Transcriber's note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction, February and March, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.
There's some reaction these days that
holds scientists responsible for war. Take it one step further:
What happens if "book-learnin'" is held responsible ...?
Illustrated by van Dongen
Chester Pelton retracted his paunch as far as the breakfast seat wouldpermit; the table, its advent preceded by a collection ofmouth-watering aromas, slid noiselessly out of the pantry and clickedinto place in front of him.
"Everything all right, Miss Claire?" a voice floated out after it frombeyond. "Anything else you want?"
"Everything's just fine, Mrs. Harris," Claire replied. "I suppose Mr.Pelton'll want seconds, and Ray'll probably want thirds and fourths ofeverything." She waved a hand over the photocell that closed thepantry door, and slid into place across from her brother, who alreadyhad a glass of fruit juice in one hand and was lifting platter coverswith the other.
"Real eggs!" the boy was announcing. "Bacon. Wheat-bread toast." Helooked again. "Hey, Sis, is this real cow-made butter?"
"Yes. Now go ahead and eat."
As though Ray needed encouragement, Chester Pelton thought, watchinghis son use a spoon—the biggest one available—to dump gobs of honeyon his toast. While he was helping himself to bacon and eggs, he couldhear Ray's full-mouthed exclamation: "This is real bee-comb honey,too!" That pleased him. The boy was a true Pelton; only needed onebite to distinguish between real and synthetic food.
"Bet this breakfast didn't cost a dollar under five C," Ray continued,a little more audibly, between bites.
That was another Pelton trait; even at fifteen, the boy was learningthe value of money. Claire seemed to disapprove, however.
"Oh, Ray; try not to always think of what things cost," she reproved.
"If I had all she spends on natural food, I could have a this-season'smodel 'copter-bike, like Jimmy Hartnett," Ray continued.
Pelton frowned. "I don't want you running around with that boy, Ray,"he said, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Under his daughter's lookof disapproval, he swallowed hastily, then continued: "He's not thesort of company I want my son keeping."
"But, Senator," Ray protested. "He lives next door to us. Why, we cansee Hartnett's aerial from the top of our landing stage!"
"That doesn't matter," he said, in a tone meant to indicate that thesubject was not to be debated. "He's a Literate!"
"More eggs, Senator?" Claire asked, extending the platter andgesturing with the serving knife.
He chuckled inwardly. Claire always knew what to do when his temperstarted climbing to critical mass. He allowed her to load his plateagain.
"And speaking of our landing stage, have you been up there, thismorning, Ray?" he asked.
They both looked at him inquiringly.
"Delivered last evening, while you two were out," he explained. "Newwinter model Rolls-Cadipac." He felt a glow of paternal pleasure asClaire gave a yelp of delight and aimed a glancing kiss at the top ofhis bald head. Ray dropped his fork, slid from his seat, and boltedfor the lift, even bacon, eggs, and real bee-comb honey forgotten.
With elaborate absent-mindedness, Chester Pelton reached for theswitch to turn on the video screen over the pantry door.
"Oh-oh! Oh-oh!" Claire's slender hand went out to stop his own. "Nottill coffee and cigarettes, Senator."
"It's almost oh-eight-fifteen; I want the newscast."
...