When I Grow Up

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  _A good many science fiction writers seem determined to depict children as little monsters. Not all children perhaps, and not with completely merciless regularity. But often enough to make us shudder. Only Richard Lowe remains independent. The youngster of this story isn't a child monster at all. He's just--a "destructor." And that in itself is somehow unimaginably terrifying!_

  when i grow up

  _by ... Richard E. Lowe_

  The two professors couldn't agree on the fundamentals of child behavior. But that was before they met little Herbux!

  The University sprawled casually, unashamed of its disordered ranks,over a hundred thousand acres of grassy, rolling countryside. It was theyear A.D. 3896, and the vast assemblage of schools and colleges andlaboratories had been growing on this site for more than two thousandyears.

  It had survived political and industrial revolutions, localinsurrections, global, inter-terrestrial and nuclear wars, and it hadbecome the acknowledged center of learning for the entire knownuniverse.

  No subject was too small to escape attention at the University. None wastoo large to be attacked by the fearless, probing fingers of curiosity,or to in any way over-awe students and teachers in this greatinstitution of learning.

  No book was ever closed in the University and no clue, however tiny, wasdiscarded as useless in the ceaseless search for knowledge which was theUniversity's prime and overriding goal.

  For no matter how fast and far the spaceships might fly, or what strangecreatures might be brought back across the great curve of the universeor how deeply the past was resurrected or the future probed, of onething only was the University quite sure--_man did not know enough_.

  All manner of schools had come into being at the University, and oftenthey functioned in pairs, one devoted to proving a proposition, and theother to disproving it. And among these pairs of schools two, inparticular, seemed to exist on a most tenuous basis. Their avowedmission was to settle the age-old argument concerning the relativeinfluences of heredity and environment.

  One, headed by Professor Miltcheck von Possenfeller, worked tirelesslyto prove that there was no such determining factor as heredity, and thatenvironment alone was the governing influence in human behavior.

  The other, under the direction of Dr. Arthur D. Smithlawn, was dedicatedto the task of proving that environment meant nothing, and that onlyheredity was important.

  Success, in short, could only come to those who were born with the genesof success in their bodies, and failure was as preordained for the restas was ultimate death for all.

  Over a period of more than two hundred years the School of Environmenthad been taking babies from among the thousands of homeless waifsgathered in throughout the universe, and raising them carefully in aclosely supervised, cultural atmosphere.

  The School of Heredity, on the other hand, was more select. Its pupilscame only from families whose genealogy could be traced back for atleast a thousand years. Freedom of choice and expression was the rulehere, since the school was attempting to prove that a child's inheritedtendencies will send it inevitably along a predetermined path,completely uninfluenced by outside help or hindrance.

  In two centuries neither school had been able to develop an overpoweringcase in support of its own theory. Hence they both thrived, andcheerfully ignored the discrepancies which existed in the case recordsof individuals who had not turned out according to the book.

  Although they were zealous professional rivals, Prof. von Possenfellerand Dr. Smithlawn were devoted personal friends. They called each otherPossy and Smithy and got together once a week to play chess and exchangeviews on the universe in general. Only one subject was taboo betweenthem--their experimental work.

  On this particular Saturday night, however, Smithy noticed that his goodfriend Possy was terribly agitated and disturbed, and had for the thirdtime carelessly put his queen in jeopardy.

  "My dear friend," exclaimed Possy, blindly moving his king into check."Could you possibly be persuaded to ignore for the moment our ban onprofessional talk? There is something--"

  Smithy, secretly, was only too anxious to talk at great length. But hepretended to give the request serious consideration.

  "If it is really important," he said. "Yes, by all means. Go rightahead."

  "Smithy," Possy plunged on, "I am nonplussed. I am really, terriblydisturbed. I've never felt like this before."

  Smithy waited patiently while Possy poured himself a large brandy andsoda, hastily gulped it down, and made a face as he regretted theaction.

  "How much do you know about our methods of working in the School ofEnvironment?" the professor asked, taking a new tack.

  "Nothing, of course," replied Smithy. The statement was not preciselytrue, but Smithy was not yet ready to confess that he had spies in hisfriend's school.

  "Well, then," said Possy, knowing full well that Smithy had been gettingreports on his college for many years, and feeling secretly glad thathe, in turn, had been spying.

  "Well, then," he repeated, "you should be aware that we know _absolutelynothing_ about the children we enroll. Most of them are infants. We donot know who their parents were, or where they were born. Except for theobvious clues which their bodies furnish, we do not even know theirnational or racial origins.

  "We bring them up with absolutely equal treatment--the finest ofeverything. At the age of five we divide them arbitrarily into classesand begin training them for occupations. Some we educate as scholars,some laborers, some professional men. In me, dear friend, you see one ofthe triumphs of our methods. I myself was a foundling--raised andeducated in the School of Environment. Whatever I may be, I owe to theSchool."

  He paused to give Smithy a chance to digest the statement.

  "Of course," Possy continued, "we take into consideration such factorsas physical build and muscular development. We don't train undersizedboys to be freight handlers. But in general the division is arbitrary.And you'd be amazed how they respond to it. To keep a check on things,we interview our students twice a year to see how much they havelearned.

  "We always ask them what they want to be when they grow up. That enablesus to determine whether or not the training is really taking hold.Occasionally, it is true, we find a case where the schooling seems torun counter to natural aptitudes--"

  Smithy could not resist interrupting. "Natural aptitudes? I am surprisedto hear you use such an expression. I thought you furnished yourstudents with aptitudes through environmental conditioning."

  Stiffly, Possy retorted, "Sometime we will have a full, objectivediscussion of the matter. It is not pertinent at this moment. Of courseI believe in natural, or instinctive aptitudes. But I do not believethat they are inherited from parents or even from remote ancestors."

  "Cosmic rays, perhaps," needled Smithy, and became instantly sorry whenhis friend's face began to redden. Possy didn't believe in cosmic rays,obviously. Smithy apologized.

  Possy sighed deeply and made a fresh start. "My friend," he said, "inyour work, as I understand it, you learn everything you can about astudent's past--and about his progenitors. By so doing you hope to beable to predict his future abilities, his likes and dislikes. But whatcourse do you pursue when you find a boy who just doesn't prove outaccording to the prognostications?"

  Smithy mumbled a few evasive words in reply, but refused to be drawninto giving a positive answer.

  "Never mind," Possy said. "What would you say if you asked a boy what heliked, or what he wanted to do and his answer concerned something thatnever existed, or had never been dreamed of? Something horrible."

  Smithy's eyebrows perked up. He made no att
empt to conceal the fact thathis interest had been aroused.

  "What, precisely, do you mean?" he demanded.

  "Just this," Possy said, leaning forward to give emphasis to his words."We have a boy who is being trained as a space navigator. He is verybright. He is of medium build, as a spaceman must be, and he learnseasily and willingly. We are sure now that he will be ready forpre-space school two years before he reaches the minimum age. Yet,whenever this boy is asked what he wants to do, he replies, 'I want tobe a Destructor.'"

  Smithy's lips parted. But for a moment he remained completely silentwhile his mind stumbled over the strange term.

  "Destructor?" he repeated, at last.

  "Wait," said Possy, "and listen carefully. This boy is now ten yearsold. He first gave me that answer three days ago. He repeated it twodays ago,