And with the air of a woman who had scored an unanswerable point in the great debate of life, she sat back in her massive presidential chair and lit a manly stogie.
“Well, ma’am,” replied Prospero Pidgeon. “I have offered you my advice. Unlike our dearly mourned home world, Temptation II is unlikely to let herself die, I would guess, without at least a little resistance.”
“We know what to do with resistance, radicals, and revolutionary councils,” President Pushof assured him. “We drill ’em full of holes.” And she grinned the grin that had won her votes but failed to impress Professor Pidgeon, who was, if anything, overfamiliar with the joke and the expression. He sighed.
Wrong answer, said his robot sidekick in his warm but still evidently artificial voice. Eliminate. Eliminate.
“Do what?” The president’s jaw dropped.
“He’s referring to the elimination of greenhouse gasses,” explained Pidgeon “As a being producing no poisons, nor requiring any energy but sunlight, Robert is a little pious about such things.”
“No doubt he supports abortion and teen pregnancy, “ murmured Pushof in disgust. “It’s people like your assistant, professor, who are taking jobs away from honest Temptationonians. On our planet, we have a name for clones and metallic contraptions pretending to be human.” She frowned, evidently forgetting what that name was.
“Well, ma’am,” said Professor Pidgeon, putting on his hat, “I’m sorry you see fit not to be persuaded, but if you decide not to take my warning about the course you have plotted towards total disaster . . .”
“We are destroying nothing but pessimism and poverty,” declared President Pushof with a cold, condescending grin. She smoothed back her blue-rinsed perm. “You can take that message back to your United Planets, and if they don’t like it, tell them to shove it up their collective commie craters. Good afternoon.”
“I didn’t quite mean that you were going to be doing the destroying,” declared Pidgeon. “I was referring to two possibilities. Gaia, of course, is one. The other is popularly known as the Beast from the Id. My own adopted planet . . .”
“All our beasts are alive and well and indeed happy with their situation, even in hunting season.”
“Indeed, ma’am.” Prospero Pidgeon gave a sign to Robert Robot and the two beings left the presidential office.
And so Professor Pidgeon returned to his office at the United Planets HQ on New Peoria, saddened but helpless to take any further action, since his brief was only to advise, and he had no powers to enforce. Besides, there were so many planets in their sector of the galaxy that it would not make a serious dent in anyone’s economy should Temptation II disappear from the star chart tomorrow. But, as he saw it, one by one and little by little, it was a shame to see such massive intelligence wasted on bloody revenge, the creation of aggressive illusions, and the general psyching out of people who, while not exactly thoughtful or respectful about their environment, could easily have learned, in his opinion, to accommodate their sentient world so that both might benefit.
He made a note to revisit Temptation II if the opportunity arose and the planet survived and then turned his attention to the pressing matter of Disneyworld IX, which had built a roller coaster so high that it was in danger of knocking the planet’s small moon out of orbit. The Disneyworlders were justifiably very proud of their engineering achievement, the first to dip in and out of the surrounding void, and needed advice on how to incorporate the satellite into the ride itself. No killjoy, Professor Pidgeon was able to make some useful suggestions, and he and Robert were both offered free lifetime memberships by a grateful corporation, which, of course, they were forced to turn down, though Robert did accept a small Buzz Lightyear commemorative rocket, which he placed in a specially made showcase in his chest. Professor Pidgeon wondered at the process that made most people in the entertainment business more tolerant and liberal than those who chose other means of earning their livings.
So time passed, and no fresh news was heard from Temptation II.
Eventually, Professor Pidgeon, leafing through his records one day, began to wonder how the planet had fared since his last visit. As far as he could tell, it was still there, though he couldn’t speak for the population. Since he would be passing by that sector on his way to help in the psychological rehabilitation of a sentient world that had inexplicably developed some anxiety attacks, coupled with a delusion that it was the Last of the Ononos, a spherical people of savage, cannibalistic tendencies who had once been the sworn enemies of the late Lord Greystoke, more popularly known as Tarzan of the Apes. He sent a voicemail to the government of Temptation II informing them that he planned a visit, but he received no reply.
Naturally, Professor Pidgeon feared the worst. The human population and what remained of the earlier inhabitants had no doubt been savagely destroyed by a planet that could stand no further abuse of its resources. Through violent delusions and their own anger turned back on them they had doubtless been destroyed. As he climbed into his ethermobile and conscientiously fixed his safety belt, he sighed with regret at the anticipated scenes of horror he would doubtless have to log as part of his job.
The appointment with the deluded would-be Onono was concluded not without difficulty. Professor Pidgeon provided the necessary psychiatric attention together with a mixture of carefully injected antianxiety gasses into the planet’s atmosphere, combined with some expert therapy in which he was able to convince the planet that merely because it was spherical did not make it savage and fond of human flesh. It was touch and go for a while, since the planet had already ingested several thousand inhabitants of its northern hemisophere. However, not being entirely sure what cannibal sentient spheres did with their victims, the planet had taken them into a large underground cave system near its equator, where they were found shaken but unharmed, having lived for some months on a kind of edible moss, both nutritious and tasty, resembling a deep green popcorn. They realized they could successfully cultivate it and sell it to their nearest neighbors on the planet Vega, whose principles forbade them from eating any kind of flesh or fleshly products. The Onono planet also began to enjoy some much-needed self-esteem, having been convinced that its natural excrusions were contributing not only to the well-being of its inhabitants, who were rapidly developing a taste for the moss themselves, but that its fresh optimism and amiability were allowing it to get on better with a number of sentient shrubs and small trees that hitherto had been something of an embarrassment to it. Meanwhile, the Onanists, as they began to call themselves, were willingly being converted into Vegans by their neighbors. The planet in fact began to experiment with producing different flavors and varieties of the moss, while the Ononists in turn devoted a good-sized proportion of their income to importing special nutrients that their host world found especially delectable. This happy conclusion to the problem took the best part of a year to establish so that it was rather later than he had expected before Professor Pidgeon stopped by on Temptation II.
He found not the wasteland he had feared, but rather a thriving, busy community, still using aerocars and other vehicles, admittedly of more recent design, while the planet was no longer giving off the threatening signals Professor Pidgeon had detected earlier. There was a busy volume of traffic entering the planet’s stations from all over this sector of the galaxy. Instead of filthy factories belching out pollutants threatening the health of the planet and her inhabitants, now all of Temptation II’s cities were filled with colorful transparent neon-glowing temples, so it seemed, to a new religion. Nowhere were there to be seen the signs of disease and destruction Pidgeon and Robert had initially detected. Seeking out the former President Pushof, who now bore the rather mysterious title of Producer Pushof, he requested an explanation for the phenomenon.
“I have to admit to you, Mrs. Pushof, that I had fully expected to discover this planet undergoing its fourth period of complete devastation. Instead, though I am no enthusiast for this essentially urban environme
nt you have developed, I discover not only a rather cheerful population, but a planet that is clearly at one with itself and its inhabitants.”
Producer Pushof had grown sleek. Her face had been lifted, and her hair looked naturally wavy, blond, and vibrant. She was, Professor Pidgeon was forced to admit, rather more attractive, indeed happier and less defensively smug, than when he had last seen her. Indeed, she had lost many of her earlier conservative attitudes. “And I have to admit in turn, professor, that you made a good point about depleting our resources, relying on fossil fuels, polluting our atmosphere, and so forth. In recent times we have developed means of transport that depend increasingly on natural sunlight, wind power, and, of course, electricity produced in a number of environment-friendly ways. You’ll note the elegance and quietness of our transport systems, many of which are now free to the public, since we abandoned the economy that was threatened by any form of social institutions. Our health care, for instance, is now the best in the system and is free at point of need, thus cutting down on paperwork and the corruption that comes from private insurance companies that are allowed to own hospital facilities as well as drug companies. This in turn releases our citizens from fear of losing jobs attached to private health insurance, allowing them greater flexibility in employment and making them no longer frightened of challenging any abuses of their contracts with their employers.” Producer Pushof continued in this vein for some time, with the air of a recent convert, until Professor Pidgeon was forced to interrupt her.
“But how was such a change of society, as well as a change of heart, brought about so quickly ?” he asked.
“By converting from producing industrial materials to moving into a specific area of the service sector,” she replied.
The jargon defeated him for a moment, and seeing his confusion she smiled. “We discovered that there’s no business like show business. Well,” she almost simpered, “Tempty did . . .”
“Tempty?”
“Temptation II. Our world. You were quite right, of course, about the planet’s sentience and growing anger with our uses of her resources and also about her ability to create the most alarming illusions. We had a very disagreeable time of it, in fact, shortly after you left. Horrible invisible beasts stalking citizens, hurling them into chasms, tearing them limb from limb, and so on. It certainly shook us up.”
“You stopped raping the planet?”
She looked disapproving for a moment. “I wouldn’t put it in quite such melodramatic terms, professor. But we did decide that perhaps we should start thinking rather differently. I read your work, specifically that relating to your adopted home world. I realized that you were right, and all the negative thoughts emanating from our people were being turned against us. So we decided it was time we thought positively. As we did so, we realized that we had many different kinds of dreams, many stories to tell, as had the planet herself. By channeling all these positive ideas, we learned to create quite elaborate illusions. We got rid of the roaring and rending beasts from the id and used our unconscious dreams and yearnings to quite different ends. The yearning became, as it were, yarning!” Her girlish giggle was a little surprising, but Professor Pidgeon decided he preferred it to her earlier, harsher exclamations.
“Yarning?”
“You wouldn’t believe how old this planet is. And what a memory! She remembers the stories of every inhabitant who ever lived here. Millions of them. Billions. And not all human, of course. All Tempty wanted was a sympathetic audience, someone to watch and listen to her stories.”
Professor Pidgeon raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Producer Pushof beamed. “From all those negative projections that were emanating from us and thus from the planet, we changed to positive ones. We now have almost a million dream theaters worldwide. Each one runs a different story every couple of weeks or so. Programs change constantly, and we are working on a means of recording them, so that people can take them home with them or we can replay them when we need to. And, of course, it’s not only the planet’s memories that are contributing to the stories; we have our own as well. All we needed to do was structure the stories and devise a way in which they could be projected for an audience. Our GPP has tripled, allowing us to invest in clean energy so that people come from all over the galaxy to take a healthy holiday and spend their time enjoying our fantasies or, indeed, their own. For Temptation II takes their dreams and projects them back to them, thus increasing the variety and scope of the entertainment we can offer. With Disneyworld XIX, we are the galaxy’s leading entertainment planet. We’re thinking of changing our name to New Hollyworld. What do you think?”
Professor Pidgeon offered a nod of silent approval. “I believe I owe you an apology,” he said. “It seems my grim warnings were unfounded.”
She was generous. “If you hadn’t said what you said, professor, I’m certain I would never have realized what a resource we had. Everyone who has the privilege of living on a sentient world could do what we have done. Not,” she offered him a self-mocking smile, “that we aren’t happy to remain, for as long as possible, the only game in the galaxy.”
“Are there no drawbacks? Is there any kind of program you can’t find here?”
“Well,” she said, “we discovered that it wasn’t wise to put on too many horror shows. These days, we’re inclined to concentrate on what you might call family entertainment. Fantasy films, that sort of thing. But our thrillers are very popular. Our audiences accept that they enter our dream-o-domes at their own risk, but we also sell insurance to anyone worried that they will be adversely affected by our shows. Of course,” she added, smiling again, “since much of the entertainment comes from their own unconscious, they have only themselves to blame if they witness something negative. It’s the perfect business, really. It is the ultimate way of giving the public what it wants. Would you like to try out one of our dream-o-domes?”
“I think not,” said Professor Pidgeon, his eyes twinkling. He signaled to Robert that they should make a discreet departure. “I’ve enjoyed the experience more than once and think I prefer, these days, to stay at home with a good book.”
“Book?” asked Producer Pushof with interest as she summoned their ferry to the etherport. “Is that another idea we could perhaps turn to our advantage?”
This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine
Alex Irvine
I will tell you right up front that by the end of my story, you will believe that I am lying, if not about everything then certainly about the more important events I am about to narrate. Or describe. I was never clear on the difference.
I will also tell you that I’m not entirely sure I’m writing this. You’ll understand why in a little while, unless you decide I’m lying.
When I began this testimony, I tried to think of ways to make sure I remained in control of what I was doing. One of the early drafts was an acrostic, with the first letter of each paragraph spelling out the last sentence I heard from the mouth of Tobin Crowder: You have to understand that I never wanted to want this. That only allowed me thirty-five paragraphs, though, and as soon as I started writing, it became clear to me that I was either going to have to abandon that scheme or inflict upon my reader some agonizingly long paragraphs. Abandonment seemed the better choice.
Another acrostic idea seemed to offer more promise. What if the first word of each sentence within a paragraph gave a letter, and thus each paragraph a word, and thus my testimony a hidden message? This focused my mind until, with Tobin’s intervention I’m sure, I found myself unable to keep any of the lines I’d selected in my head.
After that, I found myself unable to maintain any kind of formal constraint or scheme. The only thing that works is to write things down in the order they come into my head, which is not the best order to tell the story, because since Tobin’s interventions became more pervasive, my mind seems to have lost its ability to arrange things.
Tobin does not want me to be writ
ing this (again for reasons that will become clear as we go on, if you don’t give up on me along the way). Rather, he wants you—whoever you are—to arrive and experience what I experienced.
What all of us experienced.
The problem, one of our team told me early on, is that crazy people feel things more intensely than other people do.
The way I remember it, Tobin and I have been the last survivors of our mission for years now. Thirteen years? Sixteen? Something like that. Enough so that when I look back on my life, a nontrivial fraction of my years have been spent in solitude, and my reaction to the prospect of visitors is a strangely fractured mix of eagerness for human company and guilt that I will probably fail to warn them—you—adequately.
You will arrive, and see this idyllic place, and let your guard down . . . as we did. That’s what I’m worried about. That’s why I’m writing this. I hope that’s not why Tobin is being so aggressive in my mind.
Or perhaps it should be said that people who feel things more intensely than other people do are often called crazy.
The line that I wrote above, about the last thing out of Tobin’s mouth, that was wrong. I think. His last line was something else. I think maybe I’ve already written it, but that might have been in one of the other drafts. I destroyed those because the erasures seemed to gain me some peace. I’ll try to remember.
Forbidden Planets Page 22
