Worlds Apart Read online

  "But you're on the Inner Council." said Dick.

  "A lot of good that would do me. John Pertwee was President, once, and you know what happened to him."

  He looked down thoughtfully at the waxed table top. Finally he said: "I don't want to tell you anything that would be a clue, Dick, but you can take it from me that if we changed our minds now and went all out for atomic power, telling you young people all we know, it wouldn't be accomplished any sooner than in the time of your grandchildren."

  Dick was sensitive and reserved. And like many sensitive, reserved people, he was also intuitive. His head came up at that as he sensed an evasion. Bentley hadn't hesitated; he spoke confidently and decisively enough. Yet there was evasion. As if what he said was true, but unimportant.

  Bentley went on, however, interrupting Dick's thought that if it was true it didn't mean much, considering that the same thing could probably be said of the production of high- grade steel or camera lenses.

  "Atomic power." said Bentley, "is discovered and used in a culture that has hundreds of high-precision factories, unlimited electric power -- for, of course, you can't use atomic power to discover atomic power -- technicians trained in a little bit of a little bit of a branch of one section of knowledge, and economic competition. You don't even know what economic competition is, Dick, for we've never used money here.

  "That's why I laughed. When you're older, passing on some of what you've learned as I'm doing, you won't really have to prohibit atomic power."

  "But it's prohibited in the Constitution."

  "And rightly. Because if we wrote down all we know, and your children and their children worked on the problem, it would be solved one day. We hope it never is.

  "Before you were born, Dick, we even wondered if we should strangle all physical science, as a safeguard. Men can live quite well in a primitive state. They can even build a high culture without physics and chemistry and mathematics.

  "Well, you know we decided against that. But we were quite definite on this -- no atomic energy. Not now or ever. Don't talk about this again, Dick. I understand, but others won't. They'll start talking about the death penalty whenever you mention atomics. They'll mean it, too. Understand?"

  Dick understood. He wasn't a hero. He shivered at the thought of dying, as one or two people had died, for violating the Constitution.

  He talked rapidly of something else.

  About half an hour later, just before the rain, he left the laboratory and went home. He had his own house. His father had died when he was nine, his mother six years earlier. Since their father died, Dick and his sister had lived alone. He should have married a year, possibly two years since, but he had used the fact that he had to look after June, as an excuse not to.

  Lemon was quite a handsome littie township. When they began to build it the founder colonists had had the experience of building New Paris. They knew some of the things not to do, and they knew what a merely functional collection of dwellings would look like. Also, there had been no hurry to build Lemon. The men and women who were building it were still living in New Paris, and only when several families could move to Lemon did New Paris begin to die.

  There was no need for paved or tarred streets. The Mundan rains were so regular, so predictable, that they hardly affected the life of Lemon at all. Everything was hot and dry in the early afternoon; you got under cover about three o'clock and for an hour or two the heavens poured warm, clear water everywhere in a solid sheet. Then abruptly the rain stopped, and by the time the people appeared in the streets again there were dry spots here and there.

  Apart from the rains, Mundis's water was almost all underground. None of the young Mundans had ever seen a lake or even a pool. The idea of a sea was a very difficult thing to get across to them, even with the aid of pictures. That was one of the many gaps of understanding between the founder colonists and their children. There was not one of the old people who could not swim; there was not one of the young people who could.

  The street was hard earth, and as the years went by, the rains wearing it down and the sun baking it, it became harder and harder. Mundan soil was a sort of two-way valve. When there was too much water the soil let it drain straight through, easily and rapidly. But when the rain stopped and drying stared, the soil cracked, became a far better capillary agent than the soil of Earth, and sucked back moisture from the underground springs.

  In laying the street the colonists had simply reversed the procedure of Earth. It wasn't necessary to lay drains to lead the water down or away; instead, they had laid traps to prevent its coming up again. The soil itself was a better drain than they could construct, All they had to do was prevent its drawing the water back again when it dried.

  Few people talked to Dick as he made his way home. They didn't greet him because, sunk in his thoughts, he wasn't likely to notice them. To some extent people were already a little in awe of Dick. He knew more than anyone else of his generation. He was supposed to be brilliant. When he was silent merely because he was shy, he was often given credit for thinking deep thoughts.

  He looked up when he was still some distance from his house and saw Rog Foley at the door. He stopped abruptly and hid in the shadow of the nearest hut. That was done automatically -- Dick didn't work out why he should hide from Rog or why he shouldn't. He saw June open the door, but Rog didn't go in. He merely spoke to June for a few seconds and then went down the road.

  Dick waited for him to get clear, then hurried to his house and went inside. June was shaking out a party dress she was making.

  "You just missed Rog," she said. "We're having a party here tonight."

  "Oh." Dick's heart sank. He would have to tell Rog he hadn't dared to pursue the question of atomic power with Bentley. It didn't occur to him to object to Rog's inviting a party to Dick's house, That was normal. Dick's house was the usual place for parties, for it was one of the few where no older people lived. Rog's was too small.

  He noticed suddenly that June was reddening under his gaze. He hadn't even been thinking about her; he had been staring at her simply because she was the brightest thing in the room, and the only thing that moved. Now he looked more closely. He didn't see what she had to blush about. Then something struck him about the ket she was working on. "Oh," he said. "Like that, is it?"

  June bent her head over her work, but he could see her ears flush.

  New conventions grew up with the children born and maturing on the new world. The young people were expected to have children as soon as they could, and brought up in the knowledge that it was a great thing, an honor. But it was left to every girl to deride when she was no longer a child and ready to accept womanhood. She generally did it quietly, easily and naturally by her appearance, what she wore, what she did, what she said -- without ever having to say, in so many words, that she was ready.

  June still wore the white shorts and loose blouse of a child as she worked. But the party ket on which she was working had starched blinkers, and blinkers were definitely not for children. It was trimmed with lace, and children didn't wear lace. The cuffs at the bottom were very full and graceful, and the whole thing was in pink and cherry -- not the most subdued hues possible.

  The outfit said quite plainly that June was ready.

  "Abner?" asked Dick.

  "No," said June almost inaudibly, not looking up. "Nobody in particular. And shut up."

  "All right. But you could do worse than Abner. and I think he's sort of counting on you."

  "No one has any right to count on me."

  Dick stared at her bent head, a little puzzled.

  3

  On the second planet, Secundis, things were quite different -- naturally.

  The people on the Mundis had thought they were the last to leave Earth. The people on the Clades knew they were the last to leave Earth.

  And it was a very different Earth they left.

  Phyllis Barton had never seen Earth, but she was as much a product of its frenzied, despairi
ng death agonies as all the rest of the Clades. As she stood before the officer of the watch aboard the ship and saluted smartly, there wasn't a hint in her expression that such a thing as emotion existed.

  "Routine survey at the observatory completed, sir," she reported. "No sign of life on Mundis. And we're at closest approach -- less than eight million miles. Nothing observed that suggests a settlement."

  "Of course not," said Captain Worsley. "From the surface of Secundis we can't expect to see anything smaller than a large city. It's high time Corey made up his mind, took up the ship, and went and had a look. Oh, it's all right," he went on easily, as Phillis stared at him, "there's no recording and the spy-eye here is dead, just at the moment. I know the wiring of the whole ship, which is useful sometimes."

  Phyllis was tense, a pulse in her temple throbbing a warning of danger. Worsley had belonged to the technical section until recently, and naturally was used to more lax discipline, more freedom to express opinions. Technicians had to express opinions in their work, and they tended to carry this independence into their thoughts and even their speech.

  "No," said Worsley regretfully, "I just can't convince you I'm not an informer, can I? Very likely you'll go straight to Sloan or Corey and repeat every word I've said. It won't do you any good. I cover up well."

  He waited. Phyllis stood straight, silent. He sighed. "Whoever does listen to me," he said, "may soon be glad he did. Think it over, Lieutenant. I'd like you with me."

  Phyllis saluted again and left the room. Rapidly she tried to work out her course of action.

  Worsley had said nothing, really. Dangerous as it might be to speak as he had, he had nevertheless been very careful to say nothing concrete, nothing but general disagreement on policy. It was no use reporting that. Technically one reported everything of that sort, but if one wanted to retain the rank and position one had, let alone rise, one always worked out very carefully what the probable effect would be.

  Phyllis had risen by knowing what to report and what to keep to herself. She had risen high -- only a dozen women on the ship were so useful in one way or another, so indispensable, that their sex was forgiven them. That, of course, was why Worsley had spoken to her. She clearly had talent and efficiency for which he had a use.

  He had hinted, too, that he would approach her on the same subject again. What was the subject? In particular she had no idea, but in general he must need her help for his own advancement, and he must think he could make her believe that in this there would be advancement for herself.

  She decided slowly but quite definitely on her course of action. For the moment, at any rate, she could do nothing, since Worsley must have ensured that a challenge would only strengthen him and weaken the challenger.

  But she wasn't going to follow Worsley. He wasn't a man to follow. He wasn't hard enough, ruthless enough. Most important, he didn't have the necessary experience of the politics of the Clades to be successful in any scheme of insurrection. That, almost certainly, was why he wanted her. She had that experience. She was only twenty-four, and to rank as she did at twenty-four she must have all the qualities Worsley needed and didn't have.

  She went to the gymnasium and found it, as she hoped, deserted. The ship was at rest on the surface of Secundis, with less than half its full operational crew aboard.

  Among the Clades sex was duty. It was not supposed to be enjoyed. Naturally in some ways the pretence was rather shallow. The essential part of the pretence, among the masculine, militaristic, 100 per cent efficient Clades, was that women were not to be elevated to the rank of partners in the act. What any woman thought, did, or said was unimportant, save only her function of producing male Clades.

  Women who became officers like Lieutenant Fenham and Phyllis, were different, not in degree, but in kind, Since they were useful, intelligent, and responsible, they were not women. Obviously, however, they weren't men.

  Their position was entirely anomalous. They were forced into it by an iron logic working on false premises. They must not have children, since they were officers and had to give orders, even to men. Creatures who bore children were an inferior form of life, females, and couldn't possibly give orders.

  So Phyllis, who was an officer, a woman (practically inadmissible), and attractive (inadmissible) had to ensure that none of several ex hypothesi impossibilities happened. She must not permit any woman to think she was like her in any way. She must not allow any man, officer or otherwise, to regard her as he regarded Clade women. And she must not allow any man, officer or otherwise, to want her.

  If there had been others in the gymnasium she would have had to remain fully clothed, for one thing. As it was, she stripped to trunks and shirt and began to go through an exercise routine.

  She still wasn't satisfied about Worsley. The Clades had left a terrified, agonized, bleeding, dying world. She had been born four years out in space, at nearly the speed of light, but she had grown up in a hard, grim society. The laws of the community should have become milder and less militaristic; instead they became harder, more purposeful. The Clades had seen a world dying, and by God they weren't going to die.

  Soon it wasn't by God -- Christianity went the way of most religions under totalitarianism. Survival became a business of toughness, single-mindedness, determination.

  But it was determination about nothing in particular. It was toughness, not with an enemy but with one's friends -- so they soon ceased to be friends. It was single-mindedness about a way of life.

  It was a fanatic drive towards unity. Acceptance of the same nebulous goals, the same reality, Submergence of individuality. /Unity is strength./

  If the first ship from Earth had reached and colonized Mundis safely -- and the Clades knew no reason why it shouldn't have done -- the Mundans would have to learn and adopt the same way of life. It was unlikely that they would recognize at once the Clades' overwhelming superiority in strength and determination and all the other things that counted; but that could soon be clearly demonstrated. The Clades as a whole were looking forward to demonstrating it.

  A powerful, well-trained fighting unit must have something on which to test itself . . .

  Phyllis fell into the rhythm of the exercises. They had been designed long ago to strengthen the internal muscles for the day when young bodies which had never known gravity would have to bear the killing pull of Secundis.

  The plan had been made early, and like most Clade plans was inflexible. It became not the best way to act, but the only way to act.

  Someone came in. Phyllis looked round -- it was Lieutenant Mathers. She continued with the exercise, but instead of going he hesitated and then came in.

  It wasn't all Phyllis's respousibllity, of course, that she should attract no sexual interest. It was also the responsibility of every Clade male to have no sexual interest in any female officer. She pulled on her slacks and continued exercising. She had done all that was expected of her.

  Yet Mathers' eyes still strayed to her.

  She made two mental notes, coldly. 'Worslsy, disloyal but probably careful. Mathers, potential sex criminal.' And being what she was, trained as she was, she began to explore possibilities of turning the two judgments to her own advantage.

  4

  At first glance it looked quite a wild party. The phonograph in one corner was blaring a hot number recorded on Earth nearly fifty years earlier, and there were occasional high squeals of laughter. Toni had just finished singing a fast blues. Various couples lay around in various abandoned attitudes. There was no drink, of course, but nobody missed it. The young Mundans knew about liquor but had never tasted it.

  Closer inspection would have shown, however, that everyone was pretending hard that the party was much hotter than it really was, for no reason except that young people always did.

  "I can't, Rog," Dick was saying uncomfortably. He was squatting on the floor, thinner and bonier than Rog. "Old Bentley made it pretty clear to me I'd better not go any further. Some of the other old
boys would have had me before the Council for saying what I did."

  Rog looked down his long nose. "Suppose you go before the Council?" he said. "Aren't there a few of us on it?"

  Dick knew that by "us" he meant the native Mundans, the children of the founder colonists. "Nearly half the Council now," he admitted. "But you know some of them will vote with the old folk. I'm not taking the chance, Rog."

  Rog left that alone. He had a way of assuming that his will would he done. If it was obvious that it wouldn't, he seemed to lose interest, as if he hadn't been too sure that whatever it was had been a good idea anyway.

  "Fred. Alice. Come here," he said. Fred was huge, angular, lazy-looking. He didn't look too clever and wasn't. Alice was a small, sharp girl. Even her party dress couldn't make her look pretty. Perhaps, however, her vivacity was worth more than prettiness. Rog thought so. So did Fred.

  They squatted on the floor beside him. Most of the young Mundans had grown up while their elders were too busy building houses and planting crops to make chairs. There were chairs now, but not all the youngsters used them.

  "You two going to get married?" he asked bluntly.

  There was no surprise. It was an old subject Fred looked uncomfortable, but Alice, frank and completely unself-conscious, shook her head. She was Jim Bentley's daughter. She might disagree with his way of looking at life, but there was a lot of Jim Bentley in her.

  "You know it can't be marriage. Rog," she said. "It's either living together in secret, or leaving Lemon and going out into the plains somewhere to he hermits. We're not doing either." She cast a challenging glance at Fred and then back at Rog. "/I/ say so."

  "You agree you should be kept apart like this?"

  The founder colonists had wanted to breed as strongly as possible. Lionel Smith, the bidogist, had split them up and laid down rules. Alphas could marry anybody except Epsilons. Betas, Gammas, and Deltas, anyone outside their own group except Epsilons, Epsilons only within their own group. Epsilons, of course, were the men and women who were barren. The divisions only concerned marriage; it was of no importance to anyone, outside marriage, to what group anyone belonged.