"So I gathered. May I sit down?" There were only two chairs in the room.
Danley was occupying one, and a pile of books was occupying the other.
Danley quickly got to his feet and began putting the books on his desk.
"Certainly, Mr. Tarnhorst. Sit down."
Tarnhorst lowered himself into the newly emptied chair. "I apologize for
interrupting your studies," he said. "I realize how important they are.
But there are a few points I'd like to discuss with you."
"Certainly." Danley seated himself and looked at the older man
expectantly. "The nullifiers are on," he said.
"Of course," Tarnhorst said absently. Then, changing his manner, he said
abruptly: "Have you found anything yet?"
Danley shook his head. "No. It looks to me as though they've done
everything possible to make sure that these men get the best equipment
and the best training. The training instructors have been through the
whole affair themselves--they know the ropes. The equipment, as far as I
can tell, is top grade stuff. From what I have seen so far, the Company
isn't stinting on the equipment or the training."
Tarnhorst nodded. "After nearly three months of investigation, I have
come to the same conclusion myself. The records show that expenditures
on equipment has been steadily increasing. The equipment they have now,
I understand, is almost failure-proof?" He looked questioningly at
Danley.
Danley nodded. "Apparently. Certainly no one is killed because of
equipment failure. It's the finest stuff I've ever seen."
"And yet," Tarnhorst said, "their books show that they are constantly
seeking to improve it."
"I don't suppose there is any chance of juggling the books on you, is
there?"
Tarnhorst smiled a superior smile. "Hardly. In the first place, I know
bookkeeping. In the second, it would be impossible to whip up a complete
set of balancing books--covering a period of nearly eighty
years--overnight.
"I agree," Danley said. "I don't think they set up a special training
course just for me overnight, either. I've seen classes on Vesta, Juno,
and Eros--and they're all the same. There aren't any fancy false fronts
to fool us, Mr. Tarnhorst: I've looked very closely."
"Have you talked to the men?"
"Yes. They have no complaints."
Again Tarnhorst nodded. "I have found the same thing. They all insist
that if a man gets killed in space, it's not the fault of anyone but
himself. Or, as it may be, an act of God."
"One of my instructors ran into an act of God some years ago," Danley
said. "You've met him. Brand--the one with the scarred face." He
explained to Tarnhorst what had caused Brand's disfigurement. "But he
survived," he finished, "because he kept his wits about him even after
he was hit."
"Commendable; very commendable," Tarnhorst said. "If he'd been an
excitable fool, he'd have died."
"True. But what I was trying to point out was that it wasn't equipment
failure that caused the accident."
"No. You're quite right." Tarnhorst was silent for a moment, then he
looked into Danley's eyes. "Do you think you could take on a job as
anchor man now?"
"I don't know," said Danley evenly. "But I'm going to find out
tomorrow."
* * * * *
Peter Danley took his final examination the following day. All by
himself, he went through the procedure of positioning his ship, setting
up a rocket drill, firing it, and setting in an anchor. It was only a
small rock, nine meters through, but the job was almost the same as with
the big ones. Not far away, Captain St. Simon watched the Earthman's
procedure through a pair of high-powered field glasses. He breathed a
deep sigh of relief when the job was done.
"Jules," he said softly, "I am sure glad that man didn't hurt himself
any."
"Yes, _suh_! We'd of sho' been in trouble if he'd of killed hisself!"
"We will have to tell Captain Brand that our pupil has done pretty well
for such a small amount of schooling."
"I think that would be proper, m'lud."
"And we will also have to tell Captain Brand that this boy wouldn't last
a month. He wouldn't come back from his first trip."
There was no answer to that.
* * * * *
Three days later, amid a cloud of generally satisfied feelings, Edway
Tarnhorst and Peter Danley took the ship back to Earth.
"I cannot, of course, give you a copy of my report," Tarnhorst had told
Georges Alhamid. "That is for the eyes of the Committee only. However, I
may say that I do not find the Belt Companies or the governments of the
Belt Cities at fault. Do you want to know my personal opinion?"
"I would appreciate it, Mr. Tarnhorst," Georges had said.
"Carelessness. Just plain carelessness on the part of the workers. That
is what has caused your rise in death rates. You people out here in the
Belt have become too used to being in space. Familiarity breeds
contempt, Mr. Alhamid.
"Steps must be taken to curb that carelessness. I suggest a publicity
campaign of some kind. The people must be thoroughly indoctrinated in
safety procedures and warned against carelessness. Just a few months of
schooling isn't enough, Mr. Alhamid. You've got to start pounding it
into their heads early.
"If you don't--" He shook his head. (He had grown used to doing so in
low gravity by now.) "If the death rate isn't cut down, we shall have to
raise the premium rates, and I don't know what will happen on the floor
of the People's Congress. However, I think I can guarantee six months to
a year before any steps are taken. That will give you time to launch
your safety campaign. I'm certain that as soon as this carelessness is
curbed, the claims will drop down to their former low point."
"We'll certainly try that," Alhamid had said heartily. "Thank you very
much, Mr. Tarnhorst."
When they had finally gone, Alhamid spoke to the governor.
"That's that, Larry. You can bring it up at the next meeting of the
Board of Governors. Get some kind of publicity campaign going. Plug
safety. Tell 'em carelessness is bad. It can't hurt anything and
actually might help, who knows?"
"What are you going to do at your end?"
"What we should have done long ago: finance the insurance ourselves. For
the next couple of years, we'll only make death claims to Earth for a
part of the total. We'll pay off the rest ourselves. Then we'll tell 'em
we've brought the cost down so much that we can afford to do our own
insurance financing.
"We let this insurance thing ride too long, and it has damn near got us
in a jam. We needed the income from Earth. We still could use it, but we
need our independence more."
"I second the motion," the governor said fervently. "Look, suppose you
come over to my place tonight, and we'll work out the details of this
report. O.K.? Say at nine?"
"Fine, Larry. I'll see you then."
Alhamid went back to his office. He was met at the door by his
secretary, who handed him a sealed envelope. "The Earthman left this
here for you. He said you'd know what to do with it."
Alhamid took the envelope and looked at the name on the outside. "Which
Earthman?" he asked.
"The young one," she said, "the blond one."
"It isn't even addressed to me," Alhamid said with a note of puzzled
speculation in his voice.
"No. I noticed that. I told him he could send it straight to the school,
but he said you would know how to handle it."
Alhamid looked at the envelope again, and his eyes narrowed a little.
"Call Captain St. Simon, will you? Tell him I would like to have him
come to my office. Don't mention this letter; I don't want it breezed
all over Pallas."
It was nearly twenty minutes before St. Simon showed up. Alhamid handed
him the envelope. "You have a message from your star pupil. For some
reason, he wanted me to deliver it to you. I have a hunch you'll know
what that reason is after you read it." He grinned. "I'd appreciate it
if you'd tell me when you find out. This Mr. Danley has worried me all
along."
St. Simon scowled at the envelope, then ripped off one end and took out
the typed sheets. He read them carefully, then handed them over to
Alhamid. "You'd better read this yourself, George."
Georges Alhamid took the pages and began to read.
Dear Captain St. Simon:
I am addressing this to you rather than anyone else because I think
you will understand more than anyone else. Captain Brand is a fine
person, but I have never felt very much at ease with him. (I won't
go into the psychological reasons that may exist, other than admit
that my reasons are purely emotional. I don't honestly know how
much they are based on his disfigurement.) Mr. Alhamid is almost a
stranger to me. You are the only Belt man I feel I know well.
First, I want to say that I honestly enjoyed our three months
together. There were times when I could have cheerfully bashed your
head in, I'll admit, but the experience has left me feeling more
like a real human being, more like a person in my own right, than I
have ever felt before in my life. Believe me, I appreciate it
deeply. I know now that I can do things on my own without being
dependent on the support of a team or a committee, and for that I
am grateful.
Tarnhorst has heard my report and accepted it. His report to the
People's Congress will lay the entire blame for the death rate rise
on individual carelessness rather than on any fault of management.
I think, in the main, I am justified in making such a report to
Tarnhorst, although I am fully aware that it is incomplete. I know
that if I had told him the whole truth there would be a ruckus
kicked up on Earth that would cause more trouble in the Belt than
I'd care to think about. I'm sure you're as aware of the political
situation as I am.
You see, I know that anchor-setting could be made a great deal
safer. I know that machines could be developed which would make the
job so nearly automatic that the operator would never be exposed to
any more danger than he would be in a ship on the Earth-Luna run.
Perhaps that's a little exaggerated, but not much.
What puzzled me was: _Why?_ Why shouldn't the Companies build these
machines if they were more efficient? Why should every Belt man
defend the system as it was? Why should men risk their necks when
they could demand better equipment? (I don't mean that the
equipment presently used is poor; I just mean that full
mechanization would do away with the present type of equipment and
replace it with a different type.)
Going through your course of instruction gave me the answer to
that, even though I didn't take the full treatment.
All my life, I've belonged to an organization of some kind--the
team, the crew, whatever it might be. But the Team was everything,
and I was recognized only as a member of the Team. I was a
replaceable plug-in unit, not an individual in my own right. I
don't know that I can explain the difference exactly, but it seems
to me that the Team is something outside of which the individual
has no existence, while the men of the Belt can form a team because
they know that each member is self-sufficient in his own right.
On Earth, we all depend on the Team, and, in the long run, that
means that we are depending on each other--but none of us feels he
can depend on himself. Every man hopes that, as a member of the
Team, he will be saved from his own errors, his own failures. But
he knows that everyone else is doing the same thing, and, deep down
inside, he knows that they are not deserving of his reliance. So he
puts his reliance in the Team, as if that were some sort of
separate entity in itself, and had magical, infallible powers that
were greater than the aggregate of the individuals that composed
it.
In a way, this is certainly so, since teamwork can accomplish
things that mobs cannot do. But the Team is a failure if each
member assumes that he, himself, is helpless and can do nothing,
but that the Team will do it for him.
Men who have gone through the Belt training program, men who have
"space experience," as you so euphemistically put it, are men who
can form a real team, one that will get things done because each
man knows he can rely on the others, not only as a team, but as
individuals. But to mechanize the anchor-setting phase would
destroy all that completely.
I don't want to see that destroyed, because I have felt what it is
to be a part of the Belt team, even though only a small and
unreliable part. Actually, I know I was not and could never be a
real member of that team, but I was and am proud to have scrimmaged
with the team, and I'm glad to be able to sit on the side-lines and
cheer even if I can't carry the ball. (It just occurred to me that
those metaphors might be a little cloudy to you, since you don't
have football in the Belt, but I think you see what I mean.) I
imagine that most of the men who have no "space experience" feel
the same way. They know they'd never make a go of it out in space,
but they're happy to be water boys.
I wish I could stay in the Belt. I'm enough of a spaceman to
appreciate what it really is to be a member of a space society. But
I also know that I'd never last. I'm not fitted for it, really.
I've had a small taste of it, but I know I couldn't take a full
dose. I've worked hard for the influence and security I have in my
job, and I couldn't give it up. Maybe this brands me as a coward in
your eyes, and maybe I am a coward, but that's the way I'm built. I
hope you'll take that into account when you think of me.
At any rate, I have done what I have done. On Earth, there are men
who envy you and hate you, and there will be others who will try to
destroy you, but I have done what I could to give you a chance to
gain the strength you need to resist the encroachment of Earth's
sickness.
I have a feeling that Tarnhorst saw your greatness, too, although
he'd never admit it, even to himself. Certainly something changed
him during the last months, even though he doesn't realize it. He
came out wanting to help--and by that, he meant help the common
people against the "tyranny" of the Companies. He still wants to
help the common people, but now he wants to do it _through_ the
Companies. The change is so subtle that he doesn't think he's
changed at all, but I can see it.
I don't deserve any thanks for what I have done. All I have done is
repay you in the only way I knew how for what you have done for me.
I may never see you again, captain, but I will always remember you.
Please convey my warmest regards to Captain Brand and to Mr.
Alhamid.
Sincerely,