Brain World up-7

by Mack Reynolds

  The Section G Commissioner bug-eyed him. “You can’t do that!” he said indignantly.

  Dorn Horsten said mildly, “Yes, I can. The standard prejudice that double-domes, as the expression goes, don’t have muscles fails to stand up on my home world of Brobingnag, Commissioner. You see, we have a 1.4 G planet. On top of that, the original colonists, from Scandinavia, were, ah, nature boys, I believe is the usual term of disapprobation. At any rate, I would wager than Brobdingnag produces the strongest citizens in United Planets. Besides that, since boyhood I’ve made a hobby of weight lifting and, ah, doing such things as tying knots in one-inch mild steel bars.”

  “Wizard,” Metaxa sighed. “Happily, you won’t be needing your special talent on the brainworld. This assignment is purely routine.”

  “Brainworld?” Ronny said.

  “Einstein,” Metaxa said, looking over at him. “Ever heard of it?”

  “I don’t believe so. Wasn’t Einstein a prominent physicist of the 20th Century?”

  “I’ve heard of it vaguely,” Dorn Horsten said. “I met one of their scientists, a brilliant chap, at a conference on the phylum Thallophyta on the planet Firenze some time ago.”

  Metaxa nodded. “He’d be brilliant all right, if he came from Einstein.”

  “Member of the United Planets?” Ronny said.

  His superior shook his head. “No. That’s why we’re here. They just applied for membership.”

  He took up his bottle of tequila and poured himself another slug and gestured with the bottle in way of offering to Horsten.

  Doctor Horsten shook his head. “I’ve heard about your tequila,” he said mildly.

  Metaxa knocked the drink back and said, “Let me give you some background. When Einstein was first colonized, some time ago, there was one big basic requirement demanded of the colonists. Aside from good physical health, they had to have an I.Q. of at least 130.”

  “What’s I.Q.?” Ronny said.

  “An early method of measuring your intelligence,” Sid Jakes told him. “That’s a neat trick. Populating your world with double-domes, as Dorn calls them.”

  Metaxa said, “Briefly, this is how it works. It was the French psychologist Alfred Binet who created, in 1904, the first systematic intelligence tests. Quite a few variations came along later. Here’s the general idea.”

  He picked up a paper from his desk and began to read.

  “Intelligence tests consist in general of a heterogeneous series of questions to be answered, problems to be solved, and tasks to be fulfilled, all of varying degrees of difficulty, which the individual is given to complete within a specified time. The questions and other parts of the test mean nothing in themselves, and so-called standardization of the test is essential before any conclusions as to intelligence can be drawn. Standardization of a test consists in its administration to as many individuals as possible of various ages. From the results thus obtained it is possible to determine the average number of questions answered, problems solved, and tasks completed of individuals of certain ages. For example, of 100 questions, the average answered correctly by a child of 7 might be 10; by a child of nine, 15; by a child of 12, 30; and so on. If then a child of nine answers thirty questions correctly, he is classed with the children of 12 and his mental age is said to be 12. The so-called Intelligence Quotient is a comparison between this mental age and his real or chronological age, in this case 9. It is computed by dividing the mental age, 12 by the chronological age (9) and multiplying the result by 100 to eliminate the decimal point. In this case the I.Q. comes to 133, which is relatively high. As the child grows, the mental age and the chronological age generally increase at a relatively equal pace so that the I.Q. varies to only a small extent.”

  Metaxa looked up. “Most of the I.Q. tests used one hundred as the average, and it was found that the overwhelming majority of persons fell between 90 and 110. Comparatively few were below that, comparatively few above. 100 to 110 was considered to be Above Average; 110 to 120 was considered Very Intelligent; 120 to 130 was considered Superior; 130 to 140 was considered Very Superior; and above 140 was considered Gifted. Some of the tests considered above 160 to be Genius.”

  Dorn Horsten demured mildly. “That’s a somewhat elastic term,” he said. “We shouldn’t confuse genius with high I.Q. It is usually, though not always, that a genius is very intelligent, but more is needed than that. A subtle something thus far never defined. In fact, the spark of genius can sometimes, especially in the arts, be found in persons of quite mediocre I.Q. It is debatable, for instance, that Edison had an exceptional I.Q. Fairly high, most likely, but not exceptional. When he got out of his own field and commented upon such matters as politics and economics, he seemed a veritable idiot.”

  Sid Jakes said, “An indication of rating is to be found in the fact that the United States military at the time of the Second World War demanded an I.Q. of at least 110 for entry into OCS, the officer’s training school.” He chuckled. “Another indication is that at one time the U.S. Army decided that no man could hold sergeant’s rank unless he had an I.Q. of at least 90. So they gave all the sergeants an I.Q. test and so many of them failed to make 90 that they had to give up the requirement. They wouldn’t have had any sergeants left.”

  “All right, all right,” Metaxa said impatiently. “But to get back to the point. Since being first colonized with Earthlings with Very Superior I.Q.s, or more, Einstein has evidently made a policy of upgrading their average intelligence.”

  Sid Jakes whistled softly through his teeth. “That’s a neat trick. After all this time, what have they come up with?”

  Metaxa looked over at him. “We don’t know. Practically nothing is known about the world. They have never encouraged visitors from elsewhere, and certainly not United Planets.”

  Ronny was frowning. “But earlier you said that they’ve applied for membership.”

  “Yes, and that’s what we’re wondering about. Why? For a long time, since Einstein was first colonized, they’ve held themselves aloof. Absolutely haughty. A too-good-for-us sort of attitude. The only communication they usually have is with the most technologically advanced planets, such as Avalon. From time to time they’ll send delegations to such worlds and swap scientific knowledge, and technological know-how. Usually, from what our records show, they have more to give than to receive, but from time to time they pick up something that they, themselves, have thus far not hit upon.”

  Dorn Horsten said slowly, “It would seem to me that the acquisition of such a world as Einstein would fit in with the basic purpose of Section G. That is, to upgrade the human race, scientifically, technologically, so that when and if we come up against alien intelligent life we’ll be most suited to deal with it, on either friendly or other basis.”

  “That is what we are hoping for,” Metaxa said. “But we still wonder at their motivation, at this late date. What if we bring them into our confederation, a world that is intellectually superior to such an extent that they might be able to take over, lock, stock and barrel, our institutions?” He shrugged and let his moist eyes go from Horsten to Ronny Bronston. “At any rate, that’s your assignment. To go to Einstein and thoroughly case the planet.”

  Ronny said, “What’s our cover?”

  “You have none. You don’t need any. You are preliminary representatives sent by the Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs to investigate the workings of a world that has applied for membership. Nothing could be more reasonable. Later, after your report, if they are found acceptable, then, undoubtedly, a delegation from United Planets, probably including the President himself, will come to welcome them to membership.”

  He wrapped it up. “You play it straight. You should have no difficulty whatsoever. As I said earlier, it should be like a vacation.”

  Ronny’s face held puzzlement. “It doesn’t sound like my type of assignment. Why me? And why Dorn, for that matter? We’re both trouble shooters, hatchet men, as someone unkindly put it once.”


  Metaxa sighed and eyed his bottle for a moment, but then shook his head and picked it up and returned it reluctantly to the drawer. He said, “Because we put it on the computers and out of all the thousands of Probationary Agents, First Grade Agents, Supervisor Agents, and all others, Doctor Horsten had the highest intelligence rating and you had second highest. Your experience, of course, is greater than Horsten’s, so the two of you go to this damned brain world.”

  Ronny Bronston was flabbergasted. He had never thought of himself as having more than average intelligence.

  Metaxa said sourly, “But, even so, don’t play any battle chess with them. We can’t afford to show ourselves up.”

  Doctor Horsten said mildly, “They don’t play battle chess. The chap I met on Firenze introduced me to their planetary intellectual game. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of the rules and gave up. It was too advanced for me. Evidently, on Einstein, even the children play it.”

  Sid Jakes, characteristically, was chuckling. He said to Metaxa, “When they put into the computers the request for who had the highest intelligence in Section G, Chief, how did you rate?”

  The Commissioner glared at him. “Shut up, you laughing hyena,” he growled. “You don’t need brains to get places in Section G. You’re the classic example.”

  “I resemble that remark,” Sid Jakes said with mock dignity.

  Metaxa said to Ronny and Dorn Horsten, “There it is. The sooner you get going, the better. The Director of the Commissariat isn’t too happy about this. I had to talk him into it. To him, it smacks of insincerity on our part. We should welcome them with open arms to our confederation of planets.”

  Dorn Horsten had been straightening out the barrel of his Section G H-gun.

  Sid Jakes laughed and said, “Forget about it. We’ll issue you another one. You’d never be able to hit a building with that shooter, after what you did to the barrel.”

  “I hate guns,” Horsten said.

  Metaxa said, “That reminds me. You two will take your communicators but not your H-guns, nor any other Section G equipment, no matter how hideable. They’d probably have metal detectors and so forth at the spaceport and it would look suspicious for you to arrive on your type of mission armed. Einstein is said to be one of the richest, one of the most scientifically advanced, planets settled by man. They undoubtedly have all sorts of ways to detect anything off-beat about you two.”

  “Got it,” Ronny said, coming to his feet. “How do we get there? Do we have a Space Forces craft assigned to us?”

  His superior shook his head. “No. You play it very unostentatiously. You travel by commercial carrier. First class, but not in one of the most expensive staterooms. On Einstein, if you are not offered accommodations by the authorities, you stay in a good hotel, but not a deluxe one. You play everything very earnest, very sincere.”

  Chapter Five

  They had a several-day wait before getting a spacecraft going through to Einstein, and spent it getting their stories straight. They were both to be from the Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs, but not from the Bureau of Investigation and certainly not from Section G. Irene Kasansky had new papers done up for them. Metaza had the Director of the Commissariat write letters of introduction. Dorn Horsten’s wardrobe was already properly conservative for a plenipotentiary but Ronny Bronston ordered a complete new outfit.

  They were even interviewed by a newsman.

  Sid Jakes made arrangements for them to be assigned an office in the main section of the Commissariat so that the reporter wouldn’t smell a rat. There must be no indication that Section G was in any manner connected with the mission.

  Properly seated and with a drink on the small table next to his chair, the reporter said, “I’m Nick Pond. Now, let’s see. You’re Doctor Dorn M. Horsten, eminent biologist, originally from the member planet Brobdingnag.”

  “That is correct,” Dorn nodded politely.

  The reporter turned to Ronny. “And you are Citizen Ronald Bronston, born here on Earth, and formerly employed by Population Statistics in New Copenhagen, but now a diplomat for the Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs.”

  Ronny pursed his lips judiously. “Diplomat is possibily not quite the word, Citizen Pond. Doctor Horsten and I are merely an advance party going to Einstein to make the preliminary arrangements for that world to join the United Planets.”

  “What preliminary arrangements? I’ve never heard of such a mission before.”

  Ronny nodded agreement. “You are quite correct. This is the first time it has ever been done. You see, although Einstein was one of the very early planets to be colonized by mankind, we know very little about it. We are to report upon their institutions such as their government, their socio-economic system, their… ”

  “Just a minute,” Nick Pond said. “Wouldn’t that be interfering with their internal affairs, as prohibited by Articles One and Two of the United Planets Charter?”

  “Of course not,” Ronny said. “The Charter applies only to members of the United Planets. Einstein is not as yet a member.”

  The reporter scowled but looked at Dorn Horsten and said, “I looked up your career in our news morgue as an algae research specialist. Why would a biologist be sent on an expedition such as this?”

  The doctor pushed his pince-nez glasses back further on the bridge of his nose and beamed at him. He said, “Einstein is known to be one of the most scientifically oriented worlds in the known galaxy. Surely, it is appropriate that a scientist be sent in to the preliminary negotiations. I look forward to making new friends, finding new colleagues.”

  Nick Pond frowned and looked off into unseen distances. He muttered, “Something doesn’t ring true about this. It’s never been done before.”

  Ronny stiffened. All this damned newshawk had to do was broadcast his suspicions and just as sure as the Holy Ultimate made little green apples it would get back to Einstein, and they’d be on their guard.

  He said, “Citizen Pond, could I make some off the record comments?”

  The other eyed him. “Wizard.”

  “All right. It’s true that this is a new departure. And it’s time for it, too. There are now 2436 worlds that belong to our confederation. When United Planets was first conceived of and organized, it was even looser than it is now. We let in anybody without the slightest investigation whatsoever. And some of them were truly far-out. However, once in, there was no provision in the United Planets Charter for expelling a world that was a member, unless it violated Article Two. As a result, we allowed to join such planets as Stalin, whose socio-economic system was an early and vicious form of communism. On the other extreme was Phrygia, governed by an ambitious dictator and militarist. And New Delos, a theocracy, ruled by a supposed immortal God-King, who ground down the people unmercifully. Happily, the government was overthrown on Stalin and New Delos too, for that matter, after the God-King was assassinated by his subjects. And Phrygia was destroyed in a catastrophe still unexplained.”

  The reporter said, “Your point being that United Planets wishes to be more selective in the future?”

  “Yes. At the time she was destroyed, Phrygia, which was militarily far advanced, was making plans to dominate first her closer neighbors, then all of United Planets. We want no more such members in our ranks.”

  “I see. But why Einstein? I understand, though we have practically nothing on her in our data banks, she’s composed of a citizenry of, ah, stutes, ah, eggheads they called them in the old days.”

  “No particular reason for Einstein. You have to start somewhere. As you say, we know very little about her. That is why Doctor Hofsten and I are going to make a preliminary investigation.”

  Ronny smiled wryly. “For all we know, perhaps all of these brains have gone to their head.”

  The reporter laughed dutifully and came to his feet. “Well, thanks, gentlemen. And have a good trip. I’ll mention it in passing on my program but won’t play it up.”

  They stood, too, and went thro
ugh the standard amenities.

  Pond smiled and said, “I won’t mention the fact that you’re really a couple of snoops for United Planets.” The following day they took the shuttle from Greater Washington to Neuve Albuquerque and booked passage on the passenger-freighter SF Sheppard.

  It was a strictly routine interplanetary journey and both Ronny and Dorn Horsten had been on a dozen or more spacecraft similar to the Sheppard. Routine was the only word. Somehow, the faster man travels, the less interesting the trip becomes. If one walks, one experiences much, sees a good deal. There is less if one rides a horse, or bicycles. There is still less if one speeds along a road in an automobile, and still less when the road becomes a super-highway and speed can be doubled. Still less does one experience in an airliner; aside from take-off and landing, there is precious little to do or see. But space travel, especially in underspace? Pure boredom.

  All passengers—there were only three besides Dorn Horsten and Ronny—ate at the captain’s table.

  At the first dinner in space, the skipper fixed his eyes on the two Section G agents. He was a grumpy old spacehound and should have been beyond retirement age. However, some of the planets specializing in interplanetary commerce, and often using over-aged space freighters, sometimes hired these old timers, since they could get them more cheaply. The aged spacehounds, after a lifetime going about the galaxy, found it impossible to adjust to surface life, and hung onto any job they could get that would keep them in interplanetary travel.

  He said, “So you’re going to Einstein?”

  Ronny sensed an opportunity to learn something additional about their destination. He said, “Why, yes. You’ve been there before?”

  “Often,” the captain growled, breaking a roll in disgust. “It’s part of our regular run. Worst liberty set-down in the system. The crew hate it. I don’t blame them. Seldom leave my ship, myself, but spacemen need relaxation between jumps.”