It was a big day in Fairyland whenever the Council of Uncles came.
Bigger in a way than either Christmas or Circus Time, because they came
twice a year and the Council of Uncles only once.
I'd adjusted the controls of the Weather Generators the night before so
that Arrival Day dawned warm and clear. The Kids were all dressed in
Sunday-best and the festival flags were flying from the tops of all the
buildings. Across the side of Daddy's Tower that faced the desert and
spaceport, a gay, multi-colored banner constructed by the third-graders
proclaimed: WELCOME UNCLES!
The Kids were gathered in the courtyard at the foot of the Tower, their
eyes scanning the green sky for the first glimpse of the Uncles'
spaceship. Up in the Tower at the radar console, I picked up a blip at
about three hundred kilomiles. I interrogated, and the target trace
blinked in the proper code sequence.
I turned on the kiddiecom system and announced that we had just
received a message from the Cold Side of Number One Sun. The sound of
cheering drifted up from the courtyard.
"The Uncles will be here in ten minutes," I said. "Mommy, will you lead
us in a rehearsal of the 'Welcome Song,' please?"
I stood by the window, listening to the vast sound of a hundred and
thirty-seven voices, each trying to outdo the other in amplitude and
sincerity.
"_Welcome to Fairyland,
Welcome to Fairyland,
Welcome dear Uncles
To Fairyland, today!_"
It was discordant, it was childish--it was even ludicrous--but I loved
it. I loved it without quite understanding it, and it made me feel
happy yet sad at the same time....
I took the elevator down to the loading platform and drove the monorail
car out to the spaceport, which was ten miles from Fairyland--across
the arid, lifeless desert. We'd built the dock close enough for easy
access yet far enough away so that the awesome sight of a spaceship
landing or blasting off wouldn't generate too much curiosity in the
Kids. It was a link with the Outside World, a world that had no reality
for them and for that reason could not stand too close an inspection.
The Earth ship was snuggling comfortably into the dock as I climbed out
of the car. I ran across the landing platform and pressed the control
switch that lowered the gangway against the ship's hatch.
Boswell, the Council Chairman, was first down the gangway. He was
short, fat without being flabby, and completely bald except for a
fringe of white fuzz around the back of his head and over his ears. He
had an oversized nose, and bright blue eyes that twinkled perpetually.
The Kids called him Uncle Chub.
"Well well well, Harry. You look fine. Fine. Good to see you. How's it
going?"
"Fine, sir. Just fine."
His three colleagues followed close on his heels. I shook hands with
each of them. Two of them I'd known as long as I had Boswell, ever
since I'd become the Third Daddy of Fairyland.
There was old Eaker, lean and tall and solemn, with never much to say.
The Kids called him Uncle Thin. ("Good to see you, Harry. How are you
doing?") Then there was Hopkins, about my age and therefore younger
than either Boswell or Eaker. A nice, medium guy, Hopkins--medium
build, medium gray hair, medium voice, affable without being garrulous,
intelligent without being stuffy. The Kids called him Uncle Hoppy.
("Hi, Dad. How's the gang?")
The fourth Councilman was a stranger. Boswell introduced him as
William Pettigrew. He was slightly built, fidgety, shrill-voiced and
weasel-faced. His mouth was fixed in a perpetual smirk, and I formed a
dislike for him--immediate and intense. I wondered what the Kids would
call him, and a suggestion immediately came to mind: Uncle Jerk.
"Can't say as I approve of this place at all," said Pettigrew as we
climbed aboard the mono-car. "Matter of fact, I strongly _dis_approve."
"Well, sir," I said, trying not to gnash my teeth, "I don't quite see
how you can be certain until you've seen it."
"Principle. Matter of principle."
I didn't answer. Hoppy caught my eye and winked.
* * * * *
A rousing cheer came from the Kids down in the courtyard as we climbed
out of the car. Then I heard the brief, plaintive whimper of Mommy's
pitch-pipe and once again the "Welcome Song" reverberated throughout
Fairyland. The Uncles waved down at the Kids, with the exception of
Pettigrew, who fidgeted until the song was finished. As we descended in
the lift, he said: "This place must cost the taxpayers a tidy sum."
"As a matter of fact, we're almost self-sustaining," I said. "A few
tons of reactor fuel per annum is all we require to--"
"Don't humor him, Harry," said Boswell. "Let him read the Report."
Pettigrew glared, but except for an inaudible mutter he took Boswell's
squelch without comment. I was wondering what significance might be
hidden in this addition of a fourth Uncle to the Council, but I finally
shrugged it off. Earthside politics bored the hell out of me.
Mommy was waiting to greet us as we stepped out of the elevator and
Uncle Chub gave her a big hug. "How's the First Lady of the Galaxy?"
he said, and she brightened as though it were a spontaneous compliment
she was hearing for the first time instead of the twentieth.
Then the Kids broke ranks and milled around us, squealing and laughing
and firing questions about Santa Claus. Being new, Pettigrew received
a good deal of attention. "Who are you?" "What's your Uncle-name?"
"Do you live with Santy Claus or with the fairies?" "How cold is the
cold side of Number One Sun?" "Do you like merry-go-rounds better than
rolly-coasters?"
The pelting of this verbal barrage sent him spinning like a crippled
spaceship and I wedged myself through the ring of Kids to rescue him.
"Come on, gang! Break it up!"
Pettigrew gave me a look of wide-eyed terror. "They're insane," he
whispered. "Look at them! They're adults, but they act like--like--"
"Like children," I said. "That's what they are, Mr. Pettigrew. I
thought the other Councilors had explained--"
"They did. But I never thought--well, I mean this is awful!"
I grinned, "You'll get used to it."
"Whole thing is ludicrous. Ludicrous!" He waved an all-encompassing
hand that included the Kids, Fairyland, its basic concept, and me.
I was getting more disenchanted with this character all the time. "Now
just a minute, you--"
A strong hand closed over my arm and I looked around into the grinning
face of Hoppy. "Let's get the program started, eh?" he said.
* * * * *
The next three hours were a hodge-podge of well-rehearsed chaos. The
Council had to inspect everything so they could return a first-hand
report to the Solar Committee for Sociological Research, and on the
other hand all the Kids had to show off for the Uncles.
The first stop on the agenda was the Arts & Crafts Building where we
exhibited the drawings and clay animals and models and beadwork and a
thousand-and-one other items the Kids had made with their own hands.
From there we adjourned to the school where Ruth had displayed a few
samples of the work of each class.
"We only have one teacher," I explained to Pettigrew, "because
each class meets for just an hour a day. We stagger the classes,
kindergarten through third grade. The Kids spend an average of five
years in each grade, including kindergarten."
"Ridiculous!"
"There's nothing ridiculous about it," I said, patiently, "for the
simple reason that they're not in any hurry."
"Hmph. Well, I _am_. Let's get on with it."
From the school the procession migrated to the Recreation Hall. We
visited the game room for demonstrations by Checker Champ Mike-One
and Chess Champ Adam-Two, then witnessed exhibitions at the Bowling
Alley, Basketball Court, and the Ice and Roller Rinks. I explained
to Pettigrew that each Kid was Champ of something. There were enough
categories for everybody, and nobody was allowed to be Champ of more
than one thing at a time. Uncle Petty mumbled something I didn't catch.
We skirted the Midway and took a tour of the Pretty Park. Here at
last was something Pettigrew could accept; he almost smiled as he saw
the huge flower beds raised by the Botany Team. But the almost-smile
disappeared as we explained to him the purpose of the little cottages
nestled among the trees. His eyes bugged and his face became quite red,
and his voice failed him so that he could only sputter.
"We only retard the mind," I explained, "not the body. Playing House is
just another recreational activity, like riding the merry-go-round or
playing golf. The Kids enjoy it, but they don't make a big thing out of
it. We treat the whole subject quite casually, and frankly."
I'll say this for Pettigrew, he had spunk. He swallowed his moral
indignation, squared his thin shoulders, took a deep breath and managed
to find his voice. But it failed him again on the word "pregnancy."
"We allow that to occur only rarely," I said. "We're building to a
static population of a hundred and forty. At the current rate of one
Dolly per year, in three more years we'll--"
"One _what_ per year?"
"Dolly." I caught Hoppy's muffled snort behind me and managed to hold
down the size of my grin. "The Kids call it 'making a Dolly.' It's a
rare treat and the girls look forward to it."
When the danger of apoplexy had subsided, Mr. Pettigrew choked,
"This--this is ... _monstrous! Monstrous!_" And, having found the right
word, he savored it: "Monstrous."
There were too many kids around to pursue the discussion. Little
pitchers, I thought. I was especially concerned about Adam-Two, who
had been lurking as close to the group of Uncles as possible, soaking
in every word like a damp sponge. Twice I whispered to Ruth to decoy
him out of earshot, but she was too busy to keep an eye on him all the
time. She'd no sooner turn her back than he'd edge up through the crowd
again, a look of fierce curiosity on his thin face.
From the Pretty Park we made our way to the Golf Course, the Football
and Baseball Fields, then the Tennis Courts and Swimming Pool.
Demonstrations were given at each stop, with much shouting and
applause. After the final demonstration by the Diving Champ, we made a
tour of the dormitories. Pettigrew went through a minor tantrum again
when the Dolly Team showed him through the small Maternity Ward in the
girls' dorm.
At last we filed into the Auditorium for the Happy Show. The Kids who
weren't Champs of some game or craft were all in the Happy Show. We
watched, listened, and applauded for the Song Champ, the Somersault
Champ, the Dancing Champ, the Yo-yo Champ, and many more. The
_piece-de-resistance_ was a playlet entitled "The Uncles' Visit," where
three of the boys imitated Uncles Chub, Hoppy, and Thin. (We hadn't
been expecting Uncle Petty, so he wasn't in it. Probably just was as
well, I thought.) It was a riot.
* * * * *
After the show, lollipops were passed out to everybody and it was Free
Time until lunch. Mommy stayed below to keep an eye on things and I
herded the Uncles up to the conference room in the Tower.
Uncle Chub Boswell rapped the meeting to order. He paid me the standard
compliment about how healthy and happy the Kids looked and what a fine
job Ruth and I were doing here, then asked me to read the Annual Report.
Before I could get my papers in order, Pettigrew piped, "Mr. Chairman,
I'd like to ask a few pertinent questions."
"All right, Petty. Make it brief."
"Thank you. I should like to ask--er, what was your name again?"
"Barnaby," I said. "Harry Barnaby. Just call me Daddy."
He glared my grin into oblivion. "Mr. Barnaby, I would like you to
explain to me the purpose of this installation."
For some reason, the tone of his voice on the word "installation"
infuriated me. "What the devil are you driving at?" I snapped.
There was a faint suggestion of a sneer on his pasty little face.
"I'm interested in ascertaining, Mr. Barnaby, just how you justify
the continued conduction of this perpetual circus and picnic for the
mentally retarded, at tremendous expense to the taxpayers."
I felt an almost irresistible urge to lean across the conference table
and hit him in the mouth. I turned to Boswell and said, "Chub, I think
you'd better get this pip-squeak out of here."
Boswell glowered at Pettigrew. "Petty, I told you to watch your lip."
"I don't have to take that kind of talk from you, Boswell!"
"Yes you do, as long as I'm Chairman of this committee!"
"Don't be surprised if we have a new Chairman shortly after we return
to Earth," said Mr. Pettigrew smugly.
Boswell grinned at me. "Mr. Pettigrew figgers he's got influence,
Harry. He has a second cousin on the Senate Committee of the Galactic
Council. Figgers he'll have me sacked and make himself Chairman. He
ain't been a bureaucrat long enough to appreciate the red-tape involved
in that kind of caper."
I laughed, and managed to look at Pettigrew without wanting to hit him.
"I don't mind questions," I said, "as long as they're put to me in a
civil manner.
"I'll tell you, Mr. Pettigrew, what the purpose of this 'installation'
is. We're trying to find out how to make people happy. And we think
we've got the answer. Don't let them find out that there's no Santa
Claus, that everybody dies, that it doesn't always pay to be good.
Don't let them know that sex is dirty, childbirth is painful, and not
everybody can be a champion. Don't let them find out what a stupid,
sordid, ugly, ridiculous place the world is. In short, Mr. Pettigrew,
don't let them grow up!"
"Nonsense!"
"Nonsense, Mr. Pettigrew? You saw them. You saw how they live. You saw
their faces and heard them laugh. Judge for yourself."
Pettigrew scowled at me. "Am I to understand, Mr. Barnaby, that you
seriously propose that this quaint little ... er ... experiment be
adopted as a way of life, for everybody?"
"Why not?" I was warming to my subject now, and I leaned across
the table toward him. "Why not? We've had seven thousand years of
civilization. We spent the first six thousand learning more and more
subtle and complex reasons for hating one another and the last thousand
in developing more elaborate and fiendish ways of destroying one
another. And out of our so-called scientific advancement, accidentally,
has come a thing called automation. The age of the laborer and
breadwinner is past. What are we going to do, Mr. Pettigrew? Let man
use his leisure time to discover even more effective ways of destroying
himself ... or let him live in a Fairyland?"
Uncle Petty turned his head slowly, letting his gaze travel around the
room as if he were seeking moral support. He started to say something,
then shook his head.
"Think of it," I went on, "a whole world full of happy kids! And a new
kind of aristocracy--the Daddies and Mommies. They and their children
would be trained to supervise, to keep an eye on things, just as Ruth
and I do here. The Kids could be trained to do what little maintenance
the machines require--"
"You're insane!" Pettigrew exploded. "That's it! You're crazier than
the rest of them out there. You--"
I don't know whether or not I really intended to hit him, or how things
might have turned out if I had. Luckily, Boswell jumped to his feet
and pulled me back as I made a lunge across the table. "Take it easy,
Harry," he said quietly. Then he turned to Pettigrew. "Petty, we've had
enough out of you for today. Open your mouth again and I'll lock you in
the ship till we're ready to leave!"
Pettigrew slid lower in his chair and after a brief mumbling was
silent. I apologized to Boswell for losing my temper. "Forget it,
Harry," he chuckled. "Wanted to hit 'im myself lots of times.... Well,
let's have the Report, eh?"
* * * * *
The bulk of the Annual Report consisted of a lot of dry statistics
about the hydroponics crop, the weight and height and emotional
ratings of the Kids, reports on certain educational and recreational
experiments, and so on. The problem of Adam-Two was the last item on
the agenda, and as I read it they perked up their ears and stopped
yawning.
"... and in light of these developments, the under-signed recommends
that Adam-Two be transported to Earth and given a normal education so
that he may be assimilated into the society."
I stood for a moment, holding the papers in my hand, looking from one
to the other of that quartet of blank, silent faces.
Finally, Boswell cleared his throat. "Harry, let me get this straight.
You think this ... what's his name? Adam-Two. You actually think
he's--ah--growing up?"
I nodded. "There isn't a doubt in _my_ mind, and Ruth agrees."
"And you think we oughta take him back to Earth with us?"
"Sure, I do. I think that's the only solution, don't you?"
Eaker coughed discreetly. "I'm afraid it isn't any solution at all."
"What would _we_ do with him?" Hoppy wanted to know.
"Look," I said, "the kid is a misfit. He doesn't belong here. He
belongs on Earth where he can get an education and maybe a chance
to ... to make something of himself."
Boswell cleared his throat again. "Seems like he'd be a worse misfit on
Earth than he is here, Harry."
"He would not!" I snapped. "He's a sharp kid. He'd adapt himself in no
time."
Eaker spoke up again. "It seems to me we're overlooking an important
point here, gentlemen. Isn't Fairyland supposed to be a sort of testing
ground for a particular sociological theory? It seems to me we'd be
defeating our purpose if we removed this lad just because he doesn't
seem to fit. If the world is to be converted to a Fairyland, there'll
be more Adam-Two's from time to time. What's to be done with them?"
"Nuts!" I said. "It's not the same problem, and you know it. If the
whole world were like this place, Fairyland would be the only reality
there was. Guys like Adam would _have_ to accept it.... Why don't you
just admit that you don't want to be bothered with this?"
Boswell rapped for order. "Gentlemen, there's no need to waste any more
time with this.... Now Harry, you know we've got no real jurisdiction
in this. We're just advisory. The Kids are all wards of the Solar State
and if you want to appeal for help through official channels, we'll be
glad to initiate a request for you when we get back to Earth."
I realized now that I might as well have saved my breath. It was the
old bureaucratic buck-pass. For twenty years, the Uncles' visit had
been merely an annual ritual--and they intended to keep it that way.
They had a nice, soft touch and they weren't going to let anything
spoil it. Sure, they'd initiate a report ... and by the time it
filtered through the spiral nebula of red-tape, Adam and I would both
have died of old age.
I gathered up my papers. "Just forget it," I said sourly. "If there's
no further business, let's adjourn for lunch and I'll take you back to
the ship."
* * * * *
At the spaceport we shook hands and Hoppy hung back after the others
had gone up the gangway. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry
about this Adam thing, Harry."
"Forget it."
"I know how you feel, and I wish we could help. But you know how it
is...."
"Sure. I know how it is."
"The Administration's all wound up in the Rearmament Program. Doubling
the size of the space fleet. Everybody's edgy, wondering whether
there's going to be war with the Centauri crowd. Hardly anyone
remembers there is such a place as Fairyland. If we go back and kick
up a fuss, no telling what might happen. Most of the Government budget
is earmarked for defense. We might all find ourselves among the
unemployed."
I looked at him for a long time, until his eyes couldn't meet mine any
more. "Hoppy," I said quietly, "how long has it been since they stopped
thinking of Fairyland as a practical possibility?"
He shrugged, still not looking at me. "I don't know, Harry. Twelve,
maybe fifteen years, I suppose. There aren't many Happy Hooligans
around any more--at least they aren't working at it. They're all
getting rich off the defense effort."
"So they're just letting us drift along out here because it's easier
than disbanding the thing and trying to rehabilitate the Kids. That
right?"
He nodded. "That's about it."
I took a deep breath, and shook my head. "Why, Hoppy? _Why?_"
"Oh, hell!" he blurted. "Let's face it, Harry. The whole idea just
isn't practical. It would never work."
"Never work!" I shouted. "It's been working for forty years!"
"Sure, sure--it works here. On an isolated desert planet a billion
miles from Earth, it works fine. But you can't remake the whole world
into a Fairyland, Harry. You just can't do it!"
There was a sinking, sickening feeling in my guts. "Okay, Hoppy.
Okay.... Blast off."
He stood looking at me for a moment, then turned and hurried up the
gangway.
Just as he reached the hatch, two figures emerged suddenly from the
ship. One wore the uniform of a Space Fleet astro-navigator. The other
was Adam-Two.
I ran up the gangway in time to hear the navigator telling Hoppy, "I
found him in the forward chart room."
"Adam!" I yelled. "What are you up to now?"
"I wanted to go along," he said. "I wanted to see if they were really
going to the cold side of Number One Sun."
I grabbed his arm and hustled him down to the mono-car. We slid clear
of the dock and about half a mile away I stopped the car to watch them
blast off.
Adam's eyes were wide with wonderment. "What makes it go?"
"Rocket motors," I said absently. I watched the ship, now just a mote
disappearing in the twilight sky. And I thought, _There goes the tag
end of a twenty-year dream._
That was all it had ever been; I knew that now. Just a dream, and a
stupid one at that. I'd deluded myself even more than the Kids.
"What's a rocket motor?"
I looked at Adam. "What? What did you say?"
"I said, what's a rocket motor?"
"Who said anything about rocket motors?"
"You did. I asked you what makes it go and you said, rocket motors."
I frowned. "Forget it. Magic makes it go. Santa Claus magic."
"Okay, Daddy. Sure."
Something about his tone made me look sharply at him. He was grinning
at me; a cynical, adult-type grin. Yesterday it would have made me
furious. Today, for some crazy reason, it made me burst out laughing. I
laughed for quite a long time, and then as suddenly as it began, it was
over. I rumpled his hair and started the car.
"Adam," I said, "take a tip from your Daddy. Stop trying to find out
about things. Hang onto your dreams. Dreams are happy things, and truth
is sometimes pretty ugly...."