Polymath

by John Brunner

  The others were already at the door. Ornelle herself was outside, beyond earshot Nonetheless Jerode replied equally softly.

  “Why do you think it was a good idea? She hasn’t been a very constructive contributor, and I’m revising my opinion of her.”

  “No, it was useful having her here.” Lex perched himself on a corner of the table, one long leg swinging from the knee, his lean face serious under his roughly-trimmed dark hair. “Know what the trouble is with most of our people, Doc?”

  “Tell me your diagnosis,” Jerode invited sourly.

  “Remoteness from reality,” Lex said, unperturbed. “Not in any clinical sense, I don’t mean—not in the form of an overt psychological disorder. It’s a straightforward consequence of the way we’re used to living.” He leaned forward a little.

  “Consider how detached most of us have always been from the necessities of life. Zara wasn’t a very wealthy planet; even so, it kept ticking along fine with its people putting in something like five hours a day four days a week in technical, managerial, supervisory tasks. And at that Zarathustrans worked harder than a lot of other people. Suppose we were from Earth, for example, where you’re absolutely free to opt for total leisure—where there’s so much available that it literally makes no difference whether any given person does any work.

  “Now look at those of us who’ve had responsibility devolve on us. What do we have in common? Nothing, as far as I can judge, except flexibility. We’ve adjusted more rapidly than the rest, and in each case you can see why. Fritch, a creative person used to seeing his ideas turned into hardware, willing if all else fails to use his own hands to make sure that goes on being true. Bendle, a research scientist who can let his lifelong interest in new flora and fauna drive him day after day. Cheffy, an amateur historian who has at least some comprehension of what life must be like if you don’t have automated factories all around you. Aldric, a model-maker, a craftsman born out of his time. And you, used to working on other people’s behalf. No, don’t deny it. Now you’re stuck with the job Arbogast couldn’t handle, and modesty is going to be a handicap.”

  Jerode studied Lex thoughtfully. This was an aspect of the younger man he hadn’t previously encountered. He said, “Curiously enough I was thinking about that just before the meeting.”

  “Not in connection with Nanseltine, by any chance?”

  “Yes. How did you guess?”

  “Didn’t guess. Smelled it coming, you might say. That’s why I said I’m glad Ornelle came along tonight. Because she’s typical of our human resources. You aren’t. Fritch isn’t. But I’m afraid Nanseltine is absolutely archetypal.”

  “I hope you’re very wrong,” Jerode said after a pause. “All I’ve heard from him lately—or from his wife, come to that—is a stream of complaints disguised as helpful criticism, and a lot of hypochondriacal disease symptoms. How he ever held down his continental manager’s post, I shall never know.” He hesitated.

  “But, speaking of the reasons for us winding up as members of the committee: how about you? If you disapprove of people being modest, I guess that entitles me to tell you that you possess the most original mind among us all. Item: you said you had no training for space, but when it turned out that that crewman had gone on ground-leave and not come back, you were the one who served as scratch crew, right? And I don’t recall any complaints from Arbogast. And you hit on the ropewalk, and I think it was you who realized we could adapt a spacesuit to dive in search of young Bendle, and—well, and so on. Now it’s got to the point where, if we hit a snag, we’re likely to go ask you for a solution instead of puzzling one out ourselves. Yet I realize I know practically nothing about you.”

  Lex laughed and rose to his feet, stretching. “Well, Doc, that’s not surprising. We were almost all total strangers, weren’t we? We just got thrown together.”

  “I think I might have a straight answer.” Jerode looked the younger man in the eyes. He had to tip his head back to do so. “You’ve explained why Fritch and Bendle and the rest of us are fitted to cope here. I’ve just explained Why you are. But—well, it can’t be nothing more than lack of ingrained prejudice about the way the universe ought to function! How old are you, anyway?”

  Lex hesitated. He said finally, “Twenty, Earth-basic years.”

  “What?” Jerode took a pace backward. “Now look here, Lex! I’m medically trained, and I say twenty’s ridiculous. You’re a biological thirty in exceptional shape, give or take a year!”

  “No, in fact I’m not.” Lex seemed oddly embarrassed. “That’s—uh—protective coloration. You see, I’m a trainee polymath. Tetraploid genes, modified neurons, vision extended into the infrared, heightened reflexes, accelerated nerve-signal transmission, compacted bone structure, induced immunity to more or less everything…. Oh, they gave me the full treatment. But I can’t take credit for any of it. It was all done for me.”

  Jerode’s mouth had fallen unashamedly open. Now he realized and snapped it shut. “A polymath!” he exploded “Why in all of space didn’t you say so before?”

  “Because when I say trainee I mean trainee.” Lex’s voice was level but sharp. “Have you any idea how far I was from completing my studies? Of course you haven’t Longer than I’ve lived up to now! It takes a quarter-century to make a finished polymath. If Arbogast hadn’t moved out of that chair tonight, I wouldn’t have told you. And I don’t want you to tell anybody else.”

  “No! No, you can’t say that.” Jerode was sweating; the single lamp which they’d lighted at sunset gleamed on his face. “Lex, of all the people here you’re the only one who’s been given any kind of preparation for a situation like ours. That means you’re the one best fitted for overall responsibility. Like it or not, you’re better fitted than I am, anyhow!”

  “Think again,” Lex said stonily. “Think why I was given an appearance ten years over my chronological age. You, and all the rest, are thinking of me nonetheless as ’young Lex.’ How old are you, Doc? Seventy?”

  “Sixty-nine.”

  “And a long way from old. Average life-expectancy on Zara is—was—one hundred twelve for men, one hundred eighteen for women. What’s it going to be around here, without geriatric clinics, tissue regenerants, orthophased diets—not to mention with all kinds of as-yet undetermined deficiencies, allergies, maybe infections? In one generation it’ll be cut by three-quarters at least, and someone your age will be a remarkable old man! But right now none of the older people, least of all those who used to possess rank on Zara, will accept orders from a mere ’youngster.’ You know that! And one more thing!” He poked a finger toward Jerode.

  “A polymath is trained to take charge of a newly opened planet. One particular planet. He doesn’t even move to it until he’s past forty. He’s not left in sole charge until he’s sixty. At ninety he’s usually retired because the job has been done. Very often he dies a few years later, burned out. But satisfied. Because he’s had a lifelong love affair with an entire planet, something no conceivable human relationship could match. He’s known it more intimately than most husbands ever get to know their wives.”

  He moved toward the door, a shadow approaching deeper shadow outside. On the threshold he glanced back for a moment.

  “Which may explain to you the most important thing. This is not my world. I don’t want the job.”

  Outside, the alien star-patterns loomed out of soft velvet sky. Moodily Lex walked toward the single men’s house, from which drifted the sound of laughter. But he had only gone a few yards when he heard his name spoken, and be turned to find Ornelle standing there uncertainly, hands linked before her.

  “Do you mind walking down the hill with me?” she said in a low voice. “I—I was wanting to ask you a favor. I don’t want to seem to be meddling in other people’s affairs, but I think someone’s got to take responsibility, and… and, to be honest, after sitting through your committee meeting, I find everyone else in the bunch presumptuous and bossy.”

  Lex sig
hed, knowing the sound was too faint to be heard, and said politely, “Well, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

  She fell in beside him, not looking at him. “It was talking about Delvia that made up my mind for me,” she said. “You know Naline?”

  “Of course. Not very well.”

  “What do you think of her?”

  Lex pondered for a moment, wondering what this was leading up to. He said, “Frankly, she hasn’t made much impression on me. She’s probably shy by nature, though she does overcompensate by sometimes being brash. Unsure of herself, badly upset like the rest of us with less adult experience to help stabilize her—she’s only sixteen, isn’t she? But she’s above average intelligence. She’ll make out.”

  “Attractive?”

  Now why ask that? Lex’s interest began to quicken. In fact, she was rather plain, with a characterless round face and a figure which, though hunger had melted off the puppy-fat, was nothing to remark on. Her long dark hair was her best feature, but she’d said something today about cutting it off.

  He compromised. “I guess maybe not very, if you’re fudging by the standards of Zara. But standards are going to change, and change fast, under these conditions.”

  Ornelle halted. They had come to the riverbank at the spot where she had to turn toward the single women’s house. Now she turned and faced him.

  “Look, Lex. I’ll be blunt Naline isn’t pretty. She is young, but that won’t last. And I… well, I had twin daughters at home, not as old as her, but nearly. And there’s Delvia, who doesn’t care much about other people. She uses them. Luckily most adults know how to prevent that happening. Naline doesn’t.”

  “I still don’t see,” Lex murmured. In fact he was starting to suspect what she was referring to, but he wanted her to spell it out.

  “I’ve tried to keep things quiet,” Ornelle said. “I didn’t want to cause any worse rows in that claustrophobic place than we’ve been enduring all along.” A gesture toward the women’s house. “And Del does have some good traits; she’s a capable person, and she certainly has vitality, though she’s very coarse and insensitive with it. So Naline must have been flattered when Del took to courting her.”

  “You mean that literally?”

  “Can you imagine Del settling for half-measures? Oh, she isn’t the only one! I mean, one realizes it’s part of human nature, and all of us being cooped up together like that….But for Del it’s nothing more than a stopgap.” She caught herself, then gave a sour chuckle. “Yes, that’s a very apt term! She does have some signs of a conscience, I must admit. I mean, she hasn’t just thrown Naline aside now the winter’s over and there’s a chance to sneak off in the woods with men again. But Naline is just clinging on by a hair now, and sooner or later she’s going to have a terrible shock when Del starts parading around with a man she prefers.”

  Frowning, Lex said, “You don’t think she’s found him already?”

  “Her pregnancy? Oh, she’s probably been dragging the nearest man up the hill twice a day since it got warm enough to lie down without frostbite. Trying all of them in turn.”

  It crossed Lex’s mind that if that were true then Delvia was making a better adjustment to the realities of their new home than Oraelle, or indeed practically anybody else.

  “Well, you’ve explained the problem,” he said. “But I don’t see what I can do.”

  “Don’t you?” Ornelle moved closer and put her hand on his arm. “Lex, I don’t think I could ask any other of the single men to do it, but you seem more self-possessed and sensible than the rest of them. Somebody’s got to cushion the shock for Naline. At that age she doesn’t have fully-developed emotions—she’s still at the hero-worship stage. I’m sure that’s what’s hung her up on Del. She needs to have some attention paid to her, some encouragement, some—well, maybe some affection.”

  As though embarrassed at having come so close to saying outright she wanted Naline seduced, she interrupted herself. “You didn’t have any parallel problems on the men’s side, did you?”

  “Ah… I guess not. All of us are quite a bit older than Naline. All sort of—ah—settled for life in their personal orientation. If young Bendle hadn’t died, perhaps then things might have been different. But all we had was a couple of fights when we got sick of being shut in by the snow.”

  “A couple!” Ornelle snorted. “We had a couple a day—or that’s what it felt like. But… What do you think, Lex?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. He was working a calculation in his head, not cynically, just assessing facts. There was a slight majority of women now; marginally hardier than men, they had lost seven to the males’ fourteen and fewer of them were falling sick. On the other hand you had to consider the question of their breeding ability…

  His mind revolted. He wasn’t trained to that peak of detachment, though he knew it was required of polymaths when they took up their ultimate posts. He couldn’t think of the potential advantage of having the youngest girl in the group as his wife, because of her longer fertile future.

  “Sorry,” he said, and had to lick his lips. “I can’t.”

  “Very well.” She sighed. “I didn’t know you already had a girl, but—”

  “I don’t. I don’t even have my eye on one. But there’s a point of principle. Our survival here may ultimately depend on honesty, facing the facts as they are. The repercussions of acting a lie, as you’ve suggested, could be disastrous. No matter how unselfish the underlying motive is. Good night, Ornelle.”

  All the way back to the single men’s house he was trying to decide whether, true or not, he should have said that.

  There were only about half a dozen men in the house, chatting among themselves; the rest were out, a few working, most relaxing.

  He couldn’t help wondering whether one of them was with Delvia.

  VII

  “What do you think, Lex?” Jerode said. He was visibly tense as the members of the general assembly gathered—everyone who had survived the winter, the poisons, the sickness, the cold—to take stock of their situation and hear what the steering committee recommended.

  Standing in the shadow of the headquarters hut, watching the way people were grouping themselves as they sat on the gently rising ground and trying to read implications into their choice of near neighbors, Lex shook his head.

  “I think Ornelle may have been only too right,” he said.

  “So do I.” Jerode tapped a sheaf of documents in his hand. “We made out this list of priority jobs. I was wondering whether we ought not to have drawn up an assignment list, too, naming everyone.”

  “Why didn’t you suggest it?”

  “One: it’s the kind of thing I’ve been relying on Arbogast to handle. It comes more readily to a ship’s captain to think of duty rosters and suchlike. Two: it seems to me better to build around a nucleus of volunteers for every job, and either rely on them to invite capable assistance from the others, or shame the ones who hang back into finding work wherever they’re needed.”

  “Sounds shrewd,” Lex said.

  “I did right, then?” Jerode sounded hungry for the answer.

  “Doc, don’t look to me,” Lex said with some annoyance. “Everything’s new here. We’ll have to see if it works; if it doesn’t, try something different. Now I wonder”—his voice dropped as his eyes roamed the growing crowd—“why Rothers is keeping those vacant spaces near the front. You know him, the man who used to be on the spaceport computing staff? Ah, of course. That must be it.”

  “What?” Jerode blinked at him.

  “Manager Nanseltine and his wife aren’t here yet. Nor is Delvia, come to that. The ones with rank hung over from home, and I much suspect the one who’s going to acquire some here. By pecking order methods. Here they come.”

  Heads turned in the seated crowd. Arbogast was approaching, and with him, talking volubly, tall stout Nanseltine and his florid graying wife. The captain clearly was taking no notice, just enduring what was said.<
br />
  “How did Nanseltine manage to retain so much flesh during the winter?” Jerode muttered.

  “The rest of us lost some of it by sweating it off, not just by going hungry,” Lex replied. “There’s an exception.”

  “Yes, I guess so…. Well, here we go.” Jerode sighed, and moved to welcome the captain.

  The first fuss was over chairs for the Nanseltines. Two had been set on the verandah of the headquarters hut for Arbogast and Jerode—no one objected to these two being privileged—but everyone else was agreeable to using the ground. Then people behind the chairs which were brought for the Nanseltines complained their view was blocked, and a minor argument developed. Arbogast made no attempt to quiet it, simply sat staring at nothing.

  That wasn’t altogether without advantages, Lex thought. Leaning against the corner of the hut, careful not to dislodge any of its timbers, he studied the faces of the crowd. Yes, there were factions. On the useful side, those like Cheffy, Aldric, possibly Delvia: willing to face reality and work hard. Many of them were ringed around Bendle, with pens and scraps of “paper” ready to take notes. Others were grouped close to Fritch; these were members of his building team. Not for the first time Lex was grateful for the statistical accident which had produced a majority of people under forty and yet so few children. Of course, that had been due to the season. Nine out of every ten children in Zara’s northern hemisphere had been on life-adaptation courses away from home at the time of the disaster.

  Now Naline was the baby of them all, at sixteen. Bendle’s son had been a few months younger, and there had been four infants. But they had all succumbed to a lung infection….

  Present, not past, he reminded himself sternly. On the useless side then—no, correction: the less useful side, because everyone here had to count—the Nanseltines and their cronies; you could spot them now, the ones complaining because they didn’t have chairs too or because they didn’t see why the Nanseltines should when they didn’t. Also the fawners, like Rothers, of whom a cluster centered on Nanseltine’s wife, saying of course MANAGER Nanseltine should have a chair.