that
there would be plenty of young and beautiful girls on the list for
Mars. So I had only one in my ten.
I had only three things to worry about now.
One: staying alive till I left Simsville. There were fanatics now;
later there would be disappointed, angry, terrified people who would
sink themselves in a mob.
Two: getting my ten away from Simsville. That wouldn't be easy, despite
what I'd been told and the arrangements which had been made.
Three: getting my lifeship to Mars. But that, the most difficult and
important, was the one which worried me least. That was me and an untested,
hastily built ship against space. The others were me against my fellow men.
3
The three clergymen were met together at Father Clark's house when I arrived
back in Simsville from my brief holiday in Havinton. As Father Clark ushered
me in there was that uneasy silence that comes when a group's frank
discussion of someone is interrupted by the arrival of the someone.
The Reverend John MacLean was heavy and blunt. "Let's waste no time,
Lieutenant Easson," he said. "You probably think your time's valuable,
and I know I think mine is. Will you start the ball rolling, or shall I?"
I sat down and tried to feel at home. "You, I think," I said. "Why do you
want to see me, anyway?"
"First," said MacLean briskly, "let's get one thing cleared up. We don't
expect -- "
"I know. You don't expect to go, but . . . But what?"
"Isn't that a little unnecessary?" asked Father Clark gently. "I know
you must have found it necessary to adopt a defensive, even a suspicious
attitude, Lieutenant Easson, but -- "
"Sorry," I said. "Trouble is, it seems years since I could talk to anyone
in a straightforward way." I had a good look at them. Cynically I had
half expected that they would be squabbling among themselves, but I
could see no sign of that.
"That's part of our reason for wanting to talk to you," said Pastor Munch.
He was one of those little men with astonishingly deep voices. The room
seemed too small to contain his vibrating organ tones. One was inclined
not to notice what he said, so fascinating was the sound of it. "You see,"
he went on, "the three of us here, Lieutenant Easson, feel we are responsible
for Simsville. That is our success and our failure. We are not big enough
to be responsible for the whole world. We must limit our sphere to be
effective. I'm purposely not talking theology -- my point is simply that
anything that happens to the people of Simsville happens to us. And
anything that is going to happen we must carefully examine and test
and if necessary explain to our people."
"Exactly," said MacLean briskly. "You are an instrument of God. Sometimes
the phrase has been used as an excuse. Instrument of a higher power. A shrug
of the shoulders. Nothing can be done but accept."
He leaned forward and tapped firmly on the arm of my chair. "That attitude
is apathy," he declared. "And apathy is anti-God. We feel, all three of us,
that it is up to us to examine and test and if necessary explain, as my
colleague says, this instrument of God. We can help or impede. Or we can
guide."
MacLean's blunt though not unfriendly approach demanded frankness.
"You mean," I said, "you can help or impede or guide me .
"There is no question," said Father Clark quickly, "of impeding."
Munch murmured assent, the rumble of a distant avalanche. MacLean said
nothing, staring back at me.
"I didn't want this meeting," I admitted, "and I delayed it as long as
I could. That was because I was prepared to promise nothing."
MacLean nodded. "You came with your mind made up, in fact," he said.
I nodded too. "Half made up, anyway.
Father Clark almost wrung his hands. He was too kindly to like this kind
of plain speaking.
"What did you think," asked MacLean,
there would be plenty of young and beautiful girls on the list for
Mars. So I had only one in my ten.
I had only three things to worry about now.
One: staying alive till I left Simsville. There were fanatics now;
later there would be disappointed, angry, terrified people who would
sink themselves in a mob.
Two: getting my ten away from Simsville. That wouldn't be easy, despite
what I'd been told and the arrangements which had been made.
Three: getting my lifeship to Mars. But that, the most difficult and
important, was the one which worried me least. That was me and an untested,
hastily built ship against space. The others were me against my fellow men.
3
The three clergymen were met together at Father Clark's house when I arrived
back in Simsville from my brief holiday in Havinton. As Father Clark ushered
me in there was that uneasy silence that comes when a group's frank
discussion of someone is interrupted by the arrival of the someone.
The Reverend John MacLean was heavy and blunt. "Let's waste no time,
Lieutenant Easson," he said. "You probably think your time's valuable,
and I know I think mine is. Will you start the ball rolling, or shall I?"
I sat down and tried to feel at home. "You, I think," I said. "Why do you
want to see me, anyway?"
"First," said MacLean briskly, "let's get one thing cleared up. We don't
expect -- "
"I know. You don't expect to go, but . . . But what?"
"Isn't that a little unnecessary?" asked Father Clark gently. "I know
you must have found it necessary to adopt a defensive, even a suspicious
attitude, Lieutenant Easson, but -- "
"Sorry," I said. "Trouble is, it seems years since I could talk to anyone
in a straightforward way." I had a good look at them. Cynically I had
half expected that they would be squabbling among themselves, but I
could see no sign of that.
"That's part of our reason for wanting to talk to you," said Pastor Munch.
He was one of those little men with astonishingly deep voices. The room
seemed too small to contain his vibrating organ tones. One was inclined
not to notice what he said, so fascinating was the sound of it. "You see,"
he went on, "the three of us here, Lieutenant Easson, feel we are responsible
for Simsville. That is our success and our failure. We are not big enough
to be responsible for the whole world. We must limit our sphere to be
effective. I'm purposely not talking theology -- my point is simply that
anything that happens to the people of Simsville happens to us. And
anything that is going to happen we must carefully examine and test
and if necessary explain to our people."
"Exactly," said MacLean briskly. "You are an instrument of God. Sometimes
the phrase has been used as an excuse. Instrument of a higher power. A shrug
of the shoulders. Nothing can be done but accept."
He leaned forward and tapped firmly on the arm of my chair. "That attitude
is apathy," he declared. "And apathy is anti-God. We feel, all three of us,
that it is up to us to examine and test and if necessary explain, as my
colleague says, this instrument of God. We can help or impede. Or we can
guide."
MacLean's blunt though not unfriendly approach demanded frankness.
"You mean," I said, "you can help or impede or guide me .
"There is no question," said Father Clark quickly, "of impeding."
Munch murmured assent, the rumble of a distant avalanche. MacLean said
nothing, staring back at me.
"I didn't want this meeting," I admitted, "and I delayed it as long as
I could. That was because I was prepared to promise nothing."
MacLean nodded. "You came with your mind made up, in fact," he said.
I nodded too. "Half made up, anyway.
Father Clark almost wrung his hands. He was too kindly to like this kind
of plain speaking.
"What did you think," asked MacLean,