The Seed of Evil

Also, a powerful weapon of attack or experiment on other human beings. Joe filed this thought for later reference.

After two hours spent in designing a suitable device, he was ready to begin work. By this time Juble had finished with the generator and was looking down below into the garden, a profusion of coloured fruits and prime vegetables.

It was the gardens that had set society free. Advanced agricultural techniques enabled everyone to grow ample food in his own back yard, loosing men from the obligation to work and making every day Sunday. Joe’s garden, Juble noticed, was well stocked.

“Ah’m getting hungry,” he hinted.

“Hungry?” Joe felt exasperated that his assistant should be so prosaic when he himself was in the midst of fantastic thoughts. “Come here,” he ordered, placing yet another block beneath the knife. “Tell me when you can’t see it.”

“Ah can’t see it now,” Juble said after a short time.

“Doesn’t it worry you that there are things you can’t see?”

“No. What’s this to do with me getting something to eat?”

As usual, Joe’s love of philosophical research was instrumental in increasing his contempt for his fellows. He expressed that contempt openly.

Juble was becoming weary of insult. “Go steady, Pop,” he warned, looking mean. “Ah got mah personal integrity, and you ain’t gonna infringe on me.”

Joe was taken aback. “Remember the money,” he said in a more subdued voice. “You can stay hungry. We’ve got work to do. I’ll need to filch some equipment from the Science Museum.”

Expressionlessly Juble opened the car door for him. “And it’s you who’s always on about doing right,” he complained.

The Science Museum was one of the public buildings for whose upkeep Juble payed the one-day tax; not because of conscience, but prompted by the fact that anyone who didn’t was liable to have a bomb thrown on his house, or a grenade through his window if he lived in an apartment.

“Damned cops,” he muttered when they had stopped before the entrance. “Why don’t they just wrap up.”

Joe felt it his duty to deliver a lecture on public morals. “Now, boy, be fair,” he admonished. “The police perform a valuable service, preserving public institutions, keeping the city in order. Without them there wouldn’t be nearly so much fun.” He chuckled. “Nor any place for me to steal equipment from. Then there’s personal protection.”

“Come off it, Pop, have you ever tried to claim protection? That law’s a farce, they’d just sling you in the gutter.”

“And rightly so! A man old enough to carry a gun should be able to take care of himself. But what about kids? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen the police shoot down a bunch of drunks because there were children around, perhaps? And people who endanger kids and defenceless women deserve it. But mind you, you don’t know how lucky you are to be living in a free civilisation. Why, a few hundred years ago you wouldn’t even be allowed to kill a man. And you know what, boy? You would have to work every day of your life! Know what would happen if you didn’t? You’d starve! Did you know that, son?”

“No.”

“Then shut your mouth, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Joe climbed out of the car in a disgruntled manner and with a jerk of his thumb ordered Juble to follow.

There were thirty-six levels to the museum, each thirty feet in height, and an impressive hundred-foot entrance. Joe seemed to know his way around. He walked straight across the lobby and up a wide staircase.

On the first floor up Juble stopped him and pointed out. “Hey, what about here?”

Above the doorway to a long hall was the inscription: “ELECTRONICS - 1.”

“Huh,” said Joe derisively. “First electronics? Baby stuff. We’ve come for the real thing, boy.” He also went past the door marked “ELECTRONICS - 2” but stopped at “ELECTRONICS - 3.”

They paused just inside the entrance. There was a party going on. As Juble looked closer, the mélange of a hundred naked people resolved into various small incidents. The one which caught Juble’s eye was that of a man attempting to rape a struggling young girl. Automatically he looked around for the corpse of her protector, but to his surprise there was none: the party, probably in its early stages, was completely free of death. Just at that moment a black-haired, middle-aged man skulking against the wall jammed a policeman’s cap on his head and blew a whistle. Immediately there was the jangling sound of shattered glass: a tall window fell in fragments to the floor and through it poured a dozen heavily armed, angry-looking cops. On the other side of the window, Juble glimpsed a hovering squad-car.

“Better stay out of the way,” Joe whispered, hiding in the shadows. “Don’t want to get involved.”