"It's like it was in the beginning, in that moment of first awareness of
the external universe. He is aware of the universe, but has no
understanding of it. Previous understanding--or what he thought was
understanding--has been invalidated, destroyed. The drive to keep
living, that was present in that first moment of awareness, has
weakened. The strongest impulse is to escape the terror that follows
awareness without understanding. Death is the quickest escape.
"This is why men are inflexible. This is why the Urbans cannot endure
the Galileos. This is why the Bill Bakers cannot face the Jim Ellerbees.
That was what Sam Atkins wanted to find out.
"If a man should decide his basic program is invalid and decide to
choose another, he would have to face again the terror of awareness of a
world in which understanding does not exist. He would have to return to
that moment of first awareness and select a new program in that moment
of overwhelming fear. Men are not willing to do this. They prefer a
program--a personality--that is defective, that functions with only a
fraction of the efficiency it might have. They prefer this to a basic
change of programs. Only when a program is rendered absolutely
invalid--as mine was by the crystal communicator--is the program
abandoned. When that happens, the average man drives his car into a
telephone pole or a bridge abutment, or he steps in front of a truck at
a street intersection. I drove into a gully in a storm."
"All this would imply that the tape library is loaded with genetic
programs that contain basic defects!" said Fenwick.
Baker hesitated. "That's not quite true," he said finally. "The library
of molecular tapes does contain a great many false solutions. But they
are false not so much because they are defective as because they are
obsolete. All of them worked at one time, under some set of
circumstances, however briefly. Those times and circumstances may have
vanished long since."
"Then why are they chosen? Why aren't they simply passed over?"
"Because the individual organism lacks adequate data for evaluating the
available programs. In addition, information may be presented to him
which says these obsolete programs are just the ones to use."
Fenwick leaned against the bed and shook his head. "How could a crazy
thing like that come about?"
"Cultures become diseased," said Baker. "Sparta was such a one in
ancient times. A more psychotic culture has scarcely existed anywhere,
yet Sparta prevailed for generations. Ancient Rome is another example.
The Age of Chivalry. Each of these cultures was afflicted with a
different disease.
"These diseases are epidemic. Individuals are infected before they
emerge from the womb. In the Age of Chivalry this cultural disease held
out the data that the best life program was based on the concept of
Honor. Honor that could be challenged by a mistaken glance, an
accidental touch in a crowd. Honor that had to be defended at the
expense of life itself.
"Pure insanity. Yet how long did it persist?"
"And our culture?" said Fenwick. "There is such a sickness in our
times?"
* * * * *
Baker nodded. "There's a disease in our times. A cultural disease you
might call the Great Gray Plague. It is a disease which premises that
safety, security, and effectiveness in dealing with the world may be
obtained by agreement with the highest existing Authority.
"This premise was valid in the days when disobedience to the Head Man
meant getting lost in a bog or eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. Today it
is more than obsolete. It is among the most vicious sicknesses that have
ever infected any culture."
"And you were sick with it."
"I was sick with it. You remember I said a molecular program is chosen
partly on the basis of data presented by parental sources and the spears
of invasion from the external world. This data that came to me from both
sources said that I could deal with the world by yielding to Authority,
by surrounding myself with it as with a shell. It would protect me. I
would have stature. My world-problems would be solved if I chose this
pattern.
"I chose it well. In our culture there are two areas of Authority, one
in government, one in science. I covered myself both ways. I became a
Government Science Administrator. You just don't get any more
authoritative than that in our day and time!"
"But not everyone employs this as a basic premise!" exclaimed Fenwick.
"No--not everyone, fortunately. In that, may be our salvation. In all
times there have been a few infected individuals--Pope Urban, for
example. But in his time the culture was throwing off such ills and was
surging forward under the impetus of men like Galileo.
"In our own time we are on the other end of the stick. We are just
beginning to sink into this plague; it has existed in epidemic form only
a few short decades. But look how it has spread! Our civil institutions,
always weak to such infection, have almost completely succumbed. Our
educational centers are equally sick. Approach them with a new idea and
no Ph. D. and see what happens. Remember the Greek elevator engineer who
did that a few years ago? He battered his way in by sheer force. It was
the only way. He became a nuclear scientist. But for every one of his
kind a thousand others are defeated by the Plague."
Fenwick was grinning broadly. He suddenly laughed aloud. "You must be
crazy in the head, Bill. You sound just like me!"
Baker smiled faintly. "You are one of the lucky ones. You and Jim. It
hasn't hit you. And there are plenty of others like you. But they are
defeated by the powerful ones in authority, who have been infected.
"It's less than fifty years since it hit us. It may have five hundred
years to run. I think we'll be wiped out by it before then. There must
be something that can be done, some way to stamp it out."
"Well," said Fenwick. "You could give Clearwater enough to get us on our
feet and running. That would be a start in the right direction."
"An excellent start," said Baker. "The only trouble is you asked for
less than half of what you need. As soon as I get back to the office a
grant for what you need will be on its way."
* * * * *
William Baker stayed in the hospital two more days. Apart from his
family, he asked that no visitors be admitted. He felt as if he were a
new-born infant, facing the world with the knowledge of a man--but
innocent of experience.
He remembered the days before the accident. He remembered how he dealt
with the world in those days. But the methods used then were as
impossible to him now as if he were paralyzed. The new methods, found in
that bright portal to which Sam Atkins had helped guide him, were
untried. He knew they were right. But he had never used them.
He found it difficult to define the postulates he had chosen. The more
he struggled to identify them, the more elusive they seemed to become.
When he gave up the struggle he found the answer. He had chosen a
program that held no fixed postulates. It was based on a decision to
face the world as it came.
He was not entirely sure what this meant. The age-old genetic wisdom was
still available to guide him. But he was committed to no set path. Fresh
decisions would be required at every turn.
A single shot of vaccine could not stem an epidemic. His immunity to the
sickness of his culture could not immunize the entire populace. Yet, he
felt there was something he could do. He was just not sure what it was.
What could a single man do? In other times, a lone man had been enough
to overturn an age. But William Baker did not feel such heroic
confidence in his own capacity.
He was not alone, however. There were the John Fenwicks and the Jim
Ellerbees who were immune to the great Plague. It was just that William
Baker was probably the only man in the world who had ever been infected
so completely and then rendered immune. That gave him a look at both
sides of the fence, which was an advantage no one else shared.
There was something that stuck in his mind, something that Sam Atkins
had said that night when Baker had been reborn. He couldn't understand
it. Sam Atkins had said of the molecular program tape that had been
broken: When you cease to be fearful of Authority, you become Authority.
The last thing in the whole world William Baker wanted now was to be
Authority. But the thought would not leave his mind. Sam Atkins did not
say things that had no meaning.
* * * * *
Baker's return to the office of NBSD was an occasion for outpouring of
the professional affection which his staff had always tendered him. He
knew that there had been a time when this had given him a great deal of
satisfaction. He remembered that fiftieth birthday party.
Looking back, it seemed as if all that must have happened to some other
man. He felt like a double of himself, taking over positions and
prerogatives in which he was a complete impostor.
This was going to be harder than he had anticipated, he thought.
Pehrson especially, it appeared, was going to be difficult. The
administrative assistant came into the office almost as soon as Baker
was seated at his desk. "It's very good to have you back," said Pehrson.
"I think we've managed to keep things running while you've been gone,
however. We have rejected approximately one hundred applications during
the past week."