The Worlds Of Robert A Heinlein

magazines; the neologism "swinger" has come into the language; courts are

  conceding that nudity and semi-nudity are now parts of the mores. But the

  end is not yet; this revolution will go much farther and is now barely

  started.

  The most difficult speculation for a science fiction writer to undertake is

  to imagine correctly the secondary implications of a new factor. Many

  people correctly anticipated the coming of the horseless carriage; some

  were bold enough to predict that everyone would use them and the horse

  would virtually disappear. But I know of no writer, fiction or non-fiction,

  who saw ahead of time the vast change in the courting and mating habits of

  Americans which would result primarily from the automobile ? a change which

  the diaphragm and the oral contraceptive merely confirmed. So far as I

  know, no one even dreamed of the change in sex habits the automobile would

  set off.

  There is some new gadget in existence today which will prove to be equally

  revolutionary in some other way equally unexpected. You and I both know of

  this gadget, by name and by function ? but we don't know which one it is

  nor what its unexpected effect will be. This is why science fiction is not

  prophecy ? and why fictional speculation can be so much fun both to read

  and to write.

  ( c) I flatly stand by this one. True, we are now working on Nike-Zeus and

  Nike-X and related systems and plan to spend billions on such systems ? and

  we know that others are doing the same thing. True, it is possible to hit

  an object in orbit or trajectory. Nevertheless this prediction is as safe

  as predicting tomorrow's sunrise. Anti-aircraft fire never stopped air

  attacks; it simply made them expensive. The disadvantage in being at the

  bottom of a deep "gravity well" is very great; gravity gauge will be as

  crucial in the coming years as wind gauge was in the days when sailing

  ships controlled empires. The nation that controls the Moon will control

  the Earth ? but no one seems willing these days to speak that nasty fact

  out loud.

  (d) Since 1950 we have done so in several theaters and are doing so as this

  is written, in Viet Nam. "Preventive" or "pre-emptive" war seems as

  unlikely as ever, no matter who is in the White House. Here is a new

  prediction: World War III (as a major, all-out war) will not take place at

  least until 1980 and could easily hold off until 2000. This is a very happy

  prediction compared with the situation in 1950, as those years of grace may

  turn up basic factors which (hopefully!) might postpone disaster still

  longer. We were much closer to ultimate disaster around 1955 than we are

  today ? much closer indeed than we were at the time of the Cuban

  Confrontation in 1962. But the public never knew it. All in all, things

  look pretty good for survival, for the time being ? and that is as good a

  break as our ancestors ever had. It was far more dangerous to live in

  London in 1664-5 than it is to live in a city threatened by H-bombs today.

  (e) Here I fell flat on my face. There has been no break-through in

  housing, nor is any now in prospect ? instead the ancient, wasteful methods

  of building are now being confirmed by public subsidies. The degree of our

  backwardness in this field is hard to grasp; we have never seen a modern

  house. Think what an automobile would be if each one were custom-built from

  materials fetched to your home ? what would it look like, what would it do,

  and how much would it cost. But don't set the cost lower than $100,000, nor

  the speed higher than 10 m/h, if you want to be realistic about the

  centuries of difference between the housing industry and the automotive

  industry.

  I underestimated ( through wishful thinking ) the power of human stupidity

  ? a fault fatal to prophecy.

  (f) In the meantime spectacular progress has been made in organ transplants

  ? and the problem of regeneration is related to this one. Biochemistry and

  genetics have made a spectacular breakthrough in "cracking the genetic

  code." It is a tiny crack, however, with a long way to go before we will

  have the human chromosomes charted and still longer before we will be able

  to "tailor" human beings by gene manipulation. The possibility is there ?

  but not by year 2000. This is probably just as well. If we aren't bright

  enough to build decent houses, are we bright enough to play God with the

  architecture of human beings?

  (g) Our editor suggested that I had been too optimistic on this one ? but I

  still stand by it. It is still thirty-five years to the end of the century.

  For perspective, look back thirty-five years to 1930 ? the American Rocket

  Society had not yet been founded then. Another curve, similar to the one

  herewith in shape but derived entirely from speed of transportation,

  extrapolates to show faster-than-light travel by year 2000. I guess I'm

  chicken, for I am not predicting FTL ships by then, if ever. But the

  prediction still stands without hedging.

  (h) Predicting intelligent life on Mars looks pretty silly after those

  dismal photographs. But I shan't withdraw it until Mars has been thoroughly

  explored. As yet we really have no idea ? and no data ? as to just how

  ubiquitous and vaned life may be in this galaxy; it is conceivable that

  life as we don't know it can evolve on any sort of a planet . . . and

  nothing in our present knowledge of chemistry rules this out. All the talk

  has been about life-as-we-know-it-which means terrestrial conditions.

  But if you feel that this shows in me a childish reluctance to give up

  thoats and zitidars and beautiful Martian princesses until forced to, I

  won't argue with you ? I'll just wait.

  (i) I must hedge number thirteen; the "cent" I meant was scaled by the 1950

  dollar. But our currency has been going through a long steady inflation,

  and no nation in history has ever gone as far as we have along this route

  without reaching the explosive phase of inflation. Ten-dollar hamburgers?

  Brother, we are headed for the hundred-dollar hamburger ? for the

  barter-only hamburger.

  But this is only an inconvenience rather than a disaster as long as there

  is plenty of hamburger.

  (j) This prediction stands. But today physics is in a tremendous state of

  flux with new data piling up faster than it can be digested; it is

  anybody's guess as to where we are headed, but the wilder you guess, the

  more likely you are to hit it lucky. With "elementary particles" of nuclear

  physics now totaling about half the number we used to use to list the

  "immutable" chemical elements, a spectator needs a program just to keep

  track of the players. At the other end of the scale, "quasars" ?

  quasi-stellar bodies ? have come along; radio astronomy is now bigger than

  telescopic astronomy used to be; and we have redrawn our picture of the

  universe several times, each time enlarging it and making it more complex ?

  I haven't seen this week's theory yet, which is well, as it would be out of

  date before this gets into print. Plasma physics was barely started in

  1950; the same for solid-state physics. This is the Golden Age of physics ?

 
and it's an anarchy.

  (k) I stand flatly behind prediction number fifteen.

  (I) I'll hedge number eighteen just a little. Hunger is not now a problem

  in the USA and need not be in the year 2000 ? but hunger as a world problem

  and problem for us if we were conquered . . . a distinct possibility by

  2000. Between our present status and that of subjugation lies a

  whole spectrum of political and economic possible

  shapes to the future under which we would share the

  worldwide hunger to a greater or lesser extent. And

  the problem grows. We can expect to have to feed

  around half a billion Americans circa year 2000-our

  present huge surpluses would then represent acute

  shortages even if we never shipped a ton of wheat to

  India.

  (m) I stand by prediction number nineteen.

  I see no reason to change any of the negative predictions which follow the

  numbered affirmative ones. They are all conceivably possible; they are all

  wildly unlikely by year 2000. Some of them are debatable if the terms are

  defined to suit the affirmative side ? definitions of "life" and "manlike,"

  for example. Let it stand that I am not talking about an amino acid in one

  case, nor a machine that plays chess in the other.

  (n) Today the forerunners of these synthesists are already at work in many

  places. Their titles may be anything; their degrees may be in anything ? or

  they may have no degrees. Today they are called "operations researchers,"

  or sometimes "systems development engineers," or other interim tags. But

  they are all interdisciplinary people, generalists, not specialists ? the

  new Renaissance Man. The very explosion of data which forced most scholars

  to specialize very narrowly created the necessity which evoked this new

  non-specialist. So far, this "unspecialty" is in its infancy; its

  methodology is inchoate, the results are sometimes trivial, and no one

  knows how to train to become such a man. But the results are often

  spectacularly brilliant, too ? this new man may yet save all of us.

  I'm an optimist. I have great confidence in Homo Sapiens.

  We have rough times ahead ? but when didn't we? Things have always been

  "tough all over." H-bombs, Communism, race riots, water shortage ? all

  nasty problems. But not basic problems, merely current ones.

  We have three basic and continuing problems: The problem of population

  explosion; the problem of data explosion; and the problem of government.

  Population problems have a horrid way of solving themselves when they are

  not solved rationally; the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are always

  saddled up and ready to ride. The data explosion is now being solved,

  mostly by cybernetics' and electronics' men rather than by librarians ? and

  if the solutions are less than perfect, at least they are better than what

  Grandpa had to work with. The problem of government has not been solved

  either by the 'Western Democracies" or the "Peoples' Democracies," as of

  now. (Anyone who thinks the people of the United States have solved the

  problem of government is using too short a time scale.) The peoples of the

  world are now engaged in a long, long struggle with no end in sight,

  testing whether one concept works better than another; in that conflict

  millions have already died and it is possible that hundreds of millions

  will die in it before year 2000. But not all.

  I hold both opinions and preferences as to the outcome. But my personal

  preference for a maximum of looseness is irrelevant; what we are

  experiencing is an evolutionary process in which personal preference

  matters, at most, only statistically. Biologists, ecologists in particular

  are working around to the idea that natural selection and survival of the

  fittest is a notion that applies more to groups and how they are structured

  than it does to individuals. The present problem will solve itself in the

  cold terms of revolutionary survival, and in the course of it both sides

  will make changes in group structure. The system that survives might be

  called "Communism" or it might be called "Democracy" (the latter is my

  guess) ? but one thing we can be certain of: it will not resemble very

  closely what either Marx or Jefferson had in mind. Or it might be called by

  some equally inappropriate neologism; political tags are rarely logical.

  For Man is rarely logical. But I have great confidence in Man, based on his

  past record. He is mean, ornery, cantankerous, illogical, emotional ? and

  amazingly hard to kill. Religious leaders have faith in the spiritual

  redemption of Man; humanist leaders subscribe to a belief in the

  perfectibility of Man through his own efforts; but I am not discussing

  either of these two viewpoints. My confidence in our species lies in its

  past history and is founded quite as much on Man's so-called vices as on

  his so-called virtues. When the chips are down, quarrelsomeness and

  selfishness can be as useful to the survival of the human race as is

  altruism, and pig-headedness can be a trait superior to sweet

  reasonableness. If this were not true, these "vices" would have died out

  through the early deaths of their hosts, at least a half million years

  back.

  I have a deep and abiding confidence in Man as he is, imperfect and often

  unlovable ? plus still greater confidence in his potential. No matter how

  tough things are, Man copes. He comes up with adequate answers from

  illogical reasons. But the answers work.

  Last to come out of Pandora's Box was a gleaming, beautiful thing ? eternal

  Hope.

  FREE MEN

  "THAT MAKES three provisional presidents so far," the Leader said. "I

  wonder how many more there are?" He handed the flimsy sheet back to the

  runner, who placed it in his mouth and chewed it up like gum.

  The third man shrugged. "No telling. What worries me ? " A mockingbird

  interrupted. "Doity, doity, doity," he sang. "Terloo, terloo, terloo,

  purty-purty-purty-purty."

  The clearing was suddenly empty.

  "As I was saying," came the voice of the third man in a whisper in the

  Leader's ear, "it ain't how many worries me, but how you tell a de Gaulle

  from a Laval. See anything?"

  "Convoy. Stopped below us." The Leader peered through bushes and down the

  side of a bluff. The high ground pushed out toward the river here,

  squeezing the river road between it and the water. The road stretched away

  to the left, where the valley widened out into farmland, and ran into the

  outskirts of Barclay

  ten miles away.

  The convoy was directly below them, eight trucks preceded and followed by

  half-tracks. The following half-track was backing, vortex gun cast loose

  and ready for trouble. Its commander apparently wanted elbow room against a

  possible trap.

  At the second truck helmeted figures gathered around its rear end, which

  was jacked up. As the Leader watched he saw one wheel removed.

  "Trouble?"

  "I think not. Just a breakdown. They'll be gone soon." He wondered what was

  in the trucks. Food, probably. His mouth watered. A few weeks ago an

  opportunity
like this would have meant generous rations for all, but the

  conquerors had smartened up.

  He put useless thoughts away. "It's not that that worries me, Dad," he

  added, returning to the subject. "We'll be able to tell quislings from

  loyal Americans. But how do you tell men from boys?"

  "Thinking of Joe Benz?"

  "Maybe. I'd give a lot to know how far we can trust Joe. But I could have

  been thinking of young Morrie."

  "You can trust him."

  "Certainly. At thirteen he doesn't drink ? and he wouldn't crack if they

  burned his feet off. Same with Cathleen. It's not age or sex ? but how can

  you tell? And you've got to be able to tell."

  There was a flurry below. Guards had slipped down from the trucks and

  withdrawn from the road when the convoy had stopped, in accordance with an

  orderly plan for such emergencies. Now two of them returned to the convoy,

  hustling between them a figure not in uniform.

  The mockingbird set up a frenetic whistling.

  "It's the messenger," said the Leader. "The dumb fool! Why didn't he lie

  quiet? Tell Ted we've seen it."

  Dad pursed his lips and whistled: "Keewah, keewah, keewah, terloo."

  The other "mockingbird" answered, "Terloo," and shut up.

  "We'll need a new post office now," said the Leader. "Take care of it,

  Dad."

  "Okay."

  "There's no real answer to the problem," the Leader said. "You can limit

  size of units, so that one person can't give away too many ? but take a

  colony like ours. It needs to be a dozen or more to work. That means they

  all have to be dependable, or they all go down together. So each one has a

  loaded gun at the head of each other one."

  Dad grinned, wryly. "Sounds like the United Nations before the Blow Off.

  Cheer up, Ed. Don't burn your bridges before you cross them."

  "I won't. The convoy is ready to roll."

  When the convoy had disappeared in the distance, Ed Morgan, the Leader, and

  his deputy Dad Carter stood up and stretched. The "mockingbird" had

  announced safety loudly and cheerfully. "Tell Ted to cover us into camp,"

  Morgan ordered.

  Dad wheepled and chirruped and received acknowledgment. They started back

  into the hills. Their route was roundabout and included check points from

  which they could study their back track and receive reports from Ted.

  Morgan was not worried about Ted being followed ? he was confident that Ted

  could steal baby 'possums from mama's pouch. But the convoy break-down

  might have been a trap ? there was no way to tell that all of the soldiers

  had got back into the trucks. The messenger might have been followed;

  certainly he had been trapped too easily.

  Morgan wondered how much the messenger would spill. He could not spill much

  about Morgan's own people, for the "post office" rendezvous was all that he

  knew about them.

  The base of Morgan's group was neither better nor worse than the average of

  the several thousand other camps of recalcitrant guerrillas throughout the

  area that once called itself the United States. The Twenty Minute War had

  not surprised everyone. The mushrooms which had blossomed over Washington,

  Detroit, and a score of other places had been shocking but expected ? by

  some.

  Morgan had made no grand preparations. He had simply conceived it as a good

  period in which to stay footloose and not too close to a target area. He

  had taken squatter's rights in an abandoned mine and had stocked it with

  tools, food, and other useful items. He had had the simple intention to

  survive; it was during the weeks after Final Sunday that he discovered that