The Non-Statistical Man (20 page)

John indicated a chair by the port. “Is that what we are being brought there for? To be court musicians, as it were?”

Instantly he regretted the bad temper of his remark. A shadow crossed the face of Bronson. “You really don’t like music?” he said.

“I’m afraid I really don’t like Alpha Colony, if you want me to be honest. It’s because of my sister that I came, but I had no goal of my own; I’ll try not to be uncooperative in whatever you require.”

“There is very little that we require of you,” said Bronson. “Almost all we ask is the opportunity to watch you live—in the social and physical environment we provide.

“We have a section in Alpha Colony devoted to the study of esthetics; we want you and your sister in that group. It has always been known that esthetic values contributed much to the rise of mankind, but they have never been adequately evaluated.

“You will live in a small communal group where esthetic occupations only are present; all economic needs are provided for you. Within this group, you may live in complete freedom; but you will be observed and your life charted minutely.”

“What are the breeding-aspects of the program?” John asked tonelessly.

“Ugly rumors
do
get around, don’t they?” said Bronson. “But I’m sure you were told briefly that marriage between members of the group is freely permitted, but not forced. The only restriction is that it
must
be within the group, because potential partners are those who have the same qualities which we desire to emphasize and study in future generations.”

“How large is this section of Alpha Colony?” •

“There are almost a thousand members in the esthetic section.”

“What are the Control-groups?” said John suddenly. “I’ve heard a little about them, just a little.”

Bronson watched his face in silence for a long time. “Yes,” he said at last, “your diningroom waiter told me you were inquiring.

“Don’t try to see her,” he said abruptly. “Don’t try to see her again!”

John felt the blood heavy in his face. “You are jumping to conclusions,” he said. -

“I hope so,” said Bronson, “but there is one thing that you must not forget; I’m sure this was adequately explained. Once a person embarks upon this journey, there is no turning back; none whatever. Your signature upon a contract with. Human Developments automatically cancels any previous obligations; and all future contracts will be made within the framework of Human Developments. Our restrictions are the minimum required for success of the experiments, but these bounds cannot be overstepped. Do you understand that, John?”

“Yes—yes, I understand that,” John said.

The time spent in overdrive was brief, but once out, within the Alpha system, there were days of rocket-travel, before they would reach Planet 7, the only Earth-type world in this family of planets. Man could reach the stars, now, but the impetus to make much use of this ability had nearly died; the discovery had come late, nearly too late . ..

It was on the ninth day of the journey that John saw the cat—the yellow cat belonging to the girl in the flame-red dress. John saw the animal strolling ahead of him in the corridor leading to his room. He looked around quickly, but no one else was near. Then he called gently. As if in recognition, the cat turned, arched his back, and rubbed against the steel wall. John scooped him under one arm and hurried to the stateroom.

It was stupid, but his hands were shaking, he discovered, as he set the cat down. Momentarily he debated opening the door and pushing Toby into the corridor; but he knew he was not going to do that.

He entered Doris’ stateroom, knowing she was out, because he had just left her with Dr. Bronson on the promenade deck. Searching through drawers he found a piece of wide ribbon. Then he returned to his own room and sat down at the desk, and there he stopped.

What was there to say? And why should he believe she would be interested in hearing any word at all from him? He didn’t know.

He wrote hastily on a small scrap of paper:
I don’t even know your name. Mine is John Carwell. Can I see
you again?—In the corridor between the main lounge and your deck, a door marked “Crew Only’’ leads to the engineers’ catwalk. I’ll be there after dinner tonight.

His hands were shaking even more as he folded the paper in a small roll and doubled the ribbon over it. He tied a narrow band about the cat’s neck. Then, cautiously, he opened the door and shoved the cat into the empty corridor. “Find her, Toby,” he said. “Go quickly.”

The long, hollow tube at the center of the ship carried the ten thousand wires and pipes that formed the ship’s mechanical nervous-system. It contained an elevator for the use of crewmen, and in each deck there was a small platform for inspection-purposes. A connecting ladder passed between the platforms from one end of the ship to the other.

It was cold in the catwalk tube, and dark. There was a sulphur smell and the faint sting of ozone in the air. John could hear the whine and click of occasional auxiliary motors, and the deep bass note of the ship’s engines.

He waited there in the dim light, knowing himself to be a complete fool. Nine chances out of ten the cat hadn’t even reached the girl’s stateroom with the message about its neck. He had been clawing experimentally when John last saw him; and the tenth chance was that she would laugh and ignore his message completely.

But he was there. He had been there for twenty minutes and he did not know how much longer he would wait. Perhaps until they got to Venus, he thought irrationally.

A oblong club of light beat against die dark with momentary suddenness. John heard the thud of the thick insulated door. He flattened against the wall.

Then his breath caught sharply as he recognized her dim profile and the tilt of her head. She called softly, “John.”

“Over here,” he said.

For a moment they stood facing each other, unable to explain why they had come.

“I wanted to see you again,” he said simply, at last. .

“I was hoping you would,” she said.

And then there seemed nothing more at all to say. In a few more days the ship would land on Venus, and she would go to a savage jungle dwelling, while he would spend the rest of his life in some musical fairyland. It seemed suddenly beyond all reason.

“What is your name?” he said.

“Lora. Lora Wallace.”

“Why did you come? Why are you going to Plant 7?”

“To get away from the dead. Earth’s nothing but a big tomb. We kid ourselves that we are rebuilding there, but we’re not. The Human Developments people know we’re not, but not many others do.

“But don’t think I have any sympathy for Human Developments; the whole Project is on the wrong track. I came to get away.

“Back home it’s the same old thing that has happened a hundred times before. You can’t move from one city to another without a thousand signatures on your papers; you can’t plan a project any more complex than a backyard garden without consulting twenty-five authorities and experts.

“Oh, they’re all so very generous and helpful. And we understand that it is necessary to obey regulations in order to conserve and rebuild the world. But we’re in prison, just the same.

“It got so I couldn’t stand it any longer. Some of my friends joined the Moon colonies; some have gone to Mars. But I didn’t have money enough for either. Becoming a Control-colonist with Human Developments Project was the only way I could
think
of to get out of prison.”

“Do you think it will be freedom,” said John, “fighting the jungle with your bare hands?”

“Yes,” she said with fierce intensity. “Because no one’s going to care where I go, or what I do, as long as I don’t hurt my neighbor. I’d be willing to bet that, in the long run, the only survivors of Earth’s culture will be the descendants of the Control-colonies on Planet 7. The only way you can build men and women capable of conquering a planet is to give them a problem and let them figure it out, with complete freedom of action.”

“Isn’t that what Earth is doing?” said John. “And in a more civilized way? We have the problem—to make Earth habitable again, to create a stable civilization. Aren’t we doing that with a greater cooperation than hus ever been attained before?”

“No! That’s the same old fallacy that has wrecked n hundred nations. Controls, restrictions, bureaus—these thin
gs
do not mean cooperation; they meun force. And
every application of force is one less freedom for some man.

“I don’t need anybody to tell me what my job is to be; I’ll find my job. I don’t need anybody to tell me where is the best place to live; I’ll find it for myself. And so will millions of others, when they get a chance. And when we get through we’ll have done a far better job than all the boards and experts ever dreamed of doing. If I can’t do it on Earth as a free citizen, I’ll do it on Planet 7 as a Control!”

He was a little embarrassed by the vehemence of her talk, but it was like a glimpse into a new world. A world he somehow suspected he had long wanted to see.

“Tell me why
you
came,” she said.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I haven’t any reason at all for being here; I’ve got to find one. I’ve got to find some purpose for going to Planet 7.”

She shook her head. “You don’t find it that way. Purposes are something you live with for months and years. All the years of your life. It’s not something that comes overnight or with a moment’s dreaming.

“We’d better go back,” she said. “Someone might miss us if we stay too long. Let me go first, and you follow in a few minutes.”

“Wait.” He put a hand on her arm. “Will I see you again?

She hesitated and smiled up at him. “All right. Tomorrow. The same time. Be careful. They mustn’t find out”

The indoctrination class next day was endless. Bronson seemed to take particular delight in pointing out the irrevocability of their decision—reminding that there would be no turning back from the course that had been set.

When discussion-period came, John was suddenly on his feet. “What about those who find that they are unable to conform?” he demanded. “What about those who refuse to abide by the rules of the Project?” '

“No one is wasted,” said Bronson. “Rebelliousness is a trait that has been noted through the ages; we have colonies where its value is now being determined. I may say that preliminary investigations show the value of the rebel to society have been vastly over-estimated.”

“But what do you
do
with them?”

“There are jungle-colonies consisting only of rebels, nonconformists, the individualists who believe they can make their way alone. You may appreciate that the members of this colony do indeed have a rough time of it. Miraculously, however, even they manage to survive; and we shall learn much from their survival.”

“It’s inhuman,” cried John. “You can’t sentence men to an existence like that for the rest of their lives, because they find they have made a mistake in coming here.” “Everyone has
volunteered,”
said Bronson, “to contribute the remainder of his life and energies to Human Developments. We need the contribution of all kinds. And you must not forget: the rebels get what they want. That is the prime rule of the experiment, to give a man what he wants and find out what he can do with it.”

John sat down, his chest burning and a smothering in his throat. He felt the curious glances of the others in the room as if he had questioned the oracle of the ages.

Attention turned away from him. Other discussion became a meaningless buzz while he sat there thinking. It made no difference to him, he had no intention of rebelling; he was just along for the ride. And yet, if this were so, why did his chest bum and the palms of his hands grow hot and moist?

The name of Lora kept ringing through his mind, and he did not know why all his whirling thoughts centered about the name of this girl. It was because she was so sure, he thought, and he was so unsure.

Somewhere she had found exactly the answer she wanted of life. In this she was like Doris. But how different were her answers from those of his sister! And between the two he could find no answer for himself to still the endless whirling questions in his mind.

Lora.

The name was still in his mind, hours later, as he sat in the stateroom watching the slow swing of stars across the port. The door from his sister’s room burst open suddenly, and Doris strode in and stood before him.

“Martin knows about it!” she exclaimed. “Why in the world did you pull a fool stunt like that?”

He paled. “Like what?” he said.

“You know what I’m talking about. Sneaking down to the Controls’ deck, meeting that girl. I think it’s disgust
ing, John—utterly disgusting and unbelievable. Martin said he wasn’t going to do anything about it because he didn’t think harm would come of that one visit. But you’ve got to promise that you won’t do such a stupid thing again.

“Who is she? Where did you ever meet her?”

He stood up, his face white and cold. “Doris,” he said thinly, “you will please keep your damned nose out of my business!”

He was still trembling when he reached the rendezvous on the engineers’ catwalk much later. He arrived first and waited a long time thinking that she had decided not to come or had been prevented from coming.

He didn’t know how they had found out about his meeting with Lora, and he didn’t know if he were being spied upon at this moment. In weariness and spiritual exhaustion he didn’t care what they knew, or what they did.

She came at last. It seemed as if her slow, cautious opening of the door consumed an eternity and when she was inside on the platform she remained standing quite still.

“Lora.” He reached out and took her hand and kept it between his own. It was cold as if she had been afraid of something for a long time.

“They know about us,” she said; “did they tell you?”

He nodded in the dim light. “I thought maybe they had kept you from coming.”

“They warned me not to do it again, but they didn’t try to prevent me.”