Biggle, Lloyd Jr
What hath God wrought!
The monthly National Lottery drawing was being held in the 100,000 car parking lot of Yosemite Valley. Searchlights dissected the night sky, and on the dim rostrum a young lady in spangled, iridescent tights stood postured beside a fountain of tossing, luminous globes, her long-handled net poised to strike. In the foreground, heavily pulsing music contested with the incessant, grinding purr of the fountain; in the background hung the rumbling murmur of the waiting thousands. In every direction, as far as the ubiquitous infrared TV cameras penetrated, the valley was a tossing blur of tense faces.
The net swooped. With practiced deftness the young lady flipped the captured globe into a launcher's yawning mouth. The TV scene switched to a night view of the valley from Glacier Point, and cameras followed the fiery arch of the globe's path until it exploded spectacularly into a gleaming number six that hung suspended over the valley and slowly began to blur into a luminous cloud.
On the rostrum below, on marquees at L Headquarters across the nation where millions thronged the streets and stared upward, on the L Specials from the nation's TV stations, the A Boards flashed the number six; and on the drawing rostrum, the spangled young lady was poised to fish for another globe.
Benjamin Franklin went to the bar to fix himself a drink. Although diligent and expensive research had uncovered no family connection with the famed historical figure, Franklin liked to hint that there was. If pressed, he would concede that he had followed a famous ancestor's bent for electrical research. Franklin was chairman of the board of one of the nation's largest energy conglomerates.
With his present associates, Franklin liked to pretend that the relationship was ironic. The historical Benjamin Franklin had once sponsored a lottery to finance the purchase of cannon for the defense of Philadelphia. The later-day Franklin was masterminding a conspiracy to destroy the National Lottery, and he'd put up half of a million-dollar fund dedicated to that purpose.
On the wall-sized TV screen, the spangled young lady had captured and launched another globe, and the gleaming number three was slowly dissipating. Franklin said, raising his glass, "The state of Georgia once ran a lottery to raise five thousand dollars for a school. That was back when a dollar was worth fifty. The cost of the lottery exceeded three hundred thousand dollars, and that didn't include the prizes. Even so, when compared with our National Lottery's management -"
Edmund Cahill, president of the nation's largest brokerage firm, drained his own glass, set it down, and remarked pompously, "Well, we've got to do something. We've got to re-educate the public. When a man buys a bad stock, at least he has something to show for it. Very few bad stocks are completely worthless, and a bad stock can improve. But what is a nonwinning lottery ticket worth after the drawing?"
Charles Jaffner, an insurance executive and notorious statistic dropper, announced, "According to the latest economic projection, the National Lottery will drain off thirty per cent of the national income this year, and the proceeds returned to the government will have dropped to one per cent of the original projection. Thirty per cent of our national income - buying nothing! The Lottery Governors answer complaints of mismanagement by adding a few more piddling prizes, and the people give them resounding votes of confidence. We've got to do something, but I'm not sure that fixing the Lottery -"
Franklin grinned good-naturedly. "Don't try to run out on me now. We agreed at the last meeting that this was the only way. We've got to make the public see how ridiculous the Lottery is. Unfortunately, most of the Lottery categories are invulnerable. People overlook silly results like teen-aged girls taking lunar safaris and little old ladies going bankrupt trying to manage the businesses they win. The fact is that on most of the category boards a winning ticket is the dream of a lifetime come true, and the dream of a lifetime can't be ridiculed. There's no point in exposing the hideous waste if people approve of the result."
"I'm still not convinced that the PR Board is any more vulnerable than the others," Jaffner said. "Be anything you like - what's wrong with that? Most people would like to be something other than what they are."
"That's why it's so popular," Franklin said. "Do you know anything at all about what the winners are asking? And getting?"
"That's confidential," Cahill said.
"Of course. It's got to be. The winner doesn't want the world to know that his success is due to a clever public-relations firm backed by unlimited funds from the National Lottery. The current mayor of Kansas City is a PR Board winner. Just another little clerk that always wanted to be a bigshot. Prockly and Brannot - that's the Lottery's PR firm - built him up, gave him tutors in political science and public speaking, wrote his speeches, and organized his campaign. Funny thing is, he's made a pretty good mayor."
"So how can we ridicule that?" Jaffner demanded.
"What would happen if a PR winner decided he wanted to be President? Do the American people want their high officials selected by a lottery by way of a public-relations firm?"
"Isn't that what happens now?" Cahill asked dryly.
"Consider the other winners. There's a well-known author who's never written a word. PR winner, didn't want to write, just wanted to be a famous author. Prockly and Brannot paid a real author - paid him very well - to ghost three novels for the PR winner. Same thing has happened with two would-be artists who won the PR Board. Prockly and Brannot got them the best in private instruction. That didn't work - neither would-be artist had much talent. So Prockly and Brannot commissioned paintings to be made in their names. As a result, two well-known modern artists never did a stroke of work on the paintings they're admired for. There was a pig of an amateur soprano who wanted to be a prima donna at Bayreuth. No amount of training would have helped her - she had no talent at all - so Prockly and Brannot hired the auditorium, the orchestra, and the rest of the cast, and even paid audiences to listen and act properly enthused. For an entire Wagner Ring cycle. The audiences earned their money."
"How'd you find out?" Jaffner asked.
Franklin grinned. "It's confidential, but Prockly and Brannot aren't above confidentially letting a prospective client know how effective they are in making PR winners anything they'd like to be. I'm compiling a file."
"Well, we've certainly got to do something," Cahill said. "People not only squander their savings on lottery tickets, but now they're going into debt to buy them. Did you see that loan company's ad? The company will loan you money to buy your lottery tickets. It'll also scientifically select a spread of tickets for you to invest your borrowed money in. If a rigged PR Board will bring people to their senses then - by the way, who holds the winning ticket?"
"Man named Alton Smith. Character I've known for years. He was janitor in the old building in St. Louis where I had my first office. He's retired, now. Has a lifelong hatred for gambling, and lotteries are gambling. Wrecking the National Lottery would be the glorious climax of his life. He'll co-operate fully."
The others were regarding Franklin apprehensively. Any leak, any hint of a suspicion that three business and financial leaders were conspiring to wreck the Lottery could ruin them. A mob actually had lynched the chairman of an antilottery group in Rhode Island.
Jaffner asked, "Does he know about us?"
"No," Franklin said. "Neither does his contact. We're covered perfectly. Smith will wait a couple of weeks before he claims his prize - just for effect. Then he'll pretend he thought he was buying a ticket on the VR Board and doesn't want the PR prize. It'll scare the Lottery people witless. When he finally breaks down and asks for something, they'll jump at it - and that'll be the beginning of the end for the National Lottery."