Perry A. Chapdelaine - Culture Shock [Novelette]

Dr. Michael O'Hara, skin-corded, tall, youthful Project Ozma X director, pressed the red button built into the base of the three-inch by four-inch Solid-o-graph projector which he had just placed on the edge of his solid walnut executive desk. His intercom buzzer sounded, and he ignored it to look at the Epsilon Eridanian that seemed to appear suddenly in the center of this room - four feet high, six feet long, four legs, eyes encircled around anterior head portion which included puckerlike mouth, four tentacles of varying lengths and thicknesses surrounding the eyes. The effect was startling, at least as believable as an actual visit to one of the ten which had come 10.8 light-years from Epsilon Eridan to visit mankind, and to trade skills and knowledge.

His intercom's interlock activated and a voice spoke, "Dr. O'Hara? I'm sorry to interrupt you but UN President Ownouchai has an urgent communication. May I connect him?" Mary Clibourne, Michael O'Hara's charming secretary, was intelligent and exceptionally loyal to her new employer. He remembered her hair was blue this morning, a perfect match to her blue eyes.

"Yes. Put him on, Mary." His eyes were still focused on the intelligent alien's presence which the Solidograph depicted so well. He could hear Mary Clibourne's full-throated voice tell someone that Dr. O'Hara was ready. Almost immediately he heard President Ownouchai's voice, rough, gravelly, tinged with a trace of English accent.

"Dr. O'Hara. It's so good of you to talk with me again. I'm sorry to be in such a rush, but things have been a bit uncertain. Have you word of the new assassination attempt?"

"No. I haven't heard a thing. The Eridanians again?"

"Yes ... well ... I thought you would be among the first told. There's definitely been established a new plot to kill the aliens.

"The United African Republic reported it. Intelligence confirmed it. One of these crazy, new religious groups. GIMITI society, I believe. Hold a moment - I've got the translation on my desk somewhere. Yes, here it is. God is Made in Terran Image Society, the GIMITIS."

Michael was only moderately shocked. This would make the seventh - or was it the eighth - attempt. Mankind had waited twelve years after initial contact with intelligent life on Epsilon Eridani, to receive them as distinguished visitors. During the interim period, and while the Eridanians were moving toward Earth, even with fast semantic index coding, information had dribbled in at a frustratingly slow pace, each transmission taking the expected full 10.8 years to arrive.

They were at least forty years in advance of Terran technology. Project Ozma X, credited with making initial contact, bulged with crash projects, translating whole fields of knowledge, identifying new principles, creating and letting for market new ideas for consumer products.

The project had had to expand John Doanne's C and C - Communications and Crytographic - department to include the special Public Relations and Information section affectionately known as PuR and I which had been quite successful in allaying human fears about the alien visit, thus permitting the visitor's ship to come directly to Moonbase on termination of their twelve-year trip instead of the far-out Martian orbit.

After all these successes, and more, it seemed to Michael O'Hara that Project Ozma X could yet be scuttled by a world turned topsy-turvy during the past five years of his directorship. His words might have been sighs, when he said, "I'll get someone on it immediately. When will it be? During the dome transfer again?"

"Intelligence says they'll try a rather complicated maneuver this time. Probably use a copter-cab with guidance-locks off - fill it with jellied gasoline and thermite, and crash-dive it at the transfer vehicles. Security is looking out for anything, however."

When the president's call was terminated, Michael's thoughts profiled the small undercover group, untitled, under John Doanne. Two women and two men were in the group, as he remembered; all were young college graduates. Seemed like the place was crawling with young graduates, lately.

"John Doanne!" he said aloud. His vocal print was matched against millions of bits of information, light rays re-shunted electron flows from their circling paths, light-speed switches activated, and his voice came out the speaker in Dr. John Doanne's office three floors above.

"Here, Chief!" The long-legged, scholarly Dr. Doanne had a quick mind which belied his middle-age paunch, and his job had lately become the busiest, the most confused.

"Another attempt is to be made on the Eridanians during the scheduled transfer. Who do you have free?"

"Don't they ever learn? Who is it this time?"

Michael explained the Gimitis and their probable method of operation.

"I've got Happy Honey. The other three are tied up on another assignment - hush, hush, but related. Happy Honey is George W. Honneywell, graduate of Harvard, twenty-six years old, and a real noncony - head shaved bald, eyebrows and eyelashes singed periodically, two red stripes on each side of his nose, chain of old-fashioned plastic draft cards about his neck, suit-and-fish, and bare feet. Fits right in with the rest of the nonconies."

Michael's eyes strayed to the brilliant multi-colored Solid-o-graph in the center of his office. Not more than three years ago anyone caught dressed like Happy Honey would have been placed in the General Hospital for investigation. Along with religions and anti-religions springing up everywhere, and new, crazy governments and anti-governments, had come the latest craze for young college grads. Nonconformist. The noncony shaved his head, singed his eyebrows and eyelashes, and clothed himself in the most shocking manner imaginable. Better that man should look like the extraterrestrial before him than what he had just heard. Mentally shocked, impotent against the range of social forces loose, Michael shrugged, and asked, "Can't he at least wear shoes? It's cold outside."

"No. I tried to specify things when he was hired. He made it a condition of employment. If I wanted him, he chose his own outfits. Anyway, they've learned to use a super-insulator based upon one of our developments and commercialized three years ago. Remember this?"

John Doanne sang,

"One can of Superinsul spray will,

Protect five forty square feet, one mill -

Seven-hundred degree differential!"

"I remember the commercial." Michael's voice was contemptuous. "What sort is Happy Honey? Stable? Can he handle the assignment?"

"He's exceptionally bri - "

"Hold! Mary just pushed the panic button. I'll get back to you, John.

"Yes, Mary?"

"President Ownouchai again, Dr. O'Hara. I told his secretary you would talk to him. Also Dr. Cleveland is waiting. Says it's important."

"Thanks, Mary. Tell Margaret to wait a moment, and put on the President."

There was only a slight pause. "Thank you for talking with me again, Dr. O'Hara. I'm afraid I've some bad news. This is a most unusual occurrence, and I apologize for my bluntness."

Michael's stomach muscles tightened, his chin jutted outward. "My day for it, President Ownouchai."

"Your budget is to be cut fifty percent, effective next month. I'm terribly, terribly sorry, Dr. O'Hara. I threatened to resign myself."

"But our budget's just been approved! Did you say fifty percent?" "Yes, fifty percent."

"That can't be. It'll destroy our whole operation. We won't even have enough to handle the costs of the alien's visit. How does the budget-control office expect us to translate, interpret and record what we learn? How will the people gain any benefit from our discoveries? Do they realize, Dr. Ownouchai, that ten thousand five hundred and twenty-six major products have come from this project during the past five years, encompassing a gross-product volume amounting to several trillions... yes! I said trillions of dollars?

"Do they realize that every decent benefit - cybernetic education, low-cost, self-contained extruded homes, our return to individual transports ... all - every blessed one - and more, came from this project?

"Do they know that one job out of every five on the face of the globe directly, or indirectly, is tied to this project, even across national boundaries?

"Don't they realize that every aspect of life touches, or is touched, upon by this project in some manner or by some means?

"Are they absolutely, positively noncony crazy?"

Michael's voice had got higher pitched, louder, until the last question came out as a shouted challenge which begged for a responsive gladiator - anyone - anywhere.

The pause which 'followed was pronounced. He was about to ask if the president was still there when he gratefully heard; "I am truly sorry, Dr. O'Hara. Not just for your sake, but for mankind's.

"I would have resigned if only stubbornness, or blindness had been at fault, and that would have helped you and your project succeed. But it was more than that. Several representatives brought in well-qualified specialists - blue ribbon, really. The crazy age is not just your country, you know. Every nation seems to have its share of freakish behavior and iconoclastic organizations.

"They brought out charts and graphs, and I was convinced. Project Ozma is causing the up-side-downness of our society, Dr. O'Hara. Not consciously, or intentionally, but causing it nonetheless."

Michael was stunned. Having sat in the center of the most influential seat for five years - the first interchange of facts, ideas and culture with an alien race from the stars - he could not easily think of himself as a cause of, or in any way an influence on, the world's present collapsing of traditions, customs and mores. "I - can't - accept - that, Mr. President. You'll have to be clearer."

"Please forgive my abruptness, Dr. O'Hara. As I said, I was on the project's side. They did not bring emotional arguments to the council's attention, however. They were rational, fact-built, persuasive. If you can counter them - and I would expect you and your staff to try - I believe I can arrange for another meeting, and I believe the hearing will be fair.

"Regretfully, Dr. O'Hara, I must caution you that as of the beginning of next month's budget cycle, you will be cut fifty percent. Knowledge will probably have to be recorded and stored for later use. When the Eridanians go home, you'll probably get a little larger increase - assuming society has stabilized again."

"You're giving us about fifteen days, then?"

"Not me, Dr. O'Hara," the president chided, "the council."

"Yes ... yes ... thank you." Michael's eyes were bound to the Eridanian's solid red form in front of his desk, following the curl of tentacle from mouth opening to gray colored rug, but his mind was impacted, puzzled, strained, wondering.

"Dr. O'Hara?" Mary's efficiency broke his reverie. "Can Margaret Cleveland see you now?"

"Huh - Oh yes! Send her in, Mary." He spoke next to the office three floors above, "Dr. Doanne? Still in your office?" Silent connections were made, and John Doanne's voice, smooth, well-inflected, came through his speaker again.

"Here, Michael."

"C'mon down. Emergency meeting. Bring your ... ah ... Happy Honey with you. Margaret will be here, too."

Dr. Margaret Cleveland, department head of Culture and Customs - Cu and Cu - was as tall as Michael. She frowned on the custom of dyeing one's hair to suit colors of the day, and she was quite severe on the current young women's custom of shaving half their hair while leaving the other half to grow long. "Disgusting. Simply disgusting," her puritan spirit would expostulate.

Today her auburn hair was tied into a neat bun on the back of her head. She opened the mahogany paneled door displaying a matronly-shaped leg, high heels, a subdued-gray sheath conservatively decorated with a small silver brooch. Her left hand held a technician's notebook; her right hand flew to her mouth, where she stifled a sharp, sudden expostulation. Her eyes had gone to the life-sized, fierce-looking Eridanian image which appeared to be standing before Michael's desk without regard to absence of the three atmospheres of pressure customary to their kind.

"Oh, I forgot." Michael thumbed the switch on the tiny device, and the lifelike image disappeared. "It's just Samuel Chavits's new Solid-o-graph. Come in. I want to see you about an emergency which has cropped up, anyway. But your problem first."

Michael moved to the head of his conference table at the left of his desk, and Margaret took the proffered chair to his right. She laid her notebook before her, and pressed her hair-bun with her right hand.

"Dr. O'Hara, there's a call from Istanbul. Can you take it? Something about an article you had promised on new techniques for deep-earth mining. You had made the arrangements with P and C ... ah ... my notes show the Physics and Chemistry chief himself, Dr. Win Lai."

"Sorry, Mary. Cancel it. Also hold all other calls and callers except Dr. Doanne and a George W. Honneywell, who may or may not come with John. That's a ... oh, yes ... one more thing. Put the coffee on, will you, Mary?"

"Will do."

Margaret appeared hesitant who Michael turned to her. "You first, Margaret. And, if you've brought me a problem half as big as the two which I've already been given, I'm going noncony myself."

She laughed. "Gosh, Chief! I guess mine is just a little, sort-of mouse-sized, routine type. I'll take it up another time."

"No! No! Let's have it. Right on the table. My razor is in my desk and I can always shave my head before Doanne and his protege show."

She thumbed her notebook usually used for recording and dating technical ideas which could be referred to in the future, or which could also be used as the basis for a prior-invention claim, if necessary. She found the right page, and passed her finger down to a heavily penciled line. "I've been working rather closely with Dr. Peter Machtrix in Language and Context on this latest analysis. Most of the members of Peter's L and C department and Samuel Chavits' E and E agree with me, although Earth and Exo-biology has some slight reservations over a few of the specifics.

"Remember when we wired up Grandeur One, the Eridanian research physicist, recording everything imaginable while he conducted an experiment?"

Michael nodded his head.

"The purpose of recording while he conducted an experiment was to get referents for their symbolic structure describing their idea of scientific method. We couldn't find meaningful correspondence between our description of scientific method and theirs."

"I don't remember the details. Surely it was just a language conversion problem, wasn't it?"

"We thought it was, but our normal conversion techniques wouldn't do the job. That's why we asked for the multi-recording referents - and that's where we got even more confused."

"Explain."

Margaret referred to her notes. "Our idea of the scientific method has been codified for a hundred years or more in every elementary school textbook and on up. We tell our students to observe, record, develop conjectures which may lead to hypotheses, to plan and control experiments, or observe phenomenon, to cross-check and finally to support or detract from hypotheses.

"One of the underlying assumptions in this symbolic recipe is that there is an 'objective' world 'out there', and that we, as scientists, should never, never mix in our 'subjective' world with our 'objective' world. Indeed, much of our checks and cross-checks are to avoid that very happening."

Michael's brow creased. "Wait. Chief. I know I've simplified the matter. Let me get to my point."

"The Eridanians speak of the unitary person, or ally of the future. They say," and she referred to her notes again, " `... It is the image of the future which is the key to that future coming into realization.' That, ... Science is not a description of reality but a metaphorical ordering of experience: a new science never impugns an older.'

"Where we speak of an objective versus subjective reality, they say, 'It is not a question of which view is true in some ultimate sense; rather, it is a matter of which picture is more useful'; and, 'among the possible images that are reasonably in accord with accumulated experience, since the image held is that most likely to come into being, it is prudent to choose the noblest."

The door opened, admitting Dr. John Doanne of Communications and Cryptography, C and C; and also striding jauntily behind was an apparition at least as shocking in real flesh as Dr. Doanne's prior description had forecast. It must have been, indeed had to be, Happy Honey, otherwise known on his birth certificate, if nowhere else, as George W. Honneywell, recent Harvard graduate cum laude, twenty-six, brilliant linguist, one fourth of the PuR and secret intelligence section.

Dr. Doanne shook hands with the standing director. Happy Honey, however, pressed his palm then his backhand against his forehead, representing the noncony meeting-in-friendship greeting. His head was shiny under the lights, and Michael was sure he had sprayed a brilliancy powder on his bald pate.

"Ah! Margaret! My very own love!" Happy Honey pulled the chair closest to Dr. Cleveland and rocked it over next to hers. The best she could do was move her body to the far side of her own chair, having no farther to go except against the director's desk. Michael looked to Dr. Doanne, who merely shrugged.

"Excuse us a moment, Dr. Doanne and ... ah ... Mr. Honneywell - "

"Just call me Happy Honey: all my friends do!"

"Yes: well ... ah, Happy Honey, excuse Dr. Cleveland and myself just for a moment. Don't go away. I need you both."

Margaret was visibly relieved for the interruption, brief as it promised to be.

"I don't understand your difficulty, yet, Dr. Cleveland. Sounds like philosophy of some sort - "

"We approached it that way, Dr. O'Hara; but it had a relevance to their idea of scientific investigation. Both Drs. Machtrix and Chavits agree with me, as well as Dr. Lai. There are a group of principles relating to the commonality of and interpretation of Eridanian subjective experience, especially of the `transcendental' and hence to the bases of their values, which seem to shift suddenly from the realm of philosophical to the empirical."

Margaret closed her notebook and waited, as often does the specialist who feels the point has been made, not fully recognizing that it is only the specialist who could have understood the implications from such sparse data. Michael looked puzzled. "Don't you understand. Chief? The consequences of what we have may be even more far-reaching than those which emerged from the Copernican, Darwinian and Freudian revolutions!"

"I still don't understand your point, Margaret."

Dr. Doanne had walked around the table and was now sitting next to the director. Happy Honey had placed his right arm around the back of Dr. Cleveland's chair. Their age differential was easily twenty-five years.

"Let us suppose, Chief, that we are back in the year 1600, concerned with forecasting probable future trends. In retrospect. it is clear that one of the most significant events in progress was what came later to be called the Copernican revolution. Would our futurist researches have picked this up?"

"They might have, if we were looking for the right things," Dr. O'Hara answered.

"Yes. But what was the essence of this remarkable transformation? Nicholas Copernicus, the brash, and Giordana Bruno made suggestions which led to consequences as diverse as a tremendous acceleration in physical science and a decline in the political power of the Church. So - I ask again. what was the essence of this transformation?"

Margaret had been addressing Dr. O'Hara. But Happy Honey, too long silent, too long the periphery of attention, interjected an answer. "One useful interpretation is that a group of questions relating to the position of the Earth in the universe, and the nature and significance of the heavenly bodies passed into the realm of empirical inquiry.

"No longer were these questions to be settled by referring to this or that ecclesiastical or scholarly authority; rather they were to be subjected to illumination by systematic observation and experiments.

"Consequence of such a shift?

"New research started; familiar phenomena, were given new interpretations; educational approaches were altered; power structures in society began undergoing change; new bases for consensus were applied to conflicts between belief systems."

His countenance was so amusing, so in contrast with the erudite, professional speech, Michael's laughter flew out, unrestrained.

"He gets that way, sometimes," Dr. Doanne excused.

Margaret edged farther away, but she nodded her head as she added seriously, "A later similar event occurred with the work of the geologists, paleontologists, and biologists of the Nineteenth Century culminating in the controversial evolutionary hypotheses.

"Questions relating to the origin of the Earth and of man were relabeled empirical instead of theological. Consequences again reverberated throughout the worlds of research, education and politics."

Michael shook his head. He just wasn't up to following the abstruse points, and where they were supposed to aim. "I'm sorry, Margaret. I have an emergency on my hands - first class - two of them, in fact. What is it you need?"

"We ... Dr. Chavits, Dr. Lai, Dr. Machtrix and myself ... believe that the Eridanians' aspect of relating themselves to their methodology has the potential of bringing forth a second Copernican revolution. We may be able to restructure the thinking of not only science, but society, and the project priority needs to be placed high, and given push."

It was hard for Michael to say, but he finally got it out. He explained how their budget would be chopped by fifty percent within fifteen days, and how the world's nations had decided that Project Ozma X was the source of society's weird behavior. "Sorry, Margaret. A second industrial revolution is not what we need now. As a point of fact, we need to undo the small revolutions going on around us if the project is to survive."

Happy Honey was indeed brilliant. He also proved to be an individual's individualist. Yes, he would stay with the Eridanians during their next transfer. No, he would not change his costume. How was he supposed to mix with other youthful citizens his age? Yes, he had been among those assigned to the third unsuccessful plot against the Eridanians. High-powered scopes had been used, and they had been countered by a newly developed, sensitive, gunpowder detector. No, he didn't mind being exposed to the danger, but he would run the show his own way - no interference.

"The UN as well as involved countries will have plenty of security arrangements of the customary kind," Dr. Doanne reminded. "Happy Honey's job will be that of looking between the interstices of conventional thought, the tiny cracks and devices where ordinary traditions, customs and patterns of thinking would normally be unwelcome.

"I know that looking at him," Dr. Doanne added, "he's not much; and he behaves atrociously - a standard for his age, apparently - but I'll vouch for him, Dr. O'Hara. Underneath that shiny pate, painted nose, tuxedo, plastic card bead-chain, bare feet and abominable behavior, beats there a heart which pumps human blood and a brain which at least simulates the human."

"Dr. Lai? Dr. Machtrix? Dr. Chavits?" Michael's words formed silent signals which were compared and switched, activating appropriate circuits. Acknowledgments came from all three department heads.

"I'd like all of you in for an emergency meeting. Dr. Cleveland and Dr. Doanne are already here. I've just discussed another assassination attempt against the Eridanians during their next dome transfer with ... ah ... Happy Honey from Dr. Doanne's irregular section. Pass the word to give him every cooperation during the interim, will you?"

Four steaming coffee cups were thrust through the doorway, followed by Mary Clibourne, whose eyes sparkled as they noted Margaret's awkward position. Michael's attention had just focused on Margaret's last comments, "... Absolutely not! I won't shave half my head, or bow to any other noncony emblem of conformity. Why don't you find a woman your own age?"

"Take coffee from Mary's tray, if you want, Mr. Honneywell," Michael interrupted, "but leave us for now. This next meeting doesn't concern you."

Happy Honey stood, bent his shining, bald head slightly toward the project director, and placed the front and rear portion of his hand against his forehead again, acknowledging a parting-in-friendship, as he had acknowledged a meeting-in-friendship. His smile was large, showing even rows of clean, white teeth. His outlandish costume, artificial decorations and stage of undress clanged incongruously with office decor. But all of these things might have been tolerated that morning had Happy Honey only refrained from using his greeting and parting hand to pat Mary Clibourne's buttocks on the way out.

"Cool down, Michael," Dr. Doanne hastily advised. "I assure you, he'll do the job. He's merely playing a role in conformance with all other kids his age in the world, under the guise of nonconformity. They'll get over it."

"I'm beginning to appreciate the enormity of changes which have come to civilization within the past few years," the project director commented.

The meeting had been nonproductive, depressing. Alone, again, Michael switched on the Solid-o-graph, idly wondering about the minor changes which would make the solid figures spring suddenly to life. He had been about to approve release of the development, and fully expected entertainment industries throughout the world to be revolutionized by it.

Maybe they had pushed technology and new ideas too fast. If Project Ozma was actually the source of society's breaks with culture, tradition and moves, then the project should be closed, or at best, slowed.

But what of loss to mankind's future? Were they to convert the Eridanian visit to a mere social call? Would the Eridanians stay long enough for conditions to stabilize? True, their life span seemed to be about half an order of magnitude longer than man's, but he had to remember their return trip would consume 'at least another twelve years.

Most depressing of all had been lack of suggestions from departmental heads, though he supposed the news had placed them in a state of shock similar to his. Moreover, they hadn't had time to analyze the problem. Had anyone?

He spoke aloud to the Sound-a-news, commanding, "International news on," and immediately heard, ". . . Will be moved from United African Republic's dome number fifteen, to the newly erected dome, number thirty-one, in Hangchow, China, where Chinese scientists will have their first opportunity to work directly with the Eridanian scientists.

"The route is eight thousand and forty miles long, passes through nine nations, and already Eridanian kewpie dolls are beginning to appear in stores in every country along the route of travel."

Michael remembered how development of the Disney-type kewpie dolls - lovable, cuddly for kids - had been one of Project Ozma's top priority items four and a half years ago, when mankind's fear of the aliens had almost sliced the budget.

"... Their pressurized, transport, steel domes will be viewed by hundreds of thousands of people who will line the paths of travel in expectedly deep ranks for a look at these extraordinarily intelligent members from Epsilon Eridani: they will ..."

"Switch to national," Michael ordered.

". ... And we are experiencing already the effects of the meeting. Nearly three million youths, every one in some outlandish costume, hair either shaved or half-shaved depending upon sex, face or body painted with grotesque designs, clapping and swaying in rhythm with synchronized, colored lights orchestrated by one hundred of the country's top rainbow groups.

"Think of it, folks. Nearly three million youths!

"According to reports gathered for this news service from reliable sources, at least two hundred and fifty new organizational groups were established during the all-week festival, each dedicated in some way to the overthrow of current customs, traditions, or religious principles. They claim to be peaceful, and maybe they are: but already a half dozen state legislatures have gathered to write manifestos which delineate those principles which shall be considered unbreachable, rock-bottom acceptances against which every new organization must be compared - and perhaps be outlawed if the comparison is in - ."

"Another station," Michael dictated:

. . Add to that, demands of the Australian Aborigines who now claim all of Northern Territory as well as South Australia, cutting the continent in two ..."

"Local," Michael's depression was being rapidly replaced by irritability, a kind of exasperation.

". . Dr. Min Pockben, the noted and much published psychiatrist, is the latest local figure to join with the Gimitis, and he is quoted as saying that `man's image of himself requires a Terran-type God'. Their parade down Broadway lasted at least an hour longer than local police had predicted, showing the organization's growing strength..."

"Off," Michael shouted. Good Lord! From the Sound-a-news one would think Armageddon was coming!

"President Ownouchai on the line again, Dr. O'Hara. Shall I switch him in?" Mary's calm voice was an oasis. But the UN president again? Three calls in one day? Now what? His heart thumped as he confirmed Mary's interruption.

"Terribly sorry again, Dr. O'Hara. Things are getting a bit out of hand. They call it an exponential curve, but it will flatten again in about seven days.

"Something drastic has to happen to capture the world's attention, or civilization will tear itself apart by too many conflicting motives arrived at too rapidly.

"Some of the members are suggesting complete abolishment of Project Ozma X, and sending the Eridanians home. I thought I should warn you."

"Has the whole world gone non-cony, Mr. President?" Michael thrust a verbal dagger at the UN President.

"I'm afraid it has, ... uh ... Michael." There was use of his first name, and a sympathetic voice, a concerned expression. The dagger didn't have the thrust he thought it would have.

Momentarily, both were silent, and they looked at one another in the small viewscreens, sharing their human concerns by sight alone. Michael broke the quiet, "Can you arrange for me to meet a spokesman of those who compiled the causal report against our project? No recriminations or accusations; I simply want to question for professional reasons."

President Ownouchai pressed his lips together, "I'm sure I can arrange it. I'll talk privately to one of them." Michael turned away from the blank screen, to again face the life-sized Eridanian. He thumbed off the Solid-o-graph; the after-image burned into his retina and projected itself on the paper which he pulled out to marshal his notes.

Project Ozma I had suffered for money and political sympathy. Every Project Ozma thereafter had suffered for lack of the same ingredients. Now, O'Hara reflected, money was no obstacle, the project having generated far more in economic benefits than it had generated in costs. Political sympathy was still lacking - or, perhaps he should think of it as inability of the human species to identify with Project Ozma's eminently worthwhile goals. Gaining species identification was apparently more than simple construction of Kewpie dolls.

Item 1: he wrote. Fragmentation of values.

What had Margaret said? "It is not a question of which view is true in some ultimate sense; rather, it is a matter of which is more useful ..." and "... since the image held is that most likely to come into being ..."

Item 2: Patterns, relations, are as real as material things - check on applications of Eridanian objective-subjective fusions.

A second Copernican revolution?

Item 3: Can department heads implement findings to save Project Ozma X?

Michael O'Hara fought time with pen and paper, and struggling sticky, embryonic ideas.

Dr. Markstein, Michael's distinguished but portly visitor from the United Nations offices, had coarse features, large red-veined bulbous nose and fast balding head. He had the officious attitude which Michael had expected to find, but he also had his facts and figures well thought out. Pending his own staff's work, and interpretation, Michael would have to accept the conclusions.

The visitor's rotund body swung ponderously as he swept his pointer around. The curves on the flip-chart were impressive. "You have asked me to be brief, Dr. O'Hara. As succinctly as possible, civilization is suffering from culture shock!"

Dr. Markstein laid the pointer on the flip-chart's rim and fluffed himself into the chair at Michael's left hand at the conference table.

Michael O'Hara forced out a good-natured laugh. "Can you embellish a little on that, Dr. Mark: stein? We do need to hurry, but we also should have a few more words of wisdom from you."

Seven days was too short a time to effect any kind of solution to the world's problems. The human society had had bad times before, and would probably survive this one - by use of totalitarian measures, if necessary, Michael mused.

Both pudgy hands were laid palms-down on the table as Dr. Markstein ponderously pushed him self upward again. His throat rasped, "You have asked me for our consensus report. As you see, our studies border on issues which have been at the root of human conflict for centuries.

"We have known for years that man views himself in terms of in-vogue models which limit his behavior and his potentialities. But no matter how he views himself consciously, the greater portion of significant experience is comprised of unconscious processes, including the wisdom of the body and those mysterious realms of experience which we refer to as intuition and creativity."

Michael repressed an impulse to frown. It would not be appropriate to express any hint of antagonism with the representative. "I thought man had had access to these unconscious processes through a wide variety of factors, including attention to feelings and emotions, inner attention, free association, hypnosis, sensory deprivation, hallucinogenic and psychedelic drugs, and other means. In fact, the Menninger Foundation, the Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, and others, have included studies in these largely unconscious processes showing that self-expectations, internalized expectations of others, images of the self and limitations of the self, and images of the future, play a predominant role in limiting or enhancing actualization of one's capacities.

"So - I don't understand how reformulation of those principles are related to society's present propensity for breaking with traditions, nor how our project is at fault."

Dr. Markstein's voice was flat, unemotional, and he sometimes read his summaries in a stilted, professorial, uninspiring manner. Michael forced himself to attend. If the man were only more forthright, as he had come to expect from his own staff members.

"Our consensus shows unanimity in the belief that most of the pervasive social illness is loss of guiding visions, and the cure is to be found in generating a nobler image of man and of a society." There was the plump visitor's appeal to authority again, and he was showing great sensitivity to even implied disagreement.

"You don't question our correlations, do you. Dr. O'Hara? That disaffection began with Project Ozma X technical knowledge, and increased proportionately?"

"No! No! Certainly not! But the very idea that a solution exists, implies uncomfortable principles: If man actually has the ability to adapt more rapidly than heretofore, and also his social organizations, then we have vastly undersold him, and misunderstood what was needed for transitions. The most profound revolution in education would not be the cybernation of knowledge transmission, but the infusion of an exalted image of what man can be and the cultivation of an enhanced self-image in each individual child. Solutions to widespread disaffection would not then be so much a vast social program, as through adoption of a new image of our fellow man and our relationship to him."

"Our consensus shows unanimity, Dr. O'Hara." The voice became challenging, almost stubborn. "A slow-down of technical innovations will permit a naturally evolved solution to rise, permit social stabilities."

"Yes - yes. I accept your data, and I do value your conclusions, Dr. Markstein. May I keep your summary for review by my staff?"

When Michael's departmental conference began the conference room was quiet; paper scratching and pencil tapping was hushed by long drapes strategically placed. One of Project Ozma's products, a roll-up TV screen, twelve by fourteen feet, hung on the ceiling-to-floor drapes. On it was seen a televised mat; of the latest Epsilon Eridanian trek from United African Republic to Hang-chow, China, and a prominent newscaster who was faithfully describing the line of travel as well as the interesting geography.

The picture soundlessly changed to a scene showing five large transparent pressure tanks which were slowly parading through the dusty, heat-soaked streets of Kabul, Afghanistan. Boxy, white, mud-houses intermixed with the modern, rounded extruded homes, the latter also a Project Ozma outcome, lined the streets. A weird mixture of cloth-draped natives, conservative western-style dressed personages, and unconventionally dressed nonconies lined the streets, waving flags and banners. Uniformed guards lined the way, and were three thick near the wooden stand which strutted over the crowd and which contained the local region's indignitaries.

Dust spirals lazied upward and an official military copter passed before the camera. Michael wished he could follow the action but regretfully turned from it to his assembled department heads, leaving the picture itself as a silent, shifting tapestry of colors blending themselves into the maroon folds behind.

"Colleagues," Dr. O'Hara began, "I understand your summary is ready. Dr. Markstein's report has been before you for two days now. They have labeled the social phenomena - the strange activities of individuals and groups which have permeated our society for the last four or five years - as culture shock; and they attribute this shock to the rapid technological changes which we have introduced through interpretation and release of Eridanian science, as well as to strong challenges of basic traditions, customs and mores brought about by impingement of a new species' necessarily different viewpoint.

"The consensus committee concluded that traditional underpinnings - the scaffold or framework, so-to-speak - of our various social organizations have been challenged more rapidly than our present abilities to adjust. They also declare that no technical solution to the present social instabilities lies on the horizons.

"One final, but perhaps more limited, problem involves President Ownouchai's claim to a need for some kind of world-attention-getting focus.

"Oh ... yes ... Dr. Markstein discussed these matters with me personally. I didn't dare give him the benefit of my own opinions, of course, but I found his thinking gossamer wishful thinking at best. We are scientists here, and we look for operational factors - components which can be described, predicted, perhaps even manipulated."

Dr. Sam Chavits spoke first, in his quiet but forceful manner, saying, "A new social order need not be built on gossamer wishful thinking, but can have a sound foundation in the research findings of our project."

"Are you asserting that we can have our scientific advancement and our social stabilities, too?"

"Well ... yes! But it's Margaret's story, Dr. O'Hara." Sam laughed. "I guess that brings us around full circle again."

The slightly stooped Peter Machtrix spoke. "Science of man's subjective experience is in its infancy, Dr. O'Hara. What's needed is a new science which incorporates the most penetrating insights of psychology, the humanities and religion. These developments would have profound impacts on goal priorities in our society, on our concepts of education, on the further development and use of technology, and perhaps - as in the case of the Copernican revolution - on the distribution of power among social institutions and interest groups."

Michael looked at the faces around him - department heads all - serious, thoughtful, sober. Their natural excitement, their natural enthusiasm had been blunted. "I may have missed the point somewhere. Are we to close up Project Ozma X, send the Eridanians home - or, are we to concentrate on this... this... development of a science of subjective experience?"

Mary Clibourne entered with hot coffee and tea. Margaret had been shuffling through her notes. When she found the page she wanted, she looked up. Michael knew she was requesting the floor, but he waited. John Doanne pointed his finger at Margaret. Sam Chavits and Win Lai and Peter Machtrix all looked toward her, also.

"All right Margaret," Michael nodded.

"We haven't made any determinative decisions regarding Project Ozma X, on return of the aliens, Chief. Even the UN committee holds that a threshold effect has been reached in our society and closing down the project, in our opinion, is not going to affect the new leavening one way or another." Margaret's voice was steady, clear, objective.

"Agreed."

"If something spectacular were to happen which captured world attention, probably the heat would be off us long enough to take a second step." Margaret nodded to the others. "We are in agreement. The UN technical and professional body can be convinced that Project Ozma, itself, carries the medicine for its own sickness."

"Good gosh! If you folks have any recommendations, let's hear them. I don't have any."

"What Dr. Markstein reports on is need for a new science of the objective-subjective. This is almost analogous to our findings with respect to the. Eridanian's description of scientific method." As was her wont, she waited for Michael to catch the overtones.

Michael remained silent. He thumped the table with his middle index finger and frowned.

Margaret returned to her notes. "I'll read some of the characteristics embedded in the Eridanian concept of scientific method:

"A dominant one is the relaxing of the subjective-objective dichotomy. In some way yet to be determined, they incorporate the doctrine that sentient life perceives the world as it has been culturally hypnotized to perceive it, and their science compensates for it. Our common-sense-scientific view of reality is consid ered valid, but only a partial view - a particular metaphor, so to speak.

"One reason we've had such a difficult time classifying and categorizing their knowledge over the past twelve years is that certain religious or metaphysical views are also embedded in their concept of scientific method." Margaret looked at the others apologetically, then returned to her notes.

"They refer to subjective experiences and the unity of things which this view brings about, and they include some sort of mapping or ordering of states of consciousness transcending the usual conscious awareness. Subjective experiencing of a higher self is accounted for, as well as views favorable to the development of a self-image congruent with experiences of the higher self.

"Where we categorize under such diverse headings as creativity, hypnosis, mystical experience, psychedilic drugs, extrasensory perception, psychokinesis, and related phenomena, they provide a much more unified view of the processes of personal change and emergence which takes place when one pursues the 'know thyself' path.

"Their view is centered around the concept that personality and behavior patterns change consequent upon a change in self-image, a modification of the person's emotionally felt perception of himself and his relationship to his environment. They join the object with the field; they - "

"Are you trying to tell me that those principles of Eridanian science are analogous to the new science of the subjective-objective alluded to by Dr. Markstein?"

"They are indeed. I didn't recognize the relationship until we had Dr. Markstein's detailed report available for study and cross-checking, then Dr. Lai, who is always such a stickler on methodology, pointed out the relationship. Well - you know our habit of translating, cross-verifying and cross-relating - we all agree - it's reasonable that the Eridanians, too, faced similar problems, and have solved them in this manner. They are a Type I civilization like us only about forty years in our advance. If so, maybe they've solved the problem of stabilizing society while making rapid technological progress."

It wasn't a positive answer, but neither was it a grasping for straws. Michael knew his team of five years, and he knew their thoroughness. He was willing to accept their recommendations, and he believed he could sell delay of project slowdown, pending at least a further check by outside specialists. What he needed, now, he felt, was that single stroke across the sky, that brilliant burst of light, which would attract attention away from Project Ozma X long enough to effect the selling job. He looked to Dr. Doanne, "Can your PuR and I section sell th - ."

"Look at the screen!" Dr. Chavits suddenly interrupted with a shout.

A copter-cab was being pursued by a lone military copter. Michael O'Hara turned the volume up, and they waited anxiously for more military copters which did not appear.

Dr. Win Lai exploded. "I thought Intelligence was prepared?"

Dr. Margaret Cleveland's hand pressed against her mouth.

Surprisingly, the copter-cab easily outdistanced and outmaneuvered the lone, fluttering military copter. The camera panned down and across, zooming swiftly in to catch UN honor guards and military escorts as they aimed and shot toward the cab. The sharp crack of rifle fire was drowned out by suddenly standing and shouting scientists.

Bursting puffs of white surrounded the cab even as it straightened out, lining itself with the tail of the Eridanian parade.

The TV camera followed the plummeting copter; Michael's stomach muscles tightened as the cab came low behind the last Eridanian tank, hit it, and broke into an inferno of red, white and yellow flame which passed like tumbling waves to each of the other four Eridanian tanks in turn.

Michael's fists clenched as he fought himself to his seat.

Several Red Cross trucks had swung up to treat the wounded civilians, and the crowd was slowly moved backward.

The group sat stunned.

The camera suddenly zoomed to a small cluster of robe-frocked natives which had sprouted signs, as though ready for the event. GOD IS MADE IN TERRAN IMAGE, one sign said. DEATH TO ALL ALIENS, another quoted. GOD PLACED MAN OVER BEAST, flashed another.

Hundreds of militia were now converging on this small group; sticks and mist-sprays filled the screen. The conference group now sat, glued to the shocking pictures until the last of the Gimitis had been arrested.

"Strange how ill-prepared the authorities were for what they knew was to happen to the aliens, and how very well prepared they were to arrest the demonstrators," someone said.

Dr. Samuel Chavits, a silent rock during the catastrophe, cleared his throat which had become understandably dry during the interim. "I'm sure Happy Honey took care of th - ..."

"Happy Honey on the line, Chief." Mary Clibourne's voice overshadowed Dr. Chavits'.

Michael raised his hand before the assembled chiefs. "Here's a firsthand report. Put him on, Mary."

Happy Honey's voice was appallingly casual, even irritatingly normal, considering the circumstances. His smile showed clean teeth flashing white with the shine on his bald head. "Happy Honey reporting from Afghanistan, folks. How did you like the show? I understand the viewer's rating was something unique for a dome transfer. That's what you said was needed, didn't you, Dr. O'Hara?"

"We saw it on the screen. What happened? Report." Both Michael's voice and face reflected his disapproval of the Harvard cultured voice. Were anyone watching and listening, they would hardly believe that the most valuable cargo in all of man's history had just been lost.

"The Gimitis came through with their ridiculous cab, just as predicted - used thermite and jellied gasoline, too - burned our dummy tanks just as planned."

"Dummy tanks?"

"Yes. Dr. Chavits adapted the Solid-o-graph to show moving solids, the aliens. We had five projectors going, one in each of the transparent tanks. Couldn't tell the difference between the real Eridanians and our solid-picture forms.

"We secretly loaded the Eridanians in planes, and transferred them days ago. When the scheduled time for public transfer came, we sent the moving Solid-o-graph images on the route. Who would know the difference? Then we set the trap for the Gimitis - if they showed - and they did."

"But those were real antiaircraft bursts we saw. Weren't you running a risk with live ammunition? What if the military copter had been hit? Or the Gimitis's copter?" Michael asked.

Happy Honey shrugged. "Oh, those were blanks. The hardest part was with the Afghanistan militia. Had to make a special trip with their brass to prove the images were actually images. They doubted our credentials, too."

"We'll get your detailed report later ... uh ... Happy Honey. And ... Happy Honey. And ... uh... thanks." Michael's voice was resonant, sincere. "That was an especially good Gimiti group, too. Signs were just right."

The roll-up TV screen hung again from the maroon drapes in front of Michael O'Hara's desk. It was divided into a rectangular array of two rows and three columns, each square dimensioned about four feet by five feet. Margaret Cleveland's homespun image appeared in the upper left; John Doanne's and Peter Machtrix's image were respectively next, in the same row.

Below Margaret was an empty square and the next two in order were Samuel Chavits and Win Lai. Each department head sat before a similar roll-up screen divided electronically in such a way that all other members were present, including their chief, Michael O'Hara.

Public reaction to the apparent assassination of the Eridanians had been virtually instantaneous. Complete, mind-devastating numbness followed the news reports which seemed to cycle the Eridanian deaths over and over again, as though by the very repetition the single act of horror could be disavowed; or, at the least, a justification would be found which could sweep away human guilt.

The cab-copter broke away from the military copter. Puffs of white smoke surrounded the craft which settled into its run, striking the five tanks with roiling, colored flames. The red Eridanians, flame-swallowed, disappeared in the image of blackened corpse.

Again and again the newscasters repeated the senseless act, and the Gimitis waved their signs demanding that God be man's exclusive image; and the police battered through the forest of banners, to club and spray.

Three days had passed while the seething human emotion swelled, and Project Ozma X waited, patiently, silently.

And now Michael and his staff waited on the scheduled call. His eyes flicked across the empty square below Margaret's image, tense, waiting.

Only the bare facts of the Eridanian murders were reported first, later, when a voracious news-service searched for new material, and human senses had yet to be saturated, feelings yet to be assuaged, Project Ozma X had been ready with thoughtful, in-depth background material. Michael smiled as he remembered the Melt News Hour. Aselt, a dynamic tongue-and-eye binder who had made a career of shaping pointed remarks against Project Ozma X, had had to explain the depth of Eridanian loss to his listening and watching public.

Public guilt and shame ballooned. One by one the small social fragments were encysted, then cut-off by humanity's sharp cries of denial. The Gimitis, once so strong, so durable, evaporated as a mist, then a nothingness, a thing that never was.

The image of UN President Ownouchai suddenly appeared on the blank square next to Samuel Chavits and below Margaret's image. "It is good to talk with you and your staff again, Dr. O'Hara." His smile was broad, bright; his head nodded briefly. "I am proud to announce a complete reversal of the assembly's former stand. There no longer seems good reason to choke off funds, or to hamper Project Ozma X's activities, and the vote was unanimous."

Michael could see muscles relax, tension drain, as department heads accepted the statement.

"This turnabout is ... ah... a political phenomenon extraordinary, Dr. O'Hara. Naturally when the Eridanians appeared to die, public guilt and shame, reinforced by the outrage of a silent majority, was the acultural backlash needed. As a practicing politician, I understand. I don't understand how you prevented indignation... ah ... the feeling of 'You made a fool of me!' when the truth was finally verified yesterday. Reports show the Eridanian image ... the identification of humanity with the alien and his culture ... is growing, and promises to grow to its natural limit.

"Also, I'm not entirely sure I understand how the trick was accomplished. There were human deaths in Kabul. I surely hope Project Ozma X was not responsible."

Michael nodded his head in agreement. "John Doanne and Samuel Chavits can give you the mechanics of the incident, President Ownouchai. It is true that the Eridanians had been transferred earlier by air, and newly developed solid images rode the tanks. One of John Doanne's young graduates, Happy Honneywell, arranged the matter.

"I can assure you Happy Honneywell merely took precautions along the route to insure that if the terrorists appeared, the military and parapolice would permit the strike. Those killed and injured were too close to the parade because of laxity by the Kabul police.

"We also regret the deaths; but the count could have been much higher had we not made advanced preparations."

"Yes! Yes! Thank you for the assurance." The president's smile widened. "I have discussed the other matter with Dr. Markstein, who assures me that society has reached a new level of stability. What is your explanation? He does not explain it."

"Dr. Cleveland's work provided the basis, Dr. Ownouchai." Michael nodded toward Margaret, who accepted the cue.

Her image, almost life-sized, un folded lap-held hands as she said, "The Eridanian attitude toward science surmounts our more limited view of an objective versus subjective dichotomy. They recognize that relationships, as well as material things, and internal mind phenomena interact.

"From their orientation, although reality is always greater in complexity than any number of finite minds can visualize - or interact with - there is a reality there, with its proper rules and relations.

"The Eridanians also believe that their internal image of reality will help them to discover, and the relationship between their subjective image and reality constitutes the subject of their scientific methodology - reality adjusts their internal image, and their internal image adjusts the appearance of reality, or at least the relationships about reality under view, until the interacting confluence stabilizes." Margaret, always the specialist, folded her hands back on her lap and waited.

The UN president's forehead wrinkled, his smile disappeared. Michael O'Hara laughed. "Margaret is saying that 'It is the image of the future which is the key to that future coming into realization.' Within certain broad constraints, of course.

"When the UN assembly voted to cut Project Ozma, ostensibly because society could not react as rapidly as Eridanian technology and introduction of new concepts demanded, the world was receiving a downward-spiraling image of itself via newscasts, political gatherings and the other thousands of ways which humans communicate and interact with one another.

"You, President Ownouchai, suggested the need for a startling attention-getter, and we agreed that such would break humans from their hypnosis-like patterns. But it was Margaret's insight on new applications of the Eridanian viewpoint of scientific methodology which turned the trick - and, a practicing politician such as yourself will surely recognize some characteristics."

The president's frown deepened.

"When the news media begin to run out of background material, and the public tired of seeing the tanks burn, John Doanne's office began providing accurate information, showing how the Eridanians had been saved - and his reports were embellished by describing the heroism, patience, shrewdness and foresight of all participants from all countries party to the deception.

"The public was ready then, and the image provided, so that a new kind of self-image was acceptable. Rather than disruptive, the images unified; instead of fragmentation, argumentation, stupidity, the public now holds a self-image of nobility, wisdom, understanding - and it constrains the public to conform to that image. Dr. Markstein will surely find that man is beginning to view himself as part of a cosmopolitan, galactic citizen of noble image.

"The public consists of humans, even as you and I, Dr. Ownouchai, and individuals will certainly not be the perfection of product this newly manufactured and accepted image projects; but he'll approach a lot closer than he did during the past four years."

The UN president's smile broadened, deepened, brightened, again. "Ah yes, of course. Well ... thank you Dr. O'Hara, Dr. Cleveland, Dr. Doanne, Dr. Machtrix, Dr. Chavits ... thank you for talking with me again. I look forward to working with Project Ozma again - and I will want to learn more about this ... ah ... non-dichotomy of immaterial mind and material world."

The dark man's features clouded, then brightened again, as he turned to go. Michael's last doubts about the man's ability to understand evaporated with his last piercing remark. "I will be looking forward to a second Copernican revolution, Dr. O'Hara!"