Outward Bound, page 9
It turned out that Linc and those who had been thinking along similar lines as he were close to the truth. The intention was to send them out into space. Or, it would have been more accurate to say, "bring" them out into space. For, as the Director informed the packed room, by then completely hushed:
"The operation that I represent—along with the others of us that you've met since joining this program—is not a creation of government or any corporation, as many of you have been speculating. In fact, we are not from any organization with Earth-based loyalties at all. What we are from is the future." He paused for a moment and nodded at the puzzled looks he knew that would bring. "We are from the only real future that anyone has—the only future that there is for every one of you, the only future that there is for humanity. Specifically, we are from those regions, mostly extending outward beyond the orbit of Mars, that are generally referred to as the Outzone."
There were whistles, murmurs, stares of surprise and wonder, even though going out to space had been one of the possibilities bandied around interminably. But everyone contemplating it had for some reason fixated on the Earth-based alternatives.
Some of those around Linc nudged him or sent nods regardless, as if endorsing him as one of the few who had gotten it right.
Like most of them, Linc was not unaware of the human presence in the Outzone, but he had no idea of the purpose, paying as little attention to the subject as he had to other activities in space and the rest of things that didn't impact his immediate life. The media coverage was usually scornful, treating it as an escape for dreamers and diversion of energies from more important issues closer to home, and people talked about it usually with amusement, as if it were a kind of joke. The Director seemed to have anticipated such reactions, for he continued:
"Let me put you straight about some of the things you've all doubtless heard. What's going on out there is new, something different from anything that's happened before in human history. We're seeing the beginnings of a society built around ideas of human relationships that are different from the ones you're used to—so different, in fact, that your first feelings might be that they don't make sense. Let me list a few. Command through loyalty, not authority. Respect in place of fear. Competence and knowledge, the only true wealth." The Director looked around at their expression as they puzzled over the words. He gave them several seconds and then explained, "Because out where we are, you can't afford to waste human talent. You have to harness the potential that exists in everyone for doing something worthwhile and being needed. There isn't any room for passengers. And in particular, there is no room for a mass of unthinking, obedient sheep, whose only function is to be exploited and controlled by a privileged few. Everyone must be free to become the most they are capable of."
Such a Linc was totally new to those listening. An unusual stillness had taken over the room. The Director made a brief, dismissive motion with a hand.
"Forget all the ideas about government and about corporations that you've been carrying around in your heads. Forget what you've been told by the people who create and control such organizations, and by those who serve them, about how life is and how it just has to be. Nothing 'just has' to be. You . . ." the Director pointed, singling out one of the listeners near the front, then moved his arm and his eyes in a slow circle to bring in all of them—"are the most creative and productive creature ever to appear on the surface of this planet. You built cities, wrote symphonies, turned deserts into gardens, and invented machines that fly. You have the ability inside—all of you, every one—to make life any way you want."
Still extending his finger, the Director raised his arm until it pointed upward.
"Out there a new culture is coming into existence, based on values that are different from the ones you've spent your lives having drummed into you. Oh, they've been talked about for centuries, sure enough, but more lately they seem to have been forgotten. In forgetting them, Earth created conditions that allowed no place for people like you, sitting here—and then it told you it has no use for you, that you're no good. We from the Outzone don't agree. To us, every kind of skill and ability is priceless. We can use every one of you in this room, and as many more as they care to send, for as long as Earth is happy to have its 'misfits' and 'undesirables' taken off its hands . . . " A crooked smile lightened the Director's expression for just a second. "And if they want to laugh and think we're a little crazy, well, that's just fine by us too." The moment was well timed and produced smiles. Linc found an excitement rising inside as he heard thoughts and feelings at last being voiced that expressed what he had been waiting for without knowing it. The Director had them all coming around to him now. He moved out to them a few paces, as if drawing them nearer. His voice fell to a more personal, conversational note.
"Let me tell you a little about the way I see things today. Earth is suffering from stagnation of the spirit. The whole focus of its energies, indeed its entire awareness, is on the immediate, the material—to the point that nothing else has come to have any meaning or even to exist. Mankind has lost the ability to dream—to dream the kind of dreams that built nations and civilizations. People no longer know what it means to work together toward a shared vision of something larger than any of them, that will last longer than all of them, and make every individual life that contributed to it that much more worthwhile." The Director's mouth curled distastefully for a moment. "Instead . . . what do we have? A war of all preying upon all. Everyone hostile and alienated, each using everyone else for whatever's up for grabs. You've all heard it every day: 'What do I get out of it, now?'"
He made an empty-handed gesture.
"The problems that have paralyzed the world are diseases of the mind—products of deluded imaginations that see only too many people running out of room and resources, and not enough for them to do. That's what they're telling you. The future that we are building, by contrast, promises infinite room with unlimited resources. And there could never be enough people for all the things out there that will need to be done."
He paused at that point and looked around, as if to give them a few moments to absorb what he had said. But there was little movement or sound. They were hungry for more. He resumed:
"I suppose you're all waiting for the catch. There has to be one, of course . . . Except that, after you've had some more practice at thinking and seeing things in the way I'm talking about, maybe you will come to view it as not so much of a catch after all. But what might seem like one for the moment is that we Outzoners entangle ourselves as little as possible in the political and economic affairs of Earth. Therefore, we can't offer much in the way of what you are accustomed to think of as payment. But then, the concept of individual wealth doesn't mean very much out there, in any case. The only 'wealth' that has any significance is what I alluded to a few minutes ago: the skills and knowledge you contribute to help create the technologies and other assets that secure the enterprise as a whole. That is how people are rated and what they're rewarded for. The reward is freedom to become whatever you choose and are capable of—the only true freedom that matters—and to be valued for that, and that alone.
"And now I'm going to use language you don't hear every day. What we offer is opportunity: the opportunity to serve, not a chance of obtaining privileges; the opportunity to honor obligation, not demand rights. What obligation? The obligation to return the best you are capable of to others, whose doing likewise makes the existence of all of us possible. Cooperation to the utmost degree is what matters out there. Survival itself depends on it. Anything less would equate to mutual destruction—which is what Earth has chosen." The Director turned to take in the whole room with an appealing gesture. "And for the past three months every one of you present in this room has, in a limited way, been practicing just these things I've described. And it appears that, as seems to be true more often than not of younger people, such a philosophy and worldview suits your nature . . . Which, of course, is why you are here."
This was so unlike everything Linc was used to hearing repeated all around him every day and had never questioned that it was almost like listening to a strange language. Yet at the same time the words had a deeply stirring effect, articulating so closely things he realized he had wanted to believe but had never seen in the reality he'd always lived in, and which he had therefore concluded couldn't exist. Now he was hearing not only that they could, but they did, exist; this time he would be there. And all of a sudden he was impatient. He wanted to be out there now, to become a part of it. And more than that, he realized. It wasn't enough just to be a part of it. He wanted to give something to it, to put a part of himself into making it happen. For the first time in his life, he saw a way of doing and being something worthwhile.
The hall had become very still and quiet. Looking around, he saw that others seemed to be affected in the same kind of way. Not all of them—in some places there were frowns, shakings of heads, exchanges of looks that said not me. But the majority, yes! Rocky's lanky frame was leaned back, tilting his chair, his face a picture of distant wonder. Johnny and Patch gave each other thumbs-ups beside him. A couple of tables away, a girl sitting behind Mace leaned forward to punch him on the shoulder, as if to say Hear that! Mace turned his head, nodded, and grinned. Flash was jerking his head to look from one to another of the coaches, as if seeing them in a new light suddenly. Then Arvin, his face still showing bruises, caught Linc's eye from across the room; and just for an instant something communicated itself between them that was devoid of malice . . . . And then Arvin's expression darkened, and he looked away again quickly.
But that was fine by Linc. Arvin no longer troubled him. Now, suddenly, there was a whole new future to think about.
Chapter Nineteen
THE Director had given the general picture It was expected that most of those listening would want to talk more with their coaches before reaching a decision. That was why the announcement had been made a week before the time at Seville, Trace was up. To Linc, the appeal of what had been described was such that he had difficulty visualizing how anyone could turn it down. But once again the end of the phase marked a moment of high attrition. Some, it appeared, weren't swayed by the same kinds of images as he, and preferred to take the chances that came with the familiar patterns of life. Others just had an unallayable suspicion that they hadn't been told everything and there had to be a down-side. And there were those who shrunk from the thought of being immersed in newness, farther away than they were capable of comprehending from everything they knew. They would stay with the known, even if not entirely trusted, whatever the consequences. But all who chose to go at this stage were accepted. Nobody was dropped by a decision of the authorities. As Mr. Summer explained when Linc finally got to see him late in the afternoon of the day following the Director's announcement:
"We're not recruiting for some elite unit of the army or anything like that. We have the beginnings of a whole society taking shape. New people are going to be born there—in fact, they are being born already—and that means as varied as people come. A society that couldn't absorb all kinds wouldn't be much use. Is it supposed to eliminate the ones who don't fit? Society should be shaped to fit people the way they are. It's trying to do it the other way that causes the problems."
"What about the ones who were RPO'd?" Linc asked. "How come you couldn't absorb them? Or don't they count for some reason?"
They were using one of the admin offices, Mr. Summer at the desk, Linc in a chair pulled up opposite. The next two of Mr. Summer's charges scheduled for sessions that afternoon were waiting outside. With six rooms to take care of, and four occupants to a room—less the dropouts—he had been busy like this all day.
"That wasn't the same thing," Mr. Summer replied. "They were elements that would have disrupted the course. It wasn't a reflection of whether or not we could have accommodated them eventually. Even a tree sometimes needs help getting started. We don't have unlimited time—as I'm sure you're only too aware by now."
Linc stared at the desktop. It was almost bare, with just a thickish file folder that Linc assumed pertained to him but which hadn't been referred to, and a notepad on which Mr. Summer had jotted a few lines. There was only one other thing Linc could think of. "Who pays?" he asked, looking up. "I mean, all this here . . . " He swept a hand, indicating the surroundings. "The other place I was at. The Director said you don't have much to do with Earth economically. So who owns it all?"
"You care?" Mr. Summer sounded surprised.
Linc shrugged. "Just kinda curious, I guess."
"You could think of it as a leasing of a kind. We have certain arrangements with state and federal authorities. As the Director indicated yesterday, they view it as unloading unwanted merchandise." Mr. Summer's face twitched in a quick, humorless smile. "You're probably aware that most of the world thinks of us as wildly unrealistic—simpleminded even. If that's the image they choose to create—because it lets them off the hook of having to think too hard about the way they're heading, maybe—that's okay by us. As the Director also said, we'll continue to take whatever they send, for as long as they want to carry on believing they're putting one over on us."
The logic appealed to Linc, and he smiled faintly. That in itself was an indicator of the effects of the past three months; that time ago he had never smiled at anything. Mr. Summer took it as a good moment to wrap up the interview. "So," he said, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers and staring over them, "do I take it that you're in? You're signing up for the ride?"
Linc nodded. "Oh, sure. I thought that was already understood." He expected his tone of finality would be the end of it. But the way Mr. Summer continued staring at him told him there was more. "What? . . ." he asked.
Mr. Summer opened the file finally, and then sat looking at it for a few seconds, as if composing something in his mind that was not easy to say. Linc waited. "Of course there's no question that you'll go . . ." Mr. Summer began. "But I'm afraid the news I have isn't all good."
The utterance caught Linc unprepared. The past three months had, to a degree, mellowed his former cynicism. Things seemed to have gone well, and inwardly he had felt pride in the unsuspected parts of his personality he was beginning to uncover. He had hoped to hear positive things—encouragement, maybe a little praise even . . . .
"The results of your machining tests weren't great," Mr. Summer continued. "They're not up to the proficiency level that the engineering people need to see. I know that the subject has an appeal for you, Linc. But . . ." Mr. Summer made a resigned gesture, "wanting something isn't always enough. What we have here doesn't point to a future in that particular direction. I'm sorry."
Linc was too dazed to think coherently. That was the last area in which he had expected to hear criticism. "I thought I did okay," was all he could manage. His voice came out flat and feeble. It sounded lame.
"The dimensional calculations were all off . . . " Mr. Summer searched for a way to soften the blow. "Look, it doesn't necessarily mean the end of the line. You won't be denied access to further opportunity to develop that kind of talent—if it's what you really want to do. But for now . . ." Mr. Summer waved a hand and left the rest unsaid.
Linc's first impulse as the initial numbness passed was anger—the conditioning of a life that had conspired to thwart him at the last moment whenever anything started looking as if it were going well. He had tried as hard as anyone could in an environment that was new and strange to him. What more did they want? The injustice made him want to smash something, throw something, upend the desk into Mr. Summer's sick-making, pretending-that-he-gave-a-damn face . . . But something else had happened, also, in those three months that let him see the futility of giving way to such feelings, and he fought them down with a power of restraint he hadn't possessed previously. There was no way now that he could go back to where he had come from. He couldn't afford to leave himself with nowhere to go forward to either.
"What, then?" he asked woodenly.
Mr. Summer sat forward, mustering an expression intended to be optimistic. "Let's look at the strengths you do have," he suggested. "You're physically tough and superbly coordinated. You think fast, and you're hardly a wimp, as our friend Arvin will testify. And experience here and at Coulie shows you have a natural leadership quality that others will respond to and follow. I'd like you to consider, instead, the thought of becoming a professional in the military or security services. We think you're cut out for it. Your earlier background might even constitute something of an asset that you could put to use. It gives you a good slant on assessing certain personalities and situations."
Linc's first reaction was to scoff. "Military? Out past Mars? Who are you thinking of taking on out there? Have people been seeing little green guys or something?"
Mr. Summer remained serious. "Don't go running away with any wrong ideas, Linc. As the Director said yesterday, if Earth wants to treat the Outzone culture as some kind of joke, that's fine by us for as long as it lasts, because it gives us more time. But we are bringing together some exceptionally capable people out there—scientists, engineers, builders, and creators of all kinds, who have been quietly disappearing. People who are sick of the greed and the exploitation, and a society that pays lip service to truth and honesty while heaping its rewards on the most accomplished forms of lying and robbery. When people like that are free, they can achieve astounding results. Whole new areas of science are being opened up out there—discoveries that Earth has lost the will and the ability to make anymore. When Earth wakes up to what's going on, there's a good chance it will try to get a share in the only way it knows how: by claims of 'rights' and enforcing them through violence. The Outzone may have to defend itself. If it does, it will need people like you. And that's why we're happy to take all the time we can get."
