IV

Ann's voice sounded vaguely apologetic as she explained to Heidekopfer.

"His wife didn't seem to mind," she said. "I was watching her."

"That isn't the point," said Heidekopfer. "It isn't even the point that

I minded a hell of a lot. As you have so often informed me, I don't own

you or even have a claim on you, much as I'd like to. I just want to

know _why_ you did it."

The girl's lips closed and her pretty face set in obstinate lines.

"Because I wanted to. Because I felt like it. For the same reason I've

kissed you a few times."

"But you've never kissed me with about sixteen people looking on. And

may I point out that the reason the castaways stayed in Tolstoia was

because they wanted to, too. I want to know what made you want to do

it."

"And you're going to put the whip on me to find out," said the girl,

but with a smile. "No use, Bob--call it an uncontrollable impulse."

Someone tapped at the door and it was Lanzerotti. "Want to come into my

room?" he said. "I'd like to compare notes, and if we do it here, two

of us will have to sit on the bed."

"All right," said Heidekopfer. "Rosa back yet?"

"No, still communing with nature and Pyotr Ilyich Kazetzky." He glanced

at his watch, saying, "I forgot that's no good here on the different

system of time, but I'd guess that it's a good hour before bedtime, so

I'm not going to worry. Come on." He led the way down the hall, and

threw open the door.

"Notice there isn't a lock in the place?" said Heidekopfer. "It may

really be true that they've abolished crime."

"I didn't see any either," said Lanzerotti, "but we have to be careful

about drawing conclusions from guided tours. The Russians have always

been great on setting up Potemkin villages."

"Oh, back in the old imperial days an Empress named Catherine went on

a progress through the country to see how it was getting along under

her prime minister, Potemkin. He went ahead of her and had villages set

up, just the dummy fronts of houses, with actors to play the part of

villagers. Back in the Soviet period they used to pull the same trick,

to show tourists how prosperous the country was, only they did it with

real model villages and factories and people working in them."

"I don't think they're doing that with us," said Heidekopfer. "On the

way to the school, I asked to turn off and see one of the farms we

passed, and it all seemed perfectly normal and in key with the rest."

"Shall I get the pictures?" said Ann. "That white wall is rather rough,

but I imagine it will take projection."

"No, they're for the record," said Lanzerotti. "I just want a verbal

report and impressions." He stepped across the room and opened the

sound box for recording.

"Well," said Heidekopfer, "we went to a school this morning. It was

quite small, but had children of all ages up to about sixteen. It was

more like a manual training institute than what we'd call a school.

Most of them were learning to use tools, and some of them working in a

garden, and doing a pretty good job of it, I'd say. There was only one

class with books."

"I asked about that," said Ann. "They practically don't have any books,

and those they do have are hand set and hand printed."

"Of course, I can understand their not using microfilm," said

Heidekopfer. "That would run into their prohibition of machines. But I

don't quite see how they can claim a printing press isn't a machine."

* * * * *

Lanzerotti smiled. "Logic isn't the long suit of most theorists," he

said. "However, my opinion is generally favorable. They seem to be

decent people with a high standard of morality, and in spite of the

Potemkin village angle, it looks good. There's just one thing--we still

haven't found any explanation of why the castaways didn't come back.

And that is primarily why we came here."

Heidekopfer said, "We can add a second point to that now--or perhaps

it's part of the same one. Did you notice Ann after dinner last night

while the music was playing?"

Lanzerotti said, "I did notice that she seemed on fairly good terms

with our host on somewhat short notice, but I assumed it was her own

business."

"The trouble is that she can't tell why she did it," said Heidekopfer.

A little spot of red appeared in the girl's cheeks. "I told you because

I felt like it," she said, "and I'm not particularly grateful for being

pumped about it! Excuse me, I've got to charge my camera while you

discuss my case." She got up, avoided Heidekopfer's protesting hand,

and slipped out the door.

Lanzerotti said, "The case seems to call for diplomacy, and as

the diplomat of the expedition, I prescribe a cooling-off period.

Meanwhile, continue."

"There isn't much to continue with," said Heidekopfer, rubbing his chin

thoughtfully. "You know as well as I do that her behavior with Samsonov

wasn't--well, what you'd normally expect, even if it wasn't disgraceful

or anything. But it seems to me that it's of a piece with the behavior

of the castaways who decided to stay in Tolstoia. In both cases, there

was what she herself described as an uncontrollable impulse to do

something not normally done."

"Evidence of pattern," said Lanzerotti. "You think pressure was applied

from outside. But how? Was the food or the beer drugged? No, it

couldn't have been that; we ate and drank the same things, and weren't

affected."

"I don't know," said Heidekopfer. "It could have been a special for

her. Samsonov hardly took his eyes off her from the first time he saw

her."

"I--" began Lanzerotti, when a tap sounded on the door and Rosa

Lanzerotti came into the room. "Hello, dear," she said, "have a good

day?"

"Good with a little mystery in it, which we were just discussing. And

you?"

She laughed. "The same. In fact, if you're up to a trip, the day isn't

over yet."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a man outside with a droshky to take us to see someone who

wants to meet you. I'll tell you the rest as we go. It might be a good

idea if you come along, too, Bob. Wait till I get a recorder." She went

over to get one of the small size that fits in a pocket, and the other

two stood up. Heidekopfer stopped to tap at Ann's door, but she didn't

answer, so he stopped at his own room long enough to slip a light in

his pocket, as it had grown quite dark outside. There was no one in

the dimly-lighted halls; apparently most good Tolstoians had decided

to call it a night. Outside, the heavy night mist which pinch-hits

for most of Venus' rain was drifting past in streamers, condensing on

everything it touched; Heidekopfer felt drops run down his face.

Rosa said, "He's waiting at the corner of the road, and I was warned

not to let myself be seen, so you had better not put on the light now.

"Damn!" said Lanzerotti, stumbling. "All right, Rosa, what's the story?"

"We drove around most of the day looking at various views, while this

Kazetzky person explained to me how beautiful it all was. It was, too.

Stopped at a house where they were weaving cloth on a wooden hand

loom and had some lunch, then drove around again. Kazetzky is not an

interesting talker, as I began to realize about the fifteenth time

he repeated his line about nature and happiness being connected. But

toward dinner time he said, 'Ah! I shall take you to have a repast with

a man who has in him much of the spirit of the Master.'"

* * * * *

They had reached the end of the drive, and in the dark could just

make out the loom of the droshky. A voice said, "Little mother?" Rosa

answered, "Okay, it's me," and Heidekopfer flashed his light briefly to

enable them to climb into the vehicle. When they were seated and the

driver had stirred his horse into action with the inevitable crack of

the whip, Rosa went on, "He took me a little distance, little enough

so it looked as though he'd been intending to do that all along, to a

house almost as big as the one we're living in. Only the owner wasn't

living in it, he was living in a tent pitched in a field outside by

a stream. His name is Dubrassov, by the way. Kazetzky introduced me,

and then went to the house and brought the family out and introduced

them, too, ten or twelve of them. Dubrassov said I must bring you here

at once, tonight, before it was too late, to hear something terribly

important. They all said yes, I must, and then asked me whether I

wanted to eat with the family or Dubrassov. Of course I said Dubrassov,

and that was my big mistake. The meal consisted of a whitish liquid

that tasted like turpentine and burned like it--"

"Kumiss," said Heidekopfer. "It has a kick, too."

"Apparently they have exceptions to their law about liquor. Anyway,

I drank water. As I say, the meal consisted entirely of this kumiss

and meat, nothing else, and we had to eat it with our fingers. He

apologized for it, I will say, and said he was taking a cure of some

kind. A diet like that would cure me of wanting to live."

For a moment there was silence as the droshky jounced along. Then

Lanzerotti's voice said out of the dark, "Evidently there are

disagreements, even in happy Tolstoia, and I'm grateful for the

opportunity to learn what they are. But this whole business has

a rather conspiratorial odor, and I'm not sure that a diplomatic

representative should be mixed up in it. If you don't mind my saying

so, Rosa, you might have given us a chance to discuss all the angles

before getting us out of the house."

"But I couldn't do anything else, could I?" Her voice sounded hurt.

The horse's feet clopped in the muddy road. Heidekopfer made a sound

like the beginning of speech, then stopped.

"Beg pardon?" said Rosa.

"I just wondered--why didn't you come with us to see the school today?

I should have thought you'd find it interesting."

"Oh, there's plenty of time. Besides, if I hadn't gone out to see the

country with Kazetzky, I wouldn't have met Dubrassov."

Lanzerotti stirred in his place and said, "By the way, Bob, while you

and Ann were looking over that farm this afternoon, I addressed myself

to the matter of communications. They don't have to have any, except

by word of mouth; the society is so static that there isn't anything

requiring quick action by a large number of people, and they can afford

to wait."

"Find out anything more about the governmental system?"

"They're disinclined to talk, but I gather it's an almost unchanged

adaptation of the Soviet system. Which might be expected, seeing their

ancestors came from there, and there's nothing in Tolstoi that would

conflict with the system. As a matter of historical process, I'm a bit

surprised that there should have been so little evolution--"

"Hell!" said Heidekopfer. "Vincent, when you get to talking theory,

you're three parsecs over my head. I just want to know what makes

things tick in a practical way."

"The difference is doubtless one of the reasons why we were associated

in this mission," said Lanzerotti evenly, and that seemed to put a

period to the conversation in the dark until Rosa said, "This must be

it. See that light in the tent?"

* * * * *

Heidekopfer flipped on his light and set it in the catch-ring of his

hat. The beam diffused through the drifting mist to catch a wooden

house painted white and with shutters, on quaint, old-fashioned lines.

It was all dark. The droshky pushed on past, bumping off the road

across a field toward where a light showed dimly through the wall of

a circular tent, and came to a halt. Lanzerotti jumped out and handed

Rosa down after him. She approached and said, "May I come in?"

A deep voice boomed, "In the name of the Master, enter, little mother,"

and the three went in. They saw a powerful looking man, not as big

as Samsonov, but with the same indefinable air of force, who barked,

"Dubrassov, Alexei Ivanovich," and promptly sat down in the only chair

in the tent.

This time the ambassadors knew the right reply. They made it, Rosa sat

down on the bed, the others curled up on the ground floor of the tent

and waited. Dubrassov glanced from Lanzerotti to Heidekopfer and back

with quick motions of his head and neck thrust forward, as though he

were trying to see into their minds. Finally he said, "They make me

take the cure as concisionary, but it is not I who am the concisionary,

it is Pitrim Androvich."

"Indeed," said Lanzerotti.

"It is Pitrim Androvich," Dubrassov repeated. "The will of all is the

will of one, but he makes the will of one the will of all."

"I thought the two went together," said Heidekopfer.

The burning eyes were fixed on him. "Are you the ambassador? It is

anti-social to interrupt deliberations."

Heidekopfer felt himself flush a little, but said nothing. He could

hear the buzz of Rosa's recorder.

"I am the ambassador," said Lanzerotti smoothly. "But I am accredited

to the government of Tolstoia, and so far as I am aware, you are a

private citizen. However, I will be glad to hear anything you have to

say that may affect the question of whether the World Council should

allow Tolstoia to colonize the Wrightley Islands."

"Pitrim Androvich wishes the world, even holy Russia." He paused

and blew his nose at the name, his Adam's apple moving. Heidekopfer

remembered Behrmann. "You should n-n-n--" He stopped suddenly, gagging

for breath, his eyes bulging, and then closed his mouth and tried

again. "The achievement of universal brotherhood makes the will of all

the will of one. It is possible to control the will of one for--" He

gagged again, his mouth open, then closed his eyes with a grimace and

said, "It is against the law to say more. Beware! And go, in the name

of the Master."

V

The fact that Venusian trees of every species tend to trail their

branches on the ground makes no particular difference; with

approximately one day's direct sunshine during a Venusian year, shade

is less important than what the tree produces and the decoration it

provides. Neither, reflected Heidekopfer, would it particularly matter

to people who were used to it that everything was mildly damp to the

touch. The members of the Supreme Soviet scattered on the bank of the

little natural amphitheatre around him seemed to be having a thoroughly

good time, laughing, talking, drinking beer and listening to the music

of the goose-necked instruments, which tinkled from group to group. He

felt lonely, and Ann was somewhere else.

There was a touch on his shoulder and Lanzerotti sat down beside him,

saying in a low voice, "All right, but talk fast. And smile now and

then, so it will look casual. I understand how you couldn't discuss it

last night with Rosa in the droshky."

"She got angry," said Heidekopfer. "Just like Ann."

"And you think you have the explanation?"

"You said something about pattern. It makes one. Mass hypnotism."

Lanzerotti gestured with one hand, as though he were pointing to the

group around them. "I find that difficult to credit. The thing hasn't

existed since the days of the dictators and their wars."

"Remember that these people are the overflow of a totalitarian state.

And I don't mean mass hypnotism with one person hypnotizing many, as

among the old dictators, but with the group exerting mass pressure on

one person. The will of all is the will of one."

Lanzerotti smiled. "I think you misinterpret. There is undoubtedly some

pressure from what might be called public opinion, but--"

"Listen!" cried Heidekopfer, desperately. "It all fits together.

Kazetzky twirled something bright in his fingers when he asked Rosa to

spend the day with him, and all of them rallied round. They've achieved

some kind of mental integration and they want to expand--"

Lanzerotti laid a hand on his knee. "You're talking too loud. And I

think on the wrong lines. The nature of this development is essentially

elymosynnary--"

Heidekopfer experienced a sensation of being surrounded by stone

walls as two of the Tolstoians stood over them. One was a member of

the Supreme Soviet whose name he had, of course, forgotten, and the

other was a remarkably pretty girl with ash-blond hair pulled back

from a well-shaped forehead. He got up, as the man from the Supreme

Soviet said, "Sonia Grigorevna is the cousin of the patriarch Pitrim

Androvich."

"Heidekopfer, Robert Murrayovich," said Heidekopfer, dutifully.

Lanzerotti repeated his part of the formula, but the girl seemed to be

concentrating on the reporter. "Is it not a joy to be in this beautiful

countryside?" she said, looking at him directly.

"I find it so."

"Would it be your will to let me show you some of the flowers of happy

Tolstoia?" she said.

* * * * *

If he were right, this was his chance to get one of them apart from the

rest, where the group pressure would presumably be less effective. He

said, "It would please me very much."

She reached out a hand to take his. "Come," and led the way across the

bowl of green. A group of men and women stood in their path. "We are

going to look at flowers together," the girl announced gaily. "Pitrim

Androvich thinks it would be good."

They all seemed to find something delightfully humorous in this, and

there was a burst of laughter as they crowded round. "Flowers are

nature's key to happiness!" boomed one of the men, patting Heidekopfer

on the shoulder. "You will see what fine ones we produce in happy

Tolstoia."

He was suddenly aware that they were staring at him with a peculiar

intensity in the midst of their animated movements, and of a slight

tension, like the beginning of a headache, at the back of his neck.

This must be it; he was being high-pressured for some purpose. It was

understandable how they would call this the brotherhood of man ... how

they had developed the ability to put mass hypnotic pressure on any

individual ... how the castaways had been similarly pressured into

adopting the Tolstoian way of life ... how--

Sonia Grigorevna's voice came through his reverie, "Are you dreaming,

little father? Let us go."

He shook himself a little, like a dog coming out of water. "By all

means, let us go." She was really beautiful, not with the broad Slavic

features at all, but a narrow face and high cheek-bones that must have

come from some remote Nordic ancestor.

The others waved hands as she led him up the gentle slope at the edge

of the bowl, and pushed through a screen of trees into a field of lush

grass. There was a string of bushes toward the river-bank. "The best

flowers are there," said Sonia.

"Tell me," he said, "when someone really does not want to do something

the rest want, how do you make them do it?"

She gave him a glance of puzzlement. "I do not understand. We do not

make them do it. It is the word of the Master that everything savoring

of compulsion is harmful."

Pretty neat, he thought ... just like the Russian Soviets of the old

days, who got away with dictatorship by calling it democracy. Aloud he

said, "I know. But don't you ever have--deviationists?"

"Oh no. The will of all is the will of one. That is the brotherhood of

man. But if a person doubts whether his will is fully given, he takes

the cure. That is the law. This way."

She pushed through the bushes and they were on a slope above the river,

starred with red poppy-like flowers. "Are they not beautiful? Let us

sit here and contemplate them. The contemplation of nature is the

source of happiness."

Heidekopfer lowered himself to the damp grass, blessing the forethought

that had led him to dress in waterproof nylon. "They're very nice," he

said, "but when did you Tolstoians discover the brotherhood of man?"

She settled herself comfortably against him. "I am not certain of the

date. But it was in the time of the Patriarch Ilarion Triunfovich,

long ago. Is it your will that we cease talking of material things and

address ourselves to what we see?" She snuggled against him, and the

pressure was not at all unendurable.

He placed a hand on one of hers. "Just one more question. When people

come from the--outside, do you always will them to stay?"

"We do not need to. Everyone wishes to stay in happy Tolstoia. See how

that blossom shakes on its stalk."

Except those who come back in boxes, he thought, and wondered how he

could broach the subject, but before he could think out a way, she

lifted his hand beneath her own and pressed it softly against her

cheek. He turned to look at her; her lips were slightly parted as she

lifted her lovely face toward his....

[Illustration: He turned to look at her; her lips were slightly parted

as she lifted her lovely face toward his.]

And it struck him like a thunderbolt why the others had laughed when

Sonia said they were going to see flowers at Samsonov's suggestion, and

what the pressure had been on him for. He said abruptly, "Do you know

where Ann went--the photographer who was with us?"

"To look at flowers with Pitrim Androvich." Her glance was neither

disappointed nor hostile, merely a trifle wide-eyed as though she had

just discovered something frightening. She let his hand drop.