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Chapter 8: Arrays and Strings
TRUE/FALSE
2. The array index can be any integer less than the array size.
3. The statement int list[25]; declares list to be an array of 26 components, since the array
index starts at 0.
4. Given the declaration int list[20]; the statement list[12] = list[5] + list[7];
updates the content of the twelfth component of the array list.
5. Suppose list is a one dimensional array of size 25, wherein each component is of type int. Further,
suppose that sum is an int variable. The following for loop correctly finds the sum of the elements
of list.
sum = 0;
6. If an array index goes out of bounds, the program always terminates in an error.
7. Arrays can be passed as parameters to a function by value, but it is faster to pass them by reference.
8. When you pass an array as a parameter, the base address of the actual array is passed to the formal
parameter.
9. The one place where C++ allows aggregate operations on arrays is the input and output of C-strings.
MULTIPLE CHOICE
1. Which of the following statements declares alpha to be an array of 25 components of the type int?
a. int alpha[25]; c. int alpha[2][5];
b. int array alpha[25]; d. int array alpha[25][25];
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 507-508
2. Assume you have the following declaration char nameList[100];. Which of the following
ranges is valid for the index of the array nameList?
a. 0 through 99 c. 1 through 100
b. 0 through 100 d. 1 through 101
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 509
3. Assume you have the following declaration int beta[50];. Which of the following is a valid
element of beta?
a. beta['2'] c. beta[0]
b. beta['50'] d. beta[50]
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 509
4. Assume you have the following declaration double salesData[1000];. Which of the following
ranges is valid for the index of the array salesData?
a. 0 through 999 c. 1 through 1001
b. 0 through 1000 d. 1 through 1000
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 509
5. Suppose that sales is an array of 50 components of type double. Which of the following correctly
initializes the array sales?
a. for (int 1 = 1; j <= 49; j++)
sales[j] = 0;
b. for (int j = 1; j <= 50; j++)
sales[j] = 0;
c. for (int j = 0; j <= 49; j++)
sales[j] = 0.0;
d. for (int j = 0; j <= 50; j++)
sales[j] = 0.0;
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 512
6. Suppose that list is an array of 10 components of type int. Which of the following codes correctly
outputs all the elements of list?
a. 0 1 2 3 4 c. 0 5 10 15 20
b. 0 5 10 15 d. 5 10 15 20
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 512
int alpha[5];
int j;
a. 1 c. 5
b. 4 d. 6
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 512
a. 2 4 6 8 10 c. 8 6 4 2 0
b. 4 3 2 1 0 d. 10 8 6 4 2
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 512
a. 0 5 10 15 20 c. 5 10 15 20 20
b. 5 10 15 20 0 d. Code results in index out-of-bounds
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 515-516
11. Suppose that gamma is an array of 50 components of type int and j is an int variable. Which of the
following for loops sets the index of gamma out of bounds?
a. for (j = 0; j <= 49; j++)
cout << gamma[j] << " ";
b. for (j = 1; j < 50; j++)
cout << gamma[j] << " ";
c. for (j = 0; j <= 50; j++)
cout << gamma[j] << " ";
d. for (j = 0; j <= 48; j++)
cout << gamma[j] << " ";
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 515-516
12. Consider the following declaration: int alpha[5] = {3, 5, 7, 9, 11};. Which of the
following is equivalent to this statement?
a. int alpha[] = {3, 5, 7, 9, 11};
b. int alpha[] = {3 5 7 9 11};
c. int alpha[5] = [3, 5, 7, 9, 11];
d. int alpha[] = (3, 5, 7, 9, 11);
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 516
14. Which of the following correctly declares name to be a character array and stores "William" in it?
a. char name[6] = "William";
b. char name[7] = "William";
c. char name[8] = "William";
d. char name[8] = 'William';
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 536
15. Consider the following declaration: char str[15];. Which of the following statements stores
"Blue Sky" into str?
a. str = "Blue Sky";
b. str[15] = "Blue Sky";
c. strcpy(str, "Blue Sky");
d. strcpy("Blue Sky");
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 537
16. Consider the following declaration:
char charArray[51];
char discard;
cin.get(charArray, 51);
cin.get(discard);
17. Consider the following statement: double alpha[10][5];. The number of components of
alpha is ____.
a. 15 c. 100
b. 50 d. 150
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 544
18. Consider the statement int list[10][8];. Which of the following about list is true?
a. list has 10 rows and 8 columns.
b. list has 8 rows and 10 columns.
c. list has a total of 18 components.
d. list has a total of 108 components.
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 544
19. Consider the following statement: int alpha[25][10];. Which of the following statements about
alpha is true?
a. Rows of alpha are numbered 0...24 and columns are numbered 0...9.
b. Rows of alpha are numbered 0...24 and columns are numbered 1...10.
c. Rows of alpha are numbered 1...24 and columns are numbered 0...9.
d. Rows of alpha are numbered 1...25 and columns are numbered 1...10.
ANS: A PTS: 1 REF: 544
20. Which of the following correctly declares and initializes alpha to be an array of four rows and three
columns with the component type int?
a. int alpha[4][3] = {{0,1,2} {1,2,3} {2,3,4} {3,4,5}};
b. int alpha[4][3] = {0,1,2; 1,2,3; 2,3,4; 3,4,5};
c. int alpha[4][3] = {0,1,2: 1,2,3: 2,3,4: 3,4,5};
d. int alpha[4][3] = {{0,1,2}, {1,2,3}, {2,3,4}, {3,4,5}};
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 546
21. After the following statements execute, what are the contents of matrix?
int matrix[3][2];
int j, k;
a. 0 0 c. 0 1
1 1 1 2
2 2 2 3
b. 0 1 d. 1 1
2 3 2 2
4 5 3 3
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 548-550
int j;
int sum;
double sale[10][7];
which of the following correctly finds the sum of the elements of the fifth row of sale?
a. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 7; j++)
sum = sum + sale[5][j];
b. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 7; j++)
sum = sum + sale[4][j];
c. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 10; j++)
sum = sum + sale[5][j];
d. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 10; j++)
sum = sum + sale[4][j];
ANS: B PTS: 1 REF: 550
int j;
int sum;
double sale[10][7];
which of the following correctly finds the sum of the elements of the fourth column of sale?
a. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 7; j++)
sum = sum + sale[j][3];
b. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 7; j++)
sum = sum + sale[j][4];
c. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 10; j++)
sum = sum + sale[j][4];
d. sum = 0;
for(j = 0; j < 10; j++)
sum = sum + sale[j][3];
ANS: D PTS: 1 REF: 551
25. A collection of a fixed number of elements (called components) arranged in n dimensions (n>=1) is
called a(n) ____.
a. matrix c. n-dimensional array
b. vector d. parallel array
ANS: C PTS: 1 REF: 557
COMPLETION
1. A data type is called ____________________ if variables of that type can store only one value at a
time.
ANS: simple
2. In a(n) ____________________ data type, each data item is a collection of other data items.
ANS: structured
double sales[10];
int index;
ANS: sales[index]
4. The word ____________________ is used before the array declaration in a function heading to
prevent the function from modifying the array.
ANS: const
5. The ____________________ of an array is the address (that is, the memory location) of the first array
component.
ANS: base address
6. The ____________________ sort algorithm finds the location of the smallest element in the unsorted
portion of the list and moves it to the top of the unsorted portion of the list.
ANS: selection
7. For a list of length n, the ____________________ sort makes exactly (n(n - 1))/2 key
comparisons and 3(n-1) item assignments.
ANS: selection
ANS:
12
twelve
9. The function ____________________ returns the length of the string s, excluding the null character.
ANS: strlen(s)
ANS: 15
11. The following statements store the value ____________________ into len.
int len;
len = strlen("Sunny California");
ANS: 16
12. The header file string contains the function ____________________,which converts a value of type
string to a null-terminated character array.
ANS: c_str
PTS: 1 REF: 541
13. Two (or more) arrays are called ____________________ if their corresponding components hold
related information.
ANS: parallel
int alpha[10][25];
ANS:
10
ten
15. In the following declaration, the array gamma has ____________________ components.
int gamma[5][6][10];
ANS:
300
three hundred
Language: English
PICK A CRIME
By RICHARD R. SMITH
When she handed the card back, Joe fought an impulse to tear it to
pieces. He'd done that once and gone through a mountain of red
tape to get another—everyone was required by law to carry a CPA
ID card and show it upon request.
"I'm sorry," the girl said. "I didn't know you were a DCT."
"And who'll hire a guy with criminal tendencies? You know the score.
When you try to get a job, they ask to see your ID before they even
tell you if there's an opening or not. If your CPA ID says you're a
DCT, you're SOL and they tell you there's no openings. Oh, I've had
several jobs ... jobs like all DCTs get. I've been a garbage man,
street-cleaner, ditch-digger—"
On the other side of the room, the jukebox came to life with a roar
and a group of teen-agers scrambled to the dance floor.
Feeling safe from hidden microphones because of the uproar, he
leaned across the table and whispered in the girl's ear, "That's what
I want to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I
get convicted of a crime, I'll be able to get a good job!"
The girl's lips formed a bright red circle. "Say! You really got big
plans, don't you?"
He smiled at her admiration. It was something big to plan a crime. A
civilization weary of murder, robbery, kidnapping, counterfeiting,
blackmail, rape, arson, and drunkenness had originated the CPA—
Crime Prevention Association. There were no longer any prisons—
CPA officials had declared loudly and emphatically that their job was
to prevent crime, not punish it. And prevent it they did, with
thousands of ingenious crime-prevention devices and methods. They
had made crime almost impossible, and during the previous year,
only a few hundred men in the whole country had been convicted of
criminal acts.
No crime was ever punished. If a man was smart enough to kill
someone, for instance, he wasn't sent to prison to be punished; he
wasn't punished at all. Instead, he was sent to a hospital where all
criminal tendencies were removed from his mind by psychologists,
shock treatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal
lobotomy and a dozen other methods. An expensive operation, but
since there were few criminals—only ten in New York during the past
year—any city could afford the CPA hospitals.
The CPA system was, actually, cheaper than previous methods
because it did away with the damage caused by countless crimes;
did away with prisons and their guards, large police forces, squad
cars and weapons.
And, ironically, a man who did commit a crime was a sort of hero. He
was a hero to the millions of men and women who had suppressed
impulses to kill someone, beat their mates, get drunk, or kick a dog.
Not only a hero, but because of the CPA Treatment, he was—when
he left one of the CPA hospitals—a thoroughly honest and hard-
working individual ... a man who could be trusted with any
responsibility, any amount of money. And therefore, an EX (a
convicted criminal who received the treatment was commonly called
an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of the word an Ex-
criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs.
"Well," the girl said. "I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten.
Let's get it over with. You said it'd only take a few minutes."
"Okay. Let's go."
The girl followed him across the room, around tables, through a
door, down a hall, through a back door and into the alley.
She followed him up the dark alley until he turned suddenly and
ripped her blouse and skirt.
He surprised her completely, but when she recovered, she backed
away, her body poised like a wrestler's. "What's the big idea?"
"Scream," Joe said. "Scream as loud as you can, and when the cops
get here, tell 'em I tried to rape you."
The plan was perfect, he told himself. Attempted rape was one of
the few things that was a crime merely because a man attempted it.
A crime because it theoretically inflicted psychological injury upon
the intended victim—and because millions of women voters had
voted it a crime. On the other hand, attempted murder, robbery,
kidnapping, etc., were not crimes. They weren't crimes because the
DCT didn't complete the act, and if he didn't complete the act, that
meant simply that the CPA had once again functioned properly.
The girl shook her head vigorously. "Sorry, buddy. Can't help you
that way. Why didn't you tell me what you wanted?"
"What's the matter?" Joe complained. "I'm not asking you to do
anything wrong."
"You stupid jerk. What do you think this is—the Middle Ages? Don't
you know almost every woman knows how to defend herself? I'm a
sergeant in the WSDA!"
Joe groaned. The WSDA—Women's Self-Defense Association—a
branch of the CPA. The WSDA gave free instruction in judo and
jujitsu, even developed new techniques of wrestling and instructed
only women in those new techniques.
The girl was still shaking her head. "Can't do it, buddy. I'd lose my
rank if you were convicted of—"
"Do I have to make you scream?" Joe inquired tiredly and advanced
toward the girl.
"—and that rank carries a lot of weight. Hey! Stop it!"
Joe discovered to his dismay that the girl was telling the truth when
she said she was a sergeant in the WSDA. He felt her hands on his
body, and in the time it takes to blink twice, he was flying through
the air.
The alley's concrete floor was hard—it had always been hard, but he
became acutely aware of its lack of resiliency when his head struck
it. There was a wonderful moment while the world was filled with
beautiful stars and streaks of lightning through which he heard
distant police sirens. But the wonderful moment didn't last long and
darkness closed in on him.
When he awoke, a rough voice was saying, "Okay. Snap out of it."
He opened his eyes and recognized the police commissioner's office.
It would be hard not to recognize: the room was large, devoid of
furniture except for a desk and chairs, but the walls were lined with
the controls of television screens, electronic calculators and a
hundred other machines that formed New York's mechanical police
force.
Commissioner Hendricks was a remarkable character. There was
something wrong with his glands, and he was a huge, greasy bulk of
a man with bushy eyebrows and a double chin. His steel-gray eyes
showed something of his intelligence and he would have gone far in
politics if fate hadn't made him so ugly, for more than half the voters
who elected men to high political positions were women.
Anyone who knew Hendricks well liked him, for he was a friendly,
likable person. But the millions of women voters who saw his face on
posters and on their TV screens saw only the ugly face and heard
only the harsh voice. The President of the United States was a
capable man, but also a very handsome one, and the fact that a
man who looked something like a bulldog had been elected as New
York's police commissioner was a credit to Hendricks and millions of
women voters.
"Where's the girl?" Joe asked.
"I processed her while you were out cold. She left. Joe, you—"
"Okay," Joe said. "I'll save you the trouble. I admit it. Attempted
rape. I confess."
Hendricks smiled. "Sorry, Joe. You missed the boat again." He
reached out and turned a dial on his desk top. "We had a
microphone hidden in that alley. We have a lot of microphones
hidden in a lot of alleys. You'd be surprised at the number of
conspiracies that take place in alleys!"
Joe listened numbly to his voice as it came from one of the hundreds
of machines on the walls, "Scream. Scream as loud as you can, and
when the cops get here, tell 'em I tried to rape you." And then the
girl's voice, "Sorry, buddy. Can't help—"
He waved his hand. "Okay. Shut it off. I confess to conspiracy."
Hendricks rose from behind the desk, walked leisurely to where Joe
was slouched in a chair. "Give me your CPA ID."
Joe handed him the card with trembling fingers. He felt as if the
world had collapsed beneath him. Conspiracy to commit a crime
wasn't a crime. Anyone could conspire. And if the conspirators were
prevented from committing a crime, then that meant the CPA had
functioned properly once again. That meant the CPA had once again
prevented crime, and the CPA didn't punish crimes or attempted
crimes, and it didn't attempt to prevent crimes by punishment. If it
did, that would be a violation of the New Civil Rights.
Hendricks crossed the room, deposited the card in a slot and
punched a button. The machine hummed and a new card appeared.
When Hendricks handed him the new card, Joe saw that the words
DANGEROUS CRIMINAL TENDENCIES were now in red and larger
than before. And, in slightly smaller print, the ID card stated that the
owner was a DCT First Class.
"You've graduated," Hendricks said coldly. "You guys never learn, do
you? Now you're a DCT First Class instead of a Second Class. You
know what that means?"
Hendricks leaned closer until Joe could feel his breath on his face.
"That means your case history will be turned over to the
newspapers. You'll be the hobby of thousands of amateur cops. You
know how it works? It's like this. The Joneses are sitting around
tomorrow night and they're bored. Then Mr. Jones says, 'Let's go
watch this Joe Harper.' So they look up your record—amateur cops
always keep records of First Classes in scrapbooks—and they see
that you stop frequently at Walt's Tavern.
"So they go there and they sit and drink and watch you, trying not
to let you know they're watching you. They watch you all night, just
hoping you'll do something exciting, like trying to kill someone, so
they can be the first ones to yell 'Police!' They'll watch you because
it's exciting to be an amateur cop, and if they ever did prevent you
from committing a crime, they'd get a nice reward and they'd be
famous."
"Lay off," Joe said. "I got a headache. That girl—"
Hendricks leaned even closer and glared. "You listen, Joe. This is
interesting. You see, it doesn't stop with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. There's
thousands of people like them. Years ago, they got their kicks from
reading about guys like you, but these days things are dull because
it's rare when anyone commits a crime. So every time you walk
down the street, there'll be at least a dozen of 'em following you,
and no matter where you go, you can bet there'll be some of 'em
sitting next to you, standing next to you.
"During the day, they'll take your picture with their spy cameras that
look like buttons on their coats. At night, they'll peep at you through
your keyhole. Your neighbors across the street will watch you
through binoculars and—"
"Lay off!"
Joe squirmed in the chair. He'd been lectured by Hendricks before
and it was always an unpleasant experience. The huge man was like
a talking machine once he got started, a machine that couldn't be
stopped.
"And the kids are the worst," Hendricks continued. "They have
Junior CPA clubs. They keep records of hoodlums like you in little
cardboard boxes. They'll stare at you on the street and stare at you
through restaurant windows while you're eating meals. They'll follow
you in public rest rooms and watch you out of the corners of their
eyes while they wash their little hands, and almost every day when
you look back, you'll see a dozen freckle-faced little boys following
you half a block behind, giggling and gaping at you. They'll follow
you until the day you die, because you're a freak!"
Joe couldn't stand the breath in his face any longer. He rose and
paced the floor.
"And it doesn't end there, Joe. It goes on and on. You'll be the
object of every do-gooder and parlor psychologist. Strangers will
stop you on the street and say, 'I'd like to help you, friend.' Then
they'll ask you queer questions like, 'Did your father reject you when
you were a child?' 'Do you like girls?' 'How does it feel to be a DCT
First Class?' And then there'll be the strangers who hate DCTs.
They'll stop you on the street and insult you, call you names, spit on
you and—"
"Okay, goddam it! Stop it!"
Hendricks stopped, wiped the sweat from his face with a
handkerchief and lit a cigarette.
"I'm doing you a favor, Joe. I'm trying to explain something you're
too dumb to realize by yourself. We've taught everyone to hate
crime and criminals ... to hate them as nothing has ever been hated
before. Today a criminal is a freak, an alien. Your life will be a living
hell if you don't leave New York. You should go to some small town
where there aren't many people, or be a hermit, or go to Iceland or
—"
Joe eyed the huge man suspiciously. "Favor, did you say? The day
you do me a favor—"
Hendricks shrugged his shoulders negligently. "Not entirely a favor. I
want to get rid of you. Usually I come up here and sit around and
read books. But guys like you are a nuisance and take up my time."
"I couldn't leave if I wanted to," Joe said. "I'm flat broke. Thanks to
your CPA system, a DCT can't get a decent job."
When Joe reached the street, he hurried toward the nearest subway.
As a child, he had been frightened of the dark. As a man, he wasn't
afraid of the dark itself, but the darkened city always made him feel
ill at ease. The uneasiness was, more than anything else, caused by
his own imagination. He hated the CPA and at night he couldn't
shrug the feeling that the CPA lurked in every shadow, watching
him, waiting for him to make a mistake.
Imagination or not, the CPA was almost everywhere a person went.
Twenty-four hours a day, millions of microphones hidden in taverns,
alleys, restaurants, subways and every other place imaginable
waited for someone to say the wrong thing. Everything the
microphones picked up was routed to the CPA Brain, a monster
electronic calculator.
If the words "Let's see a movie" were received in the Brain, they
were discarded. But if the words "Let's roll this guy" were received,
the message was traced and a police helicopter would be at the
scene in two minutes. And scattered all over the city were not only
hidden microphones, but hidden television cameras that relayed
visual messages to the Brain, and hidden machines that could detect
a knife or a gun in someone's pocket at forty yards.
Every place of business from the largest bank to the smallest grocery
store was absolutely impenetrable. No one had even tried to rob a
place of business for years.
Arson was next to impossible because of the heat-detectors—devices
placed in every building that could detect, radarlike, any intensity of
heat above that caused by a cigarette lighter. Chemical research had
made poisoning someone an impossibility. There were no drugs
containing poison, and while an ant-poison might kill ants, no
concentrated amount of it would kill a human.
The FBI had always been a powerful organization, but under the
supervision of the CPA, it was a scientific colossus and to think of
kidnapping someone or to contemplate the use of narcotics was
pointless. A counterfeiter's career was always short-lived: every
place of business and millions of individuals had small counterfeit-
detectors that could spot a fake and report it directly to the Brain.
And the percentage of crimes had dwindled even more with the
appearance of the robot police officers. Many a criminal in the past
had gambled that he could outshoot a pursuing policeman. But the
robots were different: they weren't flesh and blood. Bullets bounced
off them and their aim was infallible.
It was like a fantastic dream come true. Only the dream wasn't
fantastic any more. With the huge atomic power plants scattered
across the country and supplying endless electrical power at
ridiculously low prices, no endeavor that required power was
fantastic. The power required to operate the CPA devices cost each
taxpayer an average of four dollars a year, and the invention,
development and manufacture of the devices had cost even less.
And the CPA had attacked crime through society itself, striking at the
individual. In every city there were neon signs that blinked
subliminally with the statement, CRIME IS FILTH. Listening to a radio
or watching television, if a person heard station identification, he
invariably heard or saw just below perception the words CRIME IS
FILTH. If he went for a walk or a ride, he saw the endless subliminal
posters declaring CRIME IS FILTH, and if he read a magazine or
newspaper he always found, in those little dead spaces where an
editor couldn't fit anything else, the below-perception words CRIME
IS FILTH.
It was monotonous and, after a while, a person looked at the words
and heard them without thinking about them. And they were
imprinted on his subconscious over and over, year after year, until he
knew that crime was the same as filth and that criminals were filthy
things.
Except men like Joe Harper. No system is perfect. Along with
thousands of other DCTs, Joe refused to believe it, and when he
reached apartment 204 at 2141 Orange Street, he felt as if he'd
inherited a gold mine.
The hall was dimly lit, but when he stood before the door numbered
204, he could see that the wall on either side of it was new. That is,
instead of being covered with dust, dirt and stains as the other walls
were, it was clean. The building was an old one, the hall was wide,
and the owner had obviously constructed a wall across the hall,
creating another room. If the owner had reported the new room as
required by law, it would have been wired with CPA burglarproof
devices, but evidently he didn't want to pay for installation.
When Joe entered the cubbyhole, he had to stand to one side in
order to close the door behind him. The place was barely large
enough for the bed, chair and bureau; it was a place where a man
could fall down at night and sleep, but where no normal man could
live day after day.
Fearing that someone might detect him before he actually
committed the crime, Joe hurried to the bureau and searched it.
It took half an hour to get through the crowd. Cameras clicked all
around him, a hundred kids asked for his autograph, everyone talked
at once and cheered, smiled, laughed, patted him on the back and
cheered some more.
Only one thing confused him during all the excitement: a white-
haired old lady with tears in her eyes said, "Thank heaven it was
only a watch. Thank heaven you didn't kill someone! God bless you,
son." And then the old lady had handed him a box of fudge and left
him in total confusion.
What she said didn't make sense. If he had killed someone rather
than stealing a watch, he would be even more of a hero and the
crowd would have cheered even louder. He knew: he had stood
outside the CPA hospitals many times and the crowds always
cheered louder when an ex-murderer came out.
In Hendricks' robot-chauffeured car, he ate the fudge and consoled
himself with the thought, People are funny. Who can understand
'em?
Feeling happy for one of the few times in his life, he turned toward
Hendricks and said, "Thanks for what you did. It turned out great.
I'll be able to get a good job now."
"That's why I met you at the hospital," Hendricks said. "I want to
explain some things. I've known you for a long time and I know
you're spectacularly dumb. You can't figure out some things for
yourself and I don't want you walking around the rest of your life
thinking I did you a favor."
Joe frowned. Few men had ever done him a favor and he had rarely
thanked anyone for anything. And now ... after thanking the man
who'd done him the biggest favor of all, the man was denying it!
"You robbed Gralewski's apartment," Hendricks said. "Gralewski is a
CPA employee and he doesn't live in the apartment you robbed. The
CPA pays the rent for that one and he lives in another. We have a lot
of places like that. You see, it gives us a way to get rid of saps like
you before they do real damage. We use it as a last resort when a
DCT First Class won't take the free psycho treatment or—"
"Well, it's still a favor."
Hendricks' face hardened. "Favor? You wouldn't know a favor if you
stumbled over one. I did it because it's standard procedure for your
type of case. Anyone can—free of charge—have treatment by the
best psychologists. Any DCT can stop being a DCT by simply asking
for the treatment and taking it. But you wouldn't do that. You
wanted to commit a crime, get caught and be a hero ... an Ex."
The car passed one of the CPA playgrounds. Boys and girls of all
ages were laughing, squealing with joy as they played games
designed by CPA psychologists to relieve tension. And—despite the
treatment, Joe shuddered when he saw the psychologists standing
to one side, quietly watching the children. The whole world was
filled with CPA employees and volunteer workers. Everywhere you
went, it was there, quietly watching you and analyzing you, and if
you showed criminal tendencies, it watched you even more closely
and analyzed you even more deeply until it took you apart and put
you back together again the way it wanted you to be.
"Being an Ex, you'll get the kind of job you always wanted,"
Hendricks continued. "You'll get a good-paying job, but you'll work
for it. You'll work eight hours a day, work harder than you've ever
worked before in your life, because every time you start to loaf, a
voice in your head is going to say, Work! Work! Exes always get
good jobs because employers know they're good workers.
"But during these next few days, you'll discover what being an Ex is
like. You see, Joe, the treatment can't possibly take all the criminal
tendencies out of a man. So the treatment does the next best thing
—you'll find a set of laws written in your mind. You might want to
break one now and then, but you won't be able. I'll give you an
illustration...."
Joe's face reddened as Hendricks proceeded to call him a series of
names. He wanted to smash the fat, grinning face, but the muscles
in his arm froze before it moved it an inch.
And worse than that, a brief pain ripped through his skull. A pain so
intense that, had it lasted a second longer, he would have screamed
in agony. And above the pain, a voice whispered in his head,
Unlawful to strike someone except in self-defense.
He opened his mouth to tell Hendricks exactly what he thought of
him, the CPA, the whole world. But the words stayed in his throat,
the pain returned, and the mental voice whispered, Unlawful to
curse.
He had never heard how the treatment prevented an Ex from
committing a crime. And now that he knew, it didn't seem fair. He
decided to tell the whole story to the newspapers as soon as he
could. And as soon as that decision formed in his mind, his body
froze, the pain returned and the voice, Unlawful to divulge CPA
procedure.
"See what I mean?" Hendricks asked. "A century ago, you would
have been locked in a prison and taxpayers' money would have
supported you until the day you died. With the CPA system, you're
returned to society, a useful citizen, unable to commit the smallest
crime. And you've got a big hand in your dirty little mind that's going
to slap it every time you get the wrong kind of thought. It'll keep
slapping you until you learn. It might take weeks, months or years,
but you'll learn sooner or later to not even think about doing
anything wrong."
He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring at the car's plush ceiling.
"It's a great system, isn't it, Joe? A true democracy. Even a jerk like
you is free to do what he wants, as long as it's legal."
"I think it's a lousy, filthy system." Joe's head was still tingling with
pain and he felt suffocated. The CPA was everywhere, only now it
was also inside his head, telling him he couldn't do this, couldn't do
that. All his life it had been telling him he couldn't do things he
wanted to do and now....
Hendricks laughed. "You'll change your opinion. We live in a clean,
wonderful world, Joe. A world of happy, healthy people. Except for
freaks like yourself, criminals are—"
"Let me out!" Joe grabbed at the door and was on the sidewalk,
slamming the door behind him before the car stopped completely.
He stared at the car as it pulled away from the curb and glided into
the stream of traffic again. He realized he was a prisoner ... a
prisoner inside his own body ... made a prisoner by a world that
hated him back.
He wanted to spit his contempt, but the increasingly familiar pain
and voice prevented him.
It was unlawful to spit on a sidewalk.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PICK A CRIME ***
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