Harry's son's house was on the outskirts of Washington, near what had
once been called Gettysburg. Harry was surprised to find that it _was_
a house, and a rather large one, despite the fact that almost all the
furniture had been scaled down proportionately to fit the needs of a
man three feet high.
But then, Harry was growing accustomed to surprises.
He found a room of his own, ready and waiting, on the second floor;
here the furniture was of almost antique vintage, but adequate in
size. And here, in an atmosphere of unaccustomed comfort, he could
talk.
"So you're a physician, eh?" Harry gazed down into the diminutive
face, striving to accept the fact that he was speaking to a mature
adult. His own son--his and Sue's--a grown man and a doctor! It seemed
incredible. But then, nothing was more incredible than the knowledge
that he was actually here, in his child's home.
"We're all specialists in one field or another," his son explained.
"Every one of us born and surviving during the early experimental
period received our schooling under a plan Leffingwell set up. It was
part of his conditional agreement that we become wards of the state.
He knew the time might come when we'd be needed."
"But why wasn't all this done openly?"
"You know the answer to that. There was no way of educating us under
the prevailing system, and there was always a danger we might be
singled out as freaks who must be destroyed--particularly in those
early years. So Leffingwell relied on secrecy, just as he did during
his experimentation period. You know how _you_ felt about that. You
believed innocent people were being murdered. Would you have listened
to his explanations, accepted the fact that his work was worth the
cost of a few lives so that future billions of human beings might be
saved? No, there was no time for explanation or indoctrination.
Leffingwell chose concealment."
"Yes," Harry sighed. "I understand that better now, I think. But I
couldn't see it then, when I tried to kill him." He flushed. "And I
still can't quite comprehend why he spared me after that attempt."
"Because he wasn't the monster you thought him to be. When I pleaded
with him--"
"_You_ were the one!"
Harry's son turned away. "Yes. When I was told who you really were, I
went to him. But I was only a child, remember that. And he didn't
spare you out of sentimentality. He had a purpose."
"A purpose in sending me to prison, letting me rot all these years
while--"
"While I grew up. I and the others like myself. And while the world
outside changed." Harry's son smiled. "Your friend Richard Wade was
right, you know. He guessed a great deal of the truth. Leffingwell and
Manschoff and the rest of their associates deliberately set out to
assemble a select group of nonconformists--men of specialized talents
and outlooks. There were over three hundred of you at Stark Falls.
Richard Wade knew why."
"And so he was dragged off and murdered."
"Murdered? No, Father, he's very much alive, I assure you. In fact,
he'll be here tonight."
"But why was he taken away so abruptly, without any warning?"
"He was needed. There was a crisis, when Dr. Leffingwell died."
Harry's son sighed. "You didn't know about that, did you? There's so
much for you to learn. But I'll let him tell you himself, when you see
him this evening."
Richard Wade told him. And so did William Chang and Lars Neilstrom and
all the others. During the ensuing weeks, Harry saw each of them
again. But Wade's explanation was sufficient.
"I was right," he said. "There was no Underground when we were at
Stark Falls. What I didn't realize, though, was that there was an
Overground."
"Overground?"
"You might call it that. Leffingwell and his staff formed the nucleus.
They foresaw the social crisis which lay ahead, when the world became
physically divided into the tall and the short, the young and the old.
They knew there'd be a need of individuality then--and they _did_
create a stockpile. A stockpile of the younger generation, specially
educated; a stockpile of the older generation, carefully selected. We
conspicuous rebels were incarcerated and given an opportunity to think
the problem through, with limited contact with one another's
viewpoints."
"But why weren't we told the truth at the beginning, allowed to meet
face-to-face and make some sensible plans for the future?"
Harry's son interrupted. "Because Dr. Leffingwell realized this would
defeat the ultimate purpose. You'd have formed your own in-group, as
prisoners, dedicated to your own welfare. There'd be emotional ties--"
"I still don't know what you're talking about. What are we supposed to
prepare for now?"
Richard Wade shrugged. "Leffingwell had it all planned. He foresaw
that when the first generation of Yardsticks--that's what they call
themselves, you know--came of age, there'd be social unrest. The young
people would want to take over, and the older generation would try to
remain in positions of power. It was his belief that tensions could be
alleviated only by proper leadership on both sides.
"He himself had an important voice in government circles. He set up an
arrangement whereby a certain number of posts would be assigned to
people of his choice, both young and old. Similarly, in the various
professions, there'd be room for appointees he'd select. Given a year
or two of training, Leffingwell felt that we'd be ready for these
positions. Young men, like your son, would be placed in key spots
where their influence would be helpful with the Yardsticks. Older men
such as yourself would go into other assignments--in communications
media, chiefly. The skillful use of group-psychological techniques
could avert open clashes. He predicted a danger-period lasting about
twenty years--roughly, from 2030 to 2050. Once we weathered that span,
equilibrium would be regained, as a second and third generation came
along and the elders became a small minority. If we did our work well
and eliminated the sources of prejudice, friction and hostility, the
transition could be made. The Overground in governmental circles would
finance us. This was Leffingwell's plan, his dream."
"You speak in the past tense," Harry said.
"Yes." Wade's voice was harsh. "Because Leffingwell is dead, of
cerebral hemorrhage. And his plan died with him. Oh, we still have
some connections in government; enough to get men like yourself out of
Stark Falls. But things have moved too swiftly. The Yardsticks are
already on the march. The people in power--even those we relied
upon--are getting frightened. They can't see that there's time left to
train us to take over. And frankly, I'm afraid most of them have no
inclination to give up their present power. They intend to use
force."
"But you talk as though the Yardsticks were united."
"They are uniting, and swiftly. Remember the Naturalists?"