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  A fundamental disregard for people in general allowed the masses a kind of new, frantic liberty; this disregard was not abusive in nature, but merely a defensive reaction to the crowded and disturbing environment. One of the most unfortunate aspects of this freedom was the utter transience of human relationships. Not only were neighbors nothing more than temporary and accidental affiliations, but the very idea of fellowship was disappearing. Whenever a person transported his modapt to a new building, his relations with his old neighbors were abruptly cut. Consequently, he had to find a whole new crew of local friends to replace those he had left behind. This happened with such frequency that long-term friendships were maintained only by the very few people who cared to remain in the same locality and who coincidentally had friends who did the same. In the majority of cases, however, one did not bother to create lasting ties, but instead looked for new people to fill old roles from place to place. With the North American national average residency down to 2.8 years, the roles were kept rather simple, and a person could not be overly critical of the new people he met. At the moment, Ernest was looking for someone to play the role of sexual partner. He had good hopes for his noontime conversations with the secretary turning in that direction.

  “Hello, Eileen,” he said, sitting in the seat that she had saved for him. “How’s it going?”

  “Hi, Ernie. Terrible. I’m just getting so sick of that Mr. Di Liberto. I mean, no matter what I do, he knows better. I’ve been a secretary for three years now, you know. For crying out loud, there are some things I can do by myself. I’m not as stupid as he thinks I am.”

  “Don’t mind him. It’s just a job. Just do what you’re told and take your money.”

  Eileen took a sip of her orange drink. “Easy enough for you to say,” she said. They talked a while longer, until they were interrupted by the chime signal that prefaced an announcement on the public address system.

  “Your attention please.” The amplified voice spoke out from several locations in the lunch room. “We have a message of special importance from the president of the Jennings Manufacturing Corporation, Mr. Robert L. Jennings.”

  “Thank you, Bob. My fellow employees, as my son has told you, I have unusual and particularly important news. For that reason, I would appreciate it if you all would stop what you’re doing, whether you are working or on the lunch break, and listen closely.

  “We have received word of a grave situation, the details of which unfortunately have not been released. But the government has ordered that all normal daily employment be suspended, so that you may all go home to be with your families when an official statement is made later this afternoon. Only essential police and transportation facilities will remain operative after one o’clock this afternoon.

  “Therefore, in compliance with the governmental order, you are all hereby dismissed to return to your homes. We are given to understand that normal activity will resume as soon as circumstances permit. Please do not attempt to call our offices for details for, as I have said, I am as ignorant of the exact situation as you. But whatever the emergency, I wish you all the best of luck, and may God bless.”

  There was the chime signal indicating the end of the announcement, and then there was a silence. A second later, someone laughed nervously; Ernest guessed that a few people wanted to pretend it was all a joke. “A grave situation.” It had to be, if Old Man Jennings was giving them the rest of the day off. That ought to convince the skeptics. A moment later they all came to the same conclusion, for the cafeteria was a scene of confusion. Ernest smiled to himself as he calmly began packing up his lunch. He always enjoyed watching the herd instincts begin to take possession.

  “What?” asked Eileen. “They’re sending us home?”

  “That’s fine with me,” said Ernest.

  “But what do you think is the matter?” she asked.

  “I don’t really care.” Eileen stared at him, and he smiled back. “We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we? I mean, what could it be? Maybe a Representative died, or something. I don’t know. I’m just glad to go home. Can you give me a ride to the subway? I want to beat this rush.”

  Meantime A

  Jermany, 1918.

  Like a great reef sunk treacherously in the depths of the ocean, the Jerman nation ripped gaping holes in the Allied war machine. While the greedy Jerman industrialists cried out for the opening of a new front in the east, the Jerman War Ministry fought doggedly on to the west, still keeping an eye on Russia, hoping desperately to keep her out of the war. At least until the rest of Europe was secure. And that, admitted even the top-level spokesmen, might be a long time in coming.

  But the Allies were exhausted. Wave after wave of weary soldiers hurled themselves against the stubborn defenses of the Jerman Reich. Time after time they were thrown back, crushed and dismayed. With no satisfactory staging area on the continent proper, the British and American forces were unable to gain a foothold; counting on a recaptured Europe to supply the necessary outposts and provisions, the failure to mount a successful invasion was doubly disastrous to the Allied High Command. Patience and attention to detail gained the Jerman leaders time to deploy their forces to best advantage. Discipline and a shrewd appraisal of its strengths enabled the Jerman nation to wear down its enemies.

  But it was not unperceived by the General Staff that the Jerman people themselves were growing dangerously fatigued. The best hope was in keeping Russia out of the struggle while avoiding a decisive battle in the west. Time would tell whether the Allies or the Jerman Empire would prevail; time, and the strength of the combatants’ national will.

  The summer passed, and the Allied threats grew fewer and weaker; that news was good, but the Jerman population was starving. Angry mobs demonstrated in Berlin, Hamburg, Munich, demanding an end to the war and a restoration of a stable economy. As autumn deepened into winter, the situation became desperate. The army, unable to win a clear victory on its own, was discredited and bitter. The General Staff was blamed for both its alleged military failures and the resulting social ruin throughout the empire. The pressure increased until the War Ministry had only one course left in its defense; on the morning of October 20, 1918, the General Staff declared that the great corporate and banking trusts of Jermany were secretly working against the interests of the empire, and that all industry would henceforth be nationalized.

  The announcement caused a wrathful and outraged reaction. It was commonly rumored that the Allies had assembled nearly three-quarters of a million fresh troops in Great Britain in preparation for the spring offensive. Jermany could not continue much longer. The General Staff informed Kaiser Wilhelm that the war was certainly lost unless something was done soon about the domestic situation. At first the Kaiser did not take the obvious hint; instead, food rations were cut once more. Munitions workers in Berlin began a series of violent strikes. The Jerman battleships in the North Sea refused to follow an order to attack the British Navy. In a matter of days, the mutiny had spread to all the northern ports, and then to Berlin. Still the Kaiser chose to ignore the gravity of the situation.

  At that time, the Kaiser left the capital for a rest at a Belgian resort. In his absence, a republic was proclaimed; the old Kaiser was forced to abdicate and flee to Sweden. Under the banner of a shaky coalition government, the Jerman people settled down. Order was slowly restored, and the business of the war was taken up with renewed vigor. The Allies, who in truth had been largely responsible for the instigation of the internal upheavals, were as good as defeated—the 750,000 troops waiting in England never existed.

  Ernst Weintraub, Jugendleiter of the Frachtdorf Red Front, threw the newspaper into the air. “Do we celebrate now, boys?” he said.

  “Yes, sir, Herr Kamerad Weintraub.”

  Weintraub, at the age of eighteen, was the leader of the tiny cell of the Jerman Communist party. He had enjoyed little prestige, though, partially because of the underground nature of their organization, and also because his command consis
ted of the more insolent of the neighborhood’s delinquents. But now, according to the Berlin edition of Pravda, recognition was at last only a few gunshots away. The World War was nearing its end.

  “Now, boys, our work shall begin indeed. Soon we will see that day we’ve been struggling so long to bring about.” Weintraub indicated the headline of the paper: the world revolution has begun!

  “Wine, Herr Weintraub?”

  “No, not for me. Beer, I think. Good Jerman beer.”

  “The dunkel?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Weintraub distractedly. Though his adolescent henchmen seemed more interested in the festivities than the occasion, he couldn’t help thinking about the future’s task with pleasant anticipation. Despite its victory, the Jerman Reich had collapsed; its economy had been strained by the World War and would finally be ruined by the disillusionment of peace. The Jerman people had no leadership in this crucial time. They had no sense of national destiny, no direction among the ashes of the old, false values. All this Weintraub viewed with great satisfaction; as a minor worker for the cause of international Communism, he could easily see that such a state of economic anarchy was fertile ground for the cultivation of his party’s beliefs.

  “Mein Lehrer,” said Staefler, a tall, athletic youth, “is it true, now that the revolution is approaching, that we can break our sworn secrecy?”

  Staefler was the most enthusiastic member of the small town’s cell, though Weintraub realized that the boy was unfortunately too slow of mind to accept much authority. The Youth Leader thought for a few seconds, chewing his lip while Staefler regarded him eagerly. “No,” said Weintraub at last, “I think not. Until we get directives from Berlin along those lines, I feel it best to continue as we have. I know that makes it hard on you,” he said, slapping Staefler’s shoulder in a comradely fashion, “but the Party expects certain sacrifices. We must all put personal conveniences aside for the benefit of our great cause.”

  “Certainly, mein Lehrer,” said Staefler, a little disappointed.

  “It will not be much longer. The Bolsheviks are ready. The Russian and the Jerman Revolutions will merge, joining forces and facing westward together. Then how can the rest of Europe stand against us?”

  “Jermany,” said Staefler brightly, “and then the world!”

  “Go drink,” said Weintraub with a proud smile. “These preliminary worries are not for you. The celebration is your only concern this afternoon.” While his young charges laughed drunkenly around him, Weintraub studied his day’s concerns. There was a small sheaf of dispatches from Party headquarters in Berlin. He stared at the top sheet of paper—a copy of a two-week-old handbill printed by the Slasniev Loyal Soviet Red Sports Club congratulating the Jerman folk for throwing off the chains of the corporate bosses. The handbill made Weintraub feel a little sad; what did the soccer players in Slasniev know about Jerman conditions? What did the Berlin Party leaders know or care about Slasniev? Suddenly the idea of a true revolution seemed too big, too remote, too unrealistic. He shook his head to stop those thoughts. Berlin was coordinating everything, after all. Here in Frachtdorf he couldn’t be expected to have an objective view. That’s what all the handbills and clippings were for, to give him a better glimpse of the international implications of his work.

  “Some more beer, Kamerad Weintraub?” asked another of the boys. He was grinning crookedly, already beyond Weintraub’s slight authority. His tunic was unbuttoned and his hair mussed; one leg of his trousers showed a large wet stain, and the youth reeked of cheap wine. Weintraub wondered how the Party expected to seize power through the agency of such as these inept scoundrels.

  “No, no, Kleib. Just let me work. You go back to your fellows now. Let them know that I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  Kleib tottered in his place. He laughed as he realized how drunk he was. “You got something interesting today?” he asked.

  Weintraub waved the papers. “Nothing,” he said irritably. “It’s far too early. There’s nothing here but the usual garbage.” Kleib nodded, still grinning, and staggered back to the party. Weintraub riffled through the remainder of the day’s dispatches: greetings from workers’ organizations in the Soviet Union, music and art associations, political theory groups. Transcriptions of radio broadcasts pledging the support of the Russian people. Newspaper clippings from all over the Russian nation in praise of the courageous Jermans and their imminent revolution.

  One printed notice excited Weintraub more than the others. It said simply, without the use of large banner type or crude, inflammatory illustrations, that an All-Jerman Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council was set to convene in Berlin. This was ostensibly a meeting of the discontented army and trade union members, most of whom had been all but destroyed by the war; Weintraub could see the hand of the radical left behind it. The trade unions had always demonstrated a certain receptivity to socialist thought; it would not be difficult at all to lead their unsophisticated minds to accept the attractive promises of Communism. The soldiers were the angriest segment of the population, having seen their fellows killed daily during the needlessly drawnout war, simply because of the greed of the industrialist and the ambition of the politicians. They, too, would be eager to embrace the Party’s ideas. The groundwork had been well prepared.

  It was suggested by the Party leaders in Berlin that all Jugendleiters produce handbills of their own, which would then be distributed around the neighborhoods by the younger cell members. In this way, the union of Jerman peasants and proletariat might be hastened. Some helpful guidelines were supplied, with quotations from the writings of Marxist theorists. Weintraub studied the excerpts for several minutes. He decided to base his handbill on something that Lenin had written in 1917: “An essential condition for the victory of the socialist revolution is the closest alliance between the toiling and exploited peasantry and the working class—the proletariat—in all advanced countries.” Here in the rural town of Frachtdorf, the mighty struggles of government seemed remote and insignificant. But it was Weintraub’s duty to educate the citizens of the village. He must make it clear that if they joined together they could have an unprecedented influence on the affairs of state; if they then cooperated in a serious and uncompromising effort with the oppressed urban workers, nothing in Jermany could stand against them.

  Weintraub made a few notes for the handbill. “We have won the war against the capitalist ‘Allies,’ ” he said to himself. “But at what cost? How much of Jermany is left? How much less will remain after we rise to demand our fair shares? The old leadership has failed us, and seeks to placate our righteous anger with speeches about international prestige. Will that prestige feed us through the winter?” He paused and rehearsed these lines, wondering if they had a proper revolutionary ring to them. “Sentiment is out of place,” he said. “It is a luxury we will never again be able to afford. Government by emotion is identified with rule by tyranny.”

  “Eh, Herr Lehrer Weintraub?”

  Weintraub was startled from his concentration. “Nothing, Staefler,” he said. “I’m just a bit tired.”

  A week passed. The reluctant Friedrich Ebert was made the Chancellor of the new Republic; trying to make the best of the confused, somewhat illegitimate situation, Ebert issued several declarations aimed at uniting the Jerman people behind him. Prisoners taken during the weeks of open rebellion were freed. Guarantees were made for freedom of expression. Promises were made for the eventual improvement of the economy and in the areas of social justice and reform. Ebert was not a strongly willed leader, but he was shrewd enough to see that, the stuttering revolution notwithstanding, the Jerman people as a whole still clung to the old conservative ideals.

  Ebert had not wanted a republic at all. He was working for a constitutional monarchy, modeled after that of Great Britain, with one of Wilhelm’s sons at the head of the government. But when Ebert himself was thrust into the role of Chancellor, he found the courage to deal with the unpleasant circumstances. He knew that h
e could count on little support in any sort of showdown with the radical elements, which were still agitating throughout the nation; however, a secret pact with the remnants of the army bolstered his uncertain authority. The government promised to crush the Bolshevik influence, and the army pledged its strength in carrying out Ebert’s programs.

  Little of these semi-official dealings were reported in the official news services. Weintraub learned bits of news through the Party’s angry bulletins and in the secondhand reports that were forwarded from the Soviet Union. “We must redouble our efforts, Staefler,” said Weintraub, after reading of the new Chancellor’s program. “If we’re not careful, our chance for power will slip right through our fingers.”

  “They’re betraying us in Berlin,” said Staefler resentfully. “They’ve betrayed the Jerman people. Why have our enemies not been disarmed? Must we appease the Allies?”

  “I pray that’s not true,” said Weintraub. But the evidence accumulated; Ebert would not let the Communists claim their proportional share of legislative control. He feared another Bolshevik Revolution.

  In December, Weintraub was invited to attend the first Soviet Council in Berlin, a mass meeting of local Party leaders and representatives of the various Workers’ and Soldiers’ Councils which had sprung up throughout the nation. He did not attend, however, because of his mother’s illness. He sent Staefler instead; the youth returned several days later, his report colored by his infatuation with the capital metropolis. At last Weintraub managed to obtain an objective list of the Council’s activities: it had demanded that Hindenburg resign as Field Marshall of the armed forces, that the army be disbanded and replaced by a civil guard, and that the Jerman Republic accept the gift of two trainloads of grain offered by the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.