Commune 2000 AD. Mack Reynolds
of any more appropriate term. Some would call it socialistic, but practically every country remaining in the world calls itself socialistic, and hardly two of them but differ. The term is too elastic. It ranges from the Soviet Complex to North Africa, which is still primarily an agrarian, Moslem society.”
The older man looked at his secretary. “I suppose that it is too early for a drink,” he said. “Brian, could you rustle up some coffee for Doctor Swain and myself?”
“Oh, yes sir.” He turned briskly and was off to dial the beverage in the pseudokitchen.
“Have a chair, Swain, my boy,” the director said. He beamed his jovial smile again, to his visitor’s distress.
Ted Swain sat down in a leather chair across from his host’s desk. “Needless to say, Academician Englebrecht, I was pleased to get your call.”
“Of course, of course. I’ve had an eye on you for a long time, my boy. I’ve been racking my mind for years in your behalf.”
Ted Swain tried to keep skepticism from his face and hoped that he was successful. Dissimulation wasn’t his strongest point.
“Very kind of you, sir.”
“The inspiration came just last night. To be perfectly honest, I checked it out with the data banks to see if any of my other candidates might be more highly qualified for the research.” He smirked fondly at Ted Swain. “None of them came within an inch of touching your qualifications.”
“Well, thank you, sir. But, well … just what is this thesis?”
Englebrecht puffed his cheeks out slightly, as though he were about to astound his caller. “You are a particular student of Henry Lewis Morgan and Bandelier.”
“Why, yes, I am.”
“Very well, of course, of course. The two of them, in the 19th Century, specialized in the primitive clans which were the basis of society in Neolithic times.”
“Gens,” Ted muttered. “They called them gens.”
“Of course, of course,” the other said, patting a well-larded knee with a larded hand. “Communal society, eh? The family, the clan, the tribe.”
It wasn’t exactly the way Ted Swain would have put it.
Englebrecht said, “You are acquainted with the present communes which are springing up throughout the nation like mushrooms after a rainfall?”
Ted looked at him blankly. “Well, I’ve heard about them. I haven’t had the opportunity to see or investigate the phenomenon.”
Englebrecht beamed. “You will, my boy. Your theme will be a comparison of the present-day communes with the primitive communes of ancient society.”
Chapter Three
Ted Swain stared at him. What possible connection could there be?”
Englebrecht was impatient. “See here, my boy, if you aren’t interested in this research …”
Ted said hurriedly, “Oh, it’s not that. The … the concept is simply so new to me.”
“Of course. However, you must admit that according to Morgan and Bandelier primitive society was communal. Based on the family, based on what amounted to an early form of communism. No such thing as private property. Often, even women were held in common.”
The man obviously had no idea of what he was talking about. Ted said desperately, “But the present-day communes are not composed of related families, necessarily, and though perhaps some of them practice community ownership, that isn’t necessarily the rule. It’s … well, it’s practically impossible to compare these modern developments in communal living with what pertained in Neolithic times.”
Englebrecht smirked. “Are you so sure?”
Ted Swain stared at him again.
Englebrecht said, “I understand that you, yourself, live in what amounts to a commune.”
Was the man completely drivel happy?
“Admittedly,” the academician said, with a brush of a fat hand, “it is not a clan society. What is the basic idea of the town into which you have retreated?”
Ted said unhappily, “Possibly ‘retreated’ is valid, but I never thought of it as a commune. We’re a community of possibly a thousand singles.”
“Singles?” the other said triumphantly, as though he had gained a telling point.
“Why, yes. None of us are married, though some live together. We have approximately eight hundred homes with a community center. Most of us are people like myself, students, some working in the arts, bachelor types, both male and female, who have jobs but want privacy in their off hours. That sort of thing. But I wouldn’t call it a commune.”
He felt somewhat desperate. This was falling apart by the minute. The man was flat, he hadn’t the vaguest idea of how things spun. How in the hell could he be holding down a department in a major university city?
“All right, very well, of course. Your commune, escaping from the pseudocities, stresses singles. Others stress doubles …” Englebrecht chuckled lewdly “… of any sex. Some with children, some without. Others are so-called extended families, where every man is married to every woman and the children are the children of all. And, I submit, isn’t that the communal society of most-primitive man?”
He didn’t know what he was talking about, and here he was head of the goddamned department, Ted Swain told himself all over again.
Ted said, with care, “Well, something like that However, although it’s not my subject, I don’t think very many of these present-day communes are based on the extended family. They’re usually based on a community of interest.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, for instance, a new mobile town commune is shaping up in a camping area near where I live. I haven’t been over but I’ve heard about it. There are already some two hundred trailers and other mobile homes. Their, ah, theme is the arts. It’s a mobile art colony. You either have to be an artist, or be deeply interested in the arts. Other mobile towns, so I understand, might consist of none but elderly people, still others, sports-oriented people who take their town from one sporting event to the next.”
Ted Swain thought about it for a moment, then continued, “Then up in the area they used to call Vermont, I know of an agricultural commune. Modern farming isn’t practical in that area, as we know, so they had no difficulty getting permission from the Production Congress to take over several thousand acres. They farm it in the old manner, even using horses and mules rather than mechanical equipment. I suppose you might say they’re glorified gardeners, rather than farmers, but that’s their hobby, and that’s the theme of their establishment.”
Brian Fitz came in with the steaming cups of coffee, served first the academician and then his guest.
Englebrecht was saying, “Of course, fine. Very well. That is exactly what we want. Your task will be to seek out these various communes and find out all there is to find out about them. Acquire your material and then collate it. You might do several papers as you go along. Eventually, you will be able to put it all together and then write your dissertation, say some two hundred pages, comparing the ancient communes with those of the present. My boy, I absolutely guarantee you’ll get your degree.”
A tiny red light made itself evident on the academician’s desk and he frowned.
“Confound it, is a man not even safe from interruption in his own escape sanctum? See who that is, Brian.”
The secretary bustled out.
Ted Swain was frowning faintly at the patterns of sunlight on the floor. Finally he said, “Just what sort of material did you have in mind?”
His host rubbed plump hands