Prisoners of Tomorrow (79 page)

“We’re going to have to talk about this, Jay.” Bernard’s voice was very serious.

“I was teasing, really,” Murphy said. “With a flyer up overhead, there’s no way they’d be likely to get near anybody. But it’s customary to go armed when you’re not in places like Franklin . . . just in case.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t rush things too much,” Bernard suggested. He looked at Jay. “You may want to give yourself time to acclimatize before you get into something like this.” His tone said that he was being tactful in his phrasing; Jay wasn’t going. For the moment, at least, Jay didn’t feel inclined to argue too much.

“It’s up to you. Just let us know,” Murphy said and dismissed the subject with a slight shrug. “So, have you come back for something else?”

“No. My father just wants to see the store.”

“Want to come with us?” Bernard invited.

“Sure,” Murphy accepted, and they all began walking. On the way, Jay explained the problem to his three friends.

Inside, a large hall of counters and shelves displayed all manner of products from electronic devices and scientific instruments at one end to rainwear and sports equipment at the other. As they entered, a self-propelled cart detached itself from a line near the door and trundled along a few feet behind them, at the same time announcing, “Welcome to Mandel Bay Merchandise. Did you ever think of laying out your own garden and tending it
manually?
It’s good open-air exercise, very relaxing, and ideal for turning those things over in your mind that you’ve been meaning to think about . . . as well as the soil, ho-ho! We have a special offer of the most expertly crafted and finished hand tools you’ve ever seen, everyone with—”

“Go away,” Chang told it. “We’re just looking today.” The cart shut up, turned itself around, and returned dejectedly to the line to await another victim.

Bernard stopped, frowned, and looked around. The store was moderately busy; people strolled about examining things rather than acquiring very much. An exception was a couple on the far side whom he recognized as Terrans from the
Mayflower II,
conspicuous for the three carts trailing them in convoy and loaded with everything imaginable. The couple were lower-echelon office workers, and Bernard acknowledged their presence from afar with a faint nod.

“I suppose all this seems a bit strange to you folks,” Rastus noted. “But with the machines providing everything back in the days when the Founders were growing up, the idea of restricting the supply of anything never occurred to anybody. There wasn’t any reason to. We’ve carried on that way ever since. You’ll get used to it.”

“But . . . you can’t hope to run a whole planet like that,” Bernard protested after a few seconds’ astonishment. “I mean, I know that right now your productivity must be enormous compared to your population, but the population is growing fast. You’ve got to start thinking about some kind of . . . system to regulate things. Your resources are only finite.”

Rastus looked puzzled. “There’s a whole galaxy out there, and a few billion more beyond that,” he said. “It’ll take a long time for it to get crowded. Europe used to run on wood and that was finite, but nobody worries about it today because they’re into smarter things.” He shrugged. “It’s the same with everything else. The human mind is an infinite resource, and that’s all you need.”

Bernard shook his head and gestured in the direction of the couple from the
Mayflower II,
who were glancing furtively around them while a handling machine by the exit unloaded their carts onto a conveyor that looked as if it fed down to the level below. “But look what’s happening,” he said. “How long can you keep up with that kind of thing? What happens when everyone starts acting like that?”

“Why should they?” Chang asked. He looked across at the couple curiously. “I was wondering what they want with all that stuff. Anyone would think it’s about to run out.”

“For the status,” Jay said. Chang looked at him blankly. “It’s okay,” Rastus said. “As long as they pay for it.”

“That’s my whole point,” Bernard told them. “They’re
not
paying for it—not a cent’s worth of any of it.”

“They will,” Rastus replied.

“How?”

Rastus looked mildly surprised. “They’ll find a way,” he said.

Just then Jerry Pernak came around a corner accompanied by his fiancée, Eve Verritty, and two more Chironians. A cart was following them with a few odds and ends inside. He gaped at Bernard and Jay in surprise, then grinned. “Hey! So Jay dragged you out to see the sights, eh? Hello, Jay. Started making friends already?” Introductions were exchanged with smiles and handshakes. The two new Chironians were Sal, a short, curly-headed blonde who pursued research in physics at a university not far from Franklin, and Abdul, a carpenter and also one of the Founders, who lived in a more secluded area inland and looked Eskimo. Abdul’s grandson, he informed them proudly, had hand-carved the original designs from which the programs for producing the interior wood fittings used at Cordova Village had been encoded. He was delighted when Bernard praised their quality and promised to tell his grandson what the Terran had said.

“And how about this?” Pernak said. “Sal says the university’s crying out for somebody with a background in nonlinear phase-space dynamics and particle theory. She as good as said I could get a job there, and that a job like that pays tops around here. What do you think of that for a break?”

Bernard gave a pained smile. “It sounds good,” he agreed. “But the Directorate might have a few things to say.”

“I know, but I figured I’d go take a look at the place anyhow out of curiosity. That can’t do any harm. Later on, well. . . maybe anything could happen.”

“How are they going to pay you?” Jay asked.

“We haven’t talked about that yet,” Pernak told him.

“That’s a personal question, Jay,” Bernard cautioned. “Anyhow, it’s early yet.”

“Jay told us you’re an engineering officer on the
Mayflower II
,” Chang said, sounding interested. “A specialist in fusion processes.”

“That’s right.” Bernard was surprised and felt a little flattered. “I help look after the main drive systems.”

“We could probably arrange a visit for you too,” Chang offered. “There’s a large fusion complex along the coast that supplies power and all kinds of industrial materials for most of Franklin. Another one’s due to be built soon, and they’ll be needing people too. I could arrange for you to go and see it, if you think you’d be interested.”

It was interesting, certainly. “Well . . . maybe,” Bernard replied guardedly. “Who do you know there?”

“I’ve got a friend whose mother works most of her time there. Her name’s Kath.”

“And that would be enough to fix something?”

“Sure,” Chang said confidently. “I’ll give you a call when I’ve talked to Adam. He’s the friend. Would Jay like to go too.”

Bernard hadn’t really thought of that. He saw Jay nodding vigorously, and tossed up his hands. “Why not? If you’re sure it’s okay, then thanks . . . thanks a lot.”

“No problem,” Chang told him.

Eve looked at the cart, which was waiting patiently, and then back at Pernak. “We’re through, really,” she said. “Shall we carry on and see the town?”

“Let’s do that,” Pernak agreed. “I’ll take the things.”

“They can go on the maglev on their own,” Murphy informed them. “The handler at the village terminal will route them through. You pick them up by the elevator in your basement. What’s your number there?”

“Ninetey-seven,” Pernak replied. He looked at Eve and shook his head.

“That’s all,” Murphy said, addressing the cart. “Ninety-seven, Cordova Village. On your way.”

“One second,” a voice said from behind them. They looked round to find a Chironian robot winking its lights at them. It was a short, rounded type, which made it look tubby. “You haven’t taken any of our special-offer hand gardening tools. Do you want to grow fat and old before your time? Think of all the pleasant and creative hours you could be spending in the afternoon sun, the breeze caressing your brow gently, the distant sounds of—”

“Aw, cut it out, Hoover,” Rastus told the robot. “These people have only just arrived. They’ve got more than enough to do.” He looked at the Terrans. “This is Hoover. He runs the place. Don’t pay too much attention or you’ll end up buried in junk up to your eyes.”

“Junk?!”
Hoover’s lights blazed crimson in unison. “What do you mean,
junk?
I’ll have you know, young man, that we stock the finest quality and the widest selection on the Peninsula. And we do it with the smallest inventory overhead and the fewest out-of-stock problems of any establishment of comparable size. Junk indeed! Have you troubled to inspect our—”

“Okay, okay, Hoover.” Rastus held up an apologetic hand. “You know I didn’t mean it. You do a great job here. And the displays today are very artistic.”

“Thank you, and my compliments to you, sir.” Hoover acknowledged in a suddenly more agreeable voice. “I hope you all enjoyed your visit and that we’ll see you here again soon.” The cart rolled away to deliver its load to the handling machine. Hoover escorted the group back to the entrance. “Now, next week we’re expecting a consignment of absolutely first-class—”

“Lay off, Hoover,” Chang said wearily. “We’ll check it out through the net. Okay, maybe we’ll see you next week.”

In the corridor, the quartet had shifted to Mozart. “Have the robots been kept on as a kind of . . . tradition?” Bernard asked.

“The kids like having them around,” Sal confirmed. “And to be honest, I suppose we do too. We’ve all grown up with them.”

“I can remember the one that first taught me to talk,” Abdul said. “It’s still operating today, up there on the
Kuan-yin.
But the ones you see today have changed a lot.”

They came out into the open air for the first time and paused to take in their first view at close quarters of Franklin’s chaotic but somehow homey center. “And what about all this?” Eve asked. “Does it go back to the first days too?”

“Yes,” Sal replied. “Forty years ago this was just a few domes and a shuttle port. The main base that you came in through was only built about ten years ago. Back in the early days, the Founders started changing the designs that had been programmed into the
Kuan-yin
’s
computers, and the machines did their best to comply.” She sighed. “And this is what it ended up like. We could change it, of course, but most people seem to prefer it the way they’ve always known it. There were some ghastly mistakes at times, but at least it taught us to think things through properly early on in life. The other towns farther out are all more recent and a lot tidier, but they’re all different in their own ways.”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the things I can remember,” Abdul grunted as they began walking again. “Darned machines . . . always did just what we told ’em. For a time we thought they were pretty stupid, but it turned out it was us.”

“How old were you then?” Eve asked curiously.

“Oh, I don’t know . . . four, five, maybe. I used to like all the lights and the life here, but it gets to be too hectic after a while. Now I prefer the hills. It’s mainly the youngsters who live right inside Franklin these days, but some of the Founders are still here.”

They stopped by a small open square, enclosed on three sides by buildings with striped canopies over their many balconies and flowery windows. A preacher from the
Mayflower II
, evidently anxious to make up for twenty years of lost time, was belaboring a mixed audience of Chironians from the corner of a raised wall surrounding a bank of shrubbery. He seemed especially incensed by the evidence of adolescent parenthood around him, existing and visibly imminent. The Chironians appeared curious but skeptical. Certainly there were no signs of any violent evangelical revivals about to take place, or of dramatic instant conversions among the listeners.

“It seems irrational to me to argue one way or another about things there’s no evidence for,” a boy of about fourteen remarked. “You can make up anything you want if there’s no way of testing whether it’s true or not, so what’s the point?”

“We must have
faith!”
the preacher roared, his eyes wide with fervor.

“Why?” a girl in a pink jacket asked.

“Because the Book tells us we must.”

“How do you know it’s right?”

“There are some things which we must
accept!”
the preacher thundered.

“That’s my point,” the boy told him. “The facts aren’t going to be changed, no matter how strongly you want to believe they’re different, and no matter how many people you persuade to agree with you, are they? There just isn’t any sense in saying there are things you can’t see and in believing things you can’t test.”

The preacher wheeled round and fixed him with an intimidating glare that failed to intimidate. “Do you believe in atoms?”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“Aha!” The preacher made an appealing gesture to the audience. “Is there any difference, my friends? Can we
see
atoms? Is this not arrogant insolence?” He looked back at the boy and jabbed an accusing finger at him. “Do you claim to have seen atoms? Tell us that you have, and I will say that you
lie!”
Another appealing flourish. “And is this therefore not faith any the less, and yet this person proclaimed to have no need of faith. Does he not, therefore, contradict himself before us?”

“Your comparison is quite invalid,” a girl who was with the boy pointed out. “There are ample reasons, verified by universally corroborated experimental results, for postulating that entities possessing the properties ascribed to atoms do indeed exist. Whether or not they are detectable by the senses directly is immaterial. Where are your comparable data?”

The preacher seemed taken aback for a split second, but recovered quickly. “The world around us,” he bellowed, throwing his arms wide. “Is it not there? Do I not see it? Who created it? Tell us. Is that not evidence enough?”

“No,” the boy answered after a moment’s reflection. “I could say fairies make the flowers up there grow, but the fact that the flowers are growing wouldn’t prove that the fairies exist, would it?”