The quake hit shortly after we got back inside, but it amounted to nothing more than a series of moderate tremors. By then I had no interest in turning off the lights, so I went into the sitting room and spent time with Alex, who was engaged in a VR conversation. He handed me a headband. I put it on, and Chek Boland’s avatar appeared. He was relaxed on a beach in a collapsible chair, wearing khaki shorts and a pullover and a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off. There was no ocean visible, or audible, however. The beach went on forever.
“… one son,” he was saying. “ His name was Jon. He was twenty at the time of the Polaris. ”
“What happened to your marriage, Dr. Boland? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I think Jennifer and I got bored. That’s inevitable in any long-term relationship.”
“You don’t really believe that?”
“I’m a psychiatrist. I see it all the time.”
Alex was nothing if not traditional about such matters. He allowed his expression to reflect his disapproval of the comment, as if he were talking with a real person. “I read somewhere,” he said, “that sixty percent of all marriages endure. That they stay together.”
“They tolerate each other, usually from a sense of duty. To the kids, generally.
To their vows. To an inability to inflict pain on someone they think loves them.”
“You’re pretty pessimistic about the institution.”
“I’m a realist. Long-term marriage is a trap that has survived from our beginnings in the forest, when it was the only way to guarantee species survival. That is no longer the case. Hasn’t been for thousands of years.”
“Then why has it survived?”
“Because we’ve invested it with so much mythology. It’s the sanctum sanctorum of adolescent giddiness. It is the sentence we impose on our lives because we watch too much romantic drama. And maybe because people are too scared of being alone.”
“Okay.”
“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” He glanced down at his arm and made a face. “Getting burned,” he said. A new shirt appeared, with longer sleeves.
“Yes. There is something more.” In the background I could see a gathering dust storm. It’s the sort of thing that some folks use not too subtly to suggest they have more important things to do than continue the conversation. But this was an avatar.
Boland, I decided, had had a sense of humor. “You were a crusader,” continued Alex.
“You gave time and energy to all sorts of causes.”
“Nonsense. I made an occasional contribution. No more than that.”
“You supported sweeping changes in education.”
“We’ve never known how to ignite a thirst for knowledge in our kids. Individual parents sometimes figure it out. But the institutions? They’ve been an unmitigated disaster for as long as anyone can remember.”
“You were a spokesman for Big Green.”
“People on Rimway don’t notice yet the damage they’re doing. But spend a few weeks on Earth. Or Toxicon. Now there’s a world that’s well named.”
“You were an advocate for population control.”
“Of course.”
“Is there really a population problem, Doctor? There are hundreds of summer worlds out there, with hardly anybody living on them. Some are empty.”
“Where are we now?”
“Sacracour.”
“Ah. Yes. A perfect example of your point. As of the last census, there are two hundred eighty-eight thousand six hundred fifty-six persons living on Sacracour.
Almost all of them are concentrated along the eastern coast of one of its continents.”
“If you say so.”
“Three other major land masses, including a supercontinent, are virtually empty.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
“The population on Earth is currently eleven billion. Plus or minus a few hundred million. They are pressed very hard.”
“But we could move them elsewhere. We have options.”
“Yes, we do. But moving whole populations to even the friendliest of worlds is not one of them.” His features hardened. “Do the math, Alex. Do the math.”
“You’re talking about resources to move people?”
“Of course.”
“So we dedicate everything we have to the operation.”
It was time for me to break in. “There aren’t enough ships, Alex,” I said. “No matter what, there aren’t enough ships.”
“The young lady is right. There are currently one thousand sixty-four superluminals in the Confederacy, with an average passenger capacity of twentyeight people. Three will accommodate more than a hundred; many, as few as four. In fact, if you use the entire fleet, you still don’t have enough capacity to move thirty thousand people. Assuming you make a round-trip every week with everything you have, which would be pushing it, you might be able to transport one million five hundred sixty thousand people a year. Round it off to one point six million.
“Toxicon’s population growth is less than one percent. That shows restraint. But it still comes to five million births annually. So the population of Toxicon produces people three times faster than the entire fleet could haul them away.”
Alex could see he’d lost that argument. “You’re also opposed to reconstructing personalities.”
“Yes.”
“But that’s what you did for a living. For almost eight years. And not just for criminals.”
“I believed in it at first.” He stopped, as if to think what he wanted to say. “Alex, some of my patients were so fearful of the world around them that they couldn’t get through their lives.”
“Fearful of the world around them? What does that mean?”
“It means they were afraid they’d fail. Or be rejected. They thought they might simply be inadequate. Drugs could be made to work for some. But there were others whose psyches were too delicate, and some, too twisted.”
“Suicides waiting to happen?”
“Or criminal or other types of antisocial behavior.” His eyes closed, and for a moment he said nothing more. Finally, he looked up. “I wanted to give them decent lives. I wanted to take away the fear, to give them reason to respect themselves. I wanted them to be proud of who they were. So I changed them. Made them better.”
“Except-”
“Except that I came to realize that the person who emerged from the treatment was not the person who came to me for help. The old memories were gone. The former life was gone. The person behind the eyes was a stranger. I could have given my patients new names, and they would not have known the difference.”
“But if these people were miserable-”
“I did not have license to impose a death sentence!” His voice shook. “But that was what I did. In more than a hundred cases. And that doesn’t count the assorted killers, kidnappers, thieves, and thugs I was called on to treat.” He delivered the final word with venom. “There has to be a way to untangle even the most diseased psyche.
To keep the essence of the individual while softening the more abrasive qualities.”
“But you never found it.”
“No.”
“Why did you make the flight on the Polaris?”
His mood changed. “How could I not? Who’d want to miss a show like that?
Moreover, if you want the truth, I was pleased to be associated with Mendoza and White and Urquhart and the others.”
The records showed that Boland had kept his avatar current. The last update had been from Indigo, just before the Polaris left on the final leg of the mission. So I felt free to ask how things had gone up to that point.
He smiled. “On the first leg of the flight, we were like kids.”
“You mentioned kidnapping a moment ago. Did you and your colleagues plan to kidnap Tom Dunninger?”
“Ridiculous.”
“Had he planned such a thing, would Dr. Boland have informed you?”
“No,” he said. “It would have been imprudent.”
We left Sacracour, as we came, in the dark. It would be another nine hours before Gobulus rose, and eleven or twelve before the sun showed up. We were loaded with local treats, more desserts than I should have been eating. We were still getting snow and strong winds. The local authorities put out a traffic advisory, suggesting everyone stay put, but we didn’t want to miss the ride up to the orbiter, or we’d be stuck another thirty hours. So we left the hotel on schedule. The flight was uneventful, and we caught the shuttle with time to spare.