"You sound dissatisfied, Citizen Threnten."
"I am. I wanted to be an atomics engineer. I trained for it. Then when I graduated, I found out my knowledge was fifty years out of date. Even if I learned what was going on now, I'd have no place to use it."
"Why not?"
"Because everything in atomics is automatized. I don't know if the majority of the population knows that, but it's true. From raw material to finished product, it's all completely automatic. The only human participation in the program is quantity-control in terms of population indexes. And even that is minimal."
"What happens if a part of an automatic factory breaks down?"
"It gets fixed by robot repair units."
"And if they break down?"
"The damned things are self-repairing. All I can do is stand by and watch, and fill out a report. Which is a ridiculous position for a man who considers himself an engineer."
"Why don't you turn to some other field?"
"No use. I've checked, and the rest of the engineers are in the same position I'm in, watching automatic processes which they don't understand. Name your field: food processing, automobile manufacture, construction, biochem., it's all the same. Either stand-by engineers or no engineers at all."
"This is true for spaceflight also?"
"Sure. No member of the spacepilot's union has been off Earth for close to fifty years. They wouldn't know how to operate a ship."
"I see. All the ships are set for automatic."
"Exactly. Permanently and irrevocably automatic."
"What would happen if these ships ran into an unprecedented situation?"
"That's hard to say. The ships can't think, you know; they simply follow pre-set programs. If the ships ran into a situation for which they were not programmed, they'd be paralyzed, at least temporarily. I think they have an optimum-choice selector which is supposed to take over unstructured situations; but it's never been tried out. At best, it would react sluggishly. At worst, it wouldn't work at all. And that would be fine by me."
"Do you really mean that?"
"I certainly do. I'm sick of standing around watching a machine do the same thing day after day. Most of the professional men I know feel the same way. We want to do something. Anything. Did you know that a hundred years ago human-piloted starships were exploring the planets of other solar systems?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's what we should be doing now. Moving outward, exploring, advancing. That's what we need."
"I agree. But don't you think you're saying rather dangerous things?"
"I know I am. But frankly, I just don't care any longer. Let them ship me to Omega if they want to. I'm doing no good here."
"Then you've heard about Omega?"
"Anyone connected with starships knows about Omega. Round trips between Omega and Earth, that's all our ships do. It's a terrible world. Personally, I put the blame on the clergy."
"The clergy?"
"Absolutely. Those sanctimonious fools with their endless drivel about the Church of the Spirit of Mankind Incarnate. It's enough to make a man wish for a little evil…."
(Citizen Father Boeren, age 51, occupation clergyman. A stately, plum-shaped man wearing a saffron robe and white sandals. )
"That's right, my son, I am the abbot of the local branch of the Church of the Spirit of Mankind Incarnate. Our church is the official and exclusive religious expression of the government of Earth. Our religion speaks for all the peoples of Earth. It is a composite of the best elements of all the former religions, both major and minor, skillfully blended into a single all-embracing faith."
"Citizen Abbot, aren't there bound to be contradictions in doctrine among the various religions which make up your faith?"
"There were. But the forgers of our present Church threw out all controversial matter. We wanted agreement, not dissension. We preserve only certain colorful facets of those early great religions; facets with which people can identify. There have never been any schisms in our religion, because we are all-acceptant. One may believe anything one wishes, as long as it preserves the holy spirit of Mankind Incarnate. For our worship, you see, is the true worship of Man. And the spirit we recognize is the spirit of the divine and holy Good."
"Would you define Good for me, Citizen Abbot?"
"Certainly. Good is that force within us which inspires men to acts of conformity and subservience. The worship of Good is essentially the worship of oneself, and therefore the only true worship. The self which one worships is the ideal social being: the man content in his niche in society, yet ready to creatively advance his status. Good is gentle, since it is a true reflection of the loving and pitying universe. Good is continually changing in its aspects, although it comes to us in the … You have a strange look on your face, young man."
"I'm sorry, Citizen Abbot. I believe I heard that sermon, or one very much like it."
"It is true wherever one hears it."
"Of course. One more question, sir. Could you tell me about the religious instruction of children?"
"That duty is performed for us by the robot-confessors."
"Yes?"
"The notion came to us from the ancient root-faith of Transcendental Freudianism. The robot-confessor instructs children and adults alike. It hears their problems within the social matrix. It is their constant friend, their social mentor, their religious instructor. Being robotic, the confessors are able to give exact and unvarying answers to any question. This aids the great work of Conformity."
"I can see that it does. What do the human priests do?"
"They watch over the robot-confessors."
"Are these robot-confessors present in the closed classrooms?"
"I am not competent to answer that."
"They are, aren't they?"
"I truly do not know. The closed classrooms are closed to abbots as well as other adults."
"By whose order?"
"By order of the Chief of the Secret Police."
"I see…. Thank you, Citizen Abbot Boeren."
(Citizen Enyen Dravivian, age 43, occupation government employee. A narrow-faced, slit-eyed man, old and tired beyond his years.)
"Good afternoon, sir. You say that you are employed by the government?"
"Correct."
"Is that the state or the federal government?"
"Both."
"I see. And have you been in this employ for very long?"
"Approximately eighteen years."
"Yes, sir. Would you mind telling me what, specifically, your job is?"
"Not at all. I am the Chief of the Secret Police."
"You are — I see, sir. That's very interesting. I —"
"Don't reach for your needlebeam, ex-Citizen Barrent. I can assure you, it won't operate in the blanketed area around this house. And if you draw it, you'll be hurt."
"How?"
"I have my own means of protection."
"How did you know my name?"
"I've known about you almost since you set foot upon Earth. We are not entirely without resources you know. But we can discuss all that inside. Won't you come in?"
"I think I'd rather not."
"I'm afraid you have to. Come, Barrent, I won't bite you."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Of course not. We're simply going to have a little talk. That's right, sir, right through there. Just make yourself comfortable."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dravivian led him into a large room paneled in walnut. The furniture was of a heavy, black wood, intricately carved and varnished. The desk, high and straight, seemed to be an antique. A heavy tapestry covered one entire wall. It depicted, in fading colors, a medieval hunting scene.