Level 7

The crew had means of communicating with the command as well. One had only to press one of the special red buttons (evidently connected to microphones) and one’s voice would be received by the communications centre and there, as at a telephone exchange, be connected to the appropriate authority, according to the nature of the message. But this system was to be used only in cases of real emergency: sickness, malfunctioning of installations, and things like that. (The speaker made no mention of hidden microphones operating without the button, such as the one X-107 and I detected in our room the other day. Perhaps they are only installed in PBX officers’ rooms.)

I had noticed the red buttons around before, of course, with their instructions: “In case of emergency press and speak.” But I have never used one so far. The only times I have felt like doing so were when I wanted to shout: “Let me out of here.”

The talk was restricted to Level 7’s internal communications. There was no mention of contact between Level 7 and the outside world, though this must exist or we should never know when to push the buttons or anything else. Information on that topic would have been fascinating, because it would have been a link with all we had left behind up there. Which is probably why it was not included in the talk: they do not want anything to remind us of life on the surface; we must get adjusted to life 4,400 feet down. So, no talk of any world outside our world.

This gives an ironical twist to ‘Know Thy Level’ “Don’t bother about other worlds,” the title seems to say. “Know about the only one you’ll ever live in.”

APRIL 7

An extraordinary thing happened in the lounge today. Usually people there form small groups of two or three, talking quietly with each other, and often hardly speaking at all. This time the picture was different. One man—I was told later that he was a philosopher, Ph-107—was standing and talking, vigorously and persuasively, while all the rest listened in silence, sitting or standing around.

The scene was most unusual. Not only had I never observed it on Level 7 before, but I do not remember coming across informal public speech-making like this up above either. It was like a return to the old oratory. In ancient city-states people must have talked, and listened, in that way.

Strange as it may seem, the subject of the man’s speech was Democracy—Democracy on Level 7, to be precise.

The topic seemed to fascinate his audience. Even P-867, who likes talking herself, was absorbed and hardly noticed me. Other people drifted into the room from time to time while the philosopher was speaking, and all their conversations died as they were drawn into the rapt circle of listeners.

Ph-107’s thesis went something like this.

Democracy, he said, is the rule of all over all. To make it practicable, however, men have always found it necessary to compromise: to follow the decisions of the majority. And as the actual ruling power must perforce be in the hands of a very few people chosen as the representatives of the majority, it has been possible for some cynics to maintain that real democracy can never work. It is always an élite which rules.

To forestall such objections, people have tried to limit the power of the élite by devising impersonal machinery of government such as laws, constitutions, principles. The rule of law, as opposed to the rule of people, has been the basis of democracy from time immemorial.

All right, the cynic will reply, but the rule of laws and constitutions and so forth remains, ultimately, the rule of some people—the people who devised them, in this or past ages. Principles cannot invent themselves. And when all the rules have been laid down they still have to be applied and interpreted by lawyers, judges, politicians—by people.

These objections, said Ph-107, cannot be disregarded. They have formed a valid criticism of every form of democracy which has existed—until today. Now, for the first time in the history of mankind, perfect, absolute democracy is coming into being: democracy on Level 7.

As we gathered yesterday from the talk about communications, there is no personal authority here. One does not have to salute anybody. “We obey only impersonal commands,” Ph-107 cried with enthusiasm, thumping one fist into the palm of his other hand. “We acknowledge only the authority of the loudspeaker—the impersonal, the supra-personal personification of all of us.

“This is,” he wound up, “the ultimate logical form for democracy to take: purged of personal elements, refined until the quintessence, the very abstraction, is all that remains. Democracy on Level 7 is the only true democracy, not only in the world today, but in the whole of human history.”

For a few moments after he had finished there was silence: “Surely somebody must be sitting at the other end of the loudspeaker and giving the orders?”