CHAPTER XV

POLICIES AND PROCEDURES REVISITED: Upon the conclusion of the detailed and exhausting program of training, I was granted a final interview with the administrator for the project, on behalf of myself and the crew. The administrator was a small but well-chiseled man with extremely pleasant and regular features and there is absolutely no credibility to the disgusting rumors which had floated through some levels of the project that the adminis­trators were deformed, a class of congenital cripples whose very deformities were required for them to achieve position in the program. This is the kind of malevolent and childish idiocy which one will often find in some of the partitions of the Bureau but I am happy once and for all to demolish this at the source. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the administrator in any physical sense and his mental functioning also seemed to be well within the normal range for officials of his type; all in all his credibility was very high to say nothing of his attractiveness and all statements to the contrary are just that,statements , words, devoid of feeling or meaning, the ethos which underlies that fashion in which we confront all of the situations of our life and how we feel as we adapt to them.

Coming into the administrator’s offices I felt a shred of trepidation, not knowing exactly what was the subject of this interview, not knowing if I could deal with him in a way which would win his total respect, not even knowing what was the point or purpose of this interview, having had no experience in dealing with the administrators before. A certain feeling of increased leverage in the stomach, odd little twitches and tremors passing through my appendages quite disconcerted me but I did not know how much of this was due to nervousness and how much to the simple after effects of the training procedure which, as is well-known, is a difficult and rigorous proceeding through which only the best and toughest of the most qualified may pass. “Sit down,” the administrator said, gesturing at a chair poised in an inferior position near his desk, “sit down, Folsom, we want to talk with you about the point and purpose of this voyage,” and as I slid into the seat, my limbs feeling a little less watery by virtue of his attempt to so put me at ease, the administrator proceeded to tell me many of the facts and facets of the expedition to Folsom’s Planet which were quite interesting and which I had never before suspected.

Some of these things I may pass on and others I may not; it was specifically pointed out that much of the material was given me in confidence and even at this stage of proceedings I would not venture to break that confidence except to say that there were aspects of the exploration of Folsom’s Planet which were quite critical and surprising and made this an unusual voyage. The Bu­reau, it seemed, was not totally confident about its position and had been under pressure recently. Increasing objections to the program of the Federation from many quarters had put the Bureau on the defensive for the first time in many many years.

Some of the opposition of course were referring to the program not as one of amalgamation but of “conquest,” the brutalization of innocent worlds to bring them into the hands of the Federation, render their natives hostage, their resources as plunder. Although everyone connected with the Bureau knew that this was untrue—why, the Federation had no plans for “conquest!” at all, all that the Federation was trying to do was make the universe a safe and agreeable place in which all of the races could live equably and without fear of one another—the opposition had managed to sow the seeds of discontent at many levels of the populace and there was talk even now of somehow “limiting” the Federation, of “undercutting” the Bureau, of even, incredibly, dismantling the policies and procedures of contact which had been so successful for hundreds of years and had made the universe such a kind and accessible extension of our everyday reality.

“Yes, the Bureau knew that what the opposition had to say was tripe, that the opposition had set upon this line of argument only so that it could utilize discontent to put itself in the position of the Bureau. Rather than dismantling, it was quite clear that these people wanted toseize the instruments of the Federation for themselves, turn them to their own ends and it was only the determination of the Bureau, its courage and its integrity so to speak which functioned as interposition between the advanced, benign, smooth-running civilization which we had at present and the ten thousand centuries of paganism and barbarism to which the opposition would cheerfully revert us if only given the chance.

The administrator’s little hands twitched as he said this and his eyes bulged, his well-chiseled and well-formed features betrayed a kind of agitation which would not have been suspected at repose although the shimmer of emotions across his face was so fluid that only one as alert to them as myself would have even noticed. “And now we come to the critical part of this,” the administrator said in his high but pleasantly well-modulated voice, “the point which is the most serious and which I had to prepare for you by giving you this little bit of background.”

“I’m listening,” I said, “I’m very interested in this. Of course I don’t think that there’s any concern, the opposition is quite weak and isolated and you can be sure thatI have never accepted . . .”

“More cunning than you would think,” the administrator murmured, “and far more determined as well but that is not the point. The point is this: it is very possible that the opposition, clever and cunning in all of its operations although very weak by numbers, may have actually infiltrated into the Bureau itself, into theverycrew . . .”

“Do you mean that one ofus might be a traitor?” I asked, rather astounded. “That sounds highly unlikely, considering the rigor of the training processes . . .”

“Itis ,” the administrator said quickly. “It is highly unlikely that they would have actually infiltrated anyone into the crew and of course the screening processes are quite rigorous. So is the training for that matter; it is extremely doubtful that anyone of the opposition who are a congenitally inferior group could pass through the difficult system which we have evolved for training.” He cast a quick, darting glance from one side of the room to the other, his eyes rolling. “However,” he said, “you must take all precautions. You cannot be too protective of your position in these difficult times and you must be aware of all the possibilities. We have to take precautions; we have to be aware that the enemy is all around us. He is cunning, he is fierce, he is barbaric as the barbarians themselves and he will give us no quarter. Accordingly,” the administrator said, “we must face the possibility that they might have managed to work one of their number into the crew and have survived the training process. Do you understand?”

“Of course I understand,” I said, lowering my voice instinctively as the administrator made gestures with his wrists reminding me that the very conversations one might have in the Bureau, even under the tightest security, might be monitored. “I’m aware of that. Still . . . what would their objective be?”

“What would their objective be? What do you think that they would do?—why the treacherous scum,” the administrator said, his hands shaking their way up and down the desk as if he were playing an instrument, “would do everything within their power to sabotage the mission. They would stop at nothing.”

“Yes,” I said, “I agree with that. Nevertheless, what must I be alert for? What route would their treachery take? What would they do?”

“I’ll tell you what they’d do,” the administrator said, his voice breaking. He leaned forward, putting a hand at the side of his mouth behind which he whispered, “they’d arrange to place our technological materials in the hands of the barbarians without first socializing them, that’s what they’d do. That’s what the filthy scum believe, that the socialization process is repressive, that it’s merely a means of turning the barbarians into a slave class after which we can move in with our technological superiority and take over their planet, use them as cheap labor. Isn’t that disgusting?”

“Of course it is.”

“That’s the kind of swill they’re disseminating,” the administrator said, pounding the desk with a splayed palm, wincing as it drove spikes of contact up his arm, “and that’s what we’ve got to consider when we’re dealing against them. They do not understand that the socialization process is intrinsic to the gift of technology, that we cannot turn it over to barbarians until they have been helped to reach a better and more moral understanding of life.”

“Of course,” I said. This was a return to known ground; we had been through it in the training sessions and very much to the point they had been indeed. Who could think that we were oppressing the aliens when we were actually functioning selflessly to elevate them?

“So you will have to watch them very carefully,” the administrator said. “The crew that is to say. You should be aware at all times that it is possible that one of the opposition has infiltrated. You must be aware to all danger, alert to the full range of possibility. You have been selected for commander precisely because of all known candidates you showed the highest potential for alertness, for being aware of the thieves and spies, liars and poltroons in our midst.” The administrator’s hands had taken on a fine tremble, little fine droplets of spray seemed to be coming off them in the quivering, causing a halo to encircle those palms and as he pushed himself away from the desk, a corner of his chair must have dug uncomfortably in the floor causing him to stop in mid-wrench with an astonished expression; then, his body over-balancing, he saved himself from toppling to the floor only by frantically placing a palm on the arm of the chair, heaving himself to an upright position. “Do you see what I mean?” he said. “They’re all over. Their agencies are surrounding us at all times. You cannot be too careful with them, you must take precautions.” He stood uncomfortably, weaving slightly, took a handkerchief from his pocket and very carefully wiped the top of the desk, then the arms of the chair. “They also infiltrate their bacteria,” he said, “they have a very highly subtle and sophisticated bacteriological attacking system which they have developed to the point where they can put poisonous microbeings throughout even our most private chambers. But,” he said, folding the handkerchief and putting it into his pocket decisively, “but, we have methods of our own. As long as we maintain alertness, as long as we know of their foul, vicious and heinous means we cannot be defeated.”

“Yes,” I said. I admit that I was somewhat shaken. The true dimensions of the opposition’s threat, the foul lengths to which they would go to impose their evil view of existence upon the mild and undictatorial Bureau confused me and caused me to feel at the pit of my firm and well-muscled commander’s stomach a sting of apprehension which, like an insect, seemed to flutter about, giving small bites. Is there anything else?” I said. I did not, by saying this, indicate any impatience with what the administrator had to say or any disinclination to continue hearing from him the true nature of the enemy. All that I wanted to indicate to him—and this I am certain is the truth—was that if he had nothing more to say to me on this or other topics I would find it far better to go away from there, to meditate upon these dangerous images by myself, the true and dreadful possibilities which the opposition would send with us to accompany the flight and sleepers to the void. This touched off another chain of speculation and I turned to the administrator who was already standing. I watched him pat his handkerchief into place in his pocket; his face was set in a firm and disciplined line, giving no indication—as well he should not—of the facts of treachery which had been unreeled before me. I asked him, “What are we going to do during the period of unconsciousness? Will that not be very dangerous, to allow them the ship while none of us are in a position to deal with them?”

“That is a very good point,” the administrator said somewhat shakily. “We have considered that and we have, accordingly, put into action, a new policy. One of you will remain awake at all times. The period of unconsciousness will be in shifts; you will alternate. One of you will be awake at all times. In that way there will always be an alert presence upon the ship.”

“I see,” I said. “If there are four of us then each of us will remain awake for a six month period . . .”

“Something like that,” the administrator said, “perhaps not exactly that long since you must all be conscious and functioning for a period after takeoff and for a time before debarkation. Perhaps it will be four or five months. That is being worked out by the statisticians.”

“But that’s not quite fair,” I said, “because it means that during that time the biological clock will keep on working, it means that we will, each of us, lose a certain period of precious time . . .” and then I trailed off embarrassed, seeing the great glare from the administrator’s eyes, looking at the fluorescence which came off the spare furnishings of the stark rooms in a particularly threatening fashion as if not only he but the machinery of the Bureau itself were responding to my unthinking and rather treach­erous response. “Of course it’s a small sacrifice to protect us against the evil possibilities of the opposition,” I said quickly.

The administrator nodded once, stiffly. “We thought you would think so,” he agreed, “and now I believe that our interview is at a close. Unless you have anything else to say, of course.”

“I have nothing else to say,” I said with a rigid formality, invoking my commander’s discipline. I stood, moved toward the doorway, stood there uncomfortably looking at the administrator who, convulsively, assumed once again his position behind the desk. He seemed to be in a continued state of agitation, bending, opening and closing hidden drawers rapidly, the clatter like a dry series of coughs, but I felt no need to add to his disturbance at this time. “Very well,” I said, “excuse me,” and went through the door then, pulling it closed firmly behind not only to shut myself quickly from sight of the administrator but—this must be admitted—to shut him off from me. I did not want to look at him anymore, at least until the last preflight breathing. His presence had suddenly become disturbing for reasons I could not quite phrase.

Slowly, meditatively, I walked down the halls then and back to the special section in which the crew was quartered awaiting their own final instructions before debarkation. They all asked me, of course, what the administrator had wanted to talk to me about.

I did not answer them. I explained nothing. I let no information drop.

I knew that the administrator would have wanted it that way.