{"id":16974,"date":"2024-10-19T11:56:25","date_gmt":"2024-10-19T15:56:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=16974"},"modified":"2025-09-29T22:34:58","modified_gmt":"2025-09-30T02:34:58","slug":"isaac-asimov-franchise","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/isaac-asimov-franchise\/16974\/","title":{"rendered":"Isaac Asimov: Franchise"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> \u201cFranchise\u201d<\/em> is a science fiction short story by Isaac Asimov, published in If<\/em> magazine in August 1955. The story envisions a future in which elections in the United States no longer depend on the votes of millions, but instead on a supercomputer called Multivac that selects a single citizen to represent the entire nation. This citizen, through his answers, will determine the electoral outcome. In the days leading up to the election, tension rises across the country as everyone awaits the revelation of who will be the chosen voter to decide the nation\u2019s political future.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Isaac<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Franchise<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

by Isaac Asimov
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

LINDA, AGE ten, was the only one of the family who seemed to enjoy being awake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman Muller could hear her now through his own drugged, unhealthy coma. (He had finally managed to fall asleep an hour earlier but even then it was more like exhaustion than sleep.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was at his bedside now, shaking him. \u201cDaddy, Daddy, wake up. Wake up!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He suppressed a groan. \u201cAll right, Linda.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut, Daddy, there\u2019s more policemen around than any time! Police cars and everything!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman Muller gave up and rose blearily to his elbows. The day was beginning. It was faintly stirring toward dawn outside, the germ of a miserable gray that looked about as miserably gray as he felt. He could hear Sarah, his wife, shuffling about breakfast duties in the kitchen. His father-in-law, Matthew, was hawking strenuously in the bathroom. No doubt Agent Handley was ready and waiting for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was the day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Election Day!<\/p>\n\n\n\n


To begin with, it had been like every other year. Maybe a little worse, because it was a presidential year, but no worse than other presidential years if it came to that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The politicians spoke about the guh-reat electorate and the vast electronic intelligence that was its servant. The press analyzed the situation with industrial computers (the New York Times and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch had their own computers) and were full of little hints as to what would be forthcoming. Commentators and columnists pinpointed the crucial state and county in happy contradiction to one another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The first hint that it would not<\/em> be like every other year was when Sarah Muller said to her husband on the evening of October 4 (with Election Day exactly a month off), \u201cCantwell Johnson says that Indiana will be the state this year. He\u2019s the fourth one. Just think, our<\/em> state this time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew Hortenweiler took his fleshy face from behind the paper, stared dourly at his daughter and growled, \u201cThose fellows are paid to tell lies. Don\u2019t listen to them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFour of them, Father,\u201d said Sarah mildly. \u201cThey all say Indiana.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIndiana is<\/em> a key state, Matthew,\u201d said Norman, just as mildly, \u201con account of the Hawkins-Smith Act and this mess in Indianapolis. It-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew twisted his old face alarmingly and rasped out, \u201cNo one says Bloomington or Monroe County, do they?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell-\u201d said Norman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda, whose little pointed-chinned face had been shifting from one speaker to the next, said pipingly, \u201cYou going to be voting this year, Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman smiled gently and said, \u201cI don\u2019t think so, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But this was in the gradually growing excitement of an October in a presidential election year and Sarah had led a quiet life with dreams for her companions. She said longingly, \u201cWouldn\u2019t that<\/em> be wonderful, though?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf I voted?\u201d Norman Muller had a small blond mustache that had given him a debonair quality in the young Sarah\u2019s eyes, but which, with gradual graying, had declined merely to lack of distinction. His forehead bore deepening lines born of uncertainty and, in general, he had never seduced his clerkly soul with the thought that he was either born great or would under any circumstances achieve greatness. He had a wife, a job and a little girl, and except under extraordinary conditions of elation or depression was inclined to consider that to be an adequate bargain struck with life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So he was a little embarrassed and more than a little uneasy at the direction his wife\u2019s thoughts were taking. \u201cActually, my dear,\u201d he said, \u201cthere are two hundred million people in the country, and, with odds like that, I don\u2019t think we ought to waste our time wondering about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His wife said, \u201cWhy, Norman, it\u2019s no such thing like two hundred million and you know it. In the first place, only people between twenty and sixty are eligible and it\u2019s always men, so that puts it down to maybe fifty million to one. Then, if it\u2019s really Indiana-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen it\u2019s about one and a quarter million to one. You wouldn\u2019t want me to bet in a horse race against those odds, now, would you? Let\u2019s have supper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew muttered from behind his newspaper, \u201cDamned foolishness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda asked again, \u201cYou going to be voting this year, Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman shook his head and they all adjourned to the dining room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


By October 20, Sarah\u2019s excitement was rising rapidly. Over the coffee, she announced that Mrs. Schultz, having a cousin who was the secretary of an Assemblyman, said that all the \u201csmart money\u201d was on Indiana.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe says President Villers is even going to make a speech at Indianapolis.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman Muller, who had had a hard day at the store, nudged the statement with a raising of eyebrows and let it go at that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew Hortenweiler, who was chronically dissatisfied with Washington, said, \u201cIf Villers makes a speech in Indiana, that means he thinks Multivac will pick Arizona. He wouldn\u2019t have the guts to go closer, the mush-head.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah, who ignored her father whenever she could decently do so, said, \u201cI don\u2019t know why they don\u2019t announce the state as soon as they can, and then the county and so on. Then the people who were eliminated could relax.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf they did anything like that,\u201d pointed out Norman, \u201cthe politicians would follow the announcements like vultures. By the time it was narrowed down to a township, you\u2019d have a Congressman or two at every street corner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew narrowed his eyes and brushed angrily at his sparse, gray hair. \u201cThey\u2019re vultures, anyhow. Listen-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah murmured, \u201cNow, Father-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew\u2019s voice rumbled over her protest without as much as a stumble or hitch. \u201cListen, I was around when they set up Multivac. It would end partisan politics, they said. No more voters\u2019 money wasted on campaigns. No more grinning nobodies high-pressured and advertising-campaigned into Congress or the White House. So what happens. More campaigning than ever, only now they do it blind. They\u2019ll send guys to Indiana on account of the Hawkins-Smith Act and other guys to California in case it\u2019s the Joe Hammer situation that turns out crucial. I say, wipe out all that nonsense. Back to the good old-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda asked suddenly, \u201cDon\u2019t you want Daddy to vote this year, Grandpa?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew glared at the young girl. \u201cNever you mind, now.\u201d He turned back to Norman and Sarah. \u201cThere was a time I voted. Marched right up to the polling booth, stuck my fist on the levers and voted. There was nothing to it. I just said: This fellow\u2019s my man and I\u2019m voting for him. That\u2019s<\/em> the way it should be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda said excitedly, \u201cYou voted, Grandpa? You really did?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah leaned forward quickly to quiet what might easily become an incongruous story drifting about the neighborhood, \u201cIt\u2019s nothing, Linda. Grandpa doesn\u2019t really mean voted. Everyone did that kind of voting, your grandpa, too, but it wasn\u2019t really<\/em> voting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew roared, \u201cIt wasn\u2019t when I was a little boy. I was twenty-two and I voted for Langley and it was real voting. My vote didn\u2019t count for much, maybe, but it was as good as anyone else\u2019s. Anyone<\/em> else\u2019s. And no Multivac to-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman interposed, \u201cAll right, Linda, time for bed. And stop asking questions about voting. When you grow up, you\u2019ll understand all about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He kissed her with antiseptic gentleness and she moved reluctantly out of range under maternal prodding and a promise that she might watch the bedside video till 9:15, if she was prompt about the bathing ritual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Linda said, \u201cGrandpa,\u201d and stood with her chin down and her hands behind her back until his newspaper lowered itself to the point where shaggy eyebrows and eyes, nested in fine wrinkles, showed themselves. It was Friday, October 31.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda came closer and put both her forearms on one of the old man\u2019s knees so that he had to discard his newspaper altogether.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She said, \u201cGrandpa, did you really once vote?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cYou heard me say I did, didn\u2019t you? Do you think I tell fibs?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cN-no, but Mamma says everybody voted then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo they did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut how could they? How could everybody<\/em> vote?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew stared at her solemnly, then lifted her and put her on his knee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He even moderated the tonal qualities of his voice. He said, \u201cYou see, Linda, till about forty years ago, everybody always voted. Say we wanted to decide who was to be the new President of the United States. The Democrats and Republicans would both nominate someone, and everybody would say who they wanted. When Election Day was over, they would count how many people wanted the Democrat and how many wanted the Republican. Whoever had more votes was elected. You see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda nodded and said, \u201cHow did all the people know who to vote for? Did Multivac tell them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew\u2019s eyebrows hunched down and he looked severe. \u201cThey just used their own judgment, girl.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She edged away from him, and he lowered his voice again, \u201cI\u2019m not angry at you, Linda. But, you see, sometimes it took all night to count what everyone said and people were impatient. So they invented special machines which could look at the first few votes and compare them with the votes from the same places in previous years. That way the machine could compute how the total vote would be and who would be elected. You see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She nodded. \u201cLike Multivac.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe first computers were much smaller than Multivac. But the machines grew bigger and they could tell how the election would go from fewer and fewer votes. Then, at last, they built Multivac and it can tell from just one voter.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Linda smiled at having reached a familiar part of the story and said, \u201cThat\u2019s nice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew frowned and said, \u201cNo, it\u2019s not nice. I don\u2019t want a machine telling me how I would have voted just because some joker in Milwaukee says he\u2019s against higher tariffs. Maybe I want to vote cockeyed just for the pleasure of it. Maybe I don\u2019t want to vote. Maybe-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Linda had wriggled from his knee and was beating a retreat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She met her mother at the door. Her mother, who was still wearing her coat and had not even had time to remove her hat, said breathlessly, \u201cRun, along, Linda. Don\u2019t get in Mother\u2019s way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then she said to Matthew, as she lifted her hat from her head and patted her hair back into place, \u201cI\u2019ve been at Agatha\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew stared at her censoriously and did not even dignify that piece of information with a grunt as he groped for his newspaper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah said, as she unbuttoned her coat, \u201cGuess what she said?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew flattened out his newspaper for reading purposes with a sharp crackle and said, \u201cDon\u2019t much care.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah said, \u201cNow, Father-\u201d But she had no time for anger. The news i had to be told and Matthew was the only recipient handy, so she went on, \u201cAgatha\u2019s Joe is a policeman, you know, and he says a whole truckload of secret service men came into Bloomington last night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re not after me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t you see, Father? Secret service agents, and it\u2019s almost election time. In Bloomington<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe they\u2019re after a bank robber.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere hasn\u2019t been a bank robbery in town in ages…. Father, you\u2019re hopeless.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She stalked away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Nor did Norman Muller receive the news with noticeably greater excitement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow, Sarah, how did Agatha\u2019s Joe know they were secret service agents?\u201d he asked calmly. \u201cThey wouldn\u2019t go around with identification cards pasted on their foreheads.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But by next evening, with November a day old, she could say triumphantly, \u201cIt\u2019s just everyone in Bloomington that\u2019s waiting for someone local to be the voter. The Bloomington News as much as said so on video.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman stirred uneasily. He couldn\u2019t deny it, and his heart was sinking. If Bloomington was really to be hit by Multivac\u2019s lightning, it would mean newspapermen, video shows, tourists, all sorts of-strange upsets. Norman liked the quiet routine of his life, and the distant stir of politics was getting uncomfortably close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said, \u201cIt\u2019s all rumor. Nothing more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou wait and see, then. You just wait and see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As things turned out, there was very little time to wait, for the doorbell rang insistently, and when Norman Muller opened it and said, \u201cYes?\u201d a tall, grave-faced man said, \u201cAre you Norman Muller?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman said, \u201cYes,\u201d again, but in a strange dying voice. It was not difficult to see from the stranger\u2019s bearing that he was one carrying authority, and the nature of his errand suddenly became as inevitably obvious as it had, until the moment before, been unthinkably impossible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man presented credentials, stepped into the house, closed the door behind him and said ritualistically, \u201cMr. Norman Muller, it is necessary for me to inform you on the behalf of the President of the United States that you have been chosen to represent the American electorate on Tuesday, November 4, 2008.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Norman Muller managed, with difficulty, to walk unaided to his chair. He sat there, white-faced and almost insensible, while Sarah brought water, slapped his hands in panic and moaned to her husband between clenched teeth, \u201cDon\u2019t be sick, Norman. Don\u2019t<\/em> be sick. They\u2019ll pick someone else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Norman could manage to talk, he whispered, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The secret service agent had removed his coat, unbuttoned his jacket and was sitting at ease on the couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d he said, and the mark of officialdom seemed to have vanished with the formal announcement and leave him simply a large and rather friendly man. \u201cThis is the sixth time I\u2019ve made the announcement and I\u2019ve seen all kinds of reactions. Not one of them was the kind you see on the video. You know what I mean? A holy, dedicated look, and a character who says, \u2018It will be a great privilege to serve my country.\u2019 That sort of stuff.\u201d The agent laughed comfortingly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah\u2019s accompanying laugh held a trace of shrill hysteria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The agent said, \u201cNow you\u2019re going to have me with you for a while. My name is Phil Handley. I\u2019d appreciate it if you call me Phil. Mr. Muller can\u2019t leave the house any more till Election Day. You\u2019ll have to inform the department store that he\u2019s sick, Mrs. Muller. You can go about your business for a while, but you\u2019ll have to agree not to say a word about this. Right, Mrs. Muller?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah nodded vigorously. \u201cNo, sir. Not a word.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right. But, Mrs. Muller,\u201d Handley looked grave, \u201cwe\u2019re not kidding now. Go out only if you must and you\u2019ll be followed when you do. I\u2019m sorry but that\u2019s the way we must operate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFollowed?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt won\u2019t be obvious. Don\u2019t worry. And it\u2019s only for two days till the formal announcement to the nation is made. Your daughter-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s in bed,\u201d said Sarah hastily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood. She\u2019ll have to be told I\u2019m a relative or friend staying with the family. If she does find out the truth, she\u2019ll have to be kept in the house. Your father had better stay in the house in any case.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t like that,\u201d said Sarah.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan\u2019t be helped. Now, since you have no others living with you-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know all about us apparently,\u201d whispered Norman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cQuite a bit,\u201d agreed Handley. \u201cIn any case, those are all my instructions to you for the moment. I\u2019ll try to cooperate as much as I can and be as little of a nuisance as possible. The government will pay for my maintenance so I won\u2019t be an expense to you. I\u2019ll be relieved each night by someone who will sit up in this room, so there will be no problem about sleeping accommodations. Now, Mr. Muller-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can call me Phil,\u201d said the agent again. \u201cThe purpose of the two-day preliminary before formal announcement is to get you used to your position. We prefer to have you face Multivac in as normal a state of mind as possible. Just relax and try to feel this is all in a day\u2019s work. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d said Norman, and then shook his head violently. \u201cBut I don\u2019t want the responsibility. Why me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d said Handley, \u201clet\u2019s get that straight to begin with. Multivac weighs all sorts of known factors, billions of them. One factor isn\u2019t known, though, and won\u2019t be known for a long time. That\u2019s the reaction pattern of the human mind. All Americans are subjected to the molding pressure of what other Americans do and say, to the things that are done to him and the things he does to others. Any American can be brought to Multivac to have the bent of his mind surveyed. From that the bent of all other minds in the country can be estimated. Some Americans are better for the purpose than others at some given time, depending upon the happenings of that year. Multivac picked you as most representative this year. Not the smartest, or the strongest, or the luckiest, but just the most representative. Now we don\u2019t question Multivac, do we?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCouldn\u2019t it make a mistake?\u201d asked Norman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sarah, who listened impatiently, interrupted to say, \u201cDon\u2019t listen to him* sir. He\u2019s just nervous, you know. Actually, he\u2019s very well read and he always follows politics very closely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley said, \u201cMultivac makes the decisions, Mrs. Muller. It picked your husband.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut does it know everything?\u201d insisted Norman wildly. \u201cCouldn\u2019t it have made a mistake?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, it can. There\u2019s no point in not being frank. In 1993, a selected Voter died of a stroke two hours before it was time for him to be notified. Multivac didn\u2019t predict that; it couldn\u2019t. A Voter might be mentally unstable, morally unsuitable, or, for that matter, disloyal. Multivac can\u2019t know everything about everybody until he\u2019s fed all the data there is. That\u2019s why alternate selections are always held in readiness. I don\u2019t think we\u2019ll be using one this time. You\u2019re in good health, Mr. Muller, and you\u2019ve been carefully investigated. You qualify.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman buried his face in his hands and sat motionless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBy tomorrow morning, sir,\u201d said Sarah, \u201che\u2019ll be perfectly all right. He just has to get used to it, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Handley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the privacy of their bedchamber, Sarah Muller expressed herself in other and stronger fashion. The burden of her lecture was, \u201cSo get hold of yourself, Norman. You\u2019re trying to throw away the chance of a lifetime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman whispered desperately, \u201cIt frightens me, Sarah. The whole thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor goodness\u2019 sake, why? What\u2019s there to it but answering a question or two?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe responsibility is too great. I couldn\u2019t face it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat responsibility? There isn\u2019t any. Multivac picked you. It\u2019s Multivac\u2019s responsibility. Everyone knows that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman sat up in bed in a sudden excess of rebellion and anguish. \u201cEveryone is supposed<\/em> to know that. But they don\u2019t. They-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLower your voice,\u201d hissed Sarah icily. \u201cThey\u2019ll hear you downtown.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey don\u2019t,\u201d said Norman, declining quickly to a whisper. \u201cWhen they talk about the Ridgely administration of 1988, do they say he won them over with pie-in-the-sky promises and racist baloney? No! They talk about the \u2018goddam MacComber vote,\u2019 as though Humphrey MacComber was the only man who had anything to do with it because he faced Multivac. I\u2019ve said it myself-only now I think the poor guy was just a truck farmer who didn\u2019t ask to be picked. Why was it his fault more than anyone else\u2019s? Now his name is a curse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re just being childish,\u201d said Sarah.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m being sensible. I tell you, Sarah, I won\u2019t accept. They can\u2019t make me vote if I don\u2019t want to. I\u2019ll say I\u2019m sick. I\u2019ll say-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Sarah had had enough. \u201cNow you listen to me,\u201d she whispered in a cold fury. \u201cYou don\u2019t have only yourself to think about. You know what it means to be Voter of the Year. A presidential year at that. It means publicity and fame and, maybe, buckets of money-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd then I go back to being a clerk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou will not. You\u2019ll have a branch managership at the least if you have any brains at all, and you will have, because I\u2019ll tell you what to do. You control the kind of publicity if you play your cards right, and you can force Kennell Stores, Inc., into a tight contract and<\/em> an escalator clause in connection with your salary and<\/em> a decent pension plan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not the point in being Voter, Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat will be your point. If you don\u2019t owe anything to yourself or to me -I\u2019m not asking for myself-you owe something to Linda.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman groaned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, don\u2019t you?\u201d snapped Sarah.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, dear,\u201d murmured Norman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


On November 3, the official announcement was made and it was too late for Norman to back out even if he had been able to find the courage to make the attempt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their house was sealed off. Secret service agents made their appearance in the open, blocking off all approach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At first the telephone rang incessantly, but Philip Handley with an engagingly apologetic smile took all calls. Eventually, the exchange shunted all calls directly to the police station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman imagined that, in that way, he was spared not only the bubbling (and envious?) congratulations of friends, but also the egregious pressure of salesmen scenting a prospect and the designing smoothness of politicians from all over the nation…. Perhaps even death threats from the inevitable cranks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Newspapers were forbidden to enter the house now in order to keep out weighted pressures, and television was gently but firmly disconnected, over Linda\u2019s loud protests.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matthew growled and stayed in his room; Linda, after the first flurry of excitement, sulked and whined because she could not leave the house; Sarah divided her time between preparation of meals for the present and plans for the future; and Norman\u2019s depression lived and fed upon itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the morning of Tuesday, November 4, 2008, came at last, and it was Election Day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


It was early breakfast, but only Norman Muller ate, and that mechanically. Even a shower and shave had not succeeded in either restoring him to reality or removing his own conviction that he was as grimy without as he felt grimy within.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley\u2019s friendly voice did its best to shed some normality over the gray and unfriendly dawn. (The weather prediction had been for a cloudy day with prospects of rain before noon.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley said, \u201cWe\u2019ll keep this house insulated till Mr. Muller is back, but after that we\u2019ll be off your necks.\u201d The secret service agent was in full uniform now, including sidearms in heavily brassed holsters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve been no trouble at all, Mr. Handley,\u201d simpered Sarah.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman drank through two cups of black coffee, wiped his lips with a napkin, stood up and said haggardly, \u201cI\u2019m ready.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley stood up, too. \u201cVery well, sir. And thank you, Mrs. Muller, for your very kind hospitality.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The armored car purred down empty streets. They were empty even for that hour of the morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley indicated that and said, \u201cThey always shift traffic away from the line of drive ever since the attempted bombing that nearly ruined the Leverett Election of \u2018ninety-two.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the car stopped, Norman was helped out by the always polite Handley into an underground drive whose walls were lined with soldiers at attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was led into a brightly lit room, in which three white-uniformed men greeted him smilingly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman said sharply, \u201cBut this is the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no significance to that,\u201d said Handley at once. \u201cIt\u2019s just that the hospital has the necessary facilities.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, what do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley nodded. One of the three men in white advanced and said, \u201cI\u2019ll take over now, agent.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Handley saluted in an offhand manner and left the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man in white said, \u201cWon\u2019t you sit down, Mr. Muller? I\u2019m John Paulson, Senior Computer. These are Samson Levine and Peter Dorogobuzh, my assistants.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman shook hands numbly all about. Paulson was a man of middle height with a soft face that seemed used to smiling and a very obvious toupee. He wore plastic-rimmed glasses of an old-fashioned cut, and he lit a cigarette as he talked. (Norman refused his offer of one.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulson said, \u201cIn the first place, Mr. Muller, I want you to know we are in no hurry. We want you to stay with us all day if necessary, just so that you get used to your surroundings and get over any thought you might have that there is anything unusual in this, anything clinical, if you know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d said Norman. \u201cI\u2019d just as soon this were over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI understand your feelings. Still, we want you to know exactly what\u2019s going on. In the first place, Multivac isn\u2019t here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t?\u201d Somehow through all his depression, he had still looked forward to seeing Multivac. They said it was half a mile long and three stories high, that fifty technicians walked the corridors within<\/em> its structure continuously. It was one of the wonders of the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulson smiled. \u201cNo. It\u2019s not portable, you know. It\u2019s located underground, in fact, and very few people know exactly where. You can understand that, since it is our greatest natural resource. Believe me, elections aren\u2019t the only things it\u2019s used for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman thought he was being deliberately chatty and found himself intrigued all the same. \u201cI thought I\u2019d see it. I\u2019d like to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure of that. But it takes a presidential order and even then it has to be countersigned by Security. However, we are plugged into Multivac right here by beam transmission. What Multivac says can be interpreted here and what we say is beamed directly to Multivac, so in a sense we\u2019re in its presence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman looked about. The machines within the room were all meaningless to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow let me explain, Mr. Muller,\u201d Paulson went on. \u201cMultivac already has most of the information it needs to decide all the elections, national, state and local. It needs only to check certain imponderable attitudes of mind and it will use you for that. We can\u2019t predict what questions it will ask, but they may not make much sense to you, or even to us. It may ask you how you feel about garbage disposal in your town; whether you favor central incinerators. It might ask you whether you have a doctor of your own or whether you make use of National Medicine, Inc. Do you understand?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhatever it asks, you answer in your own words in any way you please. If you feel you must explain quite a bit, do so. Talk an hour, if necessary.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow, one more thing. We will have to make use of some simple devices which will automatically record your blood pressure, heartbeat, skin conductivity and brain-wave pattern while you speak. The machinery will seem formidable, but it\u2019s all absolutely painless. You won\u2019t even know it\u2019s going on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The other two technicians were already busying themselves with smooth-gleaming apparatus on oiled wheels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman said, \u201cIs that to check on whether I\u2019m lying or not?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot at all, Mr. Muller. There\u2019s no question of lying. It\u2019s only a matter of emotional intensity. If the machine asks you your opinion of your child\u2019s school, you may say, \u2018I think it is overcrowded.\u2019 Those are only words. From the way your brain and heart and hormones and sweat glands work, Multivac can judge exactly how intensely you feel about the matter. It will understand your feelings better than you yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI never heard of this,\u201d said Norman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m sure you didn\u2019t. Most of the details of Multivac\u2019s workings are top secret. For instance, when you leave, you will be asked to sign a paper swearing that you will never reveal the nature of the questions you were asked, the nature of your responses, what was done, or how it was done. The less is known about the Multivac, the less chance of attempted outside pressures upon the men who service it.\u201d He smiled grimly. \u201cOur lives are hard enough as it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman nodded. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd now would you like anything to eat or drink?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. Nothing right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u201cDo you have any questions?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman shook his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you tell us when you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m ready right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re certain?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cQuite.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulson nodded, and raised his hand in a gesture to the others. They advanced with their frightening equipment, and Norman Muller felt his breath come a little quicker as he watched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The ordeal lasted nearly three hours, with one short break for coffee and an embarrassing session with a chamber pot. During all this time, Norman Muller remained encased in machinery. He was bone-weary at the close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He thought sardonically that his promise to reveal nothing of what had passed would be an easy one to keep. Already the questions were a hazy mishmash in his mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somehow he had thought Multivac would speak in a sepulchral, superhuman voice, resonant and echoing, but that, after all, was just an idea he had from seeing too many television shows, he now decided. The truth was distressingly undramatic. The questions were slips of a kind of metallic foil patterned with numerous punctures. A second machine converted the pattern into words and Paulson read the words to Norman, then gave him the question and let him read it for himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman\u2019s answers were taken down by a recording machine, played back to Norman for confirmation, with emendations and added remarks also taken down. All that was fed into a pattern-making instrument and that, in turn, was radiated to Murtivac.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The one question Norman could remember at the moment was an incongruously gossipy: \u201cWhat do you think of the price of eggs?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now it was over, and gently they removed the electrodes from various portions of his body, unwrapped the pulsating band from his upper arm, moved the machinery away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood up, drew a deep, shuddering breath and said, \u201cIs that all? Am I through?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot quite.\u201d Paulson hurried to him, smiling in reassuring fashion. \u201cWe\u2019ll have to ask you to stay another hour.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d asked Norman sharply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt will take that long for Multivac to weave its new data into the trillions of items it has. Thousands of elections are concerned, you know. It\u2019s very complicated. And it may be that an odd contest here or there, a comptroller-ship in Phoenix, Arizona, or some council seat in Wilkesboro, North Carolina, may be in doubt. In that case, Multivac may be compelled to ask you a deciding question or two.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Norman. \u201cI won\u2019t go through this again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt probably won\u2019t happen,\u201d Paulson said soothingly. \u201cIt rarely does. But, just in case, you\u2019ll have to stay.\u201d A touch of steel, just a touch, entered his voice. \u201cYou have no choice, you know. You must.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norman sat down wearily. He shrugged.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulson said, \u201cWe can\u2019t let you read a newspaper, but if you\u2019d care for a murder mystery, or if you\u2019d like to play chess, or if there\u2019s anything we can do for you to help pass the time, I wish you\u2019d mention it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right. I\u2019ll just wait.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They ushered him into a small room just next to the one in which he had been questioned. He let himself sink into a plastic-covered armchair and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As well as he could, he must wait out this final hour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


He sat perfectly still and slowly the tension left him. His breathing grew less ragged and he could clasp his hands without being quite so conscious of the trembling of his fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe there would be no questions. Maybe it was all over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If it were over, then the next thing would be torchlight processions and invitations to speak at all sorts of functions. The Voter of the Year!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He, Norman Muller, ordinary clerk of a small department store in Bloomington, Indiana, who had neither been born great nor achieved greatness would be in the extraordinary position of having had greatness thrust upon him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The historians would speak soberly of the Muller Election of 2008. That would be its name, the Muller Election.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The publicity, the better job, the flash flood of money that interested Sarah so much, occupied only a comer of his mind. It would all be welcome, of course. He couldn\u2019t refuse it. But at the moment something else was beginning to concern him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A latent patriotism was stirring. After all, he was representing the entire electorate. He was the focal point for them. He was, in his own person, for this one day, all of America!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door opened, snapping him to open-eyed attention. For a moment, his stomach constricted. Not more questions!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Paulson was smiling. \u201cThat will be all, Mr. Muller.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo more questions, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNone needed. Everything was quite clear-cut. You will be escorted back to your home and then you will be a private citizen once more. Or as much so as the public will allow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you. Thank you.\u201d Norman flushed and said, \u201cI wonder-who was elected?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulson shook his head. \u201cThat will have to wait for the official announcement. The rules are quite strict. We can\u2019t even tell you. You understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course. Yes.\u201d Norman felt embarrassed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSecret service will have the necessary papers for you to sign.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes.\u201d Suddenly, Norman Muller felt proud. It was on him now in full strength. He was proud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this imperfect world, the sovereign citizens of the first and greatest Electronic Democracy had, through Norman Muller (through him<\/em>!) exercised once again its free, untrammeled franchise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n