indigent and nonproductive obso until the object stopped. She had included costs of food, clothing, shelter, and medical care. The dollar total was shocking. And when I saw the grand total for all such objects, I was astonished. What I could do for the young, vigorous, and productive with all that love!
The bright ef on the Gerontology Team had suggested an unusual approach to the problem. It was called GAS (Government-Assisted Suicide) and proposed the government offer 500 new dollars to any indigent and nonproductive obso who signed up. Stopping would be painless, by ingestion of pills provided free of charge by the government. The benefit would be awarded thirty days prior to stopping, to be used for any purpose the object desired, or it could be bequeathed.
Assuming a minimum of 10 percent voluntary acceptance of GAS, it was estimated that, even after payment of the benefits, the savings to the government would be almost two billion new dollars annually. I could scarcely believe it. But the report stated: “Computer printout available if desired.”
I made two Instox copies on my office machine. The original report, initialed, would be microfilmed and filed. On one copy I wrote “Original thinking. F&F,” initialed it, and marked it for return to the Gerontology Team leader. The “F&F” was Division shorthand for “File and Forget.”
The second Instox copy I put in my pocket, then drew it out to red-pencil every reference to “Government-Assisted Suicide.” I was writing in “Government-Assisted Peace” when Paul Bumford came in. The other offices were dark; everyone else had left.
“You’ve got to eat,” he said.
“I suppose so,” I said. I rubbed my eyes. “What time is it?”
“After 1900.”
“I’ve got to come back. Pick me up here and we’ll go to Angela’s together. Will that give you enough time?”
“Plenty.”
“Here’s something for the Tomorrow File.”
I handed him the corrected report on Government-Assisted Peace. He scanned it rapidly.
“Nick, it’s good.”
“I know.”
“Not for action now?”
“No way. Talk to that ef who worked it up. Creative thinking there. She could be your second secretary.”
He grinned. “For that I’ll buy you dinner. La Bonne Vie?” “I suppose so.”
“You eat and I’ll talk. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
He ate, too, of course, but he did have a lot to tell me. We sat at a comer table, Paul spoke in a low voice, his lips close to my ear. He finished his recital.
“You don’t seem very surprised,” he said, disappointed. “I’m not. Angela’s original tape was the input. She said not to inform DIROB.”
“Oh. I had forgotten that.”
“I hadn’t.”
“Do you trust her?”
“Yes, I trust her. In this.”
“She’s such a bitch.”
“I know. But I think she’s onto something here. It could benefit us. Let me do the talking tonight. Pick up your cues from me.” “Nick, I always do.”
“Play it very tight. Don’t volunteer anything.”
“Where thou goeth, there goeth I,” he said.
We left and separated. He headed for the gate. I went back to my office. I had completed the Immediate stack. Logically, I should have started on the Soon. But there was a file in Later I wanted to scan.
When a server in PS was sent to a Rehabilitation & Reconditioning Hospice ‘ ‘for psychiatric observation for. reasons of public security,” and had signed an Informed Consent Statement, the first task given him was to write a report or dictate a tape detailing his activities during the past year, two years, five—for as long a time as his interrogators believed would be of value.
In this account, the object sometimes revealed names, places, dates that were frequently useful to AssDepDirSec, or BPS or UIA, in uncovering others who harbored antisocial tendencies. The object was usually assisted with memory-intensifying drugs, hypnosis, electric stimulation of the hippocampus, etc. The journal the object produced
The bright ef on the Gerontology Team had suggested an unusual approach to the problem. It was called GAS (Government-Assisted Suicide) and proposed the government offer 500 new dollars to any indigent and nonproductive obso who signed up. Stopping would be painless, by ingestion of pills provided free of charge by the government. The benefit would be awarded thirty days prior to stopping, to be used for any purpose the object desired, or it could be bequeathed.
Assuming a minimum of 10 percent voluntary acceptance of GAS, it was estimated that, even after payment of the benefits, the savings to the government would be almost two billion new dollars annually. I could scarcely believe it. But the report stated: “Computer printout available if desired.”
I made two Instox copies on my office machine. The original report, initialed, would be microfilmed and filed. On one copy I wrote “Original thinking. F&F,” initialed it, and marked it for return to the Gerontology Team leader. The “F&F” was Division shorthand for “File and Forget.”
The second Instox copy I put in my pocket, then drew it out to red-pencil every reference to “Government-Assisted Suicide.” I was writing in “Government-Assisted Peace” when Paul Bumford came in. The other offices were dark; everyone else had left.
“You’ve got to eat,” he said.
“I suppose so,” I said. I rubbed my eyes. “What time is it?”
“After 1900.”
“I’ve got to come back. Pick me up here and we’ll go to Angela’s together. Will that give you enough time?”
“Plenty.”
“Here’s something for the Tomorrow File.”
I handed him the corrected report on Government-Assisted Peace. He scanned it rapidly.
“Nick, it’s good.”
“I know.”
“Not for action now?”
“No way. Talk to that ef who worked it up. Creative thinking there. She could be your second secretary.”
He grinned. “For that I’ll buy you dinner. La Bonne Vie?” “I suppose so.”
“You eat and I’ll talk. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
He ate, too, of course, but he did have a lot to tell me. We sat at a comer table, Paul spoke in a low voice, his lips close to my ear. He finished his recital.
“You don’t seem very surprised,” he said, disappointed. “I’m not. Angela’s original tape was the input. She said not to inform DIROB.”
“Oh. I had forgotten that.”
“I hadn’t.”
“Do you trust her?”
“Yes, I trust her. In this.”
“She’s such a bitch.”
“I know. But I think she’s onto something here. It could benefit us. Let me do the talking tonight. Pick up your cues from me.” “Nick, I always do.”
“Play it very tight. Don’t volunteer anything.”
“Where thou goeth, there goeth I,” he said.
We left and separated. He headed for the gate. I went back to my office. I had completed the Immediate stack. Logically, I should have started on the Soon. But there was a file in Later I wanted to scan.
When a server in PS was sent to a Rehabilitation & Reconditioning Hospice ‘ ‘for psychiatric observation for. reasons of public security,” and had signed an Informed Consent Statement, the first task given him was to write a report or dictate a tape detailing his activities during the past year, two years, five—for as long a time as his interrogators believed would be of value.
In this account, the object sometimes revealed names, places, dates that were frequently useful to AssDepDirSec, or BPS or UIA, in uncovering others who harbored antisocial tendencies. The object was usually assisted with memory-intensifying drugs, hypnosis, electric stimulation of the hippocampus, etc. The journal the object produced
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