"Fear?" Comstock hazarded, for at the moment the word meant nothing to
him. Nothing at all.
"Fear," The Grandfather said, repeating the word again, "is my bulwark.
Cowardice my armor. I am the most frightened man in our world. That
is the reason I am The Grandfather. Until the day comes that a more
frightened man, a more cowardly human being arises, I shall rule. No
brave man can ever breach my defenses, because no brave man can ever
know the things I fear. Since I am always fearful my mind is filled
with ideas as to where and how I may be attacked. Since this is so, I
spend all my waking hours building up my guard against any such attacks.
"The nights," he said thoughtfully, "I spend in nightmares in which all
my defenses crumble."
Comstock sat across the room from The Grandfather, his arms enclosed
in the cage like affair that immobilized him. Through apertures in the
walls at shoulder height he could see the stock-still muzzles of the
stun-guns that were trained on him. He brought his attention back to
The Grandfather. The man's long, thin face was raddled with what seemed
like fear. Tics jerked monstrously at the corners of his mouth and at
his hag-ridden eyes.
"How," Comstock asked, "can you sit under the menace of the guns that
surround us? Aren't you afraid that one of the gunners may shoot you?"
"You see," the lean, bearded face was full of envy, "You see, you think
like a brave man and that is why you will never be able to overcome
me. Only a brave man could sit under the guns ... unless, he had the
foresight to have done what I have. Behind the gunners of which you are
aware, there is another set of gunners, each of whom has a gun pointed
at the head of the gunner who has been honored by being my guard."
Comstock thought of this for a while and then he said, "And do the
secondary gunners have tertiary gunners menacing them?"
The Grandfather smiled delightedly, "There! You see, you are beginning
to think like a coward. Fear like mine is infectious. Of course there
are tertiary and quaternary and quinternary gunners!"
In the lengthening pause that followed this statement of The
Grandfather's, Comstock wondered if this was right, was fear the thing
that held him on the pinnacle he had made his own?
The Grandfather said, "I am not sure that I have convinced you. Observe
my face, the way fear tears at it. Consider that I am so cowardly that
my stomach digests itself rather than the food I force into it. Realize
that the only pleasure my fear allows me to enjoy is that of power and
then try to realize how helpless a brave man like you who spreads his
pleasure between the table and the bed must be in the face of my one,
all-consuming pleasure.
"You can eat for perhaps three hours a day," The Grandfather went on,
"depending on your sexual appetite and your years, you can spend an
hour, perhaps two in play at sex. But I can spend every waking minute
of every day on my pleasure."
He smiled. "You are helpless, bound by your bravery, you fool!"
And Comstock, considering the matter wondered if The Grandfather was
right. One Achilles heel alone remained to attack. Could a coward
foresee rashness, foolhardy bravery? Or would a coward be unable to
intuitively foresee such an action, to grapple with it; not that he,
Comstock, was brave.
Only one other way occurred to Comstock in which the matter could be
tested.
Leaning his upper trunk as far forward as his bonds would allow, he
said slowly, throwing his words into the teeth of the bearded man who
faced him, "You are a liar."
It is an understatement to say that The Grandfather was surprised.
His face was absolutely blank as he repeated the word, "Liar?"
questioningly.
* * * * *
Comstock was aware in the lengthening silence of the immobility of the
single-eyed muzzles of the stun-guns which surrounded him. Not since he
had opened his eyes in that singular room had one of the guns so much
as twitched.
"Surely," Comstock said. "For instance, there is no one behind any of
the guns that seem to menace me."
Lean fingers were busy caressing the silken hairs of the beard that
cascaded down The Grandfather's chest. The gaunt face surrounded by the
aureole of hair was intent. "How?" he asked, "could you tell that?"
"Because I am _really_ a coward." Comstock said almost boldly. "And I
know that no coward could really take the chance that an involuntary
tightening of a trigger finger, caused, perhaps by a sneeze, could
and would mean death. And I know too that it takes courage of a sort
to talk about one's own cowardice. For instance, I find this that I
am saying very difficult. That little prepared speech you delivered
convinced me of only one thing. You are not afraid of anything."
The Grandfather's hand reached out to his desk and his almost too long
index finger darted out and pressed a button. Instantly the bonds that
had held Comstock immobile in the chair loosened.
The Grandfather said slowly, "Bowdler chose wisely when he selected you
as a rebel. Perhaps more wisely even than he knew."
Comstock moved his arms about in the chair, having no desire now that
the bonds were no longer holding him, to get to his feet. He was
afraid that his wobbling knees would fail to support him. Massaging
his arms where the metallic bonds had bitten deep, he waited with some
trepidation for what might happen. Whatever it was, he feared it would
be highly unpleasant.
It was.
The Grandfather rose from behind the desk and looking down at Comstock
from his not inconsiderable height of six feet ten inches, said,
"Since, as you have so truly pointed out, the secret of my continued
power is not fear, what then, _is_ my secret?"
Comstock had devoted a great deal of cerebration to just this point,
but that did not make it any easier to say it aloud.
In the lengthening silence, The Grandfather bent down from his great
height till his gaunt, strong face was on a level with Comstock's.
"Well?"
"The secret," Comstock said, "is the exact opposite of what you
claimed."
"Ahh?" The exclamation was almost jubilant.
"Yes," Comstock hurried on, fearing that if he didn't say it in a rush
he never would get out the words, "You don't rule because you are
afraid but because there is nothing that you fear."
"Come, come," The Grandfather smiled thinly, "each man, no matter how
brave, has some secret fear. For instance fat people fear death."
The change of subject was so sudden that it thew Comstock off his
mental stride. "Fat people?" he queried.
"Surely," The Grandfather said, "the thought must have occurred to you.
Fat people are fat because they fear dying. Did you ever see a very
thin person naked?"
To think, Comstock's veering brain thought, that the day would ever
come when he'd hear The Grandfather of all people use a dirty word like
n...d!
"If you've ever seen a thin person nude, you can realize that their
skeleton is omnipresent. This, to a fat person, is detestable. They
want to hide their ever present _memento mori_ decently. They don't
want always to be reminded of that which is hidden inside of all of us,
waiting for us.... That's why they get fat. Padding. That's all it is,
padding to hide the grisly skeleton who sits with us at every feast."
Struggling to get his attention on to this new vagary of The
Grandfather, Comstock said, "But fat people die sooner than skinny
ones."
"Certainly," The Grandfather nodded, "but what's that got to do with
it? That's reality. The statistic that obesity shortens life is hard
and true. But that reality only comes once, at the end of the line. To
the fat person the important thing to hide from is the ever-present
reminder that the day he is born he begins to die. That's the big
trick they try to employ. To forget that fact. But I digress. You were
saying?"
* * * * *
What had he been saying? This maundering of the Grandfather, could it
be that like the Elders, The Grandfather was senile? Comstock looked
down at his own beginning paunch and wondered if this was why the
Grandfather had brought up the subject of fat, then he said, "I was
saying that the reason you rule is because you have no fears."
"Yes. That was the subject under discussion, wasn't it?" Again The
Grandfather stroked his beard. "Now then, just how did you arrive at
that rather startling idea? Remember I don't agree with you, for as I
said, every human being fears something."
"I am sure you are right," Comstock said tensely. "I am sure that every
human being fears something ... or someone."
"I find your remarks contradictory."
"Not at all," Comstock felt a little bolder. Crossing his arms, he
dared the thunderbolts of The Grandfather's wrath. "I don't think you
are a human being, grandpa."
The silence that followed his pronouncement seemed to last for all the
years of Comstock's life.
When The Grandfather spoke, his words came as a withering shock to
Comstock.
"You are a very brave man, Comstock. The bravest this world of ours has
produced in five centuries...."
It was, after all, one thing to have an hypothesis, it was an astrobat
of a far different color to have that hypothesis substantiated. And
right from the astrobat's mouth at that!
Looking down at his hands, Comstock was incuriously aware that they
were trembling violently. He, brave? The idea was ludicrous. He was
more badly scared than he had ever been in his whole life. Fear jumped
and jolted through his body as he waited for The Grandfather to
continue.
"But," The Grandfather said, "I can see that you are on the very brink
of nervous exhaustion. I will speak to you more fully when you are fed
and rested."
Comstock was too tired to do more than pick at the food that was
provided for him in the bed-chamber to which an R.A. guided him. As a
matter of fact, seated on the edge of the bed, his head whirling, he
was barely aware of Pat's entrance. She had evidently been fed too,
for her only concern was Comstock. Going to him, she forced him to lie
down, then, as he closed his eyes blissfully at the feeling of ease
that welled up in him, she gently spooned food into his mouth till his
eyes closed completely.
She slept all that night right next to him, but so deep was his fatigue
that it was not till the following night that he awoke and by that
time Pat had been up and about for hours. She came out of the bath in a
swirl of soft cloth. Comstock felt excitement well up in him and knew
instantly that he was almost all recovered from the slings and arrows
that had assailed him.
Drawing her to him, he was very much aware of her presence this time.
* * * * *
When they had finished making love she said, gently, "I almost forgot,
and it's your fault," but her smile proved that she shared the fault if
it could be called that, "The Grandfather wants to see you as soon as
you rise."
Feeling prepared to tackle legions let alone The Grandfather, Comstock
showered, shaved and dressed, whistling all the while. "Any chance of
getting some food?" He had yelled through the pouring water so that
when he finished dressing, a tray was all set up for him.
Wolfing down the food he listened intently to what Pat had learned
during his sleep.
"And the most remarkable thing," Pat said, "is the artificial
insemination laboratory downstairs!"
"Wait a minute," Comstock said through a mouthful of food, "what's a
laboratory, what's insemination and what's artificial insemination?"
"Bowdler said that the funniest thing that happened when he was trying
to make a rebel of you, was when you thought that the Fathers were
really the fathers of all the children in the world."
"Wass so funny?" Comstock wanted to know, bread filling his mouth.
"Umm," Pat said. "I better backtrack a bit. As long as the scientists
had a hand in running our world they were able to control the birth
rate by mechanical means. But when they were killed, The Grandfather
was left with the problem of trying to keep our world from being
over-populated without using any mechanics."
Comstock was completely confused but waited patiently, shovelling food
into his empty belly while he waited for clarification.
"The first thing that occurred to The Grandfather was to try to control
completely the sex drive but ... that didn't work very well. Then he
reasoned that if the sexual stereotype of women was changed to old
women who could no longer bear children that he was then in a position
to only have the proper number of women impregnated."
All the obscenity that Pat was mouthing would, a few days ago, have
made Comstock faint, or aroused him, but it didn't even occur to him to
find it odd.
She continued, "Then as soon as women who were past their menopause had
become the love objects, The Grandfather set up a laboratory here in
headquarters where the healthiest women in the population could come.
Under hypnosis they were injected with live sperm, and lo and behold,
the population curve was back under control again!"
Comstock was sure that what Pat was saying was important, but at the
moment all he could really think about was his curious duel the night
before with The Grandfather.
"With what little scientific gadgets were left after the last
scientists were killed, The Grandfather set up a police force, which he
called the Father's Right Arms, but not even the R.A.'s know how the
radios they use, or the stun-guns, or the automobiles that they drive
work, let alone knowing about the hypnosis that makes people see haloes
around their heads.
"Between his control of the birth rate, his police force, and the
little science at his command, he has kept our world running ... after
a fashion. But the point at which we rebels enter the picture is this."
It was a sure thing that what Pat was saying was vital to her, to him,
and to the whole world, but Comstock could not help remembering the
outrageous things he had said, and thought about The Grandfather.
What could it lead to? Why had the Grandfather called him the most
courageous man....
Pat said, "But The Grandfather is only a man and therefore has made
mistakes. He has frozen our culture at the same point for so long that
humanity is in danger of drying up and dying out."
If, Comstock thought, The Grandfather had been only a man, then
all this trouble would not have started, but there was no point in
frightening Pat, she was too happy, too bubbling over with excitement,
with the news of what a brave new world they were soon to have under
the direction of Bowdler, Helen, Grundy, the philosopher, Pat and
Comstock.
Comstock wondered vaguely what a philosopher was when Pat mentioned it,
but that question too was made meaningless by the things he was worried
about.
Leaning forward, Pat kissed Comstock, and said, "Isn't it wonderful,
darling? I'm so excited I can hardly sit still." Then, remembering, she
said, "But hurry up, sweetheart, you have to go see The Grandfather...."
"Yes." That was going to be his job.
He had been using it as a device when he had suggested that the
Picaroon beard The Grandfather in his lair. But now it was obvious, he,
Comstock, was going to have to do precisely that!