Matt's jaw muscles twitched. "That's your privilege, sir."
"Damn it, Dodson, it's not my privilege; it's my duty. You would never make a marine and I say so because I know you, your record, and your capabilities. You have a good chance of making a Patrol officer."
Matt looked startled. "Why couldn't I become a marine?"
"Because it's too easy for you-so easy that you would fail."
"Huh?"
"Don't say "huh." The spread in I.Q. between leader and follower should not be more than thirty points. You are considerably more than thirty points ahead of those old sergeants-don't get me wrong; they are fine men. But your mind doesn't work like theirs." Wong went on, "Have you ever wondered why the Patrol consists of nothing but officers-and student officers, cadets?"
"Mmm, no, sir."
"Naturally you wouldn't. We never wonder at what we grow up with. Strictly speaking, the Patrol is not a military organization at all."
"Sir?"
"I know, I know-you are trained to use weapons, you are under orders, you wear a uniform. But your purpose is not to fight, but to prevent fighting, by every possible means. The Patrol is not a fighting organization; it is the repository of weapons too dangerous to entrust to military men.
"With the development last century of mass-destruction weapons, warfare became all offense and no defense, speaking broadly. A nation could launch a horrific attack but it could not even protect its own rocket bases. Then space travel came along.
"The spaceship is the perfect answer in a military sense to the atom bomb, and to germ warfare and weather warfare. It can deliver an attack that can't be stopped-and it is utterly impossible to attack that spaceship from the surface of a planet."
Matt nodded. "The gravity gauge."
"Yes, the gravity gauge. Men on the surface of a planet are as helpless against men in spaceships as a man would be trying to conduct a rock- throwing fight from the bottom of a well. The man at the top of the well has gravity working for him.
"We might have ended up with the tightest, most nearly unbreakable tyranny the world has ever seen. But the human race got a couple of lucky breaks and it didn't work out that way. It's the business of the Patrol to see that it stays lucky.
"But the Patrol can't drop an atom bomb simply because some pipsqueak Hitler has made a power grab and might some day, when he has time enough, build spaceships and mass-destruction weapons. The power is too great, too awkward-it's like trying to keep order in a nursery with a loaded gun instead of a switch.
"The space marines are the Patrol's switch. They are the finest-"
"Excuse me, sir-"
"Yes?"
"I know how the marines work. They do the active policing in the System- but that's why I want to transfer. They're a more active outfit. They are-"
"-more daring, more adventurous, more colorful, more glamorous-and they don't have to study things that Matthew Dodson is tired of studying. Now shut up and listen; there is a lot you don't know about the set-up, or you wouldn't be trying to transfer."
Matt shut up.
"People tend to fall into three psychological types, all differently motivated. There is the type, motivated by economic factors, money . . . and there is the type motivated by 'face,' or pride. This type is a spender, fighter, boaster, lover, sportsman, gambler; he has a will to power and an itch for glory. And there is the professional type, which claims to follow a code of ethics rather than simply seeking money or glory-priests and ministers, teachers, scientists, medical men, some artists and writers. The idea is that such a man believes that he is devoting his life to some purpose more important than his individual self. You follow me?"
"I... think so."
"Mind you this is terrifically over-simplified. And don't try to apply these rules to non-terrestrials; they won't fit. The Martian is another sort of a cat, and so is the Venerian."
Wong continued, "Now we get to the point: The Patrol is meant to be made up exclusively of the professional type. In the space marines, every single man jack, from the generals to the privates, is or should be the sort who lives by pride and glory."
"Oh..."
Wong waited for it to sink in. "You can see it in the very uniforms; the Patrol wears the plainest of uniforms, the marines wear the gaudiest possible. In the Patrol all the emphasis is on the oath, the responsibility to humanity. In the space marines the emphasis is on pride in their corps and its glorious history, loyalty to comrades, the ancient virtues of the soldier. I am not disparaging the marine when I say that he does not care a tinker's damn for the political institutions of the Solar System; he cares only for his organization.
"But it's not your style, Matt. I know more about you than you do yourself, because I have studied the results of your psychological tests. You will never make a marine."
Wong paused so long that Matt said diffidently, "Is that all, sir?"
"Almost. You've got to learn astrogation. If deep-sea diving were the key to the Patrol's responsibility, it would be that that you would have to learn. But the key happens to be space travel. So-I'll lay out a course of sprouts for you. For a few weeks you'll do nothing but astrogate. Does that appeal to you?"
"No, sir."
"I didn't think it would. But when I get through with you, you'll be able to find your way around the System blindfolded. Now let me see-"
The next few weeks were deadly monotony but Matt made progress. He had plenty of time to think-when he was not bending over a calculator. Oscar and Tex went to the Moon together; Pete was on night shift in the power room. Matt kept sullenly and stubbornly at work-and brooded. He promised himself to stick it out until Wong let up on him. After that - well, he would have a leave coming up one of these days. If he decided to chuck it, why, lots of cadets never came back from their first leave.
In the meantime his work began to get the grudging approval of Lieutenant Wong.
At last Wong let up on him and he went back to a normal routine. He was settling into it when he found himself posted for an extra duty. Pursuant thereto, he reported one morn-
ing to the officer of the watch, received a briefing, memorized a list 'of names, and was issued a black armband. Then he went to the main airlock and waited.
Presently a group of scared and greenish boys began erupting from the lock. When his turn came, he moved forward and called out, "Squad seven! Where is the squad leader of squad seven?"
He got his charges rounded up at last and told the acting squad leader to follow along in the rear, then led them slowly and carefully down to "A" deck. He was glad to find when he got there that none of them had gotten lost. "This is your mess room," he told them. "We'll have lunch before long."
Something about the expression of one of them amused him. "What's the matter, Mister?" he asked the boy. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Uh, no, sir."
"Well, cheer up-you will be."
X GUIS CUSTODIET IPSOS CUSTODES?
INTERPLANETARY PATROL Cadet Matthew Dodson sat in the waiting room of Pikes Peak Catapult Station and watched the clock. He had an hour to wait before boarding the New Moon for Terra Station; meanwhile he was expecting his roommates.
It had been a good leave, he supposed; he had done everything he had planned to do-except joining the others at the Jarman ranch at the end; his mother had kicked up such a fuss at the idea.
Still, it had been a good leave. His space-burned face,
lean and beginning to be lined, looked slightly puzzled. He had confided to no one his tentative intention of resigning while on leave. Now he was trying to remember just when and why it had ceased to be his intention. *
He had been sent on temporary duty to the P.R.S Nobel, as assistant to the astrogator during a routine patrol of cir-cum-Terra bomb-rockets. Matt had joined his ship at Moon Base and, at the conclusion of the patrol when the Nobel had grounded at Terra Base for overhaul, was detached with permission to take leave before reporting back to the Randolph. He had gone straight home.