Dismal, all full of vicissitudes, was the testing ground for countless things.
Some guys just drove vehicles back and forth through different climate belts, listing everything that went wrong. All the fancy, sturdy dwellings I mentioned were test items also, and their counterparts will doubtless one day spring up on other worlds. You name it, and somebody was living with it on Dismal. Mine was food.
And one day there came the cry, "Iron!" I ignored it, of course. I'd heard the rumors, back before I'd asked to serve out my sentence on Dismal, even.
My sentence had been up almost a year before, but I'd stayed on. I could leave any time I wanted, but I didn't. There had been something I'd wanted to prove, I guess, and then I'd gotten wrapped up in the project.
Francis Sandow had been testing lots of things on Dismal, but so far as I was concerned the most interesting was a byproduct of the local ecology. There was something peculiar to my valley, something that made rice grow so fast you could see it growing. Sandow himself didn't know what it was, and the project for which I'd volunteered was one designed to find out. If there was anything edible that could be ready for harvest two weeks after it was planted, it represented such a boon to the growing population of the galaxy that its secret was worth almost any price. So I went armed against the serpents and the water tigers; I harvested, analyzed, fed the computer. The facts accumulated slowly, over the years, as I tested first one thing, then another; and I was within a couple harvests of having an answer, I felt, when someone yelled, "Iron!" Nuts!
I'd half dismissed what it was that I'd wanted to prove as unprovable, and all I wanted to do at that moment of time was to come up with the final answer, turn it over to the universe and say, "Here. I've done something to pay back for what I've taken. Let's call it square, huh?"
On one of the infrequent occasions when I went into the town, that was all they were talking about, the iron. I didn't like them too much - people, I mean - which was why I'd initially requested a project where I could work alone. They were speculating as to whether there'd be an exodus, and a couple comments were made about people like me being able to leave whenever they wanted. I didn't answer them, of course. My therapist, who hadn't wanted me to take a job off by myself, all alone, also didn't want me being belligerent and argumentative, and I'd followed her advice. Once my sentence was up, I stopped seeing her.
I was surprised therefore, when the visitor bell rang and I opened the door and she almost fell in, a forty-mile wind at her back and wet machine-gun fire from the heavens strafing her to boot.
"Susan! ... Come in," I said.
"I guess I already am," she said, and I closed the door behind her.
"Let me hang your stuff up."
"Thanks," and I helped her out of a thing that felt like a dead eel and hung it on a peg in the hallway.
"Would you care for a cup of coffee?"
"Yes."
She followed me into the lab, which also doubles as a kitchen.
"Do you listen to your radio?" she asked, as I presented her with a cup.
"No. It went out on me around a month ago, and I never bothered fixing it."
"Well, it's official," she said. "We're pulling out."
I studied her wet red bangs and gray eyes beneath matching red brows and remembered what she'd told me about transference back when I was her patient.
"I'm still transferring," I said, to see her blush behind the freckles; and then, "When?"
"Beginning the day after tomorrow," she said, losing the blush rapidly. "They're rushing ships from all over."
"I see."
"... So I thought you'd better know. The sooner you register at the port, the earlier the passage you'll probably be assigned."
I sipped my coffee.
"Thanks. Any idea how long?"
"Two to six weeks is the estimate."
" 'Rough guess' is what you mean."
"Yes."
"Where're they taking everybody?"
"Local pokeys on thirty-two different worlds, for the time being. Of course, this wouldn't apply to you."
I chuckled.
"What's funny?"
"Life," I said. "I'll bet Earth is mad at Sandow."
"They're suing him for breach of contract. He'd warrantied the world, you know."
"I doubt this would be covered by the warranty. How could it?"
She shrugged, then sipped her coffee.
"I don't know. All I know is what I hear. You'd better close up shop and go register if you want to get out early."
"I don't," I said. "I'm getting near to an answer. I'm going to finish the project, I hope. Six weeks might do it."
Her eyes widened, and she lowered the cup.
"That's ridiculous!" she said. "What good will it be if you're dead and nobody knows the answer you find?"
"I'll make it," I said, returning in my mind to the point I had one time wanted to prove. "I think I'll make it."
She stood.
"You get down there and register!"
"That's very direct therapy, isn't it?"
"I wished you'd stayed in therapy."
"I'm sane and stable now," I said.
"Maybe so. But if I have to say you're not, to get you probated and shipped off-world, I will!"
I hit a button on the box on the table, waited perhaps three seconds, hit another.
"... to say you're not, to get you probated and shipped off-world, I will!" said the shrill, recorded voice behind the speaker.
"Thanks," I said. "Try it." She sat down again.
"Okay, you win. But what are you trying to prove?"
I shrugged and drank coffee.
"That everybody's wrong but me," I said, after a time.
"It shouldn't matter," she said, "and if you were a mature adult it wouldn't matter, either way. Also, I think you're wrong."
"Get out," I said softly.
"I've listened to your adolescent fantasies, over and over," she said. "I know you. I'm beginning to think you've got an unnatural death wish as well as that unresolved family problem we-"
I laughed, because it was the only alternative to saying, "Get out" again, in a louder voice.
"Okay," I said. "I'll agree with anything you say about me, but I won't do anything you tell me to do. So consider it a moral victory or something."
"When the time comes, you'll run."
"Sure."
She returned to her coffee.
"You're really getting near to an answer?" she finally said.