“Do you think it will be freedom,” said John, “fighting the jungle with your bare hands?”
“Yes,” she said with fierce intensity. “Because no one's going to care where I go, or what I do, as long as I don’t hurt my neighbor. I'd be willing to bet that, in the long run, the only survivors of Earth's culture will be the descendants of the Control-colonies on Planet 7. The only way you can build men and women capable of conquering a planet is to give them a problem and let them figure it out, with complete freedom of action.”
“Isn’t that what Earth is doing?” said John. “And in a more civilised way? We have the problem — to make Earth habitable again, to create a stable civilization. Aren't we doing that with a greater cooperation than has ever been attained before?”
“No! That's the same old fallacy that has wrecked a hundred nations. Controls, restrictions, bureaus — these things do not mean cooperation; they mean force. And every application of force is one less freedom for some man.
“I don't need anybody to tell me what my job is to be; I'll find my job. I don't need anybody to tell me where is the best place to live; I'll find it for myself. And so will millions of others, when they get a chance. And when we get through we'll have done a far better job than all the boards and experts ever dreamed of doing. If I can't do it on Earth as a free citizen, I'll do it on Planet 7 as a Controll!”
He was a little embarrassed by the vehemence of her talk, but it was like a glimpse into a new world. A world he somehow suspected he had long wanted to see.
“Tell me why you came,” she said.
“I don't know,” he answered; “I haven't any reason at all for being here; I've got to find one. I've got to find some purpose for going to Planet 7.”
She shook her head. “You don't find it that way. Purposes are something you live with for months and years. All the years of your life. It’s not something that comes overnight or with a moment's dreaming.
“We’d better go back,” she said. “Someone might miss us if we stay too long. Let me go first, and you follow in a few minutes.”
“Wait.” He put a hand on her arm. “Will I see you again?”
She hesitated and smiled up at him. “All right. Tomorrow. The same time. Be careful. They mustn’t find out.”
4
The indoctrination class next day was endless. Bronson seemed to take particular delight in pointing out the irrevocability of their decision — reminding that there would be no turning back from the course that had been set.
When discussion-period came, John was suddenly on his feet. “What about those who find that they are unable to conform?” he demanded. “What about those who refuse to abide by the rules of the Project?”
“No one is wasted,” said Bronson. “Rebelliousness is a trait that has been noted through the ages; we have colonies where its value is now being determined. I may say that preliminary investigations show the value of the rebel to society have been vastly overestimated.”
“But what do you do with them?”
“There are jungle-colonies consisting only of rebels, nonconformists, the individualists who believe they can make their way alone. You may appreciate that the members of this colony do indeed have a rough time of it. Miraculously, however, even they manage to survive; and we shall learn much from their survival.”
“It’s inhuman,” cried, John. “You can’t sentence men to an existence like that for the rest of their lives, because they find they have made a mistake in coming here.”
“Everyone has volunteered”, said Bronson, “to contribute the remainder of his life and energies to Human Developments. We need the contribution of all kinds. And you must not forget: the rebels get what they want. That is the prime rule of the experiment, to give a man what he wants and find out what he can do with it.”
John sat down, his chest burning and a smothering in his throat. He felt the curious glances of the others in the room as if he had questioned the oracle of the ages.
Attention turned away from him. Other discussion became a meaningless buzz while he sat there thinking. It made no difference to him, he had no intention of rebelling; he was just along for the ride. And yet, if this were so, why did his chest burn and the palms of his hands grow hot and moist?
The name of Lora kept ringing through his mind, and he did not know why all his whirling thoughts centered about the name of this girl. It was because she was so sure, he thought, and he was so unsure.
Somewhere she had found exactly the answer she wanted of life. In this she was like Doris. But how different were her answers from those of his sister! And between the two he could find no answer for himself to still the endless whirling questions in his mind.
Lora.
The name was still in his mind, hours later, as he sat in the stateroom watching the slow swing of stars across the port. The door from his sister’s room burst open suddenly, and Doris strode in and stood before him.
“Martin knows about it!” she exclaimed. “Why in the world did you pull a fool stunt like that?”
He paled. “Like what?” he said.
“You know what I’m talking about. Sneaking down to the Controls’ deck, meeting that girl. I think it’s disgusting, John — utterly disgusting and unbelievable. Martin said he wasn't going to do anything about it because he didn’t think harm would come of that one visit. But you’ve got to promise that you won’t do such a stupid thing again.
“Who is she? Where did you ever meet her?”
He stood up, his face white and cold. “Doris,” he said thinly, “you will please keep your damned nose out of my business!”
He was still trembling when he reached the rendezvous on the engineers’ catwalk much later. He arrived first and waited a long time thinking that she had decided not to come or had been prevented from coming.
He didn’t know how they had found out about his meeting with Lora, and he didn’t know if he were being spied upon at this moment. In weariness and spiritual exhaustion he didn’t care what they knew, or what they did.
She came at last. It seemed as if her slow, cautious opening of the door consumed an eternity and when she was inside on the platform she remained standing quite still.
“Lora.” He reached out and took her hand and kept it between his own. It was cold as if she had been afraid of something for a long time.
“They know about us,” she said; “did they tell you?”
He nodded in the dim light. “I thought maybe they had kept you from coming.”
“They warned me not to do it again, but they didn’t try to prevent me.”
“Why did you come?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head as if in violent protest against something of which he had accused her. “I guess it was just because I promised.”
“Why did you promise?”
“I don’t know!” Suddenly her hands gripped his arms and she pulled herself against him, her cheek flattened against his shoulder.
“John — John — why did it have to be this way?”
His hands pressed against her back as if to stop the shaking of her body. He stroked the hair beside her forehead. “We’ll go back,” he said; “we’ll make them take us back.”
They stood in the silence and the stillness as if trying to press out this moment to eternity. He thought of it: their standing in the cold and sulphurous chamber with the life of the ship about them. And beyond that the eternal night of space through which plunged the slim tube that encased them and held back the cold death outside.
How far they had come to find this moment.