The Non-Statistical Man (19 page)

“Sure—it’s all settled; you haven’t changed
your
mind, have you?”

“No! It’s just that sometimes I wish you could understand how I feel—just a little.”

There were almost a hundred volunteers waiting behind the gates of the spaceport, each the nucleus of a cluster of friends and relatives saying last goodbyes. Some of the groups were quiet, waiting for the inevitable; others were stormy pools filled with last minute tears and clinging.

The sky above the port was cloud-specked and shining, as if Earth herself were putting on a last and final appeal to the emigres to think again of what they were abandoning. John watched the little whirlwinds on the field and wondered if the dust of Planet 7 had the hot, dry smell of old forgotten lanes in summertime; if you could imagine faces and horses and ships of the sea in her clouds.

He stood near the center of their group. Even the buzz of human voices was a kind of music, he thought. But he wouldn’t hear these voices—not ever again.

He edged away from Mel’s silent pleading; the bustling, explosive fury of George’s last minute demands that Doris come to her senses; the mumbled congratulations of the two score fellow musicians; the whine of several hundred fans and musical followers.

It was not hard to escape. Attention was on Doris, incredibly beautiful and untouched by the fact that she was leaving Earth today and would never see it again. John felt that none of the talk was addressed to him,

He watched the star-ship slowly moving to its launching-base, towed by chugging tractors that strained like insects against its mass. He tried to look over the heads of the crowd to see others who would be his own companions on the journey.

And then he caught a startling movement of color threading between the islands of humanity.

It was a girl in a flame-red dress. At the gate she stood on tiptoe, clutching the iron bars like an eager child. He strolled to the gate and stood beside her. “If you’re looking for anyone in the crowd, I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time of it, now,” he said.

“Oh, no.” She glanced up quickly.
“I’m
going to get on the ship. Are you going, too?” Her waves of dark hair trembled and the almost-black pupils of her eyes glistened with light.

Whatever the scientists on Planet 7 considered worth passing on to the future, John hoped they would preserve that light. He had never seen its like before, he thought “Yes, I’m going,” he said.

They watched the big ship. It was motionless now and mechanics scurried ant-like at its base. Hatches opened ponderously.

“Do you think we can help?” asked John. “Do you think humanity a thousand years from now will be better for our going?”

The girl laughed. “I don’t know about humanity a thousand years from now; I’m going to help myself.”

As if his silence reproved her, she turned her head defiantly. “And anyway,
I’m
humanity! And they don’t care
why
you go, as long as you have enough of the qualities of a guinea-pig.”

“I wasn’t going to scold you,” he said; “your attitude is refreshing. It’s just that it’s customary to speak with a long face, and in solemn tones, of the great things that Human Developments is doing for the future of mankind.”

“No one connected with the whole thing cares a hoot about the future of mankind a thousand years from now. The scientists are concerned because it’s their business to manipulate guinea-pigs; and they have finally conceived the most colossal guinea-pig show ever dreamed up. "

“The rest of us have our own reasons. Some of us are running away; some are going for the fun of it. And others—well, you’ll see when you get there. It isn’t the noble, self-sacrificing bunch the newsmen like to picture. After all, no one ever comes back to tell what it’s like out there.”

John stared at the girl. She was as challenging as a winter morning. And could she be right? He knew there was no nobility in
his
going, but what would she make of Doris’ high-minded purposes?

Doris didn’t have to run from anything. Her mind was swift and sharp enough to encompass the whole universe including humanity a thousand years from now. The girl’s swift estimation of her fellow travelers would hardly apply to his sister. He’d have to see that they met aboard ship, he thought.

But now the gates rumbled aside as the guards removed the pin-locks and chains. Slowly, at first—as if almost reluctant to embark upon the course that had been so carefully and greatly planned—the wave of emigres moved over the field, while guards held back the protesting, well-wishing friends and relatives.

John looked back towards Doris and felt the surge of the crowd separate him from the girl in the flame-red dress. “I’ll see you aboard ship!” he called. “I’m in Alpha Colony section.”

Her smile, swiftly receding through the crowd, was wistful. “I won’t be seeing
you.
I’m going as a Control.”

He found Doris cutting her last ties with Earth carefully and dispassionately. She patted George on the cheek as if saying goodbye to a fond puppy. She gave Mel a cool and sisterly kiss. And then she was taking John’s arm and hurrying him towards the gate.

The ship had a frightening smell. It caught John in the pit of the stomach and he stopped midway along the elevator ramp. It was not the friendly smell of coal or oil or gasoline, but the sharp ozone sting of outer space, and counterfeit worlds where it was unnatural for men to be.

He glanced upward at the great scarred tube. He had seen the shining arcs in the night sky, but he had never been this near to a ship before. He glanced at his own slender white hand resting on the railing and wondered what kind of men could build such ships as these.

“Move along there!”

He closed his mind to wonder and concentrated on the steel deck of the ramp beneath his feet.

In his stateroom, John sat down carefully on the bed near the large main port. He had a sudden curious feeling of numbness as if the whole world were something that was happening
to
him.

He saw in die west, beyond the city, the mile-wide crater now filled with water, like some pleasant lake with the afternoon sun glistening on it. He couldn’t see the high, electric fence that walled off the entire area as too contaminated for human occupancy. He didn’t know how, but he had a feeling that it concerned him, deeply.

Below the steel column of the ship, the ground—almost two hundred feet away—was littered with moving people, movements at once erratic and purposeful. They were something happening to him, too.

And the girl, the girl in the flame-red dress.
She
had happened to him.

It had always been that way; it was a little frightening to recognize that all his life things and people had happened
to
him as if he were a prop on some fantastic stage.

He stood up and tried to shrug off the feeling. He heard Doris, unseen beyond the door of her adjacent stateroom, moving luggage, snapping lids, and closing drawers with shattering efficiency. Things didn’t happen to her;
she
did the shaping. The world of Doris Carwell was exactly the way she wanted it to be.

Without unpacking, John shoved his hands in his pockets and strode from the room. He made his way through the corridors, unaware of where he was going, half-angry with himself for not knowing. Abruptly, he found himself in the main lounge. The huge hall was dark and, he thought, unoccupied. Then he spotted a familiar flash of color in a far corner.

It was too much to expect, but there she was, the girl he had met at the gate. She was sitting curled up with a plain yellow cat on her lap. Her fingers stroked its ears gently.

He couldn’t have told why it gave
him
such pleasure to see her. But there was a sudden sense of loss, too, as he remembered her final words. “I hadn’t hoped to see you again so soon,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you and—?” '

“Toby,” she said. “This is Toby; they let me bring him along. I’m not supposed to be down here, but he got away when I took him from the baggage room, and I chased him in here.

“I guess we don’t have very long before take-off, do we?”

“I didn’t understand what you said at the gate,” John said. “What was that about a Control? I’ve heard the word, but it’s always been used like a nasty name.”

“Maybe it is. The recruiting-agent who signed me up said different.” She mimicked: “ ‘You will be giving the same selfless, devoted service to mankind that is being offered by those even in Alpha Colony.’ Anyway, I wouldn’t have come except as a Control.”

“What does it mean?”

“They explained that when a scientist conducts an experiment he performs his work on one batch of material, and leaves another completely untouched in order to compare the two and see what changes are made by his experiment.

“So, on Planet 7 there are colonies of people who live in completely natural circumstances, self-governed and uncared-for, except as they can find subsistence out of the jungle itself. The products of the experimental colonies are then compared with us unfettered Controls to see what the benefits are.”

“I shouldn’t think it would be necessary to set up special Control-colonies on Planet 7; Earth itself should bo sufficient.

“There are too many random factors—social and economic—all of which are too hard to evaluate. At least, that’s the way they explained it to me.”

“But how can you get away from these things out in the Alpha system? The technology is there; people retain their memories and the same social and economic problems exist.”

“On a slightly different level,” she said. “When you’re turned loose in a jungle, and have to scratch with your bare hands for existence most of the extraneous
factors are gradually dropped. That’s the word they used, extraneous.” .

John sat back, horrified. “You mean that’s the kind of existence you’re going to for the rest of your life? A primitive jungle-life, with no civilization whatever? It would kill you or make a savage out of you.”

“That’s a thing the scientists want to find out,” said the girl. “They say that’s the way humanity started out, and we have almost completed a full circle. They want to learn at what point humanity should have turned aside in order to have kept climbing.”

“That’s horrible—deliberately turning you into savages in order to test a theory.”

“Well, don’t feel so sorry for me. Exactly what do you think they are going to do to you?”

“I don’t know,” he said in sudden weariness. “I think that I would rather never have heard of Human Developments Project.”

“Then you’d better get off the ship in a hurry,” she said lightly, “because there’s the take-off warning. We’ve got to get to our cabins and on the take-off couch before the next bell. Come on, Toby!”

He was sick during the take-off. When they were finally in space he sat up, his head balloon-like and his stomach spinning. He saw Doris leaning calmly by the port, watching the dwindling Earth. For a moment he hated her cool competence and self containment. He
would
have to be the one to get sick.

“Feeling better, Johnny?” She came over, smiling with the sympathy of a superior creature. “It hit you pretty rough. The steward said they don’t usually go out like that.” .

“I’m all right.”

For the rest of the day he stayed in the stateroom. He watched the fading disk of Earth; the overdrive wouldn’t be keyed in for another day. Even though it gave him a sickening vertigo, he could not resist the hypnotic last look at his home land.

He wanted to forego dinner entirely that evening, but when Doris offered to have the steward bring it to his
room, he refused the suggestion. “I can make it to the diningroom,” he said.

He didn’t tell her the one reason he wanted to go; he could scarcely admit to himself that it was only to meet again the girl who wore the flame-red dress and owned a yellow cat. He told himself he wanted to see his fellow passengers, to meet the others who were foolhardy enough to give up all they possessed on Earth for this Human Developments experiment.

He walked slowly through the diningroom, Doris’ hand upon his arm. He scanned the surrounding tables for the one familiar face, but he failed to see her anywhere.

Then he thought he understood. It was a small diningroom, and certainly not all those who had boarded the ship were here. Each colony-group undoubtedly had its own section and facilities; he asked the waiter about it.

The man nodded. “This is Alpha Colony,” he said. “Beta, Gamma and Delta recruits are on the other decks. Is there someone you wish to find?”

He hesitated. “I have a friend—a Control.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the waiter; “surely they must have told you. There’s no communication permitted between Control-colonists and any of the experimental groups— for purposes of the experiment, you understand. You may check with your indoctrination supervisor, sir, if there is any misunderstanding about this.”

There is no misunderstanding, John thought dully. It was just another of the things that were happening to him. And this, he didn’t want. It seemed suddenly of vital importance that he see again the girl in the flame-red dress. He did not even know her name. He could not speak of her or ask about her by name, he thought.

“Don’t you feel like eating?” said Doris.

“I guess my stomach can’t take this yet.”

Shipboard indoctrination-courses were held for each separate group, to acquaint them further with the work of their colony. A Dr. Martin Bronson was supervisor of the Alpha Colony group. John met him the following day, when he came to the stateroom to introduce himself.

He found he was unable to carry out his prepared determination to dislike Bronson. He estimated the man to be about thirty-five, and there seemed a wistful air about him—as if he wished he knew all the answers he was supposed to know.

“I’m acquainted with your music,” he said; “I have all your records on Planet 7. It was pleasant to learn that you and your sister were joining us. I look forward to much more of your music.”