It was at this stage in our journey that Klorathy informed me nothing could be done for the Lelannians. They were beyond improvement. He asked me—in that way of his—what I thought should be done in this situation, but asked, too, that I should take my time thinking about it, “putting aside my emotions.”
When we were back in the Sirian post in the hills above the rain forests, we sat together, as we had before our long and difficult journey, and we talked. I was impatient for him to come to a conclusion, to “sum up”—a favourite Lelannian expression. But he was in no hurry and for many days, and then months, our experience was allowed to, as it were, ferment between us.
He was at particular pains to make me think about the Lelannian experiments, the Lelannian attitudes towards themselves as experimenters and researchers. I was by then reluctant to do this. I had been so sickened and disgusted at what I had seen, and my inability to change anything, that I wanted only to put the whole experience out of my mind.
He said that the Lelannians, living in a rich and fruitful continent, blessed by the climate, by every natural resource, had little need to work hard to sustain themselves. That even if they had, they provided themselves with abundant slaves and servants who did their work for them. Leisure was their inheritance. It was, as the Shammat observers saw, their means of being kept in subjection, because it rotted them: the right amount of sloth and ease would keep them Shammat’s. Too much would make them useless. Shammat had influenced them towards their experimentation. Apart from a very small administrative class, who increasingly left this work to slaves trained for this purpose—who could be expected shortly to seize power for themselves, but that is another story—the ruling race as a whole occupied themselves with the increasingly refined techniques of research. There were not enough genuine avenues of enquiry to occupy everyone, and therefore the experiments became more bizarre, extensive—useless. And more and more unfortunate animals of other species were sacrificed.
Their attitude towards themselves, that everything that surrounded them was their property, to use as they wished, meant that the delicate and invisible balances of force and power were increasingly disrupted. The two Southern Continents, the Sirian responsibility, were wildly out of key, were unbalancing the already precarious Rohandan cosmic economy. There been a time, at the beginning of our journey, said Klorathy, when he believed it might be possible to arrest the brutalisation of these Lelannians, to make them see the natural balances of earth, rock, vegetation, water, fire, and the infinitely various differing species of the creatures of earth, of water, of air, as irreplaceable and distinct, each with its part to play in the invisible cosmic dance. But it had become clear the innate self-esteem of the Lelannians was too strong.
And now we come to the culminating point of our encounter, Klorathy and I: Canopus and Sirius.
He was making, in fact, a complaint. If one could call this long process of journeying together for the purposes of my instruction, and these long discussions, during which he never insisted, or demanded, but only demonstrated—a complaint. The differing roles of Canopus and Sirius, our different weights and emphases in the cosmic scale, made these conversations of ours have the effect of criticism and—on my side—of resistance.
Why had we neglected these Southern Continents?
Because they had not seemed worth our while.
But we had asked for them, had done more, had insisted on having them.
At the time we needed them. (And, of course, we were not going to let Canopus get away with anything—ridiculous and petty though this attitude was. And is.)
What were we going to do now?
The point was, Rohanda was not of much interest to our Empire. Not now. It had been relegated, with other planets, to a position of being possibly useful again in the future. Not all my persuasions, if I decided to take this course, would make Sirius actively exploit Rohanda again. It was too overrun with inferior species, too problematical—and there was Shammat, whose rule was established everywhere. Apparently with Canopean permission, and that was more than we could understand.
I said to Klorathy that there was nothing we, Sirius, could do for Rohanda.
“You will not then, I am sure, be resentful if we interest ourselves in your territories?”
“You are already! You have been for some time. I am not saying that anything you do is harmful, far from it. I am sure that without your intervention everything would be worse. But it is hypocritical to ask for permission for actions you have already taken.”
“Never without your knowledge.” At this we exchanged smiles: he was referring to the extensive and admirable Sirian espionage systems.
“But now, in my view, definite and prompt action is needed in Southern Continent II. As is being done in Isolated Southern Continent I. By your old friend Nasar, among others.”
I allowed him to understand that I did not care, would be happy to leave it all to him.
“Tell me, Sirius, now that you have seen everything and thought about it, in your opinion, is the right thing to be done?”
I exploded, out of long months of indignation and revulsion: “I would call in our fleet of Flame Makers and destroy these squalid little animals.”
He was silent for a long time.
“You are shocked, of course,” I said.
“No. I—we—cannot afford to be shocked. We have in fact destroyed cultures that have become corrupt.”
“I am surprised that the great Canopus should use such means.”
“Or surprised at our admitting it?”
“Yes. I suppose that is it.”
For we certainly would not have admitted it, in similar circumstances.
“But when we have been forced to use such means, in order to keep our balances within measure, then these been small local cultures. A city… a group of two or three cities… even a few particularly damaging individuals. At this very time, in the area of the great inland seas…” and he seemed distressed, in pain “…we are being forced to take certain steps… This is not the most pleasant of tasks, this Shikastan assignment.”
“No. It is a horrible place.”
“But are you actually suggesting we should destroy all life over a continent?” he asked reproachfully.
“They should be treated as they treat others.”
“A hard rule, Sirius… tell me, have you ever reflected that our behaviour influences theirs?”
This came too close to certain private thoughts of mine, and I exploded with: “The native tribes may be sympathetic enough now, harmless, but you know as well as I do that given opportunity they will become as bad as the Lelannians. That is why this is such a planet.”
“It is not the fault of the planet.”
“That way of thinking is not within our scope, Canopus,” I said, looking at him as forcefully as I could, hoping that he would—at last, as I then saw it—begin to reveal truths, secrets, Canopean expertise.
“Why isn’t it, Sirius?”
This silenced me. He was saying that I had admitted our inferiority and that he was challenging its inevitability.
“Why? … and here we are,” he added, in a low, reproachful voice.
“Very well then, what do you think should be done?”
“I propose that we space-lift all the Lelannians away from this planet.”
“Where to?”
“Why,” he said smiling, “Shammat, of course. Each to his own.”
I laughed. “There are a million of them!”
“You are rich, Sirius. You have large fleets. You are in the habit of transporting populations from planet to planet. And you suffer from underemployment.”
“It is absolutely out of the question that I could get Administration to agree. They would not waste so many resources on such an inferior species.”
He was silent for a while. “Sirius, very often a great deal of time, effort, and resources are spent on ‘inferior’ species. Everything is relative, you know!”
; I did not choose to “hear” this. Not at that time.
“You are also very rich, Canopus. Are you telling me that you do not transport populations from planet to planet?”
“Yes, I am telling you that. Not for the reasons you do, at least. Very rarely. We have a very finely balanced economy, Sirius. Exactly and delicately tuned. And if we were to undertake to transport a million animals from here to Shammat, then this would impose a strain on us.”
There was a great deal of information in this, of the kind I wanted so much to have from him—about Canopus and its nature. But I was too disturbed at that juncture to take it in.
“I tell you, it is not possible for me to arrange it.”
“Not possible for one of the five senior administrators of the Sirian Colonial Service?”
“No.”
“I appeal to you. It may surprise you to know that your economy is more flexible in certain ways than ours.”
“I am sorry.”
“Then we shall have to undertake it.”
I attempted to joke in the face of his evident disappointment, and even worry. “A million all at once will certainly impose a strain on Shammat!”
“It might keep them busy for a bit, at least. And I must confess it does give me some pleasure, unworthy though it is, I am sure, that these will become slaves now in their turn. Shammat is short of labour at this time.”
“I share your feelings.”
“Will you help us perhaps with the task of rehabilitating the tribes?”
And now I did hesitate for a long time. I did feel in the wrong about refusing our aid in the matter of the mass space-lift. I was feeling lacking generally in relation to Canopus—hardly a new emotion! But I also could not understand why he, or they, should concern themselves with this trivial nastiness.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why take so much trouble?”
“It will be useful for us—for everyone—for the whole Galaxy, if the tribes are enabled to return as far as possible to their old state. They will be returned to their own territories, and encouraged to resume their former simple lives in balance with the environment. Not taking more than they need, not despoiling, not overrunning their geographical areas, or laying waste. Before the Lelannian conquest this continent was in harmony. We shall see that it becomes so again.”
“And for how long?” I enquired, making him face me on this.
“Well, not forever, certainly. No. That we know.”
“Why?—oh, don’t talk to me of the Necessity!”
“There is nothing else, or less, I can talk to you of.”
“Then do so,” I cried, excited and peremptory. “I am waiting. I feel always at the edge of things, and you never come to the point.”
At this he looked, at first, faintly startled, then grieved, and then—as if he had determined to use this aid—amused.
“Sirius, you are indeed hard to please.”
I was angry. I was angry because of knowing I was in the wrong. I even knew then that this was why I was so fatally angry. I rose to my feet, unable to prevent myself, and said: “Canopus, I am leaving now.”
“I shall not prevent you!” said he, in an attempt to remind me of our old ironical understanding of the real situation.
“Very well, you can stop me if you want. But you won’t. Perhaps I would even be glad of that—if you would simply, and once and for all, do something unequivocal.”
And now he laughed. He laughed out, shaking his head with comical disbelief. This finally enraged me. I ran out into the open, summoned the hovering Space Traveller, and turned to see him in the doorway watching.
“May I perhaps give you a lift? To your Planet 10, perhaps? I shall be passing it.”
“I shall be staying here for a while.”
“Then goodbye.”
And that was how this encounter of ours came to its conclusion.
Once again, distancing myself, it was with relief. I was simply not up to it! It was all too much! And, as I approached home again, I found myself muttering: “That’s it then—it's enough!” And: “Very well, if that's how you want it!” But what these defiances actually meant was something I soon discovered, after I reported back and started to re-align myself with the work I had interrupted, for I found my mind was at work in quite other ways.
Recently I was scanning a history of that time in connection with a different subject, when I came across this: “Checks and restrictions were imposed on our experimental and research programmes; and as a result the numbers of animals licensed for use fell sharply.”
In this dry sentence is encapsulated what I am sure must have been the hardest effort of my career. I did not depart for the borders of our Empire. I did not apply for leave—which I was entitled to. I did not do, as Klorathy wanted, anything about our responsibility for Rohanda. But what I did do was engage myself with a fight to force us, Sirius, into a different attitude towards our subject populations, and particularly as regards their use as laboratory material. This battle is by no means over. As I write this, different factions of opinion are still engaged.
Large-scale experiments of the biosociological kind are in progress—the kind that one of our wits has summed up as: What if we…? In other words, populations are subjected to this and that stress, or the planets of planets moved about—all that class of thing. I am far from claiming that this does not cause suffering.
Of course it does. I do not believe that it is useful—as some of our technicians still do—to say things of this sort: “These creatures are of so low a mental development that they do not know what is happening to them.” Yes, I was certainly of their company—once. I like to think that it was a long time ago. It will not have escaped the speculation of the more sensitive reader that my—perhaps unnecessarily full—account of the Lombis was for a purpose. But it is not possible to avoid such disturbances of a Colonised Planet altogether. What would then be the purpose of colonising one? No planet is welcomed into the Sirian system without careful thought and planning and, as I have said, at this particular time our expansion is suspended.
To be of the Sirian whole is to be part of progress, development, an attitude of “one for all and all for each!” Sacrifices have to be made by everyone for such an ideal. I want to make it clear, here, at this point, that I do not demand the total abolition of all social disturbance—that would be to demand the end of Sirius itself—Sirius the Planet, herself daughter of the great star Sirius, and sister to her two siblings—Sirius the glorious, with her wonderful children scattered so felicitously through the Galaxy. Of course, I cannot mean that, cannot want that… I want no part of the sentimentalism that says that “Nature has its rights!” “Each in its own place!” Or “Hands off…”—whatever planet is in question: to mention a few of the more popular current slogans. No. It is the duty of the more evolved planets, like the great daughter of Sirius, to guide and control.
But that is a very different thing from using not hundreds, not thousands, not even millions, but billions of animals of all kinds and types of genera and species in cruel and unnecessary experiments. As we used to do. For a very long time. For not millennia, but for long ages. I say unnecessary. I use the word knowing how this goes straight to the point of the argument, the disagreement. Necessary for what?
At the time of my return from Rohanda on that trip, two-thirds of all the technicians throughout the Empire were employed on experiments on various kinds of animals. These were of every kind, from the mild to the horrific. In some there was concern that the pain suffered by the animals should be kept minimal. In others there was no concern at all. But, as often happens, the debate that started, and then raged—the only word for it—as a result of my efforts, was centered on the pain suffered or not suffered, and how much, and how it should be regulated, was not discussed then—and what to my mind has not been adequately recognised since—is the question of the actual use of the animals at all, our attitude to them, what right we have to arbitrarily take them and exploit
them according to our current needs. And this question, which to my mind is the real one, is rooted in another, much deeper: what is a genus for? What is its function? What does it do? What part does it play in the cosmic harmony?
It will be seen that I approach here the Canopean formula, or tenet, or habit of mind: according to the Necessity.
It is also, of course, linked with our existential situation or problem. And much more fundamentally than on that level where we had to face the truth that something like fifteen millions of our most highly trained technicians were without an occupation. Without a function. Which is what we did have to face as the controversy raged, and resulted in public opinion changing to the point where it could not tolerate any longer the mass torture—the accurate word—the mass and unnecessary torture of billions of living creatures. If we, Sirius were—are—to decide, at last, what we are for, what our function is, then it follows that we have to wonder at last what these lower animals are for.
Well, a great many of us are now pondering just this question… The fifteen million technicians, finding themselves without a use, were retired, according to our custom, on to planets of their choice, to live out the remainder of their lives in honour and peace. And, of course, to join those who have leisure to devote themselves to our basic, crucial, quintessential problem. Most of them died off very quickly. This is what happens when a class of workers finds itself obsolete.
None of this happened without bitterness, emotional and mental conflict, even—in some planets—rioting and social disturbance. It will almost certainly strike present-day students unpleasantly, and surprisingly, to know that some of the slogans under which these old battles were fought included: What we have, we hold. Might is right. Victory to the strongest. The ends justify the means. The function of the inferior is to serve the superior.
Our entire administrative class was threatened. As for my own position, I had to face a long period of near-ostracism. That I was wrongheaded was the least of it. It was only with difficulty that I avoided being sent off to Adjustive Hospitalisation. Yes, it was put about that my mentality had been affected by sojourns in inimical climates on unpleasant planets—Rohanda being chiefly blamed. And in some moods I even found myself agreeing with my critics. It was not always easy to see Klorathy’s influence on my life—on (I insist) Sirius—as unambiguously good.
The Sirian Experiments Page 28