James Causey

“ The lifeboat came in on the night side of Eden XI, and hung above the blue mountains like a basking shark. Saxon checked his coordinates. This had been the original landing site, almost two hundred years ago. He switched the infra-view on maximum, and began to cruise in widening spirals. These sixth generation hops were usually routine. If nomadic, a few political shifts could help warp the culture into a set pattern. A simple matter to play the visiting deity, pick one warped psychotic, and invest him with power. A dictatorship was by far the best way of inhibiting a young culture. ”

“ I'd hoped that in a few years—"
"We are not human," Veena said gently. "And our life span is four hundred of your years."
For the first time, he noticed the faint malformation of her ears, the subtle differences in facial bone structure. He glanced past her, saw Lang and Merl waiting in the doorway.
"It will mean months of study," she said. "You have so much to unlearn, to understand. They may reject you, sacrifice you. That will not matter. What does matter is your impact on their culture, what it will mean a thousand generations hence." ”

“ Saxon's palm flashed and Madsen fell writhing. There were shouts, hands clawing at him as he tore free, sprinting for the ship.
Always running, he thought bitterly. I'm getting old.
He walked through the silent corridors of the ship, a lonely figure in the black uniform of the Inhibition Corps, and once he stared through the porthole at Eden XXI, a mottled sphere receding into the star-frosted night. His mouth twisted. Conceive a colony in fear, breed it in terror. Watch it adapt, grow. If it grows too fast, hurt it. Hurt it with disease, famine, dictatorship. If it keeps growing—destroy it. ”

“ We were due to return almost thirty years ago, but we found your colony."
"Did you—"
"Isolation," she murmured. "The ghetto. They're sick," she said. "Infected with the culture plague. We couldn't leave them and we couldn't help them." Her gaze was very steady. "Until you came."
It came to him. Man, clutching at the knees of Gods, envying, striving futilely, finally hating.
Only Man can help Man.
"It's not fair," Saxon breathed. He took Veena by the shoulders, made her look at him. "I'm happy here. You and Lang—Merl—I'm just beginning to learn! ”

“ He breathed deeply, and the air was fresh and sweet, it smelled of forest and cool streams and evening dew. In the blue dusk birds twittered. A small marsupial very much like a squirrel scampered to the safety of a tree and scolded him. ”

“ Lang said, "I don't understand. Any problem which cannot be solved at family level is referred to the annual council."
"A leader." Saxon was patient. "One strong man to represent everybody. To settle all problems as he sees fit?"
"Remember, Father?" Veena prodded. "Those arboreal cannibals Grandfather used to mention? They had a nomadic tribal culture based on brute strength."
Lang nodded somberly. "Good analogy. The most favorable extrapolation indicated a racial life expectancy of only ten thousand years. ”

“ This time the robot did not stop him.
Do not allow the emotional charm of any culture, nor any individual of that culture, to sway your inhibition appraisal.
In the narrow confines of the lifeboat he repeated the quotation grimly. Good inhibition agents are inflexible. He was a good agent.
For almost an hour he fed data into the monitor tapes. Then he touched a stud and closed his eyes, waiting for judgment.
"Agricultural family-group societies are normally stagnant," the monitor droned. "Such cultures, regardless of technological level, do not warrent inhibition of any type. ”

“ Lang said quietly, "You were right, Veena. He may qualify."
"Come." Merl took her husband's arm. "Let's call the Council."
They went inside. Saxon looked at Veena. He moistened his lips. "You knew," he said.
She nodded. There was a queer adult maturity about her as she said, "Wait. They're calling an emergency Council meeting to decide if you're fit."
"Fit," Saxon said. Coldly, it seeped in. To survive? To be a playmate, a slave? "It's been a game," he said, grasping her shoulders. "You've known all along."
"They're taking the transmitter to the Landing Site now," she said. ”

“ Gant's face was wooden. "Inhibition agents never quit, they just die in harness. You'll take the lifeboat to Eden XI for sixth generation check. Good hunting, Commander."
The image faded. Saxon sat for a long time, staring into the darkness.
Eden XI was three parsecs distant, near Algol. For the next ten hours Saxon paced the marvelously equipped lifeboat and absorbed data from the robot recorder. He stared at the hard crystal ache of the stars and thought of the Director's son. He thought about the shining cities of Earth, and about stasis. ”

“ Mentor came around the ship and helped Saxon to his feet.
"Destroying guests is forbidden," the robot clicked. "The concept is irrational."
Later, in the shadows of the farmhouse that was not a farmhouse, Saxon watched the scout disappear into the sky. He turned towards Veena. "You're letting him go?"
"Mentor—treated him," she said dreamily. "He'll report that you destroyed the colony, died in the process, and this planet is unfit for further colonization. Incidentally, the council voted in the affirmative. Otherwise you'd be with Gant."
Aliens, playing a game with their ape-brother. ”

“ Because the lower the initial survival factor, the slower the culture development. Getting squeamish?"
Saxon said doggedly, "They didn't have a chance."
"Neither did twenty million people on Earth in the last atomic war." The Director's voice was soft. "All colonists volunteer. Some have a vision. Others have a latent power drive that stasis can't satisfy. They're misfits regardless, potential threats to stasis. ”

“ Mentor's waiting for your afternoon session."
Veena pouted and went outside to her robot. Lang grinned. "The precocious brat's beginning to ask him questions he can't answer. Soon I'll have to install a few more circuits."
Saxon shivered. Regardless of scientific attainment, any culture is vulnerable to inhibition.
So said his agent's handbook.
Later he met Veena's mother, Merl, a handsome woman with calm gray eyes who served them dinner by firelight. It was a good dinner. These colonists seemed like good people. A shame they qualified for inhibition. ”

“ They stared at each other across the humming emptiness and Saxon finally whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Stasis is all we can afford," the Director said numbly. "Man can't have Utopia yet. Because he's still—Man. ”