by C. L. Moore
Mitchell said suddenly, "How old are you?"
"A hundred and twenty-six," Mary Gregson said.
Ashworth spoke. "We used psychology. Every year two Council members are retired, and new ones were elected from capable technicians. If a chemist retires, the election's limited to chemists. So we keep up our quota. However, when the new candidate comes here, he's destroyed. The incumbent assumes his name and personality. We've developed plastic surgery to a fine art. Six years ago Samuel Ashworth—the real Ashworth—was elected to the Council from a group of psychologists. Meanwhile, I had been undergoing surgery. I was given a duplicate of his face, body, and fingerprints. I memorized his history and habit patterns. Before that, my name was Roger Parr, for fifteen years. This has always been a closed secret, senator, and we took no unnecessary risks."
Mitchell swore under his breath. "Utterly illegal. It's undoubtedly treason."
"Not to mankind," Mary said. "You can't train a new Councilman in five or fifteen years. All of us are fitted for the task, and we've worked at it from the beginning. It's a tremendous project. We didn't dare let new blood in—we didn't need new blood. The information we've got from our mutant has—you know what it's done for the world!"
"For you, too, apparently," Mitchell said.
"Yes, we've increased our longevity. And our intelligence quotients. We serve. Remember that. It was up to us to be the most capable servants possible."
The senator peered down at the mutant again. "That thing down there can destroy the world."
"He can't get out of control," Mary said. "He talks and thinks only under narcosynthesis. We run him like a machine, with endocrine detergents. We give him problems to solve, and he solves them."
Mitchell shook his head. Ashworth got up and fixed more drinks.
"You'll have to report in within three minutes," he said. "I'll talk fast. Mankind wasn't ready for the atomic blasts, but the atomic fission brought about its own automatic balance—the superman mutations who could cope with the new power. That would have been fine for homo superior but not for homo sapiens. You're quite right in saying that the mutants were dangerous. They were, plenty. But atomic power was simply too big for homo sapiens. He wasn't sapient enough. Which is exactly why we knew we had to have an autocratic government like the Global Unit. Well—we created the Global Unit. We caused the Second American Revolution."
"What?"
"We had to. People had to realize the danger. There were minor wars already, pointing the trend. We secretly backed Simon Vankirk, financed and advised the Revolution, and made sure St. Louis would be blasted off the map. But we'd already made certain that Vankirk would fail. We let him get close enough to success so the world would realize how close it had come to destruction. When the time was ripe, we let the idea of the Global Unit filter out. It took hold. It's been the only administration that could have kept atomic power in check."
"And you run the Global Unit," Mitchell said.
"We advise—yes. Using the only sort of intelligence that can cope with the threat of atomic power. Its natural balance—the brain of a superman, held in check and controlled by men."
The senator took his cigar from his mouth and considered it. He said. "It's been axiomatic that a superman would be so super no human could conceive of it."
"A mature superman," Mary told him. "A normal specimen. This one isn't allowed to mature fully."
"But the danger of it—no! I'm certainly not convinced."
She moved the weapon slightly. "You should be. Look how the world's improved since we took over."
Mitchell took the visor out of his pocket.
"Suppose I asked for bombing planes?" he suggested.
Ashworth jerked his head toward a glowing panel in the wall.
"It's too late for that now," he said. "The Central Power stations are activated."
-
A changed world stirred as energy rushed through the units. The televisors gave the news. And—
-
Mary Gregson, Ashworth, and Mitchell sat motionless. There was a voice in the room—a silent voice that had in it the promise of latent miracles.
It said: "Check and balance. Mary Gregson, you have failed. I—"
The ego-symbol blazed!
"—I am fully mature. A long time ago your endocrine extracts and anti-hormones failed to control me. My body automatically adapted itself and built up resistance you could not detect. Mar Vista General has advised the Global Unit, and the Global Unit has replanned the world—but as I wished it."
The silent voice went on.
"The criterion of homo superior's fitness is not only his adaptability, but his ability to adapt his environment until it is most suitable for his needs. That has been done. The world has been replanned. The basics are now present. The Central Power activation was the last step in the current project."
It said:
"Check and balance. Atomic fission caused mutations. Humans destroyed the mutations, but saved one specimen to serve homo sapiens. Until now I—"
The symbol blazed!
"—I have been vulnerable. But no longer. Central Power is not what you have thought it to be. Superficially, it is, but it can also serve my own ends."
The figure in the tank below began to dissolve.
The voice said, "That was a robot. I need it no longer. Remember, one test of a superman's fitness is adaptability to his environment—until the environment is altered to fit his needs. Then he can assume his most efficient form."
The voice said:
"No human can comprehend that form, naturally—"
-
The robot in the tank was gone.
Silence filled the room. Mary Gregson moistened her lips and moved her weapon helplessly before her.
Senator Mitchell's fingers tightened on the tiny visor till the plastic cracked and shattered. He was breathing hard.
Ashworth moved his hand, and the floor beneath them thickened to opacity.
Afterwards they sat silent in the room. There was no reason to leave immediately. There is no point in posting an earthquake-warning after the seismic shock begins. Even yet their minds cringed from the recollection of what they had only partially comprehended.
Finally Mitchell said, in a curiously flat voice, "But we've got to fight. Of course we've got to."
Mary stirred. "Fight?" she said. "But we've lost."
Mitchell looked back to the memory and knew that she was right. Suddenly he smashed down his open hand on one knee and snarled, "I felt like a dog!"
"I suppose everyone will feel like that," Mary said. "It isn't really humiliating, once you realize—"
"But ... isn't there any way—"
Mary Gregson gestured and watched the floor melt into transparency. The tank lay empty. The robot had dissolved—the symbol that had represented the unthinkable reality.
Outside Mar Vista General, around the earth, energy linked the Central Power stations in a web to trap mankind. Somewhere out there, too, invulnerable, omnipotent by merely human standards, moved homo superior, shaping a world to alien needs.
Mary said, "Homo sapien was originally a mutant too—an atypical one. There must have been dozens of varying types of homo sapiens born to sub-men. Just as lots of types of homo superior were born to us after the radiations. I wonder—"
Mitchell stared at her, frowning. His eyes had a haunted apprehension.
Mary looked at him steadily. "I don't know. Perhaps we'll never know—this race of ours. But there must have been wrong breeds of homo sapien mutations originally—and they were destroyed by the right breed, the one that survived. In our race, I wonder if check-and-balance applies to the superman, too? Remember, we killed all but one specimen of homo superior before they could mature—"
Their eyes met in a questioning surmise that perhaps could never be answered by homo sapiens.
"Maybe he's the wrong kind of superman," Mary said. "Maybe he's one of the failures."
Ashworth brok
e his long silence. "It's possible, Mary. But what's the odds? The real point now—" His shaking voice steadied as he found a thought to build on, some immediate need for action to anchor his reeling mind. "Senator, what comes next? What are you going to do?"
Mitchell turned a blank stare on him. "Do? Why, I—" He faltered and stopped.
Now Ashworth's silence had ended, he spoke with mounting confidence as his mind took firmer hold on the impossible. "The first thing we want is time to think. Mary's right. But she was wrong when she said we'd already lost the fight. It's just beginning. So we mustn't spread this news broadcast. This homo superior isn't like the others—he can't be lynched! Not by a mob or a nation or a world. Well—so far only we three know the truth."
"And we're still alive," Mitchell said doubtfully. "Which means what? Are you asking me to keep this a secret?"
"Not quite. I'm asking you to be judicious. If the truth were told, there'd be panic. Think what would happen, senator. The superman can't be mobbed—he's not vulnerable. But Mar Vista is. The people's fear and hate would turn against us. You know what that would mean?"
Mitchell fingered his mouth. "Anarchy ... I suppose you're right."
"Mar Vista's been the real governing unit for so long that you can't junk it overnight and not expect everything to go smash."
Mary broke in urgently. "Even without the superman, we've still got a specially trained staff left here, valuable to keep control. If we're going to fight—him—if mankind has the slightest chance at all, it's in unity. Because this homo superior may be one of the failures."
Mitchell's eyes moved from one face to the other. For a moment any watcher might have been justified in expecting the senator to burst forth in a diatribe of rebellion against the conclusion that was being forced upon him. Anger suffused his face and he started to shake his head violently.
But the anger passed. The rebellion smoothed over and was gone. He said in a mechanical voice quite unlike his own, "Our only hope is unity." It was an echo of Mary's words. Then, more strongly, he phrased it anew in his own. "Man must stand together as never before!" he cried, this time the voice was tinged with oratory, and the idea had fixed itself and become Mitchell's idea.
Mary said, "We've learned a lot at Mar Vista. New methods, new weapons conceived by a super-intellect—we can turn them against the same intellect that made them!"
When the Senator left Mar Vista, he was walking springily, his brain fired with the concept of a new crusade.
-
Ashworth and Mary Gregson stood perfectly still, watching him go. His withdrawal seemed to close a break in some intangible wall that folded them into silence together. Through the silence a breath of motion stirred, and a soundless voice spoke to them again.
"Mary Gregson. How old are you?"
After a moment, in a startled tone, she answered, "Twenty-six."
"How old are you, Samuel Ashworth?"
"Twenty-eight."
There was a voiceless breath of amusement in the air. "And neither of you has suspected, until now. Take your memories back, my children—"
Silence followed that. Then Mary Gregson said slowly, like someone perceiving little by little some unfolding truth, "I ... came to the Council five years ago. I was ... someone else. The woman who had been Mary Gregson was ... destroyed ... to make room for me. Her face and memory—was superimposed upon mine."
Samuel Ashworth echoed her. "I came ... it was six years ago ... and Samuel Ashworth was destroyed for me. I have his face and memories."
"And your own memories too, now," the soundless voice told them. "I saw to all that. There are others on the Council like you. There are others all over the world. Not many yet. But a change is coming. With the Power Stations activated. I shall have fewer limitations. My experiments will go on. You are experiments, Mary, Samuel—biogenetic experiments begun less than thirty years ago. In thirty years from now—" The voice faded into introspection for a moment. Then it went on with fresh emphasis.
"You both wished to destroy Senator Mitchell. That was wrong for my purpose. I channeled your thoughts elsewhere, as I had just channeled his. Mitchell is a harmless homo sapien, but he can be useful to me. You see, perpetuation of the species is a stronger force even than self-preservation. Even when the founder of the species is a failure—as I am."
There was resignation, but no humility, in the voice. It said thoughtfully, "You two sensed that. I wonder, now, how you knew it? You are still very young."
Mary Gregson for a moment ceased to listen. She felt her mind reel beneath its own weight. New—new—too new and incredible to encompass—She felt naked and alone and helpless, and the very fabric of her beliefs shivered about her. She reached out blindly and gripped Ashworth's hand, knowing as her fingers touched his that she was no longer quite so blind as she had been.
Neither man nor woman spoke. Only the voice went on.
"The second phase of my plan is in operation now. There were Mutant Riots once, because the homo superior children were too immature to use their great powers effectively. Basically they were uncivilized, being immature. Some of them would have been successful types, had they lived. They did not live. Only I lived—and I am one of the failures."
Silence swam for a moment in the minds of the man and woman. Then aloof amusement pulsed into them from the mind of the super-being.
"Why should I feel shame or humility because of that? I had no control over the forces that shaped me. But I do have control now, over all I choose." This time a definite beat of laughter sounded in the silent voice. "Mankind will fight me desperately out of the fear lest I conquer his earth. I have conquered it. It is mine. But the real conquest is still to come. No capable race to inherit it yet exists. My children, freed of my flaws, will be the new mankind.
"I knew that long ago. The weapon was put in my hands, and I used it. Since then I have experimented, discarded, tried again—brought forth you two and your few brothers and sisters to inherit the earth."
Under her feet the shaking instability grew. Ashworth's hand began to slip from hers and she clutched at it in panic.
"You are homo superior," the voice said—and now the abyss opened beneath the two of them and for a terrifying instant chaos yawned at their feet, a chaos of future too frightening to face. It opened wide—
And closed again. Something infinitely supporting, infinitely protective, curved about them with the gentleness of the voice as it spoke on.
"You will be homo superior—but you are children still. It is time you knew the truth. Adolescence will be a long, long period for you, but you are without the stigmata that branded the others as freaks and caused their destruction. This is part of your armor. Every man's hand is against homo superior unless the camouflage is perfect. But no human will suspect you two. Or the others of my children who walk this world today. Not until too late."
There was a pause. Then—"The second phase is beginning. You are the first to know the truth of your breed, but the rest must learn soon. There will be tasks. Remember—you are still children. There is danger, tremendous danger. Man has atomic power, which is no weapon for an uncivilized species—a species that never can become fully civilized. And your powers—you are uncivilized, too. And will be, until you mature. Till that hour, you will obey me."
The voice was stern. The man and woman knew they would obey.
"Until now my work has been secret. But the changes will be too great from now on. More and more homo superior children will be born, and that must betray us unless a distraction can be provided. It has been provided.
"The word will go out. Of danger. Of a terrible menace to the whole world—myself. Mankind will band together against me. Any man who is greater than his fellows will be hailed as a new champion in the fight. Men will call you a champion, Samuel. And you, Mary. And my other children, too.
"Knowing my power—man will not look for homo superior in his own ranks. His egotism is too great for that.
"Slowly I
will be conquered.
"It will take a long, long time. And the mutation is dominant. Man will believe it is due to the war against me that more and more geniuses are born into his race. And then, one day, the balance will swing. Instead of a high minority of geniuses, there will be a high minority of—morons.
"On that day, when homo sapiens become the minority, the battle will be truly won.
"Your children's children will see the day. They will be the dominant majority. I shall be conquered not by homo sapiens, but by homo superiors.
"One day the last human on earth will die—but he will not know he is the last man.
"Meanwhile," the voice said, "the war begins. The overt war against me, and the real war of my children against homo sapiens. You know the truth now. You will learn your powers. And I will guide you. A guide you can trust, because I am a failure."
Man and woman—though children!—stood hand in hand before that voice only they could perceive, and the abyss had receded, not forever, not very far away, but held in check by a deep wisdom and a purpose untainted by human weaknesses.
"You are the first of my new race," the silence told them. "And this is Eden all over again, but told in a different language now. Perhaps the source of mankind's failure is in that old story—in mankind shaping his god in his own image. You are not in my image. I am not a jealous god. I shall not tempt you beyond your strength. Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat—yet. But some day I shall put the fruit of that tree into my children's hands."
The End
JESTING PILOT
Astounding Science Fiction - May 1947
with Henry Kuttner
(as by Lewis Padgett)
Under normal circumstances, a man must face reality to be a sane, well-balanced citizen. But not in that city! Any man who faced and understood the reality of the place was insane!
-
The city screamed. It had been screaming for six hundred years. And as long as that unendurable scream continued—the city was an efficient unit.
-
