Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

This horizontal industrial development was very gratifying to the plant’s stockholders and was really more important than the original catalyst-plastic discovery. Goodman received a substantial raise in pay and a generous bonus.

On the crest of his triumphant wave[31], he proposed to Janna and was instantly accepted. Her parents favored the match; all that remained was to obtain oficial sanction from the government, since Goodman was still technically an alien.

Accordingly, he took a day off from work and walked down to the Idrig Building to see Melith. It was a glorious spring day of the sort that Tranai has for ten months out of the year, and Goodman walked with a light and springy step. He was in love, a success in business, and soon to become a citizen of Utopia.

Of course, Utopia could use some changes, for even Tranai wasn’t quite perfect. Possibly he should accept the Supreme Presidency, in order to make the needed reforms. But there was no rush…

“Hey, mister,” a voice said, “can you spare a deeglo?”

Goodman looked down and saw, squatting on the pavement, an unwashed old man, dressed in rags, holding out a tin cup.

“What?” Goodman asked.

“Can you spare a deeglo, brother?” the man repeated in a wheedling voice. “Help a poor man buy a cup of oglo? Haven’t eaten in two days, mister.”

“This is disgraceful! Why don’t you get a blaster and go out and rob someone?”

“I’m too old,” the man whimpered. “My victims just laugh at me.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just lazy?” Goodman asked sternly.

“I’m not, sir!” the beggar said. “Just look how my hands shake!”

He held out both dirty paws; they trembled.

Goodman took out his billfold and gave the old man a deeglo. “I thought there was no poverty on Tranai. I understood that the government took care of the aged.”

“The government does,” said the old man. “Look.” He held out his cup. Engraved on its side was: government authorized BEGGAR, NUMBER DR-43241-3.

“You mean the government makes you do this?”

“The government lets me do it,” the old man told him. “Begging is a government job and is reserved for the aged and infirm.”

“Why, that’s disgraceful!”

“You must be a stranger here.”

“I’m a Terran.”

“Aha! Nervous, hustling sort of people, aren’t you?”

“Our government does not let people beg,” Goodman said.

“No? What do the old people do? Live off their children? Or sit in some home for the aged and wait for death by boredom? Not here, young man. On Tranai, every old man is assured of a government job, and one for which he needs no particular skill, although skill helps. Some apply for indoor work, within the churches and theatres. Others like the excitement of fairs and carnivals. Personally, I like it outdoors. My job keeps me out in the sunlight and fresh air, gives me mild exercise, and helps me meet many strange and interesting people, such as yourself.”

“But begging!”

“What other work would I be suited for?”

“I don’t know. But – but look at you! Dirty, unwashed, in filthy clothes —”

“These are my working clothes,” the government beggar said. “You should see me on Sunday.”

“You have other clothes?”

“I certainly do, and a pleasant little apartment, and a season box at the opera, and two Home Robots, and probably more money in the bank than you’ve seen in your life. It’s been pleasant talking to you, young man, and thanks for your contribution. But now I must return to work and suggest you do likewise.”

Goodman walked away, glancing over his shoulder at the government beggar. He observed that the old man seemed to be doing a thriving business.

But begging!

Really, that sort of thing should be stopped. If he ever assumed the Presidency – and quite obviously he should – he would look into the whole matter more carefully.

It seemed to him that there had to be a more dignified answer.

At the Idrig Building, Goodman told Melith about his marriage plans.

The immigrations minister was enthusiastic. “Wonderful, absolutely wonderful,” he said.

“I’ve known the Vley family for a long time. They’re splendid people. And Janna is a girl any man would be proud of.”

“Aren’t there some formalities I should go through?” Goodman asked. “I mean being an alien and all —”

“None whatsoever. I’ve decided to dispense with the formalities. You can become a citizen of Tranai, if you wish, by merely stating your intention verbally. Or you can retain Terran citizenship, with no hard feelings. Or you can do both – be a citizen of Terra and Tranai. If Terra doesn’t mind, we certainly don’t.”

“I think I’d like to become a citizen of Tranai,” Goodman said.

“It’s entirely up to you. But if you’re thinking about the Presidency, you can retain Terran status and still hold office. We aren’t at all stuffy about that sort of thing. One of our most successful Supreme Presidents was a lizard-evolved chap from Aquarella XI.”

“What an enlightened attitude!”