by Anthology
"But there's only one bed in this room," Dr. Hoyt objected. "You must have made a mistake."
Dr. Kalmar, recalling the crowded cubicles of Earth, gave out a proud little dry laugh. "You're on Deneb now, boy. Here you'll have to get used to spaciousness. We like elbow room."
The young doctor went in hesitantly, leaving the door open for a fast escape in case an error had been made. Dr. Kalmar had done the same when he'd arrived nine years ago. Judging by his own experience, it would take Dr. Hoyt a full six months to get used to having a room all to himself. There would be plenty of time to start showing him the ropes tomorrow, and in the meantime there were the backed-up appointments to be taken care of.
Dr. Kalmar went to his office and had his nurse, Miss Dupont, send in the first patient.
It was a girl of 17, Avis Emery, who had been brought by her parents. She sat sullenly, dark-haired, too daintily pretty and delicately shapely for a frontier world like this, while Mr. Emery put the file from Social Control on the doctor's desk.
"We're farmers--" the man began.
Dr. Kalmar interrupted, "The information is in the summary. Avis is to be assigned her mate next year, but she wants to go to Earth and become a nightclub singer. She refuses to marry a boy who'd be able to help around the farm, and she won't work on it herself."
He looked up severely at the parents. "This is your own fault, you know. You pampered her. Farm labor is too valuable for pampering. We can't afford it."
"You can blame me, Doc," said Mr. Emery miserably. "She's such a pretty little thing--I couldn't work her the way Sue and I work ourselves."
"And then she started getting notions," Mrs. Emery added, giving her husband a vicious glare. Dr. Kalmar could imagine the nights of argument and accusation before they were at last forced to go for medical help to solve their self-created problem. "Singing in nightclubs back on Earth, marrying a billionaire, living in a sky yacht!"
"Avis," said Dr. Kalmar gently. "You know it's not that easy, don't you? There are lots and lots of pretty girls on Earth and very few billionaires. If you did get a job singing in a nightclub, you know you'd have to do some unpleasant things because there's so much competition for customers. Things like stripteasing, drinking at the tables and going out with whoever the owner tells you to."
The girl's face grew animated for the first time. "Well, sure! Why do you think I want to go?"
"And you don't love Deneb and your farm?"
"I hate both of them!"
"But you realize that we must have food. Doesn't it make you feel important to grow more food so we can increase our population?"
"No! Why should I care? I want to go to Earth!"
Dr. Kalmar shook his head regretfully. He pushed a button on his desk. It was connected to a gravity generator directly under the girl's chair. Four gravities suddenly pushed her down into it and a hypodermic needle jabbed her swiftly with a hypnotic drug. She slumped. He released the button and the artificial gravity abated, but she remained dazed and relaxed.
"You're not going to hurt her, are you, Doc?" Mr. Emery begged.
"Certainly not. But I suppose you know Social Control's orders."
They nodded, the husband gloomily, the wife with a single sharp jerk of her head.
"You go right ahead and do it," she said. "I'm sick of working my fingers to the bone while she primps and preens and talks all the time about going to Earth."
"Come, Avis," Dr. Kalmar said in a low, commanding voice.
She stood up, blank-faced, and followed him out to the Ego Alter room. He closed the door, sat her down in the insulated seat next to the control console, put the wired plastic helmet on her and adjusted it to fit her skull snugly.
Running his finger down the treatment sheet of her Social Control file, he set the dials according to its instructions. The psychic areas to be reduced were sex drive, competitiveness and imagination, while the areas of reproductive urge and cooperation were to be intensified. He regulated the individual timers and sent the varying charge through her brain.
There was no reaction, no convulsion, no distortion of features. She sat there as if nothing had happened, but her personality had changed as completely as though she had been retrained from birth.
Miss Dupont came in without knocking. She knew, of course, that any patient in the Ego Alter room would be incapable of being disturbed.
"Rephysical, Dr. Kalmar?" she asked.
"I'm afraid so. Will you prepare her, please?"
The nurse removed the girl's clothes. There was no resistance.
"Such a lovely body," she said. "It's a shame."
He shrugged. "Until we have enough people and farms and industries, Miss Dupont, we'll just have to get used to altering people to fit the needs of our society. I'm sure you understand that."
"Yes, but it still seems a shame. Bodies like that don't grow on trees."
He gently moved the girl into the Rephysical Chamber. "They grow in this machine, though. As soon as we can afford it, which ought to be only a few hundred years from now, we can make any woman look like this, or even better."
"And don't forget the men," Miss Dupont said as he started the mitogenetic generator. "We could use some Adonises around here."
"We'll have them," he assured her.
"Somebody will. None of us'll live that long."
Working like a sculptor with a cathode in one hand and an anode in the other, Dr. Kalmar began reshaping the girl who stood fixedly in the boxlike chamber. The flesh fled from the cathode and chased after the anode as he broadened the fine nose, thickened the mobile lips, squared the slender jaw and drew out carefully the delicately arched orbital ridges.
"I'll leave the curl in her hair," he said. "Every woman needs at least one feature she can be proud of."
"You're telling me," Miss Dupont replied.
"Synthetic tissue, please."
She drew out a tube with a variable nozzle and started working just ahead of him. A spray of high-velocity cells shot through the girl's smooth skin at the neck, shoulders, breasts, hips and legs, forming shapeless lumps that he guided into cords and muscles. The slim figure quickly broadened, grew brawny and competent-looking, the body of a woman who could breed phenomenally while farming alongside her man.
Dr. Kalmar racked up the instruments and helped Miss Dupont dress the girl in coveralls and sandals. He felt the pride of craftsmanship when he found that the clothing supplied for her by Social Control exactly fitted her. He injected an antidote to the hypnotic and gave her the standard test for emotional response as her expressionless face cleared to placidity.
"Do you know where you are, Avis?"
"Yes. Ego Alter and Rephysical."
"What have we done to you?"
"Changed me to fit my environment."
"Do you resent being changed?"
"No." She paused and looked worried. "Who's taking care of the crops while I'm here?"
"They can wait till you and your parents get back, Avis. Let's show them the change, shall we?"
"All right," she said. "I think they'll be proud of me. This is how they always wanted me to be."
"And you?"
"Oh, I feel much better. As if I don't have to try so hard."
"I'm glad, Avis. Miss Dupont, better have a sedative ready when her father sees her. I think he'll need it."
"And her mother?" asked the nurse practically.
"She'll probably want a drink to celebrate. Give her one."
* * * * *
Dr. Kalmar's prognosis was correct, only it didn't go far enough. His young assistant from Earth had come scooting out of his disquietingly large quarters and was jittering in the office when they entered.
"Is that the pretty girl who was waiting when we came in?" he yelped in outrage. "What have you done to her?"
Dr. Kalmar gave the sedative to him instead of Mr. Emery, who was shocked, but had known in advance what to expect. Miss Dupont prepared another sedative quickly, gave Mrs. Emery a cel
ebration drink and moved the family toward the door.
"She looks fine, Doctor," the mother said happily. "Avis ought to be a big help around the house and farm from now on."
"I'm sure she will," he said.
"But she was so lovely!" wept Mr. Emery, though in a rapidly becalming voice as the sedative took effect.
The door closed behind them.
"You ought to be reported to the Medical Association back on Earth!" Dr. Hoyt said angrily. "Ruining a girl's looks like that!"
Dr. Kalmar sighed. He had hoped to be able to put off this orientation lecture until the following day, when there wouldn't be so many patients jamming his appointment book.
"All right, let's get it over with. First, I was also trained on Earth and know how Ego Alter and Rephysical are used there: Ego Alter to remove psychic blocks so people can compete better, and Rephysical so they'll be more attractive. Second, we're not under the jurisdiction of Earth's Medical Association. Third, we'd damn well better not be, because our problems and solutions aren't the same at all."
"You'd have been jailed for spoiling that girl's chances of a good marriage!"
"I didn't," Dr. Kalmar said quietly. "I improved them."
"You did nothing of the--" Dr. Hoyt stopped. "Improved? How?"
"I keep telling you this is a frontier world and you keep acting as if you understand, but you don't. Look, a family is an economic liability on Earth; it consumes without producing. That's why girls have so much trouble finding husbands there. Out here it's different. A family is an asset--if every member in it is willing to work."
"But a pretty girl like that can always get by."
"No Denebian can afford to marry a pretty girl. It's too risky. She can't work as hard as we do and still take care of her looks. And he'd worry about her constantly, which would cut into his efficiency. By having me make her a merely attractive girl in a wholesome, hearty way, Social Control guarantees more than just a marriage for her--it guarantees a contented married life."
"Sweating away on a farm," Dr. Hoyt said.
"Now that her anti-social strivings are gone, she'll realize that Deneb needs farmers instead of nightclub singers. She'll take pride in being a good worker, she'll raise as many children as she'll be capable of bearing, and she'll have a good husband and a prosperous farm. That wouldn't have satisfied her before. It will now. And she's better for it and so is Deneb."
Dr. Hoyt shook his head. "It's all upside down."
"You'll get used to it. Why not take today off and explore Denebia? You need a rest after all those months in space."
"Maybe I will," said Dr. Hoyt vaguely, slightly anesthetized.
"Good." Dr. Kalmar buzzed for Miss Dupont. "Send in the next patient, please. Oh, and Dr. Hoyt is taking the day off."
* * * * *
But the young assistant was stunned into staying by the huge size of the Social Control file that was carried by the next patient, Mr. Fallon, and his wife.
"I know just what you're thinking, Dr. Kalmar!" cried Mrs. Fallon distractedly, but with a nervously bright smile. "Those awful Fallons again! I don't blame you a bit, but--"
As a matter of fact, that was exactly what Dr. Kalmar was thinking, plus the defeated feeling that they were all he needed to make the day complete.
"Good Lord, what's in all those files?" Dr. Hoyt exclaimed.
Dr. Kalmar could have explained, but he didn't feel up to it.
Mr. Fallon, a wispy, shyly affable, poetic-looking chap, did it for him. "Papers," he said.
"I know that, but why so many?" Dr. Hoyt asked impatiently.
Miss Dupont seemed wryly amused as she watched his consternation.
"I guess you might say it's because I can't make my mind up," confessed Mrs. Fallon with an uneasy giggle. She was a big woman who might have gurgled over a collection of toy dogs on Earth, but here she was a freight checker and her husband was a statistician in the Department of Supply, though on Earth he might have been anything from a composer to a social worker. "No matter how often we rephysical Harry, I always get tired of his looks in a few months."
"And how often has that been done?" Dr. Hoyt demanded.
"I think it's eleven times. Isn't that right, dear?"
"No, sweet," said Mr. Fallon. "Thirteen."
Dr. Kalmar could have interrupted, but he considered it wiser to let his assistant learn the hard way. Miss Dupont was enjoying it too much to interfere.
"We've made him tall and we've made him short, skinny, fat, bulging with muscle, red hair, black hair, blond hair, gray hair--I don't know, just about everything in the book," said Mrs. Fallon, "and I simply can't seem to find one I'd like for keeps."
"Then why the devil don't you get another husband?"
Mrs. Fallon looked shocked. "Why, he was assigned to me!"
"Dr. Hoyt just came from Earth," Dr. Kalmar cut in at last, before a brawl could start. "He's not familiar with our methods."
"Let's hear the cockeyed reason," Dr. Hoyt said resignedly.
"We keep our population balanced," said Dr. Kalmar. "Too many of either sex creates tension, hostility, loss of efficiency; look at Earth if you want proof. We can't risk even a little of that, so we use prenatal sex control to keep them exactly equal."
"There's a wife for every man," Mr. Fallon put in genially, "and a husband for every woman. Works out fine."
"With no surplus," Dr. Kalmar added. "There are no floaters to allow the kind of marital moving day you have on Earth, where so many just up and shift over to new mates. We get ours for life. That's where Ego Alter and Rephysical come in."
"You mean people bring in their mates to have them done over?"
"If they're not satisfied and if the mates agree to be changed."
"I don't mind," said Mr. Fallon virtuously. "I figure Mabel will decide what she wants one of these changes, and then we can settle down and be happy with each other."
"But what about you?" asked Dr. Hoyt, bewildered. "Don't you want her changed?"
"Oh, no. I like her fine just as she is."
"You see now how it works?" Dr. Kalmar asked. "We can't have a variety of mates, but we can have all the variety we want in one mate. It comes to the same thing, as far as I can see, and causes much less confusion, especially since we need stable relationships."
Dr. Hoyt was striving heroically to stay indignant in spite of the sedative. "And do many ask to have their mates changed?"
"I guess we're a sort of record, aren't we?" Mr. Fallon boasted.
"I guess you are," agreed Dr. Kalmar. "And now, Dr. Hoyt, if there aren't any more questions, I'd like to proceed with this couple."
Dr. Hoyt stretched his eyes wide to keep them open. "It's all screwy to me, but it's none of my business. As soon as I finish my internship, I'm heading back to Earth, where things make sense, so I don't have to understand this mishmash you call a planet. Need help?"
"If you'd find out what Mrs. Fallon has in mind this time, it would let me run the patients through a lot faster."
"How would they feel about it?" Dr. Hoyt asked.
"It's all right with me," Mr. Fallon said amiably. "I'm pretty used to this, you know."
"But what are we going to make you look like, Harry?" his wife fretted. "I felt very jealous of other women when you were handsome and I didn't like you just ordinary-looking."
"Why not go through the model book with Dr. Hoyt?" suggested Dr. Kalmar. "There are still some types you haven't tried."
"There are?" she asked in gratified astonishment. "Would you mind very much, Dr. Hoyt?"
"Glad to," he said.
Miss Dupont brought out the model book for him, and he and Mrs. Fallon studied the facial and physical types that were very explicitly illustrated there in three-dimensional full color. Mr. Fallon, contentedly working out math problems on a sheet of paper, left the choice entirely to her.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Dr. Kalmar and Miss Dupont swiftly took care of a succession of other patients, raising
the tolerance level of frustration in a watchmaker, replating the acne-pitted skin of a sensitive youth, restoring a finger lost in a machine-shop accident, and building up good-natured aggression in an ore miner whose productivity had slumped.
Mrs. Fallon still hadn't decided when the last patient had been taken care of. She said unhappily, "I don't know. I simply absolutely don't know. Couldn't you suggest something, Dr. Hoyt?"
"Wouldn't be ethical," he told her bluntly. "Not allowed to."
Dr. Kalmar, checking the Social Control papers with Miss Dupont, wondered if he should interfere. It would lower confidence in Dr. Hoyt, which meant that people would insist on Dr. Kalmar's treating them. Then, instead of having an assistant to remove some of the load, he'd have to do the work of two men. He decided to let the young doctor handle it.
But Dr. Hoyt stood up in exasperation, slammed the book shut, and said, "Mrs. Fallon, if you know what you want, I'll be glad to oblige. But I'm not a telepathy--"
"Is there anything I can do?" Dr. Kalmar interrupted quickly, before his assistant could create any more damage.
"He doesn't have to get huffy," Mrs. Fallon said indignantly. "All I asked for was a suggestion or two."
"Insult my wife, will he?" Mr. Fallon belligerently added.
"It's my fault," Dr. Kalmar said. "Dr. Hoyt just got in today from Earth and he's tired and he naturally doesn't understand all our ways yet--"
"Yet?" Dr. Hoyt repeated in disgust. "What makes you think I'll ever--"
"And I shouldn't have burdened him with this problem until he's had a chance to rest up and look around," Dr. Kalmar continued in a slightly louder voice. "Now, let's see if we can't settle this problem before closing time, eh?"
The Fallons subsided, Dr. Hoyt watched with a sarcastic eye, though he kept silent as Dr. Kalmar and Miss Dupont, working as a shrewd team, gave them the suggestion they had been looking for. It was all done very smoothly, so smoothly that Dr. Kalmar felt professional pride because even his stiff-necked assistant was unable to detect the fact that it was a suggestion.
Dr. Kalmar got Mrs. Fallon to reminisce about the alterations her husband had undergone, and Miss Dupont promptly agreed with her when she explained why each had been unsatisfactory. It took some time, but he eventually brought her back to what Mr. Fallon had looked like when she'd first married him.