Chapter III

Scholar Norman Ross smiled at his host's statement. "Yes, indeed, Mr. Harrison! Arranging these things so that we can maintain the Norm is often a delicate and arduous task. There are restrictions, and there are many variables involved, the most sensitive of which are the feelings of the people involved."

"Your job must call for the ultimate in diplomacy," said Mrs. Harrison.

To his host's wife, Scholar Ross nodded. "Yet," he said as an afterthought, "of even greater value is a high regard for the perfect truth. This includes the self-discipline of admitting it when one has been wrong, and being able to state precisely how, where, why, and, most important, to what degree."

"I don't understand," said his hostess.

"Mrs. Harrison, let's consider Bertram."

She cast a glance at her son. In an earlier age, he would have been called "indolent." During dinner, Bertram had employed the correct fork, plied his knife properly, conversed with his partners on both sides--yet she knew something was wrong.

"Bertram," she said, "haven't you been forgetting your pills?"

"Sorry, Mother," replied the young man tonelessly.

Bertram arose and left, and Scholar Ross said, "This is what I mean, Mrs. Harrison. Genetics is not a precise science; it is statistical. We can consider highly favorable the mating of two well-balanced people, and we can predict that this union will produce well-balanced children. Unfortunately we cannot guarantee the desired results. Hence we have anomalies such as Bertram, whose problem is simply a lack of drive. Now this is no fault of yours, Mrs. Harrison, nor of yours, Mr. Harrison. It may be the fault of Genetics, but if it is our 'fault,' then the fault lies in the lack of total knowledge; but not in the misuse, or lack of use, of what knowledge we do already have."

"I see what you mean, Scholar Ross."

"You'll also see the opposite when the Hanfords arrive. Here we have parents as stable as you two. You'll pardon me if I say that if all four of your characteristic cards were dropped at once and I had been expected to render a considered opinion as to their most favorable mating combination, I could render no preference, so equal are you. However, your union has produced Bertram. Conversely, their mating has produced a girl who is wild, headstrong, willful."

* * * * *

Bertram returned, seated himself quietly, and when Scholar Ross stopped talking, Bertram said apologetically, "I took a double dose, Mother."

"Is that all right?" she asked Scholar Ross.

"Probably won't do any harm," he said.

Mr. Harrison cleared his throat. "I'm not sure that I approve of Bertram marrying a headstrong girl, Scholar Ross."

Mrs. Harrison said, "William, you know it's best."

"For Bertram?"

"Now here," said Scholar Ross, "we must cease considering the welfare of the individual alone and start thinking of him as a part of an integrated society. No man is an island, Mr. Harrison. In a less advanced culture, Bertram would have been permitted to meet contemporary personalities. Perhaps might have met someone who--as he does--lacks drive and initiative, and the result would have been a family of dull children. Had he been unlucky enough to marry a woman with drive and ambition, their children might have been normal, but the entire home life would have been an emotional battlefield. And that--"

"Isn't that what you're about to achieve?" asked Mr. Harrison.

"Not at all. We shall achieve the normal, happy children who will undoubtedly grow into fine, stable adults. To gain this end, of course, their home life must be happy and tranquil. We'll prescribe for them--allowing for the emotional change that results from marriage and--"

The doorbell interrupted the scholar's explanation. "Allow me," he said, rising and heading for the apartment door. The Harrisons followed him at a slight distance. It was the Hanfords.

There was the full round robin of introductions and small talk: "You had no trouble?" "No, the intercity beacon was running clear--" "Lovely apartment, Mrs. Harrison." "Mrs. Hanford, here in Philadelphia we feel that we're almost in the suburbs." "Got a treat for you, Hanford--been saving a bottle of natural bourbon!" "That'll be a treat, all right!" "This is a real event. Scholar Ross." "You know, Mrs. Hanford, the vidphone hardly does you justice!" "Why, thank you!"

"Miss Hanford, may I present Bertram Harrison?" "How do you do?" "I do as I please. What's your excuse?" "Huh?" "_Now, Gloria!_" "Bertram, show Gloria the flower room. Go on, now!"

Scholar Ross watched the young couple walk through a French door to an outside terrace. He turned to Harrison and said, "Everything set?"

Harrison nodded. "Had a little trouble with the Music people till I used your priority. They said they'd have Program R-147 piped into the flower room. Frankly, I think R-215 is better."

* * * * *

Scholar Ross laughed gently. "Probably happy association."

"Wife and I still have it piped in for our anniversary," Mr. Harrison admitted.

"Good for you! But R-215 is for normal, happily well-balanced young people who'd probably fall in love without it. R-147 is sure-fire for emotional opposites."

"Well, we finally got the program piped in, so what do we do now?"

Scholar Ross smiled quietly. "We wait. We get acquainted, because there is a very high probability that you two families will be united through the marriage of your children. Then I shall enter a new file in the Genetics Bureau of the Department of Domestic Tranquility. We shall watch through the years as your grandchildren grow, and make periodic checks, and thereby advance mankind's knowledge of genetics."

"Doesn't this sort of master-minding ever give you a God complex?" asked Mr. Hanford.

"Not at all. Were I God, I'm sure I could arrange things a lot better."

"In what way?"

"By Man's own laws, we are prevented from doing active genetic research on the human race. We apply what happens to mice and fruit flies to the human family tree. We've known for centuries how to breed blue-eyed or brown-eyed people, or, if we wanted, we could make the race predominantly fat or thin, tall or short. However, our main aim is not the ultimate purity of any physical characteristic. Our goal is to produce a stable, happy people by eliminating the lethargic personality below and the excitable types above."

The scholar thought for a moment, and then, remembering Bertram's error in forgetting to take his go-pills, said, "But we are blocked by law. I can prescribe medication and therapy, but I have no power to force the patient to take the treatment. This is a most difficult problem, believe me."

"In what way?" asked Mrs. Harrison with some interest.

"The lethargic types are very apt to forget, or to dismiss the medication or the therapy as too much trouble. The overactive type is more likely to be water skiing on Lake Superior than sitting and listening to the tranquilizing strains of prescribed music, and the medication dumped down the drain instead of taken."

"You do have your problems, don't you?" said Mrs. Hanford sympathetically.

"Ah, yes. But our greatest problem is the overactive young female. Young males can be siphoned off in one way or another--work to be done that, unfortunately, females, can't also do." Scholar Ross smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. "So we actually are grateful for the lethargic types. They provide us with a fine sobering influence upon the--"

The scholar was interrupted by a wordless cry from beyond the French windows.

* * * * *

The Harrisons, the Hanfords, and Scholar Ross leaped to their feet and started for the terrace. They did not get all the way to the French doors, for Gloria Hanford came stamping in. Her eyes were bright, and she was dusting one palm with the other.

"What--?"

Gloria snapped, "Someone been feeding that oaf red meat?"

"But what _happened_?" asked Mr. Harrison.

"Oh, I could stand the big dummy acting as if he'd never been alone with a girl before in all his life. But to _ask_ me for a kiss!"

"Is that what caused the eruption?" said Scholar Ross.

"When he _asked_ me for a kiss, I told him that I was saving my kisses for a _man_!"

"And then?"

"Then he decided that I meant a man big enough to wrestle." Gloria laughed and then looked thoughtful.

"What's so funny--and not so funny now?"

"I just realized that _I like men_!"

"But Bertram?"

"Darned if it isn't the first time I've ever resented being pawed," said Gloria in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were her hair-do rather than her virtue that was the subject of discussion. "So I grabbed a hand, hung the arm over my shoulder with the inside upward, and hip-tossed the big oaf over the railing into that silly little fish pond."

"Gloria!" exploded her mother.

"Poor Bertram!" exclaimed his mother.

Scholar Ross sighed. "These things often go awry at first. Bertram shouldn't have taken a double dose of his medication. And I'd guess that Gloria hasn't been meticulous about hers, either. Now--"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Bertram Harrison, who looked as if he'd just waded home across a mud flat at low tide. He stepped toward Gloria purposefully; the girl crouched in a judo position and said, "Want some more? Come and get it!"

"Now wait a moment," said Scholar Ross. "Gloria, where did you ever learn such brutal, belligerent tactics?"

* * * * *

Gloria faced him, but kept one eye on Bertram. "Out of a book--where else in this calm old world?"

The scholar said, "You see, Miss Hanford, the results of your outrageous behavior? You've committed an act of physical violence. You've--"

The girl gave one sharp bark of laughter. "Who started it with whose caveman technique?"

"I think," said Scholar Ross to the four parents, "that this meeting should be resumed at a later date. Bertram must _not_ overdose himself in a misguided effort to make up for omitted medication. Gloria must _not_ avoid hers--and, Mrs. Hanford, you'll not only have to watch closely to see that she does take her pills; you'll also have to make sure that Gloria doesn't counteract them by surreptitiously acquiring some agitators to neutralize the tranquilizers."

"And suppose I call the whole thing off?" demanded Gloria. "Suppose I don't agree to share bed and board with this souped-up sardine?"

The room grew quieter until the background sounds were gone and from the patio came the faint, sweet strains of romantic music: Program R-147.

Finally Scholar Ross said, "Miss Hanford, we cannot force you to do anything, but we can make your life extremely uncomfortable if you do not comply with what we believe to be best for society. You will find--if you care to look it up--that there is a drastic shortage of eligible young women on the planet Eden, Tau Ceti."

"You mean--migrate--to the _colony_?"

"I mean just that."

Gloria Hanford's face went white. She understood that if Scholar Ross decreed Eden, Tau Ceti, for her, then she would end up on Eden, Tau Ceti, and it made no difference whether by force, coercion, or gentle persuasion.

Mrs. Hanford took a step forward and opened her mouth to speak. But before she could protest, her husband put out a hand and stopped her. His act was an admission that not money, position, nor logic would overrule such a decision.

"Eden, Tau Ceti," breathed Gloria. She turned and faced Bertram Harrison. "Junior," she said in a dry, strained voice, "if you'll wear mittens and handcuffs, let's go back in the garden and get acquainted."

Her father exhaled a full breath.

Mr. Harrison tapped him on the shoulder. "How about a sample of that bottle of natural bourbon?" he suggested.

"Not," Mrs. Hanford said shakily, "without me!"