Compleat collected sff w.., p.325
COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 325
Mitchell stared at her, frowning. His eyes had a haunted apprehension.
Mary looked at him steadily. "I don't know. Perhaps we'll never know—this race of ours. But there must have been wrong breeds of homo sapien mutations originally—and they were destroyed by the right breed, the one that survived. In our race, I wonder if check-and-balance applies to the superman, too? Remember, we killed all but one specimen of homo superior before they could mature—"
Their eyes met in a questioning surmise that perhaps could never be answered by homo sapiens.
"Maybe he's the wrong kind of superman," Mary said. "Maybe he's one of the failures."
Ashworth broke his long silence. "It's possible, Mary. But what's the odds? The real point now—" His shaking voice steadied as he found a thought to build on, some immediate need for action to anchor his reeling mind. "Senator, what comes next? What are you going to do?"
Mitchell turned a blank stare on him. "Do? Why, I—" He faltered and stopped.
Now Ashworth's silence had ended, he spoke with mounting confidence as his mind took firmer hold on the impossible. "The first thing we want is time to think. Mary's right. But she was wrong when she said we'd already lost the fight. It's just beginning. So we mustn't spread this news broadcast. This homo superior isn't like the others—he can't be lynched! Not by a mob or a nation or a world. Well—so far only we three know the truth."
"And we're still alive," Mitchell said doubtfully. "Which means what? Are you asking me to keep this a secret?"
"Not quite. I'm asking you to be judicious. If the truth were told, there'd be panic. Think what would happen, senator. The superman can't be mobbed—he's not vulnerable. But Mar Vista is. The people's fear and hate would turn against us. You know what that would mean?"
Mitchell fingered his mouth. "Anarchy ... I suppose you're right."
"Mar Vista's been the real governing unit for so long that you can't junk it overnight and not expect everything to go smash."
Mary broke in urgently. "Even without the superman, we've still got a specially trained staff left here, valuable to keep control. If we're going to fight—him—if mankind has the slightest chance at all, it's in unity. Because this homo superior may be one of the failures."
Mitchell's eyes moved from one face to the other. For a moment any watcher might have been justified in expecting the senator to burst forth in a diatribe of rebellion against the conclusion that was being forced upon him. Anger suffused his face and he started to shake his head violently.
But the anger passed. The rebellion smoothed over and was gone. He said in a mechanical voice quite unlike his own, "Our only hope is unity." It was an echo of Mary's words. Then, more strongly, he phrased it anew in his own. "Man must stand together as never before!" he cried, this time the voice was tinged with oratory, and the idea had fixed itself and become Mitchell's idea.
Mary said, "We've learned a lot at Mar Vista. New methods, new weapons conceived by a super-intellect—we can turn them against the same intellect that made them!"
When the Senator left Mar Vista, he was walking springily, his brain fired with the concept of a new crusade.
-
Ashworth and Mary Gregson stood perfectly still, watching him go. His withdrawal seemed to close a break in some intangible wall that folded them into silence together. Through the silence a breath of motion stirred, and a soundless voice spoke to them again.
"Mary Gregson. How old are you?"
After a moment, in a startled tone, she answered, "Twenty-six."
"How old are you, Samuel Ashworth?"
"Twenty-eight."
There was a voiceless breath of amusement in the air. "And neither of you has suspected, until now. Take your memories back, my children—"
Silence followed that. Then Mary Gregson said slowly, like someone perceiving little by little some unfolding truth, "I ... came to the Council five years ago. I was ... someone else. The woman who had been Mary Gregson was ... destroyed ... to make room for me. Her face and memory—was superimposed upon mine."
Samuel Ashworth echoed her. "I came ... it was six years ago ... and Samuel Ashworth was destroyed for me. I have his face and memories."
"And your own memories too, now," the soundless voice told them. "I saw to all that. There are others on the Council like you. There are others all over the world. Not many yet. But a change is coming. With the Power Stations activated. I shall have fewer limitations. My experiments will go on. You are experiments, Mary, Samuel—biogenetic experiments begun less than thirty years ago. In thirty years from now—" The voice faded into introspection for a moment. Then it went on with fresh emphasis.
"You both wished to destroy Senator Mitchell. That was wrong for my purpose. I channeled your thoughts elsewhere, as I had just channeled his. Mitchell is a harmless homo sapien, but he can be useful to me. You see, perpetuation of the species is a stronger force even than self-preservation. Even when the founder of the species is a failure—as I am."
There was resignation, but no humility, in the voice. It said thoughtfully, "You two sensed that. I wonder, now, how you knew it? You are still very young."
Mary Gregson for a moment ceased to listen. She felt her mind reel beneath its own weight. New—new—too new and incredible to encompass—She felt naked and alone and helpless, and the very fabric of her beliefs shivered about her. She reached out blindly and gripped Ashworth's hand, knowing as her fingers touched his that she was no longer quite so blind as she had been.
Neither man nor woman spoke. Only the voice went on.
"The second phase of my plan is in operation now. There were Mutant Riots once, because the homo superior children were too immature to use their great powers effectively. Basically they were uncivilized, being immature. Some of them would have been successful types, had they lived. They did not live. Only I lived—and I am one of the failures."
Silence swam for a moment in the minds of the man and woman. Then aloof amusement pulsed into them from the mind of the super-being.
"Why should I feel shame or humility because of that? I had no control over the forces that shaped me. But I do have control now, over all I choose." This time a definite beat of laughter sounded in the silent voice. "Mankind will fight me desperately out of the fear lest I conquer his earth. I have conquered it. It is mine. But the real conquest is still to come. No capable race to inherit it yet exists. My children, freed of my flaws, will be the new mankind.
"I knew that long ago. The weapon was put in my hands, and I used it. Since then I have experimented, discarded, tried again—brought forth you two and your few brothers and sisters to inherit the earth."
Under her feet the shaking instability grew. Ashworth's hand began to slip from hers and she clutched at it in panic.
"You are homo superior," the voice said—and now the abyss opened beneath the two of them and for a terrifying instant chaos yawned at their feet, a chaos of future too frightening to face. It opened wide—
And closed again. Something infinitely supporting, infinitely protective, curved about them with the gentleness of the voice as it spoke on.
"You will be homo superior—but you are children still. It is time you knew the truth. Adolescence will be a long, long period for you, but you are without the stigmata that branded the others as freaks and caused their destruction. This is part of your armor. Every man's hand is against homo superior unless the camouflage is perfect. But no human will suspect you two. Or the others of my children who walk this world today. Not until too late."
There was a pause. Then—"The second phase is beginning. You are the first to know the truth of your breed, but the rest must learn soon. There will be tasks. Remember—you are still children. There is danger, tremendous danger. Man has atomic power, which is no weapon for an uncivilized species—a species that never can become fully civilized. And your powers—you are uncivilized, too. And will be, until you mature. Till that hour, you will obey me."
The voice was stern. The man and woman knew they would obey.
"Until now my work has been secret. But the changes will be too great from now on. More and more homo superior children will be born, and that must betray us unless a distraction can be provided. It has been provided.
"The word will go out. Of danger. Of a terrible menace to the whole world—myself. Mankind will band together against me. Any man who is greater than his fellows will be hailed as a new champion in the fight. Men will call you a champion, Samuel. And you, Mary. And my other children, too.
"Knowing my power—man will not look for homo superior in his own ranks. His egotism is too great for that.
"Slowly I will be conquered.
"It will take a long, long time. And the mutation is dominant. Man will believe it is due to the war against me that more and more geniuses are born into his race. And then, one day, the balance will swing. Instead of a high minority of geniuses, there will be a high minority of—morons.
"On that day, when homo sapiens become the minority, the battle will be truly won.
"Your children's children will see the day. They will be the dominant majority. I shall be conquered not by homo sapiens, but by homo superiors.
"One day the last human on earth will die—but he will not know he is the last man.
"Meanwhile," the voice said, "the war begins. The overt war against me, and the real war of my children against homo sapiens. You know the truth now. You will learn your powers. And I will guide you. A guide you can trust, because I am a failure."
Man and woman—though children!—stood hand in hand before that voice only they could perceive, and the abyss had receded, not forever, not very far away, but held in check by a deep wisdom and a purpose untainted by human weaknesses.
"You are the first of my new race," the silence told them. "And this is Eden all over again, but told in a different language now. Perhaps the source of mankind's failure is in that old story—in mankind shaping his god in his own image. You are not in my image. I am not a jealous god. I shall not tempt you beyond your strength. Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat—yet. But some day I shall put the fruit of that tree into my children's hands."
The End
JESTING PILOT
Astounding Science Fiction - May 1947
with Henry Kuttner
(as by Lewis Padgett)
Under normal circumstances, a man must face reality to be a sane, well-balanced citizen. But not in that city! Any man who faced and understood the reality of the place was insane!
-
The city screamed. It had been screaming for six hundred years. And as long as that unendurable scream continued—the city was an efficient unit.
-
"You're getting special treatment," Nehral said, looking across the big, bare, silent room to where young Fleming sat on the cushioned seat. "Normally you wouldn't have graduated to Control for another six months, but something's come up. The others think a fresh viewpoint might help. And you're elected, since you're the oldest acolyte."
"Britton's older than I am," Fleming said. He was a short, heavy, red-haired boy with an unusual sensitivity conditioned into his blunt features. Utterly relaxed, he sat waiting.
"Physiological age doesn't mean anything. The civilization-index is more important. And the empathy level. You're seventeen, but you're emotionally mature. On the other hand, you're not—set. You haven't been a Controller for years. We think you may have some fresh angles that can help us."
"Aren't fresh angles undesirable?"
Nehral's thin, tired face twisted into a faint smile. "There's been debate about that. A culture is a living organism and it can't exist in its own waste products. Not indefinitely. But we don't intend to remain isolated indefinitely."
"I didn't know that," Fleming said.
Nehral studied his fingertips. "Don't get the idea that we're the masters. We're servants, far more so than the citizens. We've got to follow the plan. And we don't know all the details of the plan. That was arranged purposely. Some day the Barrier will lift. Then the city won't be isolated any longer."
"But—outside!" Fleming said, a little nervously. "Suppose—"
Nehral said, "Six hundred years ago the city was built and the Barrier created. The Barrier's quite impassable. There's a switch—I'll show it to you sometime—that's useless at present. Its purpose is to bring the Barrier into existence. But no one knows how to destroy the Barrier. One theory is that it can't be destroyed until its half-life is run, and the energy's reached a sufficiently low level. Then it blinks out automatically."
"When?"
Nehral shrugged. "Nobody knows that either. Tomorrow, or a thousand years from now. Here's the idea. The city was isolated for protection. That meant—complete isolation. Nothing—nothing at all—can pass the Barrier. So we're safe. When the Barrier goes, we can see what's happened to the rest of the world. If the danger's gone, we can colonize. If it hasn't, we pull the switch again, and we're safe behind the Barrier for another indefinite period."
Danger. The earth had been too big, and too full of people. Archaic mores had prevailed. The new science had plunged on, but civilization had lagged fatally. In those days many plans had been proposed. Only one had proved practicable. Rigid control—thorough utilization of the new power—and unbreakable armor. So the city was built and isolated by the Barrier, at a time when all other cities were falling ...
Nehral said, "We know the danger of status quo. New theories, new experiments aren't forbidden. Far from it. Some of them can't be studied now, a great many of them. But records are kept. That reference library will be available when the Barrier's lifted. Meanwhile, the city's a lifeboat. This part of the human race has to survive. That's the main concern. You don't study physics in a lifeboat. You try to survive. After you've reached land, you can go to work again. But now—"
The other cities fell, and the terror roared across the earth, six hundred years ago. It was an age of genius and of viciousness. The weapons of the gods were at last available. The foundations of matter ripped screaming apart as the weapons were used. The lifeboat rode a typhoon. The Ark breasted a deluge.
In other words, one thing led to another—until the planet shook.
"First the builders thought the Barrier alone would be enough. The city, of course, had to be a self-contained unit. That was difficult. A human being isn't, he has to get food, fuel—from the air, from plants and animals. The solution lay in creating all the necessities within the city. But then matters got worse. There was germ warfare and germ mutations. There were the chain reactions. The atmosphere itself, under the constant bombardment—"
More and more complicated grew the Ark.
"So they built the city as it had to be built, and then they found that it would be—uninhabitable."
Fleming tilted back his head. Nehral said, "Oh, we're shielded. We're specialized. For we're the Controllers."
"Yes, I know. But I've wondered. Why can't the citizens—"
"Be shielded as we are? Because they're to be the survivors. We're important only till the Barrier lifts. After that, we'll be useless, away from the lifeboat. In a normal world, we have no place. But now and here, as Controllers of the city, we are important. We serve."
Fleming stirred uneasily.
Nehral said, "It will be difficult for you to conceive this. You have been specially conditioned since before your birth. You never knew—none of us ever knew—normal existence. You are deaf, dumb, and blind."
The boy caught a little of the meaning. "That means—?"
"Certain senses the citizens have, because they'll be needed when the Barrier lifts. We can't afford to have them, under the circumstances. The telepathic sense is substituted. I'll tell you more about that later. Right now I want you to concentrate on the problem of Bill Norman. He's a citizen."
Nehral paused. He could feel the immense weight of the city above him, and it seemed to him that the foundations were beginning to crumble ...
"He's getting out of control." Nehral said flatly.
-
"But I'm not important," Bill Norman said.
They were dancing. Flickering, quiet lights beat out from the Seventh Monument, towering even above the roof garden where they were. Far overhead was the gray emptiness of the Barrier. The music was exciting. Mia's hand crept up and ruffled the back of his neck.
"You are to me," she said. "Still, I'm prejudiced."
She was a tall, slim, dark girl, sharp contrast to Norman's blond hugeness. His faintly puzzled blue eyes studied her.
"I'm lucky. I'm not so sure you are, Mia."
