Part 22 (1/2)

”You appear to have devoted a great deal of time to this question,”

Littlejohn observed.

”I have,” answered the older man. ”And it is not a question. It is a fact. The one fact that confronts us all. If we proceed along our present path, we face certain extinction in a very short time. The strain is weakening constantly, the vitality is draining away. We sought to defeat Nature--but the Naturalists were right, in their way.”

”And the solution?”

Thurmon was silent for a long moment. Then, ”I have none,” he said.

”You have consulted the medical authorities?”

”Naturally. And experiments have been made. Physical conditioning, systems of exercise, experimentation in chemotherapy are still being undertaken. There's no lack of volunteers, but a great lack of results. No, the answer does not lie in that direction.”

”But what else is there?”

”That is what I had hoped you might tell me,” Thurmon said. ”You are a scholar. You know the past. You speak often of the lessons of history--”

Littlejohn was nodding, but not in agreement. He was trying to comprehend. For suddenly the conviction came to him clearly; Thurmon was right. It was happening, had happened, right under their smug noses. The world was weakening. It was slowing down, and the race is only to the swift.

He cursed himself for his habit of thinking in plat.i.tudes and quotations, but long years of study had unfitted him for less prosaic phraseology. If he could only be practical.

_Practical._

”Thurmon,” he said. ”There is a way. A way so obvious, we've all overlooked it--pa.s.sed right over it.”

”And that is--?”

”Stop the Leffingwell injections!”

”But--”

”I know what you'll say. There have been genetic mutations. Very true, but such mutations can't be universal. A certain percentage of offspring will be sound, capable of attaining full growth. And we don't have the population-problem to cope with any more. There's room for people again. So why not try it? Stop the injections and allow babies to be born as they were before.” Littlejohn hesitated before adding a final word, but he knew he had to add it; he knew it now.

”Normally,” he said.

Thurmon nodded. ”So that is your answer.”

”Yes. I--I think it will work.”

”So do the biologists,” Thurmon told him. ”A generation of normal infants, reared to maturity, would restore mankind to its former stature, in every sense of the word. And now, knowing the lessons of the past, we could prepare for the change to come. We could rebuild the world for them to live in, rebuild it psychically as well as physically. We'd plan to eliminate the rivalry between the large and the small, the strong and the weak. It wouldn't be difficult because there's plenty for all. There'd be no trouble as there was in the old days. We've learned to be psychologically flexible.”

Littlejohn smiled. ”Then that _is_ the solution?” he asked.

”Yes. Eliminating the Leffingwell injections will give us a good proportion of normal children again. _But where do we find the normal women to bear them?_”

”Normal women?”

Thurmon sighed, then reached over and placed a scroll in the scanner.

”I have already gone into that question with research technicians,” he said. ”And I have the figures here.” He switched on the scanner and began to read.

”The average nubile female, aged thirteen to twenty-one, is two feet, ten inches high and weighs forty-eight pounds.” Thurmon flicked the switch again and peered up. ”I don't think I'll bother with pelvic measurements,” he said. ”You can already see that giving birth to a six or seven-pound infant is a physical impossibility under the circ.u.mstances. It cannot be done.”