Charles was aghast. "It won't _do_? Uncle Frank, what the hell do you
mean, it won't do? Didn't we make it clear? They want to invade us and
loot us and subject us!"
"It won't do," Taylor said. "I choose the devil we know. A fighting
fleet is out. We'll arm our merchant vessels and hope for the best. A
full-time army is out. We'll get together some-kind of militia. And a
roundup of the unstable is out."
"Why?" Lee demanded. "My people have worked out perfectly effective
techniques--"
"Let me talk, please. I have a feeling that it won't be any good, but
hear me out.
"I'll take your black art first, Lee. As you know, I have played with
history. To a historian, your work has been very interesting. The
sequence was this: study of abnormal psychology collapsed under
Lieberman's findings, study of abnormal psychology revived by you when
you invalidated Lieberman's findings. I suggest that Lieberman and his
followers were correct--and that you were correct. I suggest that what
changed was the makeup of the population. That would mean that before
Lieberman there were plenty of neurotics and psychotics to study, that
in Lieberman's time there were so few that earlier generalizations were
invalidated, and that now--in our time, Lee--neurotics and psychotics
are among us again in increasingly ample numbers."
The girl opened her mouth, shut it again and thoughtfully studied her
nails.
"I will not tolerate," Taylor went on, "a roundup or a registration, or
mass treatment or any such violation of the Syndic's spirit."
Charles exploded: "Damn it, this is a matter of life or death to the
Syndic!"
"No, Charles. Nothing can be a matter of life or death to the Syndic.
When anything becomes a matter of life or death to the Syndic, the
Syndic is already dead, its morale, is already disintegrated, its credit
already gone. What is left is not the Syndic but the Syndic's dead
shell. I am not placed so that I can say objectively now whether the
Syndic is dead or alive. I fear it is dying. The rising tide of
neurotics is a symptom. The suggestion from you two, who should be
imbued with the old happy-go-lucky, we-can't-miss esprit of the Syndic
that we cower behind mercenaries instead of trusting the people who made
us--that's another symptom. Dick Reiner's rise to influence on a policy
of driving the Government from the seas is another symptom.
"I mentioned the devil we know as my choice. That's the status quo, even
though I have reason to fear it's crumbling beneath our feet. If it is,
it may last out our time. We'll shore it up with armed merchantmen and a
militia. If the people are with us now as they always have been, that'll
do it. The devil we don't know is what we'll become if we radically
dislocate Syndic life and attitudes.
"I can't back a fighting fleet. I can't back a regular army. I can't
back any restrictive measure on the freedom of anybody but an
apprehended criminal. Read history. It has taught me not to meddle, it
has taught me that no man should think himself clever enough or good
enough to dare it. _That_ is the lesson history teaches us.
"Who can know what he's doing when he doesn't even know why he does it?
Bless the bright Cromagnon for inventing the bow and damn him for
inventing missile warfare. Bless the stubby little Sumerians for
miracles in gold and lapis lazuli and damn them for burying a dead
queen's hand-maidens living in her tomb. Bless Shih Hwang-Ti for
building the Great Wall between northern barbarism and southern culture,
and damn him for burning every book in China. Bless King Minos for the
ease of Cnossian flush toilets and damn him for his yearly tribute of
Greek sacrificial victims. Bless Pharaoh for peace and damn him for
slavery. Bless the Greeks for restricting population so the well-fed few
could kindle a watch-tower in the west, and damn the prostitution and
sodomy and wars of colonization by which they did it. Bless the Romans
for their strength to smash down every wall that hemmed their building
genius, and damn them for their weakness that never broke the bloody
grip of Etruscan savagery on their minds. Bless the Jews who discovered
the fatherhood of God and damn them who limited it to the survivors of a
surgical operation. Bless the Christians who abolished the surgical
preliminaries and damn them who substituted a thousand cerebral
quibbles. Bless Justinian for the Code of Law and damn him for his
countless treacheries that were the prototype of the wretched Byzantine
millenium. Bless the churchmen for teaching and preaching, and damn,
them for drawing a line beyond which they could only teach and preach in
peril of the stake.
"Bless the navigators who, opened the new world to famine-ridden Europe,
and damn them for syphillis. Bless the red-skins who bred maize, the
great preserver of life and damn them for breeding maize the great
destroyer of topsoil. Bless the Virginia planters for the solace of
tobacco and damn them for the red gullies they left where forests had
stood. Bless the obstetricians with forceps who eased the agony of labor
and damn them for bringing countless monsters into the world to
reproduce their kind. Bless the Point Four boys who slew the malaria
mosquitoes of Ceylon and damn them for letting more Sinhalese be born
then five Ceylons could feed.
"Who knows what he is doing, why he does it or what the consequences
will be?
"Let the social scientists play with their theories if they like; I'm
fond of poetry myself. The fact is that they have not so far solved what
I call the two-billion-body problem. With brilliant hindsight some of
them tell us that more than a dozen civilizations have gone down into
the darkness before us. I see no reason why ours should not go down into
the darkness with them, nor do I see any reason why we should not
meanwhile enjoy ourselves collecting sense-impressions to be remembered
with pleasure in old age. No; I will not agitate for extermination of
the Government and hegemony over the Mob. Such a policy would
automatically, inevitably and immediately entail many, many violent
deaths and painful wounds. The wrong kind of sense-impressions. I shall,
with fear and trembling, recommend the raising of a militia--a purely
defensive, extremely sloppy militia--and pray that it will not Involve
us in a war of aggression."
He looked at the two of them and shrugged. "Lee, so stern, Charles so
grim," he said. "I suppose you're dedicated now." He looked at the desk.
He thought: _I have a faint desire to take the pistol from my desk and
shoot you both. I have a nervous feeling that you're about to embark on
a crusade to awaken Syndic Territory to its perils. You think the fate
of civilization hinges on you. You're right, of course. The fate of
civilization hinges on every one of us at any given moment. We are all
components in the two-billion-body problem. Somehow for a century we've
achieved in Syndic Territory for almost everybody the civil liberties,
peace of mind and living standards that were enjoyed by the middle
classes before 1914--plus longer life, better health, a more generous
morality, increased command over nature; minus the servant problem and
certain superstitions. A handful of wonderfully pleasant decades. When
you look back over history you wonder who in his right mind could ask
for more. And you wonder who would dare to presume to tamper with it._
He studied the earnest young faces. There was so much that he might
say--but he shrugged again.
"Bless you," he said. "Gather ye sense impression while ye may. Some
like pointer readings, some like friction on the mucous membranes. Now
go about your business; I have work to do."
He didn't really. When he was alone he leaned back and laughed and
laughed.
Win, lose or draw, those two would go far and enjoy themselves mightily
along the way. Which was what counted.
* * * * *
[Transcriber's Note: No Chapter II header in original. All pages
present.]