The Census Takers
IT GETS TO BE A MADHOUSE around here along about the
end of the first week. Thank heaven we only do this
once a year, that's what I say! Six weeks on, and forty-six
weeks offthat's pretty good hours, most people think.
But they don't know what those six weeks are like.
It's bad enough for the field crews, but when you get to
be an Area Boss like me it's frantic. You work your way
up through the ranks, and then they give you a whole C.A.
of your own; and you think you've got it made. Fifty
three-man crews go out, covering the whole Census Area;
a hundred and fifty men in the field, and twenty or thirty
more in Area Commandand you boss them all. And
everything looks great, until- Census Period starts and
you've got to work those hundred and fifty men; and six
weeks is too unbearably long to live through, and too im-
possibly short to get the work done; and you begin living
on black coffee and thiamin shots and dreaming about the
vacation hostel on Point Loma.
Anybody can panic, when the pressure is on like that.
Your best field men begin to crack up. But you can't
afford to, because you're the Area Boss. ...
Take Witeck. We were Enumerators together, and he
was as good a man as you ever saw, absolutely nerveless
when it came to processing the Overs. I counted on that
man the way I counted on my own right arm; I always
bracketed him with the greenest, shakiest new cadet
Enumerators, and he never gave me a moment's trouble
for years. Maybe it was too good to last; maybe I should
have figured he would crack.
I set up my Area Command in a plush penthouse apart-
ment. The people who lived there were pretty well off,
you know, and they naturally raised the dickens about
being shoved out. "Blow it," I told them. "Get out of here
in five minutes, and we'll count you first." Well, that took
care of that; they were practically kissing my feet on the
way out. Of course, it wasn't strictly by the book, but you
have to be a little flexible; that's why some men-become
Area Bosses, and others stay Enumerators.
Like Witeck.
Along about Day Eight things were really hotting up. I
was up to my neck in hurry-ups from Regional Control
we were running a little slowwhen Witeck called up.
"Chief," he said, "I've got an In."
I grabbed the rotary file with one hand and a pencil
with the other. "Blue card number?" I asked.
Witeck sounded funny over the phone. "Well, Chief,"
he said, "he doesn't have a blue card. He says"
"No blue card?" I couldn't believe it. Come in to a
strange C.A. without a card from your own Area Boss,
and you're one In that's a cinch to be an Over. "What
kind of a crazy C.A. does he come from, without a blue
card?"
Witeck said, '"He don't come from any C.A., Chief.
He says"
"You mean he isn't from this country?"
"That's right, Chief. He-"
"Hold it!" I pushed away the rotary file and grabbed the
immigration roster. There were only a couple of dozen
names on it, of coursewe have enough trouble with our
own Overs, without taking on a lot of foreigners, but still
there were a handful every year who managed to get on
the quotas. "I.D. number?" I demanded.
"Well, Chief," Witeck began, "he doesn't have an I.D.
number. The way it looks to me"
Well, you can fool around with these irregulars for a
month, if you want to, but it's no way to get the work
done. I said: "Over him!" and hung up. I was a little
surprised, though; Witeck knew the ropes, and it wasn't
like him to buck an irregular on to me. In the old days,
when we were both starting out, I'd seen him Over a
whole family just because the spelling of their names on
their registry cards was different from the spelling on the
checklist.
But we get older. I made a note to talk to Witeck as
soon as the rush was past. We were old friends; I wouldn't
have to threaten him with being Overed himself, or any-
thing like that. He'd know, and maybe that would be all
he would need to snap him back. I certainly would talk
to him, I promised myself, as soon as the rush was over,
or anyway as soon as I got back from Point Loma.
I had to run up to Regional Control to take a little
talking-to myself just then, but I proved to them that we
were catching up and they were only medium nasty. When
I got back Witeck was on the phone again. "Chief," he
said, real unhappy, "this In is giving me a headache. I"
"Witeck," I snapped at him, "are you bothering me
with another In? Can't you handle anything by yourself?"
He said, "It's the same one. Chief. He says he's a kind
of ambassador, and"
"Oh," I said. "Well, why-the devil don't you get your
facts straight in the first place? Give me his name and I'll
check his legation."
"Well, Chief," he began again, "he, uh, doesn't have
any legation. He says he's from the" he swallowed
"from the middle of the earth."
"You're crazy." I'd seen it happen before, good men
breaking under the strain of census taking. They say in
cadets that by the time you process your first five hundred
Overs you've had it; either you take a voluntary Over
yourself, or you split wide open and they carry you off to
a giggle farm. And Witeck was past the five hundred mark,
way past.
There was a lot of yelling and crying from the filter
center, which I'd put out by the elevators, and it looked
like Jumpers. I stabbed the transfer button on the phone
and called to Carias, my number-two man: "Witeck's
flipped or something. Handle it!"
And then I forgot about it, while Carias talked to
Witeck on the phone; because it was Jumpers, all right, a
whole family of them.
There was a father and a mother and five kidsfive of
them. Aren't some people disgusting? The field Enumer-
ator turned them over to the guardsthey were moaning
and cryingand came up and gave me the story. It was
bad.
"You're the head of the household?" I demanded of
the man.
He nodded, looking at me like a sick dog. "Wewe
weren't Jumping," he whined. "Honest to heaven, mister
you've got to believe me. We were"
I cut in, "You were packed and on the doorstep when
the field crew came by. Right?" He started to say some-
thing, but I had him dead to rights. "That's plenty, friend,"
I told him. "That's Jumping, under the law: Packing, with
intent to move, while a census Enumeration crew is oper-
ating in your locale. Got anything to say?"
Well, he had plenty to say, but none of it made any
sense. He turned my stomach, listening to him. I tried to
keep my temperyou're not supposed to think of indi-
viduals, no matter how worthless and useless and generally
unfit they are; that's against the whole principle of the
Censusbut I couldn't help telling him: "I've met your
kind before, mister. Five kids! If it wasn't for people like
you we wouldn't have any Overs, did you ever think of that?
Sure you didn'tyou people never think of anything but
yourself! Five kids, and then when Census comes around
you think you can get smart and Jump." I tell you, I was
. shaking. "You keep your little beady eyes peeled, sneaking
around, watching the Enumerators, trying to count how
m~ny it takes to make an Over; and then you wait until
they get close to you, so you can Jump. Ever stop to think
what trouble that makes for us?" I demanded. "Census
is supposed to be fair and square, everybody an even
chanceand how can we make it that way unless every-
body stands still to be counted?" I patted Old Betsy, on
my hip. "I haven't Overed anybody myself in five years,"
I told him, "but I swear, I'd like to handle you personally!"
He didn't say a word once I got started on him. He just
stood there, taking it. I had to force myself to stop, finally;
I could have gone on for a long time, because if there's
one thing I hate it's these lousy, stinking breeders who try
to Jump when they think one of them is going to be an
Over in the count-off. Regular Jumpers are bad enough,
but when it's the people who make the mess in the first
place
Anyway, time was wasting. I took a deep breath and
thought things over. Actually, we weren't too badly off;
we'd started off Overing every two-hundred-and-fiftieth
person, and it was beginning to look as though onr pre-
liminary estimate was high; we'd just cut back to Overing
every three-hundredth. So we had a little margin to play
with.
I told the man, dead serious: "You know I could Over
the lot of you on charges, don't you?" He nodded sickly.
"All right, I'll give you a chance. I don't want to bother
with the red tape; if you'll take a voluntary Over for your-
self, we'll start the new count with your wife."
Call me soft, if you want to; but I still say that it was
a lot better than fussing around with charges and a hear-
ing. You get into a hearing like that and it can drag on
for half an hour or more; and then Regional Control is
on your tail because you're falling behind.
It never hurts to give a man a break, even a Jumper, I
always sayas long as it doesn't slow down your Census.
Carias was waiting at my desk when I got back; he
looked worried about something, but I brushed him off
while I initialed the Overage report on the man we'd just
processed. He'd been an In, I found out when I canceled
his blue card. I can't say I was surprised. He'd come from
Denver, and you know how they keep exceeding their
Census figures; no doubt he thought he'd have a better
chance in my C.A. than anywhere else. And no doubt he
was right, because we certainly don't encourage breeders
like himactually, if he hadn't tried to Jump it was odds-
on that the whole damned family would get by without
an Over for years.
Carias was hovering right behind me as I finished. "I
hate these voluntaries," I told him, basketing the canceled
card. "I'm going to talk to Regional Control about it;
there's no reason why they can't be processed like any
other Over, instead of making me okay each one individ-
ually. Now, what's the matter?"
He rubbed his jaw. "Chief," he said, "it's Witeck."
"Now what? Another In?"
Carias glanced at me, then away. "Uh, no, Chief. It's
the same one. He claims he comes from, uh, the center of
the earth."
I swore out loud. "So he has to turn up in my C.A.!" I
complained bitterly. "He gets out of the nuthouse, and
right away"
Carias said, "Chief, he might not be crazy. He makes
it sound pretty real."
I said: "Hold it, Carias. Nobody can live in the center
of the earth. It's solid, like a potato."
"Sure, Chief," Carias nodded earnestly. "But he says it
isn't. He says there's a what he calls neutronium shell,
whatever that is, with dirt and rocks on both sides of it.
We live on the outside. He lives on the inside. His
people" ;;t
"Carias!" I yelled. "You're as bad as
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