Nods from Lex, Aldric, Cheffy, Fritch. Jerode glanced down at notes, he had made, spread on the table before him.
“So I’ll have a quiet talk with him later. For now, let’s not discuss it, but get straight down to business. I’ll report on the health situation, then we’ll hear from Lex regarding the ship, Fritch about accommodation, Bendle about our summer biosphere, Aldric about material resources, Cheffy about possible new projects. Then well draw up a priorities list, and before we adjourn I think we’d better—uh—spend a little time on a problem which is going to come up at the assembly tomorrow, which is the reason for my asking Ornelle to join us. Right!”
It wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t too bad at all. When they had run through all the reports and the list was complete but for some undecided questions concerning relative urgency,
Jerode judged they were ready to hear his recommendation, not included in his initial statement, about permitting some experimental births. He added the rider that the permission should be limited to the immediate future so that children now conceived would be delivered before the fall.
“And that brings us to a special problem of group discipline,” he wound up. Warning them that the matter should not be mentioned outside this room, he explained about Delvia.
All of them looked to Ornelle for comment. She had not previously spoken.
“As to the question of children,” she said slowly, “I think we’ve got to say yes. Not only because it may help to give us the psychological roots we’ll need to live here…”
A good point. Approving nods.
“But also because there were few enough of us to start with, and now the winter has wiped out the other party—”
“Ornelle!” Jerode cut in, seeing dismayed looks all around the table. “There’s no proof that the others haven’t survived.”
“Well, nobody said anything at this meeting about sending an expedition to find out!” Ornelle retorted. “That means you’re taking it for granted, doesn’t it?”
“Of course not,” Jerode soothed. “It’s because we need all our manpower until we’ve coped with our really urgent problems.”
“Nonsense. If anyone here believed they were alive, you’d be eager to get up to the plateau and see if we can help each other.” Ornelle spoke with finality. “Anyway, I don’t see why we need to argue about Delvia. I’ve been mulling the question over, and I’m damned certain there’s no question of imposing an abortion on her. She’s much more likely to come asking you for one. She’d find a child too much of a handicap on her—her other activities. Believe me. I’ve had the whole winter to watch her at close quarters, you know.”
“That’s as may be,” Jerode said. “What I’m worried about is the risk that if the news gets around, there may be still more resentment against her, because we didn’t enforce what was, after all, a decision taken collectively by us all.”
“Oh, sure!” Ornelle leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But there’s something that doesn’t seem to have
occurred to all you men. It wasn’t conscious choice that led all the women to agree to a ban on babies. It was despair. Apathy. The belief that there wasn’t any
point
in having children, because we were all quite likely to die, adults, children, the lot. All right, you’re now about to convince everybody that we aren’t doomed, what with your nice tidy plans that you’ve been discussing. So you’ve got to face this brand-new problem!” She slapped the table. “What are you going to do, once you’ve made people confident, if they decide—collectively!—they’re no longer going to do exactly as you self-appointed experts tell them?”
“I’m glad you thought of inviting Ornelle,” Lex said in a low voice. Jerode glanced up from shuffling his notes back into their original order. The substance they were written on had been their first fortunate discovery here; time was a river-plant whose leaves grew in tight yellow scrolls which, unrolled, could be dried and trimmed to make an excellent substitute for paper. Though they did stink for a long while after cutting.
The others were already at the door. Ornelle herself was outside, beyond earshot Nonetheless Jerode replied equally softly.
“Why do you think it was a good idea? She hasn’t been a very constructive contributor, and I’m revising my opinion of her.”
“No, it was useful having her here.” Lex perched himself on a corner of the table, one long leg swinging from the knee, his lean face serious under his roughly-trimmed dark hair. “Know what the trouble is with most of our people, Doc?”
“Tell me your diagnosis,” Jerode invited sourly.
“Remoteness from reality,” Lex said, unperturbed. “Not in any clinical sense, I don’t mean—not in the form of an overt psychological disorder. It’s a straightforward consequence
of the way we’re used to living.” He leaned forward a little.
“Consider how detached most of us have always been from the necessities of life. Zara wasn’t a very wealthy planet; even so, it kept ticking along fine with its people putting in something like five hours a day four days a week in technical, managerial, supervisory tasks. And at that Zarathustrans worked harder than a lot of other people. Suppose we were from Earth, for example, where you’re absolutely free to opt for total leisure—where there’s so much available that it literally makes no difference whether any given person does any work.
“Now look at those of us who’ve had responsibility devolve on us. What do we have in common? Nothing, as far as I can judge, except flexibility. We’ve adjusted more rapidly than the rest, and in each case you can see why. Fritch, a creative person used to seeing his ideas turned into hardware, willing if all else fails to use his own hands to make sure that goes on being true. Bendle, a research scientist who can let his lifelong interest in new flora and fauna drive him day after day. Cheffy, an amateur historian who has at least some comprehension of what life must be like if you don’t have automated factories all around you. Aldric, a model-maker, a craftsman born out of his time. And you, used to working on other people’s behalf. No, don’t deny it. Now you’re stuck with the job Arbogast couldn’t handle, and modesty is going to be a handicap.”
Jerode studied Lex thoughtfully. This was an aspect of the younger man he hadn’t previously encountered. He said, “Curiously enough I was thinking about that just before the meeting.”
“Not in connection with Nanseltine, by any chance?”
“Yes. How did you guess?”
“Didn’t guess. Smelled it coming, you might say. That’s why I said I’m glad Ornelle came along tonight. Because she’s typical of our human resources. You aren’t. Fritch isn’t. But I’m afraid Nanseltine is absolutely archetypal.”
“I hope you’re very wrong,” Jerode said after a pause. “All I’ve heard from him lately—or from his wife, come to that—is a stream of complaints disguised as helpful criticism, and a lot of hypochondriacal disease symptoms. How he ever held down his continental manager’s post, I shall never know.” He hesitated.
“But, speaking of the reasons for us winding up as
members of the committee: how about you? If you disapprove of people being modest, I guess that entitles me to tell you that you possess the most original mind among us all. Item: you said you had no training for space, but when it turned out that that crewman had gone on ground-leave and not come back, you were the one who served as scratch crew, right? And I don’t recall any complaints from Arbogast. And you hit on the ropewalk, and I think it was you who realized we could adapt a spacesuit to dive in search of young Bendle, and—well, and so on. Now it’s got to the point where, if we hit a snag, we’re likely to go ask you for a solution instead of puzzling one out ourselves. Yet I realize I know practically nothing about you.”
Lex laughed and rose to his feet, stretching. “Well, Doc, that’s not surprising. We were almost all total strangers, weren’t we? We just got thrown together.”
“I think I might have a straight answer.” Jerode looked the younger man in the eyes. He had to tip his head back to do so. “You’ve explained why Fritch and Bendle and the rest of us are fitted to cope here. I’ve just explained Why you are. But—well, it can’t be nothing more than lack of ingrained prejudice about the way the universe ought to function! How old are you, anyway?”
Lex hesitated. He said finally, “Twenty, Earth-basic years.”
“What?” Jerode took a pace backward. “Now look here, Lex! I’m medically trained, and I say twenty’s ridiculous. You’re a biological thirty in exceptional shape, give or take a year!”
“No, in fact I’m not.” Lex seemed oddly embarrassed. “That’s—uh—protective coloration. You see, I’m a trainee polymath. Tetraploid genes, modified neurons, vision extended into the infrared, heightened reflexes, accelerated nerve-signal transmission, compacted bone structure, induced immunity to more or less everything…. Oh, they gave me the full treatment. But I can’t take credit for any of it. It was all done for me.”
Jerode’s mouth had fallen unashamedly open. Now he realized and snapped it shut. “A
polymath
!” he exploded “Why in all of space didn’t you say so before?”
“Because when I say trainee I mean trainee.” Lex’s voice was level but sharp. “Have you any idea how far I was from completing my studies? Of course you haven’t Longer than I’ve lived up to now! It takes a quarter-century to make a finished polymath. If Arbogast hadn’t
moved out of that chair tonight, I wouldn’t have told you. And I don’t want you to tell anybody else.”
“No! No, you can’t say that.” Jerode was sweating; the single lamp which they’d lighted at sunset gleamed on his face. “Lex, of all the people here you’re the only one who’s been given any kind of preparation for a situation like ours. That means you’re the one best fitted for overall responsibility. Like it or not, you’re better fitted than I am, anyhow!”
“Think again,” Lex said stonily. “Think why I was given an appearance ten years over my chronological age. You, and all the rest, are thinking of me nonetheless as ’young Lex.’ How old are you, Doc? Seventy?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“And a long way from old. Average life-expectancy on Zara is—was—one hundred twelve for men, one hundred eighteen for women. What’s it going to be around here, without geriatric clinics, tissue regenerants, orthophased diets—not to mention
with
all kinds of as-yet undetermined deficiencies, allergies, maybe infections? In one generation it’ll be cut by three-quarters at least, and someone your age will be a remarkable old man! But right now none of the older people, least of all those who used to possess rank on Zara, will accept orders from a mere ’youngster.’ You know that! And one more thing!” He poked a finger toward Jerode.
“A polymath is trained to take charge of a newly opened planet.
One particular planet
. He doesn’t even move to it until he’s past forty. He’s not left in sole charge until he’s sixty. At ninety he’s usually retired because the job has been done. Very often he dies a few years later, burned out. But satisfied. Because he’s had a lifelong love affair with an entire planet, something no conceivable human relationship could match. He’s known it more intimately than most husbands ever get to know their wives.”
He moved toward the door, a shadow approaching deeper shadow outside. On the threshold he glanced back for a moment.
“Which may explain to you the most important thing. This is not
my
world. I don’t
want
the job.”
Outside, the alien star-patterns loomed out of soft velvet sky. Moodily Lex walked toward the single men’s house, from which drifted the sound of laughter. But he had only gone a few yards when he heard his name spoken, and
be turned to find Ornelle standing there uncertainly, hands linked before her.
“Do you mind walking down the hill with me?” she said in a low voice. “I—I was wanting to ask you a favor. I don’t want to seem to be meddling in other people’s affairs, but I think someone’s got to take responsibility, and… and, to be honest, after sitting through your committee meeting, I find everyone else in the bunch presumptuous and bossy.”
Lex sighed, knowing the sound was too faint to be heard, and said politely, “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…”
She fell in beside him, not looking at him. “It was talking about Delvia that made up my mind for me,” she said. “You know Naline?”
“Of course. Not very well.”
“What do you think of her?”
Lex pondered for a moment, wondering what this was leading up to. He said, “Frankly, she hasn’t made much impression on me. She’s probably shy by nature, though she does overcompensate by sometimes being brash. Unsure of herself, badly upset like the rest of us with less adult experience to help stabilize her—she’s only sixteen, isn’t she? But she’s above average intelligence. She’ll make out.”
“Attractive?”
Now why ask that?
Lex’s interest began to quicken. In fact, she was rather plain, with a characterless round face and a figure which, though hunger had melted off the puppy-fat, was nothing to remark on. Her long dark hair was her best feature, but she’d said something today about cutting it off.
He compromised. “I guess maybe not very, if you’re fudging by the standards of Zara. But standards are going to change, and change fast, under these conditions.”
Ornelle halted. They had come to the riverbank at the spot where she had to turn toward the single women’s house. Now she turned and faced him.
“Look, Lex. I’ll be blunt Naline isn’t pretty. She is young, but that won’t last. And I… well, I had twin daughters at home, not as old as her, but nearly. And there’s Delvia, who doesn’t care much about other people. She uses them. Luckily most adults know how to prevent that happening. Naline doesn’t.”
“I still don’t see,” Lex murmured. In fact he was starting
to suspect what she was referring to, but he wanted her to spell it out.
“I’ve tried to keep things quiet,” Ornelle said. “I didn’t want to cause any worse rows in that claustrophobic place than we’ve been enduring all along.” A gesture toward the women’s house. “And Del does have some good traits; she’s a capable person, and she certainly has vitality, though she’s very coarse and insensitive with it. So Naline must have been flattered when Del took to courting her.”