They went through a large storage compartment, with many large and small coffins, most of them empty and stacked out of the way. A few were still connected. "Ocelots just aren't needed in the ecology," Jazz explained casually, "and I decided skunks had no useful purpose either, just now. Avoid the nuisance, you know."
Stipock followed the starpilot to the end of the storage room, where he opened a door. Jazz Worthing watched him as he stepped through the door. Stipock looked around — there were three sets of gauges and dials grouped around three doors. He resisted the impulse to ask questions, though he could think of no good reason not to. He just didn't want to converse with a man whom he had long hated (from a distance) and who now had a great deal of power over him (from close up).
Jazz parted the seal on the door marked A, opened it, and stepped back. Stipock moved to the door and looked through.
Dazzling sunlight poured in through a long oval slit in the roof. It took a moment for Stipock to adjust to the light. When he could see clearly, he gasped. The long tube, which had been lined with coffins, was a ruin. All the metal was melted down, and a clear swath had been cut through. There was no way a single passenger in that section could have survived. "What happened?" Stipock whispered.
"An enemy ship. Two of them, as a matter of fact. I had a choice between letting a projectile hit the stardrive and vaporize us all, or letting it hit here, in the hope that some would survive."
"What a choice," Stipock said. "Were either of the other two tubes hit?"
"All the life support in C tube was destroyed by the heat of the projectile's passage," Jazz said. Stipock noticed that the starpilot formed some of the words and sentences with difficulty, as if he were unaccustomed to saying them.
"I was in B tube?"
Jazz smiled patiently. "Isn't that obvious?"
Then Worthing stepped into the ruined tube, and Stipock followed. They walked carefully along the tube. Stipock looked up as he passed under the tear in the roof. The sun was blinding. He looked away, covering his eyes. A purple spot blocked some of his vision. "Don't look at the sun," Jazz said.
"Thanks for the warning," said Garol Stipock.
They made their way to the end of the tube and didn't have to open a door, because the hole left by the projectile was ample. They clambered through, and Stipock was horrified by what he saw — the tape rack mostly fused and melted by heat. "The memory tapes," he said, "Look at this — this is terrible."
Jazz reached out with his toe, and showed Stipock an empty slot in the lower right–hand corner of the B–tube tape rack. "That's where the only B tube tape that was usable was."
"Mine."
"Again, obvious."
Stipock leaned against the wall. "But what about the others? They won't have any memory at all, no training, no education. They'll be like infants. What are we going to do?"
"It's all been done."
Stipock was puzzled. "But how? If you didn't have the tapes — you said I was the last one wakened! Why? How long did you leave me asleep after landing?"
"Fifty–eight years."
It was too much to understand all at once. Bad enough to wake up from somec and find that your last waking had been wiped and you were in the colonies, irrevocably off somec until you died — that much he had bargained for, had known the risks when he joined the conspiracy. But the deaths of two–thirds of the colonists in a battle in space, and then the loss of every survivor's tape except his own — And why had he been left asleep for fifty–eight years?
"It wasn't an easy decision," Jazz said, answering Stipock's unspoken question. "A dozen times that first year I headed for the Star Tower — for the ship — to waken you. I needed your help."
"Then why didn't you? Because I was a rebel against your conspiracy? In a case like this, you forget political differences. Captain Worthing, I would have helped you."
Jazz smiled slightly. "Would you?"
"Damn right!" Stipock said. "Damn right! Of course I would!"
"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" Whether you'll help me, or whether you'll work against me."
"Now? Aren't they all functioning adults by now?"
Jazz nodded, then went to the door from the schoolroom to B tube, opened it, went in. Stipock followed. Most of the coffins were empty, standing open. But twenty of them were occupied. Jazz touched each one as he passed, said a name. Most of them Stipock recognized — Fritz Kapock, the designer; Sara Hamilton, a wholesaler who had been one of the foremost leaders in the rebellion; Arran Handully, the best–known actress in the Empire and a primary financial backer of the rebellion. Others he didn't know, of course — he hadn't been that high in the ranks of the rebellion, to know everyone.
"Why are they still here? I thought you said I was last?"
"They aren't still here," Jazz answered. "They're back here. These are the ones who have proved themselves — the most creative, the most capable, those best able to lead. I bring them back here to sleep, so I can use them again."
"You still have people on somec," Stipock said. "But that's absolutely forbidden in the colonies."
"You worry about law?" Jazz asked. "You're the man who invented the probe, Garol Stipock."
Stipock flushed again, was embarrassed again that his anger showed so obviously. "I also invented the geologer, which you no doubt used for your planetary survey."
"Of course. I'm just pointing out that in special circumstances, law–abiding people break laws. You must admit these circumstances are special."
"When the next Empire ship comes, let's see what they say about it."
"There won't be any Empire ship," Jazz said. "We left Capitol more than a thousand years ago."
Another piece of unassimilatable information. "A thousand years! Then we must be —"
"Very, very far from the pale of human settlement. And the Empire doesn't know we're here."
"Why!"
"Does it matter? Here we are. Now I'll explain this carefully, and you'll listen carefully, and we shall see what happens next. Dr. Stipock, these people all had empty minds, like infants. No conditioning from Capitol culture. No knowledge of somec."
"They know now, anyway," Stipock interrupted.
"I said listen. They know nothing about the universe except what I could teach them. They know nothing about law except what I have taught them. And in all of this, I was limited by what they could understand. On Capitol, children were surrounded by the artifacts of civilization. All the little gadgets that kept us alive and made life fun. How many people on Capitol actually know how those things work?"
Stipock snorted. "Almost no one."
"Only the specialists. Now if people who see these things and use them every day have no idea how they work, how could I explain, say, a laser to these colonists, who have never seen one?"
"I never thought of that. They don't have a fragment of the science of the last four thousand years, then," Stipock said. "What have you done?"
"I haven't tried to teach them."
"But they should know! They have to know —"
"Why? On a planet where the technology they and their children will have can't possibly extract iron or aluminum from the earth? On a planet where coal is inaccessible and oil even harder to get? Should I tell them about star travel and telephones and loops and food processors and tubes and toilets? Should I tell them that they're living in squalor and ignorance and make them hate their lives?"
Stipock shook his head. He sat on an empty coffin, looked at his hands. "But not to tell them anything. Captain Worthing, I couldn't do it."
"Yes you could," Jazz said. "I even tried to tell them. But they didn't understand. I told them I brought them down from the sky in the ship, and they decided that I must be superhuman. How could I explain the science of the stardrive? They have no need for higher mathematics — it would just be a game to them, and a pretty damned hard one. None of them has time to learn things that can't be used — it takes all their time from dawn to dark just
to stay alive."
"It sounds like hell."
"They're completely happy."
"That's hard to believe."
"Only because you remember the Empire, Stipock. If you forgot the Empire, you'd live like them and be happy, too."
"What do they make of things like the starship, then?" Stipock asked. "If they don't know about technology, what do they think of the fact that you're still young after fifty years or so, that these people you've got in here don't get any older?"
"They think," Jason said, "that I'm God."
Stipock laughed uproariously. "Well, I hope you set them straight on that!"
"I never tried," Jason answered, shrugging.
"You're joking," Stipock said, and then saw that he was not. "What are you doing, setting yourself up here as the local deity? What right do you have to force them into superstition and ignorance?"
"The ignorance is unavoidable. And they made up the idea that I was God all by themselves."
"You could have told them it wasn't true."
"And accomplished what? You've been pampered all your life, Stipock, just like everybody else in the Empire. Well, they've got a hard life out there, and no precedents, no parents, no one to teach them. Except me. I'm their parents and their teachers and their ties with the past. They needed a foundation, and I'm that foundation. Why else do you think people believe in God? They can't live without faith."
Stipock was silent, said nothing, but told himself, This man is insane. This man is playing God with people's lives. I've got to stop him somehow.
"Garol Stipock," Jazz said, "you can try to stop me all you like. As long as all you do is talk, and as long as you obey the laws."
"The laws? You're the laws, aren't you?"
"I wrote them. But they stand alone now. The government is entirely in their hands. I visit now and then, to install a new Warden, to take people who've excelled into the ship to sleep. You won't find it oppressive."
Stipock got up and walked out of the tube. He didn't look back to see if Jazz was following or not — the footsteps behind him soon told him that. He went back to the control room, and went to the door that led outside. He began unlocking it, but when it came to unfastening the seal, it wouldn't budge.
"Sorry, Stipock. Keyed to my thumbprint. And in case you get any ideas, it's keyed to my living thumbprint. Wrong temperature, no pulse, and no electric current, and the door won't open. In fact, if I'm dead and I touch the button, the control room blows up. The Fleet's little anticapture system."
"Are you keeping me a prisoner here?"
"It depends on what you plan to do when you go out there."
"I plan," Stipock said grimly, "to tell them all what a lying crazy bastard you are."
"Still a rebel," Jazz said. "Do you think they'd believe you?"
And Stipock calmed down, slumped as he realized how stupid his impulse had been. He would be a stranger to them all. Why should they believe him?
"Garol," Jazz said, "strange as it may seem, I know how you feel. A man once played God with my life, and I hated him for it for a while. But eventually I realized that what he was planning was good. I still had no choice but to obey him — but I didn't want another choice. The vision was good.
"I have a vision of this world, Garol. I imagine it being a simple, peaceful place, where people are happy, by and large. I at least want to give it a good start. And if that means giving them a deity to worship until they no longer need one, then I'll give them a deity."
"Why did you even wake me?" Stipock said. "Why did you even use that tape?"
"Well, as for that, if you don't cooperate, I'll simply put you back to sleep and wake you as I woke the others, with no tape at all. So in the long run you'll be part of the colony one way or another."
Stipock laughed bitterly. "Then put me under, because the way I feel right now, I'm sure as hell not going to cooperate."
"You're a brilliant man, Stipock," Jazz said. "There have been only eleven significant advances in Empire technology since the beginning of the somec. Four of them were yours."
"Four?"
"I count the probe. Stipock, I don't think the way you do. I can help people solve their human problems and I've taught them everything I could learn out of the ship's library. But I can't invent. And in a world with no metal, they need invention. We need it. Now if I put you under and woke you up mindless, maybe you'd still become an inventor and maybe not. Kapock was a designer and he still has great sensitivity — but Linkeree was a businessman and now he carves in wood. You see?"
"So you do need me."
"We can survive just fine without you. But I want your help."
"I won't help you as long as you're playing God, Captain Worthing."
Jazz shrugged. "It's your choice. I'm walking out of here in three days. They expect me then. Either you'll come with me as you are now, or you'll come with me as an infant in a box. Up to you."
Stipock shouted, "You really believe you're God, don't you, juggling with people's lives as if they didn't have anything to say about it!"
Jason sat down at the control board, swiveled the chair around to face Stipock. "People never decide the major events in their lives, Dr. Stipock. The major decisions are made for them. The only things that people decide are the minor things. Whether they'll be happy or not, for instance; whom they'll love and whom they'll hate; how trusting they intend to be. You can decide to trust me, and I'll decide to trust you, and then maybe you can be happy, if you've got guts enough to be."
Stipock, bright red with rage, leaped for Jazz Worthing — no clear plan in mind, of course. Just a vague but overpowering urge to cause pain. And pain was, indeed, caused. Stipock lay on the floor, holding his arm.
"That'll be a nasty bruise, Dr. Stipock. Remember — you may have won a few duels on Capitol, but the Fleet trains its soldiers to win. And I always will."
A gross misappropriation of funds, Stipock thought humorlessly. He felt the anger and humiliation of a cripple — unable to control his own fate, hopelessly trapped and yet capable, completely capable, if only he could set himself free of his handicap.
Jazz stayed busy the rest of the day, and Stipock began looking over his shoulder. He began wondering, from time to time, why Jazz was so calm and easy about having him loose in the control cabin, as if he posed no threat at all. But from time to time — in fact, whenever it occurred to him to try to attack the starpilot — Jazz would almost playfully, absentmindedly flash out a hand and bruise Stipock, a sharp, quick pain somewhere on his body. A reminder. And Stipock would put down any idea of resistance.
What Jazz was studying, and what Stipock read over his shoulder, were charts and readouts from the computer on probable population figures, depending on different variables. Now and then, curiosity aroused, Stipock would ask a question. "Which of these is accurate?"
"All of them. But the best predictor seems to be the max–max–mini figures — maximum fertility, maximum available resources, minimum environmental hostility. The people out there seem to like having babies. At least, they don't want to quit having them bad enough to invent twin beds," Jason answered, and Stipock couldn't help laughing.
And reports, all written by Jason himself, on the progress of the colony under each Warden. The names were all familiar — Kapock, Steven Wien, others that he had known or heard of. "Who's this Ciel?"
"Kapock's oldest son. Second generation. The first native–born that I appointed as Warden."
"Why do you call them Wardens?"
"I like the word."
"And why call it Heaven City, and the Star River , and all this other mumbo–jumbo."
"I like mumbo–jumbo."
Angry again, Stipock went away from the control and fumed quietly in a corner for a few minutes. He and Jazz spoke no more that day, until Jason yawned, looked at his watch, and said, "Time to sleep,"
"Not for me," Stipock said.
"When I sleep," Jazz said, "you sleep."
And
Jazz had a needle in his hand. Stipock leaped to his feet, bounded away to comparative safety by the door to the storage room. "Don't come near me with that."
"You're afraid," Jazz said, "that once I have you asleep normally, I'll put you under somec. Well, I won't. When I put you under somec, you'll know it."
"I'm supposed to believe that?"
"Got any choice?"
There was a struggle anyway, a brief scuffle that Jazz won handily, and Stipock soon slept.
Lights up. Stipock opened his eyes. Jazz Worthing was leaning over the bed, and Stipock sighed in relief. Awake another day, with memory intact.
Breakfast out of the ship's paste. Taste foul. "Well, the ship has been out for over a thousand years," Jazz said, smiling pleasantly as Stipock grimaced and forced it down. "Usually they're refitted within a century. Time does things to flavor."
After breakfast, more reports, and Stipock began to get a feel for the community outside the starship. By lunchtime he had even conceded to himself that Jason had really done remarkably well, turning mindless infants into a functional, working society in only five decades — and without being there much of the time.
"I can see," he finally said, "that their worship of you served a real purpose for a time. Continuity. Their awe of you lent authority to the Warden, kept them together."
Jazz turned around in amazement. "Do I hear you, Garol Stipock, the perfect judge of right and wrong, actually commending me, the man who plays God, of doing something right?"
Stipock turned red and Jazz laughed. "I told you that before. But you wouldn't believe me. Just like a scientist. Perfectly willing to decide what's right and wrong without recourse to the evidence."
"When I saw the evidence," Stipock said grimly, "I changed my mind."
Suddenly more mild, Jazz said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to mock. And I'm glad you saw my point."
"Then I hope you'll see mine," Stipock said. "This God thing can't be forever. Let's make a bargain. Let me go out there, let me live there for at least a year. I'll be ‘inventive' or whatever you expect of me — I'll try to find ways to improve their lives with the limited resources. I'll help build up your colony. I'll obey all the laws."
Hot Sleep: The Worthing Chronicle Page 18
