but now it’s different.”
“In what way?” Aileen looked up from the boy’s shirt she was hand-stitching. Her deeply tanned face was sympathetic but unconcerned — since arriving on Orbitsville she had developed a peaceful optimism. It seemed that the principal element of his wife’s personality, her unremarkable pleasantness, was standing her in good stead in the alien environment.
“There’s to be a standard transportation charge and no limitation to the amount of land a settler can occupy. That will make the operation seem pretty altruistic to most people. The trouble is it’s easy to see how they would get that impression.”
Since turning down membership of Elizabeth’s development council Garamond had found it difficult to keep himself informed of her activities, but he could visualize the approach she was using to sell Orbitsville on overcrowded Earth. The newly-established fact that the volume of space within the sphere was totally free of hydrogen or other matter, ruling out the use of flickerwing ships, could even be turned to Starflight’s advantage. It was likely that a very long time would elapse before the unwieldy and inefficient type of ship which carried its own reaction mass could be redeveloped sufficiently to make any impression on the five billion Earth-areas available within the sphere. Orbitsville, then, was truly the ultimate frontier, a place where a man and his family could load up a solar-powered vehicle with supplies, plus an ‘iron cow’ to convert grass into food, and drive off into a green infinity. The life offered would be simple, and perhaps hard — in many ways similar to that of a pioneer in the American West — but in the coast-to-coast
“Does the President have to be altruistic?” Aileen said, and Garamond knew that she was drawing comparisons between Liz Lindstrom and herself, between a woman who had unexpectedly lost a son and one whose husband and child had been reprieved. “What’s wrong with making a reasonable percentage on services rendered?”
“In this case — everything.” Garamond suppressed a pang of annoyance. “Don’t you see that? Look, Earth has been raped and polluted and choked to death, but right here on Orbitsville there’s room for every human being there is to lose himself for ever. We’ve made all the mistakes and learned all the lessons back on Earth, and now we’ve been given this chance to start off from scratch again. The whole situation demands an almost complete transfer of population — and it could be done, Aileen. At our level of technology it could be done, but the entire Starflight operation is based on it
“In order for Elizabeth to go on making her quote reasonable percentage unquote there has to be a potential, a high population pressure on Earth and a low one elsewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that the Lindstroms are behind the failure of all the main population control programmes.”
“That’s ridiculous, Vance.” Aileen began to laugh.
“Is it?” Garamond turned away from the window, mollified by his wife’s evident happiness. “Maybe so, but you don’t hear them complaining much about the birth rate.”
“Talking about birth rates — our own has been pretty static for a long time.” Aileen caught his hand and held it against her cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to be the father of the first child born on Orbitsville?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s impossible anyway. The first shiploads of settlers are on their way, and — from what I’ve heard about the Terranova run — a lot of the women always arrive pregnant. It’s something to do with the lack of recreational facilities on the journey.”
“How about the first one conceived on Orbitsville then?”
“That’s more like it.” Garamond knelt beside his wife’s chair, took her in his arms and they kissed.
Aileen drew back from him after a few seconds. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I’m sorry. I keep thinking about the people, beings or gods — whatever you want to call them — who built Orbitsville.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I don’t understand them.”
“Who does?”
“You know, there’s enough living space in Orbitsville to support every intelligent being in the galaxy. For all we know, that’s why it was created, and yet…”
Garamond allowed his voice to die away. He suspected Aileen would accuse him of paranoia if he speculated aloud about why the sphere-builders had created a hostel for an entire galaxy’s homeless — and then played into Elizabeth Lindstrom’s hands by providing only one entrance.
Chick Truman was one of a breed of human beings who had come into existence with the development of interstellar travel. He was a frontiersman-technician. His father and grandfather had helped with the opening up of Terranova and with the initial surveying of a dozen other planets which, although unsuitable for colonization, had some commercial or scientific potential. He had received little in the way of formal technical training but, like all other members of the fraternity of gypsy-engineers, seemed to have an inborn knowledge of the entire range of mechanical skills. It was as though the accumulated experience of generations had begun to produce men for whom the analysis of an electrical circuit or the tuning of an engine was a matter of instinct. One attribute which distinguished Truman from most of his fellows was a strong, if undisciplined, interest in philosophy. And it was this which had fired his mind as he set up camp on the lower slopes of the hills which ringed Orbitsville’s single aperture at a distance of about sixty kilometres. He was half of a two-man team which had been sent out to erect a bank of laser reflectors as part of an experimental communications system. They had reached their target minutes before the wall of darkness had come rushing from the east, and now Truman’s partner, Peter Krogt, was busy preparing food and laying out their sleeping bags. Truman himself was concerned with less prosaic matters. He had lit a pipe of tobacco, was comfortably seated with his back to the transporter and was staring into the incredible ribbed archways of the sky at night.
“The Assumption of Mediocrity is a useful philosophical weapon,” he was saying, “but it can backfire on the guy who uses it. I know that some of the greatest advances in human thought were achieved by assuming there’s nothing odd or freakish about our own little patch — that’s what set Albert Einstein off.”
“Help me open these containers,” Krogt said.
Without moving, Truman released a cloud of aromatic smoke. “But consider the case of, say, two beetles living at the bottom of a hole on a golf course. These bugs have never been out of that hole, but if they have a philosophical turn of mind they can describe the rest of the universe just by using available evidence. What would their universe be like, Pete?”
“Who cares?”
“Nice attitude, Pete. Their projected universe would be an infinite series of round holes with big white balls dropping into them during daylight hours.”
Krogt had opened the food containers unaided and he handed one to Truman. “What are you talking about, Chick?”
“I’m telling you what’s wrong with the management back at base. Listen… We’ve been on Orbitsville for months, right?”
“Right.”
“Now take this little jaunt you and I are on right now. These hills are three hundred metres high. Our orders are to set up the reflectors at an elevation of two hundred and fifty metres. We’ve been told where to set them, where to aim them, what deviation will be acceptable, how long to take with the assignment — but there’s one thing we
“Your yeasteak’s getting cold.”
“Why did nobody tell us to climb the extra fifty metres to the top of the hill and have a look at the other side?”
“Because there’s no need,” Krogt said heavily. “There’s nothing there but grass and scrub. The whole inside of this ball is nothing but prairie.”
“There you go! The Assumption of Mediocrity.”
“It isn’t an assumption.” Krogt gestured with his fork towards the shimmering watered-silk canopy of the
