Authors: Edmund Cooper
“Sir! Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Brackley saluted. He did not leave the navigation deck in his customary fashion. He walked smartly over the bond-fuzz, as if he had just been dismissed by a commodore.
M
OST OF THE
people of Earth never knew that their planet was dying. Most of the people of Earth—the teeming millions of Asia, Africa, South America—remained as they had always been: hungry, illiterate, disease-ridden, short-lived. By the late twenty-first century, man had established viable, independent colonies on the moon and on Mars. These were superb achievements of science and technology. If comparable resources had been applied to solving the problems that had accumulated in the terrestrial biosphere, Earth might have been saved.
But they were not. It was as if terrestrial man had a built-in death wish. As if the technologically advanced and highly civilised members of the human race, collectively, had shrugged and said: ‘We’re finished here. Let’s toss a few seeds somewhere else, and see if they germinate.’
It was easier—politically easier—to carry out planetary engineering projects on Mars than to do so on Earth.
So the obsolete internal combustion engine continued to foul Earth’s atmosphere; the pesticides, insecticides, herbicides and fungicides continued to destroy the balance of nature; industrial pollution continued to poison the rivers and the oceans; domestic effluent choked the antiquated, overloaded sewage systems of cities that contained ten times too many people; pestilence caught up with antibiotics; the demand for atomic energy grew at such a pace that waste
heat pumped into the sea accelerated the greenhouse effect and brought about the melting of the ice-caps; and the vast majority of fifteen thousand million human beings continued to breed as if sheer weight of numbers would help them avert, rather than bring on, the final catastrophe.
The point of no return had been passed quite early in the twenty-first century. Many distinguished members of the international scientific community had given advance warning and had suggested drastic remedies—such as compulsory birth control, mass sterilization projects; internationally accepted limitations on the energy consumption of technologically advanced countries; the outlawing of the internal combustion engine; the reclamation of African, Indian, Asian and Australian desert country; the controlled harvesting of the seas; the re-distribution of material wealth and material resources; the abandonment of a costly space programme; the abandonment of the international weapons race.
Such suggestions might have worked or, at least, might have delayed the reckoning. But such suggestions were politically and internationally undesirable—so the politicians said. It seemed that they could only agree on how to tackle the problems of other worlds than Earth.
Thus, while Lunar City flourished and maintained a stable population of two thousand five hundred people by the most efficient hydroponics techniques, and while magnificent feats of planetary engineering were giving Mars a breathable atmosphere and the resources to support independently a population of more than ten thousand, which would be allowed to grow as the fertile areas expanded, Earth receded into a literally Dark Age from which it could never emerge while the teeming millions squandered huge amounts of energy on their hopeless struggle to maintain diminishing food supplies.
By 2050
AD
the blue skies of Earth had become almost a legend. Nine tenths of the planetary surface were shrouded in mist, cloud, fog. Monsoon weather was no longer confined to southern Asia or, indeed, to a particular season. Overheated oceans produced constant evaporation which, in turn,
produced everlasting clouds and everlasting rain. Photosynthesis was an early casualty of the long wet twilight. Winter and summer became as one. Crops still germinated readily, but failed to ripen. The polluted rain beat them, dying, back into the saturated soil.
Since time immemorial, hunger had been a great destroyer of empires and the sophisticated ambitions of mankind. Now it became the universal destroyer. No amount of gold could buy a ripe field of wheat. Not even the most ingenious technology could create a stable window of clear sky for the dying fields and the millions of square miles of mud that had once been fertile country.
Eventually, even the politicians realized that Earth was doomed and that mankind’s only hope lay elsewhere. Elsewhere consisted of two possibilities: a small, dead satellite that would require skills as yet undreamed of to transform it into a world where man might flourish, and a planet of immense potential that would take a longer time than was available to prepare for a mass exodus.
Therefore, with late logic, with late courage and with late resolution, the United Nations Organisation—ineffectual for more than one hundred years—determined to transfer all that could be saved to Mars. But the combined fleet of American, Russian, European and Chinese interplanetary vessels amounted to no more than fifteen. The largest, an American vessel built for orbital service, could carry one thousand tons of cargo; but that cargo had to be ferried up into Earth orbit in fifty-ton lots by shuttle rockets and then ferried down again from Mars orbit. Apart from the length of the voyage, the loading and unloading of the
Martin Luther King
took at least fifty terrestrial days. The smallest, a Chinese touch-down vessel, the
Confucius
, could carry a cargo of only one hundred and twenty tons.
The international arguments about priorities raged throughout four terrifying years, from the time when the United Nations officially authorised and supervised Operation Phoenix to the time when the last space ship, the
Dag Hammarskjold
lifted from Earth for the last time.
Should the Mona Lisa and a hundred other of the world’s greatest paintings take precedence over semen and ova banks, the semen and ova having been donated by the world’s most distinguished men and women? Should microfilm of terrestrial histories, of scientific records, of the cultural heritage of a hundred nations take precedence over sacks of plant seeds, specially developed for a low-pressure, low-oxygen environment? Should people take priority over computers, earth-moving equipment, high explosives, serums, electron microscopes, surgical instruments? What should be the ratio of women to men? What should be the maximum age for these candidates for survival?
Meanwhile, under the pressure of an impending Doomsday, old feuds flared anew. In a final and abortive attempt at genocide, the Pan-Arab Federation threatened to use atomic weapons on any space-port that permitted Israelis to lift off for Mars. The Chinese delegate to the United Nations demanded proportional racial representation in all emigration quotas—a natural demand, since the Chinese constituted one quarter of mankind; but quite impossible to meet when other criteria were considered. The Negro bloc also claimed that choice of survivors was being made on the basis of race prejudice, and threatened to blast any vessel out of space if fifteen per cent of its crew and passengers were not black. The Pope requested that two hundred dedicated priests be allowed to take the old religion to the new world. The Americans and the Russians managed to co-operate harmoniously—which was vital, as both countries recognized, since, between them, they controlled most of the interplanetary space fleet.
Somehow, in spite of all the squabbles, space-ship after space-ship lifted off, bound with precious cargoes from a dying world to a world that was, as yet, in its social and industrial infancy. In a frenzy of inspired adaptation, six orbital space stations were converted into temporary interplanetary vessels and sent careering off to Mars orbit.
But, as the incessant rains continued to beat down on Earth from dark grey skies, destroying crops, destroying
hope, law and order began to disintegrate. The United States of Europe was the first major casualty. Most of its over-populated countries had traditionally relied upon importing almost half their food requirements in exchange for manufactured goods. But, in the late twenty-first century, a fat chicken and a pound of wheat flour, became worth more than a Rolls Royce hovercar or even a Mercedes helibus. So Europe starved to death, noisily, violently. And after Europe, the United States fell; and then Russia, South America, and China. India, whose people had always had to contend with disease and starvation, lasted a little longer. But not much longer.
Oddly, the last country to fall into anarchy was Australia. By a quirk of fate, it had received most of the available sunlight. For a brief span, its deserts had become fertile and, seizing the opportunity, it had managed to grow enough crops to support nearly two thirds of its people. Then the skies closed, and the rains that had brought a brief period of fertility, began to drown the land.
When the
Dag Hammarskjold
lifted for Mars, Australia had just about reached the end of the road.
D
INNER IN THE
saloon was a very subdued affair, despite the obvious efforts of the crew to cheer up Captain Hamilton. Suzy Wu, genetically Eurasian but by birth a true Martian, had discarded her uniform—contrary to regulations—in favour of a scanty, translucent suit that revealed the contours of her beautiful young body to great advantage. She gave all her attention to Idris; but neither Orlando nor Leo Davison seemed to resent it.
Perhaps, thought Idris, Leo and Suzy had been briefed. It seemed likely that Orlando would have told them that the skipper was in a state.
He looked at the three of them and felt dreadfully old. He was not yet forty; but he felt ancient. These three were children of Mars. It could not matter to them in quite the same way that it mattered to him that Earth was finished.
Suzy employed her sex to cheer him up, Leo Davison employed his jokes. He told the one about the Englishman and the elephant. It didn’t seem funny any more—Leo realized that even as he was telling it. There were no Englishmen left, and if any elephants still existed in India, they were rapidly running out of time. So Leo covered the disaster rapidly with a long, complicated, shaggy dog story about the Martian who went to the Red Hills to hunt the legendary abominable snowman. Idris had heard it before, many times, but he laughed. It was good to laugh at something.
Everyone, including Idris, was very tired. They had searched all the parts of the
Dag Hammarskjold
to which ground personnel at Woomera might have had access—which excluded the navigation deck and the reactor deck. Ever since saboteurs had rigged the reactor of the
Yuri Gagarin
to go critical as it lifted from Tolstoi space-port, it had been standard procedure on Earth touch-down for all masters to secure the navigation and reactor decks. Which, of course, did not eliminate the possibility of sabotage but at least reduced the areas where it could be carried out.
But, though the search had revealed nothing, Idris Hamilton was not satisfied. Something, he felt, was wrong. Perhaps he was just tired and therefore prey to neurotic imaginings. Perhaps he was in a state of morbid depression. Perhaps … Perhaps … But something was wrong. One important thing he had learned during his career was that a good space captain did not neglect intuition.
“Sir,” said Orlando, “you have not been listening to a word.” He sounded pained.
“I have.” Idris smiled. “I assure you I have. The one about the Red Hills snowman was good, very good.”
“That was two reels ago,” said Suzy gently. “Poor Leo! You are just about the worst audience he has ever had.”
“Leo, my apologies. You make a lousy engineer, and you will probably also be remembered as the worst bar-room raconteur on Mars—by everyone, except me.”
General laughter. Then silence.
“You are right. I have not been listening. I was thinking about the search.”
“Results negative, sir,” said Leo Davison. “Not to worry.”
“But I do worry. That is part of my job. The contract reads: the master of a space vessel shall worry himself stupid at all times … And, by the way, you are all forgetting the rules of the house. When we are not on duty, you call me Idris and try very hard to forget that I am an ancient Earthman.”
“If you are off duty, Idris,” said Suzy, pointedly emphasising
his name, “you, too, must play by the rules of the house. You must relax and forget about being the big boy. Otherwise, the rest of us remain conscious of the gold braid on your dress uniform and the scrambled egg on your cap.”
“Fair enough. I have stopped being the big boy, but I can’t stop worrying. May we, my friends just talk a little shop? And then, after that, I will be quite happy to listen to music, make passes at Suzy or even endure some more of that dreadful Martian humour.”
“Idris,” said Orlando, “you are a neurotic bloody wreck. We understand why—not being entirely thick. You have two minutes in which to air your neurosis. After that, you play it our way. O.K.?”
“O.K. I’ll make it short. The point is, the
Dag
is one hundred and twenty metres long and sixteen metres in diameter. Excluding the locked areas, we have searched it, the four of us. But can we be certain that we have been into every locker, every compartment? I want a double check. I want to search where someone else has looked and I want someone else to search where I have looked. There is something wrong, I feel it. If we find nothing inside the
Dag
, then we must look outside. It’s dreadfully tedious, and I’m sorry. But them’s my sentiments. End of message.”
“You are thinking of the
Yuri Gagarin,
” said Leo. “I understand things were worse at Tolstoi than they were at Woomera. Seems to me we had pretty good security down there.”
“We did. But we are the last space-ship to lift off from Earth. I know that Mars will not be sending any more. I got it in code. Suppose the rebs—” No, that was not the best description. “Suppose my people, Earth people, Australians who have given us so much, broke that code? Somebody might feel very unhappy about it, being doomed to die … Hell, I’m talking about human nature.” He looked at them all. “If you were destined to die in mud and everlasting rain wouldn’t you be tempted to try to blast the ones that get away?”