Foreman stopped abruptly, stepped over to his podium and took a drink of water. He looked at his notes for a moment, then continued quietly, "The Chtorran infestation has put the human species in a position that can only be described as precarious. Our language is insufficient to convey the magnitude of the disaster. The scale of it is beyond our ability to comprehend. Even our largest and fastest information-processing facilities are stumbling over the great masses of confusing and contradictory reports. We have no referents for the invaders. We have no way to assimilate what is happening, we have no way to quantify it or measure it-we have no scale for the management of the task ahead of us. And yet . . . some of us on this planet, including some of you in this room, have accepted the responsibility of the challenge anyway. "
"Because we have no choice!" interrupted a man in the opposite section.
Foreman whirled to look at him. "You think so? I say we do. I say that we have an incredible choice before us. This whole course is about that choice."
Foreman stepped off the dias toward him. "I assert that our survival is still a possibility. That assertion is the starting point for everything that will occur in here."
The man who had interrupted had nothing further to say. Satisfied, Foreman began circling back toward Dorothy Chin. "If we are to make it, then over the next few years, this species is going to have to make some incredible adaptations, many of which we will not like. But whether we like them or not, they will be necessary to our survival. It is clear that the very definition of humanity is going to be tested."
Foreman had returned to his place in front of Dorothy Chin. She was still standing. She was as rigid as stone. Foreman stood before her and spoke quietly and calmly, "It is this simple, Dorothy Chin. You know it. You don't need me to tell it to you. But I'm going to say it anyway so that the people in the room who don't know it can hear it too.
"The fundamental law of biology is Survive! If the organism doesn't survive, it can't do anything else.
"Now . . . we are going to see some of our fellow human beings, and very probably many of the members of this group, creating some extraordinary operating modes in order to do just that. Part of our job here will be to explore those modes-to see what they suggest for the rest of us. We need to know what is wanted and needed for human beings to survive on a Chtorraninfested planet. We need to know, what will human beings become in the process?.
"Here in this room, in this course, we will lay the groundwork for the job to be done. We will train ourselves in the unexpected. We will prepare ourselves for the impossible. In this room, we will begin the task of creating the future. In other words, we will not only test the definition of humanity-ultimately, we may have to redefine humanity. Not because we want to, but because that may very well be the ultimate price for survival.
"And I want you all to know something," Foreman interrupted himself suddenly. He stabbed the air with his forefinger. "We have always had the opportunity to redefine ourselves as a species-but we've always avoided the confrontation with that opportunity by squabbling amongst ourselves over mates and bananas instead. We don't have that luxury any more. The opportunity is no longer an opportunity. Now it is a mandate."
26DAVID GERROLD
A RAGE FOR REVENGE27
Foreman turned back to Dr. Chin and looked her square in the eye. "So, I ask you again. Is this the game you want to play? If you want to play, then sit down. If you want to leave, the door is behind you. But be clear about your choice. There are no second chances. Once you're out the door, you can't come back." He waited. "So, what's it to be?"
"You're a very impressive speaker," Dr. Chin admitted. "But I don't think so. I don't think I want to 'select' myself onto this football team, if you don't mind."
Foreman nodded. "I don't mind at all. It's a very clear choice. You've been very responsible. You listened, you chose." He started to turn away as if he were dismissing her, then abruptly turned back as if he had just remembered something else. "I just want you to know one thing before you leave." His voice became very quiet, very calm. "When you walk out that door, you not only give up your place in the game, you also give up your right to complain if you don't like how it turns out."
"I don't agree with that either," she said, and started working her way toward the aisle. "Goodbye, Dr. Foreman." She stopped and looked at him. "I'm going to fight you and your group. I'm going to organize the scientific and political communities against you. I think you're dangerous."
Foreman turned to the rest of us. "You have just seen a demonstration of what Dr. Chin does instead of committing herself. Dr. Chin doesn't act, she reacts."
She glared at him-it rolled off him like rainwater-then she turned and strode up the aisle. TWELVE opened the door for her, and she was gone.
"Anyone else?" invited Foreman.
Three more people got up and headed for the door.
Foreman waited until they were gone. "Anyone else?" he asked. "Last call. "
I thought about it. I'd survived worse. I could survive this. I remained seated.
Foreman's expression was hard to read. It looked like a challenge. He said, "This is it. There won't be any more chances to leave. If you stay, you're committing to stay to the end. . . . Nobody else got up. The room was painfully silent.
Foreman waited another moment. He returned to his podium and took another drink of water. He turned to the manual on the music stand and flipped over two or three pages. He studied them thoughtfully for a moment, then he looked up at us and said, "So
we're clear now? You're here because you want to be here. There is nobody in this room who does not want to be here?"
He smiled. "Good. Now, let's talk about what happens after you make a commitment: the opportunity to break your word. . . ."
3
The Dome
"The game of life is always called on account of darkness."
--SOLOMON SHORT
The day had turned gray and drizzly, and the March wind was whipping coldly into our faces.
I peered at the map on the screen. Yes, this was it. I poked the kid and pointed. "Bear to the right."
He did so. We pulled off the main highway and onto a frontage road. He handled the Jeep with an easy assurance. It was obvious that the kid liked driving.
But it bothered me that he was so young.
Everywhere I went these days, I found children handling the jobs of adults. They were getting younger every day. And less well trained. I didn't like the implications of that either.
Childhood was another casualty of the war. There wasn't time to be innocent any more. As soon as you could take your place in the work force, you did. There were six million "most-urgent" jobs waiting to be filled. Age was not a consideration.
It made me feel old.
The kids I met now didn't seem to know that the world hadn't always been like this. They carried guns instead of schoolbooks; they learned to handle rocket launchers before they learned to drive. They spent as much time at work as they did at school-and maybe that was all for the good; maybe they shouldn't know what had been lost. Maybe this way would be easier for them. Certainly it was more practical.