Yes—I've gotten a few ads for them in the mail—'Make Big Money In TV Repair.' What's the connection?"

Benvenuto leaned forward.

"Suppose, Mr. Morgan, that you were constructing one of those TV sets—incidentally one with a digital clock display in the corner of the screen—and in the same room someone else was 'sending' the mental image of a card, and suddenly as you worked on the TV
you saw the card
."

Morgan blinked.

"If you could repeat it—"

"Yes."

"Then you have what? Some form of telepathic signal amplifier?"

Benvenuto nodded. "Close enough."

Morgan frowned. "But—this seems a long way from an
insurance
policy."

"You have, perhaps, the suspicion of having wandered into a nest of crackpots."

"Not yet. Your come-on isn't slanted to take advantage of gullibility. But I still don't see the connection."

"You grant the possibility?"

"Why not? After men have walked around on the Moon, why should I claim
this
is impossible? Grant it, and say you
have
a form of telepathic signal amplifier. Still—aside from settling the argument whether there is such a thing as telepathy, where are you? Is this amplifier small, compact, easily used?"

"In its enormously improved and precisely accurate form, it is large, bulky, quite heavy, complex, and requires a moderate amount of electrical power to use it effectively."

"In short, it's a white elephant?"

Benvenuto smiled. "It certainly won't enable us to compete with the Bell System or Western Union."

"Then—"

"It is, however, our principal tool in backing up
assurance
policies."

Morgan, frowning, sat back and considered Benvenuto. "You're giving me a good deal of information. How do you know you can trust me with it?"

"In the first place, who would believe you? In the second place, how can you be sure I've told you the actual undisguised truth? In the third place, I
know
how sick you are of retirement. I also know that you were retired because of an arbitrary company rule having nothing to do with any actual inability. You are perfectly able to work, yet you have nothing to do. A succession of meaningless days stretches out before you like empty subway platforms. You—"

"Now you're repeating my own mental images!"

"You aren't likely to use what I'm telling you against
us
, because we represent a way
out of retirement
and back to the top."

Morgan was unaware that, briefly, his eyes blazed. He sat back, and spoke carefully.

"What is
Prudent's
retirement policy?"

"We retire employees and deactivate associations only because of what we believe to be a lack of capability. The recovery of capability means rehiring or renewed association."

"All right, I'm interested. What's your offer?"

Benvenuto's eyes glinted. He leaned forward.

"Prepare yourself, Mr. Morgan. I am a fanatic on this subject. Western civilization is sinking—and it is sinking largely because of a lack of
insight and self-discipline
. We have the physical means necessary to pull ourselves out of this ruck. We lack only the insight and the
will
. With such means, plus the drive to achieve, where is the limit? Very well. I am an enterpriser. And I possess a telepathic signal amplifier. Is it wrong for me to receive a financial reward for reversing the decline of the West? Not if I do a good job. Here, Mr. Morgan, is a sample of one type of Prudent's assurance policies."