“You can’t be saying that there’s no effect,” a skeptical woman put in.
“No, there is an effect, but it is limited to each individual. It is also universal and automatic, so that no willpower or training is required. Everyone can use it equally, making Medusa a far better place. What it did to us, what it is doing to you, is totally altering your basic biochemistry. We look human, we act human; but under the microscope we are not human. Here, on Medusa, the Warden colonies survive in us only as long as we ourselves survive. So the colonies mutated humanity here to survive the climate, no matter what. The changes are far more extensive and comprehensive than on the other three planets. Our entire cellular structure is modified, with each Warden colony in each cell in total and complete control, ready to act at a moment’s notice, either independently or collectively as required.”
“To what end?” I asked, genuinely curious. “What does it do?”
“Instant adaptation to whatever the needs of the organism are,” she told us. “We can survive almost any temperature extreme. Our bodies can consume and use almost any substance to provide whatever energy is needed under any conditions. We could go stark naked into that snowy wilderness you saw coming in and we would neither freeze nor starve. Water is our only requirement. We can adapt to extremes of radiation, drink boiling water, even walk barefoot on hot coals. Medusans are in every way superior to humanity, or even to those of the other three worlds. Instant evolution, it’s been called. What we need, we have or become. As I say, the system is automatic—no thought or direction is required.”
“That’s why the bus and buildings were unheated,” I thought aloud. “You don’t need heat.”
She nodded. “Natural insulation is enough to keep everything fairly uniform and comfortable for us. These uniforms mark our station and rank, and provide such handy things as pockets. They in no way provide protection, because we don’t need any—and neither will you.”
She paused to let that sink in a bit, then looked over at Sgt. Gorn and nodded to him. He took up the briefing.
“For now you will remain in these specially heated and insulated quarters,” he told us. “Over the course of a week, the Warden organism will make Medusans out of you physically. Our purpose is to make you Medusans socially and politically as well. We have here a society that is one of man’s old dreams. Every single man, woman, and child here is superior in every physical way. To that our current First Minister, Talant Ypsir, has added his considerable skills at political organization and social engineering to create a highly advanced society. On Lilith or Charon you might wind up as primitive migrant workers. Here we are technologically advanced, with all that implies. Your place in our society will be determined by your mind and skills, not by any physical or technological limitations. This world looks harsh, I know, but once it no longer threatens you it becomes a world of wonder and beauty and comfort. You are lucky to be Medusans, considering the alternatives.”
I wondered about that.
The barracks-style setup meant we nine would get to know one another pretty well, at least in a superficial sense. Although one couple preferred not to talk at all about their pasts, from the six who would it was clear that this was a very unusual crop. Every single one of the six—seven, including my cover—had killed at least one other human being in a cold and premeditated way. I suspected that all nine of us represented the most violent kinds of criminal minds. No smugglers or embezzlers here—we were the cream of the crop.
As the “kid” in the group, I found the others curiously kind and protective toward me, almost to a one. Those who have never encountered real criminals before might find that a bit hard to believe; but, in fact, most criminals are pretty nice, ordinary people except for one little area. All these people were extraordinary, because in contrast to my—Tarin Bul’s—rather direct and sloppy job, they had all killed in extremely clever technological ways.
Just how Talant Ypsir planned to turn such people into model citizens of his new superior society we all discovered the next day. A tall man came in, looking granite-gray in the same way Gorn and Sugra had when we’d first met them. He introduced himself as Solon Kabaye, Gray Basin’s Political Commissioner. His uniform was all black but still styled in the military manner. He had gold braid on his sleeves and a golden-colored belt. On his pocket was the obvious government symbol—a stylized woman’s head with a hair full of what had to be snakes. His manner was easygoing and conversational, like that of most politicians; I may have been the only one to notice his skin color change from that light gray to the Granger shade of Gorn and Sugra. Here was a graphic indication that something inside him worked very differently from anything we were accustomed to.
“I’m going to be basic and blunt,” he told us, “because that’s the best way to start. Let’s go over a couple of facts right away, shall we? First—you’re stuck. There is no escape from Medusa, no place to run. Therefore, you’d best get used to the world as quickly as possible and settle in as best you can. Your future—the rest of your lives—is here, tied to Medusa. The system works, and it works well. It takes into account our planetary assets, our inherent problems and limitations as Warden citizens, and it gives a strong measure of prosperity to the people. The system evolved over the past century, as various ideas were tried and discarded. This one works. You didn’t ask to be here—but you put yourselves here by your own actions. We didn’t ask for you, either. Frankly, unless you possess some new technological knowledge that could be of use to us, you’re not really needed here. So we have to find out just where you fit—then you fit. You either fit, or you take that last step into the deferred oblivion from which coming here saved you. That’s the bottom line.”
This was tough talk, and very discomforting as well. Still, it was also very professionally timed. We were stuck here, on an alien world, waiting for a something we couldn’t see, hear, or feel to take over our bodies. Quite simply, we had no real options. After the first night they had even taken away the thermal wear while we slept, leaving us with nothing but flimsy white hospital-type gowns. Try to run now, boy, out into a frigid wilderness.
“Sounds like the Confederacy,” Turnel, the ruddy, gruff resident grouch of our group noted half under his breath. Of course Kabaye heard him and smiled slightly.
“Perhaps it does. The Confederacy is a society that exists because it works. That doesn’t make it the best society, or the most efficient, or anything else, but it’s there because it works for the majority of people.”
“Well, we’re the minority,” noted Edala, a tough, worldly woman prisoner.
“True,” Kabaye agreed. “We all are. I was born and raised in the Confederacy, same as you. So was Talant Ypsir, our First Minister. And now we’re here, and you’re here, and, ironically, folks like the First Minister and myself find ourselves the government rather than opposed to the government. We’re faced with the same problems as the Confederacy, and we have additional problems because of Medusa’s limitations. Our advantage, though, is that Medusa is the wealthiest of the Warden worlds since we control the raw-materials sources, and, with a Warden organism not trying to get in the way of building stuff, we can best exploit these resources. So, let me tell you the score here and then I’ll tell you how you fit in.”
The “score,” as it were, was that we came from a somewhat totalitarian society that believed in the basic goodness of man to a very totalitarian society run by men and women who were convinced that humans would always, given a choice, do the wrong thing. Therefore, a society tightly and rigidly controlled, in which all the rules were known and posted and no violations were tolerated, was Ypsir’s new vision. It turned out to be not nearly as new as he thought, but a very old idea indeed.