Anne McCaffreyDecision at Doona
CHARACTERS
Hrruban:
First Speaker Hrruna
Second Speaker for External Affairs Hrrto
Third Speaker for Internal Affairs
Fourth Speaker for Education
Fifth Speaker for Health and Medicine
Sixth Speaker for Production
Seventh Speaker for Management
Eighth Speaker for Computers
Senior Scout Chief Hrral
Hrrestanelder of village
Mrrvahis mate
Hrrisstheir son
Hrrulayoung man of the village
HrranDuty Officer on Hrruba
MrrimTechnician
Terran:
Kenneth Reeve, jack of all trades
Patricia Reeve, his wife
Ilsa, 10, Todd, 6
Hu Shih and Phyllis Hu
Sam and Aurie Gaynor
Victor and Anne Solinari
Lee and Sally Lawrence
Macy and Dot McKee
Ezra and Kate Moody
Bill Moodytheir son
Martin and Fawzia Ramasan
Alfred Ramasantheir son
Ben and Akosua Adjei
Abe and Becky Dautrish
Buzz and Anneck Eckerd
Captain Ali Kiachif of the ship Astrid
Commander Al Landreau, Spacedep
Mr. E. K. Chaminade, Codep (Colonial Department)
Admiral Afroza Sumitral, Alreldep (Alien Relations Department)
Chapter I. CONFERENCE
THE PLANET RECEDED to a small, blue-green sphere, the lesser of its two satellites beginning to pass across the retreating face of its primary, a pearly tear in the north-east hemisphere. The film ended with such abruptness that there was a pause before the viewers reacted with the customary throat-clearing and chair-shuffling.
The First Speaker motioned for silence and bowed courteously toward the Senior Scout whose inner apprehension defied his attempts to suppress it.
Thank you, Senior Scout, for such an effective visual presentation, the First Speaker began blandly. The planet is, as you have reported, a pastoral jewel.
"Exactly!" And the Third Speaker rose to his feet, turning slightly to First but not waiting for permission to address the group. "Exactly. A pastoral jewel and utterly useless since its mineral and metal deposits are too negligible to warrant the high cost of extraction. We'd do much better working on that turbulent volcanic planet in Sector" he glanced at his notes, "9A-23. It's far more important for us to increase our stores of the rare elements so abundant there than to mess around with pastoral jewels."
The Senior Scout and the Chief of Extraterritorial Explorations exchanged quick, concerned glances, but when the Chief leaned forward to their sponsor, the Second Speaker, he received a barely perceptible nod of reassurance.
I believe Fourth has information relevant to 9A-23 and its exploitation, First suggested.
The Fourth Speaker rose, shrugging his robe into place over his shoulder.
There is, unfortunately, no possibility of opening 9A-23 to an exploitation venture. He gave a wry grimace. There have been no applicants for the courses required to train personnel for the complicated mining procedures necessary to such a closed unit project.
I find that hard to believe, Third muttered indignantly.
Fourth swiveled slightly toward Third, his attitude mildly rebuking him for his aside.
In fact, there have been very few applications for any training courses in recent years except . . .
We'll go into your report in detail in a few minutes, Fourth, the First Speaker broke in smoothly. However, Fourth merely underscores one of the many reasons why we are here to consider the opening of that lovely pastoral planet to colonization.
Colonization? Third exploded.
Exactly. And immediately.
I fail to see how opening that useless planet to colonization can help us get trained personnel to man a mining operation on 9A-23.
"With your kind permission?" said First, his irony so uncharacteristic that Third subsided instantly, looking chagrined. "This lovely place, graciously endowed with clean, fresh air, land, water, lakes, streams, fields, mountains, deserts, abounding with all manner of wild life, yet none sentient enough to violate our Prime Rule, vast stretches of uninhabited space" and he caught the involuntary shudder that seized the Third Speaker. "A planet so close to what our home world once was as to be its twin is perfect as a retraining ground."
Undaunted, the Third Speaker rose to his feet, his eyes round, his visage reflecting distaste and concern.
Good sir, a hundred years ago the Ruar System proposal was overwhelmingly rejected by 87% of the voting adults. You cannot be proposing to revive that old wheeze about a return to the simple, pure, primitive life. Why, who'd put up with such deprivations?
The Senior Scout wondered if he could control himself.
"A hundred years ago," the First Speaker answered gently, "our suicide rate among young adults was not what it is today, nor had the last major continental mass of our fourth planet been dormitized, destroying the remaining natural land; the sea harvests were still adequate for our population's basic subsistence diet. Today we are faced with so grave a crisis that I fear for the future of the race itself. In our search for freedom from want and to remedy the inequalities of opportunity by the suppression of physical competition on all levels, we have literally destroyed initiative, ambition and vitality. The once vigorous hunter has become the enervated observer.
"Fourth Speaker will shortly give us his report but let me repeat the most distressing statistic: in the generation now approaching maturity, only one half of one percent have indicated interestoh, nothing as decisive or binding as actually applying; just an interestin training for technical or administrative careers. I need not tell you that this falls disastrously below even the minimum requirements for the replacement of essential personnel.
We have become a people so passive, so pacifist, so detached and unemotionally involved that even the effort to propagate our species has become too great.
The Fifth Speaker for Public Health and Medicine nodded gravely, his fingernails unconsciously tapping on his own distressing report.
"The Computers predict that, unless we immediately" and First paused to impress on each of the Seven Speakers the gravity of his pronouncement, "immediately begin to reverse this effect, our civilization will collapse of its own dead weight within three generations. "Therefore," and the First Speaker rose to his feet, "I, as First Speaker, have already chosen family units to settle on this lovely new world, to begin an intensive re-education, stressing those racial characteristics which allowed our ancestors to conquer space and . . ."
To hunt and kill? breathed the Third Speaker in a horrified whisper.
«To hunt, yes. And to kill, yes, for food,» the First Speaker agreed in a gentle, reasonable tone, «with as primitive a weapon as is effective. There are no sentients on this planet, Third Speaker, no creatures of any great intelligence or sensitivity. It is, as you saw from the films, ecologically balanced on the kill-or-be-killed natural order. Yet, even if we were forced nowon some other planetto consider the destiny of another rising species, I trust that we have come far enough along evolution's scale by now to remember the terrible lessons of past errors and to profit by them. Indeed,» and his smile was grim, «we have almost come too far along that scale for the perpetuation of our own race. Therefore, as the truly rational intelligent beings we profess to be, let us discuss this necessity from all angles. I cannot, of course, presume to override anyone's honest beliefs and principles. Fifth Speaker, you have comments relevant to this crisis do you not?»
With a haste inconsonant with the dignity of his office and his years, the Fifth Speaker rose and, in a voice hoarse with distress, gave his devastating report. He did not try to gloss over the frightening rise of suicide deaths, including the irrational waves of mass, masochistic self-destruction; a crushing apathy in some strata balanced by insensate violence in others, the decreasing birth rate in the higher intelligence percentiles; a disproportionate increase of mental retardation in the lower brackets; an overall picture of racial decay and indifference.
The Fourth Speaker was asked to report more fully on Education. The good gentleman glanced down at his thick report for a moment, then let it fall from his hands to the table.
«The statistics are here. First Speaker has already acquainted you with the essential one: one half of one percent of the maturing generation indicatesnot applied for, has indicated onlyinterest in further training. When there is no incentive to learn anything, why bother? With the performance records presently in hand in elementary levels, there is really no point in my speaking at all. Soon there will be no teachers left to teach those who do not wish to learn anyhow.»
He shrugged and sat down, his chin sinking to his chest in an attitude of disconsolate defeat.
The Sixth Speaker stood, clearing his throat, trying to dispel the gloom cast by the Fourth.
Halfway through his own report on production and manufacturing he, too, stopped and his report slapped quietly back to the table.
There's no point in my going on either. Perhaps I'm fortunate in that most of my department's operations are automatic, so personnel training is not presently a problem. It will be. And soon.
The Third Speaker glared around at his peers, unable to catch anyone's eye, until he reached the Second Speaker.
And I suppose that you, too, are going to hang your head with still more disgraceful mouthings of inefficiency and indifference.
On the contrary, Second replied, looking first to his left for the Prime Speaker's permission. My Department attracts trainees constantly. Of course, we have to reject many of them due to physical unfitness. Others are disappointed because, unfortunately, the appropriation for Exploration and Defense falls woefully behind its needs. Consequently, we get the best of our vital young men and women. If Sixth is agreeable, I believe I can put it to the Corps to volunteer to man the mining colony proposed for 9A-23, until such time as other personnel can be found and trained.
There was something about the way Second made his helpful proposal that irritated Third far more than First's rejection of the 9A-23 priority over the pastoral planet. The reports, so devastatingly pessimistic, must be exaggerations of actual fact. Moreover, the whole thing smacked of collusion. He intended to check the print-outs in the Computer. However, before he had a chance to gather his arguments, the First Speaker was taking a vote on colonizing his pet project. The Third Speaker naturally felt obliged to abstain from voting and was then forced to suppress his horrified indignation when the other six Speakers voted in its favor.
The First Speaker wasted no further time but turned the meeting over to the Chief of Extraterritorial Explorations.
The Chief rose, feeling a respect bordering on admiration for the Prime Speaker's masterly handling of a tricky meeting. The Chief bowed to him, catching no hint in the benign eyes that the re-education program which the Chief was about to outline had, in actual fact, been initiated twenty years ago.
Chapter II. ESCAPE
IT REQUIRED EVERY ounce of self-control Ken Reeve had developed over the frustrating years of his adulthood to keep from shouting, singing, jumping or committing a number of other social solecisms.
As it was, he received stern, remanding looks from the other passengers in the express lift for the wide smile he couldn't repress.
He did make an effort to compose his face, to moderate his breathing to the proper shallowness, but the mere knowledge that in the very near future he would have a whole new world to breathe in made it difficult for him to conform.
Nevertheless, because he couldn't risk an official summons which might delay his triumphant return to Patricia, he did hunch his shoulders forward, tucked his elbows tight to his straining rib cage, sucked in his guts and pressed his knees together in the proscribed stance socially acceptable in an elevator.
It was still impossible to limit his exultation, which he was evidently broadcasting, judging by the constant surreptitious looks he received as the cage plummeted down to the dormitory levels.
Never before had Ken been so aware of the weight, warmth and aroma of humanity, or of the crowded life that had seemed inescapable; from which he was actually going to escape. As never before, he was conscious of the odor of a confined crowd: a composite of inefficient multiscented perspirant inhibitors, breath cleansers, digestive neutralizers, the acrid overtones of body-warmed inorganic fabrics, the hot-metals-old-paint stink, and, over all, the air-conditioner's deodorizer, which had never been successful.
Stale air breathed by stale people into stale lungs to prolong stale lives in a stagnant society!
The hydraulics were faulty again, Ken noticed, for the elevator stopped with a sickening jolt. There had been a newscast recently, urging young adults to apply for a career in maintenance. Not even the failure of two high-speed freight elevators had stimulated any response to the call, though there had been wide muttering about the lack of public spirit in the upcoming generation. No one in his packed cage appeared to notice the jerking stop, but then, Ken thought as he felt the pressure of soft flesh against him, we're so tightly jammed in, no one could get hurt in a free-fall.
The wide doors slid reluctantly open. Ken mastered the incredible urge to stride recklessly through the socially acceptable shuffle of the disembarking. Heads shoulders bobbed forward around him. The hair on his shins stood out in radar-like sensitivity to the constant proximity of other legs. He gritted his teeth, wanting to race down the walk-belt of the 235th Hall, but he doggedly matched his step with the other hundreds in that rippling sea of bodies. The creeping pace was endurable if he thought of the fields and hills he would soon be able to stride over. Did anyoneany one of his presently close fellow travelersknow what a 'field' was? A 'hill'? He'd wager they'd never even applied for a day at their local Square Mile.
But the wager he'd made after he had seen a Square Mile had paid off. He, his wife, Pat, the two kids, Ilsa and Todd, were going to leave the land warrens of Earth for the naked soil and sky of Doona. Doona! The name had a talismanic ring: a fresh air ring, a real food ring, a landscape ringa freedom ring!
The 235th Hall had never seemed so long to him, nor the walk-belt so slow. It crawled past block after block until Ken felt every muscle twitching at the restraints he had to impose on himself. But Proctors were everywhere in the Hall, just waiting for a misdemeanor to break the monotony of their four-hour watch. Ken had heard it rumored that Proctors received extra calories for every conviction.
Well if that were so, he snorted to himself, innocently returning the shocked glances cast in his direction as he turned guilt from himself with practiced ease, their Aisle Proctor ought to be one helluva lot fatter than he was.
Up ahead, he heard a murmuring. He glanced over the barely bobbing heads, lucky enough to be taller than most of the run of his generation. He could hear a snuffling, the outraged mumble, the slight flurry of moving bodies.
A case of flatulence, no doubt, he decided with an inward chuckle. That offense'd reduce a lot of calories for someone if the criminal could be identified.
Fortunately, before he reached the scene of the crime, he got to his Corridor turn.
Turn, please, he murmured in the properly distressed tone required of a citizen imposing on his fellows.
With mechanical promptitude, the bodies directly to his right squeezed either backward or forward and permitted him space enough to slip sideways to the edge of the moving walk-belt and onto the stationary plastic floor.
Corridor, please, he repeated endlessly as he sidled, a step at a time, toward the 84th Corridor.
Christ, but it would be great to walk out without having to consult the schedule for Pedestrian Traffic in Hall and Corridor Routes. He could have been home from the Codep Block four hours ago. Of course, it had been great meeting the rest of the Phase III group. Their leader and the metropologist of the group, Dr. Hu Shih, was quite a guy; soft-spoken but firm, he seemed to know every frame of the Spacedep survey and the Alreldep reports. Hu Shih must have just got in under the age wire, too.
Ken spared a moment of wonder for the courage and tenacity of the many, many Codep assignees who never had made it off-planet, or who had turned overage before Spacedep released even a resources planet to Codep. God, to live a whole lifetime with nothing-nothing but a dream that would never be realized! To put up with the inferior quarters all inactive Codepers were given, the subsistence allowance, the disrespect, the sneers and condescensionand then never get off-planet? Well, that had been one of the arguments of his friends and family when he'd applied: Codep men died youngsuicides!
But not Ken Reeve. He and his were going. And the dream that had taken fire the day he'd stood on the amazing soil of his Regional Square Mile, felt grass, seen sky above him, blue and limitless, was going to be ful-filled.
Inadvertently Ken had lengthened his stride in the Corridor and trodden on the heels of a citizen in front of him.
Your number? the man rasped out indignantly.
"I'll be off-world before you can bring it to Court," Ken replied in a loud, carefree voice. Suddenly he no longer cared about earth-bound conventions-not when he would soon have a whole planet to conquer. I'm going to Doona!"
Indignation turned to shocked outrage.
Off-world? He's mad! Idiot! Social deviant! Anarchist! were some of the clearly projected whispers around him.
Your number! the offended citizen demanded again.
«Sweat it, man,» Ken advised him crudely and hopped off the Corridor, ducking down the Aisle three up from his own. Let that proper citizen search for him there! And Ken didn't care that it would take him another fifteen minuteseven at the acceleration permitted in an Aisleto double back to Aisle 45.
At a heel-thumping walk, he passed two shuffling women, arm-locked, faces nose-to-nose as they carried on a private mutter.
They squealed thinly as he thudded past them, but he had put too many other pedestrians between himself and them before they could form a protest.
Fortuitously his own Aisle was sparsely occupiedTodd had driven away any resident who could wangle a transfer. He lengthened his stride, passing others without the customary obsequiousness, ignoring the exclamations of those who did recognize him. Their complaints, too, would not come up on the docket before he left. And thank God, Pat and the kids would be transferred to Co-dep's Cubed Block now that the whole family was on active assignment.
Active assignment! He chanted the alliteration like a prayer. Maybe now they rated additional acoustical shielding so that Pat wouldn't suffer so much ostracism because of Todd's asocial traits. Active assignment aids additional acoustics, he expanded the litany, grinning foolishly.
As he threw open the door to their two rooms, he heard Pat's startled warning. He managed to prevent the door handle from jamming into the thin back threatened by his precipitate entrance.
Mr. Reeve, it is easy to see where your son received his unsocial tendencies, a whining whisper informed him.
Quickly closing the door behind him, Ken stared down at the socially correct, emaciated skeleton that housed the petty spirited Proctor of their Aisle Section.
A pleasant day to you, Ken replied with such jaunty good humor that Pat, who had obviously been taking a terrible tongue-lashing, stared at him with dawning hope.
How can it be pleasant when a steady stream of tenants report insupportable noise emanating from these rooms? Proctor Edgar demanded.
Oh, but it is the pleasantest of days. Now take your nosy intolerant bitching elsewhere!
Ken! Pat screamed in a well-trained sotto voce. Then the strain and pallor of her face were replaced by incredulous joy. Active assignment?
You bet!
Mr. Reeve. Moderate your voice this instant. Your family has already been reported nine times this week for social misdemeanors. I am reluctant to reduce your calorie allowance any further but I must demand . . .
Demand away, Ken encouraged him, beaming at Pat. You have no jurisdiction over us any more. We're out of it. We're going to Doona!
Doona! Pat stifled her elation but she could not suppress the relief she felt, even in the presence of non-family observers. Oh, Ken, is it really true?
True-true-true, Pat, and Ken, deliberately aggravating the outraged Proctor, picked up his wife and kissed her lustily.
Reeve!" the Proctor's protest was barely audible over the smack of the embrace.
Get out if you can't stand it, Ken advised. Go invade someone else's privacy on the excuse of official business. He kept his hold on his wife with one arm as he opened the door and shoved the Proctor back into the Aisle. At the door's resounding slam, Pat came to her senses.
"Ken, you're mad. He'll, he'll" she floundered helplessly.
«He can't do a damned thing to us, not ever again,» Ken assured her, burying his face in Pat's silky hair and hugging her for the joy bursting inside him. «We're going. We're going to be free to run and yell and stride andfeel!»
Chapter III. SURPRISE
WELL, GENTLEMEN, Hu Shih announced as they finished breakfast that morning, the town is in good order, all winter damage is cleared away, fences mended, fields plowed and sown, and our houses await our families. I believe it is therefore safe to inaugurate those secondary projects we planned during the long months of our winter.
When the cheering died, Ken Reeve pointed across the table at Sam Gaynor. C'mon, pal. Our project is the other side of the river.
Damn walk-about nut, Gaynor growled with an anticipatory grin spreading across his face. Remember, you guys, every man jack heard Ken bet he could walk me, me! off my feet.
Anyone who wants to walk after the winter we put in, Lee Lawrence exclaimed, throwing up his hands in disgust, is queer.
It's spring, man, you don't need snowshoes, Ken countered, grabbing up a handful of lunch rations.
Spring! When a man's fancies should turn to more than long tiring walks, Lee Lawrence remarked sourly.
Speaks the sociologist? Macy McKee taunted, for Lee was famed for his ingenuity in avoiding exercise.
Walking won't be so bad now it's spring, Vic Solinari put in. And next winter won't be so bad either, now we know what it's like during winter on Doona, he added, thinking of the exigencies which he, as storemaster, had had to practice over the incredible ten-month winter season.
Long and cold, Sam quipped.
But next winter, and Lee leered significantly, we'll have our wives with us.
Ezra Moody, the doctor, groaned. God, I'll be busy next spring!
Who's going to let you wait till next spring? Lee demanded, bringing his chair down with a crash
They'll be here any day now, Ken sighed with a sudden harsh yearning. C'mon, Sam, shake a leg! he urged and started for the door.
Their exit signalized an exodus from the mess hall in which they had spent so much of their time. In fact, by the time Ken and Sam were depositing their gear in the small powered skiff at the river's edge, only Solinari was left in the Common.
An hour later, when Ken and Sam returned at a dead run and in a kind of incredulous wrath, they had to hang on the air whistle for five minutes before anyone returned.
What'n'hell's the matter with you, Reeve? demanded Lee Lawrence, the first to arrive.
We're not alone on Doona, Lee, Ken cried, waving the quick-prints at the startled sociologist. We're not alone!
You're round the bend, man!
No, he's not, growled Sam Gaynor, his face set in hard, bitter lines. There's a village across the river in that grove of porous wood trees, where the river widens below the falls. A big village, full of furred, tailed cats that walk on their hind legs and carry knives.
Lee sat down slowly on the top step of the mess hall porch, staring at the photographs Sam thrust in front of his face.
If I didn't have these, I'd've sworn it was a mirage or something, Sam went on. Because, Almighty God, I couldn't believe my eyes.
And there was no village in that clearing when we were there last fall or last winter, Ken added, white beneath his tan.
It stinks! Lawrence grated out. Oh God, you didn't talk to 'em? You weren't seen? he added, reverting to his professional self.
Hell, no. I shot the camera and we sloped out of there, Ken assured him.
Oh God, what do we do now? Phase IV is already started, Lawrence groaned.
One thing's sure, Ken reminded him sourly, they can't reach the ship in warp drive to turn it back, and it's not scheduled to stop this side of Doona.
At that moment, Hu Shih, Ramasan and Ben Adjei came running across the Common and by the time the others had reported in, Sam, Ken and Lee had some-what adjusted to the unsettling discovery. Hu Shih was already running through the tapes and films of Phase I and II for any references to the porous wood forest in which the village so blatantly existed.
There is absolutely no evidence of any habitation in that area on any of these reports, he said in a decisive tone, his face inscrutable. Not a house, not a roof, not a shingle in sight. Hu Shih picked up one of Ken's quick-prints, regarded it thoughtfully a moment before placing it carefully beside the inaccurate films.
Well, the place is now crawling with cats, Sam Gaynor said into the silence.
I thought cats lived in caves, Eckerd, the other jack-of-all-trades, remarked inanely, looking up from his elaborate doodle in spilled sugar.
That is not as odd, Dautrish, the botanist, added, as the fact that there is no other even faintly felinoid species on this planet. Strange that only one would evolve and to such a dominant position.
''Hmmm, a very interesting observation, Abe," Lee drawled. "Nevertheless, it does not bear on the fact that our noble Spacedep has committed a grave error."
Error cried Victor Solinari in mock horror. The storemaster's voice was edged with bitter sarcasm. Our noble spacemen fallible?
But how could the Phase II scouts have missed a village as big, as well established as this one? Gaynor demanded, jutting his chin out with ursine aggressiveness.
Tell you what, Lawrence suggested, waggling a finger at Sam, I'll bet those Phase II-ers experimented with that local red berry and they thought the pussycat people were just hallucinations! Last night I went upon a bat, and saw a tawny six-foot . . .
This is no joke! Gaynor snapped.
Son, drawled Lawrence, his mockery gone, his voice rough, iffen Ah doan laff, Ah sure as hell stinks am gwanta cry!
Silence gripped the eleven men as each fought to control his emotions at this crushing blow; this unexpected denouement to years of training and hope.
The grotesque injustice of it all threatened to over-whelm Ken Reeve. He thrust back the childish desire to deny what his eyes had seen, to disregard the evidence of the pictures he himself had taken. He thought of the incredible effort required of them throughout the past ten months; physical, mental and emotional. Not merely the hard work of building the colony's headquarters and family homes, of enduring the unfamiliar discomforts of a long hard cold winter, but the psychological upheavals of adjusting to something as fundamental as open sky, broad fieldseveryone had experienced some agoraphobiaorganic foods which, no sweat, had had to be killed by men who had never before ended the life of an ant. However, once they'd run out of their pre-packaged protein supplies, any reluctance had quickly disappeared with the onslaught of hunger pangs. But such minor things as learning to shout to bridge distance, to run, even to be able to hike for miles at a timeall these new skills had had to be learned in painful adjustments. The idea of having to return to Earth and its stale, antiseptic sham life was grossly repellent.
There must be a mistake, Reeve heard himself say.
No, we're the mistake, Lawrence replied bitterly. If the cats are here, we shouldn't be. Simple as that. And at that, we have already broken the guiding principle of the Colonial Department.
«Sweat the goddamned stinking principle,» Gaynor said obscenely. He lurched to his feet and faced Hu Shih. «We're here. We've worked, we've bled, we'vesweated . . .»
«Gentlemen,» the colony leader cut in sharply, rising to his feet. He turned to Gaynor, waiting until the engineer had subsided to his seat. «It would be nice to believe that the evidence of these pictures is a mistakea mirage, as Sam suggested. But such houses are all too solid and cameras do not lie, despite the Phase I and II inaccuracies. Such houses do not grow overnight. Although I could wish that they did. We might then establish a prior claim to our lovely Doona.» He surveyed his fingertips contemplatively before he continued. «How such evidence of habitation can have escaped not only the robot cameras of the orbiting probe in Phase I but also the trained eyes of the scouts is beyond my comprehension. But,» and he paused to sigh deeply, «they are there. And we are here! And we have broken the Principle of Non-Cohabitation, by existing here with another and obviously sentient species.»