Under the tall fair heaven of Novaya, Holbrook spoke to the chief of
the human outpost. "You can call them back from the _Rurik_," he said.
"There is no more danger."
"But what are the Zolotoyans?" asked Ximénez. His eyes went in fear
toward the mountains. "If they are not intelligent beings, then who ...
what ... created their civilization?"
"Their ancestors," said Holbrook. "A very long time ago. They were
great once. But they ended up with a totalitarian government. A place
for everyone and everyone in his place. The holy society, whose very
stasis was holy. Specialized breeds for the different jobs. Some crude
attempts at it have been made on Earth, too. Egypt didn't change for
thousands of years after the pyramids had been built. Diocletian, the
Roman emperor, made all occupations hereditary. The Soviets are trying
that sort of thing at this moment, if they haven't been overthrown
since we left. The Zolotoyans were unlucky: their attempt succeeded."
He shrugged. "When one individual is made exactly like another--when
independent thought is no longer needed, is actually forbidden--what
do you expect? Evolution gets rid of organs which have stopped being
useful. That includes the thinking brain."
"But all that you saw--space travel, police functions, chemical
analysis and synthesis, maintaining those wonderful machines--it is all
done by instinct?" protested Ximénez. "No, I cannot believe it!"
"Instinct isn't completely rigid, you know," said Holbrook. "Even a
simple one-loop homeostatic circuit is amazingly flexible and adaptive.
Remember ants or bees or termites on Earth. In their own way, they have
societies as intricate as anything known to me. They even have a sort
of stylized language, as do our neighbors here. Actually, I suspect
the average ant faces more variety and challenge in his life than does
the ordinary Zolotoyan. Remember, they have no natural enemies any
more; and for tens of thousands of years, all the jobs on that highly
automated planet have been stereotyped.
"The mine guards on Novaya ignored our rocket trails beyond the
mountains because--oh, to their perception it couldn't have been
very different from lightning, say. But they had long ago evolved an
instinct to shoot at unknown visitors, simply because large Novayan
animals could interfere with operations. At home, they have little or
no occasion to fight. But apparently they, like the green technicians,
have an inborn obedience to the computer signals."
"Yes," said Ximénez. "The computer, what was it?"
Holbrook sighed. "I suppose it was built in the last dying age of
reason. Some atavistic genius (how lonely he must have been!) realized
what was happening. Sooner or later, visitors from space were sure to
arrive. He wanted to give his descendants at least a little defense
against them. He built that machine, which could try to identify them,
could give a few simple orders about their disarmament and care and
feeding, that sort of thing. He used some controlled-mutation process
to breed the technicians that serviced it, and the obedience of the
guards. Or perhaps it was enough to institute a set of laws. There'd be
natural selection toward an instinct.... It really wasn't much he could
do. A poor, clumsy protection against diseases we might have carried,
or wanton looting, or...."
Holbrook lifted his face into the wind. Sunlight streamed through
summer leaves, it fell like a benediction on him and on the young woman
who held his hand. Now, when the technical problem was disposed of, his
voice came more slowly and awkwardly:
"I could pity the Zolotoyans, except that they're beyond it. They are
as empty of selfhood as insects. But the one who built the computer,
can't you almost hear him back in time, asking for our mercy?"
Ximénez nodded. "Well," he said, "I do not see why we should not let
the ... fauna ... live. We can learn a great deal from them."
"Including this:" said Holbrook, "that it shall not happen to our race.
We've a planet now, and a whole new science to master. Our children or
our grand-children will return to Earth."
Ekaterina's hand released his, but her arm went about his waist,
drawing him close as if he were a shield. Her eyes ranged the great
strange horizon and she asked, very low, "After all that time here, do
you think they will care about Earth?"
"I don't know," said Holbrook. He tasted the light like rain on his
uplifted face. It was not the sun he remembered. "I don't know,
dearest. I don't even know if it matters."