Super-State

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by By Brian Aldiss


  ‘In particular, our involvement in the Cold War, many years ago, when sufficient nuclear weapons to blow the world apart were stockpiled. Our continuous plundering of the planet, so that we now face weather upheavals of destructive global power. [Old newsreel footage backed this section of Potts’s argument.]

  ‘Perhaps you reject all these facts as mere incidental blemishes on the face of the splendid civilisation we have built up. Splendid, is it? I would say ramshackle! It is true that, for almost a century now, Europe has managed to stop tearing itself apart, and has united instead. But how is it that over the course of thousands of years we have never managed to build up a stable, just and permanent society? Our strongest empires get washed away like mud huts in a downpour.

  ‘We need not have been — we need not be — like that! Or were and are all the miseries and disasters we label as history inevitable? If that’s so, then we are merely a clever neotenic species, not a wise one — by no means Homo sapiens. Perhaps not even fully conscious within the meaning of the word. Is it not saddening, maddening, that we have never built a better world? Perhaps we prefer squalor to order.

  ‘In the West we live in what our grandparents would have called a material Utopia; yet misery plays as large a part in human life as ever.

  ‘From my short list of stupidities, I have omitted a vital one: the reluctance to learn. A culture is under threat if its children and its youth become reluctant, for whatever reason, to learn, if they shun education. Facts sometimes penetrate the human skull amazingly slowly.

  ‘But seeing for oneself can also be misleading. The ancient Greeks discovered that the Earth revolves round the Sun. For many centuries in Catholic Christendom, this knowledge was banned. In a recent poll, over half of our population still believed that the Sun orbited the Earth!

  ‘Isn’t that shameful? Alarming? Degrading?

  ‘The uncertain day of our new Space Age demonstrates that, however faulty our brains may be, we are capable of tremendous technical ingenuity. We have failed to make much spiritual progress since the Stone Age, although Paulus Stromeyer’s SAC, the societal algebraic coding, will certainly mark an advance in society when universally applied. (Do not forget that our societies are still infested with crime, like old buildings with rats.)

  ‘Only science and technology have been able to build upon themselves. We confidently expect that in this century the human exploration of our solar system, accompanied by unmanned space probes, will be conducted on other planets and satellites. [Stellar prospects here.] Already, brave men are approaching the gas giant, Jupiter, in the hope of discovering life on one of its satellites.

  ‘To me, as to many of my friends, this is the most exciting of prospects. Why are such prospects not discussed avidly in pubs and on street corners, instead of the questionable virtues of footballers and pop stars?

  ‘The answer is not only that triviality is the common coin of the common mind. The truth was formulated in the early years of the twentieth century by H.G. Wells, in a lecture entitled “The Discovery of the Future”. Wells spoke of two types of mind. The majority of people, he said, are retrospective in their habit of reasoning, interpreting the things of the present solely in relation to the past. The other type of mind, much in the minority, is constructive in habit, interpreting the things of the present in relation to things designed or foreseen.

  ‘This latter type of mind needs to be cultivated. Incidentally, it foresaw the damaging effects of global warming over fifty years ago.

  ‘Now this minority mind looks forward towards the time when many humans leave this planet, perhaps for good, and venture outwards, establishing themselves on Mars in preparation for the greater leap towards the gas giants, Jupiter and Saturn, and their beckoning satellites, and then on beyond, into the deep unknown. We expect by then that our little spaceships will have a better propellant than the current polluting chemical fuels.

  ‘Without better drives, we shall never reach other planetary systems. I must leave to you, my audience, the question of whether the human race, with all its madness, is not best confined to its own limited system.

  ‘Let us hope that for the time being we do not encounter any of the alien consciousnesses with which popular entertainment seems to be full, from Star Trek onwards.

  ‘As I have mentioned, a primitive spaceship, bearing three courageous astronauts, is rapidly approaching the Jupiter system.

  ‘Supposing we did encounter, on Callisto or Ganymede, an alien species—let’s say an alien species here on a visit from some distant planetary system. Supposing we discovered that those alien brains, forged over many millennia, had achieved a blossoming of full consciousness denied to us — brains possibly not trapped within a limiting skull-case. Suppose further that in consequence these visitors were more reasonable, more wise, and less prone to error and vice, than we.

  ‘How would we then behave? To judge by past examples, we would attack them in fury and shame. Or perhaps we may allow ourselves to hope that the very act of leaving Earth, of enduring an existence exposed to the majesty of the cosmos, would instil true wisdom in us.

  ‘We could then benefit from contact with superior alien wisdom. For I have no doubt that, with the dawn of true wisdom, such matters as war, conquest, retribution would not be allowed admittance into our considerations.

  ‘This is the very moment—the solemn moment — when such cogitations must occupy our minds. [Again, Potts showed the skull he had disinterred.] Our friend here can have entertained no such thoughts. But he was perhaps closer to the eternal mysteries of nature than we. In many ways we have become more trivial than previously, now that we huddle in cities and sleep in sealed rooms.

  ‘Is it credible that our minds, our very consciousness, might rise up to embrace the wonders and riddles about to confront us in space? Or has too much evolutionary energy gone into the bone, and too little into the brain? Are we, in fact, capable of becoming truly Homo sapiens sapiens?

  ‘The answers to such questions lie, like the skulls of the long dead, buried in the sands of time.’ [Daniel Potts was now seen on one knee, clutching the old skull, looking directly into the camera, the very embodiment of wisdom. The picture faded.]

  A blare of music from the screen woke Roberta. She was sprawled on the sofa. She rose and stretched. Moving slowly, yawning, she wandered into the kitchenette and made herself a mug of instant coffee. Clutching the mug, she went upstairs. Olduvai sat on the edge of the bed, clipping his toenails.

  ‘So what was the old bastard on about this time?’ he asked, looking up.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Skulls and space travel. It was over my head. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Did he mention me?’

  She laughed. ‘What? On the ambient?! You’re joking.’

  Olduvai’s mofo rang. He picked it up. ‘What? What in hell do you want? Where are you? Shit! I don’t believe it. Look . . .’ He pulled the phone from his ear. ‘I don’t believe it. What?’ He jumped up, flinging the nail clippers to the other end of the room.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

  Olduvai hardly had time to explain that it was the old bastard himself, arriving in a taxi, when the front door bell chimed.

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘God knows.’ Olduvai was already moving in the direction of the stairs.

  As he wrenched open the front door to confront his father, his first thought was, What a small man! Daniel was in fact a third of a metre shorter than his son and would most likely tip the scales at less than half his weight. His taxi was driving away as he stood there.

  ‘You’re the only one I could turn to,’ said Daniel. ’Mind if I come in?’ He had a suitcase at his feet.

  ‘Hang on. Where’s Lena?’

  ‘I’ve left her. The marriage wasn’t working out.’

  Olduvai could not conceal his surprise. ‘Not working out! How long have you two been married?’

  ‘Twenty-six years, I think it is. Time to move on. Woul
d you let me in, please, Oldy? You’re the only friend I have.’

  ‘I’m not your friend. I’m your fucking son—or I was till you disowned me.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all in the past.’ Daniel spoke with irritation. ‘Let’s not stand arguing here. Please let me in. I’m tired. I’ve had a long taxi ride.’

  ‘Seventy kilometres, isn’t it? Why don’t you go and stay with the Stromeyers or someone? Someone who likes you?’

  Roberta could contain herself no longer. ’But you were on the ambo just five minutes ago. How did you manage it?’

  Daniel looked superciliously at her. ‘Woman, whoever you are — the cleaner here, I suppose — my talk was recorded two days ago, thanks to the miracles of modern science.’

  He stepped over the threshold into the hall, carrying his suitcase. Reluctantly, Olduvai closed the door behind him.

  ‘You’d better come in,’ he said sarcastically.

  They stood regarding each other. Daniel dropped his gaze. ‘I’m a bit peckish,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you could run to an omelette. Cheese preferred. Goat’s cheese?’

  Coming forward, Roberta took his arm and led him to the inner room. ‘Sit down and I’ll see what I can do.’

  Olduvai raised an eyebrow, made a resigned comic face at Roberta, and went back upstairs to his bed and his nail clippers.

  The senior Potts seated himself at a small table, setting his suitcase down beside him. He folded his hands in his lap and was perfectly composed. Roberta busied herself in the kitchenette. She called out through the hatch, ‘My name is Rob Bargane. I heard some of your talk. I met your son at the de Bourcey marriage ceremony My elder brother was Master of Banquets there. Wayne Bargane, remember?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Roberta said nothing more until she brought in an omelette sizzling on a decorative plate.

  ‘It’s kind of you,’ said Daniel. ‘Thank you.’

  She stood by him as he began to eat, saying nothing. He gave her a quizzical glance upwards but also said nothing. She looked down on his thinning sandy hair and the fragile-seeming skull.

  ‘Perhaps you would like a glass of wine?’

  ‘Thank you. White, please. A dry white. And a glass of water.’

  She brought the wine and the water and set them down by his plate.

  ‘Very nice omelette,’ he said.

  She launched into conversation, ’Dr Potts, I come from a very united family. The Barganes are not prosperous, although SAC is helping us. Perhaps that’s why we are united. We all support the other members of the family. I don’t understand how your family is — well, all to pieces. I wonder if you understand it.’

  He said between mouthfuls. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘I think it is. Your son is a fine man. I really love him. Do you know how I met him? It was at the wedding. I was working as a waitress. When that herd of mustangs almost stampeded into the guests, any number of people could have been killed and injured. But Oldy jumped on to the back of the lead stallion. I saw him do it. It was wonderful. He turned the herd around. The sort of thing you used to see in films. A real hero! You should be proud to have a son like that.’

  ‘Just let me have my supper in peace, if you don’t mind.’

  She went and sat at the chair opposite him, confronting him across the table.

  ‘Dr Potts, perhaps this talk makes you feel uncomfortable. How do you think Oldy feels? When we were getting to know each other, he broke down, crying. Yes, crying. Because he had been disowned. And then his sister. You have a daughter. Josie, is it? You disowned her too. What kind of a man can you be? Disown your own children? I don’t understand how you could do that. Now you’ve left your wife?’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you won’t talk . . .’ She sighed. ‘There’s a room upstairs at the back of the house you can have. I’ll show you.’

  Daniel put his knife and fork precisely together in the centre of his empty plate. ’Thank you,’ he said. He drained his wine glass before rising from the table.

  * * * *

 

  * * * *

  Despite the threat of impending war, Jack Harrington had opened a new art gallery in the business section of Brussels. The private view had gone well. Jack was as cheerful as he was impeccably dressed when he arrived home.

  Rose Baywater was at the computer, working on her sixteenth chapter.

  I came to the very lip of the cliff, where turf gave way to nothingness. There lay the golden beach and there the vast ocean—vast but, on this day of days, mine, all mine. As if it sensed my mood, its waves were growing smaller; and retreating, revealing shimmering sand the colour of a Pharaoh’s gold.

  My curls were blowing in the warm breeze. And I told myself aloud, as I flung my arms out to embrace the blue air; ‘How wonderful is this glorious world!’

  As I was about to—

  She broke off, saved her work, and went to greet Jack.

  Jack was removing the cork from a bottle of Australian Shiraz. He told Rose of the event, and of what paintings had been sold. Three very good Morsbergers had gone, and the collection of West Coast Expressionism had been popular. Amy Haze, the amaroli woman, had bought a large Diebenkorn.

  ‘What is amaroli?’ asked Rose.

  ‘It’s an old Hindu custom. Apparently, it helps you prolong life.’

  ‘What is it, exactly?’

  ‘Well, Rose, I wonder you haven’t heard. La Haze is well known for the business. Amaroli is drinking your own piss.’

  ‘Really, Jack. You’re joking, aren’t you? How horrid!’

  ‘Apparently it contains melatonin or something, if taken early in the morning.’

  ‘Disgusting.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’

  ‘You don’t know anything.’

  As the red wine frolicked into the glasses, Jack was moved to tease Rose, saying that Amygdella Haze was a pretty woman, though not in the first flush of youth. ‘Perhaps a spoonful of sugar per glass and her piss might even taste quite pleasant.’

  She rebuked him for being so coarse. Then she began suddenly to cry. Tears burst from her eyes, rolled down her cheeks, and splashed on the tiled floor.

  You’re as bad as my father. He was always joking about such things. He thought the human body was very nasty. He told me my body was nasty. I’ve never forgotten it. It was my twelfth birthday. I’ve always suffered. You know how I’ve hated my body—I won’t say anything about yours. All its hairy bits. All its smells. And then there’s pissing, as you call it. You may not think my body is nasty, but I do.’ Fresh tears fell. She rushed about, looking for a box of tissues. Finding one, she mopped her face.

  Jack looked on, uttering calming words. He had witnessed this sorry performance previously, and many times. He knew how easily his partner’s mind was disturbed.

  When she had calmed somewhat, he put a dapper arm round her shoulders. She did not shrug it off, though an occasional sob shook her body. Jack kissed her damp cheek. She blew her nose.

  ‘Come upstairs, Rose, darling. I want to undress you and show you just how much I love your body.’

  ‘It’s so ugly.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. I want to lick it all over.’

  ‘Oh, Jack, but I’ve got to finish the vital chapter sixteen . . .’

  ‘You can do that later. First, I have to deal with you . . .’

  * * * *

  TheRoddenberry was a tiny needle in the lethal
immaculacy of space. Beyond its hull loomed Jupiter. Its stresses could be felt as they entered the magnetosphere. Outside the ship, electromagnetic radiation and charged particles were storming across the spectrum. Within, all was silent with tension, and squalid. A halitus clung like a globular fog about the mouths of the three crew. Two of them dangled from lockers in their sleeping bags like giant cocoons, while the third member worked at an exercise bike wedged into the narrow space. He counted under his breath the number of revolutions he was making, watching the figures notch up on the odometer.

 

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