Polymath by John Brunner Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t too bad at all. When they had run through all the reports and the list was complete but for some undecided questions concerning relative urgency,Jerode judged they were ready to hear his recommendation, not included in his initial statement, about permitting some experimental births. He added the rider that the permission should be limited to the immediate future so that children now conceived would be delivered before the fall.
    “And that brings us to a special problem of group discipline,” he wound up. Warning them that the matter should not be mentioned outside this room, he explained about Delvia.
    All of them looked to Ornelle for comment. She had not previously spoken.
    “As to the question of children,” she said slowly, “I think we’ve got to say yes. Not only because it may help to give us the psychological roots we’ll need to live here…”
    A good point. Approving nods.
    “But also because there were few enough of us to start with, and now the winter has wiped out the other party—”
    “Ornelle!” Jerode cut in, seeing dismayed looks all around the table. “There’s no proof that the others haven’t survived.”
    “Well, nobody said anything at this meeting about sending an expedition to find out!” Ornelle retorted. “That means you’re taking it for granted, doesn’t it?”
    “Of course not,” Jerode soothed. “It’s because we need all our manpower until we’ve coped with our really urgent problems.”
    “Nonsense. If anyone here believed they were alive, you’d be eager to get up to the plateau and see if we can help each other.” Ornelle spoke with finality. “Anyway, I don’t see why we need to argue about Delvia. I’ve been mulling the question over, and I’m damned certain there’s no question of imposing an abortion on her. She’s much more likely to come asking you for one. She’d find a child too much of a handicap on her—her other activities. Believe me. I’ve had the whole winter to watch her at close quarters, you know.”
    “That’s as may be,” Jerode said. “What I’m worried about is the risk that if the news gets around, there may be still more resentment against her, because we didn’t enforce what was, after all, a decision taken collectively by us all.”
    “Oh, sure!” Ornelle leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But there’s something that doesn’t seem to haveoccurred to all you men. It wasn’t conscious choice that led all the women to agree to a ban on babies. It was despair. Apathy. The belief that there wasn’t any
point
in having children, because we were all quite likely to die, adults, children, the lot. All right, you’re now about to convince everybody that we aren’t doomed, what with your nice tidy plans that you’ve been discussing. So you’ve got to face this brand-new problem!” She slapped the table. “What are you going to do, once you’ve made people confident, if they decide—collectively!—they’re no longer going to do exactly as you self-appointed experts tell them?”

VI

    “I’m glad you thought of inviting Ornelle,” Lex said in a low voice. Jerode glanced up from shuffling his notes back into their original order. The substance they were written on had been their first fortunate discovery here; time was a river-plant whose leaves grew in tight yellow scrolls which, unrolled, could be dried and trimmed to make an excellent substitute for paper. Though they did stink for a long while after cutting.
    The others were already at the door. Ornelle herself was outside, beyond earshot Nonetheless Jerode replied equally softly.
    “Why do you think it was a good idea? She hasn’t been a very constructive contributor, and I’m revising my opinion of her.”
    “No, it was useful having her here.” Lex perched himself on a corner of the table, one long leg swinging from the knee, his lean face serious under his roughly-trimmed dark hair. “Know what the trouble is with most