“Okay. Keep it short.”
“I shall keep it as short as circumstances permit. Fellow associates, we have here a unique opportunity, probably one which has not occurred before in history. As Cowper pointed out, we must proceed with care. But, already we have set out on the wrong foot. Our object should be to found the first truly scientific community. Yet what do I find? You are proposing to select an executive by counting noses! Leaders should not be chosen by popular whim; they should be determined by rigorous scientific criteria. Once selected, those leaders must have full scientific freedom to direct the bio-group in accordance with natural law, unhampered by such artificial anachronisms as statutes, constitutions, and courts of law. We have here an adequate supply of healthy females; we have the means to breed scientifically a new race, a super race, a race which, if I may say so—”
A handful of mud struck Nielsen in the chest; he stopped suddenly. “I saw who did that!” he said angrily. “Just the sort of nincompoop who always—”
“Order, order, please!” Kilroy shouted. “No mudsling or I’ll appoint a squad of sergeants-at-arms. Are you through, Waxie?”
“I was just getting started.”
“Just a moment,” put in Cowper. “Point of order Mr. Chairman. Arthur has a right to be heard. But I think he speaking before the wrong body. We’re going to have a constitutional committee, I’m sure. He should present his arguments to them. Then, if we like them, we can adopt his ideas.”
“You’re right, Grant. Sit down, Waxie.”
“Huh? I appeal!”
Roy Kilroy said briskly, “The chair has ruled this out of order at this time and the speaker has appealed to the house, a priority motion not debatable. All in favor of supporting the chair’s ruling, which is for Waxie to shut up, make it known by saying ‘Aye.’”
There was a shouted chorus of assent. “Opposed: ‘No.’ Sit down, Waxie.”
Kilroy looked around. “Anybody else?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t see. Who is it?”
“Bill Kennedy, Ponce de Leon class. I don’t agree with Nielsen except on one point: we are fiddling around with the wrong things. Sure, we need a group captain but, aside from whatever it takes to eat, we shouldn’t think about anything but how to get back. I don’t want a scientific society; I’d settle for a hot bath and decent food.”
There was scattered applause. The chairman said, “I’d like a bath, too…and I’d fight anybody for a dish of cornflakes. But, Bill, how do you suggest that we go about it?”
“Huh? We set up a crash-priority project and build a gate. Everybody works on it.”
There was silence, then several talked at once: “Crazy! No uranium.”—“We might find uranium.”—“Where do we get the tools? Shucks, I don’t even have a screwdriver.”—“But where are we?”—“It is just a matter of—”
“Quiet!” yelled Kilroy. “Bill, do you know how to build a gate?”
“No.”
“I doubt if anybody does.”
“That’s a defeatist attitude. Surely some of you educated blokes from Teller have studied the subject. You should get together, pool what you know, and put us to work. Sure, it may take a long time. But that’s what we ought to do.”
Cowper said, “Just a minute, Roy. Bill, I don’t dispute what you say; every idea should be explored. We’re bound to set up a planning committee. Maybe we had better elect a mayor, or a captain, or whatever you want to call him—and then dig into your scheme when we can discuss it in detail. I think it has merit and should be discussed at length. What do you think?”
“Why, sure, Grant. Let’s get on with the election. I just didn’t want that silly stuff about breeding a superman to be the last word.”
“Mr. Chairman! I protest—”
“Shut up, Waxie. Are you ready with nominations for mayor? If there is no objection, the chair rules debate closed and will entertain nominations.”
“I nominate Grant Cowper!”
“Second!”
“I second the nomination.”
“Okay, I third it!”
“Let’s make it unanimous! Question, question!”
Jimmy Throxton’s voice cut through the shouting, “I NOMINATE ROD WALKER!”
Bob Baxter stood up. “Mr. Chairman?”
“Quiet, everybody. Mr. Baxter.”
“I second Rod Walker.”
“Okay. Two nominations, Grant Cowper and Rod Walker. Are there any more?”
There was a brief silence. Then Rod spoke up. “Just a second, Roy.” He found that his voice was trembling and he took two deep breaths before he went on. “I don’t want it. I’ve had all the grief I want for a while and I’d like a rest. Thanks anyhow, Bob. Thanks, Jimmy.”
“Any further nominations?”
“Just a sec, Roy…point of personal privilege.” Grant Cowper stood up. “Rod, I know how you feel. Nobody in his right mind seeks public office…except as a duty, willingness to serve. If you withdraw, I’m going to exercise the same privilege; I don’t want the headaches any more than you do.”
“Now wait a minute, Grant. You—”
“You wait a minute. I don’t think either one of us should withdraw; we ought to perform any duty that is handed to us, just as we stand a night watch when it’s our turn. But I think we ought to have more nominations.” He looked around. “Since that mix-up this morning we have as many girls as men…yet both of the candidates are male. That’s not right. Uh, Mr. Chairman, I nominate Caroline Mshiyeni.”
“Huh? Hey, Grant, don’t be silly. I’d look good as a lady mayoress, wouldn’t I? Anyhow, I’m for Roddie.”
“That’s your privilege, Caroline. But you ought to let yourself be placed before the body, just like Rod and myself.”
“Nobody’s going to vote for me!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to vote for you. But we still ought to have more candidates.”
“Three nominations before the house,” Kilroy announced. “Any more? If not, I declare the—”
“Mr. Chairman!”
“Huh? Okay, Waxie, you want to nominate somebody?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
“You want to nominate yourself?”
“I certainly do. What’s funny about that? I am running on a platform of strict scientific government. I want the rational minds in this group to have someone to vote for.”
Kilroy looked puzzled. “I’m not sure that is correct parliamentary procedure. I’m afraid I’ll have to over—”
“Never mind, never mind!” Caroline chortled. “I nominate him. But I’m going to vote for Roddie,” she added.
Kilroy sighed. “Okay, four candidates. I guess we’ll have to have a show of hands. We don’t have anything for ballots.”
Bob Baxter stood up. “Objection, Mr. Chairman. I call for a secret ballot. We can find some way to do it.”
A way was found. Pebbles would signify Rod, a bare twig was a note for Cowper, a green leaf meant Caroline, while one of Jimmy’s ceramic attempts was offered as a ballot box. “How about Nielsen?” Kilroy asked.
Jimmy spoke up. “Uh, maybe this would do: I made another pot the same time I made this one, only it busted. I’ll get chunks of it and all the crackpots are votes for Waxie.”
“Mr. Chairman, I resent the insinua—”
“Save it, Waxie. Pieces of baked clay for you, pebbles for Walker, twigs for Grant, leaves for Carol. Get your votes, folks, then file past and drop them in the ballot box. Shorty, you and Margery act as tellers.”
The tellers solemnly counted the ballots by firelight. There were five votes for Rod, one for Nielsen, none for Caroline, and twenty-two for Cowper. Rod shook hands with Cowper and faded back into the darkness so that no one would see his face. Caroline looked at the results and said, “Hey, Grant! You promised to vote for me. What happened? Did you vote for yourself? Huh? How about that?”
Rod said nothing. He had vote
d for Cowper and was certain that the new mayor had not returned the compliment…he was sure who his five friends were. Dog take it!—he had seen it coming; why hadn’t Grant let him bow out?
Grant ignored Caroline’s comment. He briskly assumed the chair and said, “Thank you. Thank you all. I know you want to get to sleep, so I will limit myself tonight to appointing a few committees—”
Rod did not get to sleep at once. He told himself that there was no disgrace in losing an election—shucks, hadn’t his old man lost the time he had run for community corporation board? He told himself, too, that trying to ride herd on those apes was enough to drive a man crazy and he was well out of it—he had never wanted the job! Nevertheless there was a lump in his middle and a deep sense of personal failure.
It seemed that he had just gone to sleep…his father was looking at him saying, “You know we are proud of you, son. Still, if you had had the foresight to—” when someone touched his arm.
He was awake, alert, and had Colonel Bowie out at once.
“Put away that toothpick,” Jimmy whispered, “before you hurt somebody. Me, I mean.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m up, I’ve got the fire watch. You’re about to be, because we are holding a session of the inner sanctum.”
“Huh?”
“Shut up and come along. Keep quiet, people are asleep.”
The inner sanctum turned out to be Jimmy, Caroline, Jacqueline, Bob Baxter, and Carmen Garcia. They gathered inside the ring of fire but as far from the sleepers as possible. Rod looked around at his friends. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about this,” Jimmy said seriously. “You’re our Captain. And we like that election as much as I like a crooked deck of cards.”
“That’s right,” agreed Caroline. “All that fancy talk!”
“Huh? Everybody got to talk. Everybody got to vote.”
“Yes,” agreed Baxter. “Yes…and no.”
“It was all proper. I have no kick.”
“I didn’t expect you to kick, Rod. Nevertheless…well, I don’t know how much politicking you’ve seen, Rod. I haven’t seen much myself, except in church matters and we Quakers don’t do things that way; we wait until the Spirit moves. But, despite all the rigamarole, that was a slick piece of railroading. This morning you would have been elected overwhelmingly; tonight you did not stand a chance.”
“The point is,” Jimmy put in, “do we stand for it?”
“What can we do?”
“What can we do? We don’t have to stay here. We’ve still got our own group; we can walk out and find another place…a bigger cave maybe.”
“Yes, sir!” agreed Caroline. “Right tonight.”
Rod thought about it. The idea was tempting; they didn’t need the others…guys like Nielsen—and Cowper. The discovery that his friends were loyal to him, loyal to the extent that they would consider exile rather than let him down choked him up. He turned to Jacqueline. “How about you, Jackie?”
“We’re partners, Rod. Always.”
“Bob—do you want to do this? You and Carmen?”
“Yes. Well…”
“‘Well’ what?”
“Rod, we’re sticking with you. This election is all very well—but you took us in when we needed it and teamed with us. We’ll never forget it. Furthermore I think that you make a sounder team captain than Cowper is likely to make. But there is one thing.”
“Yes.”
“If you decide that we leave, Carmen and I will appreciate it if you put it off a day.”
“Why?” demanded Caroline. “Now is the time.”
“Well—they’ve set this up as a formal colony, a village with a mayor. Everybody knows that a regularly elected mayor can perform weddings.”
“Oh!” said Caroline. “Pardon my big mouth.”
“Carmen and I can take care of the religious end—it’s not very complicated in our church. But, just in case we ever are rescued, we would like it better and our folks would like it if the civil requirements were all perfectly regular and legal. You see?”
Rod nodded. “I see.”
“But if you say to leave tonight…”
“I don’t,” Rod answered with sudden decision. “We’ll stay and get you two properly married. Then—”
“Then we all shove off in a shower of rice,” Caroline finished.
“Then we’ll see. Cowper may turn out to be a good mayor. We won’t leave just because I lost an election.” He looked around at their faces. “But…but I certainly do thank you. I—”
He could not go on. Carmen stepped forward and kissed him quickly. “Goodnight, Rod. Thanks.”
9
“A Joyful Omen”
MAYOR COWPER GOT OFF TO A GOOD START. He approved, took over, and embellished a suggestion that Carmen and Bob should have their own quarters. He suspended work on the wall and set the whole village to constructing a honeymoon cottage. Not until his deputy, Roy Kilroy, reminded him did he send out hunting parties.
He worked hard himself, having set the wedding for that evening and having decreed that the building must be finished by sundown. Finished it was by vandalizing part of the wall to supply building stone when the supply ran short Construction was necessarily simple since they had no tools, no mortar but clay mud, no way to cut timbers. It was a stone box as tall as a man and a couple of meters square, with a hole for a door. The roof was laid up from the heaviest poles that could be cut from a growth upstream of giant grass much like bamboo—the colonists simply called it “bamboo.” This was thatched and plastered with mud; it sagged badly.
But it was a house and even had a door which could be closed—a woven grass mat stiffened with bamboo. It neither hinged nor locked but it filled the hole and could be held in place with a stone and a pole. The floor was clean sand covered with fresh broad leaves.
As a doghouse for a St. Bernard it would have been about right; as a dwelling for humans it was not much. But it was better than that which most human beings had enjoyed through the history and prehistory of the race. Bob and Carmen did not look at it critically.
When work was knocked off for lunch Rod self-consciously sat down near a group around Cowper. He had wrestled with his conscience for a long time in the night and had decided that the only thing to do was to eat sour grapes and pretend to like them. He could start by not avoiding Cowper.
Margery Chung was cook for the day; she cut Rod a chunk of scorched meat. He thanked her and started to gnaw it. Cowper was talking. Rod was not trying to overhear but there seemed to be no reason not to listen.
“—which is the only way we will get the necessary discipline into the group. I’m sure you agree.” Cowper glanced up, caught Rod’s eye, looked annoyed, then grinned. “Hello, Rod.”
“Hi, Grant.”
“Look, old man, we’re having an executive committee meeting. Would you mind finding somewhere else to eat lunch?”
Rod stood up blushing. “Oh! Sure.”
Cowper seemed to consider it. “Nothing private, of course—just getting things done. On second thought maybe you should sit in and give us your advice.”
“Huh? Oh, no! I didn’t know anything was going on.” Rod started to move away.
Cowper did not insist. “Got to keep working, lots to do. See you later, then. Any time.” He grinned and turned away.
Rod wandered off, feeling conspicuous. He heard himself hailed and turned gratefully, joined Jimmy Throxton. “Come outside the wall,” Jimmy said quietly. “The Secret Six are having a picnic. Seen the happy couple?”
“You mean Carmen and Bob?”
“Know any other happy couples? Oh, there they are—staring hungrily at their future mansion. See you outside.”
Rod went beyond the wall, found Jacqueline and Caroline sitting near the water and eating. From habit he glanced around, sizing up possible cover for carnivores and figuring escape routes back into the kraal, but his alertness was not conscious as there seemed no danger in
the open so near other people. He joined the girls and sat down on a rock. “Hi, kids.”
“Hello, Rod.”
“H’lo, Roddie,” Caroline seconded. “What news on the Rialto?”
“None, I guess. Say, did Grant appoint an executive committee last night?”
“He appointed about a thousand committees but no executive committee unless he did it after we adjourned. Why an executive committee? This gang needs one the way I need a bicycle.”
“Who is on it, Rod?” asked Jacqueline.
Rod thought back and named the faces he had seen around Cowper. She looked thoughtful. “Those are his own special buddies from Teller U.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“I don’t like it,” she answered.
“What’s the harm?”
“Maybe none…maybe. It is about what we could expect. But I’d feel better if all the classes were on it, not just that older bunch. You know.”
“Shucks, Jack, you’ve got to give him some leeway.”
“I don’t see why,” put in Caroline. “That bunch you named are the same ones Hizzonor appointed as chairmen of the other committees. It’s a tight little clique. You notice none of us unsavory characters got named to any important committee—I’m on waste disposal and camp sanitation, Jackie is on food preparation, and you aren’t on any. You should have been on the constitution, codification, and organization committee, but he made himself chairman and left you out. Add it up.”
Rod did not answer. Caroline went on, “I’ll add it if you won’t. First thing you know there will be a nominating committee. Then we’ll find that only those of a certain age, say twenty-one, can hold office. Pretty soon that executive committee will turn into a senate (called something else, probably) with a veto that can be upset only by a three-quarters majority that we will never get. That’s the way my Uncle Phil would have rigged it.”
“Your Uncle Phil?”
“Boy, there was a politician! I never liked him—he had kissed so many babies his lips were puckered. I used to hide when he came into our house. But I’d like to put him up against Hizzonor. It’ud be a battle of dinosaurs. Look, Rod, they’ve got us roped and tied; I say we should fade out right after the wedding.” She turned to Jacqueline. “Right…pardner?”