"What do we do now?" Meta asked. Her voice was troubled, questioning.
She voiced the thoughts of all the Pyrrans in the room, and the
thousands who watched in their screens.
"What will we do?" They turned to Jason, waiting for an answer. For the
moment their differences were forgotten. The people from the city were
staring expectantly at him, as were the crossbowmen with half-lowered
weapons. This stranger had confused and changed the old world they had
known, and presented them with a newer and stranger one, with alien
problems.
"Hold on," he said, raising his hand. "I'm no doctor of social ills. I'm
not going to try and cure this planet full of muscle-bound
sharpshooters. I've just squeezed through up to now, and by the law of
averages I should be ten times dead."
"Even if all you say is true, Jason," Meta said, "you are still the only
person who can help us. What will the future be like?"
Suddenly weary, Jason slumped into the pilot's chair. He glanced around
at the circle of people. They seemed sincere. None of them even appeared
to have noticed that he no longer had his hand on the pump switch. For
the moment at least, the war between city and farm was forgotten.
"I'll give you my conclusions," Jason said, twisting in the chair,
trying to find a comfortable position for his aching bones. "I've been
doing a lot of thinking the last day or two, searching for the answer.
The very first thing I realized, was that the perfect and logical
solution wouldn't do at all. I'm afraid the old ideal of the lion lying
down with the lamb doesn't work out in practice. About all it does is
make a fast lunch for the lion. Ideally, now that you all know the real
causes of your trouble, you should tear down the perimeter and have the
city and forest people mingle in brotherly love. Makes just as pretty a
picture as the one of lion and lamb. And would undoubtedly have the same
result. Someone would remember how really filthy the grubbers are, or
how stupid junkmen can be, and there would be a fresh corpse cooling.
The fight would spread and the victors would be eaten by the wildlife
that swarmed over the undefended perimeter. No, the answer isn't that
easy."
As the Pyrrans listened to him they realized where they were, and
glanced around uneasily. The guards raised their crossbows again, and
the prisoners stepped back to the wall and looked surly.
"See what I mean?" Jason asked. "Didn't take long did it?" They all
looked a little sheepish at their unthinking reactions.
"If we're going to find a decent plan for the future, we'll have to
take inertia into consideration. Mental inertia for one. Just because
you know a thing is true in theory, doesn't make it true in fact. The
barbaric religions of primitive worlds hold not a germ of scientific
fact, though they claim to explain all. Yet if one of these savages has
all the logical ground for his beliefs taken away--he doesn't stop
believing. He then calls his mistaken beliefs 'faith' because he knows
they are right. And he knows they are right because he has faith. This
is an unbreakable circle of false logic that can't be touched. In
reality, it is plain mental inertia. A case of thinking 'what always
was' will also 'always be.' And not wanting to blast the thinking
patterns out of the old rut.
"Mental inertia alone is not going to cause trouble--there is cultural
inertia, too. Some of you in this room believe my conclusions and would
like to change. But will all your people change? The unthinking ones,
the habit-ridden, reflex-formed people who _know_ what is now, will
always be. They'll act like a drag on whatever plans you make, whatever
attempts you undertake to progress with the new knowledge you have."
"Then it's useless--there's no hope for our world?" Rhes asked.
* * * * *
"I didn't say that," Jason answered. "I merely mean that your troubles
won't end by throwing some kind of mental switch. I see three courses
open for the future, and the chances are that all three will be going on
at the same time.
"First--and best--will be the rejoining of city and farm Pyrrans into
the single human group they came from. Each is incomplete now, and has
something the other one needs. In the city here you have science and
contact with the rest of the galaxy. You also have a deadly war. Out
there in the jungle, your first cousins live at peace with the world,
but lack medicine and the other benefits of scientific knowledge, as
well as any kind of cultural contact with the rest of mankind. You'll
both have to join together and benefit from the exchange. At the same
time you'll have to forget the superstitious hatred you have of each
other. This will only be done outside of the city, away from the war.
Every one of you who is capable should go out voluntarily, bringing some
fraction of the knowledge that needs sharing. You won't be harmed if you
go in good faith. And you will learn how to live _with_ this planet,
rather than against it. Eventually you'll have civilized communities
that won't be either 'grubber' or 'junkman.' They'll be Pyrran."
"But what about our city here?" Kerk asked.
"It'll stay right here--and probably won't change in the slightest. In
the beginning you'll need your perimeter and defenses to stay alive,
while the people are leaving. And after that it will keep going because
there are going to be any number of people here who you won't convince.
They'll stay and fight and eventually die. Perhaps you will be able to
do a better job in educating their children. What the eventual end of
the city will be, I have no idea."
They were silent as they thought about the future. On the floor Skop
groaned but did not move. "Those are two ways," Meta said. "What is the
third?"
"The third possibility is my own pet scheme," Jason smiled. "And I hope
I can find enough people to go along with me. I'm going to take my money
and spend it all on outfitting the best and most modern spacer, with
every weapon and piece of scientific equipment I can get my hands on.
Then I'm going to ask for Pyrran volunteers to go with me."
"What in the world for?" Meta frowned.
"Not for charity, I expect to make my investment back, and more. You
see, after these past few months, I can't possibly return to my old
occupation. Not only do I have enough money now to make it a waste of
time, but I think it would be an unending bore. One thing about
Pyrrus--if you live--is that it spoils you for the quieter places. So
I'd like to take this ship that I mentioned and go into the business of
opening up new worlds. There are thousands of planets where men would
like to settle, only getting a foothold on them is too rough or rugged
for the usual settlers. Can you imagine a planet a Pyrran couldn't lick
after the training you've had here? And enjoy doing it?
"There would be more than pleasure involved, though. In the city your
lives have been geared for continual deadly warfare. Now you're faced
with the choice of a fairly peaceful future, or staying in the city to
fight an unnecessary and foolish war. I offer the third alternative of
the occupation you know best, that would let you accomplish something
constructive at the same time.
"Those are the choices. Whatever you decide is up to each of you
personally."
* * * * *
Before anyone could answer, livid pain circled Jason's throat. Skop had
regained consciousness and surged up from the floor. He pulled Jason
from the chair with a single motion, holding him by the neck, throttling
him.
"Kerk! Meta!" Skop shouted hoarsely. "Grab guns! Open the locks--our
people'll be here, kill the grubbers and their lies!"
Jason tore at the fingers that were choking the life out of him, but it
was like pulling at bent steel bars. He couldn't talk and the blood
hammered in his ears.
Meta hurtled forward like an uncoiled spring and the crossbows twanged.
One bolt caught her in the leg, the other transfixed her upper arm. But
she had been shot as she jumped and her inertia carried her across the
room, to her fellow Pyrran and the dying off-worlder.
She raised her good arm and chopped down with the edge of her hand.
It caught Skop a hard blow on the biceps and his arm jumped
spasmodically, his hand leaping from Jason's throat.
"What are you doing?" he shouted in strange terror to the wounded girl
who fell against him. He pushed her away, still clutching Jason with his
other hand. She didn't answer. Instead she chopped again, hard and true,
the edge of her hand catching Skop across the windpipe, crushing it. He
dropped Jason and fell to the floor, retching and gasping.
Jason watched the end through a haze, barely conscious.
Skop struggled to his feet, turned pain-filled eyes to his friends.
"You're wrong," Kerk said. "Don't do it."
The sound the wounded man made was more animal than human. When he dived
towards the guns on the far side of the room the crossbows twanged like
harps of death.
When Brucco went over to help Meta no one interfered. Jason gasped air
back into his lungs, breathing in life. The watching glass eye of the
viewer carried the scene to everyone in the city.
"Thanks, Meta ... for understanding ... as well as helping." Jason had
to force the words out.
"Skop was wrong and you were right, Jason," she said. Her voice broke
for a second as Brucco snapped off the feathered end of the steel bolt
with his fingers, and pulled the shaft out of her arm. "I can't stay in
the city, only people who feel as Skop did will be able to do that. And
I'm afraid I can't go into the forest--you saw what luck I had with the
stingwing. If it's all right I'd like to come with you. I'd like to very
much."
It hurt when he talked so Jason could only smile, but she knew what he
meant.
Kerk looked down in unhappiness at the body of the dead man. "He was
wrong--but I know how he felt. I can't leave the city, not yet. Someone
will have to keep things in hand while the changes are taking place.
Your ship is a good idea, Jason, you'll have no shortage of volunteers.
Though I doubt if you'll get Brucco to go with you."
"Of course not," Brucco snapped, not looking up from the compression
bandage he was tying. "There's enough to do right here on Pyrrus. The
animal life, quite a study to be made, probably have every ecologist in
the galaxy visiting here."
Kerk walked slowly to the screen overlooking the city. No one attempted
to stop him. He looked out at the buildings, the smoke still curling up
from the perimeter, and the limitless sweep of green jungle beyond.
"You've changed it all, Jason," he said. "We can't see it now, but
Pyrrus will never be the way it was before you came. For better or
worse."
"Better," Jason croaked, and rubbed his aching throat. "Now get together
and end this war so people will really believe it."
Rhes turned and after an instant's hesitation, extended his hand to
Kerk. The gray-haired Pyrran felt the same repugnance himself about
touching a grubber.
They shook hands then because they were both strong men.