Our Children's Children

by Clifford D. Simak

  “Dr. Osborne,” said Ives, “has so far taken no part in this discussion. Is there something you might like to add?”

  Osborne shook his head. “All of this is beyond my competence, gentlemen. I’m not a physicist, but a geologist, with leanings toward paleontology. I’m simply along for the ride. Later, if some of you might want to discuss the Miocene, which is our eventual destination, that is something I could talk about.”

  “I, for one,” said Brooks, “would be interested in hearing you right now. I have heard there is some proposal that the present population of the Earth go back into the Miocene with you. This is something, I would imagine, that might appeal to some of the more venturesome among us. There is always a feeling in many people that they have lost something by being born after the age of geographic pioneering. There would be a strong appeal to the idea of going back to a time where many of the present-day restrictions might be shed. I wonder if you would be willing to tell us something of what we might expect to find in the Miocene.”

  “If you feel it is appropriate,” said Osborne, “I would be glad to. You must understand, of course, that we are dealing in some suppositions, although we can be fairly sure of certain facts. The main reason we picked the Miocene is that this was the time when grass first appeared upon the Earth. There are reasons we believe this, although I won’t go into them right now. For one thing, it is the time when true grazing animals acquired a kind of teeth adapted for grass eating. Grazing animals, in the early part of the epoch, seem to have increased rapidly. The climate became somewhat more arid, although by our calculations there still would be plenty of rainfall for agriculture. Many of the huge forest tracts gave way to grassy plains, supporting huge herds of herbivores. We know something of these herbivores, although I think it may be possible there may have been many species of which we have no paleontological evidence.

  “There would be great herds of oreodonts, sheep-sized animals that may have been remote relatives of the camels. There would be camels, too, although far smaller than the ones we know today. We could expect to find small horses, the size of ponies. There might be a number of rhinos. Sometime during the Miocene, probably in its early days, elephants migrated to North America over the Bering land bridge. They’d be four-tuskers, smaller than today’s elephants. One of the more dangerous animals would be the giant pig, big as an oxen and with skulls that measure four feet long. They could be ugly customers to meet. With so many herbivores running in herds on the prairies, the Miocene could be expected to have its full quota of carnivores, both canines and cats. Probably you’d find the old ancestors of the sabretooths. That’s only a quick rundown. There is much more. The point is that we believe the Miocene was a time of rather rapid evolutionary development, with the fauna expanding into new genera and species, characterized, perhaps, by a tendency for animals to increase in size: There might be a number of holdovers from the Oligocene, even from the Eocene. I suppose some of the mammals might be dangerous. There could be poisonous snakes and insects—I’m not entirely sure of that. As a matter of fact, we have little evidence along those lines.”

  “In your estimation, however,” said Brooks, “it would be livable. Man could get along.”

  “We are sure he can,” said Osborne. “The great forests of past ages would be giving way to prairies, and while there still would remain plenty of wood for man’s use, there would be great open spaces waiting for the plow. There would be grass to support man’s livestock. The heavy rainfall that characterized some of the earlier epochs would have decreased. Until he got started, man could live off the land. There would be plenty of game, nuts, berries, fruit, roots. Fishing should be good. We’re not as certain about the climate as we’d like to be, but there is some evidence that it would be more equable than now. The summers probably would be as warm, the winters not so cold. You understand this can’t be guaranteed.”

  “I understand that,” said Brooks, “but in any case, you are set on going.”

  “We have,” said Osborne, “very little choice.”

  31

  Steve Wilson came back into the pressroom. The desk lamp still was lit, painting a circle of light in the darkened room. The teletypes muttered against the wall. Almost three o’clock, he thought. He’d have to get some sleep. Even with the best of luck, even if he could go to sleep, he had at the most four hours or so before he’d have to be back on the job again.

  As he approached the desk, Alice Gale rose from the chair where she had been sitting in the dark. She still wore the white robe. He wondered if it was all she had. Perhaps it was, he told himself, for the people from the future had carried little luggage with them.

  “Mr. Wilson,” she said, “we have been waiting for you, hoping that you would return. My father wants to talk with you.”

  “Certainly,” said Wilson. “Good morning, Mr. Gale.”

  Gale came out of the darkness and laid his attaché case upon the desk top.

  “I am somewhat embarrassed,” he said, “I find myself in a position that could be awkward. I wonder if you would listen to me and tell me how to go about this thing I want to do. You appear to be a man who knows his way around.”

  Wilson, moving to the desk, stiffened. The whole thing, he sensed, as Gale had said, had an awkwardness about it. He sensed he was going to be placed in a difficult position. He waited.

  “We are well aware,” said Gale, “that our coming from the future has placed a terrible burden upon the governments and the peoples of the world. We did the little that we could. In areas where we knew there would be food shortages, we arranged the delivery of wheat and other foodstuffs. We stand ready to supply any labor that will be required, for we represent a large, and idle, labor force. But the building of the tunnels and the supplying to us of the tools we will need in the Miocene will represent a vast expenditure of funds.…”

  He reached down into the circle of light on the desk top and, unlatching the case, opened it. It was packed with small leather bags. Lifting one of these, he pulled it open and poured out on the desk top a shower of cut stones that flashed and glittered in the light.

  “Diamonds,” he said.

  Wilson gulped. “But why?” he whispered. “Why diamonds? Why bring them to me?”

  “It was the only way,” said Gale, “that we could bring anything of value in small enough volume to be conveniently transported. And we know that, if dumped upon the market all at once, these stones would ruin prices. But if they were fed into the market, a few at a time, surreptitiously, they would have but small effect. This especially would be true if their existence were kept secret. And we have been very careful that there be no duplications, that there are no paradoxes. It would have been possible to have brought from the future many of the famous gems that now exist and are well known. We have not done this. All the stones in this case are ones which were found and cut in your future. None of them is known at the present day.”

  “Put them back,” said Wilson, horrified. “Good God, man, can you imagine what might happen if it became known what was in that case. Billions of dollars.…”

  “Yes, many billions,” Gale said calmly. “At the going prices in this age, perhaps as much as a trillion. Worth much more than they were in our time. We, five hundred years from now, did not place as great a value on such things as you do now.”

  Unhurriedly he picked up the stones, put them back into the bag, fitted the bag back into the case, closed and latched it.

  “I wish most heartily,” said Wilson, “that you had not told me of this.”

  “But we had to,” Alice said. “Don’t you see? You are the only one we know, the only one that we can trust. We could safely tell you and you could tell us what to do.”

  Wilson struggled to put some calmness into his words. “Let us all sit down,” he said, “and talk this over. Let’s not speak too loudly. I don’t think there is anyone around, but someone could walk in on us.”

  They went back beyond the circle of light, pull
ed three chairs together and sat down.

  “Now suppose you tell me,” Wilson said, “what this is all about.”

  “We had thought,” said Gale, “that the proceeds from these stones, wisely marketed, could compensate in part some of the actual costs that helping us entails. Not one government, not one people, but all the governments and all the peoples of the Earth. Putting the proceeds into a fund, perhaps, and once all the stones are sold, allocating the monies in proportion to the actual costs involved.”

  “In that case.…”

  “I anticipate your question. Why were the stones not divided and offered each government involved? There are two reasons this was not done. The more people who are involved, the greater the possibility that the news would leak out. Our only chance was to keep the number who knew of it at a minimum. Among us there are not more than six who know. Here, you are the only one so far. There is, as well, the matter of trust. On the basis of history, we knew there were few governments we could trust—actually, only two, you and the British. On the basis of our study, we decided on the United States. There had been some feeling the United Nations should be the organization entrusted with the gems. But, quite frankly, we had little confidence in the UN. I was supposed to hand the stones to the President. I decided against this when I realized how many problems he had weighing on his mind, how he was forced to depend upon the judgment of so many people.”

  “I know only one thing,” said Wilson. “You can’t keep on carrying this case around with you. You have to be placed under security until it has been put into some safe place. Fort Knox, probably, if the government is willing to accept it.”

  “You mean, Mr. Wilson, that I’ll have to be placed under guard. I’m not sure I like that.”

  “Christ, I don’t know,” said Wilson. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  He reached for the phone and dialed. “Jane, you still on duty? Do you know—has the President retired?’.’

  “An hour ago,” said Jane.

  “Good,” said Wilson. “He should have long before then.”

  “Is it important, Steve? He left orders if there was anything important that he should be called.”

  “No, this can wait. Do you think you can get hold of Jerry Black?”

  “I’ll try. I think he’s still around.”

  The room was silent except for the teletypes. Gale and Alice sat unstirring in their chairs. Light still shone beneath the press lounge doors, but there was no sound of typing.

  “We’re sorry to upset you so,” Alice said to Wilson. “But we were at out wits’ ends. We didn’t know what to do.”

  “It’s all right,” said Wilson.

  “You don’t know how much this means to us,” she said. “The rest of the people may not know till later, but we’ll know. That we did not come as beggars. That we paid our way. That’s important to us.”

  Footsteps came down the corridor and turned in at the door.

  “What’s going on, Steve?” asked Jerry Black.

  “We need a couple of men,” said Wilson.

  “I’m one of them,” said Black. “I can find another.”

  “It’ll be a favor,” said Wilson. “I have no jurisdiction. I’m acting on my own. It’ll be until tomorrow morning, as soon as I can see the President.”

  “It’s OK,” said. Black, “if it’s for the President.”

  “I think,” said Wilson, “that it might be for him.”

  “All right,” said Black. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Gale has an attaché case. I won’t tell you what is in it. You wouldn’t want to know. But it’s important. And I want him to keep it—him and no one else. Until we know what to do with it.”

  “That can be managed. You think it needs two of us?”

  “I’d feel better if there were two of you.”

  “No trouble,” said Black. “Let me use your phone.”

  32

  Dawn was graying in the eastern sky when Enoch Raven sat down to his typewriter. Outside the window lay the green Virginia hills, and in the trees and shrubs a few awakening birds began their twittering and chirping.

  He flexed his fingers over the keyboard and then began to type, writing steadily, without pause for thought. He had made it a rule, these many years, to have it all thought out before he sat down to write, to have run the subject matter through his mind, refining it and sharpening it so that the readers of his column need never search for meaning. The meaning must be there for all to see, the logic well developed.

  He wrote:

  The world today faces what may be its greatest crisis and the strangeness of this lies in the fact that the crisis comes not by the ordinary channels we have come to associate with crisis. Although, when one thinks it through, it becomes apparent that it does parallel a crisis situation we long have recognized—overpopulation and the economic problems which could spring from it. As short a time ago as last Sunday morning, however, no one in his right mind could remotely have imagined that the over-population which had been feared and preached against so long, could have come upon us overnight.

  Now that it has, we are faced with a situation that must be solved, not over a long period of careful planning, but in a matter, perhaps, of weeks. The brutal fact of the matter is that we can feed the hordes of people who have come to us for help over only a very limited span of time. They, themselves, are frank in admitting that they were aware of the problems their coming would create and in consequence of this have brought us the knowledge and the tools we will need in solving them. All that remains is that we use these tools forthwith. For this to be done requires the willing cooperation of every one of us. This phrase is not used lightly, nor in its hortatory political sense, but in a very personal way. Every one of us, each of us, all of us.

  What is needed from the most of us is forbearance, a willingness to bear certain sacrifices, to tolerate certain inconveniences. It may mean that there will be less food, and not so good, for us to eat. We may have to wait for delivery of that new car. We may not be able to buy a new lawn mower when the old one that is now on its last legs finally breaks down. The economic energy and direction that under normal circumstances would be channeled into the production and distribution of items and services we need must be cancelled not only into sending our far descendants back deeper into time, but into providing them with the equipment, tools and supplies they will need to build a viable culture. It may be that Detroit may be called upon to turn out plows and other implements rather than cars. It may be that, voluntarily, or by government decree, we may have to ration ourselves. Wise as the actions taken by President Henderson may have been in calling for a bank and transactions holiday and a price and wage freeze, a case can be made that he should have taken one further step by issuing a strong warning against hoarding. While we can ill afford to deal in a bureaucratic manner with the press of events that have been forced upon us, it would seem that some move toward a strict rationing of food and other items vital to the continuing economy should be taken at once. It is quite understandable, for political reasons, why Mr. Henderson might have been reluctant to do this. But it is upon such unpopular actions, or the failure to take these actions, that we will stand or fall.

  It would seem scarcely necessary to point out that such actions as the President has taken should be taken by other nations as well. It is reliably understood that Britain, Russia, France, Germany, Japan, China, and possibly other nations may have already taken corresponding actions before these words see the light of print. But the action must be worldwide rather than the actions of just a few of the more powerful nations. The problem that we face is a worldwide problem and for it to be solved temporary economic strictures must be imposed not only upon the larger economic units, but upon the entire world.

  The appearance of the people from the future undoubtedly will call forth from the various intellectual factions a wide variety of opinions, many of which undoubtedly will be ill-founded. This is well illustrated by
the public agony which is being exhibited by the Rev. Jake Billings, one of the more colorful of our evangelists, over the revelation that the people of five hundred years from now have forsaken religion as a rather footless factor in the lives of mankind. Distressing as this may be to the professional religionists, it is scarcely a consideration which has any bearing upon the matter now immediately at hand. Not only on this point, but on many other points, profound questions will be raised, but now is not the time to expend any noticeable amount of energy in trying to answer or resolve them. They will do no more than to further divide a population which, under the best of circumstances, is bound to be divided by the basic task which has been brought upon us.

  We have not as yet had the time, nor indeed the facts, to enable us at this moment to form a true evaluation of the situation. While we have been made aware of some of the basic facts, there may be other facts that are as yet unknown, or perhaps some which, in the press of other considerations, have not become apparent. It may well be that some of the emphasis may be at fault—not as a result of someone trying to obscure the importance of any fact, but simply because there has not been the opportunity to assess the various factors and give each the weight of importance which rightly belongs to it.

  There is no time, of course, for deliberate consideration of the crisis; in essence, the world must act with more expediency than may be entirely wise. The very fact that expediency is necessary calls for a public forbearance that is usually not desirable when great issues are at stake. A storm of criticism and a violent putting forward of opinions at variance with official opinion and action will accomplish nothing other than an impedance to a solution which must come quickly if it is to come at all. The men in Washington, at Whitehall and in the Kremlin may be wrong on many points, but their various publics must realize that they are acting not out of the perversity of stupidity, but in honest good faith, doing what they consider proper to be done.