Evolution
by Grey Rollins
Illustration by Ron Chironna
The short but brutal war with Brazil was over. In its wake, disoriented survivors stumbled back to the blackened skeletons of their homes. Food was scarce. Antibiotics were nonexistent. Potable water was a precious commodity.
The worst part was that there was little anyone could do to help.
Wars typically stimulate the economy. First an influx of money comes from the government as industries transport the mobilized forces, gear up for production of guns and ammunition, and provide care for the wounded. Then, with the cessation of hostilities, come contracts for rebuilding: concrete, wire, paint, and nails become the order of the day. Industry shifts from producing the tanks used to destroy, to building the bulldozers necessary to push aside the debris.
Unfortunately, the war with Brazil left no such legacy of prosperity. It had not lasted long enough to require sustained industrial effort. Unlike their neighbors to the south, the United States government never officially declared war. Congress had never allocated money to pay for the war effort.
The hoped-for economic growth based on rebuilding never materialized either. The victimized countries were too poor to manage it on their own, and the nominally more prosperous nations were mired too deeply in depression to help.
The Lunar colonies largely escaped the crippling economic woes that ravaged Earth. By forcing the closing of the Holmes Door which linked Crisium to New York, Commissioner Alan Lister had insulated Luna from the disastrous market crash and the economic collapse that had followed. During the worst of the calamity, Luna had declared independence. It had been granted almost by default. It would cost too much to force them back into the fold.
Public opinion on Earth was divided. Among certain segments of the population, there was a great deal of lingering resentment over the amount of money that had been spent to start the Lunar colonies. Many felt that there was an implied debt. They blamed the Depression directly on the Lunarians, feeling that the money could have been better used on Earth. Others were vaguely jealous, unable to face the fact that Luna had chosen a different path from Earth, and was leaving them behind in many respects. Some were grateful for the assistance Crisium had rendered during the war. For a growing number of people, there was a realization that, even if it had cost a fortune to start those cities, there was no way to get the money back.
Deeper forces were stirring. People were profoundly tired of rapid change. They wanted tranquility instead of the increasingly frenetic pace they had been forced to live for the past few generations. Stability looked more and more attractive. The prevailing attitude was that what was needed now was not more, bigger, better, shinier, but a settling in with what they had. A time for reflection and quiet contemplation. Back to basics.
Citing spiritual values and the rebirth of the nuclear family as benchmarks, some declared the beginning of a new golden age. A few observers cynically noted that there was little, if any, difference between the stability of a golden age and the stagnation leading to decline.
Trevor York strode into the New York terminus of the Holmes Door as though he owned it. Self-confident to the point of arrogance, he paused, eyeing the bare rock of the Crisium terminus, visible through the Door itself.
He turned to his cameraman. “Get some shots from here. I doubt we’ll use more than a few seconds, but you never know—we might need some fill.”
The cameraman slowly panned the room, pausing on the Door, the freight desk, and the ticket counter. He then nodded to York. “Got it.”
Three other people had come in behind them, fanning out to either side. One man and two attractive women, one blonde, one brunette. York checked to make sure that his entourage was intact before proceeding across the tiled floor towards the Door.
So far, the Door personnel had ignored them. After all, the Crisium to New York Door had only reopened six weeks ago and there were still occasional news crews reporting on it.
It was only when the man with the carefully coiffed hair angled across the floor as though to cross over into Crisium that they began to pay attention to him. One of the freight handlers was the first to reach him.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t go to Crisium without paying.” He pointed towards the ticket counter. “You can buy tickets over there.”
York glanced at his cameraman. “Bob,” was all he said.
The cameraman was already recording. “Ready.”
York drew himself up to his full height. “I’m Trevor York. I’m here to do a special about the Holmes Door.” The handler’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the man carefully. “You look a little like him… but I thought York was taller.”
Lips thinning, York stared at the young man. “Are you saying I can’t go to Crisium?”
“Not without paying.”
“But I’m Trevor York.”
The handler grinned insolently. “Yeah… well, the way I see it, there are two possibilities. One is that you’re not Trevor York, in which case you’re a mortal human being, and you and your friends can damn well buy tickets like everyone else. The other possibility, of course, is that you are Trevor York—”
“Oh, I’m Trevor York, all right—”
“—In which case I clearly remember the hatchet job your show did on Alan Lister a couple of months ago. This may come as a rude spark, but not everyone thinks you’re the Second Coming.” He turned and walked away, not waiting for York’s reply.
York forced a tight smile. “Bob.”
“Don’t worry. I switched off after the first few seconds. We don’t need clips like that.”
“Thank you.” He turned to the other man with the air of a man whose patience is being tested. “Jake, will you kindly pay these annoying people so we can proceed?”
“Yes, sir.” Jake headed for the ticket counter at a fast walk.
“OK, folks. We’ve got a show to do. Sue, how do I look?”
The blonde eyed him critically. “Not too bad. Hang on a second.” She reached into the voluminous bag hanging from her shoulder and pulled out the smallest and finest of the three brushes she carried. Working swiftly, delicately, she barely skimmed the surface of his hair. “OK, you’re tops.”
He winked at her. “Thanks.” He half-turned. “Bob.”
“Ready.”
He took six steps and turned to face the camera. “This is Trevor York, coming to you from the New York side of the Holmes Door linking Earth to Luna. We’re here to see just what the Lunarians have done with the cities that you paid for with your tax dollars. Is it true that the least paid person in Crisium makes nearly twice what an average banker does here in New York? Why has Crisium rejected the applications of over 97 percent of the people who have tried to emigrate there? Is Luna at the root of our current economic crisis here on Earth? We’ll find the answers to these questions and more. After all… you have a right to know.”
Bob, knowing his cue, switched off his camera after York’s oft-repeated tag line. “Got it.”
“Good work. What’s taking Jake so long?”
“He’s coming,” Sue said. “They wouldn’t let him go to the head of the line.”
York shook his head sadly. “It looks as though the people here in New York have a touch of this arrogance we’ve been hearing about in Luna.” “Isn’t the guy you were just talking to the fellow who got caught on the Lunar side when they closed the Door?” Sue asked. “Mike… I forgot his last name.”