Free The Creatures of Man by edited by Eric Flint, Howard L. Myers Page B

it."

    Would you believe I came away from that bunch of low-lifers with fewer Units than I had to start?

    So, where the sand was my Admiration going to come from?

    I was at a dead end. I might have no choice but what Marge Grossit suggested—settle down with some average twirl; and spend my life eating standard nine days out of ten, raising kids who might Admire their old man; and building interest Units with their mother.

    I cringed at the thought. I'd had a taste of something better.

    But my thinking was getting me no place.

    "Tread control off. Gravity down," I commanded tiredly, flopping in the direction of my chair.

    "Very well, Mr. Rylsten."

    "Standard beer."

    "Yes, sir."

    I sat there, sipping the beer like a nobody. That was what I was, a nobody from a long line of nobodies. But unlike all the other Rylstens, I couldn't help knowing I was a nobody.

    Old Uncle Buxton, for instance. All pose that guy was. I chuckled at the memory of old Uncle Buxton. When he talked, his tongue wagged his brain! By which I think I mean his brain was foolish enough to believe what his tongue said.

    But in his way, he wasn't a bad old joker.

    "Ship," I said, "my Uncle Buxton gave me his mock-up three years ago. I don't know if I threw it away. Check and see if you have it."

    "Yes, sir, a Buxton Rylsten tape is on file."

    "Okay, mock him up. And brief him. I don't want to spend an hour explaining my troubles to him."

    "Yes, sir."

    I had time to finish my beer before the mock-up came into the living cabin. "Hi, Uncle Buck," I greeted him.

    "Hello, Boje," he responded with extended hand. "So it's been three years since you saw me, has it?"

    "Sorry about that, Uncle. I've just been busy."

    "I understand, Boje," he smiled. "The thing is that you called for me now, when you have a problem that requires mature wisdom and experience. I didn't give you that tape expecting to be your constant companion—you naturally prefer friends your own age."

    I accepted that with a straight face. "Mature wisdom"— hah! If self-admiration was spelled with a capital A, old Uncle Buxton would be the richest man in the universe! The truth was that I just wanted somebody to talk to me, without getting mushy like mom's mock-up would, or hitting me with an angry sermon like dad.

    "I'll give it to you straight, pal," he said in his solemn, querulous way. "We have to face reality, and reality is harsh." He settled himself comfortably on a lounge. "Who a man is, or what a man is, don't amount to a circumcised Unit! I learned that long ago, Boje. What I'm saying, Boje, is don't expect respect. You understand?"

    "I sure do," I replied. "Won't you have a beer, Uncle?"

    "I'd be delighted. Now, Boje, your problem is financial. That puts you in the same boat with every honest man who ever lived. No monetary system in history has been fair to the honest man. That's what's held me back all my life. Tell me, Boje. Why do you think our system of exchange uses Admiration for currency?"

    "Well," I said, "that's because Admiration is the basic desired quality. Everybody tries to get it, and that's good. It keeps the society moving. So, when science found a way to quantitize and measure Admiration, it was adopted."

    Uncle Buxton was grinning knowingly. "That's what they taught you in school, isn't it, Boje?"

    "Yeah."

    "The trouble is, pal, there are lessons the schools don't teach," he said. "They don't breathe a hint of the real truth, which is that our system debases Admiration by making it the object of crass materialism. In the same way the ancients debased the beauty of their handsomest metal, gold, by making it the medium of exchange.

    "But the abuse goes deeper than that, Boje," he went on ponderously. "Whether money is based on gold, on labor, or on Admiration, it always requires a man to do things he wouldn't otherwise do. It forces him to act against his higher instinct.

    "It makes him chop up the ornaments the ancients loved and make coin out