“Just read it again.”
“ `Particularly restful on the eyes were the delicate pastel greens of the background to the ballet sequence. Well?”
“They weren't greens! I spent a lot of time getting that exact shade of blue! And what happens? Either some blasted engineer in the control room upsets the colour balance, or that idiot of a reviewer's got a cock-eyed set. Hey, what colour did it look on our receiver?”
“Er—I can't remember,” confessed Jean. “The Poppet started squealing about then and I had to go and find what was wrong with her.”
“Oh,” said George, relapsing into a gently simmering quiescence. Jean knew that another eruption could be expected at any moment. When it came, however, it was fairly mild.
“I've invented a new definition for TV,” he muttered gloomily. “I've decided it's a device for hindering communication between artist and audience.”
“What do you want to do about it?” retorted Jean. “Go back to the live theatre?”
“And why not?” asked George. “That's exactly what I have been thinking about. You know that letter I received from the New Athens people? They've written to me again. This time I'm going to answer.”
“Indeed?” said Jean, faintly alarmed. “I think they're a lot of cranks.”
“Well, there's only one way to find out. I intend to go and see them in the next fortnight. I must say that the literature they put out looks perfectly sane. And they've got some very good men there.”
“If you expect me to start cooking over a wood fire, or learning to dress in skins, you'll have—”
“Oh, don't be silly! Those stories are just nonsense. The Colony's got everything that's really needed for civilized life. They don't believe in unnecessary frills, that's all. Anyway, it's a couple of years since I visited the Pacific, It will make a trip for us both.”
“I agree with you there,” said Jean. “But I don't intend Junior and the Poppet to grow up into a couple of Polynesian savages.”
“They won't,” said George. “I can promise you that.”
He was right, though not in the way he had intended.
“As you noticed when you flew in,” said the little man on the other side of the veranda, “the Colony consists of two islands, linked by a causeway. This is Athens, the other we've christened Sparta. It's rather wild and rocky, and is a wonderful place for sport or exercise.” His eye flickered momentarily over his visitor's waistline, and George squirmed slightly in the cane chair. “Sparta is an extinct volcano, by the way. At least the geologists say it's extinct, ha-ha!
“But back to Athens. The idea of the Colony, as you've gathered, is to build up an independent, stable cultural group with its own artistic traditions. I should point out that a vast amount of research took place before we started this enterprise. It's really a piece of applied social engineering, based on some exceedingly complex mathematics which I wouldn't pretend to understand. All I know is that the mathematical sociologists have computed how large the Colony should be, how many types of people it should contain—and, above all, what constitution it should have for long-term stability.
“We're ruled by a Council of eight directors, representing Production, Power, Social Engineering, Art, Economics, Science, Sport, and Philosophy. There's no permanent chairman or president. The chair's held by each of the directors in rotation for a year at a time.
“Our present population is just over fifty thousand, which is a little short of the desired optimum. That's why we keep our eyes open for recruits. And, of course, there is a certain wastage: we're not yet quite self-supporting in some of the more specialized talents.
“Here on this island we're trying to save something of humanity's independence, its artistic traditions. We've no hostility towards the Overlords: we simply want to be left alone to go our own way. When they destroyed the old nations and the way of life man had known since the beginning of history, they swept away many good things with the bad. The world's now placid, featureless and culturally dead: nothing really new has been created since the Overlords came. The reason's obvious. There's nothing left to struggle for, and there are too many distractions and entertainments. Do you realize that every day something like five hundred hours of radio and TV pour out over the various channels? If you went without sleep and did nothing else, you could follow less than a twentieth of the entertainment that's available at the turn of a switch! No wonder that people are becoming passive sponges— absorbing but never creating. Did you know that the average viewing time per person is now three hours a day? Soon people won't be living their own lives any more. It will be a full-time job keeping up with the various family serials on TV!
“Here, in Athens, entertainment takes its proper place. Moreover, it's live, not canned. In a community this size it is possible to have almost complete audience participation, with all that that means to the performers and artists. Incidentally we've got a very fine symphony orchestra—probably among the world's half-dozen best.
“But I don't want you to take my word for all this. What usually happens is that prospective citizens stay here a few days, getting the feel of the place. If they decide they'd like to join us, then we let them take the battery of psychological tests which are really your main line of defence. About a third of the applicants are rejected, usually for reasons which don't reflect on them and which wouldn't matter outside. Those who pass go home long enough to settle their affairs, and then rejoin us. Sometimes, they change their minds at this stage, but that's very unusual and almost invariably through personal reasons outside their controL Our tests are practically a hundred-per-cent reliable now: the people they pass are the people who really want to come.”
“Suppose anyone changed their mind later?” asked Jean anxiously.
“Then they could leave. There'd be no difficulty. It's happened once or twice.”
There was a long silence. Jean looked at George, who was rubbing thoughtfully at the side-whiskers currently popular in artistic circles. As long as they weren't burning their boats behind them, she was not unduly worried. The Colony looked an interesting place, and certainly wasn't as cranky as she'd feared. And the children would love it. That, in the final analysis, was all that mattered.
They moved in six weeks later. The single-storied house was small, but quite adequate for a family which had no intention of being greater than four. All the basic labour-saving devices were in evidence: at least, Jean admitted, there was no danger of reverting to the dark ages of domestic drudgery. It was slightly disturbing, however, to discover that there was a kitchen. In a community of this size, one would normally expect to dial Food Central, wait five minutes, and then get whatever meal they had selected. Individuality was all very well, but this, Jean feared, might be taking things a little too far. She wondered darkly if she would be expected to make the family's clothes as well as to prepare its meals. But there was no spinning-wheel between the automatic dishwasher and the radar range, so it wasn't quite as bad as that…
Of course, the rest of the house still looked very bare and raw. They were its first occupants, and it would be some time before all this aseptic newness had been converted into a warm, human home, The children, doubtless, would catalyze the process rather effectively. There was already (though Jean did not know it yet) an unfortunate victim of Jeffrey's expiring in the bath, as a result of that young man's ignorance of the fundamental difference between fresh and salt water.
Jean moved to the still uncurtained window and looked across the Colony. It was a beautiful place, there was no doubt of that. The house stood on the western slopes of the low bill that dominated, because of the absence of any other competition, the island of Athens. Two kilometres to the north she could see the causeway —a thin knife-edge dividing the water—that led to Sparta. That rocky island, with its brooding volcanic cone, was such a contrast to this peaceful spot that it sometimes frightened her. She wondered how, the scientists could be so certain that it would never reawaken and overwhelm them all. A wavering figure coming up the slope, keeping carefully to the palm-trees' shade in defiance of the rule of the road, attracted her eye. George was returning from his first conference. It was time to stop daydreaming and get busy about the house.
A metallic crash announced the arrival of George's bicycle.
Jean wondered how long it was going to take them both to learn to ride. This was yet another unexpected aspect of life on the island. Private cars were not permitted, and indeed were unnecessary, since the greatest distance one could travel in a straight line was less than fifteen kilometres. There were various community-owned service vehicles—trucks, ambulances, and fire-engines, all restricted, except in cases of real emergency, to fifty kilometres an hour. As a result the inhabitants of Athens had plenty of exercise, uncongested streets—and no traffic accidents.
George gave his wife a perfunctory peck and collapsed with a sigh of relief into the nearest chair.
