by Kris Neville
MacDonald paused to let the point saturate his auditor’s thoughts. “Now,” he continued, “there is a great deal of ill-informed opinion on this particular aspect of the so-called Simeryl controversy. We can keep our thoughts straight on this matter if we do not just ignore the following three points: Fact One. Simeryl was developed with humanitarian motives and as a modest reward for the Elanthians who have immeasurably contributed to the development of this planet. Fact Two. Increasing supplies of Simeryl were made available at the request of the Elanthians themselves and at great cost to us. Fact Three. In view of the recent reports as to its addictive nature—if only psychological—the President of Elanth has ordered strict efforts to be applied to limit distribution of Simeryl to present users and to its use for legitimate medical purposes.”
The president said: “The whole gook population of Zone A is supposed to be hooked.”
“There is,” admitted MacDonald, “a higher so-called addict ratio in Farm Zone A than in the other three zones. The other three have really cooperated with the president in keeping it down.”
“I’ve not read this in print,” said the president, “but I understand there are some people who say that nuts like you talked the president into dumping it into their water supply in Zone A.”
MacDonald nodded sympathetically. “That’s a rumor you sometimes hear. I think we can easily dismiss it—as, of course, we can dismiss the suggestion that it has been added to the Elanthian food. In the first place, the water supplies are used by both the citizens and the Elanthians. I have here a slide that illustrates the point. It shows Elanthians in Farm Zone C watching one of the citizens drink a cup of water from the common supply. As you can see, he would not dare do this if it contained the, to him, highly toxic Simeryl. About food: this is prepared and distributed solely by the Elanthians themselves, and they will not permit us to involve ourselves in the operation even if we were inclined to, which, of course, we are not. The user problem, to the extent that you can call it an actual problem, is largely confined to Farm Zone A, thanks in large part to our own efforts.”
“I’ve also heard it said,” said the president, “that Simeryl was introduced to counteract a decline in Elanthian volunteers. I guess, meaning, that a population of addicts could be prevailed on to continue working, even though they had basically lost interest in it. How do you answer that charge?”
“It’s a difficult charge to refute directly,” said MacDonald. “Against the background as I have outlined it, there is nothing to suggest that this is actually the case. One would expect, if it were true, that the Elanthians would respond with massive defections, and, of course, that isn’t the case at all. There are plenty of Elanthians on the so-called nonconsuming farms.”
“You got them all in Farm Zone A before they knew what happened to them. Now you’re holding that whole population as hostage.”
“Again,” said MacDonald, “A difficult charge to refute directly. Logically, however, it doesn’t hold up. There is no possibility of the Elanthians in Farm Zone A doing the work required by all four zones. But if the charge were true, I would suggest that the Elanthians in the other zones would be forced to continue working for us whether or not they wanted to. And this we know not to be the case—as proved by the recent slight increase in returnees to the village. And this, of course, is definitely the result of the Coelanth problem and has no relationship, even indirectly, to the Simeryl question.”
“What about the reports that you’ve tried to use addicts from Farm Zone A to hook other sections of the gook population? Some of these seem to be very reliable.” MacDonald for the first time smiled. “Well, I’d say that if that were in fact true, we haven’t been very successful, have we? At the present rate of increase, it would take approximately eighty-nine years to addict the total Elanthian population. So, if that’s what we really have in mind, I’d say we’re a failure at it. I’d say we’re not very efficient at all or the Elanthians are much smarter than anybody gives them credit for. But more than that, the president has made very clear and unequivocal policy statements time and time again on this very point. It is not the policy of our government to increase consumption of Simeryl by the Elanthians—just the reverse, in fact. President Houston, time after time, has said our policy is to limit consumption of Simeryl to present users and never to sanction its use otherwise except under strict supervision and then only for sound medical reasons. I don’t see how anything can possibly be clearer than that.”
V
That evening the president personally entered his call to Secretary Raleigh. After introducing himself, he said, “Secretary Hayes tells me the briefing went rather well this morning.”
“I was very impressed by it,” said Raleigh. “I had a few questions in my mind that were most satisfactorily answered by Mr. Hayes. I do want to thank you for your cooperation.”
“Anything we can do for you,” assured the president. “I’m sending over the public opinion poll for your files first thing tomorrow.”
Raleigh spoke again: “I’d like to talk to the biologist you promised me, say in the morning? Then Thursday, if your staff could prevail on one of your labor leaders to give me a few minutes, I don’t think I’ll have to trouble you further. I’ll have all I need for our little conference Friday.”
“Well, Mr. Secretary,” said the president, “whatever you wish, of course. I have made some tentative arrangements which I hope won’t conflict with your own schedule. Our Secretary of Domestic Affairs would like very much to make an informal presentation on certain matters.”
Raleigh said: “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mr. President. But I know we’re both anxious to wind this up as quickly as we can. In view of the excellent job Secretary Hayes did, and the tightness of the schedule, and all, it would be very nice if I had the time. But I’ve got things pretty clear in my mind.”
They chatted for a few minutes longer, and the president said good-bye, after one more futile effort to arrange the MacDonald briefing.
The president’s disappointment was acute. MacDonald’s careful preparation was for nothing. High expectations were dashed. Beyond that, the president felt he had somehow made a fool of himself, not only in front of Raleigh, but also in front of MacDonald, earlier. How could he apologize to Rosy? Why hadn’t he set up the briefing before he had called Rosy in? Overconfidence had betrayed him and he favored the room with an outburst of profanity.
And then to get a biologist. Raleigh had sprung the request on him at the last minute—or had merely let him know that he, Raleigh, had not forgotten the conversation in the car? Which? Damn!
How can you brief someone like Johnson, who doesn’t know which end is up about anything?
Professor Johnson arrived at Secretary Raleigh’s suite the following morning—the foremost authority on Coelanths. He was greeted warmly and offered breakfast coffee.
Over the coffee, Raleigh said, “It was kind of you to take the day off, Professor. I guess you’ve been given a little background on my visit? Briefly, certain requests have been made to the Federation by President Houston and they sent me out just to sort of check into things a little. Audit the books, you might say, since a substantial amount of interstellar credit is involved. It’s a cut and dried routine procedure. I did want to ask a few questions on the Coelanths. I understand you’re the planetary expert?”
“It’s one of my specialties,” said Johnson. “I do have some information on the subject. I’ve also made a considerable study of the planet’s flora. Combining both subjects, I’ve given thirty-seven papers in that general area. Coelanths, until recently, have been a sideline with most of the people at the University. Some work has been done specifically on them at Solley—that’s the University of Lephong. Professor Cavenaugh, there, knows a bit on the animals. I reviewed the whole file after the president called last evening. I think I can answer your questions, unless, of course, you really want to get into detailed chemistry, or things like that.” Johnson wondere
d how he would be able to get the conversation around to the native grasses, with particular emphasis on those varieties suitable for use as fodder.
“That’s not the sort of thing I had in mind,” said Raleigh, sipping coffee. “Whatever chemistry I had was forty years ago or more; we’ll just talk generally. But I wonder if you’d do me a favor, Professor? I have to leave on Saturday if I want to catch the weekly ship out. I’m pressed for time, and I have a full schedule tomorrow and the next day. If you could find time to chauffeur me around today, we can chat as we go along and accomplish two things at once. I’d very much like to see one of the farms before I leave. I understand we can get out to Farm Zone B in about an hour by land car. Would it be possible for you to accompany me?”
An hour and a half later, they were approaching the outskirts of the farm. During the drive, Raleigh had chatted pleasantly with the professor without touching on the Coelanths. Johnson was grateful for this and managed to work in several segments of his standard lectures on native plant forms.
They drew up to the gate of the farm. “I haven’t been out here for years,” Johnson said. “It’s changed around a lot. There’s a little city up here where the citizens handle the processing and packaging machinery.” He drove through the gate. “Over here to the left you see a gang of the Elanthians. There are quite a few thousand of them, all told, on the farm. I’m afraid it’s not a very efficient arrangement. But they also raise their own food, you know, and it works. God knows what we’d do without them.”
“No danger of that,” said Raleigh.
Johnson bobbed his head. “There was talk,” he said, “at one time of the Elanthians all going back to the villages, but apparently they’ve decided to continue to help out. Strange people, the Elanthians. I suppose you know all about them? Ignorant brutes, but physically very strong and marvelously adapted to physical labor. Their helping us has something to do with their religion—the only civilized thing about them.”
“I looked through a book on the Elanthians,” said Raleigh.
“Not a recent one?” said the professor. “We haven’t published much on them recently. The Elanthians have become like the landscape, he-he. This is unfortunate, and I try to stimulate my classes to take a greater interest in them. I guess they feel it’s all been done. There isn’t much real academic interest in the subject. I’ve often thought there should be, but, when you come down to it, they fundamentally aren’t very interesting. They are self-sufficient, they have a static, a very rigid, stone-age culture. And frankly, they’re not too interested in changing.”
The land car was approaching the farm city.
“Are those Elanthian barracks over there?” asked Raleigh. “Do you suppose we could just drive by one?”
“Certainly.”
At the barracks, bright in the hot sunlight, Raleigh said, “Let’s see if there’s anyone inside.”
The professor drew the car to a halt. “I guess it will be all right.”
“I’m sure it will be,” said Raleigh, getting out. “Let me just run in for a minute and look around. You want to come along or wait?”
“I’ll sit here,” Johnson said. The thought of confronting the Elanthians left him queasy. There was little contact between the two races except as citizen necessity dictated. For himself, he always felt nervous in their presence. He certainly wasn’t the type for farm work.
“I’ll be right back,” said Raleigh.
Inside the barracks, it was cool and orderly with rows of bunks and lockers. There was a shower room and what appeared to be a recreation area. An Elanthian came from the darkness toward Raleigh, who was framed in the bright doorway. The Elanthian’s face showed no emotion that Raleigh could read.
The Elanthian was short and powerful with hard muscles under orange skin flecked with green: probably mutated protective coloration inherited from a long forgotten racial ancestor.
“You . . . are . . . lost,” said the Elanthian. His voice was musical, but, since he groped for words, the effect was discordant. In his own language he might sing the words and the music together giving both sense and emotional content. But without the smooth musical flow, the words were somehow divorced from real meaning. The Elanthian was both polite and disinterested.
Raleigh recognized that he would have difficulties with the interview. Could he actually get to understand the man, really understand him, in even a month of continuous conversation—or was the Elanthian forever too alien for his understanding?
“I am not a citizen of Elanth,” he said.
“This . . . is . . . It is ob-obvious,” said the Elanthian.
“May I ask you a few questions?”
“May I . . . prevent . . . stop . . . you?”
“You don’t have to answer. Your religion, I believe, tells you to help the citizens. Beyond some point might this helpfulness not be harmful to the citizens?”
The Elanthian, expressionless, did not immediately answer. Perhaps he did not fully understand. “Our religion . . . is own. Is ours. Our religion is.”
“I understand that.”
“We Elanthians . . . are one Elanthian. All of us. This is . . . good . . . true . . . necessary? Your words . . . I am sorry . . . I speak not do . . . I do not speak? . . . You understand? Your words, I mean. A few I have . . . is all.”
“Yes,” Raleigh said. Perhaps he could bring the interview off after all. “There will come a time,” he said, “when you must save yourselves . . . when you must save yourself, is this not necessary?”
“I do not understand,” said the Elanthian, looking away. “I have work . . . it is . . . I must do this work . . . It waits, this work.”
“You have killed a Coelanth?”
“Do not . . . We, I, do not do that thing. No.”
“The Coelanths kill you.”
The Elanthian struggled with his thoughts. He held out one hand, fingers bunched together to hold the idea. “It is not their . . . meaning? Nature! Nature. It is not their nature. They . . . are not Coelanths. Were Coelanths, then, not . . . now.”
“They have learned to kill,” said Raleigh.
The Elanthian was visibly nervous. “No! No! I do not understand! They have not . . . learned. No! It could not . . . be that. Something . . . Something . . . We kill Coelanths, we learn to kill. Citizens ask us . . . want us . . . They want us . . . to kill animals, their animals . . . food animals . . . for them. I say no! No! Elanthians, I . . . must not learn to kill! Elanthians must not!” He stood erect, suddenly trembling with emotion. “I say we . . . We have . . . forgot. Yes, forgot, you understand? Not learn again. No! We . . . not learn again. You see. No talk . . . this way. Not with Elanthians. We never talk this. Never! Never! Lies! We never talk! Never! Never!”
“Thank you,” said Raleigh. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer.”
Raleigh departed, leaving the powerful Elanthian, shaken with emotion, behind him in the cool darkness of the barrack. To Johnson at the car, he said, “Hope I wasn’t too long? They sure keep neat barracks, don’t they?”
“I’ve never been in one,” Johnson confessed.
The following afternoon, the president and MacDonald sat in the former’s office waiting for Mr. Strickland.
“You talked to the professor, what do you think?” the president asked.
MacDonald’s eyes were fixed on his carefully manicured hands. “I’m beginning to think Secretary Raleigh is probably about what he seems: an unimaginative bureaucrat going through the motions of conducting an investigation. Hayes pretty well sold him and now he’s killing time, getting a little firsthand material for his final report. He’s already made up his mind to go along. Otherwise, he’d be giving us trouble.”
“That’s what I figure,” said the president. “I don’t think I’m going to have any problems tomorrow. It looks locked up. I want you to sit in, though, if you will. It looks good, very good. But. Well . . . let’s see what Strickland says. What gets me, what doesn’t somehow ring true
, is that he apparently didn’t ask Johnson one damned question about the Coelanths. And why do you suppose he stopped in at the gook barracks?”
“He had,” said MacDonald, “to check it out personally and be sure that the Elanthians weren’t actually being mistreated. To someone off-planet, it must seem a little fantastic, the fact that their religion tells them to help us. He probably wanted to see for himself.”
“Let’s see what Strickland says—”
When Strickland, Chief Committeeman of the Transportation Workers, came in, the president stood and extended a hand. “Mr. Strickland, how good of you!”
Strickland seated himself, upon invitation, and nodded to MacDonald. He had just finished doing the president a favor; he expected one in return.
“Mr. President,” he said, “I’ve taken the day away from pressing Union business to brief Secretary Raleigh for you.”
“An act of highest patriotism, in the best interest of all the citizens of Elanth,” said the president.
“The members know I’m in here talking to you,” said Strickland. “I’m going to have to have some sort of an announcement when I leave. We ought to get that out of the way, work on that first.”
MacDonald studied the man with firm, unwavering attention. “Mr. Strickland, the president very much appreciates your services. I do not look on it, however, as having served the man—rather, as having served the planet as a whole. In a very short time, as time is reckoned, the citizens’ population has increased from three thousand original settlers to the present figure. We will live, you and I, to see a population of one million on the planet. In sixty years, it will be twice that; in one hundred years, there will be eight million citizens on Elanth. These are the people we’re talking about now. We have reached a critical juncture in our whole civilization here. If our interstellar credit, already heavily burdened by the Simeryl purchase, is wrecked by the Federation—if we cannot obtain additional commodities, in particular the necessary supply of weapons and ammunition, for control of the Coelanths—I don’t think I need tell you what will happen to us. If we have to throw citizens into farm work, at this late date in our growth, our whole economy will be wrecked. There will be no more immigrants bringing interstellar credit. No one would want to come here. We’ll be too busy feeding ourselves to export enough products to regain solvency from our present debt. Men and women, three and four generation citizens, will take their possessions, their money, and migrate to another frontier. The whole planetary civilization will be a shambles. And I don’t need to tell you, Mr. Strickland, that that is by no means the worst that could happen to us. I think you know what I mean.”