A Rage for Revenge watc-3

by David Gerrold

  Nobody moved.

  "Good. No robots. At least none who know they are. I suspect that there are more than a few of you who don't know yet that you're robots. But, we'll handle that too before this course is over." His grin was terrifying.

  He strode around the edge of the platform again. "So, listen up now! Listen to the instructions very carefully this time. I'm going to say it again. If you are willing to do The Survival Process, please stand up."

  There was more shuffling of shoes and chairs. About thirty more people stood up.

  Foreman's expression was unreadable. He said, "I want you to notice what's going on inside your heads now. Some of you stood up to volunteer just now because you thought I was making it wrong to remain sitting. Some of you are sitting because you've learned that it's dangerous to volunteer. Some of you stood up in the first place because you think that makes you look good. Some of you stood up because you think volunteering is the right thing to do, or because you think this exercise might be fun, or because you wanted to be the one that everybody looks at. All of those thoughts-and all of the thoughts I haven't mentioned as wellthose are the votes that your survival mode is trying to cast on this process. Don't worry. Before we're through today, we're going to do major damage to your survival mode. We might even destroy it in some of you. You might have to reconstruct it in a whole new way. No, I won't explain that. Put your hand down." He stopped circling and looked out at us-at me? I couldn't be sure.

  "Now, I want you to be clear: there are only two options here. Stand up or sit down. You can do either. What you do is an expression of your willingness to do The Survival Process. That's all we want to see right now. Whether you're willing or not.

  "Now we haven't told you yet what the process is, or what may or may not happen here. That's part of the exercise, that it's unknown. All I will tell you about it is that it will take us all day and I need two volunteers. Now, I will repeat the instruction. If you are willing to do The Survival Process, then stand up. If you are not willing, then sit down."

  Several people who were standing, sat down. Several more people stood up. I thought about it. I was beginning to get a sense of what Foreman meant. I stood up.

  Foreman waited while we sorted ourselves out. "Anyone else want to change their mind?"

  One more person sat down. Two more stood up.

  "Some of you are trying to figure this out now. You're trying to outthink me. You're trying to look good. Notice that you're doing that. Notice that whatever you're doing, whether you're standing or sitting, you're doing it because you think that's the thing to do to survive this exercise. Notice that your survival mode is in full control of your mind, right this minute.

  "Listen to me!" Foreman bellowed suddenly. "You are in The Survival Process whether you are willing to be here or not! We are going to do The Survival Process today. You don't get a vote about that. What you're expressing here is not if you will do it. You will do it. There's no question about that. What you are expressing is how you feel about doing it. Are you willing to do it?"

  Several more trainees jumped to their feet. And just as many sank back down into their chairs. Foreman noticed, but didn't stop talking. "That's why I said that every single one of you here in this room should be standing up now. If you're not willing to be here, then what the hell are you doing here?"

  He looked at us as if he were reading our minds. He peered down at us like an inquisitor. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Was he daring us to speak? What did he want us to do?

  Another trainee stood up then, cautiously. Foreman whirled to face her. "No! Don't stand up now. It's too late. Now you're doing it because you know what the right answer is. That's being a robot again. Listen, I don't do this course for robots!

  "I asked you if you were willing. I didn't say it was wrong to be unwilling. If you're unwilling, then that's what you are: unwilling. The point is, if you are unwilling, then why are you here? You need to look and see what you've got going on about why you're here and why you're doing this course. Are you doing this course to look good? Because it's the right thing to do? Because it will make you somehow superior to the people around you, or give you an advantage? That's your survival mode talking. Those are the wrong reasons to be here, because this course has nothing to do with survival. It's about something beyond mere survival. No, I'm not going to explain that yet; because most of you are still tied up in survival mode and until we bust your investment in survival, we can't talk about anything but survival."

  Foreman stepped down from the platform then and began to walk among us. He lowered his voice and spoke to us like a friend.

  "The fact of the matter is that all of you are willing to do The Survival Process. You indicated that by walking into the room this morning. You made that commitment when you said you would stay with this course until it was completed.

  "The point of this little demonstration was to give you some sense of how you, as a group, are approaching this course. I wanted you to see how you express your willingness. You see, some of you still aren't here; your bodies are here, but in your heads, you've still got one foot out the door-and we cannot go on until that's handled.

  "It's very clear that some of you have figured out how to survive this course. You're going to sit in your seats and not call attention to yourselves. You're going to endure whatever you have to until it's over, and that's how you'll survive. That's what you're up to-survival. That's the highest expression of your humanity. Survival. And that's all that can be expected of you. Each and every one of you expresses it in a different way, but right now, this minute, the only thing we can count on you to do is whatever is necessary to guarantee your survival or the survival of those things you have a significant investment of identity in.

  "Let me explain that. Some of you might sacrifice your lives for the survival of your wives or husbands or children; but that's still survival. It's the survival of your family. Some of you might sacrifice yourself for your country or your flag. That's survival of the country, or the flag. I'm not making any judgments here. It's neither right nor wrong; it's only survival. Some of you in this room might even sacrifice yourselves for the survival of the species. And that's still survival. It's all survival. It's only survival. You will fight for the survival of anything that you have invested your identity in.

  "Let me show you something. Everybody sit down." He waited until we had resumed our seats. "I say that you have a significant investment in survival. I'm not making a judgment about this. It's not right or wrong. It's just an observation. I say that you have a significant investment in survival. Now, if that's true for you, stand up. If you've got a lot of attention on surviving this course, stand up."

  At least three hundred of us stood up. Maybe more. A few of us exchanged embarrassed smiles. There was even a little nervous laughter in the room.

  "Good," laughed Foreman. He looked around the room. "These are the courageous cowards: They know how bad it's going to be, so they'll jump in to get the worst of it over with quickly." He looked out over the group. "Anyone want to join the courageous cowards? Where are the hiders? Those of you who know you belong in this category, but you don't want to stand up yet?"

  About two dozen people stood up to join us.

  "You want to notice here that the hiders hide because they think that's the way to survive. They think that when the shit hits the fan, they can hide and it'll miss them. Too bad. In this course, the hiders always get the worst of it. You have all been warned." There was friendly laughter in the room. The mood was getting lighter now.

  "All right. Now, those of you who are lying about it-you know you should be standing, but you're not-you stand up. Good. "

  A few more people stood up. They looked embarrassed. More good-natured giggling.

  "You want to notice that these are the people who think they have to lie to survive. Ladies especially take note. These men are very poor marriage risks. You men, you want to watch out for these ladies. No, don
't sit down. I'm not through.

  "Anyone who isn't sure, stand up. I promise you, you're worrying about your survival too. Your way to deal with the issue is to worry about it. It lets you look responsible without having to take a stand. Go ahead, stand up."

  There were only a dozen people left sitting.

  "Now, I want you all to notice the ones who are still sitting," Foreman said. "They're the ones who claim they don't have any energy invested in surviving. That's called a position. They have a lot of survival invested in that position. These are the holdouts. They don't participate. That's their way of participating. That's their way of surviving.

  "So, let me tell you what you think survival is, so you can recognize it. You think survival is being right. You think survival is looking good. You think survival is doing the right thing. Everybody sit down." Foreman waved us back down into our seats. "Listen, this is the point of The Survival Process. You will do whatever you think you have to do-whatever that is-to survive. Let me say that again. You will do whatever you think you have to do to survive. In fact, that's all you can do. You can't do anything that isn't a function of survival.

  "So, let's discuss that for a bit; I can see that some of you don't agree with that. Good. That's fine. I'm not going to ask you to agree with it or disagree with it. We're just going to look at it and see if it's true. If it's true, it doesn't matter whether we agree with it or not, does it?" Again the grin. I wanted to check and see if there was a trap door under my chair. Or an exploding whoopee cushion.

  "All right . . . we'll start with biology. Any biologists in the room?"

  I raised my hand. So did several others.

  "Good. You should already know this. Let me work with someone who doesn't. Any nonbiologists here?"

  More hands. He pointed at a Latino man. "You. Delgado. What is the most important thing a living creature must do?" "Reproduce?"

  "That's part of it, but that's not all of it. What's the most important thing a living creature must do?"

  "Eat?"

  "You're guessing. Stop trying to figure it out. Someone else? What's the most important thing a living creature must do?" He pointed at a young woman.

  She stood up. "Survive."

  "Right. See, sometimes the answers are easy. If a creature doesn't survive, it can't do anything else, can it? Without survival, there isn't anything. You all know that; if not consciously, you certainly know it viscerally. You definitely know it on a cellular level. Every single cell of your body has only one single purpose-to survive. It is the fundamental law of biology. "

  Of course. I knew that. Tell me something I don't know. I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair.

  Foreman stepped up the aisle to come face to face with the young woman. Her name was Ozalie. Her hair was a crown of shiny black curls that fell in ringlets about her face. She looked like a little girl. "Okay, now it gets hard. What's the purpose of life?"

  " U h."

  "I said the purpose, not the meaning."

  "The purpose of life . . . is to survive, isn't it?"

  "Is it?" He looked at her as if daring her, as if it were a secret that he knew and wasn't going to share.

  Ozalie shook her head. "I don't know."

  "Right. Only God knows." Foreman winked at her. "You're making this too easy, you know." Qzalie looked pleased with herself.

  Forman looked around to the rest of us. "God chooses what the purpose of life is. That's God's job. And we're not going to be so presumptuous as to preempt that responsibility, not until we're willing to assume the responsibilities of gods. If we were gods, however, then we could choose for ourselves what the purpose of life should be. For myself, I'd choose that the purpose of life should be to make a difference on the planet. Some of you might choose to have a good time; play hard, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse. But then, that's not the kind of choice a god might make, is it?

  "Okay, never mind that for now. We're not gods yet, and that particular discussion is beyond your ability to comprehend. Let's keep this on the level that even the average chimpanzee will be able to understand. All right, Ozalie, you don't know what God's purpose is for your life, do you? Do you know what your purpose is? Wait . . ." Foreman abruptly headed toward the back of the room for something. ". . . before you answer, let me read the. definition of purpose from the dictionary." He snatched one up off the table at the back of the room. " 'An intended or desired result. An aim or goal."' He handed the dictionary back to an assistant and returned to Ozalie. "Think hard. I promise you that your life depends on this. What is your purpose for yourself?"

  Ozalie stopped looking so pleased with herself and looked uncertain instead. She shook her head and admitted, "I thought it was . . . I guess it's . . ." She looked very unhappy with herself and when she spoke again, her voice was almost a squeak. "I guess, I'm committed to survival, aren't I?" she admitted. "That's my only purpose, isn't it?"

  Forman nodded thoughtfully: "Terrifying realization, isn't it?" he acknowledged. He turned to the rest of us. "Ozalie gets the irony: Do the rest of you? Survival is the wrong goal. You are destined to lose. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. If not the day after, then someday, I promise you, you will die. Count on it. Your life is a finite experience. But you-even though you've known that unconfrontable fact all your life--continue to pretend that you can win the battle of survival. You can't: All that you can do is postpone your defeat. And that's what you call victory."

  Foreman looked angry. "Do you get how stupid that is? Postponing a defeat is not a victory. It is still a defeat! You're just stretching out the whole tragic exercise. And you call that a life? Yes, some of you are beginning to realize the cost of a lifetime

  = dedicated to survival. There's no life at all in that kind of a life." For some reason, Ozalie was in tears now. She stood beside Foreman, weeping quietly; the tears were running down her cheeks.

  Foreman handed her a tissue and waved her back into her seat. He crossed to the opposite side of the room. "All right, I said I needed two volunteers. You've already selected yourselves. Everybody check the bottom of your chair. You will find an envelope taped to the bottom of it. Don't open it yet."

  I felt around under my seat, expecting to find nothing-and for a moment, I did. Then my fingers brushed the edge of the envelope and I pulled it off and brought it out and looked at it.

  The people around me were finding envelopes of their own. We glanced at each other's, but they all looked the same.

  Foreman was looking around the room. "All right, here's how it works. Don't open your envelopes yet. I'll tell you when. All of the envelopes have cards in them. All but two of the envelopes contain blank white cards. The two remaining envelopes have red cards in them. The assistants do not know which envelopes contain the red cards. The envelopes were shuffled for fifteen minutes before they were taped under the chairs. Nobody knows, not even me, where the two red cards are. And you know that you selected your seats at random, the same way you have every day for the past six days.

  "Now, everybody's going to go through this process, but two of you are going to go through it up here on the platform as a way to demonstrate it for everybody else. The two of you who have volunteered to demonstrate this process have volunteered by the simple act of sitting down in the chairs that have the envelopes with the red cards in them taped to the bottom. You may now open your envelopes."

  I fumbled with my envelope and dropped it. While I was picking it up, a woman on the other side of the room gasped. She stood up, white-faced. She was holding a red card.

  "Where's the other one?" demanded Foreman. "Who hasn't opened their envelope yet?"

  The woman next to me nudged my shoulder. I looked down. I'd opened my envelope and taken out the card, but I hadn't looked at it yet.

  It was bright red.

  And on it, there were plain black letters that spelled out:

  You are going to die.

  I looked up to Foreman, co
nfused. Hurt. Angry. This was a nasty trick.

  I looked at the woman next to me, resentfully. This was her card. She had asked me to move over one seat. This wasn't fair. And even as I was thinking all of those thoughts, I was standing up slowly.

  I held the card up for Foreman to see. "I have it," I said.

  The ladies all had to agree

  that Murt's penis was too small to see.

  A whore named Louise sniffed, "

  Who will that please?"

  Mort proudly submitted, "Just me!"

  20

  The Fourth Corner

  "A sane environment is one in which there is room to be crazy. A crazy environment is one in which there is no room to be sane."

  --SOLOMON SHORT

  And that's how I joined the Tribe. It was that easy.

  The difference was simple. Instead of waiting until I was told to do something, now it was my job to invent my own responsibilities. If I saw something that needed doing, it was my job to see that it got done.

  For example, about a week later I went to Jason and said, "I think we need weapon drills, Jason. I think everybody over the age of fourteen should know how to use a gun. I'm prepared to start teaching the classes twice a week."

  Jason nodded and replied, "That's fine, Jim. We'll announce it at circle tonight." And then he thought a moment. "Let's make it an honor; you'll teach two at a time. That way we don't pull the rest of the camp off purpose. You choose who you want to honor, check it with me, and I'll announce it at circle. All right?"

  "That's it?"

  "You look surprised."

  "I thought you might be a little concerned about teaching the children how to use guns."

  "No," said Jason. "You've obviously thought it out, you think it's necessary-and for what it's worth, I agree with you. That business with the bikers proves you right."

  And that was that.

  I fell into the routine without question. I worked naked in the gardens for an hour every morning. I enjoyed singing to the plants; I liked to see their long spiky black tendrils unfold to the sun each day. I helped prepare dinner three days a week, and I herded bunnydogs the other four.