It was only after I came back from Trial that I came to a notion of my own as to what maturity consists of. Maturity is the ability to sort the portions of truth from the accepted lies and self-deceptions that you have grown up with. It is easy now to see the irrelevance of the religious wars of the past, to see that capitalism in itself is not evil, to see that honor is most often a silly thing to kill a man for, to see that national patriotism should have meant nothing in the twenty-first century, to see that a correctly-arranged tie has very little to do with true social worth. It is harder to assess as critically the insanities of your own time, especially if you have accepted them unquestioningly for as long as you can remember, for as long as you have been alive. If you never make the attempt, whatever else you are, you are not mature.
I came to this conclusion after the Ship’s Assembly that was held as a result of our experiences on Tintera. Our experiences were shocking to the Ship, and Tintera seemed like a glimpse of the Pit. The Tinterans were Free Birthers beyond a doubt. (I don’t like that idea even now.) They might be slavers. They had obtained a scoutship by some low method and had intended to use it against us. Finally, they had killed an unprecedented number of our Trial Group. To die on Trial was one thing — to have children assassinated by Mudeaters was another.
Rumors started to spread almost as soon as we had arrived home. The day after we came home, a Ship’s Council Meeting was held, and thereafter an account of what had actually happened was broadcast through the Ship. To most people, it was worse than the rumors.
I sat in on the Council meeting and testified, and I could see that every man on the Council was bothered by what we had to say. The Council concluded that a major decision needed to be made, and made with reasonable promptness, so two days later a Ship’s Assembly was called.
The only adults who were not in the amphitheatre for the Assembly were the few hundred people absolutely required to keep our world running. The seventeen of us who had survived, Mr. Pizarro, and George Fuhonin sat with the Council on the stage at the base of the theatre. I had seen plays performed where I was sitting.
Daddy called the Assembly to order on the hour, and began by apologizing for interrupting the holiday with serious business.
“I know, however,” he said, “that most of you have caught the vid discussions of Tintera and realize the serious nature of the problem. We dropped a Trial Group on this planet one month ago. We’ll have them tell you as they told the Council exactly what they saw and experienced. When they have finished, the floor will be open to questions and debate.”
The audience had previously heard the facts. Now they heard them directly from us. I testified about Free Birth. I told exactly what I had seen. Jack Fernandez-Fragoso testified about the Losels. Jimmy told about the captured scoutship. One by one, we told what we knew, led by Daddy’s questions, and Mr. Pizarro and George added their testimony to ours. When we were done, the questioning started. Mr. Tubman recognized the signal of a little man sitting high in the left banks and put him on screen. The whispering-gallery amplifiers picked up his question.
“Do I understand that they were using these Losel things as slaves? Is that right?”
Mr. Persson answered that fairly. “We don’t know that. They were definitely using them as involuntary labor. The question seems to be whether they are intelligent enough to be called slaves. As you heard from Mr. Fernandez-Fragoso, there are some indications that they are, and some that they aren’t. But I think we should bear the possibility in mind.”
The little man nodded, and Mr. Tubman passed on to another man who had signaled for recognition.
“Am I right? They actually intended to move against our Ship by force?”
Mr. Persson said, “That’s not certain, either. It’s another possibility and it was settled by the disabling of the scoutship.”
The man said, “Barbaric,” half to himself. Then: “I think we ought to offer a vote of thanks to these young people for solving our problem for us.” And he sat down.
The next person to gain recognition seconded the idea, and my face got hot. I looked at Jimmy and saw that he wa embarrassed, too. I wished that they would pass on. I didn’t want any vote of thanks like a stone hung around my neck.
Mr. Persson said, “I think that’s a fine idea. I call for a vote on the motion.”
One of the others on the Council raised an objecting hand. He said, “I think that’s getting away from the purpose of this Assembly. If at some other time the idea seems in order, we can take action on it then.”
There was a great deal of commotion. When everything settled down, Daddy made his ruling.
“I think we should continue now.”
Knowing what Daddy had in mind to do in this Assembly, I was just as glad not to be thanked.
The next man to speak said, “I think we’re missing the main point. These people are Free Birthers! That’s the whole question. We all know what that sort of policy leads to. And they’ve proven it again with this scoutship business — who did they murder to get it?-with throwing our youngsters in jail, and all the rest. They’re a menace, and that’s the truth.”
Mr. Persson started to answer that one, too. “It’s their planet, Mr. Findlay. I wouldn’t want to deny them the right to have laws of trespass. And for the.
My father cut him off. “I disagree. I think Mr. Findlay has raised a valid issue. It should be considered seriously.”
There was a lot of noise on this, but since the Council members were the only ones on an open circuit outside the controller’s direction, Mr. Persson and Daddy were the only ones who could be heard clearly. There were, as I well knew, firmly drawn lines here. Under the politesse and apparent impartiality, Daddy was heading straight for a definite purpose with the aid of Mr. Tubman, and Mr. Persson was trying just as hard to turn the Assembly aside.
When they could be heard, Mr. Persson said, “We’re aware. We are aware of the danger these people present. We are aware. But the question has been settled for the moment. They may be Free Birthers, but still there are no more than a few million of them. They are primitive. They are backward. They have no means by which to do us harm. At worst, they can be contained. Let’s leave the poor devils alone in isolation to work out their• own destiny.”
Daddy said just as doggedly, “I don’t agree!”
Somebody started yelling for debate then, and it spread, more and more people yelling — this is the fun of Assemblies — and then, finally, they got everything quieted down.
The man who was recognized by the controller said, “It’s all right for you to sit there and tell us that, Mr. Persson, but can you guarantee that they won’t get another scoutship by whatever way they got their first one? Can you guarantee that?”
“If the other Ships are warned,” Mr. Persson said, “there won’t be any problem. But the real point is being missed here. The real point is not the damage that this backward planet can do to us. The real point is, what is the reason that there is any possibility of damage being done to us? I maintain that it is because they are backward!”
“That isn’t the question we are considering,” my father said. “We’re considering a specific case, not general issues. It isn’t pertinent. That’s my ruling.”
“It is pertinent!” Mr. Persson said. “It couldn’t be more pertinent. This question is larger than you want to admit, Mr. Havero. You’ve been avoiding bringing this question of policy, of basic policy for our Ship, out into the open. I say that now is the time.”