Mack Reynolds

“ Nationalism, chauvinism, racism, the supposed glory of the military, all seem romantic to the immature. They rebel at the orderliness of present society. They seek entertainment in excitement. Citizen Temple-Tracy is aware of this and finds his recruits among the young."
"O.K., so this guy is dangerous. You want him knocked off before he screws everything up. But the way things are, there's no way of making a get. So you'll have to get some other patsy. Not me."
"I am afraid you have no alternative," Brett-James said gently. "Without us, what will you do? ”

“ Brett-James said, "Amer-English is no longer the language spoken by the man in the street, Mr. Prantera. Only students of such subjects any longer speak such tongues as Amer-English, French, Russian or the many others that once confused the race with their limitations as a means of communication."
"You mean there's no place in the whole world where they talk American?" Joe demanded, aghast.
Dr. Reston-Farrell controlled the car. Joe Prantera sat in the seat next to him and Warren Brett-James sat in the back. Joe had, tucked in his belt, a .45 caliber automatic, once displayed in a museum. ”

“ Joe said.
"Where would you go?"
The fear of police, of Al Rossi's vengeance, of the measures that might be taken by Big Louis on his failure, were now far away.
Reston-Farrell had approached the door by which he had entered and it reopened for him. He went through it without looking back.
There was nothing else to do. Joe dressed, then followed him.
In the adjoining room was a circular table that would have accommodated a dozen persons. Two were seated there now, papers, books and soiled coffee cups before them. There had evidently been a long wait. ”

“ Joe Prantera wound it up reasonably. "You gotta have a finger."
Brett-James said, "Why not just go to Temple-Tracy's apartment and, ah, dispose of him?"
"Jest walk in, eh? You think I'm stupid? How do I know how many witnesses hangin' around? How do I know if the guy's carryin' heat?"
"Heat?"
"A gun, a gun. Ya think I'm stupid? I come to give it to him and he gives it to me instead."
Dr. Reston-Farrell said, "Howard Temple-Tracy lives alone. He customarily receives visitors every afternoon, largely potential followers. He is attempting to recruit members to an organization he is forming. ”

“ Shortly after your own period, man awoke to the fact that he had achieved to the point where it was possible to produce an abundance for all with a minimum of toil. Overnight, for all practical purposes, the whole world was industrialized, automated. The second industrial revolution was accompanied by revolutionary changes in almost every field, certainly in every science. Dictators? Your ancestors found, Mr. Prantera, that it is difficult for a man to be free so long as others are still enslaved. ”

“ Even Big Louis."
"Yes," Brett-James said, his voice soft. "They are all dead, Mr. Prantera. Their children are all dead, and their grandchildren."
The two men of the future said nothing more for long minutes while Joe Prantera's mind whirled its confusion.
Finally he said, "What's this bit about you wanting me to give it to some guy."
"That is why we brought you here, Mr. Prantera. You were ... you are, a professional assassin."
"Hey, wait a minute, now."
Reston-Farrell went on, ignoring the interruption. "There is small point in denying your calling. ”

“ Today the democratic ethic has reached a pinnacle never dreamed of in your own era."
"O.K., O.K.," Joe Prantera growled. "So everybody's got it made. What I wanta know is what's all this about me giving it ta somebody? If everything's so great, how come you want me to knock this guy off?"
Reston-Farrell bent forward and thumped his right index finger twice on the table. "The bacterium of hate—a new strain—has found the human race unprotected from its disease. We had thought our vaccines immunized us."
"What's that suppose to mean?"
Brett-James took up the ball again. "Mr. ”

“ Right now he could have welcomed a calling down at the hands of Big Louis.
Reston-Farrell had come to his feet and walked to one of the large room's windows. He looked out, as though unseeing. Then, his back turned, he said, "We have tried, but it is simply not in us, Mr. Prantera."
"You mean you're yella?"
"No, if by that you mean afraid. It is simply not within us to take the life of a fellow creature—not to speak of a fellow man."
Joe snapped: "Everything you guys say sounds crazy. Let's start all over again."
Brett-James said, "Let me do it, Lawrence." He turned his eyes to Joe. "Mr. ”