One in 300 (3 page)

 

 

One: staying alive till I left Simsville. There were fanatics now;
later there would be disappointed, angry, terrified people who would
sink themselves in a mob.

 

 

Two: getting my ten away from Simsville. That wouldn't be easy, despite
what I'd been told and the arrangements which had been made.

 

 

Three: getting my lifeship to Mars. But that, the most difficult and
important, was the one which worried me least. That was me and an untested,
hastily built ship against space. The others were me against my fellow men.

 

 

 

 

 

 

3

 

 

The three clergymen were met together at Father Clark's house when I arrived
back in Simsville from my brief holiday in Havinton. As Father Clark ushered
me in there was that uneasy silence that comes when a group's frank
discussion of someone is interrupted by the arrival of the someone.

 

 

The Reverend John MacLean was heavy and blunt. "Let's waste no time,
Lieutenant Easson," he said. "You probably think your time's valuable,
and I know I think mine is. Will you start the ball rolling, or shall I?"

 

 

I sat down and tried to feel at home. "You, I think," I said. "Why do you
want to see me, anyway?"

 

 

"First," said MacLean briskly, "let's get one thing cleared up. We don't
expect -- "

 

 

"I know. You don't expect to go, but . . . But what?"

 

 

"Isn't that a little unnecessary?" asked Father Clark gently. "I know
you must have found it necessary to adopt a defensive, even a suspicious
attitude, Lieutenant Easson, but -- "

 

 

"Sorry," I said. "Trouble is, it seems years since I could talk to anyone
in a straightforward way." I had a good look at them. Cynically I had
half expected that they would be squabbling among themselves, but I
could see no sign of that.

 

 

"That's part of our reason for wanting to talk to you," said Pastor Munch.
He was one of those little men with astonishingly deep voices. The room
seemed too small to contain his vibrating organ tones. One was inclined
not to notice what he said, so fascinating was the sound of it. "You see,"
he went on, "the three of us here, Lieutenant Easson, feel we are responsible
for Simsville. That is our success and our failure. We are not big enough
to be responsible for the whole world. We must limit our sphere to be
effective. I'm purposely not talking theology -- my point is simply that
anything that happens to the people of Simsville happens to us. And
anything that is
going
to happen we must carefully examine and test
and if necessary explain to our people."

 

 

"Exactly," said MacLean briskly. "You are an instrument of God. Sometimes
the phrase has been used as an excuse. Instrument of a higher power. A shrug
of the shoulders. Nothing can be done but accept."

 

 

He leaned forward and tapped firmly on the arm of my chair. "That attitude
is apathy," he declared. "And apathy is anti-God. We feel, all three of us,
that it is up to us to examine and test and if necessary explain, as my
colleague says, this instrument of God. We can help or impede. Or we can
guide."

 

 

MacLean's blunt though not unfriendly approach demanded frankness.
"You mean," I said, "you can help or impede or guide
me
.

 

 

"There is no question," said Father Clark quickly, "of impeding."

 

 

Munch murmured assent, the rumble of a distant avalanche. MacLean said
nothing, staring back at me.

 

 

"I didn't want this meeting," I admitted, "and I delayed it as long as
I could. That was because I was prepared to promise nothing."

 

 

MacLean nodded. "You came with your mind made up, in fact," he said.

 

 

I nodded too. "Half made up, anyway.

 

 

Father Clark almost wrung his hands. He was too kindly to like this kind
of plain speaking.

 

 

"What did you think," asked MacLean, "that we might ask you to promise?"

 

 

"To take all the saints," I said bluntly, "and leave the sinners."

 

 

I hadn't noticed Munch's eyes before. They were very soft, brown, very
sincere. They met mine and I wasn't quite happy. "Of course you will take
the saints," he said, "and leave the sinners. But you did not think, did you,
that we should insist that only we knew the difference?"

 

 

"I shall take whom I like," I said flatly, "on the basis of my own
conscience."

 

 

Pastor Munch nodded. "That is what I meant."

 

 

MacLean nodded too. "I don't think you've been thinking straight, young
man," he told me. "On your main job, yes. Perhaps you have. On the part
we would play, no. How could we possibly dictate to you in any way what
you should do? It's a waste of time for us to decide what we would have
done if things had been different. I've heard about you. I've seen you
once or twice. I know you're going to do your best. Therefore you're
the best possible instrument, and if I'd had anything to do with your
selection I'd have chosen you."

 

 

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, unreasonably ashamed of it.
Munch met my eyes again, and his own softened still more.

 

 

"We understood your burden," he told me, "but we weren't quite certain
that you did. I am glad you do. You must realize its weight before it
begins to lighten."

 

 

More was said, and I think there were handshakes and blessings and
promises of any help I needed. But I don't want to go into that.

 

 

These three were not only priests of God; they were good men.

 

 

 

 

 

 

4

 

 

I stepped straight from peace into hell.

 

 

I had seen signs that made it plain there was going to be trouble in
Havinton. For that matter there was going to be trouble everywhere. But
in Simsville, with only three thousand population, I had thought I was
lucky. A crowd in Simsville -- even a mob, if it became that -- could
only contain three thousand people. A mob in Havinton could be thirteen
thousand strong -- and that's pretty strong.

 

 

But as I reached the town square on the way back to my hotel from Father
Clark's house I found things could be pretty bad in Simsville too.

 

 

Our first riot was raging in the square. I stood and watched. I was safe,
comparatively. No one but a madman was going to harm the one man who could
give him life.

 

 

There was nothing to indicate the reason for the fight. Probably no one
knew it. Frightened people are angry people; and if a man is angry enough,
a remark that it might rain is enough to start a fight.

 

 

Watching it sickened me. If I'd had any real authority I'd have tried to
stop it; but I was nothing, and nobody could stop it. I had no backing.
The police were there in the fight -- whether as police or just as
contestants I didn't know.

 

 

I'd never seen a really dirty brawl. I'd never seen men throw children
aside, drag women about by the hair, kick unconscious men in the ribs
and stomach, and tear at each other with their nails. I didn't want to
see it. I moved to go, and then realized it was still my job to pick
ten people out of this rabble. It was part of my job to watch.

 

 

Brian Secker had a man I didn't know on the ground and was battering
his head on the concrete. That was manslaughter, or very soon would
he. Could I take a man I knew to be a killer to Mars? Secker came off
the list of improbables and went on the list of impossibles. That was
the only punishment I could inflict, and he would never know.

 

 

Harry Phillips was in the fight but not of it. He was ignoring mere brutality
and doing what little he could to stop anything worse. That was no surprise.
I knew Harry. His place on the lifeship was confirmed.

 

 

I could see Mortenson on the other side of the battle, but he was fighting
with a smile on his lips. To him a fight meant fun, not terror or torture.
He fought men his own size. My gaze passed on.

 

 

It was a shock to see Jack Powell battering Al Wayman to a pulp. But then
I saw Marjory lying unconscious beside them, and turned elsewhere.

 

 

I started toward Pat. She was almost hidden by three men. But past her
I saw Leslie, trapped in a corner with half a dozen children she had
gathered behind her for safety. I went to her instead. The three round
Pat were only tearing her clothes, and that was to be expected.

 

 

But when I reached Leslie she screamed and pushed me toward Pat.

 

 

"They won't hurt her," I said. "She's -- "

 

 

"You fool!" Leslie shouted at me. "Look at them not hurting her. Naturally
they'll hurt her -- kill her if they can. Haven't you the sense to see that?"

 

 

I turned, and then Leslie didn't have to urge me. They were using Pat
as a punchball. People who can't defend themselves any more can very
soon be punched to death. Particularly women.

 

 

I couldn't drag them off. I could only go and show them I was there.
They could have killed me. But the knowledge that their only chance of life
depended on me sobered them, and they slunk away. Pat was on the ground,
unconscious.

 

 

I picked her up and took her to Leslie. She was breathing. She would live,
no doubt. The children behind Leslie stared.

 

 

Pat opened her eyes. "God, what hit me?" she gasped. Then she saw the
gaping children behind us. "Turn your backs, kids," she said. "You're
too young for this kind of show."

 

 

She was hurt less seriously than anyone would have thought.

 

 

Leslie pulled her dress over her head and helped me to get it on Pat.
"That makes you Exhibit A in the peepshow, Leslie," Pat observed.
"Never mind, my need is greater than thine."

 

 

The fight was suddenly, for no apparent reason, all but over. People
disappeared like snowflakes in the sun.

 

 

That was our first fight, and very nearly the worst. People hadn't realized,
till then, what could happen when such a fight started among men and women
who had only four days to live. They hadn't known that they themselves
would be ready to kill, and others to kill them.

 

 

Pat couldn't walk, but she was very easy to carry. It was safe now to
send the children home. They went with backward glances at us. Already,
so little impression had the fight made on them, curious little sniggers
passed among them.

 

 

As I picked Pat up, I half turned to Leslie, frowning. The kids were giggling
as if at a dirty joke, not quite understood. Leslie was a schoolteacher,
and perhaps precocious youngsters found prurient amusement in the sight
of her dressed like a lurid magazine cover. But I had heard those sniggers
before, when Leslie wasn't around.

 

 

She read my thoughts. "It's not me," she said with an embarrassed grin
that made Pat leer up at me. "It's you."

 

 

"Me?" Just in time I stopped myself twisting to see if there was a hole
in my pants or something.

 

 

"The schools were closed," said Leslie, "because it seemed silly to keep
them open. Because teachers couldn't be bothered. Because parents wanted
their children with them. But we weren't allowed to tell the children
why the schools were closing."

 

 

"I know. Mad, of course -- why try to keep it a secret that the world's
going to end on Friday?"

 

 

Leslie nodded. She was talking very quickly, trying to keep my attention
on what she was saying and off her body, I suppose. She needn't have been
ashamed of it. It was slight by most standards, but sweet.

 

 

"Yes, but don't you see?" she went on rapidly. "We're told not to tell
them, so they learn about it from each other, in dark corners, as something
shameful. Some parents, of course, are wise, and explain simply. But others
run away from the problem and let their children learn the truth as a
misty horror . . ."

 

 

I could work out the rest for myself. It was foolish to try to hide
this new fact of life and death from children; but it was no surprise
that people tried it. They forgot, or didn't realize, that while one
could conceal facts from children one could never conceal tension. And
it centered in me.

 

 

I was taking Pat to my hotel, which was quite close. I shrugged off the
problem of the children -- I couldn't carry everything. But I remembered
something else which had aroused my curiosity even in the middle of the riot.

 

 

"What did you mean, Leslie," I asked, "when you said naturally they'd hurt
Pat and hadn't I the sense to see that?"

 

 

Leslie went red as I looked at her, but it wasn't a blush of embarrassment
this time. She said irritably, "Don't be a fool, Bill." She was right.
I was a fool. I should have known.

 

 

I looked down at Pat. "You know what she's talking about?" I asked, more
to get her mind off her bruises than anything else. But Pat didn't know,
and said so.

 

 

"They knew Pat was sure of a place on the lifeship," Leslie said suddenly,
bitterly. "Naturally they wanted to kill her. I can even see their point
of view myself."

 

 

Pat tried to laugh, but gave it up. "Tell her, Bill," she said weakly.