Profession

“I think I do.”

“An Economist—not an Economic Statistician, now, but an Economist—specializes in the study of the way a culture supplies the bodily needs of its individual members. A psychologist specializes in the individual member of a society and how he is affected by the society. A Futurist specializes in pla

“Yes, sir.”

“A Historian specializes in the past development of our own society and of societies with other cultures.”

George found himself interested. “Was it different in the past?”

“I should say it was. Until a thousand years ago, there was no Education; not what we call Education, at least.”

George said, “I know. People learned in bits and pieces out of books.”

“Why, how do you know this?”

“I’ve heard it said,” said George cautiously. Then, “Is there any use in worrying about what’s happened long ago? I mean, it’s all done with, isn’t it?”

“It’s never done with, my boy. The past explains the present. For instance, why is our Educational system what it is?”

George stirred restlessly. The man kept bringing the subject back to that. He said snappishly, “Because it’s best.”

“Ah, but why is it best? Now you listen to me for one moment and I’ll explain. Then you can tell me if there is any use in history. Even before interstellar travel was developed—” He broke off at the look of complete astonishment on George’s face. “Well, did you think we always had it?”

“I never gave it any thought, sir.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. But there was a time, four or five thousand years ago when mankind was confined to the surface of Earth. Even then, his culture had grown quite technological and his numbers had increased to the point where any failure in technology would have meant mass starvation and disease. To maintain the technological level and advance it in the face of an increasing population, more and more technicians and scientists had to be trained, and yet, as science advanced, it took longer and longer to train them.

“As first interplanetary and then interstellar travel was developed, the problem grew more acute. In fact, actual colonization of extra-Solar planets was impossible for about fifteen hundred years because of lack of properly trained men.

“The turning point came when the mechanics of the storage of knowledge within the brain was worked out. Once that had been done, it became possible to devise Educational tapes that would modify the mechanics in such a way as to place within the mind a body of knowledge ready-made so to speak. But you know about that.

“Once that was done, trained men could be turned out by the thousands and millions, and we could begin what someone has since called the ‘Filling of the Universe.’ There are now fifteen hundred inhabited planets in the Galaxy and there is no end in sight.

“Do you see all that is involved? Earth exports Education tapes for low-specialized professions and that keeps the Galactic culture unified. For instance, the Reading tapes insure a single language for all of us.—Don’t look so surprised, other languages are possible, and in the past were used. Hundreds of them.

“Earth also exports high-specialized professionals and keeps its own population at an endurable level. Since they are shipped out in a balanced sex ratio, they act as self-reproductive units and help increase the populations on the Outworlds where an increase is needed. Furthermore, tapes and men are paid for in material which we much need and on which our economy depends. Now do you understand why our Education is the best way?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does it help you to understand, knowing that without it, interstellar colonization was impossible for fifteen hundred years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you see the uses of history.” The Historian smiled. “And now I wonder if you see why I’m interested in you?”

George snapped out of time and space back to reality. Ingenescu, apparently, didn’t talk aimlessly. All this lecture had been a device to attack him from a new angle.

He said, once again withdrawn, hesitating, “Why?”

“Social Scientists work with societies and societies are made up of people.”

“All right.”

“But people aren’t machines. The professionals in physical science work with machines. There is only a limited amount to know about a machine and the professionals know it all. Furthermore, all machines of a given sort are just about alike so that there is nothing to interest them in any given individual machine. But people, ah—They are so complex and so different one from another that a Social Scientist never knows all there is to know or even a good part of what there is to know. To understand his own specialty, he must always be ready to study people; particularly unusual specimens.”

“Like me,” said George tonelessly.

“I shouldn’t call you a specimen, I suppose, but you are unusual. You’re worth studying, and if you will allow me that privilege then, in return, I will help you if you are introuble and if I can.”

There were pin wheels whirring in George’s mind.—

All this talk about people and colonization made possible by Education. It was as though caked thought within him were being broken up and strewn about mercilessly.

He said, “Let me think,” and clamped his hands over his ears.

He took them away and said to the Historian, “Will you do something for me, sir?”

“If I can,” said the Historian amiably.

“And everything I say in this room is a privileged communication. You said so.”

“And I meant it.”

“Then get me an interview with an Outworld official, with—with a Novian.”

Ingenescu looked startled. “Well, now—”

“You can do it,” said George earnestly. “You’re an important official. I saw the policeman’s look when you put that card in front of his eyes. If you refuse, I—I won’t let you study me.”

It sounded a silly threat in George’s own ears, one without force. On Ingenescu, however, it seemed to have a strong effect.

He said, “That’s an impossible condition. A Novian in Olympics month—”

“All right, then, get me a Novian on the phone and I’ll make my own arrangements for an interview.”

“Do you think you can?”

“I know I can. Wait and see.”

Ingenescu stared at George thoughtfully and then reached for the visiphone.

George waited, half drunk with this new outlook on the whole problem and the sense of power it brought. It couldn’t miss. It couldn’t miss. He would be a Novian yet. He would leave Earth in triumph despite Antonelli and the whole crew of fools at the House for the (he almost laughed aloud) Feeble-minded.

George watched eagerly as the visiplate lit up. It would open up a window into a room of Novians, a window into a small patch of Novia transplanted to Earth. In twenty-four hours, he had accomplished that much.

There was a burst of laughter as the plate unmisted and sharpened, but for the moment no single head could be seen but rather the fast passing of the shadows of men and women, this way and that. A voice was heard, clear-worded over a background of babble. “Ingenescu? He wants me?”

Then there he was, staring out of the plate. A Novian.

A genuine Novian (George had not an atom of doubt. There was something completely Outworldly about him. Nothing that could be completely defined, or even momentarily mistaken.)

He was swarthy in complexion with a dark wave of hair combed rigidly back from his forehead. He wore a thin black mustache and a pointed beard, just as dark, that scarcely reached below the lower limit of his narrow chin, but the rest of his face was so smooth that it looked as though it had been depilated permanently.

He was smiling. “Ladislas, this goes too far. We fully expect to be spied on, within reason, during our stay on Earth, but mind reading is out of bounds.”