The Troublemakers by George O. Smith (suggested reading TXT) 📕

before his superior officer, making a tour of inspection, opened the office reserved for him at the Administration Building. On the eighth day of his visit, Commander Breckenridge summoned the junior spaceman to his office. He asked, "Mr. Reed, have you been successful in solving the flaw in Hansen's Folly?"

"Well, sir, not exactly."

"Have you improved your grasp of the facts of life?"

"Sir? I don't quite understand."

"You don't? Well, perhaps you need some help. For instance, Mr. Reed, can you give me an estimate of the useful land area of Eden, Tau Ceti?"

"Sir, the total land area is about fifty million square miles. Perhaps about half of that is useful, or could be."

"Ah. You said 'could be'. Why, Mr. Reed?"

"Let's put it this way, sir. Whether a given acreage is useful often depends upon how badly it is needed. For instance, a plot of wooded land might well be ignored for centuries by a sparsely populated agrarian culture who had a lot of open plain to cultivate. At a later date, an increasing pressure of population might make it expedient and sensible to clear vast areas of tree stumps, boulders and all sorts of hazards."

"And here on Eden?"

"Well, sir, at the present time the population of Eden is about a hundred thousand. Fertile plains are growing wild with weeds because the land isn't needed yet. That is—er—"

"That is what?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have said 'wild with weeds' sir. After all, they have been encouraged. I'm told that the atmosphere smelled a lot stronger when Man first arrived."

The commander sniffed and said, "It's pretty strong right now."

"You don't notice it after a couple of months," said Reed.

"I don't propose to be here that long," said the commander curtly. "Let's get back to your grasp of the overall picture." Commander Breckenridge leaned back in his chair and said, "No doubt you were exposed to Early North American History. You will recall that there was a strong pioneering drive in the human race that went on almost from the date of the discovery of North America until the opening phases of the so-called 'Industrial Revolution'—that is, beginning of the electro-mechanical era. Am I not correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, young man, what has become of this strong pioneering drive? How did it ooze out of the human race? Where did it go, and why? Why are six billion people living in crowded conditions on Earth, while here upon Eden, Tau Ceti, a mere hundred thousand people occupy—by your estimate—some twenty million square miles? Why haven't the crowded millions of Earth clamored for all this extra space?"

"Perhaps because space travel is so expensive."

"Only in terms of cash. To be sure, it might take practically everything that a man has to buy passage. I now ask you to estimate how many men and their families sacrificed everything they had, packed a few treasured possessions into a Conestoga wagon and headed for the West."

"I have no way of knowing, sir."

"No, of course not. Let me tell you what happened. In that glorious phase of Early North America, men, women, and even their children toiled from sunrise to sunset to scratch out their living. From the dawn of history, luxury and leisure belonged to the landed baron. Since wealth went with acreage, any man who could stake out a claim to acreage could also claim wealth. It was a matter of finding the unclaimed acreage first."

The commander leaned forward to press his point. "Then came the industrial revolution and the age of automation. Industrial slavery ended in a clank of gears. Your little man no longer starved to death nor toiled twelve hours a day. The finest automobile that the wealthy man could buy was only three or four times as expensive as the car driven by the average workman. Therefore the idea of staking out arable land as a means to wealth became less and less desirable. Automation hit the farm. The landed baron changed into the elected presiding officer over a stock-secured corporation.

"Today," said the commander, "the man who leaves his home to migrate is not abandoning squalor and sorrow in the hope of finding something better. He's leaving luxury, culture, and leisure. For what? For the privilege of scrabbling for a bare existence. Now, Mr. Reed, are you beginning to understand?"

"I think so, sir."

"Good. Then you'll begin to revise your opinion as to the importance of extending the cruising range of our spacecraft."

Reed blinked, "Sir?"

"Be sensible, young man. A colony is a waste of effort unless it becomes more than self-sufficient. Until Eden, Tau Ceti, has become populated to the point where Eden can support her own highly technical culture, it is an economically unsound proposition." The commander glared at the young spaceman. "Must I be blunt? Every effort must be spent in raising the culture-level of Eden, Tau Ceti. That means increasing the population, Mr. Reed, until the numbers are high enough to pay for industrialization. Once the cities of Eden, Tau Ceti, offer the culture opportunity of the cities of Earth, then we'll have migration on a social level instead of the malcontents, rugged individualists, and petty lawbreakers who've been given the alternative of migration instead of incarceration.

"Now, Mr. Reed, do you see what I'm driving at? It would be far wiser of you to spend your time enhancing the aspect of Eden, Tau Ceti, than trying to figure out ways and means of getting to more distant stars and locating other distant planets—to which the human race wouldn't migrate."

"But sir—"

"Mr. Reed, I recognize in you the admirable spirit of adventure. But we must remember that this same spirit that once drove men to land on Earth's moon in a multi-stage chemical rocket was not enough to establish a tax-paying colony there. Now, about this project of yours. You say that you have not yet located the flaw in Hansen's Folly?"

"No, sir, but—"

"Mr. Reed, you realize that you'll stay here on Eden until you do?"

"Yes, sir, but—"

"And the longer it takes you, the more ridicule will be directed at you, at me, and the Bureau of Operations?"

"But, sir—"

"Mr. Reed, I'll also point out that there will be no promotion until your assignment is complete."

"I'm aware of that sir, but—"

"But what, Mr. Reed?"

Reed said, "Sir, may I speak without annoying you?"

"If you've something to say, go ahead. I can hardly promise not to be annoyed before I hear what the subject is."

"Thank you, sir. In trying to solve Hansen's Folly I engaged in some physical experiment and measurement because I couldn't find any flaw in the mathematical argument on the abstract scale. As you know, sir, one of the ways to find out why something won't work is to try it. It isn't often the easiest or the simplest, but it is often the only way."

"So go on. What happened?"

"Sir, my hardware works. So far as I can see, sir, there is no flaw! I was right!"

"Commander Briggs of Research—"

"Sir, there must be some mistake."

"Silence! I'm not through! Commander Briggs seems to know more about my personnel than I do."

"Sir?"

"First, he offered to bet me a dinner at the Officer's Club that you wouldn't locate the flaw in Hansen's Folly by the time I made this tour of inspection. Knowing that you'd probably have no other ambition than to leave Eden, Tau Ceti, I snapped at this wager like a starving dog latching onto a piece of steak. I have lost, it would appear, which is only one dinner. But, Mr. Reed, when I accepted this wager, Commander Briggs compounded it by offering to bet me a dinner for the whole Bureau of Research that after not finding the flaw by means of the academic analysis, you'd resort to experiment in hardware. Knowing full well that you'd not have the temerity to divert Service Material for your own tinkering, I accepted that wager also. Then to top it off, Briggs added a bet of champagne and corsages for the officers' wives that you'd complete your hardware and still not locate the flaw, and that when I arrived you'd be firmly convinced that you'd proved your point in theory and practice and that therefore you were right and the rest of the known universe was wrong."

The commander took a deep breath under which he swore gently but feelingly. Then he went on: "And so, Mr. Reed, I am going to be 'Guest of Dishonor' at the Officers' Club. I will, according to custom, be served the plate of baked synthetic beans whilst my contemporary officers and their wives partake of a gourmet's banquet of natural foods."

"Sir, I'm sorry."

"Being sorry is hardly enough!" The commander pawed through his attache case until he came to a file-folder which he looked through meticulously for several minutes as if justifying a carefully considered opinion. Finally he made a lightly pencilled note on the margin of one page and said, "Lalande 25372!"

Junior Spaceman Howard Reed gasped and blurted, "Flatbush, sir?"

Commander Breckenridge nodded curtly. "You will man the perimeter alien-spacecraft detection station and the astrogation beacon distance and direction equipment located on Flatbush, Lalande 25372. And you will stay there until you have Hansen's Folly completely solved. Do you understand?"

Junior Spaceman Howard Reed nodded unhappily.

Lalande 25372 was close to the maximum range, the seventeen-light-year point of no return. Any enjoyment in knowing that he would have to be commissioned one of the finer, more efficient little spacecraft in order to get there in the first place was completely wiped out in the knowledge that once there, it would have to stand inert awaiting his return, because there would be no power to spare on side trips. One did not, with subatomic power, carry a spare can of fuel for emergency.

VI

Mrs. Hanford opened the door and saw Scholar Ross. She smiled uncertainly at him as she invited him in. In the Hanford living room, in the presence of Mr. Hanford, the scholar of genetics looked around cautiously and questingly. Hanford said, "Gloria is not here. She's out."

"Then I may speak openly."

"Of course. Is there some trouble—again?"

"Frankly, I'm not certain," said the scholar of genetics slowly. "I'd like more information if you'd be so good as to help."

"Of course we'll help!" exclaimed Mrs. Hanford. "What's bothering you?"

"How is your daughter getting on with Bertram Harrison?"

"Why, I'd guess they're getting along about as well as any other young pre-marriage couple. That's what the engagement period is for, isn't it? I mean, it's been that way historically."

"Yes, you're right," nodded Scholar Ross. "Did they rent the usual pre-marriage apartment?"

"Oh yes. They were quite the conventional young lovers, Scholar Ross."

The man from the Department of Domestic Tranquility smiled. "And you, of course, were the conventional parents of the affianced bride?"

"Of course. We were so pleased that we could hardly wait for Twelfth Night."

"And during that visit, were the appointments of the apartment proper?"

"Why, Scholar Ross!"

"No, no, Mrs. Hanford, you misunderstand. I implied no moral question. I really meant to ask if you knew whether Gloria and Bertram each and separately were properly continuing their therapy."

Mr. Hanford grunted. "As parents of the affianced bride," he said, "we're paying for it!"

Mrs. Hanford blushed. "I—er—snooped," she said.

Scholar Ross looked at Mrs. Hanford with an expression that indicated that snooping was an entirely acceptable form of social behavior. "And what did you find?"

"Everything entirely right." Then she looked doubtful and bit her lower lip. "Scholar Ross, I'm no authority in these matters. In Gloria's bathroom were the same-looking kind of bottles and pills that we got when you prescribed, and when I turned on the speaker in her bedroom it sounded like the same kind of music as I'd heard in her bedroom when she was living at home. It—frankly—depressed me."

"And Bertram's?"

"I know less of his medication. But I did listen to his music outlet. It removed the feeling of depression I'd gotten from Gloria's program material."

"That's quite right. It sounds reasonable."

She blushed again and looked at her husband. "Only one thing," she said very slowly.

"What's that?"

"I—er, hardly know how to put it. You see, when Gerald and I were affianced, neither one of us were undergoing any kind of corrective therapy and so I don't know how these things work out."

"What are you driving at?"

"Why, Scholar Ross, with neither of us undergoing corrective therapy, it didn't matter which one of the bedrooms we used."

Scholar Ross considered for a moment and then nodded. "Of course," he said with an air of complete finality. "That's it!"

"What's it?" asked Mr. Hanford.

"The situation becomes a simple matter of reduction to the law of most-active reaction. Look," he said, "we have one personality that requires an environment of stimulation to bring him up to normal, and another personality that requires a tranquil atmosphere to normal. Place them both in the tranquilizing environment and he is driven deeper into his lethargy,