He said worriedly, “I’ve been studying up on this and what we’re confronted with is two different ethnic periods—barbarism and feudalism. Handling them both at once doubles our problem.”
Cogswell, an energetic junior specialist who’d been sitting to one side said, “That’s not exactly sparkling new information, but I’ve been thinking about it too. And maybe I’ve got an answer. Why not all of us concentrate on Texcoco? When we’ve brought them up to the level of Genoa, which shouldn’t take more than a decade or two, then we can start working on Genoa, too.”
Mayer snapped, in a domineering voice. “And by that time we’ll have hardly more than half our fifty years left to raise the two of them to an industrial technology. Don’t be an idiot, Cogswell.”
Cogswell flushed his resentment.
Plekhanov said slowly, “Besides, I’m not sure that, given the correct method, we cannot raise Texcoco to an industrialized society in approximately the same time it will take to bring Genoa there.”
Mayer bleated a sarcastic laugh at that opinion.
Natt Roberts tossed his book to the table and sank into a chair. “If only one of them had maintained itself at a reasonable level of development, we’d have had help in working with the other. As it is, there are only eighteen of us.” He shook his head. “Why did the knowledge held by the original colonists melt away? How can an intelligent people lose such basics as the smelting of iron, gunpowder, the use of coal as a fuel?”
Plekhanov was heavy with condescension. “Roberts, you seem to have entered upon this expedition with a lack of background. Consider: You put down a hundred colonists, products of the most advanced culture; among these you have one or two who can possibly repair an IBM computer, but is there one who can smelt iron or even locate the ore? We have others who could design an automated textile factory, but do any know how to weave a blanket on a hand loom?
“The first generation gets along well with the weapons and equipment brought with them from Earth. They maintain the old ways. The second generation follows along, but already ammunition for the weapons runs short, the machinery from Earth needs parts. There is no local economy that can provide such things. The third generation begins to think of Earth as a legend and the methods necessary to survive on the new planet conflict with those the first settlers imported. By the fourth generation, Earth is no longer a legend, but a fable...”
“But the books, the tapes, the films!” Roberts injected.
“Go with the guns, the vehicles and the other things brought from Earth. On a new planet there is no leisure class among the colonists. Each works hard if the group is to survive. There is no time to write new books, nor to copy the old, and the second and especially the third generation are impatient of the time needed to learn to read, time that should be spent in the fields or at the chase. The youth of an industrial culture can spend twenty years and more achieving a basic education before assuming adult responsibilities, but no pioneer society can afford to allow its offspring to so waste its time.”
Natt Roberts was being stubborn. “But still, a few would carry the torch of knowledge.”
Plekhanov added ponderously. “For a while. But then comes the reaction against these nonconformists, these crackpots who, by spending time at books, fail to carry their share of the load. One day they wake up to find themselves expelled from the group—if not knocked over the head.”
Joe Chessman had been following Plekhanov’s argument. He said dourly, “But finally the group conquers its environment to the point where a minimum of leisure is available again. Not for everybody, of course. The majority still have to spend their time from dawn till night plowing the fields, or watching the herds.”
Amschel Mayer bounced back into the discussion. “And then, enter the priest, enter the war lord. Enter the smart operator who talks or fights himself into a position where he’s free from drudgery. In short, enter the class-divided society, the rulers and the ruled.”
Joe Chessman said reasonably, “If you don’t have the man with leisure, society stagnates. Somebody has to have time off for thinking, if the whole group is to advance.”
“Admittedly!” Mayer said. “I’d be the last to contend that an upper class is necessarily parasitic.”
Plekhanov grumbled. “We’re getting away from the subject. In spite of Mayer’s poorly founded opinions, it is quite obvious that only a collectivized economy is going to enable these Rigel planets to achieve an industrial culture in as short a period as half a century.”
Amschel Mayer reacted as might have been predicted. “Look here, Plekhanov, we have our own history to go by. Earth history. Man made his greatest strides under a freely competitive system.”
“Well now...” Chessman began.
“Prove that!” Plekhanov insisted. “Your so-called free economy countries such as England, France and the United States began their industrial revolution in the early part of the nineteenth century. It took them a hundred years to accomplish what the Soviets did in fifty, in the next century.”
“Just a moment, now,” Mayer said. “That is very fine, but the Soviets were able to profit by the pioneering the free countries did. The scientific developments, the industrial techniques, were handed to her on a platter.”
Specialist Martin Gunther, thus far quiet, as was his basic nature, put in his opinion. “Actually, it seems to me the fastest industrialization comes under a paternal guidance from a more advanced culture. Take Japan. In 1854 she was opened to trade by Commodore Perry. In 1871 she abolished feudalism and, encouraged by her own government and utilizing the most advanced techniques of a sympathetic West, she began to industrialize.”
Gunther smiled his slow smile wryly. “Soon, to the dismay of the very countries that originally sponsored bringing her into the modern world, she was able to wage a successful war against China, and by 1904 she took on and trounced Russia. In a period of thirty-five years she had advanced from feudalism to a world power.”
Joe Chessman took his turn. He said obdurately, “Your paternalistic guidance, given an uncontrolled competitive system, doesn’t always work out. Take India after she gained independence from England. She tried to industrialize and had the support of the free nations. But what happened?”
Plekhanov leaned forward to take the ball. “Yes! There’s your classic example. Compare India and China. China had a planned industrial development. None of this free competition nonsense. In ten years’ time they had startled the world with their advances. In twenty years...”
“Yes,” Gunther said softly, “but at what price?”
Plekhanov turned on him. “At any price! In one generation they left behind the China of famine, flood, illiteracy, war lords and all the misery that had been China’s throughout history.”
Gunther said mildly, “Whether or not, in their admitted advances, they left behind all the misery that had been China’s is debatable, sir.”
Plekhanov began to bellow an angry retort but Amschel Mayer popped suddenly to his feet and lifted a hand to quiet the others.
“Our solution has just come to me!”
Plekhanov glowered at him.
Mayer said excitedly, “Remember what the Co-ordinator told us? This expedition of ours is the first of its type. Even though we fail, the very mistakes we make will be invaluable. Our task is to learn how to bring backward peoples into an industrialized culture in roughly half a century.”
He had their attention, but the majority of the occupants of the messroom scowled at him. Thus far he had said nothing new.
Mayer went on enthusiastically. “Up until now, in our debates, we’ve had two basic suggestions on procedure. I have advocated a system of free competition; my learned colleague has been of the opinion that a strong state and a planned, not to say totalitarian economy, would be the quicker.” He paused dramatically. “Very well, I am in favor of trying them both!”
They regarded him blankly.
He said with impatience, “There are two pla
nets, at different ethnic periods it is true, but not so far apart as all that. Fine, nine of us will take Genoa and nine Texcoco.”
Plekhanov rumbled, “Fine indeed. But which group will have the use of the Pedagogue with its library, its laboratories, its shops, its weapons?”
For a moment Mayer was stopped, but Joe Chessman growled, “That’s no problem. Leave her in orbit around Rigel. We’ve got two small boats with which to ferry back and forth. Each group could have the use of her facilities any time they wished.”
“I suppose we could have periodic conferences,” Plekhanov said. “Say once every decade to compare notes and make further plans, if necessary.”
Natt Roberts was worried. “We have no instructions from the Co-ordinator suggesting that we divide our forces in any such manner.”
Mayer cut him short. “My dear Roberts, we were given carte blanche. It is up to us to decide procedure. Actually, this system realizes twice the information such expeditions as ours might ordinarily offer.”
“Texcoco for me,” Plekhanov grumbled, accepting the plan. “The more backward of the two, but under my guidance in half a century it will be the more advanced, mark me.
“Look here,” Martin Gunther said. “Do we have two of each of the basic specialists, so that we can divide the party in such a way that neither planet will miss out in any one field?”
Amschel Mayer was beaming at the reception of his scheme. “The point is well taken, my dear Martin, however you’ll recall that our training was deliberately made such that each man spreads over several fields. This in case, during our half century without contact with Earth, one or more of us meets with accident. Besides, the Pedagogue’s library is such that any literate can soon become effective in any field to the extent needed on the Rigel planets.”
* * * *
Barry Watson met Natalie Wieliczka in a narrow corridor of the Pedagogue. He darted a look up and down the hallway, then held out his arms.
“Ho, Polack,” he said huskily. “Come here.”
She was apprehensive, but she came into his embrace and offered her mouth for his kiss.
She said, “Somebody might see us.” After he had kissed her again, she said, “Barry, this is terrible. All this hiding, this pretending.”
He grinned down into her open face. “Kind of fun, though,” he said. “How lucky can a cloddy get?”
She said, “It’s not fair. Everybody else is conforming to the command....”
“You sure?” he demanded, running his right hand up through her honey brown hair, cut short as befitted shipboard life. She was not an overly pretty girl, by most standards, but she had a gentle, serious sweetness that affected most men, though unbeknownst to herself.
She frowned slightly, even as she suffered his caresses. “How do you mean?”
“I suspect,” he said wryly, “that these few kisses and hugs we allow ourselves at odd moments aren’t nearly as serious as what your pal Isobel is dispensing to just about everybody in the team. Well, everybody but Mayer and myself.”
She looked at him from the side of her eyes and said, “Are you sure you can honestly eliminate yourself?”
He squeezed her. “Absolutely.”
She sighed, still in his arms. “However, I’ll be glad when we reach Genoa, and this restriction will be off.”
“Genoa?” He pushed her back to arm length and scowled down into her face.
“Why, yes, when we land and take up our work. Certainly, Amschel Mayer can have no objection then to our openly becoming married I... I wonder what ceremony they have. You know, when I was a student, sometimes thinking of marriage, I...”
“Genoa! But we’re going to Texcoco.”
Her eyes widened and there was quick apprehension in them.
“But Barry. I’m going to Genoa, with Mayer’s team. I... why, I automatically thought you were as well. Everybody had a free choice. Surely, you couldn’t have chosen Plekhanov’s theories. Why...”
He took his hands from her completely, and tugged at his right ear in irritated distress.
“I was kind of pressured. I’m an authority on early military history. Leonid Plekhanov was of the opinion that I’d be more useful on Texcoco.”
“Barry!” her voice was distressed now. “You could change. You could tell them you’d rather work on Genoa.”
“Giving what excuse at this late date? The real one? The fact that you and I have broken ship’s regulations and fallen in love?”
She looked at him in misery.
“Besides,” he said angrily, “who’d change positions with me? Genoa is the preferred planet. It’s more advanced. The life’ll be easier. It’d be easier for you to change. Isobel’s scheduled for Texcoco, but I have a sneaking suspicion that in spite of her supposed attraction to Plekhanov, she’d jump at the chance to switch to the Genoa team.”
Her eyes dropped and she shook her head, and then shook it again, more strongly. “I couldn’t, Barry, I couldn’t work with that man. I’m afraid of him. All my intuition tells me that horrible things are going to happen on Texcoco, when Plekhanov and Joe Chessman land there with all the weapon resources of the Pedagogue behind them.”
He said, bitterly, “Why not add me to the list? I’m the military expert. True enough, through books. I’ve never seen combat in my life. But who has, in this age? I’ve got the book knowledge but not the... practical experience.”
She turned away from him, saying lowly, “You’ll learn, Barry. You’ll learn. And... I guess I’m just as glad I won’t be seeing you doing the learning. I’m a doctor, Barry. I didn’t go into my trade in anticipation of practicing on bodies broken in warfare.”
He was exasperated, but she turned and moved slowly away in the direction she had been going when they met, her head down.
CHAPTER III
JOE CHESSMAN was at the controls of the space lighter. At his side sat Leonid Plekhanov and behind them the other seven members of their team, including Isobel Sanchez. They had circled Texcoco twice at great altitude, four times at a lesser one. Now they were low enough to spot a few man-made works.
“Nomadic,” Plekhanov muttered. “Nomadic and village cultures.”
“A few dozen urbanized cultures,” Chessman said. “Whoever first compared the most advanced nation to the Aztecs was accurate, except for the fact that they base themselves along a river rather than on a mountain plateau.”
Plekhanov said, “Similarities to the Egyptians and Sumerians, and the Indus valley culture of Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa—what Lewis Morgan would have called the latter stage of barbarism.” He looked over his beefy shoulder at the technician who was photographing the areas over which they passed. “How does our geographer progress, Roberts?”
Natt Roberts brought his eyes up from his camera viewer. “I’ve got most of what we’ll need for awhile, sir.”
Isobel Sanchez said, “It’s a beautiful world, Leonid.”
Plekhanov ignored her use of his first name and turned back to Chessman. “We might as well head for their principle city, the one with the pyramids. We’ll make initial contact there. I like the suggestion of surplus labor available.”
“Surplus labor?” Chessman said, setting the controls. “How do you know?”
“Pryamids,” Plekhanov rumbled. “I’ve always been of the opinion that such projects as pyramids, whether they be in Yucatan or Egypt, are make-work affairs. A priesthood, or other evolving ruling clique, keeping its people busy and out of mischief.”
Chessman adjusted a speed lever and settled back. “I can see their point, keep the yokes busy and they don’t have time to wonder why they, who do all the hard work, don’t have the living standard of their betters.”
“But I don’t agree with it,” Plekhanov said ponderously. “A society that builds pyramids is a static one. Both the Mayans and Egyptians are classic examples; for centuries, neither changed its basic culture. For that matter, any society that resorts to make-work projects to busy its citizenry has someth
ing basically wrong, and that includes the New Deal back in the Twentieth Century.”
“Never heard of that one,” Hawkins said, from his rear seat.
Joe Chessman said sourly, “I wasn’t supporting the idea, just understanding the viewpoint of the priests. They’d made a nice thing for themselves and didn’t want to see anything happen to it. It’s not the only time a group in the saddle has held up progress for the sake of remaining there. Priests, slave owners, feudalistic barons, or bureaucrats of the Twentieth Century police states. A ruling clique will never give up power without pressure.”
Barry Watson leaned forward and pointed down and to the right. “There’s the river,” he said. “And there’s their capital city. Whoever selected its location didn’t have much of an eye for defense.”
“It probably wasn’t selected,” Chessman said. “It probably just evolved there from some original watering place, or trade crossroads.”
The small spacecraft settled at decreasing speed.
Chessman said, “The central square? It seems to be their market, by the number of people.”
“I suppose so,” Plekhanov said. “Right there before the largest pyramid. We’ll remain inside the craft for the rest of today and tonight.”
Isobel said, her voice low, “But good heavens, that’s going to be awfully... intimate. Me in here with you eight men.”
Natt Roberts, who had put away his camera, backed her. “Yes, why? Doctor Sanchez is right. It’s too crowded in here.”
“Because I said so,” Plekhanov rumbled. “This first impression is important. Our flying machine is undoubtedly the first they’ve seen. We’ve got to give them time to get used to the idea and then get together a welcoming committee. We’ll want the top men, right from the beginning.”
“The equivalent of the Emperor Montezuma meeting Cortez, eh?” Barry Watson said. “A real red carpet welcome.”
The Pedagogue’s space lighter settled to the plaza gently, some fifty yards from the ornate pyramid which stretched up over a hundred and fifty feet and was topped by a small, templelike building. It could have been the twin of the so-called House of the Magician in Uxmal, Yucatan.
The Rival Rigelians Page 2