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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:18:47 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:18:47 -0700 |
| commit | 3a7ad829c101146dbc4d446c36b9b1f0c656d60f (patch) | |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/25776-h.zip b/25776-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..42085fa --- /dev/null +++ b/25776-h.zip diff --git a/25776-h/25776-h.htm b/25776-h/25776-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..13cee0e --- /dev/null +++ b/25776-h/25776-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5381 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of This Crowded Earth, by Robert Bloch + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + a[name] { position: static; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; } + + table { width:40%; padding: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + .tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + .tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px; font-weight:bold;} + .img1 {border:solid 1px; } + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + background-color:#FFFFFF; } + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; + font-size: smaller; + } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of This Crowded Earth, by Robert Bloch + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: This Crowded Earth + +Author: Robert Bloch + +Illustrator: Finlay + +Release Date: June 21, 2008 [EBook #25776] +[This file was first posted on June 13, 2008] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS CROWDED EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="tr"> +<p class="center">Transcriber's note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories October 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> +<p class="center">The Table of Contents is not part of the original book.</p> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_01.jpg" width="500" height="719" alt="Title Page" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h3> +AMAZING STORIES<br /> +SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h1>THIS<br /> +CROWDED<br /> +EARTH</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h2>By ROBERT BLOCH</h2> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATOR FINLAY</h3> +<p> </p> +<h3>BOOK-LENGTH NOVEL COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE +</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class="center"> +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="tocch">1.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Harry_Collins_1997"><b>Harry Collins—1997</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">2.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Harry_Collins_1998"><b>Harry Collins—1998</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">3.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#President_Winthrop_1999"><b>President Winthrop—1999</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">4.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Harry_Collins_2000"><b>Harry Collins—2000</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">5.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Minnie_Schultz_2009"><b>Minnie Schultz—2009</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">6.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Harry_Collins_2012"><b>Harry Collins—2012</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">7.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Michael_Cavendish_2027"><b>Michael Cavendish—2027</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">8.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Harry_Collins_2029"><b>Harry Collins—2029</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">9.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Eric_Donovan_2031"><b>Eric Donovan—2031</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">10.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Harry_Collins_2032"><b>Harry Collins—2032</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">11.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Jesse_Pringle_2039"><b>Jesse Pringle—2039</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tocch">12.</td> + <td align="left"> </td> + <td align="left"><a href="#Littlejohn_2065"><b>Littlejohn—2065</b></a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_02.jpg" width="600" height="563" alt="The evils of long and dangerous years finally erupted +in blood." /> +<span class="caption">The evils of long and dangerous years finally erupted +in blood.</span> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<h2><a name="Harry_Collins_1997" id="Harry_Collins_1997"></a>1. Harry Collins—1997</h2> + + +<p>The telescreen lit up promptly at eight a.m. Smiling Brad came on with +his usual greeting. "Good morning—it's a beautiful day in Chicagee!"</p> + +<p>Harry Collins rolled over and twitched off the receiver. "This I +doubt," he muttered. He sat up and reached into the closet for his +clothing.</p> + +<p>Visitors—particularly feminine ones—were always exclaiming over the +advantages of Harry's apartment. "So convenient," they would say. +"Everything handy, right within reach. And think of all the extra +steps you save!"</p> + +<p>Of course most of them were just being polite and trying to cheer +Harry up. They knew damned well that he wasn't living in one room +through any choice of his own. The Housing Act was something you just +couldn't get around; not in Chicagee these days. A bachelor was +entitled to one room—no more and no less. And even though Harry was +making a speedy buck at the agency, he couldn't hope to beat the +regulations.</p> + +<p>There was only one way to beat them and that was to get married. +Marriage would automatically entitle him to two rooms—<i>if</i> he could +find them someplace.</p> + +<p>More than a few of his feminine visitors had hinted at just that, but +Harry didn't respond. Marriage was no solution, the way he figured it. +He knew that he couldn't hope to locate a two-room apartment any +closer than eighty miles away. It was bad enough driving forty miles +to and from work every morning and night without doubling the +distance. If he did find a bigger place, that would mean a three-hour +trip each way on one of the commutrains, and the commutrains were +murder. The Black Hole of Calcutta, on wheels.</p> + +<p>But then, everything was murder, Harry reflected, as he stepped from +the toilet to the sink, from the sink to the stove, from the stove to +the table.</p> + +<p>Powdered eggs for breakfast. That was murder, too. But it was a fast, +cheap meal, easy to prepare, and the ingredients didn't waste a lot of +storage space. The only trouble was, he hated the way they tasted. +Harry wished he had time to eat his breakfasts in a restaurant. He +could afford the price, but he couldn't afford to wait in line more +than a half-hour or so. His office schedule at the agency started +promptly at ten-thirty. And he didn't get out until three-thirty; it +was a long, hard five-hour day. Sometimes he wished he worked in the +New Philly area, where a four-hour day was the rule. But he supposed +that wouldn't mean any real saving in time, because he'd have to live +further out. What was the population in New Philly now? Something like +63,000,000, wasn't it? Chicagee was much smaller—only 38,000,000, +this year.</p> + +<p><i>This</i> year. Harry shook his head and took a gulp of the Instantea. +Yes, this year the population was 38,000,000, and the boundaries of +the community extended north to what used to be the old Milwaukee and +south past Gary. What would it be like <i>next</i> year, and the year +following?</p> + +<p>Lately that question had begun to haunt Harry. He couldn't quite +figure out why. After all, it was none of his business, really. He had +a good job, security, a nice place just two hours from the Loop. He +even drove his own car. What more could he ask?</p> + +<p>And why did he have to start the day like this, with a blinding +headache?</p> + +<p>Harry finished his Instantea and considered the matter. Yes, it was +beginning again, just as it had on almost every morning for the past +month. He'd sit down at the table, eat his usual breakfast, and end up +with a headache. Why?</p> + +<p>It wasn't the food; for a while he'd deliberately varied his diet, but +that didn't make any difference. And he'd had his usual monthly +checkup not more than ten days ago, only to be assured there was +nothing wrong with him. Still, the headaches persisted. Every morning, +when he'd sit down and jerk his head to the left like this—</p> + +<p>That was it. Jerking his head to the left. It always seemed to trigger +the pain. But why? And where had he picked up this habit of jerking +his head to the left?</p> + +<p>Harry didn't know.</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch. It was almost nine, now. High time that he +got started. He reached over to the interapartment video and dialled +the garage downstairs.</p> + +<p>"Bill," he said. "Can you bring my car around to Number Three?"</p> + +<p>The tiny face in the hand-screen grinned sheepishly. "Mr. Collins, +ain't it? Gee, I'm sorry, Mr. Collins. Night crew took on a new man, +he must have futzed around with the lists, and I can't find your +number."</p> + +<p>Harry sighed. "It's one-eight-seven-three-dash-five," he said. "Light +blue Pax, two-seater. Do you want the license number, too?"</p> + +<p>"No, just your parking number. I'll recognize it when I see it. But +God only knows what level it's on. That night man really—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," Harry interrupted. "How soon?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty minutes or so. Maybe half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Half an hour? I'll be late. Hurry it up!"</p> + +<p>Harry clicked the video and shook his head. Half an hour! Well, you +had to expect these things if you wanted to be independent and do your +own driving today. If he wanted to work his priority through the +office, he could get his application honored on the I.C. Line within a +month. But the I.C. was just another commutrain, and he couldn't take +it. Standing and swaying for almost two hours, fighting the crowds, +battling his way in and out of the sidewalk escalators. Besides, there +was always the danger of being crushed. He'd seen an old man trampled +to death on a Michigan Boulevard escalator-feeder, and he'd never +forgotten it.</p> + +<p>Being afraid was only a partial reason for his reluctance to change. +The worst thing, for Harry, was the thought of all those people; the +forced bodily contact, the awareness of smothered breathing, odors, +and the crushing confinement of flesh against flesh. It was bad enough +in the lines, or on the streets. The commutrain was just too much.</p> + +<p>Yet, as a small boy, Harry could remember the day when he'd loved such +trips. Sitting there looking out of the window as the scenery whirled +past—that was always a thrill when you were a little kid. How long +ago had that been? More than twenty years, wasn't it?</p> + +<p>Now there weren't any seats, and no windows. Which was just as well, +probably, because the scenery didn't whirl past any more, either. +Instead, there was a stop at every station on the line, and a constant +battle as people jockeyed for position to reach the exit-doors in +time.</p> + +<p>No, the car was better.</p> + +<p>Harry reached for a container in the cabinet and poured out a couple +of aspirystamines. That ought to help the headache. At least until he +got to the office. Then he could start with the daily quota of +yellowjackets. Meanwhile, getting out on the street might help him, +too. A shame there wasn't a window in this apartment, but then, what +good would it do, really? All he could see through it would be the +next apartment.</p> + +<p>He shrugged and picked up his coat. Nine-thirty, time to go +downstairs. Maybe the car would be located sooner than Bill had +promised; after all, he had nine assistants, and not everybody went to +work on this first daylight shift.</p> + +<p>Harry walked down the hall and punched the elevator button. He looked +at the indicator, watched the red band move towards the numeral of +this floor, then sweep past it.</p> + +<p>"Full up!" he muttered. "Oh, well."</p> + +<p>He reached out and touched both sides of the corridor. That was +another thing he disliked; these narrow corridors. Two people could +scarcely squeeze past one another without touching. Of course, it did +save space to build apartments this way, and space was at a premium. +But Harry couldn't get used to it. Now he remembered some of the old +buildings that were still around when he was a little boy—</p> + +<p>The headache seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Harry +looked at the indicator above the other elevator entrance. The red +band was crawling upward, passing him to stop on 48. That was the top +floor. Now it was moving down, down; stopping on 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, +and—here it was!</p> + +<p>"Stand back, please!" said the tape. Harry did his best to oblige, but +there wasn't much room. A good two dozen of his upstairs neighbors +jammed the compartment. Harry thought he recognized one or two of the +men, but he couldn't be sure. There were so many people, so many +faces. After a while it got so they all seemed to look alike. Yes, and +breathed alike, and felt alike when you were squeezed up against them, +and you were always being squeezed up against them, wherever you went. +And you could smell them, and hear them wheeze and cough, and you went +falling down with them into a bottomless pit where your head began to +throb and throb and it was hard to move away from all that heat and +pressure. It was hard enough just to keep from screaming—</p> + +<p>Then the door opened and Harry was catapulted out into the lobby. The +mob behind him pushed and clawed because they were in a hurry; they +were always in a hurry these days, and if you got in their way they'd +trample you down like that old man had been trampled down; there was +no room for one man in a crowd any more.</p> + +<p>Harry blinked and shook his head.</p> + +<p>He gripped the edge of the wall and clung there in an effort to avoid +being swept out of the lobby completely. His hands were sticky with +perspiration. They slipped off as he slowly inched his way back +through the crush of the mob.</p> + +<p>"Wait for me!" he called. "Wait for me, I'm going down!" But his voice +was lost in the maelstrom of sound just as his body was lost in the +maelstrom of motion. Besides, an automatic elevator cannot hear. It is +merely a mechanism that goes up and down, just like the other +mechanisms that go in and out, or around and around, and you get +caught up in them the way a squirrel gets caught in a squirrel-cage +and you race and race, and the best you can hope for is to keep up +with the machinery.</p> + +<p>The elevator door clanged shut before Harry could reach it. He waited +for another car to arrive, and this time he stood aside as the crowd +emerged, then darted in behind them.</p> + +<p>The car descended to the first garage level, and Harry stood gulping +gratefully in the comparative isolation. There weren't more than ten +people accompanying him.</p> + +<p>He emerged on the ramp, gave his number to the attendant, and waved at +Bill in his office. Bill seemed to recognize him; at least he nodded, +briefly. No sense trying to talk—not in this sullen subterranea, +filled with the booming echo of exhausts, the despairing shriek of +brakes. Headlights flickered in the darkness as cars whirled past, +ascending and descending on the loading platforms. The signal systems +winked from the walls, and tires screeched defiance to the warning +bells.</p> + +<p>Old-fashioned theologians, Harry remembered, used to argue whether +there really was a Hell, and if so, had it been created by God or the +Devil? Too bad they weren't around today to get an answer to their +questions. There <i>was</i> a Hell, and it had been created by General +Motors.</p> + +<p>Harry's temples began to throb. Through blurred eyes, he saw the +attendant beckoning him down the line to a platform marked <i>Check-Out +#3</i>. He stood there with a cluster of others, waiting.</p> + +<p>What was the matter with him today, anyway? First the headache, and +now his feet were hurting. Standing around waiting, that's what did +it. This eternal waiting. When he was a kid, the grownups were always +complaining about the long seven-hour work days and how they cut into +their leisure time. Well, maybe they had reason to gripe, but at least +there <i>was</i> some leisure before work began or after it was through. +Now that extra time was consumed in waiting. Standing in line, +standing in crowds, wearing yourself out doing nothing.</p> + +<p>Still, this time it wasn't really so bad. Within ten minutes the light +blue Pax rolled up before him. Harry climbed in as the attendant slid +out from behind the wheel and prepared to leave.</p> + +<p>Then a fat man appeared, running along the ramp. He gestured wildly +with a plump thumb. Harry nodded briefly, and the fat man hurled +himself into the seat beside him and slammed the door.</p> + +<p>They were off. Harry read the signals impatiently, waiting for the +green <i>Go</i>. The moment he saw it he gunned his motor and got the car +up to twenty-two and zipped away.</p> + +<p>That's what he liked, that's what he always waited for. Of course it +was dangerous, here in the tunnel system under the garage, but Harry +always got a thrill out of speed. The Pax could do thirty-five or even +forty, probably, on a theoretical open road. Still, twenty-two was +enough to satisfy Harry.</p> + +<p>He whizzed up the ramp, turned, headed for the street-level, then +braked and waited for the signal to emerge.</p> + +<p>Harsh sunlight pierced the smog and he felt his eyes watering. Now the +street noises assailed his ears; the grinding of gears, the revving of +motors. But at least the total volume was lower, and with the windows +tightly closed against the acrid air, he could hear.</p> + +<p>Turning to the fat man beside him he said, "Hello, Frazer. What's the +urgency?"</p> + +<p>"Got to get downtown before eleven," the fat man answered. "Board +meeting today, but I forgot about it. Knew I wouldn't have time to +wait for the car, and I was hoping I'd find someone who'd give me a +lift. Lucky for me that you came along when you did."</p> + +<p>Harry nodded but did not reply. At the moment he was trying to edge +into the traffic beyond. It flowed, bumper to bumper, in a steady +stream; a stream moving at the uniform and prescribed rate of fifteen +miles per hour. He released his brakes and the Pax nosed forward until +a truck sounded its horn in ominous warning. The noise hurt Harry's +head; he winced and grimaced.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked Frazer.</p> + +<p>"Headache," Harry muttered. He menaced a Chevsoto with his bumper. +"Damn it, I thought they didn't allow those big four-passenger jobs on +this arterial during rush hours!" Gradually he managed to turn until +he was in the righthand lane. "There," he said. "We're off."</p> + +<p>And so they were, for all of three minutes, with the speed set at +fifteen on autopilot. Then a signal went into action somewhere up +ahead, and the procession halted. Harry flicked his switch. As was +customary, horns sounded indignantly on all sides—a mechanical +protest against a mechanical obstruction. Harry winced again.</p> + +<p>"Hangover?" Frazer asked, solicitously. "Try aspirystamine."</p> + +<p>Harry shook his head. "No hangover. And I've already taken three, +thanks. Nothing does any good. So I guess it's just up to you."</p> + +<p>"Up to me?" Frazer was genuinely puzzled. "What can I do about your +headaches?"</p> + +<p>"You're on the Board of City Planners, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"That's right."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've got a suggestion for you to give to them. Tell them to +start planning to drop a couple of heavy thermo-nucs on this area. +Clean out twenty or thirty million people. We'd never miss 'em."</p> + +<p>Frazer chuckled wryly. "I wish I had a buck for every time I've heard +<i>that</i> suggestion."</p> + +<p>"Ever stop to think why you hear it so often? It's because everybody +feels the same way—we can't take being hemmed in like this."</p> + +<p>"Well, a bomb wouldn't help. You know that." Frazer pursed his lips. +"Robertson figured out what would happen, with the chain-reaction."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harry glanced sideways at his companion as the car started forward +once again. "I've always wondered about that," he said. "Seriously, I +mean. Is the story really true, or is it just some more of this +government propaganda you fellows like to hand out?"</p> + +<p>Frazer sighed. "It's true, all right. There was a scientist named +Robertson, and he did come up with the thermo-nuc formula, way back in +'75. Proved it, too. Use what he developed and the chain-reaction +would never end. Scientists in other countries tested the theory and +agreed; there was no collusion, it just worked out that way on a +practical basis. Hasn't been a war since—what more proof do you +want?"</p> + +<p>"Well, couldn't they just use some of the old-fashioned hydrogen +bombs?"</p> + +<p>"Be sensible, man! Once a war started, no nation could resist the +temptation to go all-out. Fortunately, everyone realizes that. So we +have peace. Permanent peace."</p> + +<p>"I'll take a good war anytime, in preference to this."</p> + +<p>"Harry, you don't know what you're talking about. You aren't so young +that you can't remember what it was like in the old days. Everybody +living in fear, waiting for the bombs to fall. People dying of disease +and worried about dying from radiation and fallout. All the +international rivalries, the power-politics, the eternal pressures and +constant crises. Nobody in his right mind would want to go back to +<i>that</i>. We've come a mighty long way in the last twenty years or so."</p> + +<p>Harry switched to autopilot and sat back. "Maybe that's the trouble," +he said. "Maybe we've come too far, too fast. I wasn't kidding about +dropping those thermo-nucs, either. <i>Something</i> has to be done. We +can't go on like this indefinitely. Why doesn't the Board come up with +an answer?"</p> + +<p>Frazer shrugged his heavy shoulders. "You think we haven't tried, +aren't trying now? We're aware of the situation as well as you +are—and then some. But there's no easy solution. The population just +keeps growing, that's all. No war to cut it down, contagious diseases +at a minimum, average life-expectancy up to ninety years or better. +Naturally, this results in a problem. But a bomb won't help bring +about any permanent solution. Besides, this isn't a local matter, or +even a national one. It's global. What do you think those summit +meetings are all about?"</p> + +<p>"What about birth control?" Harry asked. "Why don't they really get +behind an emigration movement?"</p> + +<p>"We can't limit procreation by law. You know that." Frazer peered out +at the swarming streams on the sidewalk levels. "It's more than a +religious or a political question—it's a social one. People want +kids. They can afford them. Besides, the Housing Act is set up so that +having kids is just about the only way you can ever get into larger +living-quarters."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't they try reverse-psychology? I mean, grant priority to +people who are willing to be sterilized?"</p> + +<p>"They tried it, on a limited experimental scale, about three years ago +out on the West Coast."</p> + +<p>"I never heard anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Damned right you didn't," Frazer replied, grimly. "They kept the +whole project under wraps, and for a good reason. The publicity might +have wrecked the Administration."</p> + +<p>"What happened?"</p> + +<p>"What do you suppose happened? There were riots. Do you think a man +and his wife and three kids, living in three rooms, liked the idea of +standing by and watching a sterilized couple enjoy a four-room place +with lawn space? Things got pretty ugly, let me tell you. There was a +rumor going around that the country was in the hands of +homosexuals—the churches were up in arms—and if that wasn't bad +enough, we had to face up to the primary problem. There just wasn't, +just isn't, enough <i>space</i>. Not in areas suitable for maintaining a +population. Mountains are still mountains and deserts are still +deserts. Maybe we can put up housing in such regions, but who can live +there? Even with decentralization going full blast, people must live +within reasonable access to their work. No, we're just running out of +room."</p> + +<p>Again the car halted on signal. Over the blasting of the horns, Harry +repeated his query about emigration.</p> + +<p>Frazer shook his head, but made no attempt to reply until the horns +had quieted and they were under way once more.</p> + +<p>"As for emigration, we're just getting some of our own medicine in +return. About eighty years ago, we clamped down and closed the door on +immigrants; established a quota. Now the same quota is being used +against us, and you can't really blame other nations for it. They're +facing worse population increases than we are. Look at the African +Federation, and what's happened there, in spite of all the +wealth! And South America is even worse, in spite of all the +reclamation projects. Fifteen years ago, when they cleared out the +Amazon Basin, they thought they'd have enough room for fifty years to +come. And now look at it--two hundred million, that's the latest +figure we've got."</p> + +<p>"So what's the answer?" Harry asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. If it wasn't for hydroponics and the Ag Culture +controls, we'd be licked right now. As it is, we can still supply +enough food, and the old supply-and-demand takes care of the economy +as a whole. I have no recommendations for an overall solution, or even +a regional one. My job, the Board's job, is regulating housing and +traffic and transportation in Chicagee. That's about all you can +expect us to handle."</p> + +<p>Again they jolted to a stop and the horns howled all around them. +Harry sat there until a muscle in the side of his jaw began to twitch. +Suddenly he pounded on the horn with both fists.</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" he yelled. "For the love of Heaven, shut up!"</p> + +<p>Abruptly he slumped back. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It's my damned +headache. I—I've got to get out of this."</p> + +<p>"Job getting you down?"</p> + +<p>"No. It's a good job. At least everybody tells me so. Twenty-five +hours a week, three hundred bucks. The car. The room. The telescreen +and liquor and yellowjackets. Plenty of time to kill. Unless it's the +time that's killing me."</p> + +<p>"But—what do you <i>want</i>?"</p> + +<p>Harry stepped on the accelerator and they inched along. Now the street +widened into eight traffic lanes and the big semis joined the +procession on the edge of the downtown area.</p> + +<p>"I want out," Harry said. "Out of this."</p> + +<p>"Don't you ever visit the National Preserves?" Frazer asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure I do. Fly up every vacation. Take a tame plane to a tame +government resort and catch my quota of two tame fish. Great sport! If +I got married, I'd be entitled to four tame fish. But that's not what +I want. I want what my father used to talk about. I want to drive into +the country, without a permit, mind you; just to drive wherever I +like. I want to see cows and chickens and trees and lakes and sky."</p> + +<p>"You sound like a Naturalist."</p> + +<p>"Don't sneer. Maybe the Naturalists are right. Maybe we ought to cut +out all this phoney progress and phoney peace that passeth all +understanding. I'm no liberal, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I +think the Naturalists have the only answer."</p> + +<p>"But what can you do about it?" Frazer murmured. "Suppose for the +sake of argument that they <i>are</i> right. How can you change things? We +can't just <i>will</i> ourselves to stop growing, and we can't legislate +against biology. More people, in better health, with more free time, +are just bound to have more offspring. It's inevitable, under the +circumstances. And neither you nor I nor anyone has the right to +condemn millions upon millions of others to death through war or +disease."</p> + +<p>"I know," Harry said. "It's hopeless, I guess. All the same, I want +out." He wet his lips. "Frazer, you're on the Board here. You've got +connections higher up. If I could only get a chance to transfer to Ag +Culture, go on one of those farms as a worker—"</p> + +<p>Frazer shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. You know the situation there, +I'm sure. Right now there's roughly ninety million approved +applications on file. Everybody wants to get into Ag Culture."</p> + +<p>"But couldn't I just buy some land, get a government contract for +foodstuffs?"</p> + +<p>"Have you got the bucks? A minimum forty acres leased from one of the +farm corporations will cost you two hundred thousand at the very +least, not counting equipment." He paused. "Besides, there's +Vocational Apt. What did your tests show?"</p> + +<p>"You're right," Harry said. "I'm supposed to be an agency man. An +agency man until I die. Or retire on my pension, at fifty, and sit in +my little room for the next fifty years, turning on the telescreen +every morning to hear some loudmouthed liar tell me it's a beautiful +day in Chicagee. Who knows, maybe by that time we'll have a hundred +billion people enjoying peace and progress and prosperity. All sitting +in little rooms and—"</p> + +<p>"Watch out!" Frazer grabbed the wheel. "You nearly hit that truck." He +waited until Harry's face relaxed before relinquishing his grip. +"Harry, you'd better go in for a checkup. It isn't just a headache +with you, is it?"</p> + +<p>"You're not fooling," Harry told him. "It isn't just a headache."</p> + +<p>He began to think about what it <i>really</i> was, and that helped a +little. It helped him get through the worst part, which was the +downtown traffic and letting Frazer off and listening to Frazer urge +him to see a doctor.</p> + +<p>Then he got to the building parking area and let them take his car +away and bury it down in the droning darkness where the horns hooted +and the headlights glared.</p> + +<p>Harry climbed the ramp and mingled with the ten-thirty shift on its +way up to the elevators. Eighteen elevators in his building, to serve +eighty floors. Nine of the elevators were express to the fiftieth +floor, three were express to sixty-five. He wanted one of the latter, +and so did the mob. The crushing, clinging mob. They pressed and +panted the way mobs always do; mobs that lynch and torture and dance +around bonfires and guillotines and try to drag you down to trample +you to death because they can't stand you if your name is Harry and +you want to be different.</p> + +<p>They hate you because you don't like powdered eggs and the telescreen +and a beautiful day in Chicagee. And they stare at you because your +forehead hurts and the muscle in your jaw twitches and they know you +want to scream as you go up, up, up, and try to think why you get a +headache from jerking your head to the left.</p> + +<p>Then Harry was at the office door and they said good morning when he +came in, all eighty of the typists in the outer office working their +electronic machines and offering him their electronic smiles, +including the girl he had made electronic love to last Saturday night +and who wanted him to move into a two-room marriage and have children, +lots of children who could enjoy peace and progress and prosperity.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harry snapped out of it, going down the corridor. Only a few steps +more and he'd be safe in his office, his own private office, almost as +big as his apartment. And there would be liquor, and the yellowjackets +in the drawer. That would help. Then he could get to work.</p> + +<p>What was today's assignment? He tried to remember. It was +Wilmer-Klibby, wasn't it? Telescreenads for Wilmer-Klibby, makers of +window-glass.</p> + +<p><i>Window-glass.</i></p> + +<p>He opened his office door and then slammed it shut behind him. For a +minute everything blurred, and then he could remember.</p> + +<p>Now he knew what caused him to jerk his head, what gave him the +headaches when he did so. Of course. That was it.</p> + +<p>When he sat down at the table for breakfast in the morning he turned +his head to the left because he'd always done so, ever since he was a +little boy. A little boy, in what was then Wheaton, sitting at the +breakfast table and looking out of the window. Looking out at summer +sunshine, spring rain, autumn haze, the white wonder of newfallen +snow.</p> + +<p>He'd never broken himself of the habit. He still looked to the left +every morning, just as he had today. But there was no window any more. +There was only a blank wall. And beyond it, the smog and the clamor +and the crowds.</p> + +<p><i>Window-glass.</i> Wilmer-Klibby had problems. Nobody was buying +window-glass any more. Nobody except the people who put up buildings +like this. There were still windows on the top floors, just like the +window here in his office.</p> + +<p>Harry stepped over to it, moving very slowly because of his head. It +hurt to keep his eyes open, but he wanted to stare out of the window. +Up this high you could see above the smog. You could see the sun like +a radiant jewel packed in the cotton cumulus of clouds. If you opened +the window you could feel fresh air against your forehead, you could +breathe it in and breathe out the headache.</p> + +<p>But you didn't dare look down. Oh, no, never look <i>down</i>, because then +you'd see the buildings all around you. The buildings below, black and +sooty, their jagged outlines like the stumps of rotten teeth. And they +stretched off in all directions, as far as the eye could attain; row +after row of rotten teeth grinning up from the smog-choked throat of +the streets. From the maw of the city far below came this faint but +endless howling, this screaming of traffic and toil. And you couldn't +help it, you breathed <i>that</i> in too, along with the fresh air, and it +poisoned you and it did more than make your head ache. It made your +heart ache and it made your soul sick, and it made you close your eyes +and your lungs and your brain against it.</p> + +<p>Harry reeled, but he knew this was the only way. <i>Close your brain +against it.</i> And then, when you opened your eyes again, maybe you +could see the way things used to be—</p> + +<p>It was snowing out and it was a <i>wet</i> snow, the very best kind for +snowballs and making a snowman, and the whole gang would come out +after school.</p> + +<p>But there was no school, this was Saturday, and the leaves were russet +and gold and red so that it looked as if all the trees in the world +were on fire. And you could scuff when you walked and pile up fallen +leaves from the grass and roll in them.</p> + +<p>And it was swell to roll down the front lawn in summer, just roll +right down to the edge of the sidewalk like it was a big hill and let +Daddy catch you at the bottom, laughing.</p> + +<p>Mamma laughed too, and she said, <i>Look, it's springtime, the lilacs +are out, do you want to touch the pretty lilacs, Harry?</i></p> + +<p>And Harry didn't quite understand what she was saying, but he reached +out and they were purple and smelled of rain and soft sweetness and +they were just beyond the window, if he reached a little further he +could touch them—</p> + +<p>And then the snow and the leaves and the grass and the lilacs +disappeared, and Harry could see the rotten teeth again, leering and +looming and snapping at him. They were going to bite, they were going +to chew, they were going to devour, and he couldn't stop them, +couldn't stop himself. He was falling into the howling jaws of the +city.</p> + +<p>His last conscious effort was a desperate attempt to gulp fresh air +into his lungs before he pinwheeled down. Fresh air was good for +headaches....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Harry_Collins_1998" id="Harry_Collins_1998"></a>2. Harry Collins—1998</h2> + + +<p>It took them ten seconds to save Harry from falling, but it took him +over ten weeks to regain his balance.</p> + +<p>In fact, well over two months had passed before he could fully realize +just what had happened, or where he was now. They must have noticed +something was wrong with him that morning at the office, because two +supervisors and an exec rushed in and caught him just as he was going +out of the window. And then they had sent him away, sent him <i>here</i>.</p> + +<p>"This is fine," he told Dr. Manschoff. "If I'd known how well they +treated you, I'd have gone couch-happy years ago."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff's plump face was impassive, but the little laugh-lines +deepened around the edges of his eyes. "Maybe that's why we take such +care not to publicize our recent advances in mental therapy," he said. +"Everybody would want to get into a treatment center, and then where +would we be?"</p> + +<p>Harry nodded, staring past the doctor's shoulder, staring out of the +wide window at the broad expanse of rolling countryside beyond.</p> + +<p>"I still don't understand, though," he murmured. "How can you possibly +manage to maintain an institution like this, with all the space and +the luxuries? The inmates seem to lead a better life than the adjusted +individuals outside. It's topsy-turvy."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." Dr. Manschoff's fingers formed a pudgy steeple. "But then, +so many things seem to be topsy-turvy nowadays, don't they? Wasn't it +the realization of this fact which precipitated your own recent +difficulties?"</p> + +<p>"Almost precipitated me bodily out of that window," Harry admitted, +cheerfully. "And that's another thing. I was sent here, I suppose, +because I'd attempted suicide, gone into shock, temporary amnesia, +something like that."</p> + +<p>"Something like that," the doctor echoed, contemplating his steeple.</p> + +<p>"But you didn't give me any treatment," Harry continued. "Oh, I was +kept under sedation for a while, I realize that. And you and some of +the other staff-members talked to me. But mainly I just rested in a +nice big room and ate nice big meals."</p> + +<p>"So?" The steeple's fleshy spire collapsed.</p> + +<p>"So what I want to know is, when does the real treatment start? When +do I go into analysis, or chemotherapy, and all that?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff shrugged. "Do you think you need those things now?"</p> + +<p>Harry gazed out at the sunlight beyond the window, half-squinting and +half-frowning. "No, come to think of it, I don't believe I do. I feel +better now than I have in years."</p> + +<p>His companion leaned back. "Meaning that for years you felt all wrong. +Because you were constricted, physically, psychically, and +emotionally. You were cramped, squeezed in a vise until the pressure +became intolerable. But now that pressure has been removed. As a +result you no longer suffer, and there is no need to seek escape in +death or denial of identity.</p> + +<p>"This radical change of attitude has been brought about here in just a +little more than two months' time. And yet you're asking me when the +'real treatment' begins."</p> + +<p>"I guess I've already had the real treatment then, haven't I?"</p> + +<p>"That is correct. Prolonged analysis or drastic therapy is +unnecessary. We've merely given you what you seemed to need."</p> + +<p>"I'm very grateful," Harry said. "But how can you afford to do it?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff built another temple to an unknown god. He inspected the +architecture critically now as he spoke. "Because your problem is a +rarity," he said.</p> + +<p>"Rarity? I'd have thought millions of people would be breaking down +every month. The Naturalists say—"</p> + +<p>The doctor nodded wearily. "I know what they say. But let's dismiss +rumors and consider facts. Have you ever read any <i>official</i> report +stating that the number of cases of mental illness ran into the +millions?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't."</p> + +<p>"For that matter, do you happen to know of <i>anyone</i> who was ever sent +to a treatment center such as this?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, everybody goes in to see the medics for regular +check-ups and this includes an interview with a psych. But if they're +in bad shape he just puts them on extra tranquilizers. I guess +sometimes he reviews their Vocational Apt tests and shifts them over +into different jobs in other areas."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff bowed his head in reverence above the steeple, as if +satisfied with the labors he had wrought. "That is roughly correct. +And I believe, if you search your memory, you won't recall even a +mention of a treatment center. This sort of place is virtually +extinct, nowadays. There are still some institutions for those +suffering from functional mental disorders—paresis, senile dementia, +congenital abnormalities. But regular check-ups and preventative +therapy take care of the great majority. We've ceased concentrating on +the result of mental illnesses and learned to attack the causes.</p> + +<p>"It's the old yellow fever problem all over again, you see. Once upon +a time, physicians dealt exclusively with treatment of yellow fever +patients. Then they shifted their attention to the <i>source</i> of the +disease. They went after the mosquitoes, drained the swamps, and the +yellow fever problem vanished.</p> + +<p>"That's been our approach in recent years. We've developed <i>social</i> +therapy, and so the need for individual therapy has diminished.</p> + +<p>"What were the sources of the tensions producing mental disturbances? +Physical and financial insecurity, the threat of war, the aggressive +patterns of a competitive society, the unresolved Oedipus-situation +rooted in the old-style family relationship. These were the swamps +where the mosquitoes buzzed and bit. Most of the swamps have been +dredged, most of the insects exterminated.</p> + +<p>"Today we're moving into a social situation where nobody goes hungry, +nobody is jobless or unprovided for, nobody needs to struggle for +status. Vocational Apt determines a man's rightful place and function +in society, and there's no longer the artificial distinction imposed +by race, color or creed. War is a thing of the past. Best of all, the +old-fashioned 'home-life,' with all of its unhealthy emotional ties, +is being replaced by sensible conditioning when a child reaches school +age. The umbilical cord is no longer a permanent leash, a strangler's +noose, or a silver-plated life-line stretching back to the womb."</p> + +<p>Harry Collins nodded. "I suppose only the exceptional cases ever need +to go to a treatment center like this."</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"But what makes <i>me</i> one of the exceptions? Is it because of the way +the folks brought me up, in a small town, with all the old-fashioned +books and everything? Is that why I hated confinement and conformity +so much? Is it because of all the years I spent reading? And why—"</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff stood up. "You tempt me," he said. "You tempt me +strongly. As you can see, I dearly love a lecture—and a captive +audience. But right now, the audience must not remain captive. I +prescribe an immediate dose of freedom."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"You mean I'm to leave here?"</p> + +<p>"Is that what you want to do?"</p> + +<p>"Frankly, no. Not if it means going back to my job."</p> + +<p>"That hasn't been decided upon. We can discuss the problem later, and +perhaps we can go into the answers to those questions you just posed. +But at the moment, I'd suggest you stay with us, though without the +restraint of remaining in your room or in the wards. In other words, I +want you to start going outside again."</p> + +<p>"Outside?"</p> + +<p>"You'll find several square miles of open country just beyond the +doors here. You're at liberty to wander around and enjoy yourself. +Plenty of fresh air and sunshine—come and go as you wish. I've +already issued instructions which permit you to keep your own hours. +Meals will be available when you desire them."</p> + +<p>"You're very kind."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. I'm prescribing what you need. And when the time comes, +we'll arrange to talk again. You know where to find me."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff dismantled his steeple and placed a half of the roof in +each trouser-pocket.</p> + +<p>And Harry Collins went outdoors.</p> + +<p>It was wonderful just to be free and alone—like returning to that +faraway childhood in Wheaton once again. Harry appreciated every +minute of it during the first week of his wandering.</p> + +<p>But Harry wasn't a child any more, and after a week he began to wonder +instead of wander.</p> + +<p>The grounds around the treatment center were more than spacious; they +seemed absolutely endless. No matter how far he walked during the +course of a day, Harry had never encountered any walls, fences or +artificial barriers; there was nothing to stay his progress but the +natural barriers of high, steeply-slanting precipices which seemed to +rim all sides of a vast valley. Apparently the center itself was set +in the middle of a large canyon—a canyon big enough to contain an +airstrip for helicopter landings. The single paved road leading from +the main buildings terminated at the airstrip, and Harry saw +helicopters arrive and depart from time to time; apparently they +brought in food and supplies.</p> + +<p>As for the center itself, it consisted of four large structures, two +of which Harry was familiar with. The largest was made up of +apartments for individual patients, and staffed by nurses and +attendants. Harry's own room was here, on the second floor, and from +the beginning he'd been allowed to roam around the communal halls +below at will.</p> + +<p>The second building was obviously administrative—Dr. Manschoff's +private office was situated therein, and presumably the other +staff-members operated out of here.</p> + +<p>The other two buildings were apparently inaccessible; not guarded or +policed or even distinguished by signs prohibiting access, but merely +locked and unused. At least, Harry had found the doors locked +when—out of normal curiosity—he had ventured to approach them. Nor +had he ever seen anyone enter or leave the premises. Perhaps these +structures were unnecessary under the present circumstances, and had +been built for future accommodations.</p> + +<p>Still, Harry couldn't help wondering.</p> + +<p>And now, on this particular afternoon, he sat on the bank of the +little river which ran through the valley, feeling the mid-summer sun +beating down upon his forehead and staring down at the eddying current +with its ripples and reflections.</p> + +<p><i>Ripples and reflections....</i></p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff had answered his questions well, yet new questions had +arisen.</p> + +<p>Most people didn't go crazy any more, the doctor had explained, and so +there were very few treatment centers such as this.</p> + +<p><i>Question: Why were there any at all?</i></p> + +<p>A place like this cost a fortune to staff and maintain. In an age +where living-space and areable acreage was at such a premium, why +waste this vast and fertile expanse? And in a society more and more +openly committed to the policy of promoting the greatest good for the +greatest number, why bother about the fate of an admittedly +insignificant group of mentally disturbed patients?</p> + +<p>Not that Harry resented his situation; in fact, it was almost too good +to be true.</p> + +<p><i>Question: Was it too good to be true?</i></p> + +<p>Why, come to realize it, he'd seen less than a dozen other patients +during his entire stay here! All of them were male, and all of +them—apparently—were recovering from a condition somewhat similar to +his own. At least, he'd recognized the same reticence and diffidence +when it came to exchanging more than a perfunctory greeting in an +encounter in an outer corridor. At the time, he'd accepted their +unwillingness to communicate; welcomed and understood it because of +<i>his</i> condition. And that in itself wasn't what he questioned now.</p> + +<p>But why were there so <i>few</i> patients beside himself? Why were they all +males? And why weren't <i>they</i> roaming the countryside now the way he +was?</p> + +<p>So many staff-members and so few patients. So much room and luxury and +freedom, and so little use of it. So little apparent purpose to it +all.</p> + +<p><i>Question: Was there a hidden purpose?</i></p> + +<p>Harry stared down into the ripples and reflections, and the sun was +suddenly intolerably hot, its glare on the water suddenly blinding and +bewildering. He saw his face mirrored on the water's surface, and it +was not the familiar countenance he knew—the features were bloated, +distorted, shimmering and wavering.</p> + +<p>Maybe it was starting all over again. Maybe he was getting another one +of those headaches. Maybe he was going to lose control again.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Yes, and maybe he was just imagining things. Sitting here in all this +heat wasn't a good idea.</p> + +<p>Why not take a swim?</p> + +<p>That seemed reasonable enough. In fact, it seemed like a delightful +distraction. Harry rose and stripped. He entered the water +awkwardly—one didn't dive, not after twenty years of abstinence from +the outdoor life—but he found that he could swim, after a fashion. +The water was cooling, soothing. A few minutes of immersion and Harry +found himself forgetting his speculations. The uneasy feeling had +vanished. Now, when he stared down into the water, he saw his own face +reflected, looking just the way it should. And when he stared up—</p> + +<p>He saw her standing there, on the bank.</p> + +<p>She was tall, slim, and blonde. Very tall, very slim, and very blonde.</p> + +<p>She was also very desirable.</p> + +<p>Up until a moment ago, Harry had considered swimming a delightful +distraction. But now—</p> + +<p>"How's the water?" she called.</p> + +<p>"Fine."</p> + +<p>She nodded, smiling down at him.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you coming in?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then what are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I was looking for you, Harry."</p> + +<p>"You know my name?"</p> + +<p>She nodded again. "Dr. Manschoff told me."</p> + +<p>"You mean, he sent you here to find me?"</p> + +<p>"That's right."</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand. If you're not going swimming, then why—I +mean—"</p> + +<p>Her smile broadened. "It's just part of the therapy, Harry."</p> + +<p>"Part of the therapy?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. <i>Part.</i>" She giggled. "Don't you think you'd like to +come out of the water now and see what the rest of it might be?"</p> + +<p>Harry thought so.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>With mounting enthusiasm, he eagerly embraced his treatment and +entered into a state of active cooperation.</p> + +<p>It was some time before he ventured to comment on the situation. +"Manschoff is a damned good diagnostician," he murmured. Then he sat +up. "Are you a patient here?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "Don't ask questions, Harry. Can't you be +satisfied with things as they are?"</p> + +<p>"You're just what the doctor ordered, all right." He gazed down at +her. "But don't you even have a name?"</p> + +<p>"You can call me Sue."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>He bent to kiss her but she avoided him and rose to her feet. "Got to +go now."</p> + +<p>"So soon?"</p> + +<p>She nodded and moved towards the bushes above the bank.</p> + +<p>"But when will I see you again?"</p> + +<p>"Coming swimming tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I can get away for more occupational therapy then."</p> + +<p>She stooped behind the bushes, and Harry saw a flash of white.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> a nurse, aren't you," he muttered. "On the staff, I +suppose. I should have known."</p> + +<p>"All right, so I am. What's that got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"And I suppose you were telling the truth when you said Manschoff sent +you here. This <i>is</i> just part of my therapy, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>She nodded briefly as she slipped into her uniform. "Does that bother +you, Harry?"</p> + +<p>He bit his lip. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Yes, damn it, it +does. I mean, I got the idea—at least, I was hoping—that this wasn't +just a matter of carrying out an assignment on your part."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him gravely. "Who said anything about an assignment, +darling?" she murmured. "I volunteered."</p> + +<p>And then she was gone.</p> + +<p>Then she was gone, and then she came back that night in Harry's +dreams, and then she was at the river the next day and it was better +than the dreams, better than the day before.</p> + +<p>Sue told him she had been watching him for weeks now. And she had gone +to Manschoff and suggested it, and she was very glad. And they had to +meet here, out in the open, so as not to complicate the situation or +disturb any of the other patients.</p> + +<p>So Harry naturally asked her about the other patients, and the whole +general setup, and she said Dr. Manschoff would answer all those +questions in due time. But right now, with only an hour or so to +spare, was he going to spend it all asking for information? Matters +were accordingly adjusted to their mutual satisfaction, and it was on +that basis that they continued their almost daily meetings for some +time.</p> + +<p>The next few months were perhaps the happiest Harry had ever known. +The whole interval took on a dreamlike quality—idealized, +romanticized, yet basically sensual. There is probably such a dream +buried deep within the psyche of every man, Harry reflected, but to +few is it ever given to realize its reality. His early questioning +attitude gave way to a mood of mere acceptance and enjoyment. This was +the primitive drama, the very essence of the male-female relationship; +Adam and Eve in the Garden. Why waste time seeking the Tree of +Knowledge?</p> + +<p>And it wasn't until summer passed that Harry even thought about the +Serpent.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, as he sat waiting for Sue on the river bank, he heard a +sudden movement in the brush behind him.</p> + +<p>"Darling?" he called, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Please, you don't know me <i>that</i> well." The deep masculine voice +carried overtones of amusement.</p> + +<p>Flushing, Harry turned to confront the intruder. He was a short, +stocky, middle-aged man whose bristling gray crewcut almost matched +the neutral shades of his gray orderly's uniform.</p> + +<p>"Expecting someone else, were you?" the man muttered. "Well, I'll get +out of your way."</p> + +<p>"That's not necessary. I was really just daydreaming, I guess. I don't +know what made me think—" Harry felt his flush deepen, and he lowered +his eyes and his voice as he tried to improvise some excuse.</p> + +<p>"You're a lousy liar," the man said, stepping forward and seating +himself on the bank next to Harry. "But it doesn't really matter. I +don't think your girl friend is going to show up today, anyway."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? What do you know about—"</p> + +<p>"I mean just what I said," the man told him. "And I know everything I +need to know, about you and about her and about the situation in +general. That's why I'm here, Collins."</p> + +<p>He paused, watching the play of emotions in Harry's eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know what you're thinking right now," the gray-haired man +continued. "At first you wondered how I knew your name. Then you +realized that if I was on the staff in the wards I'd naturally be able +to identify the patients. Now it occurs to you that you've never seen +me in the wards, so you're speculating as to whether or not I'm +working out of the administration offices with that psychiatric no +good Manschoff. But if I were, I wouldn't be calling him names, would +I? Which means you're really getting confused, aren't you, Collins? +Good!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The man chuckled, but there was neither mockery, malice, nor genuine +mirth in the sound. And his eyes were sober, intent.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>"The name is Ritchie, Arnold Ritchie. At least, that's the name they +know me by around here, and you can call me that. As to what I'm +doing, it's a long story. Let's just say that right now I'm here to +give you a little advanced therapy."</p> + +<p>"Then Manschoff did send you?"</p> + +<p>The chuckle came again, and Ritchie shook his head. "He did not. And +if he even suspected I was here, there'd be hell to pay."</p> + +<p>"Then what do you want with me?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't a question of what I want. It's a question of what <i>you +need</i>. Which is, like I said, advanced therapy. The sort that dear old +kindly permissive Father-Image Manschoff doesn't intend you to get."</p> + +<p>Harry stood up. "What's this all about?"</p> + +<p>Ritchie rose with him, smiling for the first time. "I'm glad you asked +that question, Collins. It's about time you did, you know. Everything +has been so carefully planned to keep you from asking it. But you +<i>were</i> beginning to wonder just a bit anyway, weren't you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see what you're driving at."</p> + +<p>"You don't see what anyone is driving at, Collins. You've been blinded +by a spectacular display of kindness, misdirected by self-indulgence. +I told you I knew everything I needed to know about you, and I do. Now +I'm going to ask you to remember these things for yourself; the things +you've avoided considering all this while.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to ask you to remember that you're twenty-eight years old, +and that for almost seven years you were an agency man and a good one. +You worked hard, you did a conscientious job, you stayed in line, +obeyed the rules, never rebelled. Am I correct in my summary of the +situation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess so."</p> + +<p>"So what was your reward for all this unceasing effort and eternal +conformity? A one-room apartment and a one-week vacation, once a year. +Count your blessings, Collins. Am I right?"</p> + +<p>"Right."</p> + +<p>"Then what happened? Finally you flipped, didn't you? Tried to take a +header out of the window. You chucked your job, chucked your +responsibilities, chucked your future and attempted to chuck yourself +away. Am I still right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Good enough. And now we come to the interesting part of the story. +Seven years of being a good little boy got you nothing but the promise +of present and future frustration. Seven seconds of madness, of +attempted self-destruction, brought you here. And as a reward for +bucking the system, the system itself has provided you with a life of +luxury and leisure—full permission to come and go as you please, live +in spacious ease, indulge in the gratification of every appetite, free +of responsibility or restraint. Is that true?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"All right. Now, let me ask you the question you asked me. What's it +all about?"</p> + +<p>Ritchie put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Tell me that, Collins. Why +do you suppose you've received such treatment? As long as you stayed +in line, nobody gave a damn for your comfort or welfare. Then, when +you committed the cardinal sin of our present-day society—when you +rebelled—everything was handed to you on a silver platter. Does that +make sense?"</p> + +<p>"But it's therapy. Dr. Manschoff said—"</p> + +<p>"Look, Collins. Millions of people flip every year. Millions more +attempt suicide. How many of them end up in a place like this?"</p> + +<p>"They don't, though. That's just Naturalist propaganda. Dr. Manschoff +said—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Dr. Manschoff said!</i> I know what he said, all right. And you +believed him, because you wanted to believe him. You wanted the +reassurance he could offer you—the feeling of being unique and +important. So you didn't ask him any questions, you didn't ask any +questions of yourself. Such as why anybody would consider an +insignificant little agency man, without friends, family or +connections, worth the trouble of rehabilitating at all, let alone +amidst such elaborate and expensive surroundings. Why, men like you +are a dime a dozen these days—Vocational Apt can push a few buttons +and come up with half a million replacements to take over your job. +You aren't important to society, Collins. You aren't important to +anyone at all, besides yourself. And yet you got the red-carpet +treatment. It's about time somebody yanked that carpet out from under +you. What's it all about?"</p> + +<p>Harry blinked. "Look here, I don't see why this is any of your +business. Besides, to tell the truth, I'm expecting—"</p> + +<p>"I know who you're expecting, but I've already told you she won't be +here. Because she's expecting."</p> + +<p>"What—?"</p> + +<p>"It's high time you learned the facts of life, Collins. Yes, the +well-known facts of life—the ones about the birds and the bees, and +barefoot boys and blondes, too. Your little friend Sue is going to +have a souvenir."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it! I'm going to ask Dr. Manschoff."</p> + +<p>"Sure you are. You'll ask Manschoff and he'll deny it. And so you'll +tell him about me. You'll say you met somebody in the woods +today—either a lunatic or a Naturalist spy who infiltrated here under +false pretenses. And Manschoff will reassure you. He'll reassure you +just long enough to get his hands on me. Then he'll take care of both +of us."</p> + +<p>"Are you insinuating—"</p> + +<p>"Hell, no! I'm <i>telling</i> you!" Ritchie put his hand down suddenly, and +his voice calmed. "Ever wonder about those other two big buildings on +the premises here, Collins? Well, I can tell you about one of them, +because that's where I work. You might call it an experimental +laboratory if you like. Sometime later on I'll describe it to you. But +right now it's the other building that's important; the building with +the big chimney. That's a kind of an incinerator, Collins—a place +where the mistakes go up in smoke, at night, when there's nobody to +see. A place where you and I will go up in smoke, if you're fool +enough to tell Manschoff about this."</p> + +<p>"You're lying."</p> + +<p>"I wish to God I was, for both our sakes! But I can prove what I'm +saying. <i>You</i> can prove it, for yourself."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Pretend this meeting never occurred. Pretend that you just spent the +afternoon here, waiting for a girl who never showed up. Then do +exactly what you would do under those circumstances. Go in to see Dr. +Manschoff and ask him where Sue is, tell him you were worried because +she'd promised to meet you and then didn't appear.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you right now what he'll tell you. He'll say that Sue has +been transferred to another treatment center, that she knew about it +for several weeks but didn't want to upset you with the news of her +departure. So she decided to just slip away. And Manschoff will tell +you not to be unhappy. It just so happens that he knows of another +nurse who has had her eye on you—a very pretty little brunette named +Myrna. In fact, if you go down to the river tomorrow, you'll find her +waiting for you there."</p> + +<p>"What if I refuse?"</p> + +<p>Ritchie shrugged. "Why should you refuse? It's all fun and games, +isn't it? Up to now you haven't asked any questions about what was +going on, and it would look very strange if you started at this late +date. I strongly advise you to cooperate. If not, everything is likely +to—quite literally—go up in smoke."</p> + +<p>Harry Collins frowned. "All right, suppose I do what you say, and +Manschoff gives me the answers you predict. This still doesn't prove +that he'd be lying or that you're telling me the truth."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it indicate as much, though?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. But on the other hand, it could merely mean that you know +Sue <i>has</i> been transferred, and that Dr. Manschoff intends to turn me +over to a substitute. It doesn't necessarily imply anything sinister."</p> + +<p>"In other words, you're insisting on a clincher, is that it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"All right." Ritchie sighed heavily. "You asked for it." He reached +into the left-hand upper pocket of the gray uniform and brought out a +small, stiff square of glossy paper.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" Harry asked. He reached for the paper, but Ritchie drew +his hand back.</p> + +<p>"Look at it over my shoulder," he said. "I don't want any +fingerprints. Hell of a risky business just smuggling it out of the +files—no telling how well they check up on this material."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harry circled behind the smaller man. He squinted down. "Hard to +read."</p> + +<p>"Sure. It's a photostat. I made it myself, this morning; that's my +department. Read carefully now. You'll see it's a transcript of the +lab report. Susan Pulver, that's her name, isn't it? After due +examination and upon completion of preliminary tests, hereby found to +be in the second month of pregnancy. Putative father, Harry +Collins—that's you, see your name? And here's the rest of the +record."</p> + +<p>"Yes, let me see it. What's all this about inoculation series? And who +is this Dr. Leffingwell?" Harry bent closer, but Ritchie closed his +hand around the photostat and pocketed it again.</p> + +<p>"Never mind that, now. I'll tell you later. The important thing is, do +you believe me?"</p> + +<p>"I believe Sue is pregnant, yes."</p> + +<p>"That's enough. Enough for you to do what I've asked you to. Go to +Manschoff and make inquiries. See what he tells you. Don't make a +scene, and for God's sake don't mention my name. Just confirm my story +for yourself. Then I'll give you further details."</p> + +<p>"But when will I see you?"</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow afternoon, if you like. Right here."</p> + +<p>"You said he'd be sending another girl—"</p> + +<p>Ritchie nodded. "So I did. And so he'll say. I suggest you beg to be +excused for the moment. Tell him it will take a while for you to get +over the shock of losing Sue this way."</p> + +<p>"I won't be lying," Harry murmured.</p> + +<p>"I know. And I'm sorry. Believe me, I am." Ritchie sighed again. "But +you'll just have to trust me from now on."</p> + +<p>"Trust you? When you haven't even explained what this is all about?"</p> + +<p>"You've had your shock-therapy for today. Come back for another +treatment tomorrow."</p> + +<p>And then Ritchie was gone, the gray uniform melting away into the gray +shadows of the shrubbery above the bank.</p> + +<p>A short time later, Harry made his own way back to the center in the +gathering twilight. The dusk was gray, too. Everything seemed gray +now.</p> + +<p>So was Harry Collins' face, when he emerged from his interview with +Dr. Manschoff that evening. And it was still pallid the next afternoon +when he came down to the river bank and waited for Ritchie to +reappear.</p> + +<p>The little man emerged from the bushes. He stared at Harry's drawn +countenance and nodded slowly.</p> + +<p>"I was right, eh?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>"It looks that way. But I can't understand what's going on. If this +isn't just a treatment center, if they're not really interested in my +welfare, then what am I doing here?"</p> + +<p>"You're taking part in an experiment. This, my friend, is a +laboratory. And you are a nice, healthy guinea pig."</p> + +<p>"But that doesn't make sense. I haven't been experimented on. They've +let me do as I please."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And what do guinea pigs excel at? <i>Breeding.</i>"</p> + +<p>"You mean this whole thing was rigged up just so that Sue and I +would—?"</p> + +<p>"Please, let's not be so egocentric, shall we? After all, you're not +the <i>only</i> male patient in this place. There are a dozen others +wandering around loose. Some of them have their favorite caves, others +have discovered little bypaths, but all of them seem to have located +ideal trysting-places. Whereupon, of course, the volunteer nurses have +located <i>them</i>."</p> + +<p>"Are you telling me the same situation exists with each of the +others?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it fairly obvious? You've shown no inclination to become +friendly with the rest of the patients here, and none of them have +made any overtures to you. That's because everyone has his own little +secret, his own private arrangement. And so all of you go around +fooling everybody else, and all of you are being fooled. I'll give +credit to Manschoff and his staff on that point—he's certainly +mastered the principles of practical psychology."</p> + +<p>"But you talked about breeding. With our present overpopulation +problem, why in the world do they deliberately encourage the birth of +more children?"</p> + +<p>"Very well put. 'Why in the world' indeed! In order to answer that, +you'd better take a good look at the world."</p> + +<p>Arnold Ritchie seated himself on the grass, pulled out a pipe, and +then replaced it hastily. "Better not smoke," he murmured. "Be awkward +if we attracted any attention and were found together."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Harry stared at him. "You <i>are</i> a Naturalist, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a reporter, by profession."</p> + +<p>"Which network?"</p> + +<p>"No network. <i>Newzines.</i> There are still a few in print, you know."</p> + +<p>"I know. But I can't afford them."</p> + +<p>"There aren't many left who can, or who even feel the need of reading +them. Nevertheless, mavericks like myself still cling to the ancient +and honorable practices of the Fourth Estate. One of which is +ferreting out the inside story, the news behind the news."</p> + +<p>"Then you're not working for the Naturalists."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am. I'm working for them and for everybody else who has +an interest in learning the truth." Ritchie paused. "By the way, you +keep using that term as if it were some kind of dirty word. Just what +does it mean? What <i>is</i> a Naturalist, in your book?"</p> + +<p>"Why, a radical thinker, of course. An opponent of government +policies, of progress. One who believes we're running out of living +space, using up the last of our natural resources."</p> + +<p>"What do you suppose motivates Naturalists, really?"</p> + +<p>"Well, they can't stand the pressures of daily living, or the +prospects of a future when we'll be still more hemmed in."</p> + +<p>Ritchie nodded. "Any more than you could, a few months ago, when you +tried to commit suicide. Wouldn't you say that <i>you</i> were thinking +like a Naturalist then?"</p> + +<p>Harry grimaced. "I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"Don't feel ashamed. You saw the situation clearly, just as the +so-called Naturalists do. And just as the government does. Only the +government can't dare admit it—hence the secrecy behind this +project."</p> + +<p>"A hush-hush government plan to stimulate further breeding? I still +don't see—"</p> + +<p>"Look at the world," Ritchie repeated. "Look at it realistically. +What's the situation at present? Population close to six billion, and +rising fast. There was a leveling-off period in the Sixties, and then +it started to climb again. No wars, no disease to cut it down. The +development of synthetic foods, the use of algae and fungi, rules out +famine as a limiting factor. Increased harnessing of atomic power has +done away with widespread poverty, so there's no economic deterrent to +propagation. Neither church nor state dares set up a legal +prohibition. So here we are, at the millennium. In place of +international tension we've substituted internal tension. In place of +thermonuclear explosion, we have a population explosion."</p> + +<p>"You make it look pretty grim."</p> + +<p>"I'm just talking about today. What happens ten years from now, when +we hit a population-level of ten billion? What happens when we reach +twenty billion, fifty billion, a hundred? Don't talk to me about more +substitutes, more synthetics, new ways of conserving top-soil. There +just isn't going to be <i>room</i> for everyone!"</p> + +<p>"Then what's the answer?"</p> + +<p>"That's what the government wants to know. Believe me, they've done a +lot of searching; most of it <i>sub rosa</i>. And then along came this man +Leffingwell, with <i>his</i> solution. That's just what it is, of +course—an endocrinological solution, for direct injection."</p> + +<p>"Leffingwell? The Dr. Leffingwell whose name was on that photostat? +What's he got to do with all this?"</p> + +<p>"He's boss of this project," Ritchie said. "He's the one who persuaded +them to set up a breeding-center. You're <i>his</i> guinea pig."</p> + +<p>"But why all the secrecy?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I wanted to know. That's why I scurried around, pulled +strings to get a lab technician's job here. It wasn't easy, believe +me. The whole deal is being kept strictly under wraps until +Leffingwell's experiments prove out. They realized right away that it +would be fatal to use volunteers for the experiments—they'd be bound +to talk, there'd be leaks. And of course, they anticipated some +awkward results at first, until the technique is refined and +perfected. Well, they were right on that score. I've seen some of +their failures." Ritchie shuddered. "Any volunteer—any military man, +government employee or even a so-called dedicated scientist who broke +away would spread enough rumors about what was going on to kill the +entire project. That's why they decided to use mental patients for +subjects. God knows, they had millions to choose from, but they were +very particular. You're a rare specimen, Collins."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Because you happen to fit all their specifications. You're young, in +good physical condition. Unlike ninety percent of the population, you +don't even wear contact lenses, do you? And your aberration was +temporary, easily removed by removing you from the tension-sources +which created it. You have no family ties, no close friends, to +question your absence. That's why you were chosen—one of the two +hundred."</p> + +<p>"Two hundred? But there's only a dozen others here now."</p> + +<p>"A dozen males, yes. You're forgetting the females. Must be about +fifty or sixty in the other building."</p> + +<p>"But if you're talking about someone like Sue, she's a nurse—"</p> + +<p>Ritchie shook his head. "That's what she was <i>told</i> to say. Actually, +she's a patient, too. They're all patients. Twelve men and sixty +women, at the moment. Originally, about thirty men and a hundred and +seventy women."</p> + +<p>"What happened to the others?"</p> + +<p>"I told you there were some failures. Many of the women died in +childbirth. Some of them survived, but found out about the +results—and the results, up until now, haven't been perfect. A few of +the men found out, too. Well, they have only one method of dealing +with failures here. They dispose of them. I told you about that +chimney, didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"You mean they killed the offspring, killed those who found out about +them?"</p> + +<p>Ritchie shrugged.</p> + +<p>"But what are they actually <i>doing</i>? Who is this Dr. Leffingwell? +What's it all about?"</p> + +<p>"I think I can answer those questions for you."</p> + +<p>Harry wheeled at the sound of the familiar voice.</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff beamed down at him from the top of the river bank. +"Don't be alarmed," he said. "I wasn't following you with any intent +to eavesdrop. I was merely concerned about him." His eyes flickered as +he directed his gaze past Harry's shoulder, and Harry turned again to +look at Arnold Ritchie.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The little man was no longer standing and he was no longer alone. Two +attendants now supported him, one on either side, and Ritchie himself +sagged against their grip with eyes closed. A hypodermic needle in one +attendant's hand indicated the reason for Ritchie's sudden collapse.</p> + +<p>"Merely a heavy sedative," Dr. Manschoff murmured. "We came prepared, +in expectation of just such an emergency." He nodded at his +companions. "Better take him back now," he said. "I'll look in on him +this evening, when he comes out of it."</p> + +<p>"Sorry about all this," Manschoff continued, sitting down next to +Harry as the orderlies lifted Ritchie's inert form and carried him up +the slanting slope. "It's entirely my fault. I misjudged my +patient—never should have permitted him such a degree of freedom. +Obviously, he's not ready for it yet. I do hope he didn't upset you in +any way."</p> + +<p>"No. He seemed quite"—Harry hesitated, then went on +hastily—"logical."</p> + +<p>"Indeed he is." Dr. Manschoff smiled. "Paranoid delusions, as they +used to call them, can often be rationalized most convincingly. And +from what little I heard, he was doing an excellent job, wasn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Well—"</p> + +<p>"I know." A slight sigh erased the smile. "Leffingwell and I are mad +scientists, conducting biological experiments on human guinea pigs. +We've assembled patients for breeding purposes and the government is +secretly subsidizing us. Also, we incinerate our victims—again, with +full governmental permission. All very logical, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that," Harry told him. "It's just that he said Sue was +pregnant and he was hinting things."</p> + +<p>"Said?" Manschoff stood up. "<i>Hinted?</i> I'm surprised he didn't go +further than that. Just today, we discovered he'd been using the +office facilities—he had a sort of probationary position, as you may +have guessed, helping out the staff in administration—to provide +tangible proof of his artistic creations. He was writing out 'official +reports' and then photostating them. Apparently he intended to +circulate the results as 'evidence' to support his delusions. Look, +here's a sample."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff passed a square of glossy paper to Harry, who scanned it +quickly. It was another laboratory report similar to the one Ritchie +had shown him, but containing a different set of names.</p> + +<p>"No telling how long this sort of thing has been going on," Manschoff +said. "He may have made dozens. Naturally, the moment we discovered +it, we realized prompt action was necessary. He'll need special +attention."</p> + +<p>"But what's wrong with him?"</p> + +<p>"It's a long story. He was a reporter at one time—he may have told +you that. The death of his wife precipitated a severe trauma and +brought him to our attention. Actually, I'm not at liberty to say any +more regarding his case; you understand, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"Then you're telling me that everything he had to say was a product of +his imagination?"</p> + +<p>"No, don't misunderstand. It would be more correct to state that he +merely distorted reality. For example, there <i>is</i> a Dr. Leffingwell on +the staff here; he is a diagnostician and has nothing to do with +psychotherapy <i>per se</i>. And he has charge of the hospital ward in Unit +Three, the third building you may have noticed behind Administration. +That's where the nurses maintain residence, of course. Incidentally, +when any nurses take on a—special assignment, as it were, such as +yours, Leffingwell does examine and treat them. There's a new oral +contraception technique he's evolved which may be quite efficacious. +But I'd hardly call it an example of sinister experimentation under +the circumstances, would you?"</p> + +<p>Harry shook his head. "About Ritchie, though," he said. "What will +happen to him?"</p> + +<p>"I can't offer any prognosis. In view of my recent error in judgment +concerning him, it's hard to say how he'll respond to further +treatment. But rest assured that I'll do my best for his case. Chances +are you'll be seeing him again before very long."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manschoff glanced at his watch. "Shall we go back now?" he +suggested. "Supper will be served soon."</p> + +<p>The two men toiled up the bank.</p> + +<p>Harry discovered that the doctor was right about supper. It was being +served as he returned to his room. But the predictions concerning +Ritchie didn't work out quite as well.</p> + +<p>It was after supper—indeed, quite some hours afterwards, while Harry +sat at his window and stared sleeplessly out into the night—that he +noted the thick, greasy spirals of black smoke rising suddenly from +the chimney of the Third Unit building. And the sight may have +prepared him for the failure of Dr. Manschoff's prophecy regarding his +disturbed patient.</p> + +<p>Harry never asked any questions, and no explanations were ever +forthcoming.</p> + +<p>But from that evening onward, nobody ever saw Arnold Ritchie again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="President_Winthrop_1999" id="President_Winthrop_1999"></a>3. President Winthrop—1999</h2> + + +<p>The Secretary of State closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he asked.</p> + +<p>President Winthrop looked up from the desk and blinked. "Hello, Art," +he said. "Sit down."</p> + +<p>"Sorry I'm late," the Secretary told him. "I came as soon as I got the +call."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter." The President lit a cigarette and pursed his lips +around it until it stopped wobbling. "I've been checking the reports +all night."</p> + +<p>"You look tired."</p> + +<p>"I am. I could sleep for a week. That is, I <i>wish</i> I could."</p> + +<p>"Any luck?"</p> + +<p>The President pushed the papers aside and drummed the desk for a +moment. Then he offered the Secretary a gray ghost of a smile.</p> + +<p>"The answer's still the same."</p> + +<p>"But this was our last chance—"</p> + +<p>"I know." The President leaned back. "When I think of the time and +effort, the money that's been poured into these projects! To say +nothing of the hopes we had. And now, it's all for nothing."</p> + +<p>"You can't say that," the Secretary answered. "After all, we did reach +the moon. We got to Mars." He paused. "No one can take that away from +you. You sponsored the Martian flights. You fought for the +appropriations, pushed the project, carried it through. You helped +mankind realize its greatest dream—"</p> + +<p>"Save that for the newscasts," the President said. "The fact remains, +we've succeeded. And our success was a failure. Mankind's greatest +dream, eh? Read these reports and you'll find out this is mankind's +greatest nightmare."</p> + +<p>"Is it that bad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." The President slumped in his chair. "It's that bad. We can +reach the moon at will. Now we can send a manned flight to Mars. But +it means nothing. We can't support life in either place. There's +absolutely no possibility of establishing or maintaining an outpost, +let alone a large colony or a permanent human residence. That's what +all the reports conclusively demonstrate.</p> + +<p>"Every bit of oxygen, every bit of food and clothing and material, +would have to be supplied. And investigations prove there's no chance +of ever realizing any return. The cost of such an operation is +staggeringly prohibitive. Even if there was evidence to show it might +be possible to undertake some mining projects, it wouldn't begin to +defray expenses, once you consider the transportation factor."</p> + +<p>"But if they improve the rockets, manage to make room for a bigger +payload, wouldn't it be cheaper?"</p> + +<p>"It would still cost roughly a billion dollars to equip a flight and +maintain a personnel of twenty men for a year," the President told +him. "I've checked into that, and even this estimate is based on the +most optimistic projection. So you can see there's no use in +continuing now. We'll never solve our problems by attempting to +colonize the moon or Mars."</p> + +<p>"But it's the only possible solution left to us."</p> + +<p>"No it isn't," the President said. "There's always our friend +Leffingwell."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Secretary of State turned away. "You can't officially sponsor a +thing like that," he muttered. "It's political suicide."</p> + +<p>The gray smile returned to the gray lips. "Suicide? What do you know +about suicide, Art? I've been reading a few statistics on <i>that</i>, too. +How many actual suicides do you think we had in this country last +year?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred thousand? Two hundred, maybe?"</p> + +<p>"Two million." The President leaned forward. "Add to that, over a +million murders and six million crimes of violence."</p> + +<p>"I never knew—"</p> + +<p>"Damned right you didn't! We used to have a Federal Bureau of +Investigation to help prevent such things. Now the big job is merely +to hush them up. We're doing everything in our power just to keep +these matters quiet, or else there'd be utter panic. Then there's the +accident total and the psycho rate. We can't build institutions fast +enough to hold the mental cases, nor train doctors enough to care for +them. Shifting them into other jobs in other areas doesn't cure, and +it no longer even disguises what is happening. At this rate, another +ten years will see half the nation going insane. And it's like this +all over the world.</p> + +<p>"This is race-suicide, Art. Race-suicide through sheer fecundity. +Leffingwell is right. The reproductive instinct, unchecked, will +overbalance group survival in the end. How long has it been since you +were out on the streets?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary of State shrugged. "You know I never go out on the +streets," he said. "It isn't very safe."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. But it's no safer for the hundreds of millions who +have to go out every day. Accident, crime, the sheer maddening +proximity of the crowds—these phenomena are increasing through +mathematical progression. And they must be stopped. Leffingwell has +the only answer."</p> + +<p>"They won't buy it," warned the Secretary. "Congress won't, and the +voters won't, any more than they bought birth-control. And this is +worse."</p> + +<p>"I know that, too." The President rose and walked over to the window, +looking out at the sky-scraper apartments which loomed across what had +once been the Mall. He was trying to find the dwarfed spire of +Washington's Monument in the tangled maze of stone.</p> + +<p>"If I go before the people and sponsor Leffingwell, I'm through. +Through as President, through with the Party. They'll crucify me. But +somebody in authority must push this project. That's the beginning. +Once it's known, people will have to think about the possibilities. +There'll be opposition, then controversy, then debate. And gradually +Leffingwell will gain adherents. It may take five years, it may take +ten. Finally, the change will come. First through volunteers. Then by +law. I only pray that it happens soon."</p> + +<p>"They'll curse your name," the Secretary said. "They'll try to kill +you. It's going to be hell."</p> + +<p>"Hell for me if I do, yes. Worse hell for the whole world if I don't."</p> + +<p>"But are you quite sure it will work? His method, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"You saw the reports on his tests, didn't you? It works, all right. +We've got more than just abstract data, now. We've got films for the +telescreenings all set up."</p> + +<p>"Films? You mean you'll actually <i>show</i> what the results are? Why, +just telling the people will be bad enough. And admitting the +government sponsored the project under wraps. But when they <i>see</i>, +nothing on earth can save you from assassination."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter." The President crushed his +cigarette in the ashtray. "One less mouth to feed. And I'm getting +pretty sick of synthetic meals, anyway."</p> + +<p>President Winthrop turned to the Secretary, his eyes brightening +momentarily. "Tell you what, Art. I'm not planning on breaking the +proposal to the public until next Monday. What say we have a little +private dinner party on Saturday evening, just the Cabinet members and +their wives? Sort of a farewell celebration, in a way, but we won't +call it that, of course? Chef tells me there's still twenty pounds of +hamburger in the freezers."</p> + +<p>"Twenty pounds of hamburger? You mean it?" The Secretary of State was +smiling, too.</p> + +<p>"That's right." The President of the United States grinned in +anticipation. "Been a long time since I've tasted a real, +honest-to-goodness hamburger."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Harry_Collins_2000" id="Harry_Collins_2000"></a>4. Harry Collins—2000</h2> + + +<p>Harry didn't ask any questions. He just kept his mouth shut and +waited. Maybe Dr. Manschoff suspected and maybe he didn't. Anyway, +there was no trouble. Harry figured there wouldn't be, as long as he +stayed in line and went through the proper motions. It was all a +matter of pretending to conform, pretending to agree, pretending to +believe.</p> + +<p>So he watched his step—<i>except in the dreams, and then he was always +falling into the yawning abyss</i>.</p> + +<p>He kept his nose clean—<i>but in the dreams he smelled the blood and +brimstone of the pit</i>.</p> + +<p>He managed to retain a cheerful smile at all times—<i>though, in the +dreams, he screamed</i>.</p> + +<p>Eventually, he even met Myrna. She was the pretty little brunette whom +Ritchie had mentioned, and she did her best to console him—<i>only in +dreams, when he embraced her, he was embracing a writhing coil of +slimy smoke</i>.</p> + +<p>It may have been that Harry Collins went a little mad, just having to +pretend that he was sane. But he learned the way, and he managed. He +saved the madness (<i>or was it the reality?</i>) for the dreams.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he waited and said nothing.</p> + +<p>He said nothing when, after three months or so, Myrna was suddenly +"transferred" without warning.</p> + +<p>He said nothing when, once a week or so, he went in to visit with Dr. +Manschoff.</p> + +<p>He said nothing when Manschoff volunteered the information that +Ritchie had been "transferred" too, or suggested that it would be best +to stay on for "further therapy."</p> + +<p>And he said nothing when still a third nurse came his way; a woman who +was callid, complaisant, and nauseatingly nymphomaniac.</p> + +<p>The important thing was to stay alive. Stay alive and try to learn.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It took him almost an additional year to find out what he wanted to +find out. More than eight months passed before he found a way of +sneaking out of his room at night, and a way of getting into that +Third Unit through a delivery door which was occasionally left open +through negligence.</p> + +<p>Even then, all he learned was that the female patients did have their +living quarters here, along with the members of the staff +and—presumably—Dr. Leffingwell. Many of the women <i>were</i> patients +rather than nurses, as claimed, and a good number of them were in +various stages of pregnancy, but this proved nothing.</p> + +<p>Several times Harry debated the possibilities of taking some of the +other men in his Unit into his confidence. Then he remembered what had +happened to Arnold Ritchie and decided against this course. The risk +was too great. He had to continue alone.</p> + +<p>It wasn't until Harry managed to get into Unit Four that he got what +he wanted (what he <i>didn't</i> want) and learned that reality and dreams +were one and the same.</p> + +<p>There was the night, more than a year after he'd come to the treatment +center, when he finally broke into the basement and found the +incinerators. And the incinerators led to the operating and delivery +chambers, and the delivery chambers led to the laboratory and the +laboratory led to the incubators and the incubators led to the +nightmare.</p> + +<p>In the nightmare Harry found himself looking down at the mistakes and +the failures and he recognized them for what they were, and he knew +then why the incinerators were kept busy and why the black smoke +poured.</p> + +<p>In the nightmare he saw the special units containing those which were +not mistakes or failures, and in a way they were worse than the +others. They were red and wriggling there beneath the glass, and on +the glass surfaces hung the charts which gave the data. Then Harry saw +the names, saw his own name repeated twice—once for Sue, once for +Myrna. And he realized that he had contributed to the successful +outcome or issue of the experiments (<i>outcome? Issue? These horrors?</i>) +and that was why Manschoff must have chosen to take the risk of +keeping him alive. Because he was one of the <i>good</i> guinea pigs, and +he had spawned, spawned living, mewing abominations.</p> + +<p>He had dreamed of these things, and now he saw that they were real, so +that nightmare merged with <i>now</i>, and he could gaze down at it with +open eyes and scream at last with open mouth.</p> + +<p>Then, of course, an attendant came running (<i>although he seemed to be +moving ever so slowly, because everything moves so slowly in a dream</i>) +and Harry saw him coming and lifted a bell-glass and smashed it down +over the man's head (<i>slowly, ever so slowly</i>) and then he heard the +others coming and he climbed out of the window and ran.</p> + +<p>The searchlights winked across the courtyards and the sirens vomited +hysteria from metallic throats and the night was filled with shadows +that pursued.</p> + +<p>But Harry knew where to run. He ran straight through the nightmare, +through all the fantastic but familiar convolutions of sight and +sound, and then he came to the river and plunged in.</p> + +<p>Now the nightmare was not sight or sound, but merely sensation. Icy +cold and distilled darkness; ripples that ran, then raced and roiled +and roared. But there had to be a way out of the nightmare and there +had to be a way out of the canyon, and that way was the river.</p> + +<p>Apparently no one else had thought of the river; perhaps they had +considered it as a possible avenue of escape and then discarded the +notion when they realized how it ripped and raged among the rocks as +it finally plunged from the canyon's mouth. Obviously, no one could +hope to combat that current and survive.</p> + +<p>But strange things happen in nightmares. And you fight the numbness +and the blackness and you claw and convulse and you twist and turn and +toss and then you ride the crests of frenzy and plunge into the +troughs of panic and despair and you sweep round and round and sink +down into nothingness until you break through to the freedom which +comes only with oblivion.</p> + +<p>Somewhere beyond the canyon's moiling maw, Harry Collins found that +freedom and that oblivion. He escaped from the nightmare, just as he +escaped from the river.</p> + +<p>The river itself roared on without him.</p> + +<p>And the nightmare continued, too....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Minnie_Schultz_2009" id="Minnie_Schultz_2009"></a>5. Minnie Schultz—2009</h2> + + +<p>When Frank came home, Minnie met him at the door. She didn't say a +word, just handed him the envelope containing the notice.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" Frank asked, trying to take her in his arms. "You +been crying."</p> + +<p>"Never mind." Minnie freed herself. "Just read what it says there."</p> + +<p>Frank read slowly, determinedly, his features contorted in +concentration. Vocational Apt had terminated his schooling at the old +grade-school level, and while like all students he had been taught +enough so that he could read the necessary advertising commercials, +any printed message of this sort provided a definite challenge.</p> + +<p>Halfway through the notice he started to scowl. "What kind of monkey +business is this?"</p> + +<p>"No monkey business. It's the new law. Everybody that gets married in +Angelisco takes the shots, from now on. Fella from State Hall, he told +me when he delivered this."</p> + +<p>"We'll see about this," Frank muttered. "No damn government's gonna +tell me how to run my life. Sa free country, ain't so?"</p> + +<p>Minnie's mouth began to twitch. "They're coming back tomorra morning, +the fella said. To give me the first shots. Gee, honey, I'm scared, +like. I don't want 'em."</p> + +<p>"That settles it," Frank said. "We're getting out of this place, +fast."</p> + +<p>"Where'd we go?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno. Someplace. Texas, maybe. I was listening to the 'casts at work +today. They don't have this law in Texas. Not yet, anyway. Come on, +start packing."</p> + +<p>"Packing? But how'll we get there?"</p> + +<p>"Fly. We'll jet right out."</p> + +<p>"You got prior'ty reservations or something?"</p> + +<p>"No." The scowl returned to Frank's forehead. "But maybe if I pitch +'em a sob story, tell 'em it's our honeymoon, you know, then we +could—"</p> + +<p>Minnie shook her head. "It won't work, honey. You know that. Takes six +months to get a prior'ty clearance or whatever they call it. Besides, +your job and all—what'll you do in Texas? They've got your number +listed here. Why, we couldn't even <i>land</i>, like. I bet Texas is even +more crowded than Angelisco these days, in the cities. And all the +rest of it is Ag Culture project, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Frank was leaning against the sink, listening. Now he took three steps +forward and sat down on the bed. He didn't look at her as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Well, we gotta do something," he said. "You don't want those shots +and that's for sure. Maybe I can have one of those other things +instead, those whaddya-call-'ems."</p> + +<p>"You mean where they operate you, like?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. A vas-something. You know, sterilize you. Then we won't +have to worry."</p> + +<p>Minnie took a deep breath. Then she sat down and put her arm around +Frank.</p> + +<p>"But you wanted kids," she murmured. "You told me, when we got +married, you always wanted to have a son—"</p> + +<p>Frank pulled away.</p> + +<p>"Sure I do," he said. "A son. That's what I want. A <i>real</i> son. Not a +freak. Not a damned little monster that has to go to the Clinic every +month and take injections so it won't grow. And what happens to you if +you take <i>your</i> shots now? What if they drive you crazy or something?"</p> + +<p>Minnie put her arm around Frank again and made him look at her. +"That's not true," she told him. "That's just a lot of Naturalist +talk. I know."</p> + +<p>"Hell you do."</p> + +<p>"But I do, honey! Honest, like! May Stebbins, she took the shots last +year, when they asked for volunteers. And she's all right. You seen +her baby yourself, remember? It's the sweetest little thing, and awful +smart! So maybe it wouldn't be so bad."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask about being operated tomorrow," Frank said. "Forget it. It +don't matter."</p> + +<p>"Of course it matters." Minnie looked straight at him. "Don't you +think I know what you been going through? Sweating it out on that job +day after day, going nuts in the traffic, saving up the ration coupons +so's we'd have extra food for the honeymoon and all?</p> + +<p>"You didn't have to marry me, you know that. It was just like we could +have a place of our own together, and kids. Well, we're gonna have +'em, honey. I'll take the shots."</p> + +<p>Frank shook his head but said nothing.</p> + +<p>"It won't be so bad," Minnie went on. "The shots don't hurt at all, +and they make it easier, carrying the baby. They say you don't even +get morning sickness or anything. And just think, when we have a kid, +we get a chance for a bigger place. We go right on the housing lists. +We can have two rooms. A real bedroom, maybe."</p> + +<p>Frank stared at her. "Is that all you can think about?" he asked. "A +real bedroom?"</p> + +<p>"But honey—"</p> + +<p>"What about the kid?" he muttered. "How you suppose it's gonna feel? +How'd you like to grow up and <i>not</i> grow up? How'd you like to be a +midget three feet high in a world where everybody else is bigger? What +kind of a life you call <i>that</i>? I want my son to have a decent +chance."</p> + +<p>"He will have."</p> + +<p>Minnie stared back at him, but she wasn't seeing his face. "Don't you +understand, honey? This isn't just something happening to <i>us</i>. We're +not special. It's happening to everybody, all over the country, all +over the world. You seen it in the 'casts, haven't you? Most states, +they adopted the laws. And in a couple more years it'll be the only +way anyone will ever have kids. Ten, twenty years from now, the kids +will be growing up. Ours won't be different then, because from now on +all the kids will be just like he is. The same size."</p> + +<p>"I thought you was afraid of the shots," Frank said.</p> + +<p>Minnie was still staring. "I was, honey. Only, I dunno. I keep +thinking about Grandma."</p> + +<p>"What's the old lady got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I remember when I was a little girl, like. How my Grandma +always used to tell me about <i>her</i> Grandma, when <i>she</i> was a little +girl.</p> + +<p>"She was saying about how in the old days, before there even was an +Angelisco—when her Grandma came out here in a covered wagon. Just +think, honey, she was younger than I am, and she come thousands and +thousands of miles in a wagon! With real horses, like! Wasn't any +houses, no people or nothing. Except Indians that shot at them. And +they climbed up the mountains and they crossed over the deserts and +went hungry and thirsty and had fights with those Indians all the +way. But they never stopped until they got here. Because they was the +pioneers."</p> + +<p>"Pioneers?"</p> + +<p>"That's what Grandma said <i>her</i> Grandma called herself. A pioneer. She +was real proud of it, too. Because it means having the courage to cut +loose from all the old things and try something new when you need to. +Start a whole new world, a whole new kind of life."</p> + +<p>She sighed. "I always wanted to be a pioneer, like, but I never +thought I'd get the chance."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about? What's all this got to do with us, or +having a kid?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you see? Taking these shots, having a baby this new way—it's +sort of being a pioneer, too. Gonna help bring a new kind of people +into a new kind of world. And if that's not being a pioneer, like, +it's the closest I can come to it. It sounds right to me now."</p> + +<p>Minnie smiled and nodded. "I guess I made up my mind just now. I'm +taking the shots."</p> + +<p>"Hell you are!" Frank told her. "We'll talk about it some more in the +morning."</p> + +<p>But Minnie continued to smile.</p> + +<p>And that night, as she lay in the utility bed, the squeaking of the +springs became the sound of turning wheels. The plastic walls and +ceiling of the eightieth-floor apartment turned to billowing canvas, +and the thunder of the passing jets transformed itself into the +drumming hoofbeats of a million buffalo.</p> + +<p><i>Let Frank talk to her again in the morning if he liked</i>, Minnie +thought. <i>It wouldn't make any difference now. Because you can't stop +us pioneers.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Harry_Collins_2012" id="Harry_Collins_2012"></a>6. Harry Collins—2012</h2> + + +<p>Harry crouched behind the boulders, propping the rifle up between the +rocks, and adjusted the telescopic sights. The distant doorway sprang +into sharp focus. Grunting with satisfaction, he settled down to his +vigil. The rifle-barrel had been dulled down against detection by +reflection, and Harry's dark glasses protected him against the glare +of the morning sun. He might have to wait several hours now, but he +didn't care. It had taken him twelve years to come this far, and he +was willing to wait a little while longer.</p> + +<p><i>Twelve years.</i> Was it really that long?</p> + +<p>A mirror might have answered him; a mirror might have shown him the +harsh features of a man of forty-two. But Harry needed no mirror. He +could remember the past dozen years only too easily—though they had +not been easy years.</p> + +<p>Surviving the river was only the beginning. Animal strength carried +him through that ordeal. But he emerged from the river as an animal; a +wounded animal, crawling through the brush and arroyo outside the +southern Colorado canyon.</p> + +<p>And it was animal cunning which preserved him. He'd wandered several +days until he encountered Emil Grizek and his outfit. By that time he +was half-starved and completely delirious. It took a month until he +was up and around again.</p> + +<p>But Emil and the boys had nursed him through. They took turns caring +for him in the bunkhouse; their methods were crude but efficient and +Harry was grateful. Best of all, they asked no questions. Harry's +status was that of a hunted fugitive, without a Vocational Apt record +or rating. The authorities or any prospective employers would inquire +into these things, but Emil Grizek never seemed curious. By the time +Harry was up and around again, he'd been accepted as one of the bunch. +He told them his name was Harry Sanders, and that was enough.</p> + +<p>Two months after they found him, he'd signed on with Emil Grizek and +found a new role in life.</p> + +<p>Harry Collins, advertising copywriter, had become Harry Sanders, +working cowhand.</p> + +<p>There was surprisingly little difficulty. Grizek had absentee +employers who weren't interested in their foreman's methods, just as +long as he recruited his own wranglers for the Bar B Ranch. Nobody +demanded to see Apt cards or insisted on making out formal +work-reports, and the pay was in cash. Cowhands were hard to come by +these days, and it was an unspoken premise that the men taking on such +jobs would be vagrants, migratory workers, fugitives from justice and +injustice. A generation or so ago they might have become tramps—but +the last of the hoboes had vanished along with the last of the freight +trains. Once the derelicts haunted the canyons of the big cities; +today there was no place for them there, so they fled to the canyons +of the west. Harry had found himself a new niche, and no questions +asked.</p> + +<p>Oddly enough, he fitted in. The outdoor life agreed with him, and in a +matter of months he was a passable cowpoke; within a year he was one +of Grizek's top hands.</p> + +<p>He learned to ride a bucking jeep with the best of them, and he could +spot, single out, and stun a steer in forty seconds flat; then use his +electronic brander on it and have the critter back on its feet in just +under a minute.</p> + +<p>Work was no problem, and neither was recreation. The bunkhouse offered +crude but adequate facilities for living; old-fashioned +air-conditioning and an antique infra-red broiler seemed good enough +for roughing it, and Cookie at least turned out real man-sized meals. +Eating genuine beef and honest-to-goodness baked bread was a treat, +and so was having the luxury of all that space in the sleeping +quarters. Harry thrived on it.</p> + +<p>And some of the other hands were interesting companions. True, they +were renegades and mavericks, but they were each of them unique and +individual, and Harry enjoyed listening to them fan the breeze during +the long nights.</p> + +<p>There was Big Phil, who was pushing sixty now. But you'd never know +it, not unless you got him to talking about the old days when he'd +been a boy in Detroit. His daddy had been one of the last of the Union +Men, back in the days of what they used to call the Organized Labor +Movement. He could tell you about wage-hour agreements and the +Railroad Brotherhood and contract negotiations almost as if he knew of +these things through personal experience. He even remembered the +Democratic Party. Phil got out when the government took over and set +up Vocational Apt and Industrial Supervision; that's when he drifted +west.</p> + +<p>Tom Lowery's family had been military; he claimed to have been a +member of the last graduating class ever to leave West Point. When the +armament race ended, his prospects of a career vanished, and he +settled down as a guard at Canaveral. Finally, he'd headed for the +open country.</p> + +<p>Bassett was the scholar of the outfit. He could sit around and quote +old-time book-authors by the hour—classic writers like Prather and +Spillane. In another age he might have been a college professor or +even a football coach; he had an aptitude for the arts.</p> + +<p>And there was Lobo, the misogynist, who had fled a wife and eleven +children back in Monterey; and Januzki, who used to be mixed up with +one of those odd religious cults out on the Coast. He bragged he'd +been one of the Big Daddy-Os in the Beat Generationists, and he argued +with Bassett about some old-time evangelist named Kerouac.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Best of all, though, Harry liked talking to Nick Kendrick. Nick's +hobby was music, and he treasured his second-hand stereophonic unit +and collection of tapes. He too was a classicist in his way, and there +was many a long winter night when Harry sat there listening to ancient +folk songs. The quaint atonalities of progressive jazz and the +childishly frantic rhythms of "cool sounds" were somehow soothing and +reassuring in their reminder of a simple heritage from a simpler age.</p> + +<p>But above all, these men were wranglers, and they took a peculiar +pride in the traditions of their own calling. There wasn't a one of +them who wouldn't spend hours mulling over the lore of the range and +the prairie. They knew the Great Names from the Great Days—Eugene +Autry, Wyatt Earp, the legendary Thomas Mix, Dale Robertson, Paladin, +and all the others; men who rode actual horses in the era when the +West was really an untamed frontier.</p> + +<p>And like the cowboys they were, they maintained the customs of other +days. Every few months they rode a bucking helicopter into some raw +western town—Las Vegas, or Reno, or even over to Palm Springs—to +drink recklessly in the cocktail lounges, gamble wildly at the slots, +or "go down the line" with some telescreen model on location for +outdoor ad-backgrounds. There were still half a dozen such sin-cities +scattered throughout the west; even the government acknowledged the +need of lonely men to blow off steam. And though Ag Culture officially +disapproved of the whole cowhand system, and talked grimly of setting +up new and more efficient methods for training personnel and handling +the cattle ranges, nothing was ever done. Perhaps the authorities knew +that it was a hopeless task; only the outcasts and iconoclasts had the +temperament necessary to survive such loneliness under an open sky. +City-dwelling conformists just could not endure the monotony.</p> + +<p>But even Emil Grizek's hands marvelled at the way Harry lived. He +never joined them in their disorderly descent upon the scarlet cities +of the plain, and most of the time he didn't even seem to watch the +telescreen. If anything, he deliberately avoided all possible contact +with civilization.</p> + +<p>Since he never volunteered any information about his own past, they +privately concluded that he was just a psychopathic personality.</p> + +<p>"Strong regressive and seclusive tendencies," Bassett explained, +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Sure," Nick Kendrick nodded, wisely. "You mean a Mouldy Fig, like."</p> + +<p>"Creeping Meatball," muttered cultist Januzki. Not being religious +fanatics, the others didn't understand the reference. But gradually +they came to accept Harry's isolationist ways as the norm—at least, +for him. And since he never quarreled, never exhibited any signs of +dissatisfaction, he was left to his own pattern.</p> + +<p>Thus it was all the more surprising when that pattern was rudely and +abruptly shattered.</p> + +<p>Harry remembered the occasion well. It was the day the Leff Law was +officially upheld by the Supremist Courts. The whole business came +over the telescreens and there was no way of avoiding it—you couldn't +avoid it, because everybody was talking about it and everybody was +watching.</p> + +<p>"Now what do you think?" Emil Grizek demanded. "Any woman wants a +baby, she's got to have those shots. They say kids shrink down into +nothing. Weigh less than two pounds when they're born, and never grow +up to be any bigger than midgets. You ask me, the whole thing's plumb +loco, to say nothing of psychotic."</p> + +<p>"I dunno." This from Big Phil. "Reckon they just about have to do +something, the way cities are filling up and all. Tell me every spot +in the country, except for the plains states here, is busting at the +seams. Same in Europe, Africa, South America. Running out of space, +running out of food, all over the world. This man Leffingwell figures +on cutting down on size so's to keep the whole shebang going."</p> + +<p>"But why couldn't it be done on a voluntary basis?" Bassett demanded. +"These arbitrary rulings are bound to result in frustrations. And can +you imagine what will happen to the individual family constellations? +Take a couple that already has two youngsters, as of now. Suppose the +wife submits to the inoculations for her next child and it's born with +a size-mutation. How in the world will that child survive as a midget +in a family of giants? There'll be untold damage to the personality—"</p> + +<p>"We've heard all those arguments," Tom Lowery cut in. "The Naturalists +have been handing out that line for years. What happens to the new +generation of kids, how do we know they won't be mentally defective, +how can they adjust, by what right does the government interfere with +private lives, personal religious beliefs; all that sort of thing. For +over ten years now the debate's been going on. And meanwhile, time is +running out. Space is running out. Food is running out. It isn't a +question of individual choice any longer—it's a question of group +survival. I say the Courts are right. We have to go according to law. +And back the law up with force of arms if necessary."</p> + +<p>"We get the message," Januzki agreed. "But something tells me there'll +be trouble. Most folks need a midget like they need a monkey on their +backs."</p> + +<p>"It's a gasser, pardners," said Nick Kendrick. "Naturalists don't dig +this. They'll fight it all along the line. Everybody's gonna be all +shook up."</p> + +<p>"It is still a good idea," Lobo insisted. "This Dr. Leffingwell, he +has made the tests. For years he has given injections and no harm has +come. The children are healthy, they survive. They learn in special +schools—"</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" Bassett demanded. "Maybe it's all a lot of +motivationalist propaganda."</p> + +<p>"We have seen them on the telescreens, no?"</p> + +<p>"They could be faking the whole thing."</p> + +<p>"But Leffingwell, he has offered the shots to other governments beside +our own. The whole world will adopt them—"</p> + +<p>"What if some countries don't? What if our kids become midgets and the +Asiatics refuse the inoculations?"</p> + +<p>"They won't. They need room even more than we do."</p> + +<p>"No sense arguing," Emil Grizek concluded. "It's the law. You know +that. And if you don't like it, join the Naturalists." He chuckled. +"But better hurry. Something tells me there won't be any Naturalists +around after a couple of years. Now that there's a Leff Law, the +government isn't likely to stand for too much criticism." He turned to +Harry. "What do you think?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Harry shrugged. "No comment," he said.</p> + +<p>But the next day he went to Grizek and demanded his pay in full.</p> + +<p>"Leaving?" Grizek muttered. "I don't understand. You've been with us +almost five years. Where you going, what you intend to do? What's got +into you all of a sudden?"</p> + +<p>"Time for a change," Harry told him. "I've been saving my money."</p> + +<p>"Don't I know it? Never touched a penny in all this time." Grizek ran +a hand across his chin. "Say, if it's a raise you're looking for, I +can—"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. It's not that. I've money enough."</p> + +<p>"So you have. Around eighteen, twenty thousand, I reckon, what with +the bonuses." Emil Grizek sighed. "Well, if you insist, that's the way +it's got to be, I suppose. When you plan on taking off?"</p> + +<p>"Just as soon as there's a 'copter available."</p> + +<p>"Got one going up to Colorado Springs tomorrow morning for the mail. I +can get you aboard, give you a check—"</p> + +<p>"I'll want my money in cash."</p> + +<p>"Well, now, that isn't so easy. Have to send up for a special draft. +Take a week or so."</p> + +<p>"I can wait."</p> + +<p>"All right. And think it over. Maybe you'll decide to change your +mind."</p> + +<p>But Harry didn't change his mind. And ten days later he rode a 'copter +into town, his money-belt strapped beneath his safety-belt.</p> + +<p>From Colorado Springs he jetted to Kancity, and from Kancity to +Memphisee. As long as he had money, nobody asked any questions. He +holed up in cheap airtels and waited for developments.</p> + +<p>It wasn't easy to accustom himself to urbanization again. He had been +away from cities for over seven years now, and it might well have been +seven centuries. The overpopulation problem was appalling. The +outlawing of private automotive vehicles had helped, and the clearing +of the airlanes served a purpose; the widespread increase in the use +of atomic power cut the smog somewhat. But the synthetic food was +frightful, the crowding intolerable, and the welter of rules and +regulations attending the performance of even the simplest human +activity past all his comprehension. Ration cards were in universal +use for almost everything; fortunately for Harry, the black market +accepted cash with no embarrassing inquiries. He found that he could +survive.</p> + +<p>But Harry's interest was not in survival; he was bent upon +destruction. Surely the Naturalists would be organized and planning a +way!</p> + +<p>Back in '98, of course, they'd been merely an articulate minority +without formal unity—an abstract, amorphous group akin to the +"Liberals" of previous generations. A Naturalist could be a Catholic +priest, a Unitarian layman, an atheist factory hand, a government +employee, a housewife with strong prejudices against governmental +controls, a wealthy man who deplored the dangers of growing +industrialization, an Ag Culture worker who dreaded the dwindling of +individual rights, an educator who feared widespread employment of +social psychology, or almost anyone who opposed the concept of Mass +Man, Mass-Motivated. Naturalists had never formed a single class, a +single political party.</p> + +<p>Surely, however, the enactment of the Leffingwell Law would have +united them! Harry knew there was strong opposition, not only on the +higher levels but amongst the general population. People would be +afraid of the inoculations; theologians would condemn the process; +economic interests, real-estate owners and transportation magnates and +manufacturers would sense the threat here. They'd sponsor and they'd +subsidize their spokesmen and the Naturalists would evolve into an +efficient body of opposition.</p> + +<p>So Harry hoped, and so he thought, until he came out into the cities; +came out into the cities and realized that the very magnitude of Mass +Man mitigated against any attempt to organize him, except as a +creature who labored and consumed. Organization springs from +discussion, and discussion from thought—but who can think in chaos, +discuss in delirium, organize in a vacuum? And the common citizen, +Harry realized, had seemingly lost the capacity for group action. He +remembered his own existence years ago—either he was lost in a crowd +or he was alone, at home. Firm friendships were rare, and family units +survived on the flimsiest of foundations. It took too much time and +effort just to follow the rules, follow the traffic, follow the +incessant routines governing even the simplest life-pattern in the +teeming cities. For leisure there was the telescreen and the +yellowjackets, and serious problems could be referred to the psych in +routine check-ups. Everybody seemed lost in the crowd these days.</p> + +<p>Harry discovered that Dr. Manschoff had indeed lied to him; mental +disorders were on the increase. He remembered an old, old book—one of +the very first treatises on sociological psychology. <i>The Lonely +Crowd</i>, wasn't it? Full of mumbo-jumbo about "inner-directed" and +"outer-directed" personalities. Well, there was a grain of truth in it +all. The crowd, and its individual members, lived in loneliness. And +since you didn't know very many people well enough to talk to, +intimately, you talked to yourself. Since you couldn't get away from +physical contact with others whenever you ventured abroad, you stayed +inside—except when you had to go to work, had to line up for +food-rations or supplies, had to wait for hours for your check-ups on +off-days. And staying inside meant being confined to the equivalent of +an old-fashioned prison cell. If you weren't married, you lived in +"solitary"; if you were married, you suffered the presence of +fellow-inmates whose habits became intolerable, in time. So you +watched the screen more and more, or you increased your quota of +sedation, and when that didn't help you looked for a real escape. It +was always available to you if you searched long enough; waiting at +the tip of a knife, in the coil of a rope, the muzzle of a gun. You +could find it at the very bottom of a bottle of pills or at the very +bottom of the courtyard outside your window. Harry recalled looking +for it there himself, so many years ago.</p> + +<p>But now he was looking for something else. He was looking for others +who shared not only his viewpoint but his purposefulness.</p> + +<p>Where were the Naturalists?</p> + +<p>Harry searched for several years.</p> + +<p><i>The press?</i></p> + +<p>But there were no Naturalists visible on the telescreens. The news and +the newsmakers reflected a national philosophy adopted many +generations ago by the Founding Fathers of mass-communication in their +infinite wisdom—"<i>What's good for General Motors is good for the +country.</i>" And according to them, everything happening was good for +the country; that was the cardinal precept in the science of +autobuyology. There were no Arnold Ritchies left any more, and the +printed newzine seemed to have vanished.</p> + +<p><i>The clergy?</i></p> + +<p>Individual churches with congregations in physical attendance, seemed +difficult to find. Telepreachers still appeared regularly every +Sunday, but their scripts—like everyone else's—had been processed in +advance. Denominationalism and sectarianism had waned, too; all of +these performers seemed very much alike, in that they were vigorous, +forthright, inspiring champions of the <i>status quo</i>.</p> + +<p><i>The scientists?</i></p> + +<p>But the scientists were a part of the government, and the government +was a one-party system, and the system supported the nation and the +nation supported the scientists. Of course, there were still private +laboratories subsidized for industrial purposes, but the men who +worked in them seemed singularly disinterested in social problems. In +a way, Harry could understand their position. It isn't likely that a +dedicated scientist, a man whose specialized research has won him a +Nobel Prize for creating a new detergent, will be worldly enough to +face unpleasant realities beyond the walls of his antiseptic sanctum. +After all, there was precedent for such isolationism—did the sainted +Betty Crocker ever enlist in any crusades? As for physicians, +psychiatrists and mass-psychologists, they were the very ones who +formed the hard core of Leffingwell's support.</p> + +<p><i>The educators, then?</i></p> + +<p>Vocational Apt was a part of the government. And the poor pedagogues, +who had spent generations hacking their way out of the blackboard +jungles, were only too happy to welcome the notion of a coming +millennium when their small charges would be still smaller. Even +though formal schooling, for most youngsters, terminated at fourteen, +there was still the problem of overcrowding. Telescreening and +teletesting techniques were a help, but the problem was essentially a +physical one. And Leffingwell was providing a physical solution. +Besides, the educators had been themselves educated, through +Vocational Apt. And while they, and the government, fervently upheld +the principle of freedom of speech, they had to draw the line +somewhere. As everyone knows, freedom of speech does not mean freedom +to <i>criticize</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Business men?</i></p> + +<p>Perhaps there were some disgruntled souls in the commercial community, +whose secret heroes were the oil tycoons of a bygone era or the +old-time Stock Exchange clan united under the totems of the bull or +the bear. But the day of the rugged individualist was long departed; +only the flabby individualist remained. And he had the forms to fill +out and the inspectors to contend with, and the rationing to worry +about and the taxes to meet and the quotas to fulfill. But in the long +run, he managed. The business man worked for the government, but the +government also worked for him. His position was protected. And if the +government said the Leff Shots would solve the overpopulation +problem—<i>without</i> cutting down the number of consumers—well, was +that really so bad? Why, in a generation or so there'd be even <i>more</i> +customers! That meant increased property values, too.</p> + +<p>It took Harry several years to realize he'd never find Naturalists +organized for group action. The capacity for group action had vanished +as the size of the group increased. All interests were interdependent; +the old civic, fraternal, social and anti-social societies had no +present purpose any more. And the once-familiar rallying-points—whether +they represented idealistic humanitarianism or crass self-interest—had +vanished in the crowd. Patriotism, racialism, unionism, had all been +lost in a moiling megalopolitanism.</p> + +<p>There were protests, of course. The mothers objected, some of them. Ag +Culture, in particular, ran into difficulties with women who revived +the quaint custom of "going on strike" against the Leff Law and +refused to take their shots. But it was all on the individual level, +and quickly coped with. Government medical authorities met the women +at checkup time and demonstrated that the Leff Law had teeth in it. +Teeth, and scalpels. The rebellious women were not subdued, slain, or +segregated—they were merely sterilized. Perhaps more would have come +of this if their men had backed them up; but the men, by and large, +were realists. Having a kid was a headache these days. This new +business of injections wasn't so bad, when you came right down to it. +There'd still be youngsters around, and you'd get the same allotment +for extra living space—only the way it worked out, there'd be more +room and the kids would eat less. Pretty good deal. And it wasn't as +if the young ones were harmed. Some of them seemed to be a lot smarter +than ordinary—like on some of the big quizshows, youngsters of eight +and nine were winning all those big prizes. Bright little ones. Of +course, these must be the ones raised in the first special school the +government had set up. They said old Leffingwell, the guy who invented +the shots, was running it himself. Sort of experimenting to see how +this new crop of kids would make out....</p> + +<p>It was when Harry learned about the school that he knew what he must +do.</p> + +<p>And if nobody else would help him, he'd act on his own. There might +not be any help from organized society, but he still had disorganized +society to turn to.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He spent the next two years and the last of his money finding a way. +The pattern of criminality had changed, too, and it was no easy matter +to find the assistance he needed. About the only group crime still +flourishing was hijacking; it took him a long while to locate a small +under-cover outfit which operated around St. Louie and arrange to +obtain a helicopter and pilot. Getting hold of the rifle was still +more difficult, but he managed. And by the time everything was +assembled, he'd found out what he needed to know about Dr. Leffingwell +and his school.</p> + +<p>As he'd suspected, the school was located in the old canyon, right in +the same buildings which had once served as experimental units. How +many youngsters were there, Harry didn't know. Maybe Manschoff was +still on the staff, and maybe they'd brought in a whole new staff. +These things didn't matter. What mattered was that Leffingwell was on +the premises. And a man who knew his way about, a man who worked alone +and to a single purpose, could reach him.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Harry Collins crouched behind the boulder that bright +May morning and waited for Dr. Leffingwell to appear. The helicopter +had dropped him at the upper end of the canyon the day before, giving +him a chance to reconnoitre and familiarize himself with the terrain +once again. He'd located Leffingwell's quarters, even seen the man +through one of the lower windows. Harry had no trouble recognizing +him; the face was only too familiar from a thousand 'casts viewed on a +thousand screens. Inevitably, some time today, he'd emerge from the +building. And when he did, Harry would be waiting.</p> + +<p>He shifted behind the rocks and stretched his legs. Twelve years had +passed, and now he'd come full circle. The whole business had started +here, and here it must end. That was simple justice.</p> + +<p><i>And it is justice</i>, Harry told himself. <i>It's not revenge.</i> Because +there'd be no point to revenge; that was only melodramatic nonsense. +He was no Monte Cristo, come to wreak vengeance on his cruel +oppressors. And he was no madman, no victim of a monomaniacal +obsession. What he was doing was the result of lengthy and logical +consideration.</p> + +<p>If Harry Collins, longtime fugitive from a government treatment +center, tried to take his story to the people, he'd be silenced +without a hearing. But his story must be heard. There was only one way +to arrest the attention of a nation—with the report of a rifle.</p> + +<p>A bullet in Leffingwell's brain; that was the solution of the problem. +Overnight the assassin would become a national figure. They'd +undoubtedly try him and undoubtedly condemn him, but first he'd have +his day in court. He'd get a chance to speak out. He'd give all the +voiceless, unorganized victims of the Leff Law a reason for +rebellion—and offer them an example. If Leffingwell had to die, it +would be in a good cause. Moreover, he deserved to die. Hadn't he +killed men, women, infants, without mercy?</p> + +<p><i>But it's not revenge</i>, Harry repeated. <i>And I know what I'm doing. +Maybe I was disturbed before, but I'm sane now. Perfectly logical. +Perfectly calm. Perfectly controlled.</i></p> + +<p>Yes, and now his sane, logical, calm, controlled eyes noted that the +distant door was opening, and he sighted through the 'scope and +brought his sane, logical, calm, controlled hand up along the barrel +to the trigger. He could see the two men emerging, and the shorter, +plumper of the two was Leffingwell. He squinted at the high forehead +with its receding hairline; it was a perfect target. A little squeeze +now and he knew what would happen. In his sane, logical, calm, +controlled mind he could visualize the way the black hole would appear +in the center of that forehead, while behind it would be the torn and +dripping redness flecked with gray—</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?"</p> + +<p>Harry whirled, staring; staring down at the infant who stood smiling +beside him. It <i>was</i> an infant, that was obvious enough, and implicit +in the diminutive stature, the delicate limbs and the oversized head. +But infants do not wear the clothing of pre-adolescent boys, they do +not enunciate with clarity, they do not stare coolly and knowingly at +their elders. They do not say, "Why do you want to harm Dr. +Leffingwell?"</p> + +<p>Harry gazed into the wide eyes. He couldn't speak.</p> + +<p>"You're sick, aren't you?" the child persisted. "Let me call the +doctor. He can help you."</p> + +<p>Harry swung the rifle around. "I'll give you just ten seconds to clear +out of here before I shoot."</p> + +<p>The child shook his head. Then he took a step forward. "You wouldn't +hurt me," he said, gravely. "You're just sick. That's why you talk +this way."</p> + +<p>Harry leveled the rifle. "I'm not sick," he muttered. "I know what I'm +doing. And I know all about you, too. You're one of them, aren't you? +One of the first of Leffingwell's brood of illegitimates."</p> + +<p>The child took another step forward. "I'm not illegitimate," he said. +"I know who I am. I've seen the records. My name is Harry Collins."</p> + +<p>Somewhere the rifle exploded, the bullet hurtling harmlessly overhead. +But Harry didn't hear it. All he could hear, exploding in his own +brain as he went down into darkness, was the sane, logical, calm, +controlled voice of his son.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Michael_Cavendish_2027" id="Michael_Cavendish_2027"></a>7. Michael Cavendish—2027</h2> + + +<p>Mike was just coming through the clump of trees when the boy began to +wave at him. He shifted the clumsy old Jeffrey .475, cursing the +weight as he quickened his pace. But there was no help for it, he had +to carry the gun himself. None of the boys were big enough.</p> + +<p>He wondered what it had been like in the old days, when you could get +fullsized bearers. There used to be game all over the place, too, and +a white hunter was king.</p> + +<p>And what was there left now? Nothing but pygmies, all of them, +scurrying around and beating the brush for dibatags and gerenuks. When +he was still a boy, Mike had seen the last of the big antelopes go; +the last of the wildebeestes and zebra, too. Then the carnivores +followed—the lions and the leopards. <i>Simba</i> was dead, and just as +well. These natives would never dare to come out of the villages if +they knew any lions were left. Most of them had gone to Cape and the +other cities anyway; handling cattle was too much of a chore, except +on a government farm. Those cows looked like moving mountains +alongside the average boy.</p> + +<p>Of course there were still some of the older generation left; Kikiyu +and even a few Watusi. But the free inoculations had begun many years +ago, and the life-cycle moved at an accelerated pace here. Natives +grew old and died at thirty; they matured at fifteen. Now, with the +shortage of game, the elders perished still more swiftly and only the +young remained outside the cities and the farm projects.</p> + +<p>Mike smiled as he waited for the boy to come up to him. He wasn't +smiling at the boy—he was smiling at himself, for being here. He +ought to be in Cape, too, or Kenyarobi. Damned silly, this business of +being a white hunter, when there was nothing left to hunt.</p> + +<p>But somehow he'd stayed on, since Dad died. There were a few +compensations. At least here in the forests a man could still move +about a bit, taste privacy and solitude and the strange, exotic +tropical fruit called loneliness. Even <i>that</i> was vanishing today.</p> + +<p>It was compensation enough, perhaps, for lugging this damned Jeffrey. +Mike tried to remember the last time he'd fired it at a living target. +A year, two years? Yes, almost two. That gorilla up in Ruwenzori +country. At least the boys swore it was <i>ingagi</i>. He hadn't hit it, +anyway. Got away in the darkness. Probably he'd been shooting at a +shadow. There were no more gorillas—maybe <i>they</i> had been taking the +shots, too. Perhaps they'd all turned into rhesus monkeys.</p> + +<p>Mike watched the boy run towards him. It was a good five hundred yards +from the river bank, and the short brown legs couldn't move very +swiftly. He wondered what it felt like to be small. One's sense of +proportion must be different. And that, in turn, would affect one's +sense of values. What values applied to the world about you when you +were only three feet high?</p> + +<p>Mike wouldn't know. He was a big man—almost five feet seven.</p> + +<p>Sometimes Mike reflected on what things might be like if he'd been +born, say, twenty years later. By that time almost everyone would be a +product of Leff shots, and he'd be no exception. He might stay with +people his own age in Kenyarobi without feeling self-conscious, +clumsy, conspicuous. Pressed, he had to admit that was part of the +reason he preferred to remain out here at Dad's old place now. He +could tolerate the stares of the natives, but whenever he ventured +into a city he felt awkward under the scrutiny of the young people. +The way those teen-agers looked up at him made him feel a monster, +rather.</p> + +<p>Better to endure the monotony, the emptiness out here. Yes, and wait +for a chance to hunt. Even though, nine times out of ten, it turned +out to be a wild goose-chase. During the past year or so Mike had +hunted nothing but legends and rumors, spent his time stalking +shadows.</p> + +<p>Then the villagers had come to him, three days ago, with their wild +story. Even when he heard it, he realized it must be pure fable. And +the more they insisted, the more they protested, the more he realized +it simply couldn't be.</p> + +<p>Still, he'd come. Anything to experience some action, anything to +create the illusion of purpose, of—</p> + +<p>"<i>Tembo!</i>" shrieked the boy, excited beyond all pretense of caution. +"Up ahead, in river. You come quick, you see!"</p> + +<p>No. It couldn't be. The government surveys were thorough. The last +record of a specimen dated back over a half-dozen years ago. It was +impossible that any survivors remained. And all during the safari +these past days, not a sign or a print or a spoor.</p> + +<p>"<i>Tembo!</i>" shrilled the boy. "Come quick!"</p> + +<p>Mike cradled the gun and started forward. The other bearers shuffled +behind him, unable to keep pace because of their short legs and—he +suspected—unwilling to do so for fear of what might lie ahead.</p> + +<p>Halfway towards the river bank, Mike halted. Now he could hear the +rumbling, the unmistakable rumbling. And now he could smell the rank +mustiness borne on the hot breeze. Well, at least he was down-wind.</p> + +<p>The boy behind him trembled, eyes wide. He <i>had</i> seen something, all +right. Maybe just a crocodile, though. Still some crocs around. And he +doubted if a young native would know the difference.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Mike felt a sudden surge of unfamiliar excitement, half +expectancy and half fear. <i>Something</i> wallowed in the river; something +that rumbled and exuded the stench of life.</p> + +<p>Now they were approaching the trees bordering the bank. Mike checked +his gun carefully. Then he advanced until his body was aligned with +the trees. From here he could see and not be seen. He could peer down +at the river—or the place where the river had been, during the rainy +season long past. Now it was nothing but a mudwallow under the glaring +sun; a huge mudwallow, pitted with deep, circular indentations and +dotted with dung.</p> + +<p>But in the middle of it stood <i>tembo</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Tembo</i> was a mountain, <i>tembo</i> was a black block of breathing basalt. +<i>Tembo</i> roared and snorted and rolled red eyes.</p> + +<p>Mike gasped.</p> + +<p>He was a white hunter, but he'd never seen a bull elephant before. And +this one stood eleven feet at the shoulders if it stood an inch; the +biggest creature walking the face of the earth.</p> + +<p>It had risen from the mud, abandoned its wallowing as its trunk curled +about, sensitive to the unfamiliar scent of man. Its ears rose like +the outspread wings of some gigantic jungle bat. Mike could see the +flies buzzing around the ragged edges. He stared at the great tusks +that were veined and yellowed and broken—once men had hunted +elephants for ivory, he remembered.</p> + +<p>But how could they? Even with guns, how had they dared to confront a +moving mountain? Mike tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. The +stock slipped through his clammy hands.</p> + +<p>"Shoot!" implored the boy beside him. "You shoot, now!"</p> + +<p>Mike gazed down. The elephant was aware of him. It turned +deliberately, staring up the bank as it swayed on the four black +pillars of its legs. Mike could see its eyes, set in a mass of grayish +wrinkles. The eyes had recognized him.</p> + +<p>They knew, he realized. The eyes knew all about him; who he was and +what he was and what he had come here to do. The eyes had seen man +before—perhaps long before Mike was born. They understood everything; +the gun and the presence and the purpose.</p> + +<p>"Shoot!" the boy cried, not bothering to hold his voice down any +longer. For the elephant was moving slowly towards the side of the +wallow, moving deliberately to firmer footing, and the boy was afraid. +Mike was afraid, too, but he couldn't shoot.</p> + +<p>"No," he murmured. "Let him go. I can't kill him."</p> + +<p>"You must," the boy said. "You promise. Look—all the meat. Meat for +two, three villages."</p> + +<p>Mike shook his head. "I can't do it," he said. "That isn't meat. +That's life. Bigger life than we are. Don't you understand? Oh, the +bloody hell with it! Come on."</p> + +<p>The boy wasn't listening to him. He was watching the elephant. And now +he started to tremble.</p> + +<p>For the elephant was moving up onto solid ground. It moved slowly, +daintily, almost mincing as its legs sampled the surface of the shore. +Then it looked up and this time there was no doubt as to the direction +of its gaze—it stared intently at Mike and the boy on the bank. Its +ears fanned, then flared. Suddenly the elephant raised its trunk and +trumpeted fiercely.</p> + +<p>And then, lowering the black battering-ram of its head, the beast came +forward. A deceptively slow lope, a scarcely accelerated trot, and +then all at once it was moving swiftly, swiftly and surely and +inexorably towards them. The angle of the bank was not steep and the +elephant's speed never slackened on the slope. Its right shoulder +struck a sapling and the sapling splintered. It was crashing forward +in full charge. Again it trumpeted, trunk extended like a flail of +doom.</p> + +<p>"Shoot!" screamed the boy.</p> + +<p>Mike didn't want to shoot. He wanted to run. He wanted to flee the +mountain, flee the incredible breathing bulk of this grotesque giant. +But he was a white hunter, he was a man, and a man is not a beast; a +man does not run away from life in any shape or size.</p> + +<p>The trunk came up. Mike raised the gun. He heard the monster roar, far +away, and then he heard another sound that must be the gun's +discharge, and something hit him in the shoulder and knocked him down. +Recoil? Yes, because the elephant wasn't there any more; he could hear +the crashing and thrashing down below, over the rim of the river bank.</p> + +<p>Mike stood up. He saw the boy running now, running back to the bearers +huddled along the edge of the trail.</p> + +<p>He rubbed his shoulder, picked up his gun, reloaded. The sounds from +below had ceased. Slowly, Mike advanced to the lip of the bank and +stared down.</p> + +<p>The bull elephant had fallen and rolled into the wallow once more. It +had taken a direct hit, just beneath the right ear, and even as Mike +watched, its trunk writhed feebly like a dying serpent, then fell +forward into the mud. The gigantic ears twitched, then flickered and +flopped, and the huge body rolled and settled.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Mike began to cry.</p> + +<p>Damn it, he hadn't <i>wanted</i> to shoot. If the elephant hadn't charged +like that—</p> + +<p>But the elephant <i>had</i> to charge. Just as he <i>had</i> to shoot. That was +the whole secret. The secret of life. And the secret of death, too.</p> + +<p>Mike turned away, facing the east. Kenyarobi was east, and he'd be +going there now. Nothing to hold him here in the forests any longer. +He wouldn't even wait for the big feast. To hell with elephant-meat, +anyway. His hunting days were over.</p> + +<p>Mike walked slowly up the trail to the waiting boys.</p> + +<p>And behind him, in the wallow, the flies settled down on the lifeless +carcass of the last elephant in the world.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Harry_Collins_2029" id="Harry_Collins_2029"></a>8. Harry Collins—2029</h2> + + +<p>The guards at Stark Falls were under strict orders not to talk. Each +prisoner here was exercised alone in a courtyard runway, and meals +were served in the cells. The cells were comfortable enough, and while +there were no telescreens, books were available—genuine, old-style +books which must have been preserved from libraries dismantled fifty +years ago or more. Harry Collins found no titles dated later than +1975. Every day or so an attendant wheeled around a cart piled high +with the dusty volumes. Harry read to pass the time.</p> + +<p>At first he kept anticipating his trial, but after a while he almost +forgot about that possibility. And it was well over a year before he +got a chance to tell his story to anyone.</p> + +<p>When his opportunity came, his audience did not consist of judge or +jury, doctor, lawyer or penologist. He spoke only to Richard Wade, a +fellow-prisoner who had been thrust into the adjoining cell on the +evening of October 11th, 2013.</p> + +<p>Harry spoke haltingly at first, but as he progressed the words came +more easily, and emotion lent its own eloquence. His unseen auditor on +the other side of the wall did not interrupt or question him; it was +enough, for Harry, that there <i>was</i> someone to listen at last.</p> + +<p>"So it wasn't a bit like I'd expected," he concluded. "No trial, no +publicity. I've never seen Leffingwell again, nor Manschoff. Nobody +questioned me. By the time I recovered consciousness, I was here in +prison. Buried alive."</p> + +<p>Richard Wade spoke slowly, for the first time. "You're lucky. They +might have shot you down on the spot."</p> + +<p>"That's just what bothers me," Harry told him. "Why didn't they kill +me? Why lock me up <i>incommunicado</i> this way? There aren't many prisons +left these days, with food and space at such a premium."</p> + +<p>"There are <i>no</i> prisons left at all—officially," Wade said. "Just as +there are no longer any cemeteries. But important people are still +given private burials and their remains secretly preserved. All a +matter of influence."</p> + +<p>"I've no influence. I'm not important. Wouldn't you think they'd +consider it risky to keep me alive, under the circumstances? If +there'd ever be an investigation—"</p> + +<p>"Who would investigate? Not the government, surely."</p> + +<p>"But suppose there's a political turnover. Suppose Congress want to +make capital of the situation?"</p> + +<p>"There is no Congress."</p> + +<p>Harry gasped. "No Congress?"</p> + +<p>"As of last month. It was dissolved. Henceforth we are governed by the +Cabinet, with authority delegated to department heads."</p> + +<p>"But that's preposterous! Nobody'd stand still for something like +that!"</p> + +<p>"They did stand still, most of them. After a year of careful +preparation—of wholesale <i>exposes</i> of Congressional graft and +corruption and inefficiency. Turned out that Congress was the villain +all along; the Senators and Representatives had finagled +tariff-barriers and restrictive trade-agreements which kept our food +supply down. They were opposing international federation. In plain +language, people were sold a bill of goods—get rid of Congress and +you'll have more food. That did it."</p> + +<p>"But you'd think the politicians themselves would realize they were +cutting their own throats! The state legislatures and the governors—"</p> + +<p>"Legislatures were dissolved by the same agreement," Wade went on. +"There are no states any more; just governmental districts. Based upon +sensible considerations of area and population. This isn't the +old-time expanding economy based on obsolescence and conspicuous +consumption. The primary problem at the moment is sheer survival. In +a way, the move makes sense. Old-fashioned political machinery +couldn't cope with the situation; there's no time for debate when +instantaneous decisions are necessary to national welfare. You've +heard how civil liberties were suspended during the old wars. Well, +there's a war on right now; a war against hunger, a war against the +forces of fecundity. In another dozen years or so, when the Leff shot +generation is fullgrown and a lot of the elderly have died off, the +tensions will ease. Meanwhile, quick action is necessary. Arbitrary +action."</p> + +<p>"But you're defending dictatorship!"</p> + +<p>Richard Wade made a sound which is usually accompanied by a derisive +shrug. "Am I? Well, I didn't when I was outside. And that's why I'm +here now."</p> + +<p>Harry Collins cleared his throat. "What did you do?"</p> + +<p>"If you refer to my profession, I was a scripter. If you refer to my +alleged criminal activity, I made the error of thinking the way you +do, and the worse error of attempting to inject such attitudes in my +scripts. Seems that when Congress was formally dissolved, there was +some notion of preparing a timely show—a sort of historical review of +the body, using old film clips. What my superiors had in mind was a +comedy of errors; a cavalcade of mistakes and misdeeds showing just +why we were better off without supporting a political sideshow. Well, +I carried out the assignment and edited the films, but when I drafted +a rough commentary, I made the mistake of taking both a pro and con +slant. Nothing like that ever reached the telescreens, of course, but +what I did was promptly noted. They came for me at once and hustled me +off here. I didn't get a hearing or a trial, either."</p> + +<p>"But why didn't they execute you? Or—" Harry hesitated—"is that what +you expect?"</p> + +<p>"Why didn't they execute <i>you</i>?" Wade shot back. He was silent for a +moment before continuing. "No, I don't expect anything like that, now. +They'd have done it on the spot if they intended to do so at all. No, +I've got another idea about people like you and myself. And about some +of the Congressmen and Senators who dropped out of sight, too. I think +we're being stockpiled."</p> + +<p>"Stockpiled?"</p> + +<p>"It's all part of a plan. Give me a little time to think. We can talk +again, later." Wade chuckled once more. "Looks as if there'll be ample +opportunity in the future."</p> + +<p>And there was. In the months ahead, Harry spoke frequently with his +friend behind the wall. He never saw him—prisoners at Stark Falls +were exercised separately, and there was no group assembly or +recreation. Surprisingly adequate meals were served in surprisingly +comfortable cells. In the matter of necessities, Harry had no +complaints. And now that he had someone to talk to, the time seemed to +go more swiftly.</p> + +<p>He learned a great deal about Richard Wade during the next few years. +Mostly, Wade liked to reminisce about the old days. He talked about +working for the networks—the <i>commercial</i> networks, privately owned, +which flourished before the government took over communications media +in the '80s.</p> + +<p>"That's where you got your start, eh?" Harry asked.</p> + +<p>"Lord, no, boy! I'm a lot more ancient than you think. Why, I'm +pushing sixty-five. Born in 1940. That's right, during World War II. I +can almost remember the atomic bomb, and I sure as hell remember the +sputniks. It was a crazy period, let me tell you. The pessimists +worried about the Russians blowing us up, and the optimists were sure +we had a glorious future in the conquest of space. Ever hear that old +fable about the blind men examining an elephant? Well, that's the way +most people were; each of them groping around and trying to determine +the exact shape of things to come. A few of us even made a little +money from it for a while, writing science fiction. That's how I got +my start."</p> + +<p>"You were a writer?"</p> + +<p>"Sold my first story when I was eighteen or so. Kept on writing off +and on for almost twenty years. Of course, Robertson's thermo-nuc +formula came along in '75, and after that everything went to pot. It +knocked out the chances of future war, but it also knocked out the +interest in speculation or escape-fiction. So I moved over into +television for a while, and stayed with it. But the old science +fiction was fun while it lasted. Ever read any of it?"</p> + +<p>"No," Harry admitted. "That was all before my time. Tell me, +though—did any of it make sense? I mean, did some of those writers +foresee what was really going to happen?"</p> + +<p>"There were plenty of penny prophets and nickel Nostradamuses," Wade +told him. "But as I said, most of them were assuming war with the +Communists or a new era of space travel. Since Communism collapsed and +space flight was just an expensive journey to a dead end and dead +worlds, it follows that the majority of fictional futures were founded +on fallacies. And all the rest of the extrapolations dealt with +superficial social manifestations.</p> + +<p>"For example, they wrote about civilizations dominated by advertising +and mass-motivation techniques. It's true that during my childhood +this seemed to be a logical trend—but once demand exceeded supply, +the whole mechanism of <i>stimulating</i> demand, which was advertising's +chief function, bogged down. And mass-motivation techniques, today, +are dedicated almost entirely to maintaining minimum resistance to a +system insuring our survival.</p> + +<p>"Another popular idea was based on the notion of an expanding +matriarchy—a gerontomatriarchy, rather, in which older women would +take control. In an age when women outlived men by a number of years, +this seemed possible. Now, of course, shortened working hours and +medical advances have equalized the life-span. And since private +property has become less and less of a factor in dominating our +collective destinies, it hardly matters whether the male or the female +has the upper hand.</p> + +<p>"Then there was the common theory that technological advances would +result in a push-button society, where automatons would do all the +work. And so they might—if we had an unlimited supply of raw +materials to produce robots, and unlimited power-sources to activate +them. As we now realize, atomic power cannot be utilized on a minute +scale.</p> + +<p>"Last, but not least, there was the concept of a medically-orientated +system, with particular emphasis on psychotherapy, neurosurgery, and +parapsychology. The world was going to be run by telepaths, psychosis +eliminated by brainwashing, intellect developed by hypnotic +suggestion. It sounded great—but the conquest of physical disease has +occupied the medical profession almost exclusively.</p> + +<p>"No, what they all seemed to overlook, with only a few exceptions, was +the population problem. You can't run a world through advertising when +there are so many people that there aren't enough goods to go around +anyway. You can't turn it over to big business when big government has +virtually absorbed all of the commercial and industrial functions, +just to cope with an ever-growing demand. A matriarchy loses its +meaning when the individual family unit changes character, under the +stress of an increasing population-pressure which eliminates the +old-fashioned home, family circle, and social pattern. And the more we +must conserve dwindling natural resources for people, the less we can +expend on experimentation with robots and machinery. As for the +psychologist-dominated society, there are just too many patients and +not enough physicians. I don't have to remind you that the military +caste lost its chance of control when war disappeared, and that +religion is losing ground every day. Class-lines are vanishing, and +racial distinctions will be going next. The old idea of a World +Federation is becoming more and more practical. Once the political +barriers are down, miscegenation will finish the job. But nobody +seemed to foresee this particular future. They all made the mistake of +worrying about the hydrogen-bomb instead of the sperm-bomb."</p> + +<p>Harry nodded thoughtfully, although Wade couldn't see his response. +"But isn't it true that there's a little bit of each of these concepts +in our actual situation today?" he asked. "I mean, government and +business <i>are</i> virtually one and the same, and they do use propaganda +techniques to control all media. As for scientific research, look at +how we've rebuilt our cities and developed synthetics for food and +fuel and clothing and shelter. When it comes to medicine, there's +Leffingwell and his inoculations. Isn't that all along the lines of +your early science fiction?"</p> + +<p>"Where's your Underground?" Richard Wade demanded.</p> + +<p>"My <i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Your Underground," Wade repeated. "Hell, every science fiction yarn +about a future society had its Underground! That was the whole gimmick +in the plot. The hero was a conformist who tangled with the social +order—come to think of it, that's what <i>you</i> did, years ago. Only +instead of becoming an impotent victim of the system, he'd meet up +with the Underground Movement. Not some sourball like your friend +Ritchie, who tried to operate on his own hook, without real plans or +system, but a complete <i>sub rosa</i> organization, bent on starting a +revolution and taking over. There'd be wise old priests and wise old +crooks and wise old officers and wise old officials, all playing a +double game and planning a <i>coup</i>. Spies all over the place, get me? +And in no time at all, our hero would be playing tag with the top +figures in the government. That's how it worked out in all the +stories.</p> + +<p>"But what happens in real life? What happened to you, for example? You +fell for a series of stupid tricks, stupidly perpetrated—because the +people in power <i>are</i> people, and not the kind of synthetic +super-intellects dreamed up by frustrated fiction-fabricators. You +found out that the logical candidates to constitute an Underground +were the Naturalists; again, they were just ordinary individuals with +no genius for organization. As for coming in contact with key figures, +you were actually on hand when Leffingwell completed his experiments. +And you came back, years later, to hunt him down. Very much in the +heroic tradition, I admit. But you never saw the man except through +the telescopic sights of your rifle. That was the end of it. No +modern-day Machiavelli has hauled you in to play cat-and-mouse games +with you, and no futuristic Freud has bothered to wash your brain or +soft-soap your subconscious. You just aren't that important, Collins."</p> + +<p>"But they put me in a special prison. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Who knows? They put me here, too."</p> + +<p>"You said something once, about stockpiling us. What did you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it was just an old science fiction idea, I suppose. I'll tell +you about it tomorrow, eh?"</p> + +<p>And so the matter—and Harry Collins—rested for the night.</p> + +<p>The next day Richard Wade was gone.</p> + +<p>Harry called to him and there was no answer. And he cried out and he +cursed and he paced his cell and he walked alone in the courtyard and +he begged the impassive guards for information, and he sweated and he +talked to himself and he counted the days and he lost count of the +days.</p> + +<p>Then, all at once, there was another prisoner in the adjacent cell, +and his name was William Chang, and he was a biologist. He was +reticent about the crime he had committed, but quite voluble about the +crimes committed by others in the world outside. Much of what he said, +about genes and chromosomes and recessive characteristics and +mutation, seemed incomprehensible to Harry. But in their talks, one +thing emerged clearly enough—Chang was concerned for the future of +the race. "Leffingwell should have waited," he said. "It's the +<i>second</i> generation that will be important. As I tried to tell my +people—"</p> + +<p>"Is that why you're here?"</p> + +<p>Chang sighed. "I suppose so. They wouldn't listen, of course. +Overpopulation has always been the curse of Asia, and this seemed to +be such an obvious solution. But who knows? The time may come when +they need men like myself."</p> + +<p>"So you were stockpiled too."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>Harry told him about Richard Wade's remarks, and together they tried +to puzzle out the theory behind them.</p> + +<p>But not for long. Because once again Harry Collins awoke in the +morning to find the adjoining cell empty, and once again he was alone +for a long time.</p> + +<p>At last a new neighbor came. His name was Lars Neilstrom. Neilstrom +talked to him of ships and shoes and sealing-wax and the thousand and +one things men will discuss in their loneliness and frustration, +including—inevitably—their reasons for being here.</p> + +<p>Neilstrom had been an instructor under Vocational Apt, and he was at a +loss to explain his presence at Stark Falls. When Harry spoke of the +stockpiling theory, his fellow-prisoner demurred. "It's more like +Kafka than science fiction," he said. "But then, I don't suppose +you've ever read any Kafka."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," Harry told him. "Since I came here I've done nothing +but read old books. Lately they've been giving me microscans. I've +been studying up on biology and genetics; talking to Chang got me +interested. In fact, I'm really going in for self-education. There's +nothing else to do."</p> + +<p>"Self-education! That's the only method left nowadays." Neilstrom +sounded bitter. "I don't know what's going to become of our heritage +of knowledge in the future. I'm not speaking of technological skill; +so-called scientific information is carefully preserved. But the +humanities are virtually lost. The concept of the well-rounded +individual is forgotten. And when I think of the crisis to come—"</p> + +<p>"What crisis?"</p> + +<p>"A new generation is growing up. Ten or fifteen years from now we'll +have succeeded in erasing political and racial and religious +divisions. But there'll be a new and more dangerous differentiation; a +<i>physical</i> one. What do you think will happen when half the world is +around six feet tall and the other half under three?"</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine."</p> + +<p>"Well, I can. The trouble is, most people don't realize what the +problem will be. Things have moved too swiftly. Why, there were more +changes in the last hundred years than in the previous thousand! And +the rate of acceleration increases. Up until now, we've been concerned +about too rapid technological development. But what we have to worry +about is social development."</p> + +<p>"Most people have been conditioned to conform."</p> + +<p>"Yes. That's our job in Vocational Apt. But the system only works when +there's a single standard of conformity. In a few years there'll be a +double one, based on size. What then?"</p> + +<p>Harry wanted some time to consider the matter, but the question was +never answered. Because Lars Neilstrom went away in the night, as had +his predecessors before him. And in succeeding interludes, Harry came +to know a half-dozen other transient occupants of the cell next to +his. They came from all over, and they had many things to discuss, but +always there was the problem of <i>why</i> they were there—and the memory +of Richard Wade's premise concerning stockpiling.</p> + +<p>There came a time when the memory of Richard Wade merged with the +memory of Arnold Ritchie. The past was a dim montage of life at the +agency and the treatment center and the ranch, a recollection of lying +on the river bank with women in attitudes of opisthotonos or of lying +against the boulders with a rifle.</p> + +<p>Somewhere there was an image of a child's wide eyes and a voice +saying, "My name is Harry Collins." But that seemed very far away. +What was real was the cell and the years of talking and reading the +microscans and trying to find a pattern.</p> + +<p>Harry found himself describing it all to a newcomer who said his name +was Austin—a soft-voiced man who became a resident of the next cell +one day in 2029. And eventually he came to Wade's theory.</p> + +<p>"Maybe there were a few wiser heads who foresaw a coming crisis," he +concluded. "Maybe they anticipated a time when they might need a few +nonconformists. People like ourselves who haven't been passive or +persuaded. Maybe we're the government's insurance policy. If an +emergency arises, we'll be freed."</p> + +<p>"And then what would <i>you</i> do?" Austin asked, softly. "You're against +the system, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I'm <i>for</i> survival." Harry Collins spoke slowly, +thoughtfully. "You see, I've learned something through the years of +study and contact here. Rebellion is not the answer."</p> + +<p>"You hated Leffingwell."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did, until I realized that all this was inevitable. +Leffingwell is not a villain and neither is any given individual, in +or out of government. Our road to hell has been paved with only the +very best of intentions. Killing the engineers and contractors will +not get us off that road, and we're all on it together. We'll have to +find a way of changing the direction of our journey. The young people +will be too anxious to merely rush blindly ahead. Most of my +generation will be sheeplike, moving as part of the herd, because of +their conditioning. Only we old-time rebels will be capable of +plotting a course. A course for all of us."</p> + +<p>"What about your son?" Austin asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking of him," Harry Collins answered. "Of him, and of all the +others. Maybe he does not need me. Maybe none of them need me. Maybe +it's all an illusion. But if the time ever comes, I'll be ready. And +meanwhile, I can hope."</p> + +<p>"The time has come," Austin said, gently.</p> + +<p>And then he was standing, miraculously enough, outside his cell and +before the door to Harry's cell, and the door was opening. And once +again Harry stared into the wide eyes he remembered so well—the same +wide eyes, set in the face of a fullgrown man. A fullgrown man, three +feet tall. He stood up, shakily, as the man held out his hand and +said, "Hello, Father."</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand—"</p> + +<p>"I've waited a long time for this moment. I had to talk to you, find +out how you really felt, so that I'd be sure. Now you're ready to join +us."</p> + +<p>"What's happening? What do you want with me?"</p> + +<p>"We'll talk later." Harry's son smiled. "Right now, I'm taking you +home."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Eric_Donovan_2031" id="Eric_Donovan_2031"></a>9. Eric Donovan—2031</h2> + + +<p>Eric was glad to get to the office and shut the door. Lately he'd had +this feeling whenever he went out, this feeling that people were +staring at him. It wasn't just his imagination: they did stare. Every +younger person over a yard high got stared at nowadays, as if they +were freaks. And it wasn't just the staring that got him down, either.</p> + +<p>Sometimes they muttered and mumbled, and sometimes they called names. +Eric didn't mind stuff like "dirty Naturalist." That he could +understand—once upon a time, way back, everybody who was against the +Leff Law was called a Naturalist. And before that it had still another +meaning, or so he'd been told. Today, of course, it just meant anyone +who was over five feet tall.</p> + +<p>No, he could take the ordinary name-calling, all right. But sometimes +they said other things. They used words nobody ever uses unless they +really hate you, want to kill you. And that was at the bottom of it, +Eric knew. They did hate him, they <i>did</i> want to kill him.</p> + +<p>Was he a coward? Perhaps. But it wasn't just Eric's imagination. You +never saw anything about such things on the telescreens, but +Naturalists were being killed every day. The older people were still +in the majority, but the youngsters were coming up fast. And there +were so many <i>more</i> of them. Besides, they were more active, and this +created the illusion that there were Yardsticks everywhere.</p> + +<p>Eric sat down behind his desk, grinning. <i>Yardsticks.</i> When he was a +kid it had been just the other way around. He and the rest of them who +didn't get shots in those early days considered themselves to be the +normal ones. And <i>they</i> did the name-calling. Names like "runt" and +"half-pint" and "midgie." But the most common name was the one that +stuck—Yardstick. That used to be the worst insult of all.</p> + +<p>But now it wasn't an insult any more. Being taller was the insult. +Being a dirty Naturalist or a son-of-a-Naturalist. Times certainly had +changed.</p> + +<p>Eric glanced at the communicator. Almost noon, and it had not flicked +yet. Here he'd been beaming these big offers, you'd think he'd get +some response to an expensive beaming program, but no. Maybe that was +the trouble—nobody liked <i>big</i> things any more. Everything was small.</p> + +<p>He shifted uneasily in his chair. That was one consolation, at least; +he still had old-time furniture. Getting to be harder and harder to +find stuff that fitted him these days. Seemed like most of the firms +making furniture and bedding and household appliances were turning out +the small stuff for the younger generation. Cheaper to make, less +material, and more demand for it. Government allocated size priorities +to the manufacturers.</p> + +<p>It was even murder to ride public transportation because of the +space-reductions. Eric drove his own jetter. Besides, that way was +safer. Crowded into a liner with a gang of Yardsticks, with only a few +other Naturalists around, there might be trouble.</p> + +<p>Oh, it was getting to be a Yardstick world, and no mistake. Smaller +furniture, smaller meals, smaller sizes in clothing, smaller +buildings—</p> + +<p>That reminded Eric of something and he frowned again. Dammit, why +didn't the communicator flick? He should be getting some kind of +inquiries. Hell, he was practically <i>giving</i> the space away!</p> + +<p>But there was only silence, as there had been all during this past +week. That's why he let Lorette go. Sweet girl, but there was no work +for her here any more. No work, and no pay, either. Besides, the place +spooked her. She'd been the one who suggested leaving, really.</p> + +<p>"Eric, I'm sorry, but I just can't take this any more. All alone in +this huge building—it's curling my toes!"</p> + +<p>At first he tried to talk her out of it. "Don't be silly, luscious! +There's Bernstein, down on ten, and Saltonstall above us, and Wallaby +and Son on fourteen, I tell you, this place is coming back to life, I +can feel it! I'll beam for tenants next week, you'll see—"</p> + +<p>Actually he'd been talking against his own fear and Lorette must have +known it. Anyway, she left. And now he was here alone.</p> + +<p><i>Alone.</i></p> + +<p>Eric didn't like the sound of that word. Or the absence of sound +behind it. Three other tenants in a ninety-story building. Three other +tenants in a place that had once held three thousand. Why, fifty years +ago, when this place went up, you couldn't buy a vacancy. Where had +the crowds gone to?</p> + +<p>He knew the answer, of course. The Leff shots had created the new +generation of Yardsticks, and they lived in their own world. Their +shrunken, dehydrated world of doll-houses and miniatures. They'd +deserted the old-fashioned skyscrapers and cut the big apartment +buildings up into tiny cubicles; two could occupy the space formerly +reserved for one.</p> + +<p>That had been the purpose of the Leff shots in the first place—to put +an end to overcrowding and conserve on resources. Well, it had worked +out. Worked out too perfectly for people like Eric Donovan. Eric +Donovan, rental agent for a building nobody wanted any more; a +ninety-storey mausoleum. And nobody could collect rent from ghosts.</p> + +<p><i>Ghosts.</i></p> + +<p>Eric damned near jumped through the ceiling when the door opened and +this man walked in. He was tall and towheaded. Eric stared; there was +something vaguely familiar about his face. Something about those ears, +that was it, those ears. No, it couldn't be, it wasn't possible—</p> + +<p>Eric stood up and held out his hand. "I'm Donovan," he said.</p> + +<p>The towheaded man smiled and nodded. "Yes, I know. Don't you remember +me?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I knew you from someplace. You wouldn't be—Sam Wolzek?"</p> + +<p>The towheaded man's smile became a broad grin. "That's not what you +were going to say, Eric. You were going to say 'Handle-head,' weren't +you? Well, go on, say it. I don't mind. I've been called a lot worse +things since we were kids together."</p> + +<p>"I can't believe it," Eric murmured. "It's really you! Old Handle-head +Wolzek! And after all these years, turning up to rent an office from +me. Well, what do you know!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't come here to rent an office."</p> + +<p>"Oh? Then—"</p> + +<p>"It was your name that brought me. I recognized it on the beamings."</p> + +<p>"Then this is a social call, eh? Well, that's good. I don't get much +company these days. Sit down, have a reef."</p> + +<p>Wolzek sat down but refused the smoke. "I know quite a bit about your +setup," he said. "You and your three tenants. It's tough, Eric."</p> + +<p>"Oh, things could be worse." Eric forced a laugh. "It isn't as if my +bucks depended on the number of tenants in the building. Government +subsidizes this place. I'm sure of a job as long as I live."</p> + +<p>"As long as you live." Wolzek stared at him in a way he didn't like. +"And just how long do you figure that to be?"</p> + +<p>"I'm only twenty-six," Eric answered. "According to statistics, that +gives me maybe another sixty years."</p> + +<p>"Statistics!" Wolzek said it like a dirty word. "Your life-expectancy +isn't determined by statistics any more. I say you don't have sixty +months left. Perhaps not even sixty days."</p> + +<p>"What are you trying to hand me?"</p> + +<p>"The truth. And don't go looking for a silver platter underneath it, +either."</p> + +<p>"But I mind my own business. I don't hurt anybody. Why should I be in +any danger?"</p> + +<p>"Why does a government subsidy support one rental manager to sit here +in this building every day—but ten guards to patrol it every night?"</p> + +<p>Eric opened his mouth wide before shaping it for speech. "Who told you +that?"</p> + +<p>"Like I said, I know the setup." Wolzek crossed his legs, but he +didn't lean back. "And in case you haven't guessed it, this is a +business call, not a social one."</p> + +<p>Eric sighed. "Might have figured," he said. "You're a Naturalist, +aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I am. We all are."</p> + +<p>"Not I."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes—whether you like it or not, you're a Naturalist, too. As far +as the Yardsticks are concerned, everyone over three feet high is a +Naturalist. An enemy. Someone to be hated, and destroyed."</p> + +<p>"Think I'd believe that? Sure, I know they don't like us, and why +should they? We eat twice as much, take up twice the space, and I +guess when we were kids we gave a lot of them a hard time. Besides, +outside of a few exceptions like ourselves, all the younger generation +are Yardsticks, with more coming every year. The older people hold +the key positions and the power. Of course there's a lot of friction +and resentment. But you know all that."</p> + +<p>"Certainly." Wolzek nodded. "All that and more. Much more. I know that +up until a few years ago, no Yardstick held any public office or +government position. Now they're starting to move in, particularly in +Europasia. But there's so many of them now—adults, in their early +twenties—that the pressure is building up. They're impatient, getting +out of hand. They won't wait until the old folks die off. They want +control now. And if they ever manage to get it, we're finished for +good."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" Eric said.</p> + +<p>"Impossible?" Wolzek's voice was a mocking echo. "You sit here in this +tomb and when somebody tells you that the world you know has died, you +refuse to believe it. Even though every night, after you sneak home +and huddle up inside your room trying not to be noticed, ten guards +patrol this place with subatomics, so the Yardstick gangs won't break +in and take over. So they won't do what they did down south—overrun +the office buildings and the factories and break them up, cut them +down to size for living quarters."</p> + +<p>"But they were stopped," Eric objected. "I saw it on the telescreen, +the security forces stopped them—"</p> + +<p>"Crapola!" Wolzek pronounced the archaicism with studied care. "You +saw films. Faked films. Have you ever traveled, Eric? Ever been down +south and seen conditions there?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody travels nowadays. You know that. Priorities."</p> + +<p>"I travel, Eric. And I know. Security forces don't suppress anything +in the south these days. Because they're made up of Yardsticks now; +that's right, Yardsticks exclusively. And in a few years that's the +way it will be up here. Did you ever hear about the Chicagee riots?"</p> + +<p>"You mean last year, when the Yardsticks tried to take over the +synthetic plants at the Stockyards?"</p> + +<p>"Tried? They <i>succeeded</i>. The workers ousted management. Over fifty +thousand were killed in the revolution—oh, don't look so shocked, +that's the right word for it!—but the Yardsticks won out in the end."</p> + +<p>"But the telescreen showed—"</p> + +<p>"Damn the telescreen! I know because I happened to be there when it +happened. And if <i>you</i> had been there, you and a few million other +ostriches who sit with your heads buried in telescreens, maybe we +could have stopped them."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it. I can't!"</p> + +<p>"All right. Think back. That was last year. And since the first of +this year, what's happened to the standard size meat-ration?"</p> + +<p>"They cut it in half," Eric admitted. "But that's because of Ag +shortages, according to the telescreen reports—" He stood up, +gulping. "Look here, I'm not going to listen to any more of this kind +of talk. By rights, I ought to turn your name in."</p> + +<p>"Go ahead." Wolzek waved his hand. "It's happened before. I was +reported when I blasted the Yardsticks who shot my father down when he +tried to land his jet in a southern field. I was reported when they +killed Annette."</p> + +<p>"Annette?"</p> + +<p>"You remember that name, don't you, Eric? Your first girl, wasn't she? +Well, I'm the guy who married her. Yes, and I'm the guy who talked her +into having a baby without the benefit of Leff shots. Sure, it's +illegal, and only a few of us ever try it any more, but we both agreed +that we wanted it that way. A real, life-sized, normal baby. Or +abnormal, according to the Yardsticks and the stupid government.</p> + +<p>"It was a dirty scum of a government doctor who let her die on the +table when he discovered the child weighed seven pounds. That's when I +really woke up, Eric. That's when I knew there was going to be only +one decision to make in the future—kill or be killed."</p> + +<p>"Annette. She died, you say?"</p> + +<p>Wolzek moved over and put his hand on Eric's shoulder. "You never +married, did you, Eric? I think I know why. It's because you felt the +way I did about it. You wanted a regular kid, not a Yardstick. Only +you didn't quite have the guts to try and beat the law. Well, you'll +need guts now, because it's getting to the point where the law can't +protect you any more. The government is made up of old men, and +they're afraid to take action. In a few years they'll be pushed out of +office all over the world. We'll have Yardstick government then, all +the way, and Yardstick law. And that means they'll cut us down to +size."</p> + +<p>"But what can you—we—do about it?"</p> + +<p>"Plenty. There's still a little time. If we Naturalists can only get +together, stop being just a name and become an organized force, maybe +the ending will be different. We've got to try, in any case."</p> + +<p>"The Yardsticks are human beings, just like us," Eric said, slowly. +"We can't just declare war on them, wipe them out. It's not their +<i>fault</i> they were born that way."</p> + +<p>Wolzek nodded. "I know. Nothing is anybody's fault, really. This whole +business began in good faith. Leffingwell and some of the other +geniuses saw a problem and offered what they sincerely believed was a +solution."</p> + +<p>"But it didn't work," Eric murmured.</p> + +<p>"Wrong. It worked only too well. That's the trouble. Sure, we +eliminated our difficulties on the physical level. In less than thirty +years we've reached a point where there's no longer any danger of +overcrowding or starvation. But the psychological factor is something +we can't cope with. We thought we'd ended war and the possibilities of +war a long time ago. But it isn't foreign enemies we must fear today. +We've created a nation divided into Davids and Goliaths—and David and +Goliath are always enemies."</p> + +<p>"David killed Goliath," Eric said. "Does that mean we're going to +die?"</p> + +<p>"Only if we're as stupid as Goliath was. Only if we wear our +telescreens like invincible armor and pay no attention to the +slingshot in David's hands."</p> + +<p>Eric lit a reef. "All right," he said. "You don't have to lecture. I'm +willing to join. But I'm no Goliath, really. I never had a fight in my +life. What could I do to help?"</p> + +<p>"You're a rental agent. You have the keys to this building. The guards +don't bother you by day, do they? You come and go as you please. That +means you can get into the cellars. You can help us move the stuff +down there. And we'll take care of the guards some night, after that."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>The friendly pressure on Eric's shoulder became a fierce grip. "You +don't have to understand. All you do is let us plant the stuff in the +cellars and let us get rid of the guards afterwards in our own way. +The Yardsticks will do the rest."</p> + +<p>"You mean, take over the building when it's not protected?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. They'll take it over completely, once they see there's no +opposition. And they'll remodel it to suit themselves, and within a +month there'll be ten thousand Yardsticks sitting in this place."</p> + +<p>"The government will never stand still for that."</p> + +<p>"Wake up! It's happening all over, all the time, and nothing is being +done to prevent it. Security is too weak and officials are too timid +to risk open warfare. So the Yardsticks win, and I'm going to see that +they win this place."</p> + +<p>"But how will that help us?"</p> + +<p>"You don't see it yet, do you? And neither will the Yardsticks. Until, +some fine day three or four months from now, we get around to what +will be planted in the cellars. Somebody will throw a switch, miles +away, and—boom!"</p> + +<p>"Wolzek, you couldn't—"</p> + +<p>"It's coming. Not only here, but in fifty other places. We've got to +fight fire with fire, Eric. It's our only chance. Bring this thing out +into the open. Make the government realize this is war. Civil war. +That's the only way to force them to take real action. We can't do it +any other way; it's illegal to organize politically, and petitions do +no good. We can't get a hearing. Well, they'll have to listen to the +explosions."</p> + +<p>"I just don't know—"</p> + +<p>"Maybe you're the one who should have married Annette after all." +Wolzek's voice was cold. "Maybe you could have watched her, watched +her scream and beg and die, and never wanted to move a muscle to do +anything about it afterwards. Maybe you're the model citizen, Eric; +you and the thousands of others who are standing by and letting the +Yardsticks chop us down, one by one. They say in Nature it's the +survival of the fittest. Well, perhaps you're not fit to survive."</p> + +<p>Eric wasn't listening. "She screamed," he said. "You heard her +scream?"</p> + +<p>Wolzek nodded. "I can still hear her. I'll always hear her."</p> + +<p>"Yes." Eric blinked abruptly. "When do we start?"</p> + +<p>Wolzek smiled at him. It was a pretty good smile for a man who can +always hear screaming. "I knew I could count on you," he murmured. +"Nothing like old friends."</p> + +<p>"Funny, isn't it?" Eric tried to match his smile. "The way things work +out. You and I being kids together. You marrying my girl. And then, us +meeting up again this way."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wolzek, and he wasn't smiling now. "I guess it's a small +world."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Harry_Collins_2032" id="Harry_Collins_2032"></a>10. Harry Collins—2032</h2> + + +<p>Harry's son's house was on the outskirts of Washington, near what had +once been called Gettysburg. Harry was surprised to find that it <i>was</i> +a house, and a rather large one, despite the fact that almost all the +furniture had been scaled down proportionately to fit the needs of a +man three feet high.</p> + +<p>But then, Harry was growing accustomed to surprises.</p> + +<p>He found a room of his own, ready and waiting, on the second floor; +here the furniture was of almost antique vintage, but adequate in +size. And here, in an atmosphere of unaccustomed comfort, he could +talk.</p> + +<p>"So you're a physician, eh?" Harry gazed down into the diminutive +face, striving to accept the fact that he was speaking to a mature +adult. His own son—his and Sue's—a grown man and a doctor! It seemed +incredible. But then, nothing was more incredible than the knowledge +that he was actually here, in his child's home.</p> + +<p>"We're all specialists in one field or another," his son explained. +"Every one of us born and surviving during the early experimental +period received our schooling under a plan Leffingwell set up. It was +part of his conditional agreement that we become wards of the state. +He knew the time might come when we'd be needed."</p> + +<p>"But why wasn't all this done openly?"</p> + +<p>"You know the answer to that. There was no way of educating us under +the prevailing system, and there was always a danger we might be +singled out as freaks who must be destroyed—particularly in those +early years. So Leffingwell relied on secrecy, just as he did during +his experimentation period. You know how <i>you</i> felt about that. You +believed innocent people were being murdered. Would you have listened +to his explanations, accepted the fact that his work was worth the +cost of a few lives so that future billions of human beings might be +saved? No, there was no time for explanation or indoctrination. +Leffingwell chose concealment."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Harry sighed. "I understand that better now, I think. But I +couldn't see it then, when I tried to kill him." He flushed. "And I +still can't quite comprehend why he spared me after that attempt."</p> + +<p>"Because he wasn't the monster you thought him to be. When I pleaded +with him—"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> were the one!"</p> + +<p>Harry's son turned away. "Yes. When I was told who you really were, I +went to him. But I was only a child, remember that. And he didn't +spare you out of sentimentality. He had a purpose."</p> + +<p>"A purpose in sending me to prison, letting me rot all these years +while—"</p> + +<p>"While I grew up. I and the others like myself. And while the world +outside changed." Harry's son smiled. "Your friend Richard Wade was +right, you know. He guessed a great deal of the truth. Leffingwell and +Manschoff and the rest of their associates deliberately set out to +assemble a select group of nonconformists—men of specialized talents +and outlooks. There were over three hundred of you at Stark Falls. +Richard Wade knew why."</p> + +<p>"And so he was dragged off and murdered."</p> + +<p>"Murdered? No, Father, he's very much alive, I assure you. In fact, +he'll be here tonight."</p> + +<p>"But why was he taken away so abruptly, without any warning?"</p> + +<p>"He was needed. There was a crisis, when Dr. Leffingwell died." +Harry's son sighed. "You didn't know about that, did you? There's so +much for you to learn. But I'll let him tell you himself, when you see +him this evening."</p> + +<p>Richard Wade told him. And so did William Chang and Lars Neilstrom and +all the others. During the ensuing weeks, Harry saw each of them +again. But Wade's explanation was sufficient.</p> + +<p>"I was right," he said. "There was no Underground when we were at +Stark Falls. What I didn't realize, though, was that there was an +Overground."</p> + +<p>"Overground?"</p> + +<p>"You might call it that. Leffingwell and his staff formed the nucleus. +They foresaw the social crisis which lay ahead, when the world became +physically divided into the tall and the short, the young and the old. +They knew there'd be a need of individuality then—and they <i>did</i> +create a stockpile. A stockpile of the younger generation, specially +educated; a stockpile of the older generation, carefully selected. We +conspicuous rebels were incarcerated and given an opportunity to think +the problem through, with limited contact with one another's +viewpoints."</p> + +<p>"But why weren't we told the truth at the beginning, allowed to meet +face-to-face and make some sensible plans for the future?"</p> + +<p>Harry's son interrupted. "Because Dr. Leffingwell realized this would +defeat the ultimate purpose. You'd have formed your own in-group, as +prisoners, dedicated to your own welfare. There'd be emotional ties—"</p> + +<p>"I still don't know what you're talking about. What are we supposed to +prepare for now?"</p> + +<p>Richard Wade shrugged. "Leffingwell had it all planned. He foresaw +that when the first generation of Yardsticks—that's what they call +themselves, you know—came of age, there'd be social unrest. The young +people would want to take over, and the older generation would try to +remain in positions of power. It was his belief that tensions could be +alleviated only by proper leadership on both sides.</p> + +<p>"He himself had an important voice in government circles. He set up an +arrangement whereby a certain number of posts would be assigned to +people of his choice, both young and old. Similarly, in the various +professions, there'd be room for appointees he'd select. Given a year +or two of training, Leffingwell felt that we'd be ready for these +positions. Young men, like your son, would be placed in key spots +where their influence would be helpful with the Yardsticks. Older men +such as yourself would go into other assignments—in communications +media, chiefly. The skillful use of group-psychological techniques +could avert open clashes. He predicted a danger-period lasting about +twenty years—roughly, from 2030 to 2050. Once we weathered that span, +equilibrium would be regained, as a second and third generation came +along and the elders became a small minority. If we did our work well +and eliminated the sources of prejudice, friction and hostility, the +transition could be made. The Overground in governmental circles would +finance us. This was Leffingwell's plan, his dream."</p> + +<p>"You speak in the past tense," Harry said.</p> + +<p>"Yes." Wade's voice was harsh. "Because Leffingwell is dead, of +cerebral hemorrhage. And his plan died with him. Oh, we still have +some connections in government; enough to get men like yourself out of +Stark Falls. But things have moved too swiftly. The Yardsticks are +already on the march. The people in power—even those we relied +upon—are getting frightened. They can't see that there's time left to +train us to take over. And frankly, I'm afraid most of them have no +inclination to give up their present power. They intend to use +force."</p> + +<p>"But you talk as though the Yardsticks were united."</p> + +<p>"They are uniting, and swiftly. Remember the Naturalists?"</p> + +<p>Harry nodded, slowly. "I was one, once. Or thought I was."</p> + +<p>"You were a liberal. I'm talking about the <i>new</i> Naturalists. The ones +bent on actual revolution."</p> + +<p>"Revolution?"</p> + +<p>"That's the word. And that's the situation. It's coming to a head, +fast."</p> + +<p>"And how will we prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know." Harry's son stared up at him. "Most of us believe it's +too late to prevent it. Our immediate problem will be survival. The +Naturalists want control for themselves. The Yardsticks intend to +destroy the power of the older generation. And we feel that if matters +come to a head soon, the government itself may turn on us, too. +They'll have to."</p> + +<p>"In other words," said Harry, "we stand alone."</p> + +<p>"Fall alone, more likely," Wade corrected.</p> + +<p>"How many of us are there?"</p> + +<p>"About six hundred," said Harry's son. "Located in private homes +throughout this eastern area. If there's violence, we don't have a +chance of controlling the situation."</p> + +<p>"But we can survive. As I see it, that's our only salvation at the +moment—to somehow survive the coming conflict. Then, perhaps, we can +find a way to function as Leffingwell planned."</p> + +<p>"We'll never survive here. They'll use every conceivable weapon."</p> + +<p>"But since there's no open break with the government yet, we could +still presumably arrange for transportation facilities."</p> + +<p>"To where?"</p> + +<p>"Some spot in which we could weather the storm. What about +Leffingwell's old hideout?"</p> + +<p>"The units are still standing." Harry's son nodded. "Yes, that's a +possibility. But what about food?"</p> + +<p>"Grizek."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Friend of mine," Harry told him. "Look, we're going to have to work +fast. And yet we've got to do it in a way that won't attract any +attention; not even from the government. I suggest we set up an +organizing committee and make plans." He frowned. "How much time do +you think we have—a year or so?"</p> + +<p>"Six months," his son hazarded.</p> + +<p>"Four, at most," Wade said. "Haven't you been getting the full reports +on those riots? Pretty soon they'll declare a state of national +emergency and then nobody will be going anywhere."</p> + +<p>"All right." Harry Collins grinned. "We'll do it in four months."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Actually, as it worked out, they did it in just a day or so under +three.</p> + +<p>Five hundred and forty-two men moved by jetter to Colorado Springs; +thence, by helicopter, to the canyon hideaway. They moved in small +groups, a few each week. Harry himself had already established the +liaison system, and he was based at Grizek's ranch. Grizek was dead, +but Bassett and Tom Lowery remained and they cooperated. Food would be +ready for the 'copters that came out of the canyon.</p> + +<p>The canyon installation itself was deserted, and the only problem it +presented was one of rehabilitation. The first contingent took over.</p> + +<p>The jetters carried more than their human cargo; they were filled with +equipment of all sorts—microscans and laboratory instruments and +devices for communication. By the time the entire group was assembled, +they had the necessary implementation for study and research. It was a +well-conceived and well-executed operation.</p> + +<p>To his surprise, Harry found himself acting as the leader of the +expedition, and he continued in this capacity after they were +established. The irony of the situation did not escape him; to all +intents and purposes he was now ruling the very domain in which he had +once languished as a prisoner.</p> + +<p>But with Wade and Chang and the others, he set up a provisional system +which worked out very well. And proved very helpful, once the news +reached them that open revolt had begun in the world outside.</p> + +<p>A battered 'copter landed one evening at dusk, and the wounded pilot +poured out his message, then his life's blood.</p> + +<p>Angelisco was gone. Washington was gone. The Naturalists had struck, +using the old, outlawed weapons. And it was the same abroad, according +to the few garbled reports thereafter obtainable only <i>via</i> ancient +shortwave devices.</p> + +<p>From then on, nobody left the canyon except on weekly 'copter-lifts to +the ranch grazing lands for fresh supplies. Fortunately, that area was +undisturbed, and so were its laconic occupants. They neither knew nor +cared what went on in the world outside; what cities were reported +destroyed, what forces triumphed or went down into defeat, what +activity or radioactivity prevailed.</p> + +<p>Life in the canyon flowed on, more peacefully than the river cleaving +its center. There was much to do and much to learn. It was, actually, +a monastic existence, compounded of frugality, abstinence, continence +and devotion to scholarly pursuits. Within a year, gardens flourished; +within two years herds grazed the grassy slopes; within three years +cloth was being woven on looms in the ancient way and most of the +homespun arts of an agrarian society had been revived. Men fell sick +and men died, but the survivors lived in amity. Harry Collins +celebrated his sixtieth birthday as the equivalent of a second-year +student of medicine; his instructor being his own son. Everyone was +studying some subject, acquiring some new skill. One-time rebellious +natures and one-time biological oddities alike were united by the +common bond of intellectual curiosity.</p> + +<p>It was, however, no Utopia. Some of the younger men wanted women, and +there were no women. Some were irked by confinement and wandered off; +three of the fleet of eleven 'copters were stolen by groups of +malcontents. From time to time there would be a serious quarrel. Six +men were murdered. The population dwindled to four hundred and twenty.</p> + +<p>But there was progress, in the main. Eventually Banning joined the +group, from the ranch, and under his guidance the study-system was +formalized. Attempts were made to project the future situation, to +prepare for the day when it would be possible to venture safely into +the outside world once again and utilize newly-won abilities.</p> + +<p>Nobody could predict when that would be, nor what kind of world would +await their coming. By the time the fifth year had passed, even +shortwave reports had long since ceased. Rumors persisted that +radioactive contamination was widespread, that the population had been +virtually decimated, that the government had fallen, that the +Naturalists had set up their own reign only to fall victim to internal +strife.</p> + +<p>"But one thing is certain," Harry Collins told his companions as they +assembled in the usual monthly meeting on the grounds before the old +headquarters building one afternoon in July. "The fighting will end +soon. If we hear nothing more within the next few months, we'll send +out observation parties. Once we determine the exact situation, we can +plan accordingly. The world is going to need what we can give. It will +use what we have learned. It will accept our aid. One of these days—"</p> + +<p>And he went on to outline a carefully-calculated program of making +contact with the powers that be, or might be. It sounded logical and +even the chronic grumblers and habitual pessimists in the group were +encouraged.</p> + +<p>If at times they felt the situation fantastic and the hope forlorn, +they were heartened now. Richard Wade summed it up succinctly +afterwards, in a private conversation with Harry.</p> + +<p>"It isn't going to be easy," he said. "In the old science fiction +yarns I used to write, a group like this would have been able to +prevent the revolution. At the very least, it would decide who won if +fighting actually broke out. But in reality we were too late to +forestall revolt, and we couldn't win the war no matter on whose side +we fought. There's just one job we're equipped for—and that's to win +the peace. I don't mean we'll step out of here and take over the +world, either. We'll have to move slowly and cautiously, dispersing in +little groups of five or six all over the country. And we'll have to +sound out men in the communities we go to, find those who are willing +to learn and willing to build. But we can be an influence, and an +important one. We have the knowledge and the skill. We may not be +chosen to lead, but we can <i>teach</i> the leaders. And that's important."</p> + +<p>Harry smiled in agreement. They <i>did</i> have something to offer, and +surely it would be recognized—even if the Naturalists had won, even +if the entire country had sunk into semi-barbarism. No use +anticipating such problems now. Wait until fall came; then they'd +reconnoitre and find out. Wait until fall—</p> + +<p>It was a wise decision, but one which ignored a single, important +fact. The Naturalists didn't wait until fall to conduct their +reconnaissance.</p> + +<p>They came over the canyon that very night; a large group of them in a +large jetter.</p> + +<p>And they dropped a large bomb....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Jesse_Pringle_2039" id="Jesse_Pringle_2039"></a>11. Jesse Pringle—2039</h2> + + +<p>They were after him. The whole world was in flames, and the buildings +were falling, the mighty were fallen, the Day of Judgment was at hand.</p> + +<p>He ran through the flames, blindly. Blind Samson. Eyeless in Gaza, +treading at the mill. The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they +grind exceedingly small.</p> + +<p>Small. They were all small, but that didn't matter. They had the guns +and they were hunting him down to his doom. Day of doom. Doomsday. The +great red dragon with seven heads and ten horns was abroad in the +land.</p> + +<p>They had unleashed the dragon and his breath was a fire that seared, +and his tail was a thunder that toppled towers. The dragon was +searching him out for his sins; he would be captured and set to labor +in the mill.</p> + +<p>But he would escape, he must escape! He was afraid of them, small as +they were, and great oaks from little acorns grow, it's the little +things that count, and he dare not go a-hunting for fear of little +men.</p> + +<p>Jesse crouched against the dock, watching the grain-elevators burn. +The whole city was burning, Babylon the mighty, the whole world was +burning in God's final wrath of judgment.</p> + +<p>Nobody believed in God any more, nobody read the Bible, and that's why +they didn't know these things. Jesse knew, because he was an old man +and he remembered how it had been when he was a little boy. A little +boy who learned of the Word of God and the Wrath of God.</p> + +<p>He could see the reflection of the flames in the water, now, and the +reflection was shimmery and broken because of the black clusters +floating past. Large clusters and small clusters. There were bodies in +the water, the bodies of the slain.</p> + +<p>Thunder boomed from the city behind him. Explosions. That's how it had +started, when the Naturalists began blowing up the buildings. And then +the Yardsticks had come with their weapons, hunting down the +Naturalists. Or had it been that way, really? It didn't matter, now. +That was in another country and besides, the wench was dead.</p> + +<p>The wench <i>is</i> dead. His wench, Jesse's wench. She wasn't so old. Only +seventy-two. But they killed her, they blew off the top of her head +and he could feel it when they did. It was as if something had +happened in <i>his</i> head, and then he ran at them and screamed, and +there was great slaughter amongst the heathen, the forces of +unrighteousness.</p> + +<p>And Jesse had fled, and smote evil in the name of the Lord, for he +perceived now that the time was at hand.</p> + +<p><i>How the mighty are fallen.</i></p> + +<p>Jesse blinked at the water, wishing it would clear, wishing his +thoughts would clear. Sometimes for a moment he could remember back to +the way things <i>really</i> were. When it was still a real world, with +real people in it. When he was just a little boy and everybody else +was big.</p> + +<p>Strange. Now he was an old man, a big old man, and almost everybody +else was little.</p> + +<p>He tried to think what it had been like, so long ago. It was too long. +All he could remember about being small was that he had been afraid. +Afraid of the bigger people.</p> + +<p>And now he was big, and afraid of the smaller people.</p> + +<p>Of course they weren't real. It was just part of the prophecy, they +were the locusts sent to consume and destroy. He kept telling himself +there was nothing to fear; the righteous need not fear when the day of +judgment is at hand.</p> + +<p>Only somewhere inside of him was this little boy, crying, "Mama, Mama, +Mama!" And somewhere else was this old man, just staring down into the +water and waiting for them to find him.</p> + +<p>Another explosion sounded.</p> + +<p>This one was closer. They must be bombing the entire city. Or else it +was the dragon, lashing his tail.</p> + +<p>Somebody ran past Jesse, carrying a torch. No, it wasn't a torch—his +hair was on fire. He jumped into the water, screaming, "They're +coming! They're coming!"</p> + +<p>Jesse turned and blinked. They were coming, all right. He could see +them pouring out of the alleyway like rats. Rats with gleaming eyes, +gleaming claws.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, his head cleared. He realized that he was going to die. He +had, perhaps, one minute of life left. One minute out of eighty years. +And he couldn't fool himself any longer. He was not delirious. Day of +judgment—that was nonsense. And there was no dragon, and these were +not rats. They were merely men. Puny little men who killed because +they were afraid.</p> + +<p>Jesse was a big man, but he was afraid, too. Six feet three inches +tall he was, when he stood up straight as he did now, watching them +come—but he knew fear.</p> + +<p>And he resolved that he must not take that fear with him into death. +He wanted to die with something better than that. Wasn't there +something he could find and cling to, perhaps some memory—?</p> + +<p>A minute is so short, and eighty years is so long. Jesse stood there, +swaying, watching them draw nearer, watching them as they caught sight +of him and raised their weapons.</p> + +<p>He scanned rapidly into the past. Into the past, before the time the +wench was dead, back to when you and I were young, Maggie, back still +earlier, and earlier, seeking the high point, the high school, that +was it, the high school, the highlight, the moment of triumph, the +game with Lincoln. Yes, that was it. He hadn't been ashamed of being +six feet three inches then, he'd been proud of it, proud as he raised +his arms and—</p> + +<p><i>Splashed down into the water as the bullets struck.</i></p> + +<p>And that was the end of Jesse Pringle. Jesse Pringle, champion +basketball center of the Class of '79....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Littlejohn_2065" id="Littlejohn_2065"></a>12. Littlejohn—2065</h2> + + +<p>The helicopter landed on the roof, and the attendants wheeled it over +to one side. They propped the ladder up, and Littlejohn descended +slowly, panting.</p> + +<p>They had a coasterchair waiting and he sank into it, grateful for the +rest. Hardy fellows, these attendants, but then they were almost three +feet tall. More stamina, that was the secret. Common stock, of course, +but they served a purpose. Somebody had to carry out orders.</p> + +<p>When they wheeled the coasterchair into the elevator, Littlejohn +descended. The elevator halted on the first floor and he breathed a +sigh of relief. Great heights always made him faint and dizzy, and +even a short helicopter trip took its toll—the mere thought of +soaring two hundred feet above the ground was enough to paralyze him.</p> + +<p>But this journey was vital. Thurmon was waiting for him.</p> + +<p>Yes, Thurmon was waiting for him here in the council chamber. The +coasterchair rolled forward into the room and again Littlejohn felt a +twinge of apprehension. The room was vast—too big for comfort. It +must be all of fifty feet long, and over ten feet in height. How could +Thurmon stand it, working here?</p> + +<p>But he had to endure it, Littlejohn reminded himself. He was head of +the council.</p> + +<p>Thurmon was lying on the couch when Littlejohn rolled in, but he sat +up and smiled.</p> + +<p>"I greet you," he said.</p> + +<p>"I greet you," Littlejohn answered. "No, don't bother to stay seated. +Surely we don't need to be ceremonious."</p> + +<p>Thurmon pricked up his ears at the sound of the unfamiliar word. He +wasn't the scholarly type, like Littlejohn. But he appreciated +Littlejohn's learning and knew he was important to the council. They +needed scholars these days, and antiquarians too. One has to look to +the past when rebuilding a world.</p> + +<p>"You sent for me?" Littlejohn asked. The question was purely +rhetorical, but he wanted to break the silence. Thurmon looked +troubled as he replied.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is a matter of confidence between us."</p> + +<p>"So be it. You may speak in trust."</p> + +<p>Thurmon eyed the door. "Come nearer," he said.</p> + +<p>Littlejohn pressed a lever and rolled up to the couchside. Thurmon's +eyes peered at him through the thick contact lenses. Littlejohn noted +the deep wrinkles around his mouth, but without surprise. After all, +Thurmon was an old man—he must be over thirty.</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking," Thurmon said, abruptly. "We have failed."</p> + +<p>"Failed?"</p> + +<p>Thurmon nodded. "Need I explain? You have been close to the council +for many years. You have seen what we've attempted, ever since the +close of the Naturalist wars."</p> + +<p>"A magnificent effort," Littlejohn answered politely. "In less than +thirty years an entire new world has risen from the ruins of the old. +Civilization has been restored, snatched from the very brink of a +barbarism that threatened to engulf us."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," Thurmon murmured.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Sheer nonsense, Littlejohn. You're talking like a pedant."</p> + +<p>"But I <i>am</i> a pedant." Littlejohn nodded. "And it's true. When the +Naturalists were exterminated, this nation and other nations were +literally destroyed. Worse than physical destruction was the threat of +mental and moral collapse. But the Yardstick councils arose to take +over. The concept of small government came into being and saved us. We +began to rebuild on a sensible scale, with local, limited control. The +little community arose—"</p> + +<p>"Spare me the history lesson," said Thurmon, dryly. "We rebuilt, yes. +We survived. In a sense, perhaps, we even made certain advances. There +is no longer any economic rivalry, no social distinctions, no external +pressure. I think I can safely assume that the danger of future +warfare is forever banished. The balance of power is no longer a +factor. The balance of Nature has been partially restored. And only +one problem remains to plague mankind."</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"We face extinction," Thurmon said.</p> + +<p>"But that's not true," Littlejohn interrupted. "Look at history and—"</p> + +<p>"Look at us." Thurmon sighed. "You needn't bother with history. The +answer is written in our faces, in our own bodies. I've searched the +past very little, compared to your scholarship, but enough to know +that things were different in the old days. The Naturalists, whatever +else they might have been, were strong men. They walked freely in the +land, they lived lustily and long.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what our average life-expectancy is today, Littlejohn? A +shade under forty years. And that only if one is fortunate enough to +lead a sheltered existence, as we do. In the mines, in the fields, in +the radioactive areas, they die before the age of thirty."</p> + +<p>Littlejohn leaned forward. "Schuyler touches on just that point in his +<i>Psychology of Time</i>," he said, eagerly. "He posits the relationship +between size and duration. Time is relative, you know. Our lives, +short as they may be in terms of comparative chronology, nevertheless +have a subjective span equal to that of the Naturalists in their +heyday."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," Thurman said, again. "Did you think that is what concerns +me—whether or not we feel that our lives are long or short?"</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"I'm talking about the basic elements essential to survival. I'm +talking about strength, stamina, endurance, the ability to function. +That's what we're losing, along with the normal span of years. The +world is soft and flabby. Yardstick children, they tell us, were +healthy at first. But <i>their</i> children are weaker. And their +grandchildren, weaker still. The effect of the wars, the ravages of +radiation and malnutrition, have taken a terrible toll. The world is +soft and flabby today. People can't walk any more, let alone run. We +find it difficult to lift and bend and work—"</p> + +<p>"But we won't have to worry about such matters for long," Littlejohn +hazarded. "Think of what's being done in robotics. Those recent +experiments seem to prove—"</p> + +<p>"I know." Thurmon nodded. "We can create robots, no doubt. We have a +limited amount of raw materials to allocate to the project, and if we +can perfect automatons they'll function quite adequately. Virtually +indestructible, too, I understand. I imagine they'll still be able to +operate efficiently a hundred or more years from now—if only they +learn to oil and repair one another. Because by that time, the human +race will be gone."</p> + +<p>"Come now, it isn't that serious—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it is!" Thurmon raised himself again, with an effort. "Your +study of history should have taught you one thing, if nothing else. +The tempo is quickening. While it took mankind thousands of years to +move from the bow and arrow to the rifle, it took only a few hundred +to move from the rifle to the thermonuclear weapon. It took ages +before men mastered flight, and then in two generations they developed +satellites; in three, they reached the moon and Mars."</p> + +<p>"But we're talking about <i>physical</i> development."</p> + +<p>"I know. And physically, the human race altered just as drastically in +an equally short span of time. As recently as the nineteenth century, +the incidence of disease was a thousandfold greater than it is now. +Life was short then. In the twentieth century disease lessened and +life-expectancy doubled, in certain areas. Height and weight increased +perceptibly with every passing decade. Then came Leffingwell and his +injections. Height, weight, life-expectancy have fallen perceptibly +every decade since then. The war merely hastened the process."</p> + +<p>"You appear to have devoted a great deal of time to this question," +Littlejohn observed.</p> + +<p>"I have," answered the older man. "And it is not a question. It is a +fact. The one fact that confronts us all. If we proceed along our +present path, we face certain extinction in a very short time. The +strain is weakening constantly, the vitality is draining away. We +sought to defeat Nature—but the Naturalists were right, in their +way."</p> + +<p>"And the solution?"</p> + +<p>Thurmon was silent for a long moment. Then, "I have none," he said.</p> + +<p>"You have consulted the medical authorities?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally. And experiments have been made. Physical conditioning, +systems of exercise, experimentation in chemotherapy are still being +undertaken. There's no lack of volunteers, but a great lack of +results. No, the answer does not lie in that direction."</p> + +<p>"But what else is there?"</p> + +<p>"That is what I had hoped you might tell me," Thurmon said. "You are a +scholar. You know the past. You speak often of the lessons of +history—"</p> + +<p>Littlejohn was nodding, but not in agreement. He was trying to +comprehend. For suddenly the conviction came to him clearly; Thurmon +was right. It was happening, had happened, right under their smug +noses. The world was weakening. It was slowing down, and the race is +only to the swift.</p> + +<p>He cursed himself for his habit of thinking in platitudes and +quotations, but long years of study had unfitted him for less prosaic +phraseology. If he could only be practical.</p> + +<p><i>Practical.</i></p> + +<p>"Thurmon," he said. "There is a way. A way so obvious, we've all +overlooked it—passed right over it."</p> + +<p>"And that is—?"</p> + +<p>"Stop the Leffingwell injections!"</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"I know what you'll say. There have been genetic mutations. Very true, +but such mutations can't be universal. A certain percentage of +offspring will be sound, capable of attaining full growth. And we +don't have the population-problem to cope with any more. There's room +for people again. So why not try it? Stop the injections and allow +babies to be born as they were before." Littlejohn hesitated before +adding a final word, but he knew he had to add it; he knew it now. +"Normally," he said.</p> + +<p>Thurmon nodded. "So that is your answer."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I—I think it will work."</p> + +<p>"So do the biologists," Thurmon told him. "A generation of normal +infants, reared to maturity, would restore mankind to its former +stature, in every sense of the word. And now, knowing the lessons of +the past, we could prepare for the change to come. We could rebuild +the world for them to live in, rebuild it psychically as well as +physically. We'd plan to eliminate the rivalry between the large and +the small, the strong and the weak. It wouldn't be difficult because +there's plenty for all. There'd be no trouble as there was in the old +days. We've learned to be psychologically flexible."</p> + +<p>Littlejohn smiled. "Then that <i>is</i> the solution?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Eliminating the Leffingwell injections will give us a good +proportion of normal children again. <i>But where do we find the normal +women to bear them?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Normal women?"</p> + +<p>Thurmon sighed, then reached over and placed a scroll in the scanner. +"I have already gone into that question with research technicians," he +said. "And I have the figures here." He switched on the scanner and +began to read.</p> + +<p>"The average nubile female, aged thirteen to twenty-one, is two feet, +ten inches high and weighs forty-eight pounds." Thurmon flicked the +switch again and peered up. "I don't think I'll bother with pelvic +measurements," he said. "You can already see that giving birth to a +six or seven-pound infant is a physical impossibility under the +circumstances. It cannot be done."</p> + +<p>"But surely there must be <i>some</i> larger females! Perhaps a system of +selective breeding, on a gradual basis—"</p> + +<p>"You're talking in terms of generations. We haven't got that much +time." Thurmon shook his head. "No, we're stopped right here. We can't +get normal babies without normal women, and the only normal women are +those who began life as normal babies."</p> + +<p>"Which comes first?" Littlejohn murmured. "The chicken or the egg?"</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Just an old saying. From history."</p> + +<p>Thurmon frowned. "Apparently, then, that's all you can offer in your +professional capacity as an historian. Just some old sayings." He +sighed. "Too bad you don't know some old prayers. Because we need them +now."</p> + +<p>He bowed his head, signifying the end of the interview.</p> + +<p>Littlejohn rolled out of the room.</p> + +<p>His 'copter took him back to his own dwelling, back across the +rooftops of New Chicagee. Ordinarily, Littlejohn avoided looking down. +He dreaded heights, and the immensity of the city itself was somehow +appalling. But now he gazed upon the capital and center of +civilization with a certain morbid affection.</p> + +<p>New Chicagee had risen on the ashes of the old, after the war's end. +Use of thermo-nucs had been limited, fortunately, so radioactivity did +not linger, and the vast craters hollowed out by ordinary warheads had +been partially filled by rubble and debris. Artificial fill had done +the rest of the job, so that now New Chicagee was merely a flat +prairie as it must have been hundreds of years ago—a flat prairie on +which the city had been resurrected. There were almost fifty thousand +people here in the capital; the largest congregation of population on +the entire continent. They had built well and surely this time, built +for the security and certainty of centuries to come.</p> + +<p>Littlejohn sighed. It was hard to accept the fact that they had been +wrong; that all this would end in nothingness. They had eliminated +war, eliminated disease, eliminated famine, eliminated social +inequality, injustice, disorders external and internal—and in so +doing, they had eliminated themselves.</p> + +<p>The sun was setting in the west, and long shadows crept over the city +below. Yes, the sun was setting and the shadows were gathering, the +night was coming to claim its own. Darkness was falling, eternal +darkness.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark by the time Littlejohn's 'copter landed on the +rooftop of his own dwelling; so dark, in fact, that for a moment he +didn't see the strange vehicle already standing there. Not until he +had settled into his coasterchair did he notice the presence of the +other 'copter, and then it was too late. Too late to do anything +except sit and stare as the gigantic shadow loomed out of the night, +silhouetted against the sky.</p> + +<p>The shadow shambled forward, and Littlejohn gaped, gaped in terror at +the titanic figure. He opened his mouth to speak, but words did not +form; there were no words to form, for how does one address an +apparition?</p> + +<p>Instead, it was the apparition which spoke.</p> + +<p>"I have been waiting for you," it said.</p> + +<p>"Y-yes—"</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you." The voice was deep, menacing.</p> + +<p>Littlejohn shifted in his coasterchair. There was nowhere to go, no +escape. He gazed up at the shadow. Finally he summoned a response. +"Shall we go inside?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The figure shook its head. "Where? Down into that dollhouse of yours? +It isn't big enough. I've already been there. What I have to say can +be said right here."</p> + +<p>"W-who are you?"</p> + +<p>The figure stepped forward, so that its face was illuminated by the +fluorescence streaming from the open door which led to the inclined +chairway descending to Littlejohn's dwelling.</p> + +<p>Littlejohn could see the face, now—the gigantic, wrinkled face, +scarred and seared and seamed. It was a human face, but utterly alien +to the humanity Littlejohn knew. Faces such as this one had +disappeared from the earth a lifetime ago. At least, history had +taught him that. History had not prepared him for the actual living +presence of a—</p> + +<p>"Naturalist!" Littlejohn gasped. "You're a Naturalist! Yes, that's +what you are!"</p> + +<p>The apparition scowled.</p> + +<p>"I am not a Naturalist. I am a man."</p> + +<p>"But you can't be! The war—"</p> + +<p>"I am very old. I lived through your war. I have lived through your +peace. Soon I shall die. But before I do, there is something else +which must be done."</p> + +<p>"You've come here to kill me?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps." The looming figure moved closer and stared down. "No, don't +try to summon help. When your servants saw me, they fled. You're alone +now, Littlejohn."</p> + +<p>"You know my name."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know your name. I know the names of everyone on the council. +Each of them has a visitor tonight."</p> + +<p>"Then it is a plot, a conspiracy?"</p> + +<p>"We have planned this very carefully, through the long years. It's all +we lived for, those few of us who survived the war."</p> + +<p>"But the council wasn't responsible for the war! Most of us weren't +even alive, then. Believe me, we weren't to blame—"</p> + +<p>"I know." The gigantic face creased in senile simulation of a smile. +"Nobody was ever to blame for anything, nobody was ever responsible. +That's what they always told me. I mustn't hate mankind for +multiplying, even though population created pressure and pressure +created panic that drove me mad. I mustn't blame Leffingwell for +solving the overpopulation problem, even though he used me as a +guinea-pig in his experiments. I mustn't blame the Yardsticks for +penning me up in prison until revolution broke out, and I mustn't +blame the Naturalists for bombing the place where I took refuge. So +whose fault was it that I've gone through eighty years of assorted +hell? Why did I, Harry Collins, get singled out for a lifetime of +misery and misfortune?" The huge old man bent over Littlejohn's +huddled form. "Maybe it was all a means to an end. A way of bringing +me here, at this moment, to do what must be done."</p> + +<p>"Don't harm me—you're not well, you're—"</p> + +<p>"Crazy?" The old man shook his head. "No, I'm not crazy. Not now. But +I <i>have</i> been, at times, during my life. Perhaps we all are, when we +attempt to face up to the complications of an average existence, try +to confront the problems which are too big for a single consciousness +to cope with in a single life-span. I've been crazy in the city, and +crazy in the isolation of a cell, and crazy in the welter of war. And +perhaps the worst time of all was when I lost my son.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I had a son, Littlejohn. He was one of the first, one of +Leffingwell's original mutations, and I never knew him very well until +the revolution came and we went away together. He was a doctor, my +boy, and a good one. We spent almost five years together and I learned +a lot from him. About medicine, but that wasn't important then. I'm +thinking of what I learned about love. I'd always hated Yardsticks, +but my son was one, and I came to love him. He had plans for +rebuilding the world, he and I and the rest of us. We were going to +wait until the revolution ended and then help restore sanity in +civilization.</p> + +<p>"But the Naturalists flew over and dropped their bomb, and my boy +died. Over four hundred of our group died there in the canyon—four +hundred who might have changed the fate of the world. Do you think I +can forget that? Do you think I and the few others who survived have +ever forgotten? Can you blame us if we did go crazy? If we hid away +out there in the western wilderness, hid away from a world that had +offered us nothing but death and destruction, and plotted to bring +death and destruction to that world in return?</p> + +<p>"Think about it for a moment, Littlejohn. We were old men, all of us, +and the world had given us only its misery to bear during our +lifetimes. The world we wanted to save was destroying itself; why +should we be concerned with its fate or future?</p> + +<p>"So we changed our plans, Littlejohn. Perhaps the shock had been too +much. Instead of plotting to rebuild the world, we turned our thoughts +to completing its destruction. Our tools and texts were gone, buried +in the rubble with the bodies of fine young men. But we had our minds. +Crazed minds, you'd call them—but aware of reality. The grim reality +of the post-revolutionary years.</p> + +<p>"We burrowed away in the desert. We schemed and we dreamed. From time +to time we sent out spies. We knew what was going on. We knew the +Naturalists were gone, that six-footers had vanished from a Yardstick +world. We knew about the rehabilitation projects. We watched your +people gradually evolve new patterns of living and learning. Some of +the former knowledge was rescued, but not all. Our little group had +far more learning than you've ever dreamed of. Fifty of us, between +ourselves, could have surpassed all your scientists in every field.</p> + +<p>"But we watched, and we waited. And some of us died of privation and +some of us died of old age. Until, at last, there were only a dozen of +us to share the dream. The dream of destruction. And we knew that we +must act swiftly, or not at all.</p> + +<p>"So we came into the world, cautiously and carefully, moving +unobtrusively and unobserved. We wanted to contemplate the corruption, +seek out the weaknesses in your degenerate civilization. And we found +them, immediately. Those weaknesses are everywhere apparent, for they +are physical. You're one of a dying race, Littlejohn. Mankind's days +are numbered. There's no need for grandiose schemes of reactivating +warheads in buried missile-centers, of loosing thermo-nucs upon the +world. Merely by killing off the central council here in New Chicagee, +we can accomplish our objective. A dozen men die, and there's not +enough initiative left to replace them. It's as simple as that. And as +complicated."</p> + +<p>Harry Collins nodded. "Yes, as complicated. Because the only +weaknesses we've observed <i>are</i> physical ones. We've seen enough of +the ways of this new civilization to realize that.</p> + +<p>"All of the things I hated during my lifetime have disappeared +now—the crowding, the competition, the sordid self-interest, the +bigotry, intolerance, prejudice. The anti-social aspects of society +are gone. There is only the human race, living much closer to the +concept of Utopia than I ever dreamed possible. You and the other +survivors have done well, Littlejohn."</p> + +<p>"And yet you come to kill us."</p> + +<p>"We came for that purpose. Because <i>we</i> still retained the flaws and +failings of our former cultures. We looked for targets to blame, for +villains to hate and destroy. Instead, we found this reality.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not crazy, Littlejohn. And I and my fellows aren't here to +execute revenge. We have returned to the original plan; the plan +Leffingwell had, and my son, and all the others who worked in their +own way for their dream of a better world. We come now to help you. +Help you before you die—before we die."</p> + +<p>Littlejohn looked up and sighed. "Why couldn't this have happened +before?" he murmured. "It's too late now."</p> + +<p>"But it isn't too late. My friends are here. They are telling your +fellow council-members the same thing right now. We may be old, but we +can still impart what we have learned. There are any number of +technological developments to be made. We can help you to increase +your use of atomic power. There's soil reclamation and irrigation +projects and biological techniques—"</p> + +<p>"You said it yourself," Littlejohn whispered. "We're a dying race. +That's the primary problem. And it's an insoluble one. Just this +afternoon—" And he told him about the interview with Thurmon.</p> + +<p>"Don't you understand?" Littlejohn concluded. "We have no solution for +survival. We're paying the price now because for a while we wouldn't +heed history. We tried to defeat Nature and in the end Nature has +defeated us. Because we would not render unto Caesar the things which +are—"</p> + +<p>Harry Collins smiled. "That's it," he said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Caesar. That's the answer. Your own medical men must have records. I +know, because I learned medicine from my son. There used to be an +operation, in the old days, called a caesarean section—used on normal +women and on dwarfs and midgets too, in childbirth. If your problem is +how to deliver normal children safely, the technique can be revived. +Get hold of some of your people. Let's see what data you have on this. +I'll be glad to furnish instruction—"</p> + +<p>There was excitement after that. Too much excitement for Littlejohn. +By the time the council had assembled in emergency session, by the +time plans were formulated and he returned to his own dwelling in the +helicopter, he was completely exhausted. Only the edge of elation +sustained him; the realization that a solution had been found.</p> + +<p>As he sank into slumber he knew that he would sleep the clock around.</p> + +<p>And so would Harry Collins. The old man and his companions, now guests +of the council, had been temporarily quartered in the council-chambers. +It was the only structure large enough to house them and even so they +had to sleep on the floor. But it was sufficient comfort for the moment.</p> + +<p>It was many hours before Harry Collins awoke. His waking was +automatic, for the tiny telescreen at the end of the council room +glowed suddenly, and the traditional voice chirped forth to interrupt +his slumber.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said the voice. "It's a beautiful day in New +Chicagee!"</p> + +<p>Harry stared at the screen and then he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he murmured. "But tomorrow will be better."</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of This Crowded Earth, by Robert Bloch + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS CROWDED EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 25776-h.htm or 25776-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/7/7/25776/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: This Crowded Earth + +Author: Robert Bloch + +Illustrator: Finlay + +Release Date: June 21, 2008 [EBook #25776] +[This file was first posted on June 13, 2008] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS CROWDED EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's note: + +This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories October +1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. + +The Table of Contents is not part of the original book. + + + + + AMAZING STORIES + + SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL + + + + THIS + + CROWDED + + EARTH + + + + By ROBERT BLOCH + + ILLUSTRATOR FINLAY + + + BOOK-LENGTH NOVEL COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE + + * * * * * + + +CONTENTS + +1. Harry Collins--1997 +2. Harry Collins--1998 +3. President Winthrop--1999 +4. Harry Collins--2000 +5. Minnie Schultz--2009 +6. Harry Collins--2012 +7. Michael Cavendish--2027 +8. Harry Collins--2029 +9. Eric Donovan--2031 +10. Harry Collins--2032 +11. Jesse Pringle--2039 +12. Littlejohn--2065 + + * * * * * + + + + +1. Harry Collins--1997 + +[Illustration: The evils of long and dangerous years finally erupted +in blood.] + + +The telescreen lit up promptly at eight a.m. Smiling Brad came on with +his usual greeting. "Good morning--it's a beautiful day in Chicagee!" + +Harry Collins rolled over and twitched off the receiver. "This I +doubt," he muttered. He sat up and reached into the closet for his +clothing. + +Visitors--particularly feminine ones--were always exclaiming over the +advantages of Harry's apartment. "So convenient," they would say. +"Everything handy, right within reach. And think of all the extra +steps you save!" + +Of course most of them were just being polite and trying to cheer +Harry up. They knew damned well that he wasn't living in one room +through any choice of his own. The Housing Act was something you just +couldn't get around; not in Chicagee these days. A bachelor was +entitled to one room--no more and no less. And even though Harry was +making a speedy buck at the agency, he couldn't hope to beat the +regulations. + +There was only one way to beat them and that was to get married. +Marriage would automatically entitle him to two rooms--_if_ he could +find them someplace. + +More than a few of his feminine visitors had hinted at just that, but +Harry didn't respond. Marriage was no solution, the way he figured it. +He knew that he couldn't hope to locate a two-room apartment any +closer than eighty miles away. It was bad enough driving forty miles +to and from work every morning and night without doubling the +distance. If he did find a bigger place, that would mean a three-hour +trip each way on one of the commutrains, and the commutrains were +murder. The Black Hole of Calcutta, on wheels. + +But then, everything was murder, Harry reflected, as he stepped from +the toilet to the sink, from the sink to the stove, from the stove to +the table. + +Powdered eggs for breakfast. That was murder, too. But it was a fast, +cheap meal, easy to prepare, and the ingredients didn't waste a lot of +storage space. The only trouble was, he hated the way they tasted. +Harry wished he had time to eat his breakfasts in a restaurant. He +could afford the price, but he couldn't afford to wait in line more +than a half-hour or so. His office schedule at the agency started +promptly at ten-thirty. And he didn't get out until three-thirty; it +was a long, hard five-hour day. Sometimes he wished he worked in the +New Philly area, where a four-hour day was the rule. But he supposed +that wouldn't mean any real saving in time, because he'd have to live +further out. What was the population in New Philly now? Something like +63,000,000, wasn't it? Chicagee was much smaller--only 38,000,000, +this year. + +_This_ year. Harry shook his head and took a gulp of the Instantea. +Yes, this year the population was 38,000,000, and the boundaries of +the community extended north to what used to be the old Milwaukee and +south past Gary. What would it be like _next_ year, and the year +following? + +Lately that question had begun to haunt Harry. He couldn't quite +figure out why. After all, it was none of his business, really. He had +a good job, security, a nice place just two hours from the Loop. He +even drove his own car. What more could he ask? + +And why did he have to start the day like this, with a blinding +headache? + +Harry finished his Instantea and considered the matter. Yes, it was +beginning again, just as it had on almost every morning for the past +month. He'd sit down at the table, eat his usual breakfast, and end up +with a headache. Why? + +It wasn't the food; for a while he'd deliberately varied his diet, but +that didn't make any difference. And he'd had his usual monthly +checkup not more than ten days ago, only to be assured there was +nothing wrong with him. Still, the headaches persisted. Every morning, +when he'd sit down and jerk his head to the left like this-- + +That was it. Jerking his head to the left. It always seemed to trigger +the pain. But why? And where had he picked up this habit of jerking +his head to the left? + +Harry didn't know. + +He glanced at his watch. It was almost nine, now. High time that he +got started. He reached over to the interapartment video and dialled +the garage downstairs. + +"Bill," he said. "Can you bring my car around to Number Three?" + +The tiny face in the hand-screen grinned sheepishly. "Mr. Collins, +ain't it? Gee, I'm sorry, Mr. Collins. Night crew took on a new man, +he must have futzed around with the lists, and I can't find your +number." + +Harry sighed. "It's one-eight-seven-three-dash-five," he said. "Light +blue Pax, two-seater. Do you want the license number, too?" + +"No, just your parking number. I'll recognize it when I see it. But +God only knows what level it's on. That night man really--" + +"Never mind," Harry interrupted. "How soon?" + +"Twenty minutes or so. Maybe half an hour." + +"Half an hour? I'll be late. Hurry it up!" + +Harry clicked the video and shook his head. Half an hour! Well, you +had to expect these things if you wanted to be independent and do your +own driving today. If he wanted to work his priority through the +office, he could get his application honored on the I.C. Line within a +month. But the I.C. was just another commutrain, and he couldn't take +it. Standing and swaying for almost two hours, fighting the crowds, +battling his way in and out of the sidewalk escalators. Besides, there +was always the danger of being crushed. He'd seen an old man trampled +to death on a Michigan Boulevard escalator-feeder, and he'd never +forgotten it. + +Being afraid was only a partial reason for his reluctance to change. +The worst thing, for Harry, was the thought of all those people; the +forced bodily contact, the awareness of smothered breathing, odors, +and the crushing confinement of flesh against flesh. It was bad enough +in the lines, or on the streets. The commutrain was just too much. + +Yet, as a small boy, Harry could remember the day when he'd loved such +trips. Sitting there looking out of the window as the scenery whirled +past--that was always a thrill when you were a little kid. How long +ago had that been? More than twenty years, wasn't it? + +Now there weren't any seats, and no windows. Which was just as well, +probably, because the scenery didn't whirl past any more, either. +Instead, there was a stop at every station on the line, and a constant +battle as people jockeyed for position to reach the exit-doors in +time. + +No, the car was better. + +Harry reached for a container in the cabinet and poured out a couple +of aspirystamines. That ought to help the headache. At least until he +got to the office. Then he could start with the daily quota of +yellowjackets. Meanwhile, getting out on the street might help him, +too. A shame there wasn't a window in this apartment, but then, what +good would it do, really? All he could see through it would be the +next apartment. + +He shrugged and picked up his coat. Nine-thirty, time to go +downstairs. Maybe the car would be located sooner than Bill had +promised; after all, he had nine assistants, and not everybody went to +work on this first daylight shift. + +Harry walked down the hall and punched the elevator button. He looked +at the indicator, watched the red band move towards the numeral of +this floor, then sweep past it. + +"Full up!" he muttered. "Oh, well." + +He reached out and touched both sides of the corridor. That was +another thing he disliked; these narrow corridors. Two people could +scarcely squeeze past one another without touching. Of course, it did +save space to build apartments this way, and space was at a premium. +But Harry couldn't get used to it. Now he remembered some of the old +buildings that were still around when he was a little boy-- + +The headache seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Harry +looked at the indicator above the other elevator entrance. The red +band was crawling upward, passing him to stop on 48. That was the top +floor. Now it was moving down, down; stopping on 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, +and--here it was! + +"Stand back, please!" said the tape. Harry did his best to oblige, but +there wasn't much room. A good two dozen of his upstairs neighbors +jammed the compartment. Harry thought he recognized one or two of the +men, but he couldn't be sure. There were so many people, so many +faces. After a while it got so they all seemed to look alike. Yes, and +breathed alike, and felt alike when you were squeezed up against them, +and you were always being squeezed up against them, wherever you went. +And you could smell them, and hear them wheeze and cough, and you went +falling down with them into a bottomless pit where your head began to +throb and throb and it was hard to move away from all that heat and +pressure. It was hard enough just to keep from screaming-- + +Then the door opened and Harry was catapulted out into the lobby. The +mob behind him pushed and clawed because they were in a hurry; they +were always in a hurry these days, and if you got in their way they'd +trample you down like that old man had been trampled down; there was +no room for one man in a crowd any more. + +Harry blinked and shook his head. + +He gripped the edge of the wall and clung there in an effort to avoid +being swept out of the lobby completely. His hands were sticky with +perspiration. They slipped off as he slowly inched his way back +through the crush of the mob. + +"Wait for me!" he called. "Wait for me, I'm going down!" But his voice +was lost in the maelstrom of sound just as his body was lost in the +maelstrom of motion. Besides, an automatic elevator cannot hear. It is +merely a mechanism that goes up and down, just like the other +mechanisms that go in and out, or around and around, and you get +caught up in them the way a squirrel gets caught in a squirrel-cage +and you race and race, and the best you can hope for is to keep up +with the machinery. + +The elevator door clanged shut before Harry could reach it. He waited +for another car to arrive, and this time he stood aside as the crowd +emerged, then darted in behind them. + +The car descended to the first garage level, and Harry stood gulping +gratefully in the comparative isolation. There weren't more than ten +people accompanying him. + +He emerged on the ramp, gave his number to the attendant, and waved at +Bill in his office. Bill seemed to recognize him; at least he nodded, +briefly. No sense trying to talk--not in this sullen subterranea, +filled with the booming echo of exhausts, the despairing shriek of +brakes. Headlights flickered in the darkness as cars whirled past, +ascending and descending on the loading platforms. The signal systems +winked from the walls, and tires screeched defiance to the warning +bells. + +Old-fashioned theologians, Harry remembered, used to argue whether +there really was a Hell, and if so, had it been created by God or the +Devil? Too bad they weren't around today to get an answer to their +questions. There _was_ a Hell, and it had been created by General +Motors. + +Harry's temples began to throb. Through blurred eyes, he saw the +attendant beckoning him down the line to a platform marked _Check-Out +#3_. He stood there with a cluster of others, waiting. + +What was the matter with him today, anyway? First the headache, and +now his feet were hurting. Standing around waiting, that's what did +it. This eternal waiting. When he was a kid, the grownups were always +complaining about the long seven-hour work days and how they cut into +their leisure time. Well, maybe they had reason to gripe, but at least +there _was_ some leisure before work began or after it was through. +Now that extra time was consumed in waiting. Standing in line, +standing in crowds, wearing yourself out doing nothing. + +Still, this time it wasn't really so bad. Within ten minutes the light +blue Pax rolled up before him. Harry climbed in as the attendant slid +out from behind the wheel and prepared to leave. + +Then a fat man appeared, running along the ramp. He gestured wildly +with a plump thumb. Harry nodded briefly, and the fat man hurled +himself into the seat beside him and slammed the door. + +They were off. Harry read the signals impatiently, waiting for the +green _Go_. The moment he saw it he gunned his motor and got the car +up to twenty-two and zipped away. + +That's what he liked, that's what he always waited for. Of course it +was dangerous, here in the tunnel system under the garage, but Harry +always got a thrill out of speed. The Pax could do thirty-five or even +forty, probably, on a theoretical open road. Still, twenty-two was +enough to satisfy Harry. + +He whizzed up the ramp, turned, headed for the street-level, then +braked and waited for the signal to emerge. + +Harsh sunlight pierced the smog and he felt his eyes watering. Now the +street noises assailed his ears; the grinding of gears, the revving of +motors. But at least the total volume was lower, and with the windows +tightly closed against the acrid air, he could hear. + +Turning to the fat man beside him he said, "Hello, Frazer. What's the +urgency?" + +"Got to get downtown before eleven," the fat man answered. "Board +meeting today, but I forgot about it. Knew I wouldn't have time to +wait for the car, and I was hoping I'd find someone who'd give me a +lift. Lucky for me that you came along when you did." + +Harry nodded but did not reply. At the moment he was trying to edge +into the traffic beyond. It flowed, bumper to bumper, in a steady +stream; a stream moving at the uniform and prescribed rate of fifteen +miles per hour. He released his brakes and the Pax nosed forward until +a truck sounded its horn in ominous warning. The noise hurt Harry's +head; he winced and grimaced. + +"What's the matter?" asked Frazer. + +"Headache," Harry muttered. He menaced a Chevsoto with his bumper. +"Damn it, I thought they didn't allow those big four-passenger jobs on +this arterial during rush hours!" Gradually he managed to turn until +he was in the righthand lane. "There," he said. "We're off." + +And so they were, for all of three minutes, with the speed set at +fifteen on autopilot. Then a signal went into action somewhere up +ahead, and the procession halted. Harry flicked his switch. As was +customary, horns sounded indignantly on all sides--a mechanical +protest against a mechanical obstruction. Harry winced again. + +"Hangover?" Frazer asked, solicitously. "Try aspirystamine." + +Harry shook his head. "No hangover. And I've already taken three, +thanks. Nothing does any good. So I guess it's just up to you." + +"Up to me?" Frazer was genuinely puzzled. "What can I do about your +headaches?" + +"You're on the Board of City Planners, aren't you?" + +"That's right." + +"Well, I've got a suggestion for you to give to them. Tell them to +start planning to drop a couple of heavy thermo-nucs on this area. +Clean out twenty or thirty million people. We'd never miss 'em." + +Frazer chuckled wryly. "I wish I had a buck for every time I've heard +_that_ suggestion." + +"Ever stop to think why you hear it so often? It's because everybody +feels the same way--we can't take being hemmed in like this." + +"Well, a bomb wouldn't help. You know that." Frazer pursed his lips. +"Robertson figured out what would happen, with the chain-reaction." + + * * * * * + +Harry glanced sideways at his companion as the car started forward +once again. "I've always wondered about that," he said. "Seriously, I +mean. Is the story really true, or is it just some more of this +government propaganda you fellows like to hand out?" + +Frazer sighed. "It's true, all right. There was a scientist named +Robertson, and he did come up with the thermo-nuc formula, way back in +'75. Proved it, too. Use what he developed and the chain-reaction +would never end. Scientists in other countries tested the theory and +agreed; there was no collusion, it just worked out that way on a +practical basis. Hasn't been a war since--what more proof do you +want?" + +"Well, couldn't they just use some of the old-fashioned hydrogen +bombs?" + +"Be sensible, man! Once a war started, no nation could resist the +temptation to go all-out. Fortunately, everyone realizes that. So we +have peace. Permanent peace." + +"I'll take a good war anytime, in preference to this." + +"Harry, you don't know what you're talking about. You aren't so young +that you can't remember what it was like in the old days. Everybody +living in fear, waiting for the bombs to fall. People dying of disease +and worried about dying from radiation and fallout. All the +international rivalries, the power-politics, the eternal pressures and +constant crises. Nobody in his right mind would want to go back to +_that_. We've come a mighty long way in the last twenty years or so." + +Harry switched to autopilot and sat back. "Maybe that's the trouble," +he said. "Maybe we've come too far, too fast. I wasn't kidding about +dropping those thermo-nucs, either. _Something_ has to be done. We +can't go on like this indefinitely. Why doesn't the Board come up with +an answer?" + +Frazer shrugged his heavy shoulders. "You think we haven't tried, +aren't trying now? We're aware of the situation as well as you +are--and then some. But there's no easy solution. The population just +keeps growing, that's all. No war to cut it down, contagious diseases +at a minimum, average life-expectancy up to ninety years or better. +Naturally, this results in a problem. But a bomb won't help bring +about any permanent solution. Besides, this isn't a local matter, or +even a national one. It's global. What do you think those summit +meetings are all about?" + +"What about birth control?" Harry asked. "Why don't they really get +behind an emigration movement?" + +"We can't limit procreation by law. You know that." Frazer peered out +at the swarming streams on the sidewalk levels. "It's more than a +religious or a political question--it's a social one. People want +kids. They can afford them. Besides, the Housing Act is set up so that +having kids is just about the only way you can ever get into larger +living-quarters." + +"Couldn't they try reverse-psychology? I mean, grant priority to +people who are willing to be sterilized?" + +"They tried it, on a limited experimental scale, about three years ago +out on the West Coast." + +"I never heard anything about it." + +"Damned right you didn't," Frazer replied, grimly. "They kept the +whole project under wraps, and for a good reason. The publicity might +have wrecked the Administration." + +"What happened?" + +"What do you suppose happened? There were riots. Do you think a man +and his wife and three kids, living in three rooms, liked the idea of +standing by and watching a sterilized couple enjoy a four-room place +with lawn space? Things got pretty ugly, let me tell you. There was a +rumor going around that the country was in the hands of +homosexuals--the churches were up in arms--and if that wasn't bad +enough, we had to face up to the primary problem. There just wasn't, +just isn't, enough _space_. Not in areas suitable for maintaining a +population. Mountains are still mountains and deserts are still +deserts. Maybe we can put up housing in such regions, but who can live +there? Even with decentralization going full blast, people must live +within reasonable access to their work. No, we're just running out of +room." + +Again the car halted on signal. Over the blasting of the horns, Harry +repeated his query about emigration. + +Frazer shook his head, but made no attempt to reply until the horns +had quieted and they were under way once more. + +"As for emigration, we're just getting some of our own medicine in +return. About eighty years ago, we clamped down and closed the door on +immigrants; established a quota. Now the same quota is being used +against us, and you can't really blame other nations for it. They're +facing worse population increases than we are. Look at the African +Federation, and what's happened there, in spite of all the +wealth! And South America is even worse, in spite of all the +reclamation projects. Fifteen years ago, when they cleared out the +Amazon Basin, they thought they'd have enough room for fifty years to +come. And now look at it--two hundred million, that's the latest +figure we've got." + +"So what's the answer?" Harry asked. + +"I don't know. If it wasn't for hydroponics and the Ag Culture +controls, we'd be licked right now. As it is, we can still supply +enough food, and the old supply-and-demand takes care of the economy +as a whole. I have no recommendations for an overall solution, or even +a regional one. My job, the Board's job, is regulating housing and +traffic and transportation in Chicagee. That's about all you can +expect us to handle." + +Again they jolted to a stop and the horns howled all around them. +Harry sat there until a muscle in the side of his jaw began to twitch. +Suddenly he pounded on the horn with both fists. + +"Shut up!" he yelled. "For the love of Heaven, shut up!" + +Abruptly he slumped back. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It's my damned +headache. I--I've got to get out of this." + +"Job getting you down?" + +"No. It's a good job. At least everybody tells me so. Twenty-five +hours a week, three hundred bucks. The car. The room. The telescreen +and liquor and yellowjackets. Plenty of time to kill. Unless it's the +time that's killing me." + +"But--what do you _want_?" + +Harry stepped on the accelerator and they inched along. Now the street +widened into eight traffic lanes and the big semis joined the +procession on the edge of the downtown area. + +"I want out," Harry said. "Out of this." + +"Don't you ever visit the National Preserves?" Frazer asked. + +"Sure I do. Fly up every vacation. Take a tame plane to a tame +government resort and catch my quota of two tame fish. Great sport! If +I got married, I'd be entitled to four tame fish. But that's not what +I want. I want what my father used to talk about. I want to drive into +the country, without a permit, mind you; just to drive wherever I +like. I want to see cows and chickens and trees and lakes and sky." + +"You sound like a Naturalist." + +"Don't sneer. Maybe the Naturalists are right. Maybe we ought to cut +out all this phoney progress and phoney peace that passeth all +understanding. I'm no liberal, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I +think the Naturalists have the only answer." + +"But what can you do about it?" Frazer murmured. "Suppose for the +sake of argument that they _are_ right. How can you change things? We +can't just _will_ ourselves to stop growing, and we can't legislate +against biology. More people, in better health, with more free time, +are just bound to have more offspring. It's inevitable, under the +circumstances. And neither you nor I nor anyone has the right to +condemn millions upon millions of others to death through war or +disease." + +"I know," Harry said. "It's hopeless, I guess. All the same, I want +out." He wet his lips. "Frazer, you're on the Board here. You've got +connections higher up. If I could only get a chance to transfer to Ag +Culture, go on one of those farms as a worker--" + +Frazer shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. You know the situation there, +I'm sure. Right now there's roughly ninety million approved +applications on file. Everybody wants to get into Ag Culture." + +"But couldn't I just buy some land, get a government contract for +foodstuffs?" + +"Have you got the bucks? A minimum forty acres leased from one of the +farm corporations will cost you two hundred thousand at the very +least, not counting equipment." He paused. "Besides, there's +Vocational Apt. What did your tests show?" + +"You're right," Harry said. "I'm supposed to be an agency man. An +agency man until I die. Or retire on my pension, at fifty, and sit in +my little room for the next fifty years, turning on the telescreen +every morning to hear some loudmouthed liar tell me it's a beautiful +day in Chicagee. Who knows, maybe by that time we'll have a hundred +billion people enjoying peace and progress and prosperity. All sitting +in little rooms and--" + +"Watch out!" Frazer grabbed the wheel. "You nearly hit that truck." He +waited until Harry's face relaxed before relinquishing his grip. +"Harry, you'd better go in for a checkup. It isn't just a headache +with you, is it?" + +"You're not fooling," Harry told him. "It isn't just a headache." + +He began to think about what it _really_ was, and that helped a +little. It helped him get through the worst part, which was the +downtown traffic and letting Frazer off and listening to Frazer urge +him to see a doctor. + +Then he got to the building parking area and let them take his car +away and bury it down in the droning darkness where the horns hooted +and the headlights glared. + +Harry climbed the ramp and mingled with the ten-thirty shift on its +way up to the elevators. Eighteen elevators in his building, to serve +eighty floors. Nine of the elevators were express to the fiftieth +floor, three were express to sixty-five. He wanted one of the latter, +and so did the mob. The crushing, clinging mob. They pressed and +panted the way mobs always do; mobs that lynch and torture and dance +around bonfires and guillotines and try to drag you down to trample +you to death because they can't stand you if your name is Harry and +you want to be different. + +They hate you because you don't like powdered eggs and the telescreen +and a beautiful day in Chicagee. And they stare at you because your +forehead hurts and the muscle in your jaw twitches and they know you +want to scream as you go up, up, up, and try to think why you get a +headache from jerking your head to the left. + +Then Harry was at the office door and they said good morning when he +came in, all eighty of the typists in the outer office working their +electronic machines and offering him their electronic smiles, +including the girl he had made electronic love to last Saturday night +and who wanted him to move into a two-room marriage and have children, +lots of children who could enjoy peace and progress and prosperity. + + * * * * * + +Harry snapped out of it, going down the corridor. Only a few steps +more and he'd be safe in his office, his own private office, almost as +big as his apartment. And there would be liquor, and the yellowjackets +in the drawer. That would help. Then he could get to work. + +What was today's assignment? He tried to remember. It was +Wilmer-Klibby, wasn't it? Telescreenads for Wilmer-Klibby, makers of +window-glass. + +_Window-glass._ + +He opened his office door and then slammed it shut behind him. For a +minute everything blurred, and then he could remember. + +Now he knew what caused him to jerk his head, what gave him the +headaches when he did so. Of course. That was it. + +When he sat down at the table for breakfast in the morning he turned +his head to the left because he'd always done so, ever since he was a +little boy. A little boy, in what was then Wheaton, sitting at the +breakfast table and looking out of the window. Looking out at summer +sunshine, spring rain, autumn haze, the white wonder of newfallen +snow. + +He'd never broken himself of the habit. He still looked to the left +every morning, just as he had today. But there was no window any more. +There was only a blank wall. And beyond it, the smog and the clamor +and the crowds. + +_Window-glass._ Wilmer-Klibby had problems. Nobody was buying +window-glass any more. Nobody except the people who put up buildings +like this. There were still windows on the top floors, just like the +window here in his office. + +Harry stepped over to it, moving very slowly because of his head. It +hurt to keep his eyes open, but he wanted to stare out of the window. +Up this high you could see above the smog. You could see the sun like +a radiant jewel packed in the cotton cumulus of clouds. If you opened +the window you could feel fresh air against your forehead, you could +breathe it in and breathe out the headache. + +But you didn't dare look down. Oh, no, never look _down_, because then +you'd see the buildings all around you. The buildings below, black and +sooty, their jagged outlines like the stumps of rotten teeth. And they +stretched off in all directions, as far as the eye could attain; row +after row of rotten teeth grinning up from the smog-choked throat of +the streets. From the maw of the city far below came this faint but +endless howling, this screaming of traffic and toil. And you couldn't +help it, you breathed _that_ in too, along with the fresh air, and it +poisoned you and it did more than make your head ache. It made your +heart ache and it made your soul sick, and it made you close your eyes +and your lungs and your brain against it. + +Harry reeled, but he knew this was the only way. _Close your brain +against it._ And then, when you opened your eyes again, maybe you +could see the way things used to be-- + +It was snowing out and it was a _wet_ snow, the very best kind for +snowballs and making a snowman, and the whole gang would come out +after school. + +But there was no school, this was Saturday, and the leaves were russet +and gold and red so that it looked as if all the trees in the world +were on fire. And you could scuff when you walked and pile up fallen +leaves from the grass and roll in them. + +And it was swell to roll down the front lawn in summer, just roll +right down to the edge of the sidewalk like it was a big hill and let +Daddy catch you at the bottom, laughing. + +Mamma laughed too, and she said, _Look, it's springtime, the lilacs +are out, do you want to touch the pretty lilacs, Harry?_ + +And Harry didn't quite understand what she was saying, but he reached +out and they were purple and smelled of rain and soft sweetness and +they were just beyond the window, if he reached a little further he +could touch them-- + +And then the snow and the leaves and the grass and the lilacs +disappeared, and Harry could see the rotten teeth again, leering and +looming and snapping at him. They were going to bite, they were going +to chew, they were going to devour, and he couldn't stop them, +couldn't stop himself. He was falling into the howling jaws of the +city. + +His last conscious effort was a desperate attempt to gulp fresh air +into his lungs before he pinwheeled down. Fresh air was good for +headaches.... + + + + +2. Harry Collins--1998 + + +It took them ten seconds to save Harry from falling, but it took him +over ten weeks to regain his balance. + +In fact, well over two months had passed before he could fully realize +just what had happened, or where he was now. They must have noticed +something was wrong with him that morning at the office, because two +supervisors and an exec rushed in and caught him just as he was going +out of the window. And then they had sent him away, sent him _here_. + +"This is fine," he told Dr. Manschoff. "If I'd known how well they +treated you, I'd have gone couch-happy years ago." + +Dr. Manschoff's plump face was impassive, but the little laugh-lines +deepened around the edges of his eyes. "Maybe that's why we take such +care not to publicize our recent advances in mental therapy," he said. +"Everybody would want to get into a treatment center, and then where +would we be?" + +Harry nodded, staring past the doctor's shoulder, staring out of the +wide window at the broad expanse of rolling countryside beyond. + +"I still don't understand, though," he murmured. "How can you possibly +manage to maintain an institution like this, with all the space and +the luxuries? The inmates seem to lead a better life than the adjusted +individuals outside. It's topsy-turvy." + +"Perhaps." Dr. Manschoff's fingers formed a pudgy steeple. "But then, +so many things seem to be topsy-turvy nowadays, don't they? Wasn't it +the realization of this fact which precipitated your own recent +difficulties?" + +"Almost precipitated me bodily out of that window," Harry admitted, +cheerfully. "And that's another thing. I was sent here, I suppose, +because I'd attempted suicide, gone into shock, temporary amnesia, +something like that." + +"Something like that," the doctor echoed, contemplating his steeple. + +"But you didn't give me any treatment," Harry continued. "Oh, I was +kept under sedation for a while, I realize that. And you and some of +the other staff-members talked to me. But mainly I just rested in a +nice big room and ate nice big meals." + +"So?" The steeple's fleshy spire collapsed. + +"So what I want to know is, when does the real treatment start? When +do I go into analysis, or chemotherapy, and all that?" + +Dr. Manschoff shrugged. "Do you think you need those things now?" + +Harry gazed out at the sunlight beyond the window, half-squinting and +half-frowning. "No, come to think of it, I don't believe I do. I feel +better now than I have in years." + +His companion leaned back. "Meaning that for years you felt all wrong. +Because you were constricted, physically, psychically, and +emotionally. You were cramped, squeezed in a vise until the pressure +became intolerable. But now that pressure has been removed. As a +result you no longer suffer, and there is no need to seek escape in +death or denial of identity. + +"This radical change of attitude has been brought about here in just a +little more than two months' time. And yet you're asking me when the +'real treatment' begins." + +"I guess I've already had the real treatment then, haven't I?" + +"That is correct. Prolonged analysis or drastic therapy is +unnecessary. We've merely given you what you seemed to need." + +"I'm very grateful," Harry said. "But how can you afford to do it?" + +Dr. Manschoff built another temple to an unknown god. He inspected the +architecture critically now as he spoke. "Because your problem is a +rarity," he said. + +"Rarity? I'd have thought millions of people would be breaking down +every month. The Naturalists say--" + +The doctor nodded wearily. "I know what they say. But let's dismiss +rumors and consider facts. Have you ever read any _official_ report +stating that the number of cases of mental illness ran into the +millions?" + +"No, I haven't." + +"For that matter, do you happen to know of _anyone_ who was ever sent +to a treatment center such as this?" + +"Well, of course, everybody goes in to see the medics for regular +check-ups and this includes an interview with a psych. But if they're +in bad shape he just puts them on extra tranquilizers. I guess +sometimes he reviews their Vocational Apt tests and shifts them over +into different jobs in other areas." + +Dr. Manschoff bowed his head in reverence above the steeple, as if +satisfied with the labors he had wrought. "That is roughly correct. +And I believe, if you search your memory, you won't recall even a +mention of a treatment center. This sort of place is virtually +extinct, nowadays. There are still some institutions for those +suffering from functional mental disorders--paresis, senile dementia, +congenital abnormalities. But regular check-ups and preventative +therapy take care of the great majority. We've ceased concentrating on +the result of mental illnesses and learned to attack the causes. + +"It's the old yellow fever problem all over again, you see. Once upon +a time, physicians dealt exclusively with treatment of yellow fever +patients. Then they shifted their attention to the _source_ of the +disease. They went after the mosquitoes, drained the swamps, and the +yellow fever problem vanished. + +"That's been our approach in recent years. We've developed _social_ +therapy, and so the need for individual therapy has diminished. + +"What were the sources of the tensions producing mental disturbances? +Physical and financial insecurity, the threat of war, the aggressive +patterns of a competitive society, the unresolved Oedipus-situation +rooted in the old-style family relationship. These were the swamps +where the mosquitoes buzzed and bit. Most of the swamps have been +dredged, most of the insects exterminated. + +"Today we're moving into a social situation where nobody goes hungry, +nobody is jobless or unprovided for, nobody needs to struggle for +status. Vocational Apt determines a man's rightful place and function +in society, and there's no longer the artificial distinction imposed +by race, color or creed. War is a thing of the past. Best of all, the +old-fashioned 'home-life,' with all of its unhealthy emotional ties, +is being replaced by sensible conditioning when a child reaches school +age. The umbilical cord is no longer a permanent leash, a strangler's +noose, or a silver-plated life-line stretching back to the womb." + +Harry Collins nodded. "I suppose only the exceptional cases ever need +to go to a treatment center like this." + +"Exactly." + +"But what makes _me_ one of the exceptions? Is it because of the way +the folks brought me up, in a small town, with all the old-fashioned +books and everything? Is that why I hated confinement and conformity +so much? Is it because of all the years I spent reading? And why--" + +Dr. Manschoff stood up. "You tempt me," he said. "You tempt me +strongly. As you can see, I dearly love a lecture--and a captive +audience. But right now, the audience must not remain captive. I +prescribe an immediate dose of freedom." + + * * * * * + +"You mean I'm to leave here?" + +"Is that what you want to do?" + +"Frankly, no. Not if it means going back to my job." + +"That hasn't been decided upon. We can discuss the problem later, and +perhaps we can go into the answers to those questions you just posed. +But at the moment, I'd suggest you stay with us, though without the +restraint of remaining in your room or in the wards. In other words, I +want you to start going outside again." + +"Outside?" + +"You'll find several square miles of open country just beyond the +doors here. You're at liberty to wander around and enjoy yourself. +Plenty of fresh air and sunshine--come and go as you wish. I've +already issued instructions which permit you to keep your own hours. +Meals will be available when you desire them." + +"You're very kind." + +"Nonsense. I'm prescribing what you need. And when the time comes, +we'll arrange to talk again. You know where to find me." + +Dr. Manschoff dismantled his steeple and placed a half of the roof in +each trouser-pocket. + +And Harry Collins went outdoors. + +It was wonderful just to be free and alone--like returning to that +faraway childhood in Wheaton once again. Harry appreciated every +minute of it during the first week of his wandering. + +But Harry wasn't a child any more, and after a week he began to wonder +instead of wander. + +The grounds around the treatment center were more than spacious; they +seemed absolutely endless. No matter how far he walked during the +course of a day, Harry had never encountered any walls, fences or +artificial barriers; there was nothing to stay his progress but the +natural barriers of high, steeply-slanting precipices which seemed to +rim all sides of a vast valley. Apparently the center itself was set +in the middle of a large canyon--a canyon big enough to contain an +airstrip for helicopter landings. The single paved road leading from +the main buildings terminated at the airstrip, and Harry saw +helicopters arrive and depart from time to time; apparently they +brought in food and supplies. + +As for the center itself, it consisted of four large structures, two +of which Harry was familiar with. The largest was made up of +apartments for individual patients, and staffed by nurses and +attendants. Harry's own room was here, on the second floor, and from +the beginning he'd been allowed to roam around the communal halls +below at will. + +The second building was obviously administrative--Dr. Manschoff's +private office was situated therein, and presumably the other +staff-members operated out of here. + +The other two buildings were apparently inaccessible; not guarded or +policed or even distinguished by signs prohibiting access, but merely +locked and unused. At least, Harry had found the doors locked +when--out of normal curiosity--he had ventured to approach them. Nor +had he ever seen anyone enter or leave the premises. Perhaps these +structures were unnecessary under the present circumstances, and had +been built for future accommodations. + +Still, Harry couldn't help wondering. + +And now, on this particular afternoon, he sat on the bank of the +little river which ran through the valley, feeling the mid-summer sun +beating down upon his forehead and staring down at the eddying current +with its ripples and reflections. + +_Ripples and reflections...._ + +Dr. Manschoff had answered his questions well, yet new questions had +arisen. + +Most people didn't go crazy any more, the doctor had explained, and so +there were very few treatment centers such as this. + +_Question: Why were there any at all?_ + +A place like this cost a fortune to staff and maintain. In an age +where living-space and areable acreage was at such a premium, why +waste this vast and fertile expanse? And in a society more and more +openly committed to the policy of promoting the greatest good for the +greatest number, why bother about the fate of an admittedly +insignificant group of mentally disturbed patients? + +Not that Harry resented his situation; in fact, it was almost too good +to be true. + +_Question: Was it too good to be true?_ + +Why, come to realize it, he'd seen less than a dozen other patients +during his entire stay here! All of them were male, and all of +them--apparently--were recovering from a condition somewhat similar to +his own. At least, he'd recognized the same reticence and diffidence +when it came to exchanging more than a perfunctory greeting in an +encounter in an outer corridor. At the time, he'd accepted their +unwillingness to communicate; welcomed and understood it because of +_his_ condition. And that in itself wasn't what he questioned now. + +But why were there so _few_ patients beside himself? Why were they all +males? And why weren't _they_ roaming the countryside now the way he +was? + +So many staff-members and so few patients. So much room and luxury and +freedom, and so little use of it. So little apparent purpose to it +all. + +_Question: Was there a hidden purpose?_ + +Harry stared down into the ripples and reflections, and the sun was +suddenly intolerably hot, its glare on the water suddenly blinding and +bewildering. He saw his face mirrored on the water's surface, and it +was not the familiar countenance he knew--the features were bloated, +distorted, shimmering and wavering. + +Maybe it was starting all over again. Maybe he was getting another one +of those headaches. Maybe he was going to lose control again. + + * * * * * + +Yes, and maybe he was just imagining things. Sitting here in all this +heat wasn't a good idea. + +Why not take a swim? + +That seemed reasonable enough. In fact, it seemed like a delightful +distraction. Harry rose and stripped. He entered the water +awkwardly--one didn't dive, not after twenty years of abstinence from +the outdoor life--but he found that he could swim, after a fashion. +The water was cooling, soothing. A few minutes of immersion and Harry +found himself forgetting his speculations. The uneasy feeling had +vanished. Now, when he stared down into the water, he saw his own face +reflected, looking just the way it should. And when he stared up-- + +He saw her standing there, on the bank. + +She was tall, slim, and blonde. Very tall, very slim, and very blonde. + +She was also very desirable. + +Up until a moment ago, Harry had considered swimming a delightful +distraction. But now-- + +"How's the water?" she called. + +"Fine." + +She nodded, smiling down at him. + +"Aren't you coming in?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Then what are you doing here?" + +"I was looking for you, Harry." + +"You know my name?" + +She nodded again. "Dr. Manschoff told me." + +"You mean, he sent you here to find me?" + +"That's right." + +"But I don't understand. If you're not going swimming, then why--I +mean--" + +Her smile broadened. "It's just part of the therapy, Harry." + +"Part of the therapy?" + +"That's right. _Part._" She giggled. "Don't you think you'd like to +come out of the water now and see what the rest of it might be?" + +Harry thought so. + + * * * * * + +With mounting enthusiasm, he eagerly embraced his treatment and +entered into a state of active cooperation. + +It was some time before he ventured to comment on the situation. +"Manschoff is a damned good diagnostician," he murmured. Then he sat +up. "Are you a patient here?" + +She shook her head. "Don't ask questions, Harry. Can't you be +satisfied with things as they are?" + +"You're just what the doctor ordered, all right." He gazed down at +her. "But don't you even have a name?" + +"You can call me Sue." + +"Thank you." + +He bent to kiss her but she avoided him and rose to her feet. "Got to +go now." + +"So soon?" + +She nodded and moved towards the bushes above the bank. + +"But when will I see you again?" + +"Coming swimming tomorrow?" + +"Yes." + +"Maybe I can get away for more occupational therapy then." + +She stooped behind the bushes, and Harry saw a flash of white. + +"You _are_ a nurse, aren't you," he muttered. "On the staff, I +suppose. I should have known." + +"All right, so I am. What's that got to do with it?" + +"And I suppose you were telling the truth when you said Manschoff sent +you here. This _is_ just part of my therapy, isn't it?" + +She nodded briefly as she slipped into her uniform. "Does that bother +you, Harry?" + +He bit his lip. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Yes, damn it, it +does. I mean, I got the idea--at least, I was hoping--that this wasn't +just a matter of carrying out an assignment on your part." + +She looked up at him gravely. "Who said anything about an assignment, +darling?" she murmured. "I volunteered." + +And then she was gone. + +Then she was gone, and then she came back that night in Harry's +dreams, and then she was at the river the next day and it was better +than the dreams, better than the day before. + +Sue told him she had been watching him for weeks now. And she had gone +to Manschoff and suggested it, and she was very glad. And they had to +meet here, out in the open, so as not to complicate the situation or +disturb any of the other patients. + +So Harry naturally asked her about the other patients, and the whole +general setup, and she said Dr. Manschoff would answer all those +questions in due time. But right now, with only an hour or so to +spare, was he going to spend it all asking for information? Matters +were accordingly adjusted to their mutual satisfaction, and it was on +that basis that they continued their almost daily meetings for some +time. + +The next few months were perhaps the happiest Harry had ever known. +The whole interval took on a dreamlike quality--idealized, +romanticized, yet basically sensual. There is probably such a dream +buried deep within the psyche of every man, Harry reflected, but to +few is it ever given to realize its reality. His early questioning +attitude gave way to a mood of mere acceptance and enjoyment. This was +the primitive drama, the very essence of the male-female relationship; +Adam and Eve in the Garden. Why waste time seeking the Tree of +Knowledge? + +And it wasn't until summer passed that Harry even thought about the +Serpent. + +One afternoon, as he sat waiting for Sue on the river bank, he heard a +sudden movement in the brush behind him. + +"Darling?" he called, eagerly. + +"Please, you don't know me _that_ well." The deep masculine voice +carried overtones of amusement. + +Flushing, Harry turned to confront the intruder. He was a short, +stocky, middle-aged man whose bristling gray crewcut almost matched +the neutral shades of his gray orderly's uniform. + +"Expecting someone else, were you?" the man muttered. "Well, I'll get +out of your way." + +"That's not necessary. I was really just daydreaming, I guess. I don't +know what made me think--" Harry felt his flush deepen, and he lowered +his eyes and his voice as he tried to improvise some excuse. + +"You're a lousy liar," the man said, stepping forward and seating +himself on the bank next to Harry. "But it doesn't really matter. I +don't think your girl friend is going to show up today, anyway." + +"What do you mean? What do you know about--" + +"I mean just what I said," the man told him. "And I know everything I +need to know, about you and about her and about the situation in +general. That's why I'm here, Collins." + +He paused, watching the play of emotions in Harry's eyes. + +"I know what you're thinking right now," the gray-haired man +continued. "At first you wondered how I knew your name. Then you +realized that if I was on the staff in the wards I'd naturally be able +to identify the patients. Now it occurs to you that you've never seen +me in the wards, so you're speculating as to whether or not I'm +working out of the administration offices with that psychiatric no +good Manschoff. But if I were, I wouldn't be calling him names, would +I? Which means you're really getting confused, aren't you, Collins? +Good!" + + * * * * * + +The man chuckled, but there was neither mockery, malice, nor genuine +mirth in the sound. And his eyes were sober, intent. + +"Who are you?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here?" + +"The name is Ritchie, Arnold Ritchie. At least, that's the name they +know me by around here, and you can call me that. As to what I'm +doing, it's a long story. Let's just say that right now I'm here to +give you a little advanced therapy." + +"Then Manschoff did send you?" + +The chuckle came again, and Ritchie shook his head. "He did not. And +if he even suspected I was here, there'd be hell to pay." + +"Then what do you want with me?" + +"It isn't a question of what I want. It's a question of what _you +need_. Which is, like I said, advanced therapy. The sort that dear old +kindly permissive Father-Image Manschoff doesn't intend you to get." + +Harry stood up. "What's this all about?" + +Ritchie rose with him, smiling for the first time. "I'm glad you asked +that question, Collins. It's about time you did, you know. Everything +has been so carefully planned to keep you from asking it. But you +_were_ beginning to wonder just a bit anyway, weren't you?" + +"I don't see what you're driving at." + +"You don't see what anyone is driving at, Collins. You've been blinded +by a spectacular display of kindness, misdirected by self-indulgence. +I told you I knew everything I needed to know about you, and I do. Now +I'm going to ask you to remember these things for yourself; the things +you've avoided considering all this while. + +"I'm going to ask you to remember that you're twenty-eight years old, +and that for almost seven years you were an agency man and a good one. +You worked hard, you did a conscientious job, you stayed in line, +obeyed the rules, never rebelled. Am I correct in my summary of the +situation?" + +"Yes, I guess so." + +"So what was your reward for all this unceasing effort and eternal +conformity? A one-room apartment and a one-week vacation, once a year. +Count your blessings, Collins. Am I right?" + +"Right." + +"Then what happened? Finally you flipped, didn't you? Tried to take a +header out of the window. You chucked your job, chucked your +responsibilities, chucked your future and attempted to chuck yourself +away. Am I still right?" + +"Yes." + +"Good enough. And now we come to the interesting part of the story. +Seven years of being a good little boy got you nothing but the promise +of present and future frustration. Seven seconds of madness, of +attempted self-destruction, brought you here. And as a reward for +bucking the system, the system itself has provided you with a life of +luxury and leisure--full permission to come and go as you please, live +in spacious ease, indulge in the gratification of every appetite, free +of responsibility or restraint. Is that true?" + +"I suppose so." + +"All right. Now, let me ask you the question you asked me. What's it +all about?" + +Ritchie put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Tell me that, Collins. Why +do you suppose you've received such treatment? As long as you stayed +in line, nobody gave a damn for your comfort or welfare. Then, when +you committed the cardinal sin of our present-day society--when you +rebelled--everything was handed to you on a silver platter. Does that +make sense?" + +"But it's therapy. Dr. Manschoff said--" + +"Look, Collins. Millions of people flip every year. Millions more +attempt suicide. How many of them end up in a place like this?" + +"They don't, though. That's just Naturalist propaganda. Dr. Manschoff +said--" + +"_Dr. Manschoff said!_ I know what he said, all right. And you +believed him, because you wanted to believe him. You wanted the +reassurance he could offer you--the feeling of being unique and +important. So you didn't ask him any questions, you didn't ask any +questions of yourself. Such as why anybody would consider an +insignificant little agency man, without friends, family or +connections, worth the trouble of rehabilitating at all, let alone +amidst such elaborate and expensive surroundings. Why, men like you +are a dime a dozen these days--Vocational Apt can push a few buttons +and come up with half a million replacements to take over your job. +You aren't important to society, Collins. You aren't important to +anyone at all, besides yourself. And yet you got the red-carpet +treatment. It's about time somebody yanked that carpet out from under +you. What's it all about?" + +Harry blinked. "Look here, I don't see why this is any of your +business. Besides, to tell the truth, I'm expecting--" + +"I know who you're expecting, but I've already told you she won't be +here. Because she's expecting." + +"What--?" + +"It's high time you learned the facts of life, Collins. Yes, the +well-known facts of life--the ones about the birds and the bees, and +barefoot boys and blondes, too. Your little friend Sue is going to +have a souvenir." + +"I don't believe it! I'm going to ask Dr. Manschoff." + +"Sure you are. You'll ask Manschoff and he'll deny it. And so you'll +tell him about me. You'll say you met somebody in the woods +today--either a lunatic or a Naturalist spy who infiltrated here under +false pretenses. And Manschoff will reassure you. He'll reassure you +just long enough to get his hands on me. Then he'll take care of both +of us." + +"Are you insinuating--" + +"Hell, no! I'm _telling_ you!" Ritchie put his hand down suddenly, and +his voice calmed. "Ever wonder about those other two big buildings on +the premises here, Collins? Well, I can tell you about one of them, +because that's where I work. You might call it an experimental +laboratory if you like. Sometime later on I'll describe it to you. But +right now it's the other building that's important; the building with +the big chimney. That's a kind of an incinerator, Collins--a place +where the mistakes go up in smoke, at night, when there's nobody to +see. A place where you and I will go up in smoke, if you're fool +enough to tell Manschoff about this." + +"You're lying." + +"I wish to God I was, for both our sakes! But I can prove what I'm +saying. _You_ can prove it, for yourself." + +"How?" + +"Pretend this meeting never occurred. Pretend that you just spent the +afternoon here, waiting for a girl who never showed up. Then do +exactly what you would do under those circumstances. Go in to see Dr. +Manschoff and ask him where Sue is, tell him you were worried because +she'd promised to meet you and then didn't appear. + +"I can tell you right now what he'll tell you. He'll say that Sue has +been transferred to another treatment center, that she knew about it +for several weeks but didn't want to upset you with the news of her +departure. So she decided to just slip away. And Manschoff will tell +you not to be unhappy. It just so happens that he knows of another +nurse who has had her eye on you--a very pretty little brunette named +Myrna. In fact, if you go down to the river tomorrow, you'll find her +waiting for you there." + +"What if I refuse?" + +Ritchie shrugged. "Why should you refuse? It's all fun and games, +isn't it? Up to now you haven't asked any questions about what was +going on, and it would look very strange if you started at this late +date. I strongly advise you to cooperate. If not, everything is likely +to--quite literally--go up in smoke." + +Harry Collins frowned. "All right, suppose I do what you say, and +Manschoff gives me the answers you predict. This still doesn't prove +that he'd be lying or that you're telling me the truth." + +"Wouldn't it indicate as much, though?" + +"Perhaps. But on the other hand, it could merely mean that you know +Sue _has_ been transferred, and that Dr. Manschoff intends to turn me +over to a substitute. It doesn't necessarily imply anything sinister." + +"In other words, you're insisting on a clincher, is that it?" + +"Yes." + +"All right." Ritchie sighed heavily. "You asked for it." He reached +into the left-hand upper pocket of the gray uniform and brought out a +small, stiff square of glossy paper. + +"What's that?" Harry asked. He reached for the paper, but Ritchie drew +his hand back. + +"Look at it over my shoulder," he said. "I don't want any +fingerprints. Hell of a risky business just smuggling it out of the +files--no telling how well they check up on this material." + + * * * * * + +Harry circled behind the smaller man. He squinted down. "Hard to +read." + +"Sure. It's a photostat. I made it myself, this morning; that's my +department. Read carefully now. You'll see it's a transcript of the +lab report. Susan Pulver, that's her name, isn't it? After due +examination and upon completion of preliminary tests, hereby found to +be in the second month of pregnancy. Putative father, Harry +Collins--that's you, see your name? And here's the rest of the +record." + +"Yes, let me see it. What's all this about inoculation series? And who +is this Dr. Leffingwell?" Harry bent closer, but Ritchie closed his +hand around the photostat and pocketed it again. + +"Never mind that, now. I'll tell you later. The important thing is, do +you believe me?" + +"I believe Sue is pregnant, yes." + +"That's enough. Enough for you to do what I've asked you to. Go to +Manschoff and make inquiries. See what he tells you. Don't make a +scene, and for God's sake don't mention my name. Just confirm my story +for yourself. Then I'll give you further details." + +"But when will I see you?" + +"Tomorrow afternoon, if you like. Right here." + +"You said he'd be sending another girl--" + +Ritchie nodded. "So I did. And so he'll say. I suggest you beg to be +excused for the moment. Tell him it will take a while for you to get +over the shock of losing Sue this way." + +"I won't be lying," Harry murmured. + +"I know. And I'm sorry. Believe me, I am." Ritchie sighed again. "But +you'll just have to trust me from now on." + +"Trust you? When you haven't even explained what this is all about?" + +"You've had your shock-therapy for today. Come back for another +treatment tomorrow." + +And then Ritchie was gone, the gray uniform melting away into the gray +shadows of the shrubbery above the bank. + +A short time later, Harry made his own way back to the center in the +gathering twilight. The dusk was gray, too. Everything seemed gray +now. + +So was Harry Collins' face, when he emerged from his interview with +Dr. Manschoff that evening. And it was still pallid the next afternoon +when he came down to the river bank and waited for Ritchie to +reappear. + +The little man emerged from the bushes. He stared at Harry's drawn +countenance and nodded slowly. + +"I was right, eh?" he muttered. + +"It looks that way. But I can't understand what's going on. If this +isn't just a treatment center, if they're not really interested in my +welfare, then what am I doing here?" + +"You're taking part in an experiment. This, my friend, is a +laboratory. And you are a nice, healthy guinea pig." + +"But that doesn't make sense. I haven't been experimented on. They've +let me do as I please." + +"Exactly. And what do guinea pigs excel at? _Breeding._" + +"You mean this whole thing was rigged up just so that Sue and I +would--?" + +"Please, let's not be so egocentric, shall we? After all, you're not +the _only_ male patient in this place. There are a dozen others +wandering around loose. Some of them have their favorite caves, others +have discovered little bypaths, but all of them seem to have located +ideal trysting-places. Whereupon, of course, the volunteer nurses have +located _them_." + +"Are you telling me the same situation exists with each of the +others?" + +"Isn't it fairly obvious? You've shown no inclination to become +friendly with the rest of the patients here, and none of them have +made any overtures to you. That's because everyone has his own little +secret, his own private arrangement. And so all of you go around +fooling everybody else, and all of you are being fooled. I'll give +credit to Manschoff and his staff on that point--he's certainly +mastered the principles of practical psychology." + +"But you talked about breeding. With our present overpopulation +problem, why in the world do they deliberately encourage the birth of +more children?" + +"Very well put. 'Why in the world' indeed! In order to answer that, +you'd better take a good look at the world." + +Arnold Ritchie seated himself on the grass, pulled out a pipe, and +then replaced it hastily. "Better not smoke," he murmured. "Be awkward +if we attracted any attention and were found together." + + * * * * * + +Harry stared at him. "You _are_ a Naturalist, aren't you?" + +"I'm a reporter, by profession." + +"Which network?" + +"No network. _Newzines._ There are still a few in print, you know." + +"I know. But I can't afford them." + +"There aren't many left who can, or who even feel the need of reading +them. Nevertheless, mavericks like myself still cling to the ancient +and honorable practices of the Fourth Estate. One of which is +ferreting out the inside story, the news behind the news." + +"Then you're not working for the Naturalists." + +"Of course I am. I'm working for them and for everybody else who has +an interest in learning the truth." Ritchie paused. "By the way, you +keep using that term as if it were some kind of dirty word. Just what +does it mean? What _is_ a Naturalist, in your book?" + +"Why, a radical thinker, of course. An opponent of government +policies, of progress. One who believes we're running out of living +space, using up the last of our natural resources." + +"What do you suppose motivates Naturalists, really?" + +"Well, they can't stand the pressures of daily living, or the +prospects of a future when we'll be still more hemmed in." + +Ritchie nodded. "Any more than you could, a few months ago, when you +tried to commit suicide. Wouldn't you say that _you_ were thinking +like a Naturalist then?" + +Harry grimaced. "I suppose so." + +"Don't feel ashamed. You saw the situation clearly, just as the +so-called Naturalists do. And just as the government does. Only the +government can't dare admit it--hence the secrecy behind this +project." + +"A hush-hush government plan to stimulate further breeding? I still +don't see--" + +"Look at the world," Ritchie repeated. "Look at it realistically. +What's the situation at present? Population close to six billion, and +rising fast. There was a leveling-off period in the Sixties, and then +it started to climb again. No wars, no disease to cut it down. The +development of synthetic foods, the use of algae and fungi, rules out +famine as a limiting factor. Increased harnessing of atomic power has +done away with widespread poverty, so there's no economic deterrent to +propagation. Neither church nor state dares set up a legal +prohibition. So here we are, at the millennium. In place of +international tension we've substituted internal tension. In place of +thermonuclear explosion, we have a population explosion." + +"You make it look pretty grim." + +"I'm just talking about today. What happens ten years from now, when +we hit a population-level of ten billion? What happens when we reach +twenty billion, fifty billion, a hundred? Don't talk to me about more +substitutes, more synthetics, new ways of conserving top-soil. There +just isn't going to be _room_ for everyone!" + +"Then what's the answer?" + +"That's what the government wants to know. Believe me, they've done a +lot of searching; most of it _sub rosa_. And then along came this man +Leffingwell, with _his_ solution. That's just what it is, of +course--an endocrinological solution, for direct injection." + +"Leffingwell? The Dr. Leffingwell whose name was on that photostat? +What's he got to do with all this?" + +"He's boss of this project," Ritchie said. "He's the one who persuaded +them to set up a breeding-center. You're _his_ guinea pig." + +"But why all the secrecy?" + +"That's what I wanted to know. That's why I scurried around, pulled +strings to get a lab technician's job here. It wasn't easy, believe +me. The whole deal is being kept strictly under wraps until +Leffingwell's experiments prove out. They realized right away that it +would be fatal to use volunteers for the experiments--they'd be bound +to talk, there'd be leaks. And of course, they anticipated some +awkward results at first, until the technique is refined and +perfected. Well, they were right on that score. I've seen some of +their failures." Ritchie shuddered. "Any volunteer--any military man, +government employee or even a so-called dedicated scientist who broke +away would spread enough rumors about what was going on to kill the +entire project. That's why they decided to use mental patients for +subjects. God knows, they had millions to choose from, but they were +very particular. You're a rare specimen, Collins." + +"How so?" + +"Because you happen to fit all their specifications. You're young, in +good physical condition. Unlike ninety percent of the population, you +don't even wear contact lenses, do you? And your aberration was +temporary, easily removed by removing you from the tension-sources +which created it. You have no family ties, no close friends, to +question your absence. That's why you were chosen--one of the two +hundred." + +"Two hundred? But there's only a dozen others here now." + +"A dozen males, yes. You're forgetting the females. Must be about +fifty or sixty in the other building." + +"But if you're talking about someone like Sue, she's a nurse--" + +Ritchie shook his head. "That's what she was _told_ to say. Actually, +she's a patient, too. They're all patients. Twelve men and sixty +women, at the moment. Originally, about thirty men and a hundred and +seventy women." + +"What happened to the others?" + +"I told you there were some failures. Many of the women died in +childbirth. Some of them survived, but found out about the +results--and the results, up until now, haven't been perfect. A few of +the men found out, too. Well, they have only one method of dealing +with failures here. They dispose of them. I told you about that +chimney, didn't I?" + +"You mean they killed the offspring, killed those who found out about +them?" + +Ritchie shrugged. + +"But what are they actually _doing_? Who is this Dr. Leffingwell? +What's it all about?" + +"I think I can answer those questions for you." + +Harry wheeled at the sound of the familiar voice. + +Dr. Manschoff beamed down at him from the top of the river bank. +"Don't be alarmed," he said. "I wasn't following you with any intent +to eavesdrop. I was merely concerned about him." His eyes flickered as +he directed his gaze past Harry's shoulder, and Harry turned again to +look at Arnold Ritchie. + + * * * * * + +The little man was no longer standing and he was no longer alone. Two +attendants now supported him, one on either side, and Ritchie himself +sagged against their grip with eyes closed. A hypodermic needle in one +attendant's hand indicated the reason for Ritchie's sudden collapse. + +"Merely a heavy sedative," Dr. Manschoff murmured. "We came prepared, +in expectation of just such an emergency." He nodded at his +companions. "Better take him back now," he said. "I'll look in on him +this evening, when he comes out of it." + +"Sorry about all this," Manschoff continued, sitting down next to +Harry as the orderlies lifted Ritchie's inert form and carried him up +the slanting slope. "It's entirely my fault. I misjudged my +patient--never should have permitted him such a degree of freedom. +Obviously, he's not ready for it yet. I do hope he didn't upset you in +any way." + +"No. He seemed quite"--Harry hesitated, then went on +hastily--"logical." + +"Indeed he is." Dr. Manschoff smiled. "Paranoid delusions, as they +used to call them, can often be rationalized most convincingly. And +from what little I heard, he was doing an excellent job, wasn't he?" + +"Well--" + +"I know." A slight sigh erased the smile. "Leffingwell and I are mad +scientists, conducting biological experiments on human guinea pigs. +We've assembled patients for breeding purposes and the government is +secretly subsidizing us. Also, we incinerate our victims--again, with +full governmental permission. All very logical, isn't it?" + +"I didn't mean that," Harry told him. "It's just that he said Sue was +pregnant and he was hinting things." + +"Said?" Manschoff stood up. "_Hinted?_ I'm surprised he didn't go +further than that. Just today, we discovered he'd been using the +office facilities--he had a sort of probationary position, as you may +have guessed, helping out the staff in administration--to provide +tangible proof of his artistic creations. He was writing out 'official +reports' and then photostating them. Apparently he intended to +circulate the results as 'evidence' to support his delusions. Look, +here's a sample." + +Dr. Manschoff passed a square of glossy paper to Harry, who scanned it +quickly. It was another laboratory report similar to the one Ritchie +had shown him, but containing a different set of names. + +"No telling how long this sort of thing has been going on," Manschoff +said. "He may have made dozens. Naturally, the moment we discovered +it, we realized prompt action was necessary. He'll need special +attention." + +"But what's wrong with him?" + +"It's a long story. He was a reporter at one time--he may have told +you that. The death of his wife precipitated a severe trauma and +brought him to our attention. Actually, I'm not at liberty to say any +more regarding his case; you understand, I'm sure." + +"Then you're telling me that everything he had to say was a product of +his imagination?" + +"No, don't misunderstand. It would be more correct to state that he +merely distorted reality. For example, there _is_ a Dr. Leffingwell on +the staff here; he is a diagnostician and has nothing to do with +psychotherapy _per se_. And he has charge of the hospital ward in Unit +Three, the third building you may have noticed behind Administration. +That's where the nurses maintain residence, of course. Incidentally, +when any nurses take on a--special assignment, as it were, such as +yours, Leffingwell does examine and treat them. There's a new oral +contraception technique he's evolved which may be quite efficacious. +But I'd hardly call it an example of sinister experimentation under +the circumstances, would you?" + +Harry shook his head. "About Ritchie, though," he said. "What will +happen to him?" + +"I can't offer any prognosis. In view of my recent error in judgment +concerning him, it's hard to say how he'll respond to further +treatment. But rest assured that I'll do my best for his case. Chances +are you'll be seeing him again before very long." + +Dr. Manschoff glanced at his watch. "Shall we go back now?" he +suggested. "Supper will be served soon." + +The two men toiled up the bank. + +Harry discovered that the doctor was right about supper. It was being +served as he returned to his room. But the predictions concerning +Ritchie didn't work out quite as well. + +It was after supper--indeed, quite some hours afterwards, while Harry +sat at his window and stared sleeplessly out into the night--that he +noted the thick, greasy spirals of black smoke rising suddenly from +the chimney of the Third Unit building. And the sight may have +prepared him for the failure of Dr. Manschoff's prophecy regarding his +disturbed patient. + +Harry never asked any questions, and no explanations were ever +forthcoming. + +But from that evening onward, nobody ever saw Arnold Ritchie again. + + + + +3. President Winthrop--1999 + + +The Secretary of State closed the door. + +"Well?" he asked. + +President Winthrop looked up from the desk and blinked. "Hello, Art," +he said. "Sit down." + +"Sorry I'm late," the Secretary told him. "I came as soon as I got the +call." + +"It doesn't matter." The President lit a cigarette and pursed his lips +around it until it stopped wobbling. "I've been checking the reports +all night." + +"You look tired." + +"I am. I could sleep for a week. That is, I _wish_ I could." + +"Any luck?" + +The President pushed the papers aside and drummed the desk for a +moment. Then he offered the Secretary a gray ghost of a smile. + +"The answer's still the same." + +"But this was our last chance--" + +"I know." The President leaned back. "When I think of the time and +effort, the money that's been poured into these projects! To say +nothing of the hopes we had. And now, it's all for nothing." + +"You can't say that," the Secretary answered. "After all, we did reach +the moon. We got to Mars." He paused. "No one can take that away from +you. You sponsored the Martian flights. You fought for the +appropriations, pushed the project, carried it through. You helped +mankind realize its greatest dream--" + +"Save that for the newscasts," the President said. "The fact remains, +we've succeeded. And our success was a failure. Mankind's greatest +dream, eh? Read these reports and you'll find out this is mankind's +greatest nightmare." + +"Is it that bad?" + +"Yes." The President slumped in his chair. "It's that bad. We can +reach the moon at will. Now we can send a manned flight to Mars. But +it means nothing. We can't support life in either place. There's +absolutely no possibility of establishing or maintaining an outpost, +let alone a large colony or a permanent human residence. That's what +all the reports conclusively demonstrate. + +"Every bit of oxygen, every bit of food and clothing and material, +would have to be supplied. And investigations prove there's no chance +of ever realizing any return. The cost of such an operation is +staggeringly prohibitive. Even if there was evidence to show it might +be possible to undertake some mining projects, it wouldn't begin to +defray expenses, once you consider the transportation factor." + +"But if they improve the rockets, manage to make room for a bigger +payload, wouldn't it be cheaper?" + +"It would still cost roughly a billion dollars to equip a flight and +maintain a personnel of twenty men for a year," the President told +him. "I've checked into that, and even this estimate is based on the +most optimistic projection. So you can see there's no use in +continuing now. We'll never solve our problems by attempting to +colonize the moon or Mars." + +"But it's the only possible solution left to us." + +"No it isn't," the President said. "There's always our friend +Leffingwell." + + * * * * * + +The Secretary of State turned away. "You can't officially sponsor a +thing like that," he muttered. "It's political suicide." + +The gray smile returned to the gray lips. "Suicide? What do you know +about suicide, Art? I've been reading a few statistics on _that_, too. +How many actual suicides do you think we had in this country last +year?" + +"A hundred thousand? Two hundred, maybe?" + +"Two million." The President leaned forward. "Add to that, over a +million murders and six million crimes of violence." + +"I never knew--" + +"Damned right you didn't! We used to have a Federal Bureau of +Investigation to help prevent such things. Now the big job is merely +to hush them up. We're doing everything in our power just to keep +these matters quiet, or else there'd be utter panic. Then there's the +accident total and the psycho rate. We can't build institutions fast +enough to hold the mental cases, nor train doctors enough to care for +them. Shifting them into other jobs in other areas doesn't cure, and +it no longer even disguises what is happening. At this rate, another +ten years will see half the nation going insane. And it's like this +all over the world. + +"This is race-suicide, Art. Race-suicide through sheer fecundity. +Leffingwell is right. The reproductive instinct, unchecked, will +overbalance group survival in the end. How long has it been since you +were out on the streets?" + +The Secretary of State shrugged. "You know I never go out on the +streets," he said. "It isn't very safe." + +"Of course not. But it's no safer for the hundreds of millions who +have to go out every day. Accident, crime, the sheer maddening +proximity of the crowds--these phenomena are increasing through +mathematical progression. And they must be stopped. Leffingwell has +the only answer." + +"They won't buy it," warned the Secretary. "Congress won't, and the +voters won't, any more than they bought birth-control. And this is +worse." + +"I know that, too." The President rose and walked over to the window, +looking out at the sky-scraper apartments which loomed across what had +once been the Mall. He was trying to find the dwarfed spire of +Washington's Monument in the tangled maze of stone. + +"If I go before the people and sponsor Leffingwell, I'm through. +Through as President, through with the Party. They'll crucify me. But +somebody in authority must push this project. That's the beginning. +Once it's known, people will have to think about the possibilities. +There'll be opposition, then controversy, then debate. And gradually +Leffingwell will gain adherents. It may take five years, it may take +ten. Finally, the change will come. First through volunteers. Then by +law. I only pray that it happens soon." + +"They'll curse your name," the Secretary said. "They'll try to kill +you. It's going to be hell." + +"Hell for me if I do, yes. Worse hell for the whole world if I don't." + +"But are you quite sure it will work? His method, I mean?" + +"You saw the reports on his tests, didn't you? It works, all right. +We've got more than just abstract data, now. We've got films for the +telescreenings all set up." + +"Films? You mean you'll actually _show_ what the results are? Why, +just telling the people will be bad enough. And admitting the +government sponsored the project under wraps. But when they _see_, +nothing on earth can save you from assassination." + +"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter." The President crushed his +cigarette in the ashtray. "One less mouth to feed. And I'm getting +pretty sick of synthetic meals, anyway." + +President Winthrop turned to the Secretary, his eyes brightening +momentarily. "Tell you what, Art. I'm not planning on breaking the +proposal to the public until next Monday. What say we have a little +private dinner party on Saturday evening, just the Cabinet members and +their wives? Sort of a farewell celebration, in a way, but we won't +call it that, of course? Chef tells me there's still twenty pounds of +hamburger in the freezers." + +"Twenty pounds of hamburger? You mean it?" The Secretary of State was +smiling, too. + +"That's right." The President of the United States grinned in +anticipation. "Been a long time since I've tasted a real, +honest-to-goodness hamburger." + + + + +4. Harry Collins--2000 + + +Harry didn't ask any questions. He just kept his mouth shut and +waited. Maybe Dr. Manschoff suspected and maybe he didn't. Anyway, +there was no trouble. Harry figured there wouldn't be, as long as he +stayed in line and went through the proper motions. It was all a +matter of pretending to conform, pretending to agree, pretending to +believe. + +So he watched his step--_except in the dreams, and then he was always +falling into the yawning abyss_. + +He kept his nose clean--_but in the dreams he smelled the blood and +brimstone of the pit_. + +He managed to retain a cheerful smile at all times--_though, in the +dreams, he screamed_. + +Eventually, he even met Myrna. She was the pretty little brunette whom +Ritchie had mentioned, and she did her best to console him--_only in +dreams, when he embraced her, he was embracing a writhing coil of +slimy smoke_. + +It may have been that Harry Collins went a little mad, just having to +pretend that he was sane. But he learned the way, and he managed. He +saved the madness (_or was it the reality?_) for the dreams. + +Meanwhile he waited and said nothing. + +He said nothing when, after three months or so, Myrna was suddenly +"transferred" without warning. + +He said nothing when, once a week or so, he went in to visit with Dr. +Manschoff. + +He said nothing when Manschoff volunteered the information that +Ritchie had been "transferred" too, or suggested that it would be best +to stay on for "further therapy." + +And he said nothing when still a third nurse came his way; a woman who +was callid, complaisant, and nauseatingly nymphomaniac. + +The important thing was to stay alive. Stay alive and try to learn. + + * * * * * + +It took him almost an additional year to find out what he wanted to +find out. More than eight months passed before he found a way of +sneaking out of his room at night, and a way of getting into that +Third Unit through a delivery door which was occasionally left open +through negligence. + +Even then, all he learned was that the female patients did have their +living quarters here, along with the members of the staff +and--presumably--Dr. Leffingwell. Many of the women _were_ patients +rather than nurses, as claimed, and a good number of them were in +various stages of pregnancy, but this proved nothing. + +Several times Harry debated the possibilities of taking some of the +other men in his Unit into his confidence. Then he remembered what had +happened to Arnold Ritchie and decided against this course. The risk +was too great. He had to continue alone. + +It wasn't until Harry managed to get into Unit Four that he got what +he wanted (what he _didn't_ want) and learned that reality and dreams +were one and the same. + +There was the night, more than a year after he'd come to the treatment +center, when he finally broke into the basement and found the +incinerators. And the incinerators led to the operating and delivery +chambers, and the delivery chambers led to the laboratory and the +laboratory led to the incubators and the incubators led to the +nightmare. + +In the nightmare Harry found himself looking down at the mistakes and +the failures and he recognized them for what they were, and he knew +then why the incinerators were kept busy and why the black smoke +poured. + +In the nightmare he saw the special units containing those which were +not mistakes or failures, and in a way they were worse than the +others. They were red and wriggling there beneath the glass, and on +the glass surfaces hung the charts which gave the data. Then Harry saw +the names, saw his own name repeated twice--once for Sue, once for +Myrna. And he realized that he had contributed to the successful +outcome or issue of the experiments (_outcome? Issue? These horrors?_) +and that was why Manschoff must have chosen to take the risk of +keeping him alive. Because he was one of the _good_ guinea pigs, and +he had spawned, spawned living, mewing abominations. + +He had dreamed of these things, and now he saw that they were real, so +that nightmare merged with _now_, and he could gaze down at it with +open eyes and scream at last with open mouth. + +Then, of course, an attendant came running (_although he seemed to be +moving ever so slowly, because everything moves so slowly in a dream_) +and Harry saw him coming and lifted a bell-glass and smashed it down +over the man's head (_slowly, ever so slowly_) and then he heard the +others coming and he climbed out of the window and ran. + +The searchlights winked across the courtyards and the sirens vomited +hysteria from metallic throats and the night was filled with shadows +that pursued. + +But Harry knew where to run. He ran straight through the nightmare, +through all the fantastic but familiar convolutions of sight and +sound, and then he came to the river and plunged in. + +Now the nightmare was not sight or sound, but merely sensation. Icy +cold and distilled darkness; ripples that ran, then raced and roiled +and roared. But there had to be a way out of the nightmare and there +had to be a way out of the canyon, and that way was the river. + +Apparently no one else had thought of the river; perhaps they had +considered it as a possible avenue of escape and then discarded the +notion when they realized how it ripped and raged among the rocks as +it finally plunged from the canyon's mouth. Obviously, no one could +hope to combat that current and survive. + +But strange things happen in nightmares. And you fight the numbness +and the blackness and you claw and convulse and you twist and turn and +toss and then you ride the crests of frenzy and plunge into the +troughs of panic and despair and you sweep round and round and sink +down into nothingness until you break through to the freedom which +comes only with oblivion. + +Somewhere beyond the canyon's moiling maw, Harry Collins found that +freedom and that oblivion. He escaped from the nightmare, just as he +escaped from the river. + +The river itself roared on without him. + +And the nightmare continued, too.... + + + + +5. Minnie Schultz--2009 + + +When Frank came home, Minnie met him at the door. She didn't say a +word, just handed him the envelope containing the notice. + +"What's the matter?" Frank asked, trying to take her in his arms. "You +been crying." + +"Never mind." Minnie freed herself. "Just read what it says there." + +Frank read slowly, determinedly, his features contorted in +concentration. Vocational Apt had terminated his schooling at the old +grade-school level, and while like all students he had been taught +enough so that he could read the necessary advertising commercials, +any printed message of this sort provided a definite challenge. + +Halfway through the notice he started to scowl. "What kind of monkey +business is this?" + +"No monkey business. It's the new law. Everybody that gets married in +Angelisco takes the shots, from now on. Fella from State Hall, he told +me when he delivered this." + +"We'll see about this," Frank muttered. "No damn government's gonna +tell me how to run my life. Sa free country, ain't so?" + +Minnie's mouth began to twitch. "They're coming back tomorra morning, +the fella said. To give me the first shots. Gee, honey, I'm scared, +like. I don't want 'em." + +"That settles it," Frank said. "We're getting out of this place, +fast." + +"Where'd we go?" + +"Dunno. Someplace. Texas, maybe. I was listening to the 'casts at work +today. They don't have this law in Texas. Not yet, anyway. Come on, +start packing." + +"Packing? But how'll we get there?" + +"Fly. We'll jet right out." + +"You got prior'ty reservations or something?" + +"No." The scowl returned to Frank's forehead. "But maybe if I pitch +'em a sob story, tell 'em it's our honeymoon, you know, then we +could--" + +Minnie shook her head. "It won't work, honey. You know that. Takes six +months to get a prior'ty clearance or whatever they call it. Besides, +your job and all--what'll you do in Texas? They've got your number +listed here. Why, we couldn't even _land_, like. I bet Texas is even +more crowded than Angelisco these days, in the cities. And all the +rest of it is Ag Culture project, isn't it?" + +Frank was leaning against the sink, listening. Now he took three steps +forward and sat down on the bed. He didn't look at her as he spoke. + +"Well, we gotta do something," he said. "You don't want those shots +and that's for sure. Maybe I can have one of those other things +instead, those whaddya-call-'ems." + +"You mean where they operate you, like?" + +"That's right. A vas-something. You know, sterilize you. Then we won't +have to worry." + +Minnie took a deep breath. Then she sat down and put her arm around +Frank. + +"But you wanted kids," she murmured. "You told me, when we got +married, you always wanted to have a son--" + +Frank pulled away. + +"Sure I do," he said. "A son. That's what I want. A _real_ son. Not a +freak. Not a damned little monster that has to go to the Clinic every +month and take injections so it won't grow. And what happens to you if +you take _your_ shots now? What if they drive you crazy or something?" + +Minnie put her arm around Frank again and made him look at her. +"That's not true," she told him. "That's just a lot of Naturalist +talk. I know." + +"Hell you do." + +"But I do, honey! Honest, like! May Stebbins, she took the shots last +year, when they asked for volunteers. And she's all right. You seen +her baby yourself, remember? It's the sweetest little thing, and awful +smart! So maybe it wouldn't be so bad." + +"I'll ask about being operated tomorrow," Frank said. "Forget it. It +don't matter." + +"Of course it matters." Minnie looked straight at him. "Don't you +think I know what you been going through? Sweating it out on that job +day after day, going nuts in the traffic, saving up the ration coupons +so's we'd have extra food for the honeymoon and all? + +"You didn't have to marry me, you know that. It was just like we could +have a place of our own together, and kids. Well, we're gonna have +'em, honey. I'll take the shots." + +Frank shook his head but said nothing. + +"It won't be so bad," Minnie went on. "The shots don't hurt at all, +and they make it easier, carrying the baby. They say you don't even +get morning sickness or anything. And just think, when we have a kid, +we get a chance for a bigger place. We go right on the housing lists. +We can have two rooms. A real bedroom, maybe." + +Frank stared at her. "Is that all you can think about?" he asked. "A +real bedroom?" + +"But honey--" + +"What about the kid?" he muttered. "How you suppose it's gonna feel? +How'd you like to grow up and _not_ grow up? How'd you like to be a +midget three feet high in a world where everybody else is bigger? What +kind of a life you call _that_? I want my son to have a decent +chance." + +"He will have." + +Minnie stared back at him, but she wasn't seeing his face. "Don't you +understand, honey? This isn't just something happening to _us_. We're +not special. It's happening to everybody, all over the country, all +over the world. You seen it in the 'casts, haven't you? Most states, +they adopted the laws. And in a couple more years it'll be the only +way anyone will ever have kids. Ten, twenty years from now, the kids +will be growing up. Ours won't be different then, because from now on +all the kids will be just like he is. The same size." + +"I thought you was afraid of the shots," Frank said. + +Minnie was still staring. "I was, honey. Only, I dunno. I keep +thinking about Grandma." + +"What's the old lady got to do with it?" + +"Well, I remember when I was a little girl, like. How my Grandma +always used to tell me about _her_ Grandma, when _she_ was a little +girl. + +"She was saying about how in the old days, before there even was an +Angelisco--when her Grandma came out here in a covered wagon. Just +think, honey, she was younger than I am, and she come thousands and +thousands of miles in a wagon! With real horses, like! Wasn't any +houses, no people or nothing. Except Indians that shot at them. And +they climbed up the mountains and they crossed over the deserts and +went hungry and thirsty and had fights with those Indians all the +way. But they never stopped until they got here. Because they was the +pioneers." + +"Pioneers?" + +"That's what Grandma said _her_ Grandma called herself. A pioneer. She +was real proud of it, too. Because it means having the courage to cut +loose from all the old things and try something new when you need to. +Start a whole new world, a whole new kind of life." + +She sighed. "I always wanted to be a pioneer, like, but I never +thought I'd get the chance." + +"What are you talking about? What's all this got to do with us, or +having a kid?" + +"Don't you see? Taking these shots, having a baby this new way--it's +sort of being a pioneer, too. Gonna help bring a new kind of people +into a new kind of world. And if that's not being a pioneer, like, +it's the closest I can come to it. It sounds right to me now." + +Minnie smiled and nodded. "I guess I made up my mind just now. I'm +taking the shots." + +"Hell you are!" Frank told her. "We'll talk about it some more in the +morning." + +But Minnie continued to smile. + +And that night, as she lay in the utility bed, the squeaking of the +springs became the sound of turning wheels. The plastic walls and +ceiling of the eightieth-floor apartment turned to billowing canvas, +and the thunder of the passing jets transformed itself into the +drumming hoofbeats of a million buffalo. + +_Let Frank talk to her again in the morning if he liked_, Minnie +thought. _It wouldn't make any difference now. Because you can't stop +us pioneers._ + + + + +6. Harry Collins--2012 + + +Harry crouched behind the boulders, propping the rifle up between the +rocks, and adjusted the telescopic sights. The distant doorway sprang +into sharp focus. Grunting with satisfaction, he settled down to his +vigil. The rifle-barrel had been dulled down against detection by +reflection, and Harry's dark glasses protected him against the glare +of the morning sun. He might have to wait several hours now, but he +didn't care. It had taken him twelve years to come this far, and he +was willing to wait a little while longer. + +_Twelve years._ Was it really that long? + +A mirror might have answered him; a mirror might have shown him the +harsh features of a man of forty-two. But Harry needed no mirror. He +could remember the past dozen years only too easily--though they had +not been easy years. + +Surviving the river was only the beginning. Animal strength carried +him through that ordeal. But he emerged from the river as an animal; a +wounded animal, crawling through the brush and arroyo outside the +southern Colorado canyon. + +And it was animal cunning which preserved him. He'd wandered several +days until he encountered Emil Grizek and his outfit. By that time he +was half-starved and completely delirious. It took a month until he +was up and around again. + +But Emil and the boys had nursed him through. They took turns caring +for him in the bunkhouse; their methods were crude but efficient and +Harry was grateful. Best of all, they asked no questions. Harry's +status was that of a hunted fugitive, without a Vocational Apt record +or rating. The authorities or any prospective employers would inquire +into these things, but Emil Grizek never seemed curious. By the time +Harry was up and around again, he'd been accepted as one of the bunch. +He told them his name was Harry Sanders, and that was enough. + +Two months after they found him, he'd signed on with Emil Grizek and +found a new role in life. + +Harry Collins, advertising copywriter, had become Harry Sanders, +working cowhand. + +There was surprisingly little difficulty. Grizek had absentee +employers who weren't interested in their foreman's methods, just as +long as he recruited his own wranglers for the Bar B Ranch. Nobody +demanded to see Apt cards or insisted on making out formal +work-reports, and the pay was in cash. Cowhands were hard to come by +these days, and it was an unspoken premise that the men taking on such +jobs would be vagrants, migratory workers, fugitives from justice and +injustice. A generation or so ago they might have become tramps--but +the last of the hoboes had vanished along with the last of the freight +trains. Once the derelicts haunted the canyons of the big cities; +today there was no place for them there, so they fled to the canyons +of the west. Harry had found himself a new niche, and no questions +asked. + +Oddly enough, he fitted in. The outdoor life agreed with him, and in a +matter of months he was a passable cowpoke; within a year he was one +of Grizek's top hands. + +He learned to ride a bucking jeep with the best of them, and he could +spot, single out, and stun a steer in forty seconds flat; then use his +electronic brander on it and have the critter back on its feet in just +under a minute. + +Work was no problem, and neither was recreation. The bunkhouse offered +crude but adequate facilities for living; old-fashioned +air-conditioning and an antique infra-red broiler seemed good enough +for roughing it, and Cookie at least turned out real man-sized meals. +Eating genuine beef and honest-to-goodness baked bread was a treat, +and so was having the luxury of all that space in the sleeping +quarters. Harry thrived on it. + +And some of the other hands were interesting companions. True, they +were renegades and mavericks, but they were each of them unique and +individual, and Harry enjoyed listening to them fan the breeze during +the long nights. + +There was Big Phil, who was pushing sixty now. But you'd never know +it, not unless you got him to talking about the old days when he'd +been a boy in Detroit. His daddy had been one of the last of the Union +Men, back in the days of what they used to call the Organized Labor +Movement. He could tell you about wage-hour agreements and the +Railroad Brotherhood and contract negotiations almost as if he knew of +these things through personal experience. He even remembered the +Democratic Party. Phil got out when the government took over and set +up Vocational Apt and Industrial Supervision; that's when he drifted +west. + +Tom Lowery's family had been military; he claimed to have been a +member of the last graduating class ever to leave West Point. When the +armament race ended, his prospects of a career vanished, and he +settled down as a guard at Canaveral. Finally, he'd headed for the +open country. + +Bassett was the scholar of the outfit. He could sit around and quote +old-time book-authors by the hour--classic writers like Prather and +Spillane. In another age he might have been a college professor or +even a football coach; he had an aptitude for the arts. + +And there was Lobo, the misogynist, who had fled a wife and eleven +children back in Monterey; and Januzki, who used to be mixed up with +one of those odd religious cults out on the Coast. He bragged he'd +been one of the Big Daddy-Os in the Beat Generationists, and he argued +with Bassett about some old-time evangelist named Kerouac. + + * * * * * + +Best of all, though, Harry liked talking to Nick Kendrick. Nick's +hobby was music, and he treasured his second-hand stereophonic unit +and collection of tapes. He too was a classicist in his way, and there +was many a long winter night when Harry sat there listening to ancient +folk songs. The quaint atonalities of progressive jazz and the +childishly frantic rhythms of "cool sounds" were somehow soothing and +reassuring in their reminder of a simple heritage from a simpler age. + +But above all, these men were wranglers, and they took a peculiar +pride in the traditions of their own calling. There wasn't a one of +them who wouldn't spend hours mulling over the lore of the range and +the prairie. They knew the Great Names from the Great Days--Eugene +Autry, Wyatt Earp, the legendary Thomas Mix, Dale Robertson, Paladin, +and all the others; men who rode actual horses in the era when the +West was really an untamed frontier. + +And like the cowboys they were, they maintained the customs of other +days. Every few months they rode a bucking helicopter into some raw +western town--Las Vegas, or Reno, or even over to Palm Springs--to +drink recklessly in the cocktail lounges, gamble wildly at the slots, +or "go down the line" with some telescreen model on location for +outdoor ad-backgrounds. There were still half a dozen such sin-cities +scattered throughout the west; even the government acknowledged the +need of lonely men to blow off steam. And though Ag Culture officially +disapproved of the whole cowhand system, and talked grimly of setting +up new and more efficient methods for training personnel and handling +the cattle ranges, nothing was ever done. Perhaps the authorities knew +that it was a hopeless task; only the outcasts and iconoclasts had the +temperament necessary to survive such loneliness under an open sky. +City-dwelling conformists just could not endure the monotony. + +But even Emil Grizek's hands marvelled at the way Harry lived. He +never joined them in their disorderly descent upon the scarlet cities +of the plain, and most of the time he didn't even seem to watch the +telescreen. If anything, he deliberately avoided all possible contact +with civilization. + +Since he never volunteered any information about his own past, they +privately concluded that he was just a psychopathic personality. + +"Strong regressive and seclusive tendencies," Bassett explained, +solemnly. + +"Sure," Nick Kendrick nodded, wisely. "You mean a Mouldy Fig, like." + +"Creeping Meatball," muttered cultist Januzki. Not being religious +fanatics, the others didn't understand the reference. But gradually +they came to accept Harry's isolationist ways as the norm--at least, +for him. And since he never quarreled, never exhibited any signs of +dissatisfaction, he was left to his own pattern. + +Thus it was all the more surprising when that pattern was rudely and +abruptly shattered. + +Harry remembered the occasion well. It was the day the Leff Law was +officially upheld by the Supremist Courts. The whole business came +over the telescreens and there was no way of avoiding it--you couldn't +avoid it, because everybody was talking about it and everybody was +watching. + +"Now what do you think?" Emil Grizek demanded. "Any woman wants a +baby, she's got to have those shots. They say kids shrink down into +nothing. Weigh less than two pounds when they're born, and never grow +up to be any bigger than midgets. You ask me, the whole thing's plumb +loco, to say nothing of psychotic." + +"I dunno." This from Big Phil. "Reckon they just about have to do +something, the way cities are filling up and all. Tell me every spot +in the country, except for the plains states here, is busting at the +seams. Same in Europe, Africa, South America. Running out of space, +running out of food, all over the world. This man Leffingwell figures +on cutting down on size so's to keep the whole shebang going." + +"But why couldn't it be done on a voluntary basis?" Bassett demanded. +"These arbitrary rulings are bound to result in frustrations. And can +you imagine what will happen to the individual family constellations? +Take a couple that already has two youngsters, as of now. Suppose the +wife submits to the inoculations for her next child and it's born with +a size-mutation. How in the world will that child survive as a midget +in a family of giants? There'll be untold damage to the personality--" + +"We've heard all those arguments," Tom Lowery cut in. "The Naturalists +have been handing out that line for years. What happens to the new +generation of kids, how do we know they won't be mentally defective, +how can they adjust, by what right does the government interfere with +private lives, personal religious beliefs; all that sort of thing. For +over ten years now the debate's been going on. And meanwhile, time is +running out. Space is running out. Food is running out. It isn't a +question of individual choice any longer--it's a question of group +survival. I say the Courts are right. We have to go according to law. +And back the law up with force of arms if necessary." + +"We get the message," Januzki agreed. "But something tells me there'll +be trouble. Most folks need a midget like they need a monkey on their +backs." + +"It's a gasser, pardners," said Nick Kendrick. "Naturalists don't dig +this. They'll fight it all along the line. Everybody's gonna be all +shook up." + +"It is still a good idea," Lobo insisted. "This Dr. Leffingwell, he +has made the tests. For years he has given injections and no harm has +come. The children are healthy, they survive. They learn in special +schools--" + +"How do you know?" Bassett demanded. "Maybe it's all a lot of +motivationalist propaganda." + +"We have seen them on the telescreens, no?" + +"They could be faking the whole thing." + +"But Leffingwell, he has offered the shots to other governments beside +our own. The whole world will adopt them--" + +"What if some countries don't? What if our kids become midgets and the +Asiatics refuse the inoculations?" + +"They won't. They need room even more than we do." + +"No sense arguing," Emil Grizek concluded. "It's the law. You know +that. And if you don't like it, join the Naturalists." He chuckled. +"But better hurry. Something tells me there won't be any Naturalists +around after a couple of years. Now that there's a Leff Law, the +government isn't likely to stand for too much criticism." He turned to +Harry. "What do you think?" he asked. + +Harry shrugged. "No comment," he said. + +But the next day he went to Grizek and demanded his pay in full. + +"Leaving?" Grizek muttered. "I don't understand. You've been with us +almost five years. Where you going, what you intend to do? What's got +into you all of a sudden?" + +"Time for a change," Harry told him. "I've been saving my money." + +"Don't I know it? Never touched a penny in all this time." Grizek ran +a hand across his chin. "Say, if it's a raise you're looking for, I +can--" + +"No, thanks. It's not that. I've money enough." + +"So you have. Around eighteen, twenty thousand, I reckon, what with +the bonuses." Emil Grizek sighed. "Well, if you insist, that's the way +it's got to be, I suppose. When you plan on taking off?" + +"Just as soon as there's a 'copter available." + +"Got one going up to Colorado Springs tomorrow morning for the mail. I +can get you aboard, give you a check--" + +"I'll want my money in cash." + +"Well, now, that isn't so easy. Have to send up for a special draft. +Take a week or so." + +"I can wait." + +"All right. And think it over. Maybe you'll decide to change your +mind." + +But Harry didn't change his mind. And ten days later he rode a 'copter +into town, his money-belt strapped beneath his safety-belt. + +From Colorado Springs he jetted to Kancity, and from Kancity to +Memphisee. As long as he had money, nobody asked any questions. He +holed up in cheap airtels and waited for developments. + +It wasn't easy to accustom himself to urbanization again. He had been +away from cities for over seven years now, and it might well have been +seven centuries. The overpopulation problem was appalling. The +outlawing of private automotive vehicles had helped, and the clearing +of the airlanes served a purpose; the widespread increase in the use +of atomic power cut the smog somewhat. But the synthetic food was +frightful, the crowding intolerable, and the welter of rules and +regulations attending the performance of even the simplest human +activity past all his comprehension. Ration cards were in universal +use for almost everything; fortunately for Harry, the black market +accepted cash with no embarrassing inquiries. He found that he could +survive. + +But Harry's interest was not in survival; he was bent upon +destruction. Surely the Naturalists would be organized and planning a +way! + +Back in '98, of course, they'd been merely an articulate minority +without formal unity--an abstract, amorphous group akin to the +"Liberals" of previous generations. A Naturalist could be a Catholic +priest, a Unitarian layman, an atheist factory hand, a government +employee, a housewife with strong prejudices against governmental +controls, a wealthy man who deplored the dangers of growing +industrialization, an Ag Culture worker who dreaded the dwindling of +individual rights, an educator who feared widespread employment of +social psychology, or almost anyone who opposed the concept of Mass +Man, Mass-Motivated. Naturalists had never formed a single class, a +single political party. + +Surely, however, the enactment of the Leffingwell Law would have +united them! Harry knew there was strong opposition, not only on the +higher levels but amongst the general population. People would be +afraid of the inoculations; theologians would condemn the process; +economic interests, real-estate owners and transportation magnates and +manufacturers would sense the threat here. They'd sponsor and they'd +subsidize their spokesmen and the Naturalists would evolve into an +efficient body of opposition. + +So Harry hoped, and so he thought, until he came out into the cities; +came out into the cities and realized that the very magnitude of Mass +Man mitigated against any attempt to organize him, except as a +creature who labored and consumed. Organization springs from +discussion, and discussion from thought--but who can think in chaos, +discuss in delirium, organize in a vacuum? And the common citizen, +Harry realized, had seemingly lost the capacity for group action. He +remembered his own existence years ago--either he was lost in a crowd +or he was alone, at home. Firm friendships were rare, and family units +survived on the flimsiest of foundations. It took too much time and +effort just to follow the rules, follow the traffic, follow the +incessant routines governing even the simplest life-pattern in the +teeming cities. For leisure there was the telescreen and the +yellowjackets, and serious problems could be referred to the psych in +routine check-ups. Everybody seemed lost in the crowd these days. + +Harry discovered that Dr. Manschoff had indeed lied to him; mental +disorders were on the increase. He remembered an old, old book--one of +the very first treatises on sociological psychology. _The Lonely +Crowd_, wasn't it? Full of mumbo-jumbo about "inner-directed" and +"outer-directed" personalities. Well, there was a grain of truth in it +all. The crowd, and its individual members, lived in loneliness. And +since you didn't know very many people well enough to talk to, +intimately, you talked to yourself. Since you couldn't get away from +physical contact with others whenever you ventured abroad, you stayed +inside--except when you had to go to work, had to line up for +food-rations or supplies, had to wait for hours for your check-ups on +off-days. And staying inside meant being confined to the equivalent of +an old-fashioned prison cell. If you weren't married, you lived in +"solitary"; if you were married, you suffered the presence of +fellow-inmates whose habits became intolerable, in time. So you +watched the screen more and more, or you increased your quota of +sedation, and when that didn't help you looked for a real escape. It +was always available to you if you searched long enough; waiting at +the tip of a knife, in the coil of a rope, the muzzle of a gun. You +could find it at the very bottom of a bottle of pills or at the very +bottom of the courtyard outside your window. Harry recalled looking +for it there himself, so many years ago. + +But now he was looking for something else. He was looking for others +who shared not only his viewpoint but his purposefulness. + +Where were the Naturalists? + +Harry searched for several years. + +_The press?_ + +But there were no Naturalists visible on the telescreens. The news and +the newsmakers reflected a national philosophy adopted many +generations ago by the Founding Fathers of mass-communication in their +infinite wisdom--"_What's good for General Motors is good for the +country._" And according to them, everything happening was good for +the country; that was the cardinal precept in the science of +autobuyology. There were no Arnold Ritchies left any more, and the +printed newzine seemed to have vanished. + +_The clergy?_ + +Individual churches with congregations in physical attendance, seemed +difficult to find. Telepreachers still appeared regularly every +Sunday, but their scripts--like everyone else's--had been processed in +advance. Denominationalism and sectarianism had waned, too; all of +these performers seemed very much alike, in that they were vigorous, +forthright, inspiring champions of the _status quo_. + +_The scientists?_ + +But the scientists were a part of the government, and the government +was a one-party system, and the system supported the nation and the +nation supported the scientists. Of course, there were still private +laboratories subsidized for industrial purposes, but the men who +worked in them seemed singularly disinterested in social problems. In +a way, Harry could understand their position. It isn't likely that a +dedicated scientist, a man whose specialized research has won him a +Nobel Prize for creating a new detergent, will be worldly enough to +face unpleasant realities beyond the walls of his antiseptic sanctum. +After all, there was precedent for such isolationism--did the sainted +Betty Crocker ever enlist in any crusades? As for physicians, +psychiatrists and mass-psychologists, they were the very ones who +formed the hard core of Leffingwell's support. + +_The educators, then?_ + +Vocational Apt was a part of the government. And the poor pedagogues, +who had spent generations hacking their way out of the blackboard +jungles, were only too happy to welcome the notion of a coming +millennium when their small charges would be still smaller. Even +though formal schooling, for most youngsters, terminated at fourteen, +there was still the problem of overcrowding. Telescreening and +teletesting techniques were a help, but the problem was essentially a +physical one. And Leffingwell was providing a physical solution. +Besides, the educators had been themselves educated, through +Vocational Apt. And while they, and the government, fervently upheld +the principle of freedom of speech, they had to draw the line +somewhere. As everyone knows, freedom of speech does not mean freedom +to _criticize_. + +_Business men?_ + +Perhaps there were some disgruntled souls in the commercial community, +whose secret heroes were the oil tycoons of a bygone era or the +old-time Stock Exchange clan united under the totems of the bull or +the bear. But the day of the rugged individualist was long departed; +only the flabby individualist remained. And he had the forms to fill +out and the inspectors to contend with, and the rationing to worry +about and the taxes to meet and the quotas to fulfill. But in the long +run, he managed. The business man worked for the government, but the +government also worked for him. His position was protected. And if the +government said the Leff Shots would solve the overpopulation +problem--_without_ cutting down the number of consumers--well, was +that really so bad? Why, in a generation or so there'd be even _more_ +customers! That meant increased property values, too. + +It took Harry several years to realize he'd never find Naturalists +organized for group action. The capacity for group action had vanished +as the size of the group increased. All interests were interdependent; +the old civic, fraternal, social and anti-social societies had no +present purpose any more. And the once-familiar rallying-points--whether +they represented idealistic humanitarianism or crass self-interest--had +vanished in the crowd. Patriotism, racialism, unionism, had all been +lost in a moiling megalopolitanism. + +There were protests, of course. The mothers objected, some of them. Ag +Culture, in particular, ran into difficulties with women who revived +the quaint custom of "going on strike" against the Leff Law and +refused to take their shots. But it was all on the individual level, +and quickly coped with. Government medical authorities met the women +at checkup time and demonstrated that the Leff Law had teeth in it. +Teeth, and scalpels. The rebellious women were not subdued, slain, or +segregated--they were merely sterilized. Perhaps more would have come +of this if their men had backed them up; but the men, by and large, +were realists. Having a kid was a headache these days. This new +business of injections wasn't so bad, when you came right down to it. +There'd still be youngsters around, and you'd get the same allotment +for extra living space--only the way it worked out, there'd be more +room and the kids would eat less. Pretty good deal. And it wasn't as +if the young ones were harmed. Some of them seemed to be a lot smarter +than ordinary--like on some of the big quizshows, youngsters of eight +and nine were winning all those big prizes. Bright little ones. Of +course, these must be the ones raised in the first special school the +government had set up. They said old Leffingwell, the guy who invented +the shots, was running it himself. Sort of experimenting to see how +this new crop of kids would make out.... + +It was when Harry learned about the school that he knew what he must +do. + +And if nobody else would help him, he'd act on his own. There might +not be any help from organized society, but he still had disorganized +society to turn to. + + * * * * * + +He spent the next two years and the last of his money finding a way. +The pattern of criminality had changed, too, and it was no easy matter +to find the assistance he needed. About the only group crime still +flourishing was hijacking; it took him a long while to locate a small +under-cover outfit which operated around St. Louie and arrange to +obtain a helicopter and pilot. Getting hold of the rifle was still +more difficult, but he managed. And by the time everything was +assembled, he'd found out what he needed to know about Dr. Leffingwell +and his school. + +As he'd suspected, the school was located in the old canyon, right in +the same buildings which had once served as experimental units. How +many youngsters were there, Harry didn't know. Maybe Manschoff was +still on the staff, and maybe they'd brought in a whole new staff. +These things didn't matter. What mattered was that Leffingwell was on +the premises. And a man who knew his way about, a man who worked alone +and to a single purpose, could reach him. + +Thus it was that Harry Collins crouched behind the boulder that bright +May morning and waited for Dr. Leffingwell to appear. The helicopter +had dropped him at the upper end of the canyon the day before, giving +him a chance to reconnoitre and familiarize himself with the terrain +once again. He'd located Leffingwell's quarters, even seen the man +through one of the lower windows. Harry had no trouble recognizing +him; the face was only too familiar from a thousand 'casts viewed on a +thousand screens. Inevitably, some time today, he'd emerge from the +building. And when he did, Harry would be waiting. + +He shifted behind the rocks and stretched his legs. Twelve years had +passed, and now he'd come full circle. The whole business had started +here, and here it must end. That was simple justice. + +_And it is justice_, Harry told himself. _It's not revenge._ Because +there'd be no point to revenge; that was only melodramatic nonsense. +He was no Monte Cristo, come to wreak vengeance on his cruel +oppressors. And he was no madman, no victim of a monomaniacal +obsession. What he was doing was the result of lengthy and logical +consideration. + +If Harry Collins, longtime fugitive from a government treatment +center, tried to take his story to the people, he'd be silenced +without a hearing. But his story must be heard. There was only one way +to arrest the attention of a nation--with the report of a rifle. + +A bullet in Leffingwell's brain; that was the solution of the problem. +Overnight the assassin would become a national figure. They'd +undoubtedly try him and undoubtedly condemn him, but first he'd have +his day in court. He'd get a chance to speak out. He'd give all the +voiceless, unorganized victims of the Leff Law a reason for +rebellion--and offer them an example. If Leffingwell had to die, it +would be in a good cause. Moreover, he deserved to die. Hadn't he +killed men, women, infants, without mercy? + +_But it's not revenge_, Harry repeated. _And I know what I'm doing. +Maybe I was disturbed before, but I'm sane now. Perfectly logical. +Perfectly calm. Perfectly controlled._ + +Yes, and now his sane, logical, calm, controlled eyes noted that the +distant door was opening, and he sighted through the 'scope and +brought his sane, logical, calm, controlled hand up along the barrel +to the trigger. He could see the two men emerging, and the shorter, +plumper of the two was Leffingwell. He squinted at the high forehead +with its receding hairline; it was a perfect target. A little squeeze +now and he knew what would happen. In his sane, logical, calm, +controlled mind he could visualize the way the black hole would appear +in the center of that forehead, while behind it would be the torn and +dripping redness flecked with gray-- + +"What are you doing?" + +Harry whirled, staring; staring down at the infant who stood smiling +beside him. It _was_ an infant, that was obvious enough, and implicit +in the diminutive stature, the delicate limbs and the oversized head. +But infants do not wear the clothing of pre-adolescent boys, they do +not enunciate with clarity, they do not stare coolly and knowingly at +their elders. They do not say, "Why do you want to harm Dr. +Leffingwell?" + +Harry gazed into the wide eyes. He couldn't speak. + +"You're sick, aren't you?" the child persisted. "Let me call the +doctor. He can help you." + +Harry swung the rifle around. "I'll give you just ten seconds to clear +out of here before I shoot." + +The child shook his head. Then he took a step forward. "You wouldn't +hurt me," he said, gravely. "You're just sick. That's why you talk +this way." + +Harry leveled the rifle. "I'm not sick," he muttered. "I know what I'm +doing. And I know all about you, too. You're one of them, aren't you? +One of the first of Leffingwell's brood of illegitimates." + +The child took another step forward. "I'm not illegitimate," he said. +"I know who I am. I've seen the records. My name is Harry Collins." + +Somewhere the rifle exploded, the bullet hurtling harmlessly overhead. +But Harry didn't hear it. All he could hear, exploding in his own +brain as he went down into darkness, was the sane, logical, calm, +controlled voice of his son. + + + + +7. Michael Cavendish--2027 + + +Mike was just coming through the clump of trees when the boy began to +wave at him. He shifted the clumsy old Jeffrey .475, cursing the +weight as he quickened his pace. But there was no help for it, he had +to carry the gun himself. None of the boys were big enough. + +He wondered what it had been like in the old days, when you could get +fullsized bearers. There used to be game all over the place, too, and +a white hunter was king. + +And what was there left now? Nothing but pygmies, all of them, +scurrying around and beating the brush for dibatags and gerenuks. When +he was still a boy, Mike had seen the last of the big antelopes go; +the last of the wildebeestes and zebra, too. Then the carnivores +followed--the lions and the leopards. _Simba_ was dead, and just as +well. These natives would never dare to come out of the villages if +they knew any lions were left. Most of them had gone to Cape and the +other cities anyway; handling cattle was too much of a chore, except +on a government farm. Those cows looked like moving mountains +alongside the average boy. + +Of course there were still some of the older generation left; Kikiyu +and even a few Watusi. But the free inoculations had begun many years +ago, and the life-cycle moved at an accelerated pace here. Natives +grew old and died at thirty; they matured at fifteen. Now, with the +shortage of game, the elders perished still more swiftly and only the +young remained outside the cities and the farm projects. + +Mike smiled as he waited for the boy to come up to him. He wasn't +smiling at the boy--he was smiling at himself, for being here. He +ought to be in Cape, too, or Kenyarobi. Damned silly, this business of +being a white hunter, when there was nothing left to hunt. + +But somehow he'd stayed on, since Dad died. There were a few +compensations. At least here in the forests a man could still move +about a bit, taste privacy and solitude and the strange, exotic +tropical fruit called loneliness. Even _that_ was vanishing today. + +It was compensation enough, perhaps, for lugging this damned Jeffrey. +Mike tried to remember the last time he'd fired it at a living target. +A year, two years? Yes, almost two. That gorilla up in Ruwenzori +country. At least the boys swore it was _ingagi_. He hadn't hit it, +anyway. Got away in the darkness. Probably he'd been shooting at a +shadow. There were no more gorillas--maybe _they_ had been taking the +shots, too. Perhaps they'd all turned into rhesus monkeys. + +Mike watched the boy run towards him. It was a good five hundred yards +from the river bank, and the short brown legs couldn't move very +swiftly. He wondered what it felt like to be small. One's sense of +proportion must be different. And that, in turn, would affect one's +sense of values. What values applied to the world about you when you +were only three feet high? + +Mike wouldn't know. He was a big man--almost five feet seven. + +Sometimes Mike reflected on what things might be like if he'd been +born, say, twenty years later. By that time almost everyone would be a +product of Leff shots, and he'd be no exception. He might stay with +people his own age in Kenyarobi without feeling self-conscious, +clumsy, conspicuous. Pressed, he had to admit that was part of the +reason he preferred to remain out here at Dad's old place now. He +could tolerate the stares of the natives, but whenever he ventured +into a city he felt awkward under the scrutiny of the young people. +The way those teen-agers looked up at him made him feel a monster, +rather. + +Better to endure the monotony, the emptiness out here. Yes, and wait +for a chance to hunt. Even though, nine times out of ten, it turned +out to be a wild goose-chase. During the past year or so Mike had +hunted nothing but legends and rumors, spent his time stalking +shadows. + +Then the villagers had come to him, three days ago, with their wild +story. Even when he heard it, he realized it must be pure fable. And +the more they insisted, the more they protested, the more he realized +it simply couldn't be. + +Still, he'd come. Anything to experience some action, anything to +create the illusion of purpose, of-- + +"_Tembo!_" shrieked the boy, excited beyond all pretense of caution. +"Up ahead, in river. You come quick, you see!" + +No. It couldn't be. The government surveys were thorough. The last +record of a specimen dated back over a half-dozen years ago. It was +impossible that any survivors remained. And all during the safari +these past days, not a sign or a print or a spoor. + +"_Tembo!_" shrilled the boy. "Come quick!" + +Mike cradled the gun and started forward. The other bearers shuffled +behind him, unable to keep pace because of their short legs and--he +suspected--unwilling to do so for fear of what might lie ahead. + +Halfway towards the river bank, Mike halted. Now he could hear the +rumbling, the unmistakable rumbling. And now he could smell the rank +mustiness borne on the hot breeze. Well, at least he was down-wind. + +The boy behind him trembled, eyes wide. He _had_ seen something, all +right. Maybe just a crocodile, though. Still some crocs around. And he +doubted if a young native would know the difference. + +Nevertheless, Mike felt a sudden surge of unfamiliar excitement, half +expectancy and half fear. _Something_ wallowed in the river; something +that rumbled and exuded the stench of life. + +Now they were approaching the trees bordering the bank. Mike checked +his gun carefully. Then he advanced until his body was aligned with +the trees. From here he could see and not be seen. He could peer down +at the river--or the place where the river had been, during the rainy +season long past. Now it was nothing but a mudwallow under the glaring +sun; a huge mudwallow, pitted with deep, circular indentations and +dotted with dung. + +But in the middle of it stood _tembo_. + +_Tembo_ was a mountain, _tembo_ was a black block of breathing basalt. +_Tembo_ roared and snorted and rolled red eyes. + +Mike gasped. + +He was a white hunter, but he'd never seen a bull elephant before. And +this one stood eleven feet at the shoulders if it stood an inch; the +biggest creature walking the face of the earth. + +It had risen from the mud, abandoned its wallowing as its trunk curled +about, sensitive to the unfamiliar scent of man. Its ears rose like +the outspread wings of some gigantic jungle bat. Mike could see the +flies buzzing around the ragged edges. He stared at the great tusks +that were veined and yellowed and broken--once men had hunted +elephants for ivory, he remembered. + +But how could they? Even with guns, how had they dared to confront a +moving mountain? Mike tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. The +stock slipped through his clammy hands. + +"Shoot!" implored the boy beside him. "You shoot, now!" + +Mike gazed down. The elephant was aware of him. It turned +deliberately, staring up the bank as it swayed on the four black +pillars of its legs. Mike could see its eyes, set in a mass of grayish +wrinkles. The eyes had recognized him. + +They knew, he realized. The eyes knew all about him; who he was and +what he was and what he had come here to do. The eyes had seen man +before--perhaps long before Mike was born. They understood everything; +the gun and the presence and the purpose. + +"Shoot!" the boy cried, not bothering to hold his voice down any +longer. For the elephant was moving slowly towards the side of the +wallow, moving deliberately to firmer footing, and the boy was afraid. +Mike was afraid, too, but he couldn't shoot. + +"No," he murmured. "Let him go. I can't kill him." + +"You must," the boy said. "You promise. Look--all the meat. Meat for +two, three villages." + +Mike shook his head. "I can't do it," he said. "That isn't meat. +That's life. Bigger life than we are. Don't you understand? Oh, the +bloody hell with it! Come on." + +The boy wasn't listening to him. He was watching the elephant. And now +he started to tremble. + +For the elephant was moving up onto solid ground. It moved slowly, +daintily, almost mincing as its legs sampled the surface of the shore. +Then it looked up and this time there was no doubt as to the direction +of its gaze--it stared intently at Mike and the boy on the bank. Its +ears fanned, then flared. Suddenly the elephant raised its trunk and +trumpeted fiercely. + +And then, lowering the black battering-ram of its head, the beast came +forward. A deceptively slow lope, a scarcely accelerated trot, and +then all at once it was moving swiftly, swiftly and surely and +inexorably towards them. The angle of the bank was not steep and the +elephant's speed never slackened on the slope. Its right shoulder +struck a sapling and the sapling splintered. It was crashing forward +in full charge. Again it trumpeted, trunk extended like a flail of +doom. + +"Shoot!" screamed the boy. + +Mike didn't want to shoot. He wanted to run. He wanted to flee the +mountain, flee the incredible breathing bulk of this grotesque giant. +But he was a white hunter, he was a man, and a man is not a beast; a +man does not run away from life in any shape or size. + +The trunk came up. Mike raised the gun. He heard the monster roar, far +away, and then he heard another sound that must be the gun's +discharge, and something hit him in the shoulder and knocked him down. +Recoil? Yes, because the elephant wasn't there any more; he could hear +the crashing and thrashing down below, over the rim of the river bank. + +Mike stood up. He saw the boy running now, running back to the bearers +huddled along the edge of the trail. + +He rubbed his shoulder, picked up his gun, reloaded. The sounds from +below had ceased. Slowly, Mike advanced to the lip of the bank and +stared down. + +The bull elephant had fallen and rolled into the wallow once more. It +had taken a direct hit, just beneath the right ear, and even as Mike +watched, its trunk writhed feebly like a dying serpent, then fell +forward into the mud. The gigantic ears twitched, then flickered and +flopped, and the huge body rolled and settled. + +Suddenly Mike began to cry. + +Damn it, he hadn't _wanted_ to shoot. If the elephant hadn't charged +like that-- + +But the elephant _had_ to charge. Just as he _had_ to shoot. That was +the whole secret. The secret of life. And the secret of death, too. + +Mike turned away, facing the east. Kenyarobi was east, and he'd be +going there now. Nothing to hold him here in the forests any longer. +He wouldn't even wait for the big feast. To hell with elephant-meat, +anyway. His hunting days were over. + +Mike walked slowly up the trail to the waiting boys. + +And behind him, in the wallow, the flies settled down on the lifeless +carcass of the last elephant in the world. + + + + +8. Harry Collins--2029 + + +The guards at Stark Falls were under strict orders not to talk. Each +prisoner here was exercised alone in a courtyard runway, and meals +were served in the cells. The cells were comfortable enough, and while +there were no telescreens, books were available--genuine, old-style +books which must have been preserved from libraries dismantled fifty +years ago or more. Harry Collins found no titles dated later than +1975. Every day or so an attendant wheeled around a cart piled high +with the dusty volumes. Harry read to pass the time. + +At first he kept anticipating his trial, but after a while he almost +forgot about that possibility. And it was well over a year before he +got a chance to tell his story to anyone. + +When his opportunity came, his audience did not consist of judge or +jury, doctor, lawyer or penologist. He spoke only to Richard Wade, a +fellow-prisoner who had been thrust into the adjoining cell on the +evening of October 11th, 2013. + +Harry spoke haltingly at first, but as he progressed the words came +more easily, and emotion lent its own eloquence. His unseen auditor on +the other side of the wall did not interrupt or question him; it was +enough, for Harry, that there _was_ someone to listen at last. + +"So it wasn't a bit like I'd expected," he concluded. "No trial, no +publicity. I've never seen Leffingwell again, nor Manschoff. Nobody +questioned me. By the time I recovered consciousness, I was here in +prison. Buried alive." + +Richard Wade spoke slowly, for the first time. "You're lucky. They +might have shot you down on the spot." + +"That's just what bothers me," Harry told him. "Why didn't they kill +me? Why lock me up _incommunicado_ this way? There aren't many prisons +left these days, with food and space at such a premium." + +"There are _no_ prisons left at all--officially," Wade said. "Just as +there are no longer any cemeteries. But important people are still +given private burials and their remains secretly preserved. All a +matter of influence." + +"I've no influence. I'm not important. Wouldn't you think they'd +consider it risky to keep me alive, under the circumstances? If +there'd ever be an investigation--" + +"Who would investigate? Not the government, surely." + +"But suppose there's a political turnover. Suppose Congress want to +make capital of the situation?" + +"There is no Congress." + +Harry gasped. "No Congress?" + +"As of last month. It was dissolved. Henceforth we are governed by the +Cabinet, with authority delegated to department heads." + +"But that's preposterous! Nobody'd stand still for something like +that!" + +"They did stand still, most of them. After a year of careful +preparation--of wholesale _exposes_ of Congressional graft and +corruption and inefficiency. Turned out that Congress was the villain +all along; the Senators and Representatives had finagled +tariff-barriers and restrictive trade-agreements which kept our food +supply down. They were opposing international federation. In plain +language, people were sold a bill of goods--get rid of Congress and +you'll have more food. That did it." + +"But you'd think the politicians themselves would realize they were +cutting their own throats! The state legislatures and the governors--" + +"Legislatures were dissolved by the same agreement," Wade went on. +"There are no states any more; just governmental districts. Based upon +sensible considerations of area and population. This isn't the +old-time expanding economy based on obsolescence and conspicuous +consumption. The primary problem at the moment is sheer survival. In +a way, the move makes sense. Old-fashioned political machinery +couldn't cope with the situation; there's no time for debate when +instantaneous decisions are necessary to national welfare. You've +heard how civil liberties were suspended during the old wars. Well, +there's a war on right now; a war against hunger, a war against the +forces of fecundity. In another dozen years or so, when the Leff shot +generation is fullgrown and a lot of the elderly have died off, the +tensions will ease. Meanwhile, quick action is necessary. Arbitrary +action." + +"But you're defending dictatorship!" + +Richard Wade made a sound which is usually accompanied by a derisive +shrug. "Am I? Well, I didn't when I was outside. And that's why I'm +here now." + +Harry Collins cleared his throat. "What did you do?" + +"If you refer to my profession, I was a scripter. If you refer to my +alleged criminal activity, I made the error of thinking the way you +do, and the worse error of attempting to inject such attitudes in my +scripts. Seems that when Congress was formally dissolved, there was +some notion of preparing a timely show--a sort of historical review of +the body, using old film clips. What my superiors had in mind was a +comedy of errors; a cavalcade of mistakes and misdeeds showing just +why we were better off without supporting a political sideshow. Well, +I carried out the assignment and edited the films, but when I drafted +a rough commentary, I made the mistake of taking both a pro and con +slant. Nothing like that ever reached the telescreens, of course, but +what I did was promptly noted. They came for me at once and hustled me +off here. I didn't get a hearing or a trial, either." + +"But why didn't they execute you? Or--" Harry hesitated--"is that what +you expect?" + +"Why didn't they execute _you_?" Wade shot back. He was silent for a +moment before continuing. "No, I don't expect anything like that, now. +They'd have done it on the spot if they intended to do so at all. No, +I've got another idea about people like you and myself. And about some +of the Congressmen and Senators who dropped out of sight, too. I think +we're being stockpiled." + +"Stockpiled?" + +"It's all part of a plan. Give me a little time to think. We can talk +again, later." Wade chuckled once more. "Looks as if there'll be ample +opportunity in the future." + +And there was. In the months ahead, Harry spoke frequently with his +friend behind the wall. He never saw him--prisoners at Stark Falls +were exercised separately, and there was no group assembly or +recreation. Surprisingly adequate meals were served in surprisingly +comfortable cells. In the matter of necessities, Harry had no +complaints. And now that he had someone to talk to, the time seemed to +go more swiftly. + +He learned a great deal about Richard Wade during the next few years. +Mostly, Wade liked to reminisce about the old days. He talked about +working for the networks--the _commercial_ networks, privately owned, +which flourished before the government took over communications media +in the '80s. + +"That's where you got your start, eh?" Harry asked. + +"Lord, no, boy! I'm a lot more ancient than you think. Why, I'm +pushing sixty-five. Born in 1940. That's right, during World War II. I +can almost remember the atomic bomb, and I sure as hell remember the +sputniks. It was a crazy period, let me tell you. The pessimists +worried about the Russians blowing us up, and the optimists were sure +we had a glorious future in the conquest of space. Ever hear that old +fable about the blind men examining an elephant? Well, that's the way +most people were; each of them groping around and trying to determine +the exact shape of things to come. A few of us even made a little +money from it for a while, writing science fiction. That's how I got +my start." + +"You were a writer?" + +"Sold my first story when I was eighteen or so. Kept on writing off +and on for almost twenty years. Of course, Robertson's thermo-nuc +formula came along in '75, and after that everything went to pot. It +knocked out the chances of future war, but it also knocked out the +interest in speculation or escape-fiction. So I moved over into +television for a while, and stayed with it. But the old science +fiction was fun while it lasted. Ever read any of it?" + +"No," Harry admitted. "That was all before my time. Tell me, +though--did any of it make sense? I mean, did some of those writers +foresee what was really going to happen?" + +"There were plenty of penny prophets and nickel Nostradamuses," Wade +told him. "But as I said, most of them were assuming war with the +Communists or a new era of space travel. Since Communism collapsed and +space flight was just an expensive journey to a dead end and dead +worlds, it follows that the majority of fictional futures were founded +on fallacies. And all the rest of the extrapolations dealt with +superficial social manifestations. + +"For example, they wrote about civilizations dominated by advertising +and mass-motivation techniques. It's true that during my childhood +this seemed to be a logical trend--but once demand exceeded supply, +the whole mechanism of _stimulating_ demand, which was advertising's +chief function, bogged down. And mass-motivation techniques, today, +are dedicated almost entirely to maintaining minimum resistance to a +system insuring our survival. + +"Another popular idea was based on the notion of an expanding +matriarchy--a gerontomatriarchy, rather, in which older women would +take control. In an age when women outlived men by a number of years, +this seemed possible. Now, of course, shortened working hours and +medical advances have equalized the life-span. And since private +property has become less and less of a factor in dominating our +collective destinies, it hardly matters whether the male or the female +has the upper hand. + +"Then there was the common theory that technological advances would +result in a push-button society, where automatons would do all the +work. And so they might--if we had an unlimited supply of raw +materials to produce robots, and unlimited power-sources to activate +them. As we now realize, atomic power cannot be utilized on a minute +scale. + +"Last, but not least, there was the concept of a medically-orientated +system, with particular emphasis on psychotherapy, neurosurgery, and +parapsychology. The world was going to be run by telepaths, psychosis +eliminated by brainwashing, intellect developed by hypnotic +suggestion. It sounded great--but the conquest of physical disease has +occupied the medical profession almost exclusively. + +"No, what they all seemed to overlook, with only a few exceptions, was +the population problem. You can't run a world through advertising when +there are so many people that there aren't enough goods to go around +anyway. You can't turn it over to big business when big government has +virtually absorbed all of the commercial and industrial functions, +just to cope with an ever-growing demand. A matriarchy loses its +meaning when the individual family unit changes character, under the +stress of an increasing population-pressure which eliminates the +old-fashioned home, family circle, and social pattern. And the more we +must conserve dwindling natural resources for people, the less we can +expend on experimentation with robots and machinery. As for the +psychologist-dominated society, there are just too many patients and +not enough physicians. I don't have to remind you that the military +caste lost its chance of control when war disappeared, and that +religion is losing ground every day. Class-lines are vanishing, and +racial distinctions will be going next. The old idea of a World +Federation is becoming more and more practical. Once the political +barriers are down, miscegenation will finish the job. But nobody +seemed to foresee this particular future. They all made the mistake of +worrying about the hydrogen-bomb instead of the sperm-bomb." + +Harry nodded thoughtfully, although Wade couldn't see his response. +"But isn't it true that there's a little bit of each of these concepts +in our actual situation today?" he asked. "I mean, government and +business _are_ virtually one and the same, and they do use propaganda +techniques to control all media. As for scientific research, look at +how we've rebuilt our cities and developed synthetics for food and +fuel and clothing and shelter. When it comes to medicine, there's +Leffingwell and his inoculations. Isn't that all along the lines of +your early science fiction?" + +"Where's your Underground?" Richard Wade demanded. + +"My _what_?" + +"Your Underground," Wade repeated. "Hell, every science fiction yarn +about a future society had its Underground! That was the whole gimmick +in the plot. The hero was a conformist who tangled with the social +order--come to think of it, that's what _you_ did, years ago. Only +instead of becoming an impotent victim of the system, he'd meet up +with the Underground Movement. Not some sourball like your friend +Ritchie, who tried to operate on his own hook, without real plans or +system, but a complete _sub rosa_ organization, bent on starting a +revolution and taking over. There'd be wise old priests and wise old +crooks and wise old officers and wise old officials, all playing a +double game and planning a _coup_. Spies all over the place, get me? +And in no time at all, our hero would be playing tag with the top +figures in the government. That's how it worked out in all the +stories. + +"But what happens in real life? What happened to you, for example? You +fell for a series of stupid tricks, stupidly perpetrated--because the +people in power _are_ people, and not the kind of synthetic +super-intellects dreamed up by frustrated fiction-fabricators. You +found out that the logical candidates to constitute an Underground +were the Naturalists; again, they were just ordinary individuals with +no genius for organization. As for coming in contact with key figures, +you were actually on hand when Leffingwell completed his experiments. +And you came back, years later, to hunt him down. Very much in the +heroic tradition, I admit. But you never saw the man except through +the telescopic sights of your rifle. That was the end of it. No +modern-day Machiavelli has hauled you in to play cat-and-mouse games +with you, and no futuristic Freud has bothered to wash your brain or +soft-soap your subconscious. You just aren't that important, Collins." + +"But they put me in a special prison. Why?" + +"Who knows? They put me here, too." + +"You said something once, about stockpiling us. What did you mean?" + +"Well, it was just an old science fiction idea, I suppose. I'll tell +you about it tomorrow, eh?" + +And so the matter--and Harry Collins--rested for the night. + +The next day Richard Wade was gone. + +Harry called to him and there was no answer. And he cried out and he +cursed and he paced his cell and he walked alone in the courtyard and +he begged the impassive guards for information, and he sweated and he +talked to himself and he counted the days and he lost count of the +days. + +Then, all at once, there was another prisoner in the adjacent cell, +and his name was William Chang, and he was a biologist. He was +reticent about the crime he had committed, but quite voluble about the +crimes committed by others in the world outside. Much of what he said, +about genes and chromosomes and recessive characteristics and +mutation, seemed incomprehensible to Harry. But in their talks, one +thing emerged clearly enough--Chang was concerned for the future of +the race. "Leffingwell should have waited," he said. "It's the +_second_ generation that will be important. As I tried to tell my +people--" + +"Is that why you're here?" + +Chang sighed. "I suppose so. They wouldn't listen, of course. +Overpopulation has always been the curse of Asia, and this seemed to +be such an obvious solution. But who knows? The time may come when +they need men like myself." + +"So you were stockpiled too." + +"What's that?" + +Harry told him about Richard Wade's remarks, and together they tried +to puzzle out the theory behind them. + +But not for long. Because once again Harry Collins awoke in the +morning to find the adjoining cell empty, and once again he was alone +for a long time. + +At last a new neighbor came. His name was Lars Neilstrom. Neilstrom +talked to him of ships and shoes and sealing-wax and the thousand and +one things men will discuss in their loneliness and frustration, +including--inevitably--their reasons for being here. + +Neilstrom had been an instructor under Vocational Apt, and he was at a +loss to explain his presence at Stark Falls. When Harry spoke of the +stockpiling theory, his fellow-prisoner demurred. "It's more like +Kafka than science fiction," he said. "But then, I don't suppose +you've ever read any Kafka." + +"Yes, I have," Harry told him. "Since I came here I've done nothing +but read old books. Lately they've been giving me microscans. I've +been studying up on biology and genetics; talking to Chang got me +interested. In fact, I'm really going in for self-education. There's +nothing else to do." + +"Self-education! That's the only method left nowadays." Neilstrom +sounded bitter. "I don't know what's going to become of our heritage +of knowledge in the future. I'm not speaking of technological skill; +so-called scientific information is carefully preserved. But the +humanities are virtually lost. The concept of the well-rounded +individual is forgotten. And when I think of the crisis to come--" + +"What crisis?" + +"A new generation is growing up. Ten or fifteen years from now we'll +have succeeded in erasing political and racial and religious +divisions. But there'll be a new and more dangerous differentiation; a +_physical_ one. What do you think will happen when half the world is +around six feet tall and the other half under three?" + +"I can't imagine." + +"Well, I can. The trouble is, most people don't realize what the +problem will be. Things have moved too swiftly. Why, there were more +changes in the last hundred years than in the previous thousand! And +the rate of acceleration increases. Up until now, we've been concerned +about too rapid technological development. But what we have to worry +about is social development." + +"Most people have been conditioned to conform." + +"Yes. That's our job in Vocational Apt. But the system only works when +there's a single standard of conformity. In a few years there'll be a +double one, based on size. What then?" + +Harry wanted some time to consider the matter, but the question was +never answered. Because Lars Neilstrom went away in the night, as had +his predecessors before him. And in succeeding interludes, Harry came +to know a half-dozen other transient occupants of the cell next to +his. They came from all over, and they had many things to discuss, but +always there was the problem of _why_ they were there--and the memory +of Richard Wade's premise concerning stockpiling. + +There came a time when the memory of Richard Wade merged with the +memory of Arnold Ritchie. The past was a dim montage of life at the +agency and the treatment center and the ranch, a recollection of lying +on the river bank with women in attitudes of opisthotonos or of lying +against the boulders with a rifle. + +Somewhere there was an image of a child's wide eyes and a voice +saying, "My name is Harry Collins." But that seemed very far away. +What was real was the cell and the years of talking and reading the +microscans and trying to find a pattern. + +Harry found himself describing it all to a newcomer who said his name +was Austin--a soft-voiced man who became a resident of the next cell +one day in 2029. And eventually he came to Wade's theory. + +"Maybe there were a few wiser heads who foresaw a coming crisis," he +concluded. "Maybe they anticipated a time when they might need a few +nonconformists. People like ourselves who haven't been passive or +persuaded. Maybe we're the government's insurance policy. If an +emergency arises, we'll be freed." + +"And then what would _you_ do?" Austin asked, softly. "You're against +the system, aren't you?" + +"Yes. But I'm _for_ survival." Harry Collins spoke slowly, +thoughtfully. "You see, I've learned something through the years of +study and contact here. Rebellion is not the answer." + +"You hated Leffingwell." + +"Yes, I did, until I realized that all this was inevitable. +Leffingwell is not a villain and neither is any given individual, in +or out of government. Our road to hell has been paved with only the +very best of intentions. Killing the engineers and contractors will +not get us off that road, and we're all on it together. We'll have to +find a way of changing the direction of our journey. The young people +will be too anxious to merely rush blindly ahead. Most of my +generation will be sheeplike, moving as part of the herd, because of +their conditioning. Only we old-time rebels will be capable of +plotting a course. A course for all of us." + +"What about your son?" Austin asked. + +"I'm thinking of him," Harry Collins answered. "Of him, and of all the +others. Maybe he does not need me. Maybe none of them need me. Maybe +it's all an illusion. But if the time ever comes, I'll be ready. And +meanwhile, I can hope." + +"The time has come," Austin said, gently. + +And then he was standing, miraculously enough, outside his cell and +before the door to Harry's cell, and the door was opening. And once +again Harry stared into the wide eyes he remembered so well--the same +wide eyes, set in the face of a fullgrown man. A fullgrown man, three +feet tall. He stood up, shakily, as the man held out his hand and +said, "Hello, Father." + +"But I don't understand--" + +"I've waited a long time for this moment. I had to talk to you, find +out how you really felt, so that I'd be sure. Now you're ready to join +us." + +"What's happening? What do you want with me?" + +"We'll talk later." Harry's son smiled. "Right now, I'm taking you +home." + + + + +9. Eric Donovan--2031 + + +Eric was glad to get to the office and shut the door. Lately he'd had +this feeling whenever he went out, this feeling that people were +staring at him. It wasn't just his imagination: they did stare. Every +younger person over a yard high got stared at nowadays, as if they +were freaks. And it wasn't just the staring that got him down, either. + +Sometimes they muttered and mumbled, and sometimes they called names. +Eric didn't mind stuff like "dirty Naturalist." That he could +understand--once upon a time, way back, everybody who was against the +Leff Law was called a Naturalist. And before that it had still another +meaning, or so he'd been told. Today, of course, it just meant anyone +who was over five feet tall. + +No, he could take the ordinary name-calling, all right. But sometimes +they said other things. They used words nobody ever uses unless they +really hate you, want to kill you. And that was at the bottom of it, +Eric knew. They did hate him, they _did_ want to kill him. + +Was he a coward? Perhaps. But it wasn't just Eric's imagination. You +never saw anything about such things on the telescreens, but +Naturalists were being killed every day. The older people were still +in the majority, but the youngsters were coming up fast. And there +were so many _more_ of them. Besides, they were more active, and this +created the illusion that there were Yardsticks everywhere. + +Eric sat down behind his desk, grinning. _Yardsticks._ When he was a +kid it had been just the other way around. He and the rest of them who +didn't get shots in those early days considered themselves to be the +normal ones. And _they_ did the name-calling. Names like "runt" and +"half-pint" and "midgie." But the most common name was the one that +stuck--Yardstick. That used to be the worst insult of all. + +But now it wasn't an insult any more. Being taller was the insult. +Being a dirty Naturalist or a son-of-a-Naturalist. Times certainly had +changed. + +Eric glanced at the communicator. Almost noon, and it had not flicked +yet. Here he'd been beaming these big offers, you'd think he'd get +some response to an expensive beaming program, but no. Maybe that was +the trouble--nobody liked _big_ things any more. Everything was small. + +He shifted uneasily in his chair. That was one consolation, at least; +he still had old-time furniture. Getting to be harder and harder to +find stuff that fitted him these days. Seemed like most of the firms +making furniture and bedding and household appliances were turning out +the small stuff for the younger generation. Cheaper to make, less +material, and more demand for it. Government allocated size priorities +to the manufacturers. + +It was even murder to ride public transportation because of the +space-reductions. Eric drove his own jetter. Besides, that way was +safer. Crowded into a liner with a gang of Yardsticks, with only a few +other Naturalists around, there might be trouble. + +Oh, it was getting to be a Yardstick world, and no mistake. Smaller +furniture, smaller meals, smaller sizes in clothing, smaller +buildings-- + +That reminded Eric of something and he frowned again. Dammit, why +didn't the communicator flick? He should be getting some kind of +inquiries. Hell, he was practically _giving_ the space away! + +But there was only silence, as there had been all during this past +week. That's why he let Lorette go. Sweet girl, but there was no work +for her here any more. No work, and no pay, either. Besides, the place +spooked her. She'd been the one who suggested leaving, really. + +"Eric, I'm sorry, but I just can't take this any more. All alone in +this huge building--it's curling my toes!" + +At first he tried to talk her out of it. "Don't be silly, luscious! +There's Bernstein, down on ten, and Saltonstall above us, and Wallaby +and Son on fourteen, I tell you, this place is coming back to life, I +can feel it! I'll beam for tenants next week, you'll see--" + +Actually he'd been talking against his own fear and Lorette must have +known it. Anyway, she left. And now he was here alone. + +_Alone._ + +Eric didn't like the sound of that word. Or the absence of sound +behind it. Three other tenants in a ninety-story building. Three other +tenants in a place that had once held three thousand. Why, fifty years +ago, when this place went up, you couldn't buy a vacancy. Where had +the crowds gone to? + +He knew the answer, of course. The Leff shots had created the new +generation of Yardsticks, and they lived in their own world. Their +shrunken, dehydrated world of doll-houses and miniatures. They'd +deserted the old-fashioned skyscrapers and cut the big apartment +buildings up into tiny cubicles; two could occupy the space formerly +reserved for one. + +That had been the purpose of the Leff shots in the first place--to put +an end to overcrowding and conserve on resources. Well, it had worked +out. Worked out too perfectly for people like Eric Donovan. Eric +Donovan, rental agent for a building nobody wanted any more; a +ninety-storey mausoleum. And nobody could collect rent from ghosts. + +_Ghosts._ + +Eric damned near jumped through the ceiling when the door opened and +this man walked in. He was tall and towheaded. Eric stared; there was +something vaguely familiar about his face. Something about those ears, +that was it, those ears. No, it couldn't be, it wasn't possible-- + +Eric stood up and held out his hand. "I'm Donovan," he said. + +The towheaded man smiled and nodded. "Yes, I know. Don't you remember +me?" + +"I thought I knew you from someplace. You wouldn't be--Sam Wolzek?" + +The towheaded man's smile became a broad grin. "That's not what you +were going to say, Eric. You were going to say 'Handle-head,' weren't +you? Well, go on, say it. I don't mind. I've been called a lot worse +things since we were kids together." + +"I can't believe it," Eric murmured. "It's really you! Old Handle-head +Wolzek! And after all these years, turning up to rent an office from +me. Well, what do you know!" + +"I didn't come here to rent an office." + +"Oh? Then--" + +"It was your name that brought me. I recognized it on the beamings." + +"Then this is a social call, eh? Well, that's good. I don't get much +company these days. Sit down, have a reef." + +Wolzek sat down but refused the smoke. "I know quite a bit about your +setup," he said. "You and your three tenants. It's tough, Eric." + +"Oh, things could be worse." Eric forced a laugh. "It isn't as if my +bucks depended on the number of tenants in the building. Government +subsidizes this place. I'm sure of a job as long as I live." + +"As long as you live." Wolzek stared at him in a way he didn't like. +"And just how long do you figure that to be?" + +"I'm only twenty-six," Eric answered. "According to statistics, that +gives me maybe another sixty years." + +"Statistics!" Wolzek said it like a dirty word. "Your life-expectancy +isn't determined by statistics any more. I say you don't have sixty +months left. Perhaps not even sixty days." + +"What are you trying to hand me?" + +"The truth. And don't go looking for a silver platter underneath it, +either." + +"But I mind my own business. I don't hurt anybody. Why should I be in +any danger?" + +"Why does a government subsidy support one rental manager to sit here +in this building every day--but ten guards to patrol it every night?" + +Eric opened his mouth wide before shaping it for speech. "Who told you +that?" + +"Like I said, I know the setup." Wolzek crossed his legs, but he +didn't lean back. "And in case you haven't guessed it, this is a +business call, not a social one." + +Eric sighed. "Might have figured," he said. "You're a Naturalist, +aren't you?" + +"Of course I am. We all are." + +"Not I." + +"Oh yes--whether you like it or not, you're a Naturalist, too. As far +as the Yardsticks are concerned, everyone over three feet high is a +Naturalist. An enemy. Someone to be hated, and destroyed." + +"Think I'd believe that? Sure, I know they don't like us, and why +should they? We eat twice as much, take up twice the space, and I +guess when we were kids we gave a lot of them a hard time. Besides, +outside of a few exceptions like ourselves, all the younger generation +are Yardsticks, with more coming every year. The older people hold +the key positions and the power. Of course there's a lot of friction +and resentment. But you know all that." + +"Certainly." Wolzek nodded. "All that and more. Much more. I know that +up until a few years ago, no Yardstick held any public office or +government position. Now they're starting to move in, particularly in +Europasia. But there's so many of them now--adults, in their early +twenties--that the pressure is building up. They're impatient, getting +out of hand. They won't wait until the old folks die off. They want +control now. And if they ever manage to get it, we're finished for +good." + +"Impossible!" Eric said. + +"Impossible?" Wolzek's voice was a mocking echo. "You sit here in this +tomb and when somebody tells you that the world you know has died, you +refuse to believe it. Even though every night, after you sneak home +and huddle up inside your room trying not to be noticed, ten guards +patrol this place with subatomics, so the Yardstick gangs won't break +in and take over. So they won't do what they did down south--overrun +the office buildings and the factories and break them up, cut them +down to size for living quarters." + +"But they were stopped," Eric objected. "I saw it on the telescreen, +the security forces stopped them--" + +"Crapola!" Wolzek pronounced the archaicism with studied care. "You +saw films. Faked films. Have you ever traveled, Eric? Ever been down +south and seen conditions there?" + +"Nobody travels nowadays. You know that. Priorities." + +"I travel, Eric. And I know. Security forces don't suppress anything +in the south these days. Because they're made up of Yardsticks now; +that's right, Yardsticks exclusively. And in a few years that's the +way it will be up here. Did you ever hear about the Chicagee riots?" + +"You mean last year, when the Yardsticks tried to take over the +synthetic plants at the Stockyards?" + +"Tried? They _succeeded_. The workers ousted management. Over fifty +thousand were killed in the revolution--oh, don't look so shocked, +that's the right word for it!--but the Yardsticks won out in the end." + +"But the telescreen showed--" + +"Damn the telescreen! I know because I happened to be there when it +happened. And if _you_ had been there, you and a few million other +ostriches who sit with your heads buried in telescreens, maybe we +could have stopped them." + +"I don't believe it. I can't!" + +"All right. Think back. That was last year. And since the first of +this year, what's happened to the standard size meat-ration?" + +"They cut it in half," Eric admitted. "But that's because of Ag +shortages, according to the telescreen reports--" He stood up, +gulping. "Look here, I'm not going to listen to any more of this kind +of talk. By rights, I ought to turn your name in." + +"Go ahead." Wolzek waved his hand. "It's happened before. I was +reported when I blasted the Yardsticks who shot my father down when he +tried to land his jet in a southern field. I was reported when they +killed Annette." + +"Annette?" + +"You remember that name, don't you, Eric? Your first girl, wasn't she? +Well, I'm the guy who married her. Yes, and I'm the guy who talked her +into having a baby without the benefit of Leff shots. Sure, it's +illegal, and only a few of us ever try it any more, but we both agreed +that we wanted it that way. A real, life-sized, normal baby. Or +abnormal, according to the Yardsticks and the stupid government. + +"It was a dirty scum of a government doctor who let her die on the +table when he discovered the child weighed seven pounds. That's when I +really woke up, Eric. That's when I knew there was going to be only +one decision to make in the future--kill or be killed." + +"Annette. She died, you say?" + +Wolzek moved over and put his hand on Eric's shoulder. "You never +married, did you, Eric? I think I know why. It's because you felt the +way I did about it. You wanted a regular kid, not a Yardstick. Only +you didn't quite have the guts to try and beat the law. Well, you'll +need guts now, because it's getting to the point where the law can't +protect you any more. The government is made up of old men, and +they're afraid to take action. In a few years they'll be pushed out of +office all over the world. We'll have Yardstick government then, all +the way, and Yardstick law. And that means they'll cut us down to +size." + +"But what can you--we--do about it?" + +"Plenty. There's still a little time. If we Naturalists can only get +together, stop being just a name and become an organized force, maybe +the ending will be different. We've got to try, in any case." + +"The Yardsticks are human beings, just like us," Eric said, slowly. +"We can't just declare war on them, wipe them out. It's not their +_fault_ they were born that way." + +Wolzek nodded. "I know. Nothing is anybody's fault, really. This whole +business began in good faith. Leffingwell and some of the other +geniuses saw a problem and offered what they sincerely believed was a +solution." + +"But it didn't work," Eric murmured. + +"Wrong. It worked only too well. That's the trouble. Sure, we +eliminated our difficulties on the physical level. In less than thirty +years we've reached a point where there's no longer any danger of +overcrowding or starvation. But the psychological factor is something +we can't cope with. We thought we'd ended war and the possibilities of +war a long time ago. But it isn't foreign enemies we must fear today. +We've created a nation divided into Davids and Goliaths--and David and +Goliath are always enemies." + +"David killed Goliath," Eric said. "Does that mean we're going to +die?" + +"Only if we're as stupid as Goliath was. Only if we wear our +telescreens like invincible armor and pay no attention to the +slingshot in David's hands." + +Eric lit a reef. "All right," he said. "You don't have to lecture. I'm +willing to join. But I'm no Goliath, really. I never had a fight in my +life. What could I do to help?" + +"You're a rental agent. You have the keys to this building. The guards +don't bother you by day, do they? You come and go as you please. That +means you can get into the cellars. You can help us move the stuff +down there. And we'll take care of the guards some night, after that." + +"I don't understand." + +The friendly pressure on Eric's shoulder became a fierce grip. "You +don't have to understand. All you do is let us plant the stuff in the +cellars and let us get rid of the guards afterwards in our own way. +The Yardsticks will do the rest." + +"You mean, take over the building when it's not protected?" + +"Of course. They'll take it over completely, once they see there's no +opposition. And they'll remodel it to suit themselves, and within a +month there'll be ten thousand Yardsticks sitting in this place." + +"The government will never stand still for that." + +"Wake up! It's happening all over, all the time, and nothing is being +done to prevent it. Security is too weak and officials are too timid +to risk open warfare. So the Yardsticks win, and I'm going to see that +they win this place." + +"But how will that help us?" + +"You don't see it yet, do you? And neither will the Yardsticks. Until, +some fine day three or four months from now, we get around to what +will be planted in the cellars. Somebody will throw a switch, miles +away, and--boom!" + +"Wolzek, you couldn't--" + +"It's coming. Not only here, but in fifty other places. We've got to +fight fire with fire, Eric. It's our only chance. Bring this thing out +into the open. Make the government realize this is war. Civil war. +That's the only way to force them to take real action. We can't do it +any other way; it's illegal to organize politically, and petitions do +no good. We can't get a hearing. Well, they'll have to listen to the +explosions." + +"I just don't know--" + +"Maybe you're the one who should have married Annette after all." +Wolzek's voice was cold. "Maybe you could have watched her, watched +her scream and beg and die, and never wanted to move a muscle to do +anything about it afterwards. Maybe you're the model citizen, Eric; +you and the thousands of others who are standing by and letting the +Yardsticks chop us down, one by one. They say in Nature it's the +survival of the fittest. Well, perhaps you're not fit to survive." + +Eric wasn't listening. "She screamed," he said. "You heard her +scream?" + +Wolzek nodded. "I can still hear her. I'll always hear her." + +"Yes." Eric blinked abruptly. "When do we start?" + +Wolzek smiled at him. It was a pretty good smile for a man who can +always hear screaming. "I knew I could count on you," he murmured. +"Nothing like old friends." + +"Funny, isn't it?" Eric tried to match his smile. "The way things work +out. You and I being kids together. You marrying my girl. And then, us +meeting up again this way." + +"Yes," said Wolzek, and he wasn't smiling now. "I guess it's a small +world." + + + + +10. Harry Collins--2032 + + +Harry's son's house was on the outskirts of Washington, near what had +once been called Gettysburg. Harry was surprised to find that it _was_ +a house, and a rather large one, despite the fact that almost all the +furniture had been scaled down proportionately to fit the needs of a +man three feet high. + +But then, Harry was growing accustomed to surprises. + +He found a room of his own, ready and waiting, on the second floor; +here the furniture was of almost antique vintage, but adequate in +size. And here, in an atmosphere of unaccustomed comfort, he could +talk. + +"So you're a physician, eh?" Harry gazed down into the diminutive +face, striving to accept the fact that he was speaking to a mature +adult. His own son--his and Sue's--a grown man and a doctor! It seemed +incredible. But then, nothing was more incredible than the knowledge +that he was actually here, in his child's home. + +"We're all specialists in one field or another," his son explained. +"Every one of us born and surviving during the early experimental +period received our schooling under a plan Leffingwell set up. It was +part of his conditional agreement that we become wards of the state. +He knew the time might come when we'd be needed." + +"But why wasn't all this done openly?" + +"You know the answer to that. There was no way of educating us under +the prevailing system, and there was always a danger we might be +singled out as freaks who must be destroyed--particularly in those +early years. So Leffingwell relied on secrecy, just as he did during +his experimentation period. You know how _you_ felt about that. You +believed innocent people were being murdered. Would you have listened +to his explanations, accepted the fact that his work was worth the +cost of a few lives so that future billions of human beings might be +saved? No, there was no time for explanation or indoctrination. +Leffingwell chose concealment." + +"Yes," Harry sighed. "I understand that better now, I think. But I +couldn't see it then, when I tried to kill him." He flushed. "And I +still can't quite comprehend why he spared me after that attempt." + +"Because he wasn't the monster you thought him to be. When I pleaded +with him--" + +"_You_ were the one!" + +Harry's son turned away. "Yes. When I was told who you really were, I +went to him. But I was only a child, remember that. And he didn't +spare you out of sentimentality. He had a purpose." + +"A purpose in sending me to prison, letting me rot all these years +while--" + +"While I grew up. I and the others like myself. And while the world +outside changed." Harry's son smiled. "Your friend Richard Wade was +right, you know. He guessed a great deal of the truth. Leffingwell and +Manschoff and the rest of their associates deliberately set out to +assemble a select group of nonconformists--men of specialized talents +and outlooks. There were over three hundred of you at Stark Falls. +Richard Wade knew why." + +"And so he was dragged off and murdered." + +"Murdered? No, Father, he's very much alive, I assure you. In fact, +he'll be here tonight." + +"But why was he taken away so abruptly, without any warning?" + +"He was needed. There was a crisis, when Dr. Leffingwell died." +Harry's son sighed. "You didn't know about that, did you? There's so +much for you to learn. But I'll let him tell you himself, when you see +him this evening." + +Richard Wade told him. And so did William Chang and Lars Neilstrom and +all the others. During the ensuing weeks, Harry saw each of them +again. But Wade's explanation was sufficient. + +"I was right," he said. "There was no Underground when we were at +Stark Falls. What I didn't realize, though, was that there was an +Overground." + +"Overground?" + +"You might call it that. Leffingwell and his staff formed the nucleus. +They foresaw the social crisis which lay ahead, when the world became +physically divided into the tall and the short, the young and the old. +They knew there'd be a need of individuality then--and they _did_ +create a stockpile. A stockpile of the younger generation, specially +educated; a stockpile of the older generation, carefully selected. We +conspicuous rebels were incarcerated and given an opportunity to think +the problem through, with limited contact with one another's +viewpoints." + +"But why weren't we told the truth at the beginning, allowed to meet +face-to-face and make some sensible plans for the future?" + +Harry's son interrupted. "Because Dr. Leffingwell realized this would +defeat the ultimate purpose. You'd have formed your own in-group, as +prisoners, dedicated to your own welfare. There'd be emotional ties--" + +"I still don't know what you're talking about. What are we supposed to +prepare for now?" + +Richard Wade shrugged. "Leffingwell had it all planned. He foresaw +that when the first generation of Yardsticks--that's what they call +themselves, you know--came of age, there'd be social unrest. The young +people would want to take over, and the older generation would try to +remain in positions of power. It was his belief that tensions could be +alleviated only by proper leadership on both sides. + +"He himself had an important voice in government circles. He set up an +arrangement whereby a certain number of posts would be assigned to +people of his choice, both young and old. Similarly, in the various +professions, there'd be room for appointees he'd select. Given a year +or two of training, Leffingwell felt that we'd be ready for these +positions. Young men, like your son, would be placed in key spots +where their influence would be helpful with the Yardsticks. Older men +such as yourself would go into other assignments--in communications +media, chiefly. The skillful use of group-psychological techniques +could avert open clashes. He predicted a danger-period lasting about +twenty years--roughly, from 2030 to 2050. Once we weathered that span, +equilibrium would be regained, as a second and third generation came +along and the elders became a small minority. If we did our work well +and eliminated the sources of prejudice, friction and hostility, the +transition could be made. The Overground in governmental circles would +finance us. This was Leffingwell's plan, his dream." + +"You speak in the past tense," Harry said. + +"Yes." Wade's voice was harsh. "Because Leffingwell is dead, of +cerebral hemorrhage. And his plan died with him. Oh, we still have +some connections in government; enough to get men like yourself out of +Stark Falls. But things have moved too swiftly. The Yardsticks are +already on the march. The people in power--even those we relied +upon--are getting frightened. They can't see that there's time left to +train us to take over. And frankly, I'm afraid most of them have no +inclination to give up their present power. They intend to use +force." + +"But you talk as though the Yardsticks were united." + +"They are uniting, and swiftly. Remember the Naturalists?" + +Harry nodded, slowly. "I was one, once. Or thought I was." + +"You were a liberal. I'm talking about the _new_ Naturalists. The ones +bent on actual revolution." + +"Revolution?" + +"That's the word. And that's the situation. It's coming to a head, +fast." + +"And how will we prevent it?" + +"I don't know." Harry's son stared up at him. "Most of us believe it's +too late to prevent it. Our immediate problem will be survival. The +Naturalists want control for themselves. The Yardsticks intend to +destroy the power of the older generation. And we feel that if matters +come to a head soon, the government itself may turn on us, too. +They'll have to." + +"In other words," said Harry, "we stand alone." + +"Fall alone, more likely," Wade corrected. + +"How many of us are there?" + +"About six hundred," said Harry's son. "Located in private homes +throughout this eastern area. If there's violence, we don't have a +chance of controlling the situation." + +"But we can survive. As I see it, that's our only salvation at the +moment--to somehow survive the coming conflict. Then, perhaps, we can +find a way to function as Leffingwell planned." + +"We'll never survive here. They'll use every conceivable weapon." + +"But since there's no open break with the government yet, we could +still presumably arrange for transportation facilities." + +"To where?" + +"Some spot in which we could weather the storm. What about +Leffingwell's old hideout?" + +"The units are still standing." Harry's son nodded. "Yes, that's a +possibility. But what about food?" + +"Grizek." + +"What?" + +"Friend of mine," Harry told him. "Look, we're going to have to work +fast. And yet we've got to do it in a way that won't attract any +attention; not even from the government. I suggest we set up an +organizing committee and make plans." He frowned. "How much time do +you think we have--a year or so?" + +"Six months," his son hazarded. + +"Four, at most," Wade said. "Haven't you been getting the full reports +on those riots? Pretty soon they'll declare a state of national +emergency and then nobody will be going anywhere." + +"All right." Harry Collins grinned. "We'll do it in four months." + + * * * * * + +Actually, as it worked out, they did it in just a day or so under +three. + +Five hundred and forty-two men moved by jetter to Colorado Springs; +thence, by helicopter, to the canyon hideaway. They moved in small +groups, a few each week. Harry himself had already established the +liaison system, and he was based at Grizek's ranch. Grizek was dead, +but Bassett and Tom Lowery remained and they cooperated. Food would be +ready for the 'copters that came out of the canyon. + +The canyon installation itself was deserted, and the only problem it +presented was one of rehabilitation. The first contingent took over. + +The jetters carried more than their human cargo; they were filled with +equipment of all sorts--microscans and laboratory instruments and +devices for communication. By the time the entire group was assembled, +they had the necessary implementation for study and research. It was a +well-conceived and well-executed operation. + +To his surprise, Harry found himself acting as the leader of the +expedition, and he continued in this capacity after they were +established. The irony of the situation did not escape him; to all +intents and purposes he was now ruling the very domain in which he had +once languished as a prisoner. + +But with Wade and Chang and the others, he set up a provisional system +which worked out very well. And proved very helpful, once the news +reached them that open revolt had begun in the world outside. + +A battered 'copter landed one evening at dusk, and the wounded pilot +poured out his message, then his life's blood. + +Angelisco was gone. Washington was gone. The Naturalists had struck, +using the old, outlawed weapons. And it was the same abroad, according +to the few garbled reports thereafter obtainable only _via_ ancient +shortwave devices. + +From then on, nobody left the canyon except on weekly 'copter-lifts to +the ranch grazing lands for fresh supplies. Fortunately, that area was +undisturbed, and so were its laconic occupants. They neither knew nor +cared what went on in the world outside; what cities were reported +destroyed, what forces triumphed or went down into defeat, what +activity or radioactivity prevailed. + +Life in the canyon flowed on, more peacefully than the river cleaving +its center. There was much to do and much to learn. It was, actually, +a monastic existence, compounded of frugality, abstinence, continence +and devotion to scholarly pursuits. Within a year, gardens flourished; +within two years herds grazed the grassy slopes; within three years +cloth was being woven on looms in the ancient way and most of the +homespun arts of an agrarian society had been revived. Men fell sick +and men died, but the survivors lived in amity. Harry Collins +celebrated his sixtieth birthday as the equivalent of a second-year +student of medicine; his instructor being his own son. Everyone was +studying some subject, acquiring some new skill. One-time rebellious +natures and one-time biological oddities alike were united by the +common bond of intellectual curiosity. + +It was, however, no Utopia. Some of the younger men wanted women, and +there were no women. Some were irked by confinement and wandered off; +three of the fleet of eleven 'copters were stolen by groups of +malcontents. From time to time there would be a serious quarrel. Six +men were murdered. The population dwindled to four hundred and twenty. + +But there was progress, in the main. Eventually Banning joined the +group, from the ranch, and under his guidance the study-system was +formalized. Attempts were made to project the future situation, to +prepare for the day when it would be possible to venture safely into +the outside world once again and utilize newly-won abilities. + +Nobody could predict when that would be, nor what kind of world would +await their coming. By the time the fifth year had passed, even +shortwave reports had long since ceased. Rumors persisted that +radioactive contamination was widespread, that the population had been +virtually decimated, that the government had fallen, that the +Naturalists had set up their own reign only to fall victim to internal +strife. + +"But one thing is certain," Harry Collins told his companions as they +assembled in the usual monthly meeting on the grounds before the old +headquarters building one afternoon in July. "The fighting will end +soon. If we hear nothing more within the next few months, we'll send +out observation parties. Once we determine the exact situation, we can +plan accordingly. The world is going to need what we can give. It will +use what we have learned. It will accept our aid. One of these days--" + +And he went on to outline a carefully-calculated program of making +contact with the powers that be, or might be. It sounded logical and +even the chronic grumblers and habitual pessimists in the group were +encouraged. + +If at times they felt the situation fantastic and the hope forlorn, +they were heartened now. Richard Wade summed it up succinctly +afterwards, in a private conversation with Harry. + +"It isn't going to be easy," he said. "In the old science fiction +yarns I used to write, a group like this would have been able to +prevent the revolution. At the very least, it would decide who won if +fighting actually broke out. But in reality we were too late to +forestall revolt, and we couldn't win the war no matter on whose side +we fought. There's just one job we're equipped for--and that's to win +the peace. I don't mean we'll step out of here and take over the +world, either. We'll have to move slowly and cautiously, dispersing in +little groups of five or six all over the country. And we'll have to +sound out men in the communities we go to, find those who are willing +to learn and willing to build. But we can be an influence, and an +important one. We have the knowledge and the skill. We may not be +chosen to lead, but we can _teach_ the leaders. And that's important." + +Harry smiled in agreement. They _did_ have something to offer, and +surely it would be recognized--even if the Naturalists had won, even +if the entire country had sunk into semi-barbarism. No use +anticipating such problems now. Wait until fall came; then they'd +reconnoitre and find out. Wait until fall-- + +It was a wise decision, but one which ignored a single, important +fact. The Naturalists didn't wait until fall to conduct their +reconnaissance. + +They came over the canyon that very night; a large group of them in a +large jetter. + +And they dropped a large bomb.... + + + + +11. Jesse Pringle--2039 + + +They were after him. The whole world was in flames, and the buildings +were falling, the mighty were fallen, the Day of Judgment was at hand. + +He ran through the flames, blindly. Blind Samson. Eyeless in Gaza, +treading at the mill. The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they +grind exceedingly small. + +Small. They were all small, but that didn't matter. They had the guns +and they were hunting him down to his doom. Day of doom. Doomsday. The +great red dragon with seven heads and ten horns was abroad in the +land. + +They had unleashed the dragon and his breath was a fire that seared, +and his tail was a thunder that toppled towers. The dragon was +searching him out for his sins; he would be captured and set to labor +in the mill. + +But he would escape, he must escape! He was afraid of them, small as +they were, and great oaks from little acorns grow, it's the little +things that count, and he dare not go a-hunting for fear of little +men. + +Jesse crouched against the dock, watching the grain-elevators burn. +The whole city was burning, Babylon the mighty, the whole world was +burning in God's final wrath of judgment. + +Nobody believed in God any more, nobody read the Bible, and that's why +they didn't know these things. Jesse knew, because he was an old man +and he remembered how it had been when he was a little boy. A little +boy who learned of the Word of God and the Wrath of God. + +He could see the reflection of the flames in the water, now, and the +reflection was shimmery and broken because of the black clusters +floating past. Large clusters and small clusters. There were bodies in +the water, the bodies of the slain. + +Thunder boomed from the city behind him. Explosions. That's how it had +started, when the Naturalists began blowing up the buildings. And then +the Yardsticks had come with their weapons, hunting down the +Naturalists. Or had it been that way, really? It didn't matter, now. +That was in another country and besides, the wench was dead. + +The wench _is_ dead. His wench, Jesse's wench. She wasn't so old. Only +seventy-two. But they killed her, they blew off the top of her head +and he could feel it when they did. It was as if something had +happened in _his_ head, and then he ran at them and screamed, and +there was great slaughter amongst the heathen, the forces of +unrighteousness. + +And Jesse had fled, and smote evil in the name of the Lord, for he +perceived now that the time was at hand. + +_How the mighty are fallen._ + +Jesse blinked at the water, wishing it would clear, wishing his +thoughts would clear. Sometimes for a moment he could remember back to +the way things _really_ were. When it was still a real world, with +real people in it. When he was just a little boy and everybody else +was big. + +Strange. Now he was an old man, a big old man, and almost everybody +else was little. + +He tried to think what it had been like, so long ago. It was too long. +All he could remember about being small was that he had been afraid. +Afraid of the bigger people. + +And now he was big, and afraid of the smaller people. + +Of course they weren't real. It was just part of the prophecy, they +were the locusts sent to consume and destroy. He kept telling himself +there was nothing to fear; the righteous need not fear when the day of +judgment is at hand. + +Only somewhere inside of him was this little boy, crying, "Mama, Mama, +Mama!" And somewhere else was this old man, just staring down into the +water and waiting for them to find him. + +Another explosion sounded. + +This one was closer. They must be bombing the entire city. Or else it +was the dragon, lashing his tail. + +Somebody ran past Jesse, carrying a torch. No, it wasn't a torch--his +hair was on fire. He jumped into the water, screaming, "They're +coming! They're coming!" + +Jesse turned and blinked. They were coming, all right. He could see +them pouring out of the alleyway like rats. Rats with gleaming eyes, +gleaming claws. + +Suddenly, his head cleared. He realized that he was going to die. He +had, perhaps, one minute of life left. One minute out of eighty years. +And he couldn't fool himself any longer. He was not delirious. Day of +judgment--that was nonsense. And there was no dragon, and these were +not rats. They were merely men. Puny little men who killed because +they were afraid. + +Jesse was a big man, but he was afraid, too. Six feet three inches +tall he was, when he stood up straight as he did now, watching them +come--but he knew fear. + +And he resolved that he must not take that fear with him into death. +He wanted to die with something better than that. Wasn't there +something he could find and cling to, perhaps some memory--? + +A minute is so short, and eighty years is so long. Jesse stood there, +swaying, watching them draw nearer, watching them as they caught sight +of him and raised their weapons. + +He scanned rapidly into the past. Into the past, before the time the +wench was dead, back to when you and I were young, Maggie, back still +earlier, and earlier, seeking the high point, the high school, that +was it, the high school, the highlight, the moment of triumph, the +game with Lincoln. Yes, that was it. He hadn't been ashamed of being +six feet three inches then, he'd been proud of it, proud as he raised +his arms and-- + +_Splashed down into the water as the bullets struck._ + +And that was the end of Jesse Pringle. Jesse Pringle, champion +basketball center of the Class of '79.... + + + + +12. Littlejohn--2065 + + +The helicopter landed on the roof, and the attendants wheeled it over +to one side. They propped the ladder up, and Littlejohn descended +slowly, panting. + +They had a coasterchair waiting and he sank into it, grateful for the +rest. Hardy fellows, these attendants, but then they were almost three +feet tall. More stamina, that was the secret. Common stock, of course, +but they served a purpose. Somebody had to carry out orders. + +When they wheeled the coasterchair into the elevator, Littlejohn +descended. The elevator halted on the first floor and he breathed a +sigh of relief. Great heights always made him faint and dizzy, and +even a short helicopter trip took its toll--the mere thought of +soaring two hundred feet above the ground was enough to paralyze him. + +But this journey was vital. Thurmon was waiting for him. + +Yes, Thurmon was waiting for him here in the council chamber. The +coasterchair rolled forward into the room and again Littlejohn felt a +twinge of apprehension. The room was vast--too big for comfort. It +must be all of fifty feet long, and over ten feet in height. How could +Thurmon stand it, working here? + +But he had to endure it, Littlejohn reminded himself. He was head of +the council. + +Thurmon was lying on the couch when Littlejohn rolled in, but he sat +up and smiled. + +"I greet you," he said. + +"I greet you," Littlejohn answered. "No, don't bother to stay seated. +Surely we don't need to be ceremonious." + +Thurmon pricked up his ears at the sound of the unfamiliar word. He +wasn't the scholarly type, like Littlejohn. But he appreciated +Littlejohn's learning and knew he was important to the council. They +needed scholars these days, and antiquarians too. One has to look to +the past when rebuilding a world. + +"You sent for me?" Littlejohn asked. The question was purely +rhetorical, but he wanted to break the silence. Thurmon looked +troubled as he replied. + +"Yes. It is a matter of confidence between us." + +"So be it. You may speak in trust." + +Thurmon eyed the door. "Come nearer," he said. + +Littlejohn pressed a lever and rolled up to the couchside. Thurmon's +eyes peered at him through the thick contact lenses. Littlejohn noted +the deep wrinkles around his mouth, but without surprise. After all, +Thurmon was an old man--he must be over thirty. + +"I have been thinking," Thurmon said, abruptly. "We have failed." + +"Failed?" + +Thurmon nodded. "Need I explain? You have been close to the council +for many years. You have seen what we've attempted, ever since the +close of the Naturalist wars." + +"A magnificent effort," Littlejohn answered politely. "In less than +thirty years an entire new world has risen from the ruins of the old. +Civilization has been restored, snatched from the very brink of a +barbarism that threatened to engulf us." + +"Nonsense," Thurmon murmured. + +"What?" + +"Sheer nonsense, Littlejohn. You're talking like a pedant." + +"But I _am_ a pedant." Littlejohn nodded. "And it's true. When the +Naturalists were exterminated, this nation and other nations were +literally destroyed. Worse than physical destruction was the threat of +mental and moral collapse. But the Yardstick councils arose to take +over. The concept of small government came into being and saved us. We +began to rebuild on a sensible scale, with local, limited control. The +little community arose--" + +"Spare me the history lesson," said Thurmon, dryly. "We rebuilt, yes. +We survived. In a sense, perhaps, we even made certain advances. There +is no longer any economic rivalry, no social distinctions, no external +pressure. I think I can safely assume that the danger of future +warfare is forever banished. The balance of power is no longer a +factor. The balance of Nature has been partially restored. And only +one problem remains to plague mankind." + +"What is that?" + +"We face extinction," Thurmon said. + +"But that's not true," Littlejohn interrupted. "Look at history and--" + +"Look at us." Thurmon sighed. "You needn't bother with history. The +answer is written in our faces, in our own bodies. I've searched the +past very little, compared to your scholarship, but enough to know +that things were different in the old days. The Naturalists, whatever +else they might have been, were strong men. They walked freely in the +land, they lived lustily and long. + +"Do you know what our average life-expectancy is today, Littlejohn? A +shade under forty years. And that only if one is fortunate enough to +lead a sheltered existence, as we do. In the mines, in the fields, in +the radioactive areas, they die before the age of thirty." + +Littlejohn leaned forward. "Schuyler touches on just that point in his +_Psychology of Time_," he said, eagerly. "He posits the relationship +between size and duration. Time is relative, you know. Our lives, +short as they may be in terms of comparative chronology, nevertheless +have a subjective span equal to that of the Naturalists in their +heyday." + +"Nonsense," Thurman said, again. "Did you think that is what concerns +me--whether or not we feel that our lives are long or short?" + +"What then?" + +"I'm talking about the basic elements essential to survival. I'm +talking about strength, stamina, endurance, the ability to function. +That's what we're losing, along with the normal span of years. The +world is soft and flabby. Yardstick children, they tell us, were +healthy at first. But _their_ children are weaker. And their +grandchildren, weaker still. The effect of the wars, the ravages of +radiation and malnutrition, have taken a terrible toll. The world is +soft and flabby today. People can't walk any more, let alone run. We +find it difficult to lift and bend and work--" + +"But we won't have to worry about such matters for long," Littlejohn +hazarded. "Think of what's being done in robotics. Those recent +experiments seem to prove--" + +"I know." Thurmon nodded. "We can create robots, no doubt. We have a +limited amount of raw materials to allocate to the project, and if we +can perfect automatons they'll function quite adequately. Virtually +indestructible, too, I understand. I imagine they'll still be able to +operate efficiently a hundred or more years from now--if only they +learn to oil and repair one another. Because by that time, the human +race will be gone." + +"Come now, it isn't that serious--" + +"Oh, but it is!" Thurmon raised himself again, with an effort. "Your +study of history should have taught you one thing, if nothing else. +The tempo is quickening. While it took mankind thousands of years to +move from the bow and arrow to the rifle, it took only a few hundred +to move from the rifle to the thermonuclear weapon. It took ages +before men mastered flight, and then in two generations they developed +satellites; in three, they reached the moon and Mars." + +"But we're talking about _physical_ development." + +"I know. And physically, the human race altered just as drastically in +an equally short span of time. As recently as the nineteenth century, +the incidence of disease was a thousandfold greater than it is now. +Life was short then. In the twentieth century disease lessened and +life-expectancy doubled, in certain areas. Height and weight increased +perceptibly with every passing decade. Then came Leffingwell and his +injections. Height, weight, life-expectancy have fallen perceptibly +every decade since then. The war merely hastened the process." + +"You appear to have devoted a great deal of time to this question," +Littlejohn observed. + +"I have," answered the older man. "And it is not a question. It is a +fact. The one fact that confronts us all. If we proceed along our +present path, we face certain extinction in a very short time. The +strain is weakening constantly, the vitality is draining away. We +sought to defeat Nature--but the Naturalists were right, in their +way." + +"And the solution?" + +Thurmon was silent for a long moment. Then, "I have none," he said. + +"You have consulted the medical authorities?" + +"Naturally. And experiments have been made. Physical conditioning, +systems of exercise, experimentation in chemotherapy are still being +undertaken. There's no lack of volunteers, but a great lack of +results. No, the answer does not lie in that direction." + +"But what else is there?" + +"That is what I had hoped you might tell me," Thurmon said. "You are a +scholar. You know the past. You speak often of the lessons of +history--" + +Littlejohn was nodding, but not in agreement. He was trying to +comprehend. For suddenly the conviction came to him clearly; Thurmon +was right. It was happening, had happened, right under their smug +noses. The world was weakening. It was slowing down, and the race is +only to the swift. + +He cursed himself for his habit of thinking in platitudes and +quotations, but long years of study had unfitted him for less prosaic +phraseology. If he could only be practical. + +_Practical._ + +"Thurmon," he said. "There is a way. A way so obvious, we've all +overlooked it--passed right over it." + +"And that is--?" + +"Stop the Leffingwell injections!" + +"But--" + +"I know what you'll say. There have been genetic mutations. Very true, +but such mutations can't be universal. A certain percentage of +offspring will be sound, capable of attaining full growth. And we +don't have the population-problem to cope with any more. There's room +for people again. So why not try it? Stop the injections and allow +babies to be born as they were before." Littlejohn hesitated before +adding a final word, but he knew he had to add it; he knew it now. +"Normally," he said. + +Thurmon nodded. "So that is your answer." + +"Yes. I--I think it will work." + +"So do the biologists," Thurmon told him. "A generation of normal +infants, reared to maturity, would restore mankind to its former +stature, in every sense of the word. And now, knowing the lessons of +the past, we could prepare for the change to come. We could rebuild +the world for them to live in, rebuild it psychically as well as +physically. We'd plan to eliminate the rivalry between the large and +the small, the strong and the weak. It wouldn't be difficult because +there's plenty for all. There'd be no trouble as there was in the old +days. We've learned to be psychologically flexible." + +Littlejohn smiled. "Then that _is_ the solution?" he asked. + +"Yes. Eliminating the Leffingwell injections will give us a good +proportion of normal children again. _But where do we find the normal +women to bear them?_" + +"Normal women?" + +Thurmon sighed, then reached over and placed a scroll in the scanner. +"I have already gone into that question with research technicians," he +said. "And I have the figures here." He switched on the scanner and +began to read. + +"The average nubile female, aged thirteen to twenty-one, is two feet, +ten inches high and weighs forty-eight pounds." Thurmon flicked the +switch again and peered up. "I don't think I'll bother with pelvic +measurements," he said. "You can already see that giving birth to a +six or seven-pound infant is a physical impossibility under the +circumstances. It cannot be done." + +"But surely there must be _some_ larger females! Perhaps a system of +selective breeding, on a gradual basis--" + +"You're talking in terms of generations. We haven't got that much +time." Thurmon shook his head. "No, we're stopped right here. We can't +get normal babies without normal women, and the only normal women are +those who began life as normal babies." + +"Which comes first?" Littlejohn murmured. "The chicken or the egg?" + +"What's that?" + +"Nothing. Just an old saying. From history." + +Thurmon frowned. "Apparently, then, that's all you can offer in your +professional capacity as an historian. Just some old sayings." He +sighed. "Too bad you don't know some old prayers. Because we need them +now." + +He bowed his head, signifying the end of the interview. + +Littlejohn rolled out of the room. + +His 'copter took him back to his own dwelling, back across the +rooftops of New Chicagee. Ordinarily, Littlejohn avoided looking down. +He dreaded heights, and the immensity of the city itself was somehow +appalling. But now he gazed upon the capital and center of +civilization with a certain morbid affection. + +New Chicagee had risen on the ashes of the old, after the war's end. +Use of thermo-nucs had been limited, fortunately, so radioactivity did +not linger, and the vast craters hollowed out by ordinary warheads had +been partially filled by rubble and debris. Artificial fill had done +the rest of the job, so that now New Chicagee was merely a flat +prairie as it must have been hundreds of years ago--a flat prairie on +which the city had been resurrected. There were almost fifty thousand +people here in the capital; the largest congregation of population on +the entire continent. They had built well and surely this time, built +for the security and certainty of centuries to come. + +Littlejohn sighed. It was hard to accept the fact that they had been +wrong; that all this would end in nothingness. They had eliminated +war, eliminated disease, eliminated famine, eliminated social +inequality, injustice, disorders external and internal--and in so +doing, they had eliminated themselves. + +The sun was setting in the west, and long shadows crept over the city +below. Yes, the sun was setting and the shadows were gathering, the +night was coming to claim its own. Darkness was falling, eternal +darkness. + +It was quite dark by the time Littlejohn's 'copter landed on the +rooftop of his own dwelling; so dark, in fact, that for a moment he +didn't see the strange vehicle already standing there. Not until he +had settled into his coasterchair did he notice the presence of the +other 'copter, and then it was too late. Too late to do anything +except sit and stare as the gigantic shadow loomed out of the night, +silhouetted against the sky. + +The shadow shambled forward, and Littlejohn gaped, gaped in terror at +the titanic figure. He opened his mouth to speak, but words did not +form; there were no words to form, for how does one address an +apparition? + +Instead, it was the apparition which spoke. + +"I have been waiting for you," it said. + +"Y-yes--" + +"I want to talk to you." The voice was deep, menacing. + +Littlejohn shifted in his coasterchair. There was nowhere to go, no +escape. He gazed up at the shadow. Finally he summoned a response. +"Shall we go inside?" he asked. + +The figure shook its head. "Where? Down into that dollhouse of yours? +It isn't big enough. I've already been there. What I have to say can +be said right here." + +"W-who are you?" + +The figure stepped forward, so that its face was illuminated by the +fluorescence streaming from the open door which led to the inclined +chairway descending to Littlejohn's dwelling. + +Littlejohn could see the face, now--the gigantic, wrinkled face, +scarred and seared and seamed. It was a human face, but utterly alien +to the humanity Littlejohn knew. Faces such as this one had +disappeared from the earth a lifetime ago. At least, history had +taught him that. History had not prepared him for the actual living +presence of a-- + +"Naturalist!" Littlejohn gasped. "You're a Naturalist! Yes, that's +what you are!" + +The apparition scowled. + +"I am not a Naturalist. I am a man." + +"But you can't be! The war--" + +"I am very old. I lived through your war. I have lived through your +peace. Soon I shall die. But before I do, there is something else +which must be done." + +"You've come here to kill me?" + +"Perhaps." The looming figure moved closer and stared down. "No, don't +try to summon help. When your servants saw me, they fled. You're alone +now, Littlejohn." + +"You know my name." + +"Yes, I know your name. I know the names of everyone on the council. +Each of them has a visitor tonight." + +"Then it is a plot, a conspiracy?" + +"We have planned this very carefully, through the long years. It's all +we lived for, those few of us who survived the war." + +"But the council wasn't responsible for the war! Most of us weren't +even alive, then. Believe me, we weren't to blame--" + +"I know." The gigantic face creased in senile simulation of a smile. +"Nobody was ever to blame for anything, nobody was ever responsible. +That's what they always told me. I mustn't hate mankind for +multiplying, even though population created pressure and pressure +created panic that drove me mad. I mustn't blame Leffingwell for +solving the overpopulation problem, even though he used me as a +guinea-pig in his experiments. I mustn't blame the Yardsticks for +penning me up in prison until revolution broke out, and I mustn't +blame the Naturalists for bombing the place where I took refuge. So +whose fault was it that I've gone through eighty years of assorted +hell? Why did I, Harry Collins, get singled out for a lifetime of +misery and misfortune?" The huge old man bent over Littlejohn's +huddled form. "Maybe it was all a means to an end. A way of bringing +me here, at this moment, to do what must be done." + +"Don't harm me--you're not well, you're--" + +"Crazy?" The old man shook his head. "No, I'm not crazy. Not now. But +I _have_ been, at times, during my life. Perhaps we all are, when we +attempt to face up to the complications of an average existence, try +to confront the problems which are too big for a single consciousness +to cope with in a single life-span. I've been crazy in the city, and +crazy in the isolation of a cell, and crazy in the welter of war. And +perhaps the worst time of all was when I lost my son. + +"Yes, I had a son, Littlejohn. He was one of the first, one of +Leffingwell's original mutations, and I never knew him very well until +the revolution came and we went away together. He was a doctor, my +boy, and a good one. We spent almost five years together and I learned +a lot from him. About medicine, but that wasn't important then. I'm +thinking of what I learned about love. I'd always hated Yardsticks, +but my son was one, and I came to love him. He had plans for +rebuilding the world, he and I and the rest of us. We were going to +wait until the revolution ended and then help restore sanity in +civilization. + +"But the Naturalists flew over and dropped their bomb, and my boy +died. Over four hundred of our group died there in the canyon--four +hundred who might have changed the fate of the world. Do you think I +can forget that? Do you think I and the few others who survived have +ever forgotten? Can you blame us if we did go crazy? If we hid away +out there in the western wilderness, hid away from a world that had +offered us nothing but death and destruction, and plotted to bring +death and destruction to that world in return? + +"Think about it for a moment, Littlejohn. We were old men, all of us, +and the world had given us only its misery to bear during our +lifetimes. The world we wanted to save was destroying itself; why +should we be concerned with its fate or future? + +"So we changed our plans, Littlejohn. Perhaps the shock had been too +much. Instead of plotting to rebuild the world, we turned our thoughts +to completing its destruction. Our tools and texts were gone, buried +in the rubble with the bodies of fine young men. But we had our minds. +Crazed minds, you'd call them--but aware of reality. The grim reality +of the post-revolutionary years. + +"We burrowed away in the desert. We schemed and we dreamed. From time +to time we sent out spies. We knew what was going on. We knew the +Naturalists were gone, that six-footers had vanished from a Yardstick +world. We knew about the rehabilitation projects. We watched your +people gradually evolve new patterns of living and learning. Some of +the former knowledge was rescued, but not all. Our little group had +far more learning than you've ever dreamed of. Fifty of us, between +ourselves, could have surpassed all your scientists in every field. + +"But we watched, and we waited. And some of us died of privation and +some of us died of old age. Until, at last, there were only a dozen of +us to share the dream. The dream of destruction. And we knew that we +must act swiftly, or not at all. + +"So we came into the world, cautiously and carefully, moving +unobtrusively and unobserved. We wanted to contemplate the corruption, +seek out the weaknesses in your degenerate civilization. And we found +them, immediately. Those weaknesses are everywhere apparent, for they +are physical. You're one of a dying race, Littlejohn. Mankind's days +are numbered. There's no need for grandiose schemes of reactivating +warheads in buried missile-centers, of loosing thermo-nucs upon the +world. Merely by killing off the central council here in New Chicagee, +we can accomplish our objective. A dozen men die, and there's not +enough initiative left to replace them. It's as simple as that. And as +complicated." + +Harry Collins nodded. "Yes, as complicated. Because the only +weaknesses we've observed _are_ physical ones. We've seen enough of +the ways of this new civilization to realize that. + +"All of the things I hated during my lifetime have disappeared +now--the crowding, the competition, the sordid self-interest, the +bigotry, intolerance, prejudice. The anti-social aspects of society +are gone. There is only the human race, living much closer to the +concept of Utopia than I ever dreamed possible. You and the other +survivors have done well, Littlejohn." + +"And yet you come to kill us." + +"We came for that purpose. Because _we_ still retained the flaws and +failings of our former cultures. We looked for targets to blame, for +villains to hate and destroy. Instead, we found this reality. + +"No, I'm not crazy, Littlejohn. And I and my fellows aren't here to +execute revenge. We have returned to the original plan; the plan +Leffingwell had, and my son, and all the others who worked in their +own way for their dream of a better world. We come now to help you. +Help you before you die--before we die." + +Littlejohn looked up and sighed. "Why couldn't this have happened +before?" he murmured. "It's too late now." + +"But it isn't too late. My friends are here. They are telling your +fellow council-members the same thing right now. We may be old, but we +can still impart what we have learned. There are any number of +technological developments to be made. We can help you to increase +your use of atomic power. There's soil reclamation and irrigation +projects and biological techniques--" + +"You said it yourself," Littlejohn whispered. "We're a dying race. +That's the primary problem. And it's an insoluble one. Just this +afternoon--" And he told him about the interview with Thurmon. + +"Don't you understand?" Littlejohn concluded. "We have no solution for +survival. We're paying the price now because for a while we wouldn't +heed history. We tried to defeat Nature and in the end Nature has +defeated us. Because we would not render unto Caesar the things which +are--" + +Harry Collins smiled. "That's it," he said. + +"What?" + +"Caesar. That's the answer. Your own medical men must have records. I +know, because I learned medicine from my son. There used to be an +operation, in the old days, called a caesarean section--used on normal +women and on dwarfs and midgets too, in childbirth. If your problem is +how to deliver normal children safely, the technique can be revived. +Get hold of some of your people. Let's see what data you have on this. +I'll be glad to furnish instruction--" + +There was excitement after that. Too much excitement for Littlejohn. +By the time the council had assembled in emergency session, by the +time plans were formulated and he returned to his own dwelling in the +helicopter, he was completely exhausted. Only the edge of elation +sustained him; the realization that a solution had been found. + +As he sank into slumber he knew that he would sleep the clock around. + +And so would Harry Collins. The old man and his companions, now guests +of the council, had been temporarily quartered in the council-chambers. +It was the only structure large enough to house them and even so they +had to sleep on the floor. But it was sufficient comfort for the moment. + +It was many hours before Harry Collins awoke. His waking was +automatic, for the tiny telescreen at the end of the council room +glowed suddenly, and the traditional voice chirped forth to interrupt +his slumber. + +"Good morning," said the voice. "It's a beautiful day in New +Chicagee!" + +Harry stared at the screen and then he smiled. + +"Yes," he murmured. "But tomorrow will be better." + + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of This Crowded Earth, by Robert Bloch + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIS CROWDED EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 25776.txt or 25776.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/7/7/25776/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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