Future Crimes Part 74

The addict nodded and smiled.

"The daughters of earth."

"Say again?"

" t! am not so lost in lexicography, as to forget that words are the daughters of earth, and that things are the sons of heaven." Doctor Johnson said that, almost three hundred years ago."

"Yeah, right." The man frowned momentarily, and then his face lightened.

"You like all this stuff, huh?"

He turned back and walked to the rail, leaned on it and looked down.

"Yes, I like all this stuff." He scanned the myriad pages before him.

"Must've taken a long time," he said, "stripping all these pages out of the original books."

"Sure did. Not many books left after the wars, and a lot of folks who, like you, feel they need to drink it all in." The man moved up alongside the addict and leaned over the rail.

"When you have one book and maybe a thousand customers, you gotta think of ways to satisfy the demand."

"Sure," the addict agreed.

"Could have sold the whole book for maybe fifty credits, which is pretty much all anyone can afford, Maybe one hundred for the more popular ones--the ones folks remembered reading--but the supply isn't infinite. The demand is infinite, but not the supply.

You know what I mean?"

"I surely do," the addict said.

"So we strip 'em out."

The addict tried not to let the man see him wince.

"That way, six hundred-page book gives three hundred sheets; three hundred sheets at twenty credits apiece gives--" "Six thou."

"Right. Six thousand credits. Against, what? Against fifty or one hundred."

"It's a case of simple economics," the addict said.

"Commerce."

"You got it in one."

"It's not a new concept."

"Say again?"

"They used to do it in the old days, the dealers, guys like you." He turned around and leaned back against the rail.

"They see the demand and feed it.

Used to be that way with comic books."

The man frowned.

"They the ones with pictures?"

"They're the ones," the addict said, smiling, jabbing a finger at the man.

"Superhero stuff, stuff like Superman, Batman, all that stuff. So few of them survived the Second World War, they became collectors'

items--we're talking, what? Two hundred years ago?

Two fifty?"

The man shrugged.

"No idea."

"No, well, folks bought them for crazy prices, squirreled them away in protective bags. Each time one was sold at such and such a price, the dealer whacked it up the next time he got a copy of that mag."

"You know a lot about this stuff."

He shrugged.

"It's a hobby."

"Everyone needs a hobby," the man said, pointing to the two bolts fixed into the skin of his temples. He gave a big grin.

The addict returned the grin, and said, "Then it was books. First editions, signed limited editions ... all that stuff. At first, it was just the signature that made the limiteds special. Then they came with extra chapters, special introductions, special after words "Then folks got tired of that and turned their attention to the old paperbacks." The addict whistled and waved his hand as though he'd burned his fingers.

"Those were crazy days."

"Hey .. . you weren't there? You couldn't have been."

"No, I wasn't there. But I've spoken with people who have spoken with people who knew people who knew people .. . you know what I mean? Time marches on."

The man shuffled side to side impatiently.

"Ain't that the truth."

The addict ignored him and carried on.

"Condition was always a big thing, but then, when all the great condition books and magazines had been bought or had simply deteriorated into a lesser condition, the prices for those went through the roof." He paused, nodding. "

"Course, you have to remember that people had different levels of spending power then. It wasn't governed by the State the way it is now."

"Right," the man said, his voice indicating that he didn't really follow what this guy was going on about.

"Yeah, and then the s.h.i.+t really hit the fan after the wars. Every country--and I mean every country-decimated. Billions wiped out over the s.p.a.ce of the first eight, nine years, and billions more over the next fifty or so. The new global State didn't want folks looking to the old books and the old ways, didn't want them making themselves dissatisfied .. . questioning the status quo. So they took steps to remedy the situation.

They got rid of whatever books they could find."

"That the Blanking?"

"Yes, that was the Blanking." He turned and looked at the piles of pages towering the aisles, a cityscape of white monoliths, and he dreamed of a life which could be long enough to read them all.

"Have you ever wondered," the addict said, his voice low, "if it hurts them?"

"What?"

He looked over his shoulder and nodded at the piles.

"If tearing out the pages hurts the books."

There was a silence. Then the man said, "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, mister. What say you just tell me which part you're--" "I'm interested in all of it," the addict said.