Free The Disinherited by Steve White

Some of the broadcasts we picked up merely led us to question the depth of our understanding of your language. In particular, when we heard someone—evidently a prominent public figure and not a character in some comedy—declare that the government should guarantee every citizen an above-average income, we decided that our translation must be at fault!"
    "I'm afraid not," DiFalco admitted. "That's been part of the Social Justice Party's platform for years. You were probably hearing a speech by the governor of New York . . . who, barring a miracle, will be my nation's head of state two years from now."
    "Dear me! I begin to see why we've always had difficulty differentiating the political news from the popular comedies in your broadcasts; both are farcical but neither seems particularly funny." Varien had almost entirely lost his Raehaniv accent by now, and it was clear which linguistic role models had been influencing him; he had come to speak a variety of English that Levinson characterized as "acting-class British."
    Aelanni, on the other hand, still spoke with a liquid accent which should have kept the asperity out of her voice but didn't. "What kind of lunatic asylum do you come from, anyway?" she demanded. "And how did the inmates ever manage to get into interplanetary space?"
    DiFalco felt himself flush. Criticism from outside the family never makes comfortable listening, even—especially!—when one agrees with it. "Things were better a generation ago," he insisted, a little defensively. "That was when we started to get into space in a big way. But there were a lot of problems left over from the last century . . . ." Shit! I'm starting to sound like Liz Hadley! "The simple fact is, our system of public education had stopped educating the public. It was possible to get a first-rate education . . . but it was also possible to become a certified graduate without having learned anything except the right ideological slogans to parrot." He smiled sadly. "Standards had been lowered to the lowest common denominator in the name of 'equality'; but the end result was rigid social stratification, with an educated minority—including the people who took us into space—sitting precariously on top of a vast majority that was, by any meaningful definition, illiterate."
    "By now," Kurganov added, "the literate minority has become so small as to be politically and culturally ignorable. And it is about to cease to exist altogether. The Social Justice party is pledged to eradicate all non-public alternatives in education. 'Equality' requires that illiteracy become universal!"
    Aelanni shook her shining reddish-black head. "Incredible!"
    "Not really," Miralann disagreed. "Something of the sort very nearly happened to our society between the Second and Third Global Wars, during the Trelalieuhiv ascendancy . . . ."
    Varien waved him to silence. "This is all very interesting, I'm sure. But the immediate problem is this: we came seeking help from an advanced society which, it turns out, is busily reconverting itself into a primitive one." He clasped his hands behind him and began pacing. "And now, if I understand correctly, you are accepting my offer on behalf of your Project, without reference to the governments that sponsor it and whose uniforms you both wear." He paused and gave them a long look with those dark, dark eyes. And all at once, without any tricks of technological wizardry, he was no longer just a supercilious old fart.
    "It goes without saying," he resumed, "that those governments would regard your actions as treasonous. But I am more concerned with how you will regard them. Will you be able to act wholeheartedly against all your training, all your conditioned loyalties? I must know, before we proceed one step further!"
    DiFalco and Kurganov looked at each other for a moment, and then the former spoke. "I don't think there is a conflict, Varien. I still consider myself loyal to the United States of America—at