The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 381
Brother Howard nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Devlin went on savagely. "And now you will say something ponderous about confession being good for the soul, then lead into a lecture designed to show me the error of my ways—"
"Like hell I will—" began the Brother, then stopped to look past him at the girl who was hurrying toward them.
DEVLIN had not realized that they had walked around to the main entrance again. He introduced Patricia to Howard, then added: "We were talking about—"
"No need to explain," she said, frowning. "I could hear you from the gate. It sounded like the beginning of a hand-to-hand affair."
"Nothing like that," Howard said reassuringly. "We were simply continuing a discussion begun some time ago and, much as I would like to finish it, I realize that I am intruding—"
He was intruding, but a full minute passed and he was still standing there, looking from Devlin to the girl and pleading silently for them to deny it. Something was bothering him and Devlin's curiosity was beginning to outweigh his irritation. He looked enquiringly at the girl.
"There is no need to cut short your discussion on my account," she said.
The Brother's sigh was clearly audible. He said, "Thank you. What I was really asking a few minutes ago, Doctor, was whether you were unhappy enough with the situation here and now to want to escape from it. I can offer you, perhaps both of you, a chance at something much better—"
"Another thing I dislike about present-day society," Devlin broke in harshly, "is the way people can have their minds changed by subtle argument or by people offering new methods of escape through drugs, hallucinations or heightened metaphysical experience. I do not think, Brother, that you will ever convince us that we would be better off dead and in heaven."
Brother Howard was waving his hands in agitation. They were the same hands that had sent an armed citizen to a hospital, but Devlin was too angry to care. He did not want to embark on an interminable argument about the after-life, comparative religion or any other metaphysical means of life-support. All he wanted was to be alone with Patricia Morley and talk—and hope that something would develop despite the pressures of the sick society in which they lived. He would dearly love to escape from it—but not by using the Brother's method. Taking Patricia's arm, he began to turn away.
"Wait, Doctor, please," the Brother said. "When we spoke last you accused me of wanting to convert you and I denied it. I still do. But I have been thinking about our meeting and ... Well, I've had a chance to sleep on it and I've come to a decision. The reason I wanted so badly to speak to you again was because of your ripe fruit analogy. You said that the human race was at the peak of its scientific and cultural abilities, but that we were too rich, too ripe and were about ready to burst. You suggested what might happen if someone took a firm grip on that fruit and squeezed hard?"
"You would be left with a nastiness," said Devlin.
"And the pit would shoot out," added the girl.
"Exactly," said the Brother.
They stood for several minutes in silence broken only by the sound of bees and some distant shooting. When Brother Howard finally spoke he sounded awkward, diffident, but sincere.
He said, "I've already told you that I am not seeking converts, but recruits. I am recruiting colonists and crew for a starship."
Chapter Ten
DEVLIN had expected to see a ten-thousand-person block wrapped in a security blanket maybe three guards deep and packed with computers, simulators, medics, instructors and all kinds of technical and nontechnical support staff, as well as hundreds of other candidates under training. Instead he saw a small, three-story building with boarded-up windows and pitted walls symptomatic of a structure that had suffered a near miss. There were a lot of city security men nearby, but they were grouped around a dozen or more armored vehicles parked in the space where an adjoining building had been.
The security guard at the entrance paid little attention to Brother Howard, Devlin or the girl, but this was because his eyes were on the telltales of one of the most sophisticated weapon sniffers that Devlin had ever seen. And when the Brother ushered them into a ground-floor office—the building did not have an elevator and the room's sole occupant was obviously incapable of climbing stairs—the old man sitting behind the impressive desk computer showed only the most casual interest.
There was too much skin and not enough underlying tissue on his shrunken skull for any facial expression to show, Devlin thought. A face like that belonged in a terminal geriatrics ward, but the depth and power of the voice were surprising.
"My name is Martin," he said. "Sit down, please, and relax while Brother Howard wires you up. Don't talk until he is finished and don't ask questions until I have finished asking mine. That way you will probably find that you need not have asked them in the first place."
Silently and with the gentle but impersonal touch of an experienced medic, Brother Howard fitted Devlin and Patricia with psych collars and positioned the leads and sensors as accurately as if their skulls had been shaved and marked. Devlin knew that he should object because the collars were diagnostic tools that could be dangerous in the hands of someone who was not a high-level psychiatrist, and he had no idea of the incredibly old man's professional qualifications, if any. But he was too intrigued—or perhaps too much of a moral coward—to argue.
He cleared his throat and said, "You're full of surprises, Brother."
Brother Howard smiled, gave both collars a final check and sat close enough to Martin for Devlin to be able to look at both men without moving.
He swallowed nervously and said, "I'm not sure that I believe everything I've been told. But if I did believe it ... Well, I'm no superman."
The old man nodded and said, "For this particular exercise I am completely disinterested in supermen or superwomen. Instead I am seeking standards that may be too high or too low for you to reach, because whether you pass them or fail to reach them, you fail. And now that my words have made you sufficiently worried and confused for your mental reactions to be as revealing as possible to this oversophisticated bundle of scrap—"
"Excuse me," said Devlin, "but isn't it wrong to reveal so much about the purpose and mechanics of a test to the subject?"
"Maybe," said the old man. "I'm a stupid psychologist."
"But I wouldn't bet on it," said the Brother dryly.
"Very well," Martin went on. "We know that you are not a superman. What else are you not? Have you ever been a citizen? And don't shake your head or you'll loosen a sensor. Use your tongue."
"Sorry. No."
"Was the reason cowardice, irresponsibility or a sense of vocation?"
DEVLIN took a deep breath and tried to control his irritation, even though he knew that the sensors were picking it up and telling the old man all about it. He said, "In order—probably yes—definitely no—and I was ordered to take up my profession."
"Go on."
"I was afraid of wearing the belt of a responsible citizen," Devlin replied. "I think that too many citizens are strutting braggarts and completely irresponsible. I became a doctor because, in my father's opinion, I was unsuited for any other job."
The old man nodded, but there were too many lines on his face for his expression to be readable. He said, "Your father isn't being assessed, Doctor, but his opinion of you might have some relevance."
"It has a lot of relevance," said Devlin, "because I did as I was told. According to my father, however, I was too impressionable, too soft, too prone to fall over my own feet to have any real coordination between eye and muscle. He did say that I showed intelligence at times. He thought that I might be stampeded into wearing a belt by some real or fancied insult. But if I did, then my first opponent would almost certainly win because, even if I didn't refuse to shoot because it might hurt him, I might not be able to draw my weapon without dropping it or shooting myself in the thigh with it. He was also fond of saying that society was going to hell and that nothing was sure or permanent but death and taxes. There was nothing I could do about the taxes, he told me, but the more widespread became the armed protests and honor killings, the greater would be the need for doctors."
"Was he a citizen?"
"No."
"I see," said Martin. "But we'll leave your father for now. Have you ever been a Maxer? Ever been in a sheep fight with illegal weapons or hands? No? Well, how about a heated argument? You're beginning to sound like a supersheep, Doctor, and that also is an abnormal condition that could—"
"Try not to feel angry and insulted, Doctor," Brother Howard broke in, his eyes moving over the desk displays. "My colleague is very short of time, which often means that he is also short of tact and good manners. Forgive him—and remember that the qualities and characteristics for which we are testing are not those you yourself might consider important or admirable. The meek are going to inherit the Earth, Doctor. Not this Earth—but they will inherit."
"I shall try to remember that," said Devlin skeptically. Then, to the old man: "Yes, I have had arguments with other sheep, too many for me to remember with accuracy, but no fights. I take my turn on block security duties, but have never had to shoot anyone. I believe that the best form of defense is defense. I was never a Maxer for the same reason."
"I see," said the resonant voice coming from Martin's pendulous, bloodhound's face. "Have you ever been friendly with or related to anyone who subscribed to the philosophy of maximum response?"
"We're back to my father again." said Devlin.
"How long was he a practicing Maxer?"
"Seven, maybe eight minutes. Just after they had cut my mother for saying that they were of bunch of—"
"So he was provoked. Casualties?"
"Three dead, two requiring hospitalization and one with psychic damage that caused him to resign his citizen status."
"So he killed three, injured two and scared the sixth one into becoming a sheep," said the psychiatrist. "What age were you when he told you about it and how often did he describe the incident?"
"I was ten," said Devlin. "I found out about the incident much later. He didn't speak of it at all—except once, maybe, when he told me that the most dangerous thing in the world was a coward driven to desperation."
"You felt proud of him?"
"Yes. No. I'm not sure."
TURNING to the girl, Martin said, "My apologies for taking on the Doctor before you, Miss Morley. It is just that I was expecting to interrogate your friend and you were not expected—"
"What about my mother?" asked Devlin. "Isn't her influence important?"
"It is," said Brother Howard, "but since she died sixteen years ago as a result of the Maxer incident just described, when you were only ten, her influence isn't recent. Besides, her death meant that full psycho-medical records became available to us, so that her effect on you could be estimated with a fair degree of accuracy. Your father, on the other hand, did not break any laws, never caught any serious diseases, managed to avoid major injuries and is still alive somewhere."
"But this means that you expected me here!" Devlin burst out. "If you had already studied my—"
"Thoroughly," said the Brother, nodding toward the psychologist. "Miss Morley's being with you was a bonus. We have called up her records and she, too, is colonist material. But please be quiet, Doctor. My colleague is busy."
Devlin nodded carefully so as not to dislodge the sensors, his mind suddenly at least as busy as that of the psychologist's—so much so that he missed Patricia's initial answers. For if the material in Central Records had been made available to these people, then they had the support of Population Provisioning and Control, which in turn had a great deal of influence with Security and Health. In all probability then, the squadron of security armor outside was not simply on standby in case a disturbance might break out in the area—it was there to protect this building.
It made the Brother's starship story much easier to believe.
He wondered about Howard's reference to Martin as his colleague. Was the Brother really a Brother? By the time Devlin had decided that he was—his conversation and reaction after the Bennet boy's death had been too good to be false—Martin had finished with the girl.
"Bearing in mind that we are not looking for superhuman physical or mental abilities," he said, his eyes moving slowly from the girl to Devlin and back, "I consider both of you suitable for further indoctrination—as crew members rather than colonists. The major factors we have considered in reaching this decision are that both of you are intensely dissatisfied with your present life styles and would like to escape them—and neither of your personalities is basically violent. More simply, you would like to change things but are unwilling to hurt people to do it.
"The decision regarding your crew status was a close one," he went on, his voice seeming to vibrate inside their very bones, "because you, Miss Morley, gave indications of future instability should you be unable to find a permanent male dependent. You, Doctor, although Brother Howard had already decided on your suitability as a colonist, are a drifter dissatisfied with everything—including yourself. You know that some kind of change is necessary, but you are too lacking in self-confidence to make any decision that involves only yourself. If you two had not been complementary personalities and potential mates the crew rating decision could well have gone against you. My congratulations."
Devlin could feel the girl's eyes on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the psychologist went on, "We cannot fit you into a training schedule for another two weeks, however, so Brother Howard will spend as much of the intervening time as possible with you, answering your questions and outlining project philosophy. To begin with, this will be done in your own living block. You can arrange a cover among yourselves—Miss Morley requires spiritual as well as medical comfort, perhaps, and needs frequent visits of a reverend during rec periods. You have quiet-talkers—hush-mikes—I would presume?"
"Yes, but—" began Devlin.
"I'll try not to intrude," said Brother Howard.
"—we scarcely know each other," Devlin ended.
There was a moment's silence. Then Martin said firmly, "You are introducing an unnecessary complication, Doctor. I can solve it—in fact, I already have—but it might be better for both of you if I let Brother Howard explain it. Unlike me, he still has a little romance left in his soul."
BUT THE answer was delayed. When they left Martin's office Brother Howard signaled for silence and motioned them against the corridor wall. Eight white coffinlike containers, wheeled for easy movement, were being pushed toward the rear of the building where Devlin could see a large riot ambulance backed against a loading ramp. The men pushing the containers, which were beaded with moisture and radiating intense cold, were silent.
"So that's what you do with the unsuccessful candidates," said the girl, shivering.
"They are the successful ones, Miss Morley," said Howard, "in suspended animation for holding in orbit. In that condition they are not a drain on the ship's consumables. It also means that we can train them in small numbers over a considerable period and store them until we have a full complement—and there is less risk of a security leak ..."
He talked about the training program and nothing else during the drive back to Devlin's block. Perhaps, Devlin thought, Martin had handed the Brother a chore highly embarrassing for a man of God who believed in free will instead of endocrinology. Or maybe the Brother's enthusiasm for the project was as honest as it sounded. But he had to break off talking as a small explosion rocked the car and the armored shutters dropped into place.
The period of temporary sanity had come to an end.
Devlin reduced speed and drove on his periscope for a few hundred yards until a larger and softer explosion showered the car with debris and jerked it to a halt. Through the dust that had settled on his outer lenses Devlin could see that the front of a building had fallen into the street and that traffic was blocked in both directions. From somewhere farther ahead came the sudden whump-crash of a rocket opening up a vehicle, accompanied by sounds of shouting and screaming, but his armor muffled the noise so that he could not tell whether the people were protesting or in pain. He cut the engine, sat back and loosened his safety harness.
"We could be here for some time," he said. "There are sandwiches on the shelf beside the instrument cabinet."
"A lot of them," said the Brother appreciatively. "But of course, Doctor—you were planning a picnic in the park, off an imitation log table under a real tree. Very romantic."
"And practical," said Devlin, "considering the mob around the park food dispensers. Which reminds me—you were supposed to give us a romantic answer to a practical question back there."
HOWARD smiled and said, "I was hoping that you would not insist on an answer—that you would let things happen naturally. Two people whose psych profiles are as complementary as yours would have to spend only a short time in each other's company to become inseparable. But informing most people of this fact tends to make them think that their free will is being taken away, that they have no choice in the matter. They then tend to react in an abnormal fashion toward each other out of sheer contrariness. To prove that they still have a choice they sometimes insist on making the wrong choice."
