[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science
Fiction June 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _If historical precedent be wrong--what qualities, then, must
man possess to successfully colonize new worlds? Doctor Ashby said:
"There is no piece of data you cannot find, provided you can devise the
proper experimental procedure for turning it up." Now--about the man and
the procedure...._]
This was the rainy year. Last year had been the dry one, and it would
come again. But they wouldn't be here to see it, Captain Louis Carnahan
thought. They had seen four dry ones, and now had come the fourth wet
one, and soon they would be going home. For them, this was the end of
the cycle.
At first they had kept track of the days, checking each one off on their
calendars, but the calendars had long since been mingled
indistinguishably with the stuff of the planet itself--along with most
of the rest of their equipment. By that time, however, they had learned
that the cycle of wet and dry seasons was almost precisely equivalent to
a pair of their own Terran years, so they had no more need for the
calendars.
But at the beginning of this wet season Carnahan had begun marking off
the days once again with scratches on the post of the hut in which he
lived. The chronometers were gone, too, but one and three-quarters Earth
days equalled one Serrengian day, and by that he could compute when the
ships from Earth were due.
He had dug moats about the hut to keep rain water from coming in over
his dirt floor. Only two of the walls were erected, and he didn't know
or much care whether he would get the other two up or not. Most of the
materials had blown away during the last dry period and he doubted very
much that he would replace them. The two available walls were cornered
against the prevailing winds. The roof was still in good shape, allowing
him a sufficient space free of leaks to accommodate his cooking and the
mat which he called a bed.
He picked up a gourd container from the rough bench in the center of the
room and took a swallow of the burning liquid. From the front of the hut
he looked out over the rain swept terrain at the circle of huts.
Diametrically across from him he could see Bolinger, the little
biologist, moving energetically about. Bolinger was the only one who had
retained any semblance of scientific interest. He puttered continually
over his collection, which had grown enormously over the eight year
period.
When they got back, Bolinger at least would have some accomplishment to
view with pride. The rest of them--?
Carnahan laughed sharply and took another big swallow from the gourd,
feeling the fresh surge of hot liquor already crossing the portals of
his brain, bringing its false sense of wisdom and clarity. He knew it
was false, but it was the only source of wisdom he had left, he told
himself.
He staggered back to the bed with the gourd. He caught a glimpse of his
image in the small steel mirror on the little table at the end of the
bed. Pausing to stare, he stroked the thick mat of beard and ran his
fingers through the mane of hair that had been very black when he came,
and was now a dirty silver grey.
He hadn't looked at himself for a long time, but now he had to. He had
to know what they would see when the ships of Earth came to pick up the
personnel of the Base and leave another crew. The image made him sick.
At the beginning of this final season of the rains, all his life before
coming to Serrengia seemed like a dream that had never been real. Now it
was coming back, as if he were measuring the final distance of a circle
and approaching once again his starting point. He kept remembering more
and more. Watching his image in the mirror, he remembered what General
Winthrop had said on the day of their departure. "The pick of Earth's
finest," the General said. "We have combed the Earth and you are the men
we have chosen to represent Mankind in the far reaches of the Universe.
Remember that wherever you go, there goes the honor of Mankind. Do not,
above all, betray that honor."
Carnahan clenched his teeth in bitterness. He wished old fatty Winthrop
had come with them. Savagely he upended the gourd and flung it across
the room. It meant a trip to Bailey's hut to get it replenished. Bailey
had been the Chief Physicist. Now he was the official distiller, and the
rotgut he produced was the only thing that made existence bearable.
The Captain stared again at his own image. "Captain Louis Carnahan," he
murmured aloud. "The pick of Earth's finest--!" He smashed a fist at the
little metal mirror and sent it flying across the room. The table
crashed over, one feeble leg twisting brokenly. Then Carnahan hunched
over with his face buried against the bed. His fists beat against it
while his shoulders jerked in familiar, drunken sobs.
After it was over he raised up, sitting on the edge of the bed. His mind
burned with devastating clarity. It seemed for once he could remember
everything that had ever happened to him. He remembered it all. He
remembered his childhood under the bright, pleasant sky of Earth. He
remembered his ambition to be a soldier, which meant spaceman, even
then. He remembered his first flight, a simple training tour of the Moon
installations. It convinced him that never again could he consider
himself an Earthman in the sense of one who dwells upon the Earth. His
realm was the sky and the stars. Not even the short period when he had
allowed himself to be in love had changed his convictions. He had
sacrificed everything his career demanded.
Where had it gone wrong? How could he have allowed himself to forget?
For years he had forgotten, he realized in horror. He had forgotten that
Earth existed. He had forgotten how he came to be here, and why. And all
that he was meant to accomplish had gone undone. For years the
scientific work of the great base expedition had been ignored. Only the
little biologist across the way, pecking at his tasks season after
season, had accomplished anything.
And now the ships were coming to demand an accounting.
He groaned aloud as the vision became more terrible. He thought of that
day when they had arrived at the inhospitable and uninhabited world of
Serrengia. He could close his eyes and see it again--the four tall ships
standing on the plateau that was scarred by their landing. The men had
been so proud of what they had done and would yet do. They could see
nothing to defeat them as they unloaded the mountains of equipment and
supplies.
Now that same equipment lay oozing in the muck of leafy decomposition,
corroded and useless like the men themselves. And in the dry seasons it
had been alternately buried and blasted by the sands and the winds.
He remembered exactly the day and the hour when they had cracked beyond
all recovery. With an iron hand he had held them for three years. Weekly
he demanded an appearance in full dress uniform, and hard discipline in
all their relationships was the rule. Then one day he let the dress
review go. They had come in from a long trek through a jungle that was
renewing itself after a dry season. Too exhausted in body and spirit,
and filled with an increasing sense of futility, he abandoned for the
moment the formalities he had held to.
After that it was easy. They fell apart all around him. He tried to hold
them, settling quarrels that verged on mutiny. Then in the sixth month
of the fourth year he had to kill with his own hands the first of his
crazed and rebellious crew. The scientific work disintegrated and was
abandoned. He remembered he had locked up all their notes and
observations and charts, but where he had hidden the metal chest was one
of the few things he seemed unable to recall.
The more violent of the expedition killed each other off, or wandered
into the jungle or desert and never came back. On the even dozen who
were left there had settled a kind of monastic hermitage. Each man kept
to himself, aware that a hairbreadth trespass against his neighbor would
mean quick challenge to the death. Yet they clung to membership in this
degenerate community as if it represented their last claim to humanness.
This is what they would see though. They would see his personal failure.
It _was_ his, there was no question of that. If he had been strong he
could have held the expedition together. He could have maintained the
base in all the strength and honor of military tradition that had been
entrusted to him. He hadn't been strong enough.
The ships would come. The four of them. They might come tomorrow or even
today. A panic crept through him. The ships could land at any time now,
and their men would come marching out to greet him in his failure and
cowardice and his dishonor. It must not happen. Old fatty Winthrop had
said one thing that made sense: "--there goes the honor of Mankind. Do
not, above all, betray that honor."
Fatty was right. The only thing he had left was honor, and in only one
way could he retain it.
With the fiery clarity burning in his brain he struggled from where he
lay and picked up the metallic mirror and hung it from the post near the
bed. He turned up the broken table against the wall. Then, with the air
of one who has not been on the premises for a long time he began
searching through the long unused chests stacked in the corner. The
contents were for the most part in a state of decay, but he found his
straight edged razor in the oiled pouch where he had last placed it.
There should have been shaving detergent, but he couldn't find it. He
contented himself with preparing hot water, then slowly and painfully
hacked the thick beard away and scraped his face clean. He found a comb
and raked it through his tangled mat of hair, arranging it in some vague
resemblance to the cut he used to wear.
From the chests he drew forth the dress uniform he had put away so long
ago. Fortunately, it had been in the center, surrounded by other
articles so that it was among the best preserved of his possessions. He
donned it in place of the rags he wore. The shoes were almost completely
hard from lack of care, but he put them on anyway and brushed the toes
with a scrap of cloth.
From underneath his bed he took his one possession which he had kept in
meticulous repair, his service pistol. Then he stood up, buttoning and
smoothing his coat, and smiled at himself in the little mirror. But his
gaze shifted at once to something an infinity away.
"'Do not, above all, betray that honor.' At least you gave us one good
piece of advice, fatty," he said.
Carefully, he raised the pistol to his head.
* * * * *
Hull number four was erect and self-supporting. Its shell enclosure was
complete except for necessary installation openings. And in Number One
the installations were complete and the ship's first test flight was
scheduled for tomorrow morning.
John Ashby looked from the third story window of his office toward the
distant assembly yards on the other side of the field. The four hulls
stood like golden flames in the afternoon sunlight. Ashby felt defeated
by the speed with which the ships were being completed. It was almost as
if the engineers had a special animosity toward him, which they
expressed in their unreasonable speed of construction. This was
nonsense, of course. They had a job to do and were proud if they could
cut time from their schedule.
But there was no cutting time from _his_ schedule, and without the
completion of his work the ships would not fly. He had to find men
capable of taking them on their fantastic journeys. To date, he had
failed.
He glanced down at the black car with government markings, which had
driven in front of the building a few moments before, and then he heard
Miss Haslam, his secretary, on the interphone. "The Colonization
Commission, Dr. Ashby."
He turned from the window. "Have them come in at once," he said.
He strode to the door and shook hands with each of the men. Only four of
them had come: Mr. Merton, Chairman; General Winthrop; Dr. Cowper; and
Dr. Boxman.
"Please have seats over here by the window," Ashby suggested.
They accepted and General Winthrop stood a moment looking out. "A
beautiful sight, aren't they, Ashby?" he said. "They get more beautiful
every day. You ought to get over more often. Collins says you haven't
been around the place for weeks, and Number One is going up tomorrow."
"We've had too much to occupy us here."
"_My_ men are ready," said the General pointedly. "We could supply a
dozen crews to take those ships to Serrengia and back, and man the base
there."
Ashby turned away, ignoring the General's comment. He took a chair at
the small conference table where the three Commissioners had seated
themselves. Winthrop followed, settling in his chair with a smile, as if
he had scored a major point.
"Number One is ready," said Merton, "and still you have failed to offer
us a single man, Dr. Ashby. The Commission feels that the time is very
near when definite action will have to be taken. We have your reports,
but we wanted a personal word with you to see if we couldn't come to
some understanding as to what we can expect."
"I will send you the men when I find out what kind of man we need," said
Ashby. "Until then there had better be no thought of releasing the
colonization fleet. I will not be responsible for any but the right
answers to this problem."
"We are getting to the point," said Boxman, "where we feel forced to
consider the recommendations of General Winthrop. Frankly, we have never
been able to fully understand your objections."
"There'll never be a time when I cannot supply all the men needed to
establish this base," said Winthrop. "We spend unlimited funds and years
of time training personnel for posts of this kind, yet you insist on
looking for unprepared amateurs. It makes no sense whatever, and only
because you have been given complete charge of the personnel program
have you been able to force your views on the Commission. But no one
understands you. In view of your continued failure, the Commission is
going to be forced to make its own choice."
"My resignation may be had at any time," said Ashby.
"No, no, Dr. Ashby." Merton held up his hand. "The General is perhaps
too impulsive in his disappointment that you have failed us so far, but
we do not ask for your resignation. We do ask if there is not some way
in which you might see fit to use the General's men in manning the
base."
"The whole answer lies in the erroneous term you persist in applying to
this project," said Ashby. "It is not a base, and never will be. We
propose to set up a colony. It makes an enormous difference with respect
to the kind of men required. We've been over this before--"
"But not enough," snapped Winthrop. "We'll continue to go over it until
you understand you can't waste those ships on a bunch of half-baked
idealists inspired by some noble nonsense about carrying on the torch of
human civilization beyond the stars. We're putting up a base, to gather
scientific data and establish rights of occupancy."
"I don't think I agree with your description of my proposed party of
colonists," said Ashby mildly.
"That's what they'll be! Were colonists ever anything but psalm singing
rebels or cutthroats trying to escape hanging? You're not going to
establish a cultural and scientific base with such people."
"No, you're quite right. That's not the kind."
"What is it you're looking for?" said Merton irritably. "What kind of
men do you want, if you can't find them among the best and the worst
humanity offers."
"Your terms are hardly accurate," said Ashby. "You fail to recognize the
fact that we have never known what kind of man it takes to colonize. You
ignore the fact that we have never yet successfully colonized the
planets of our own Solar System. Bases, yes--but all our colonies have
failed to date."
"What better evidence could you ask for in support of my argument?"
demanded Winthrop. "We've _proved_ bases are practical, and that
colonies are not."
"No matter how far away or how long the periods of rotation, a man
assigned to a base expects to return home. Night or day, in the
performance of any duty, there is in his mind as a working background
the recognition that at some future time he can go home. His base is
never his home."
"Precisely. That is what makes the base successful."
Ashby shook his head. "No base is ever successful from the standpoint of
permanent extension of a civilization. By its very nature it is
transitory, impermanent. That is not what we want now."
"We have the concept of permanent bases in military thinking," said
Winthrop. "You can't generalize in that fashion."
"Name for me a single military or expeditionary base that continued its
permanency over any extended period of history."
"Well--now--"
"The concept is invalid," said Ashby. "Extensions of humanity from one
area to another on a permanent basis are made by colonists. Men who do
not expect to rotate, but come to live and establish homes. This is what
we want on Serrengia. Humanity is preparing to make an extension of
itself in the Universe.
"But more than this, there are limitations of time and distance in the
establishment of bases, which cannot be overcome by any amount of
training of personnel. Cycles of rotation and distances from home can be
lengthened beyond the capacity of men to endure. It is only when they go
out with _no_ expectation of return that time and distance cease to
control them."
"We do not know of any such limitations," said Winthrop. "They have not
been met here in the Solar System."
"We know them," said Ashby. "The thing we have not found and which we
must discover before those ships depart is the quality that makes it
possible for a man to ignore time and distance and his homeland. We know
a good deal about the successful colonists of Earth's history. We know
that invariably they were of some minority group which felt itself
persecuted or limited by conditions surrounding it, or else they were
fleeing the results of some crime."
"If that is what you are looking for, it is no wonder you have failed,"
said Dr. Cowper. "We have no such minority groups in our society."
"Very true," Ashby replied. "But it is not the condition of fleeing or
being persecuted that generates the qualities of a perfect colonist by
any means! We have examples enough of adequately persecuted groups who
failed as colonists. But there is some quality, which seems to appear,
if at all, only in some of those who have courage enough to flee their
oppression or limiting conditions. This quality makes them successful in
their colonization.
"We are looking first, therefore, for individuals who would have the
courage to resist severe limitations to the extent of flight, if such
limitations existed. And among these we hope to find the essence of that
which makes it possible for a man to cut all ties with his homeland."
"So you are making your search," said Merton, "among the potentially
rebellious and criminal?"
Ashby nodded. "We have confined our study to these individuals as a
result of strict historical precedent so that we might narrow the search
as much as possible. You must understand, however, that to choose merely
the rebellious and staff our ships with these would be foolhardy. It
would be a ridiculous shotgun technique. _Some_ of them would succeed,
but we would never know which it would be. We might send twenty or a
thousand ships out and establish one successful colony.
"We have to do much better than that. Our consumption of facilities on
this project is so great that we have to _know_, within a negligible
margin of error, that when these groups are visited in eight or fifty
years from now we will find a community of cooperative, progressive
human beings. We cannot be satisfied with less!"
"I'm afraid the majority of sentiment in the Commission is not in
agreement with you," said Mr. Merton. "To oppose General Winthrop's
trained crews with selected cutthroats and traitors may have historical
precedent, but it scarcely seems the optimum procedure in this case!
"We are willing to be shown proof of your thesis, Dr. Ashby, but we have
certain realities of which we are sure. If we can do no better, we shall
take the best available to us at the time the ships are ready. If you
cannot supply us with proven crews and colonists by then we shall be
forced to accept General Winthrop's recommendations and choose personnel
whose reactions are at least known and predictable to a high degree. I'm
sorry, but surely you can understand our position in this matter."
For a long time Ashby was silent, looking from one to the other of the
faces about the table. Then he spoke in a low voice, as if having
reached the extremity of his resources. "Yes--the reactions of
Winthrop's men are indeed known. I suggest that you come with me and I
will show you what those reactions are."
He stood up and the others followed with inquiring expressions on their
faces. Winthrop made a short, jerky motion of his head, as if he
detected a hidden sting in Ashby's words. "What do you mean by that?" he
demanded.
"You don't suppose that our examinations would neglect the men on whom
you have spent so much time and effort in training?"
The General flushed with rage. "If you've tampered with any of my men--!
You had no right--!"
The other Commission members were smiling in faint amusement at the
General's discomfiture.
"I should think it would be to your advantage to check the results of
your training," said Mr. Merton.
"There is only one possible check!" exclaimed General Winthrop. "Put
these men on a base for a period of eight years and at a distance of
forty seven light years from home and see what they will do. That is the
only way you can check on them."
"And if you know anything about our methods of testing, you will
understand that this, in effect, is what we have done. Your best man is
about to be released from the test pit. He can't have more than an hour
to go."
"Who have you got in your guinea pig pen?" the General demanded. "If
you've ruined him--"
"Captain Louis Carnahan," said Ashby. "Shall we go down, gentlemen?"
* * * * *
It had been a grisly business, watching the final minutes of Carnahan's
disintegration. General Winthrop's face was almost purple when he saw
the test pit in which Carnahan was being examined. He tried to tear out
the observation lens with his bare hands as he saw the Captain lift the
loaded pistol to his head in the moment before the safety beam cut in.
And now Ashby kept hearing Winthrop's furious, scathing voice: "You have
destroyed one of the best men the Service has ever produced! I'll have
your hide for this, Ashby, if it's the last act of my life."
Merton and the others had been shocked also by the violence and
degradation of what they saw, but whether he had made his point or not,
Ashby didn't know. Carnahan, of course, would be returned to the Service
within twenty four hours, all adverse effects of the test completely
removed. He would be aware that he had taken it and had not passed, but
there would be no trace of the bitter emotions generated during those
days of examination.
Ashby looked out again at the four hulls now turning from gold to red as
the sun dropped lower in the sky. He had not asked Merton if the
ultimatum was going to stick. He wondered how they could insist on it
after what they had seen, but he didn't _know_.
Impatiently, he turned from the window as Miss Haslam's voice came on
the intercom once more. "Dr. Ashby, Mr. Jorden is still waiting to see
you."
Jorden. He had forgotten. The man had been waiting during his conference
with the Commissioners. Jorden was the one who had been rejected for
examination two weeks ago and insisted he had a _right_ to be examined
for colonization factors. He had been trying to get in ever since. He
might as well get rid of the man once and for all, Ashby decided
reluctantly.
"Show him in," he said.
Mark Jorden was a tall, blond man in his late twenties. Shaking hands
with him, Ashby felt thick, strong fingers and glimpsed a massive wrist
at the edge of the coat sleeve. Jorden's face was a pleasant
Scandinavian pink, matched by blue eyes that looked intently into
Ashby's face.
They sat at the desk. "You want to be a colonist," said Ashby. "You say
you want to settle forty seven light years from Earth for the rest of
your life. And our preliminary psycho tests indicate you have scarcely a
vestige of the basic qualities required. Why do you insist on the full
examination?"
Jorden smiled and shook his head honestly. "I don't know exactly. It
seems like something I'd enjoy doing. Maybe it's in my people--they
liked to move around and see new places. They were seamen in the days
when there weren't any charts to sail by."
"It's certain that this is a situation without charts to sail by," said
Ashby, "but I hardly think the word 'enjoy' is applicable. Have you
thought at all of what existence means at that distance from Earth, with
no communication whatever except a ship every eight years or so?
Qualifications just a trifle short of insanity are required for a
venture of that kind."
"I'm sure you don't mean that, Dr. Ashby," said Jorden reprovingly.
"Perhaps not," said Ashby. His visitor's calm assurance irritated him,
as if _he_ were the one who knew what a colonist ought to be. "I see by
your application you're an electrical engineer."
Jorden nodded. "Yes. My company has just offered me the head of the
department, but I had to explain I was putting in an application for
colonist. They think I'm crazy, of course."
"Does taking the examination mean giving up your promotion?"
"I'm not sure. But I rather think they will pass me up and give it to
one of the other men."
"You want to go badly enough to risk giving up that chance in order to
take an examination which will unquestionably show you have no
qualifications whatever to be a colonist?"
"I think I'm qualified," said Jorden. "I insist on being given the
chance. I believe I have the right to it."
Ashby tried to restrain his irritation. What Jorden said was perhaps
true. No one had ever raised the point before. Those previously rejected
by the preliminary tests had withdrawn in good grace. It seemed
senseless to waste the time of a test pit and its large crew on an
obviously hopeless applicant. On the other hand, he couldn't afford to
have Jorden stirring up trouble with the Colonization Commission at this
critical time--and he could guess that was exactly what Jorden's next
move would be if he were turned down again.
"Our machines will find out everything about you later," said Ashby,
"but I'd like you to tell me about yourself so that I may feel
personally acquainted with you."
Jorden shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I had the usual schooling,
which wasn't anything impressive. I had my three year hitch in the
Service, and I suppose that's where I began to feel there was something
available in life which I had never anticipated. I suppose it sounds
very silly to you, but when I first put a foot on the Moon I felt like
crying. I picked up a handful of pumice and let it sift through my
fingers. I looked out toward Mars and felt as if I could go anywhere,
that I ought to go everywhere.
"The medicos told me later that it was a crazy sort of feeling that
everyone gets his first time out, but I didn't believe them. I didn't
believe it was quite the same with anyone else. When I got out to Mars
finally, and during my one tour on Pluto, it seemed to get worse instead
of decreasing as they told me it would. When I got out I took a job in
my profession, and I've been satisfied, but I've never been able to get
rid of the feeling there's something I'm missing, something I ought to
be doing. It's connected with everything out there." He lifted a broad
hand and gestured to the horizon beyond the windows.
"Perhaps your career should have been in the Service," suggested Ashby.
"No. That was good enough while it lasted, but they didn't have anything
I wanted permanently. When I heard about the proposed colonization on
Serrengia that seemed to be it."
"Your application indicates you are not married."
"That's right," said Jorden. "I have no ties to hold me back."
"You understand, of course, that as a colonist you will be expected to
marry, either before leaving or soon after arrival. Colonial life is
family life."
"I hadn't thought much about that, but it can't be too bad, I suppose. I
presume my choice would be quite severely limited to a fellow colonist?"
"Correct."
"There is a story about my third or fourth grandfather who was given a
girl to marry the night before he sailed from his homeland to settle in
a new country. They had seventeen children and were said to be
extraordinarily happy. My family still owns the homestead they cleared.
I was born there."
"It can be done, but it doesn't conform closely with our currently
accepted social mores," said Ashby hopefully.
"I'm sure that won't stand in my way. If there's a woman who's willing
to take a chance, I certainly will be."
"There's one more thing we have to know," said Ashby. "What are you
running away from? Who or what are your enemies?"
Jorden laughed uncertainly. "I'm sorry, but I'm not running away from
anything. As far as I know I have no enemies."
"_All_ colonists are running from something," said Ashby. "Otherwise
they would stay where they are."
Jorden regarded him a moment in silence, then smiled slowly. "I think
you are going to have occasion to revise that thesis," he said.
"A great deal of history would also have to be revised if we did," said
Ashby. "At any rate, let's go down to the test pits. I'll show you
what's in store for you there, and you can further decide if you insist
on going through with it."
* * * * *
The laboratories of the Institute of Social Science were spread over a
forty acre area, consisting mostly of the test pits where experimental
examination of proposed colonists was being conducted. Ashby led his
visitor to the ground floor where they took a pair of the electric
cycles used for transportation along the vast corridors of the
laboratory.
A quarter of a mile away they stopped and entered a glassed-in control
room fitted with a number of desks and extensive banks of electronic
equipment.
"This almost looks like a good sized computer setup," said Jorden
admiringly.
"We use computers extensively, but this equipment is merely the
recording and control apparatus for the synthetic environment
established in the test pit. Please step this way."
The control room was empty now, but during a test it was occupied by a
dozen technicians. It was a highly unorthodox procedure to show a
prospective colonist the test pit setup before examination, but Ashby
still had hopes of shunting Jorden aside without wasting the facilities
on a useless test.
They moved to an observation post and Ashby directed Jorden's attention
to the observation lenses. "We cleaned out here this afternoon," he
said. "A Captain of the Service last occupied the pit."