The compleat collected s.., p.390
The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 390
"I'm not really asking questions," she went on before he could speak. "Just complaining. I know you would say that different and often unlikable people have always been responsible for the world's advances in art and science—they prod us ahead more quickly, like dogs snapping at the heels of cattle. Maybe that's what is wrong. The cattle should have been allowed to wander forward at their own pace, getting where they were supposed to go with herdsmen leading them instead of dogs and wolves driving them. I grant you, that we have a few responsible people trying to push us in the right direction. But their attitude of mind is never to consider individuals, only the big picture, and to consider females as mere statistics and unworthy of serious male attention once they pass the age of thirty. It is no coincidence that the proportion of female suicides in this age group is—"
"You," he broke in firmly, "will always have my serious attention, even when you are old and gray and your statistics have changed out of all recognition."
"In ten years," she said more quietly, "I wonder if you will still say that."
Reassurance given too often loses its effect, he thought and tried to move the conversation on to a less sensitive area.
"Of course I will," he said. "But to go back to something you said earlier about boredom and violence coupled with high technology and culture—I've been trying to make sense out of the present situation, too. It seems purposeless and stupid and I certainly don't approve of it, but suppose there is, in fact, a reason behind it—perhaps an evolutionary process that went wrong. Suppose the wolves were intended to inherit the Earth, and do something constructive with it—but they were hampered by too many sheep getting underfoot and practically begging to be eaten or beaten or enslaved or used in some other fashion. So, instead of having to fight against something hard and dangerous that would have kept them in top condition, they've been reduced to punching at pillows and feeling frustrated."
"I'm sorry for them," she said with obvious insincerity.
"Seriously," he went on, "let us assume that the present mess the world is in presages the next step up the evolutionary ladder. The cultural level is sufficiently high, as is the technical ability, and there is certainly enough population pressure to force people off the planet. Evolutionary changes are never pleasant and the next one could be the most unpleasant of all, because it might take us to the stars—"
"It might take them to the stars," she broke in laughing. "And good riddance."
"Every time I started by saying 'seriously' you end by laughing," he said, shaking his head. "I simply wanted to discuss the idea that, if and when the human race gets out among the stars, it might not meet benevolent bug-eyed monsters belonging to beautiful and benign cultures, but instead will be faced with beings so vicious that, by comparison, an Earth tiger would look like a sheep. And if the race managed to survive that contact—perhaps even win—there might be something even more terrible waiting for us on the next rung. In short, I'm suggesting that the universe might not be a pleasant place and that we—the pacifists—by insisting that it should be, are seducing the race from its rightful path and destroying its chance of future—"
"But surely," she broke in, "the race couldn't have reached the level of technology necessary to leave Earth if we hadn't gone in for cooperation instead of conflict. Too many people only want to destroy things and hurt others."
"Only because they are frustrated by having too many sheep telling them they are wrong," he replied. "You must try to think of a pure, highly moral, violent type with the power to use the world's sheep effectively—"
"Power corrupts and absolute—" she began.
"Highly moral and incorruptible, then," he said. "A sublime, violent type."
"Causing sublime and character-building suffering, no doubt." she said witheringly. "That is ridiculous and you know it—and you know I know you know it. You were always pulling that trick at university—starting a major debate to effect a minor change of subject—and you're still doing it." She laughed suddenly and went on: "It worked then when I got too involved in something unpleasant—and it still seems to be working. But before we leave the Maxers—I've heard that their latest excuse for turning loose with everything is in defense of a lady's honor. They feel quite noble about defending the honor of a helpless woman to the death—the other person's death, of course, even if the poor man happens to be a slightly impolite husband."
"As I remember," he said, "you were pretty good at defending your own honor. But I'll be careful not to insult you in public."
She was silent for a moment, then she let go of his hand and he heard her roll on to her side and prop herself up on one elbow. Her other hand rested lightly on his chest, then more heavily as she leaned across him. The movement of her head shadowed his face from the sun and he opened his eyes.
He said, "I'll try not to insult you in private either—or have any more stupid fights. But let's change the subject, eh?"
The pressure of her hand became lighter until its touch became the beginning of a caress and her face moved closer to his. She shook her head and said softly, "Not yet, dear. Let's find out if you are capable of a—a maximum response."
It became a very pleasant dream after that, even though the sensations became rapidly less intense as the process of resuscitation was completed. But he was glad rather than sorry about that because, considering the depraved period in which he had spent his formative years his upbringing had been fairly strict and the increasingly ecstatic face above him was familiar.
It was much more youthful and beautiful and relaxed than he had ever remembered it, but there could be no doubt that it was his mother ...
GOOD MORNING DEVLIN.
HE SIGNALED that he was fully awake and in possession of all his faculties by looking around his cubicle, putting one hand on the edge of the open casket and saying, "Good morning, ship."
Devlin was feeling relieved and a bit light-hearted because this time he had been warmed without feeling that the cold dreams had driven him to the vergeness of madness or suicide. He wondered if Patricia and the others had been equally fortunate.
SHIP STATUS NINE HUNDRED AND TWENTY YEARS INTO MISSION. MAJORITY OF SHIP SYSTEMS AND/OR BACKUP SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING. DETAILS OF EXCEPTIONS AVAILABLE IN CONTROL CENTER. SHIP PERSONNEL CURRENTLY AWAKE TWO. IDENTITIES MORLEY AND DEVLIN.
After more than nine centuries, he thought, some of the ship's systems were bound to have failed. But he was looking forward too eagerly to comparing mental notes with Patricia to give this information the amount of worry it deserved.
IT IS PROBABLE THAT SHIP'S PERSONNEL IS EXPERIENCING SEVERE MENTAL DISTRESS AS THE RESULT OF DREAMS ENCOUNTERED DURING COLD SLEEP ...
"Not this time," said Devlin. But the computer ignored him—naturally—and continued spelling out the advice and instructions programed into it what seemed like only a few hours ago. It was still good advice and he ought to take it, ought to show a little self-control by forcing himself to sleep normally before rushing out to see Patricia. With luck, she might grow impatient and come in and wake him ...
REASONS FOR AWAKENING. ONE—MISSION TERMINATION DECISION REQUIRED. TWO—TO CHECK FUNCTIONING OF MORLEY/DEVLIN MUSCLE SYSTEMS, CIRCULATION, SPEECH ORGAN AND MEMORY. PERIOD OF AWAKENING DICTATED BY DECISION-TIME NECESSARY FOR REASON ONE.
INSTRUCTIONS HELD UNTIL END OF MORLEY/DEVLIN PERIOD OF NORMAL SLEEP AND ACTIVATION OF MANUAL GO INSTRUCTION.
"You expect me to sleep after hearing news like that?" Devlin asked jabbing at the Go button.
Mission termination decision required. That could only mean one thing—journey's end! But the display was not being very informative.
PROCEED TO CONTROL CENTER WHEN CONVENIENT.
He hurried through the post-awakening exercises and into the corridor, where he met Patricia coming out of her cubicle. There was no need for them to rush to the control center, but they did. The main display was more forthcoming.
SITUATION REPORT. SHIP IS CLOSING NINTH SOLAR SYSTEM TO BE VISITED. OTHERS NOT SUITABLE FOR SEEDING AND BYPASSED WITHOUT CREW CONSULTATION WITH THE EXCEPTIONS OF PASSES THREE AND FIVE WHICH WERE AUTHORIZED BY JOHN DEVLIN.
LONG RANGE SCAN INDICATES TARGET NINE MARGINALLY SUITABLE FOR HUMAN COLONIZATION. EQUATORIAL DIAMETER 9,740 MILES. ROTATIONAL PERIOD TWENTY-SEVEN POINT THREE HOURS. GRAVITY ONE POINT THREE TWO EARTH NORMAL. ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE NINETEEN POINT TWO POUNDS/SQUARE INCH. TOXIC TRACE ELEMENTS PRESENT IN ATMOSPHERE IN ACCEPTABLE QUANTITIES. INDICATION OF MINOR POLLUTION AND RADIATION SUGGESTING PRESENCE OF INTELLIGENT LIFE-FORM POSSESSING RESTRICTED NUCLEAR TECHNOLOGY.
COMPUTER DECISION TAKEN TO LAUNCH HIGH-VELOCITY PROBE FOR CLOSER INVESTIGATION. COMPUTER DECISION TAKEN TO AWAKEN CREW MEMBERS MORLEY AND DEVLIN.
"I suppose we could adapt to the higher gravity and pressure," said Patricia worriedly, "but—"
"But there are people there already," Devlin finished for her. "And if they should be disposed to be nasty, they'll have teeth."
BEFORE EVALUATION OF PROBE DATA AND YES/NO DECISION ON MISSION TERMINATION, CAREFUL STUDY AND EVALUATION OF SHIP LIFE-SUPPORT AND ASSOCIATED SYSTEMS IS IMPERATIVE REPEAT IMPERATIVE.
"I DONT like the look of that," said Devlin. Patricia nodded without speaking, then pressed the recall button and tapped for data replay at half speed—they were, after all, supposed to study it carefully. But as the minutes and the bright, sharp data presentations unrolled before them they saw nothing to make either of them feel any better.
The personnel status display gave them the first shock. They had been expecting the telltales of the cubicles containing Yvonne Caldwell and Thomas Purdy to be dark, but not the twenty-three others. The people concerned were not actually dead because they were still safely in cold sleep. But the cubicles concerned were flagging mechanical and/or power malfunctions which would make it impossible for them to be revived.
Patricia looked as sick as Devlin felt.
He was suddenly aware that the bright, clean control center with its gleaming instrumentation, spotless trim and virtually unused upholstery was no longer new, even though it appeared unchanged from the first time he had seen it—less than two weeks or over nine hundred years ago. Despite the surface cosmetics of rustless metal and bright plastic the control center and the ship built around it was old.
Devlin shrugged involuntarily as the sheer wonder of it tightened the skin at the back of his scalp. For nine centuries the ship had been picking its way among the stars, a fragile metal pod protecting its human seedlings. The men and women who had designed and built the ship, the programers who had given it the ability to follow its complex instructions while maintaining the lives of its utterly vulnerable charges and the countless other people who had helped unknowingly or unwillingly or who had not helped at all, were long since gone. Even though he could still remember them and the society to which they belonged as if it were last week, they, and probably it, were dead.
The realization so frightened him that he tried hard to be optimistic. But the very most he could hope for was that a sick but surviving remnant of humanity was still living in the polluted wreckage of a once-great culture, on a world so impoverished in material resources that its dominant life form would never be able to pull itself up and into space again. Nor would it ever again be capable of expelling another seed pod among the stars.
Even the pod it had expelled—and perhaps it had managed to shoot out two or three—was beginning to weaken, lose its initial impetus and suffer from a withered casing. Very soon it had to find fallow ground.
Or any ground.
Devlin gestured toward the status board and said, "Do you want to go over it again?"
"I've got a good memory," she replied. She added: "Now."
HE NODDED and began tapping for a rundown on the ship systems, insisting on a slow playback. His memory, like Patricia's, was nearly perfect—but he was not a superman. He still felt like himself even though he could remember every single thing that had ever happened to him and to a countless number of other people. He still felt afraid and stupid and baffled by the complexity of the data being presented on the screen.
Or was he?
"I have the feeling," he said, "that I understand what is going on a little better."
"Yes," said Patricia. "I have the same feeling. That instructor—the small, blond one, remember?—knew a lot about the ship's computer even though she didn't tell us anything more than which buttons to push. I'm remembering some of the things she knew."
"I see," said Devlin. "During the attack from Target Five I had a funny feeling that I knew more about the ship's control and guidance systems than I'd ever been taught. I take it that you dreamed about this girl's lifetime.
"No," said Patricia firmly. "I did not dream about her, but I'm getting her memories anyway. She must have spent a lot of time in here, so maybe she is haunting the place." She shook her head in irritation. Then: "That last cold sleep wasn't as bad as the one before, but I seemed to be every woman who was ever born—with the exception of a few twisted and horrible ones that were too difficult or unpleasant to remember. But what is happening to us? And why do I always dream of being a woman?"
"I'm always a man," said Devlin. "Or at least a male. I don't know what is happening to us either." He stopped as a clear, sharp picture of Brother Howard was thrown on his mental display screen. It was the picture in which the Brother looked concerned and spoke without sound. Feeling afraid for some reason he could not understand, he said, "But let's not get sidetracked into a philosophical debate. At least—not just yet."
"I need a philosophical debate," said Patricia seriously, "before I go mad. I need some answers."
"Me, too. But right now let's concentrate on the patient—I mean the ship."
She smiled and said dryly, "Was one of your dream lifetimes a man called Freud?"
As the displays presented their data it became apparent that the patient was in good physical and mental condition, considering its advanced age. The heart was sound—power was available for the decades—long deceleration and just enough fuel for a landing—and capable of at least one burst of sustained activity without failure, provided the effort were called for before the patient became much older. Peripheral circulation and sensitivity were not good, but, again, adequate for a few decades to come. The ship's long- and close-range sensors had suffered from multiple component failures, but it could still see and hear in a shortsighted and dull fashion, which was the reason why they had not been awakened until the ship was passing within the orbit of the outermost planet of the system. The patient needed to hold things close to his eyes.
Not sick, Devlin thought, just senility rearing its toothless, graying head. What he needed now was an accurate prognosis before the brain, too, began to succumb to the aging processes.
He did not realize that he had been thinking aloud until Patricia, with her newfound expertise, called up the required data.
ACCORDING to the display, if the system they were entering were bypassed the chances of reaching the next target sun were ninety-three per cent. The power needed to decelerate and return to Target Ten would be available. Data gathering systems would be less than sixty per cent operational. Life-support and resuscitation systems had a predicted failure of thirty-seven per cent. Personnel consumables would remain adequate due to the projected death rate caused by life-support and resuscitation system failures.
SHOULD BOTH TARGET NINE AND TEN BE BYPASSED THE PROBABILITY OF REACHING TARGET ELEVEN IS SIXTY-ONE POINT THREE PER CENT PROBABILITIES OF SHIP SYSTEMS DETERIORATION FOLLOW.
EXTERIOR SENSORS SIXTY-FIVE PER CENT. CONTROL AND GUIDANCE FORTY-THREE PER CENT. COLD-SLEEP MONITORING AND RESUSCITATION SYSTEMS SEVENTY-ONE PER CENT ...
"That's enough," said Devlin angrily, hitting the Cancel button. To go on would be virtual suicide. More quietly he added: "We don't have much choice, so let's have a look at our new home."
The pictures from the orbiting probe showed a world that appeared to be two-thirds ocean and whose continental outlines were obscured by dazzling weather systems and a thick atmospheric haze. On the adjacent display appeared the figures for the atmospheric pressure and spectro-analysis, gravity, analyses of suspended water vapor and surface liquid from the ocean and inland lakes, measurements of radio and nuclear radiation, pollution levels in areas around the few small cities and towns.
"We'll be able to live there," said Devlin quietly. "It won't be easy at first. We'll have trouble with strained backs and varicose veins. But in a couple of generations we'll grow the muscles to cope and if the natives are friendly—" He broke off, his mind racing too fast for coherent verbalization. Then: "A planet like this should have a much larger population. Considering the level of technology here it should be densely populated, in fact. I wonder—"
He halted the playback on the gray cross-hatching of a small coastal town and stepped up the magnification. Distortion caused by the turbulent but very clean air made it difficult to resolve fine details, but he could see a number of parks, the largest containing a silvery domelike structure, an airfield and a river that bisected the town. There was no evidence of railways or large oceangoing ships or dockyard facilities. For a town the place looked curiously fresh and clean.
"You wonder what?" said Patricia when the silence had begun to drag.
"I wonder why there are no large ships, railheads or major road systems linking those towns. They're so widely separated that air-travel is probably the only convenient way of getting around—but is it enough? I also wonder why the place looks so self-sufficient and why, on the long road up to a nuclear technology, it didn't pick up a few industrial ruins and sooty factory chimneys. In short, I wonder if we are the first ship to come along—and if we are not looking at an established colony."
