Part 17 (2/2)

”How could he have been persuaded so easily, Professor Harding? You've explained your point of view at length in a dozen reports and it never helped a bit.”

”I've never presented it in this room, with the Neurophotoscope working,” said Harding. ”I've never had anyone as intensely projective as Steve before. Many people can withstand emotion control, as I said, but some people cannot withstand it. Those who have a tendency to conform are easily led to agree with others. I took the gamble that any man who feels comfortable in uniform and who lives by the military book is liable to be swayed, no matter how powerful he imagines himself to be.”

”You mean-Steve-”

”Of course, I let the general feel the uneasiness first, then you handed Steve the Kaleido-volume and the air filled with happiness. You felt it, didn't you?”

”Yes. Certainly.”

”It was my guess the general couldn't resist that happiness so suddenly following the unease, and he didn't. Anything would have sounded good at that moment. ”

”But he'll get over it, won't he?”

”Eventually, I suppose, but so what? The key progress reports concerning Neurophotoscopy are being sent out right now to news media all over the world. The general might suppress it here in this country, but surely not elsewhere. -No, he will have to make the best of it. Mankind can begin its proper study in earnest, at last.”

The painting was simply a crudely done head surrounded by a series of aimless psychedelic designs. It meant nothing to ine ine and I had a terrible time thinking up THE PROPER STUDY. Foul Anderson also wrote a story based on the same painting and probably had no trouble at all. and I had a terrible time thinking up THE PROPER STUDY. Foul Anderson also wrote a story based on the same painting and probably had no trouble at all.

The two stories appeared in the same issue and I suppose it might be interesting to compare the stories and try to get an idea of the different workings of Poul's brain-and mine-but, as in the case of BLANK!, I didn't save the other story. Besides, I don't want you to compare brains. Poul is awfully bright and you might come to me with some hard truths I'd rather not face.

In early 1970 IBM Magazine IBM Magazine came to me with a quote from J. B. Priestley which went as follows: ”Between midnight and dawn, when sleep will not come and all the old wounds begin to ache, I often have a nightmare vision of a future world in which there are billions of people, all numbered and registered, with not a gleam of genius anywhere, not an original mind, a rich personality, on the whole packed globe.” came to me with a quote from J. B. Priestley which went as follows: ”Between midnight and dawn, when sleep will not come and all the old wounds begin to ache, I often have a nightmare vision of a future world in which there are billions of people, all numbered and registered, with not a gleam of genius anywhere, not an original mind, a rich personality, on the whole packed globe.”

The editor of the magazine asked me to write a story based on the quote, and I did the job in late April and mailed it in. The story was 2430 A.D., and in it I took I Priestley's quotation seriously and tried to describe the world of his nightmares.

And IBM Magazine IBM Magazine sent it back. They said they didn't want a story that backed the quotation; they wanted one I that refuted the quotation. Well, they had never sent it back. They said they didn't want a story that backed the quotation; they wanted one I that refuted the quotation. Well, they had never said said so. so.

Under ordinary circ.u.mstances I might have been very indignant and might have written a rather scathing letter. However, these were hard times for me and there was another turning point, and a very sad one, coming up in my life.

My marriage had been limping for some years and it finally broke down. On July 3, 1970, with our twenty-eighth anniversary nearly upon US, I moved out and went to New York. I took a two-room hotel suite that I was to use as an office for nearly five years.

You can't make a change like that without all kinds of worries, miseries, and guilts. And among them all, I being what I am, one of my worries, as I sat in the two rooms in a strange environment, with my reference library still undelivered,* [* As long as I was a fiction writer I needed very little in the way of a library and could write anywhere. One of the less pleasant aspects of my switch to nonfiction was that I gradually built up an enormous reference library which nails me to the ground.] was whether I would still be able to write.

I remembered my story 2430 A.D., which ordinarily I might have abandoned in indignation. Now, just to see if I could do it, I began another story, on July 8, 1970, five days after my move, one which would refute Priestley's quotation. I called it THE GREATEST a.s.sET.

I sent it to IBM Magazine, IBM Magazine, and you'll never believe me but after reading my second story they decided to take my first one after all. It was utterly confusing. Was my second story so bad that it made the first look good? Or had they changed their mind before I had written the second story and had they not gotten round to telling me? I suspect the latter. Anyway, 2430 A.D. was published in the October 1970 issue of and you'll never believe me but after reading my second story they decided to take my first one after all. It was utterly confusing. Was my second story so bad that it made the first look good? Or had they changed their mind before I had written the second story and had they not gotten round to telling me? I suspect the latter. Anyway, 2430 A.D. was published in the October 1970 issue of IBM Magazine. IBM Magazine.

2430 A.D.

Between midnight and dawn, when sleep will not come and all the old wounds begin to ache, I often have a nightmare vision of a future world in which there are billions of people, all numbered and registered, with not a gleam of genius anywhere, not an original mind, a rich personality, on the whole packed globe.

-J.B. Priestly.

”He'll talk to us,” said Alvarez when the other stepped out the door.

”Good,” said Bunting. ”Social pressure is bound to get to him eventually. An odd character. How he escaped genetic adjustment I'll never know. -But you you do the talking. He irritates me past tact.” do the talking. He irritates me past tact.”

Together they swung down the corridor along the Executive Trail, which was, as always, spa.r.s.ely occupied. They might have taken the Moving Strips, but there were only two miles to go and Alvarez enjoyed walking, so I Bunting didn't insist. I Alvarez was tall and rather thin, with the kind of athletic figure one would expect of a person who cherished the muscular activities; who routinely used the stairs and rampways, for instance, almost to the edge of being considered an unsettling character himself. Bunting, softer and rounder, avoided even the sunlamps, and was quite pale.

Bunting said dolefully, ”I hope the two of us will be enough.”

”I should think so. We want to keep it in our sector, if we can.”

”Yes! You know, I keep thinking-why does it have to be our our sector? Fifty million square miles of seven-hundred-level living s.p.a.ce, and it has to be in our apartment bloc.” sector? Fifty million square miles of seven-hundred-level living s.p.a.ce, and it has to be in our apartment bloc.”

”Rather a distinction, in a grisly kind of way,” said Alvarez.

Bunting snorted.

”And a little to our credit,” Alvarez added softly, ”if we settle the matter. We reach peak. We reach end. We reach goal. All mankind. And we we do it.” do it.”

Bunting brightened. He said, ”You think they'll look at it that way?”

”Let's see to it that they do.”

Their footsteps were muted against the plastic-knit crushed rock underfoot. They pa.s.sed crosscorridors and saw the endless crowds on the Moving Strips in the middle distance. There was a fugitive whiff of plankton in its varieties. Once, almost by instinct, they could tell that up above, far above, was one of the giant conduits leading in from the sea. And by symmetry they knew there would be another conduit, just as large, far below, leading out to sea.

Their destination was a dwelling room set well back from the corridor, but one that seemed different from the thousands they had pa.s.sed. There was about it an intangible and disconcerting note of s.p.a.ce, for on either side, for hundreds of feet, the wall was blank. And there was something in the air.

”Smell it?” muttered Bunting.

”I've smelled it before,” said Alvarez. ”Inhuman.”

”Literally!” said Bunting. ”He won't expect us to look at them, will he?”

”If he does, it's easy enough to refuse.” They signaled, then waited in silence while the hum of infinite life sounded all around them in utterly disregarded manner, for it was always there.

The door opened. Cranwitz was waiting. He looked sullen. He wore the same clothes they all did; light, simple, gray. On him, though, they seemed rumpled. He He seemed rumpled, his hair too long, his eyes bloodshot and s.h.i.+fting uneasily. seemed rumpled, his hair too long, his eyes bloodshot and s.h.i.+fting uneasily.

”May we enter?” asked Alvarez with cold courtesy.

Cranwitz stood to one side.

The odor was stronger inside. Cranwitz closed the door behind them and they sat down. Cranwitz remained standing and said nothing.

Alvarez said, ”I must ask you, in my capacity as Sector Representative, with Bunting here as Vice-Representative, whether you are now ready to comply with social necessity.”

Cranwitz seemed to be thinking. When he finally spoke his deep voice was choked and he had to clear his throat. ”I don't want to,” he said. ”I don't have to. There is a contract with the government of long-standing. My family has always had the right-”

”We know all this and there's no question of force involved,” said Bunting irritably. ”We're asking you to accede voluntarily.”

Alvarez touched the other's knee lightly. ”You understand the situation is not what it was in your father's time; or even, really, what it was last year?”

Cranwitz's long jaw quivered slightly. ”I don't see that. The birth rate has dropped this year by the amount computerized, and everything else has changed correspondingly. That goes on from year to year. Why should this I year be different?”

His voice somehow did not carry conviction. Alvarez was sure he did did know why this year was different, and he said softly, ”This year we've reached the goal. The birth rate now exactly matches the death rate; the population level is now exactly steady; construction is now confined to replacement entirely; and the sea farms are in a steady state. Only you stand between all mankind and perfection... know why this year was different, and he said softly, ”This year we've reached the goal. The birth rate now exactly matches the death rate; the population level is now exactly steady; construction is now confined to replacement entirely; and the sea farms are in a steady state. Only you stand between all mankind and perfection...

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