magazines; the neologism "swinger" has come into the language; courts are
conceding that nudity and semi-nudity are now parts of the mores. But the
end is not yet; this revolution will go much farther and is now barely
started.
The most difficult speculation for a science fiction writer to undertake is
to imagine correctly the secondary implications of a new factor. Many
people correctly anticipated the coming of the horseless carriage; some
were bold enough to predict that everyone would use them and the horse
would virtually disappear. But I know of no writer, fiction or non-fiction,
who saw ahead of time the vast change in the courting and mating habits of
Americans which would result primarily from the automobile � a change which
the diaphragm and the oral contraceptive merely confirmed. So far as I
know, no one even dreamed of the change in sex habits the automobile would
set off.
There is some new gadget in existence today which will prove to be equally
revolutionary in some other way equally unexpected. You and I both know of
this gadget, by name and by function � but we don't know which one it is
nor what its unexpected effect will be. This is why science fiction is not
prophecy � and why fictional speculation can be so much fun both to read
and to write.
( c) I flatly stand by this one. True, we are now working on Nike-Zeus and
Nike-X and related systems and plan to spend billions on such systems � and
we know that others are doing the same thing. True, it is possible to hit
an object in orbit or trajectory. Nevertheless this prediction is as safe
as predicting tomorrow's sunrise. Anti-aircraft fire never stopped air
attacks; it simply made them expensive. The disadvantage in being at the
bottom of a deep "gravity well" is very great; gravity gauge will be as
crucial in the coming years as wind gauge was in the days when sailing
ships controlled empires. The nation that controls the Moon will control
the Earth � but no one seems willing these days to speak that nasty fact
out loud.
(d) Since 1950 we have done so in several theaters and are doing so as this
is written, in Viet Nam. "Preventive" or "pre-emptive" war seems as
unlikely as ever, no matter who is in the White House. Here is a new
prediction: World War III (as a major, all-out war) will not take place at
least until 1980 and could easily hold off until 2000. This is a very happy
prediction compared with the situation in 1950, as those years of grace may
turn up basic factors which (hopefully!) might postpone disaster still
longer. We were much closer to ultimate disaster around 1955 than we are
today � much closer indeed than we were at the time of the Cuban
Confrontation in 1962. But the public never knew it. All in all, things
look pretty good for survival, for the time being � and that is as good a
break as our ancestors ever had. It was far more dangerous to live in
London in 1664-5 than it is to live in a city threatened by H-bombs today.
(e) Here I fell flat on my face. There has been no break-through in
housing, nor is any now in prospect � instead the ancient, wasteful methods
of building are now being confirmed by public subsidies. The degree of our
backwardness in this field is hard to grasp; we have never seen a modern
house. Think what an automobile would be if each one were custom-built from
materials fetched to your home � what would it look like, what would it do,
and how much would it cost. But don't set the cost lower than $100,000, nor
the speed higher than 10 m/h, if you want to be realistic about the
centuries of difference between the housing industry and the automotive
industry.
I underestimated ( through wishful thinking ) the power of human stupidity
� a fault fatal to prophecy.
(f) In the meantime spectacular progress has been made in organ transplants
� and the problem of regeneration is related to this one. Biochemistry and
genetics have made a spectacular breakthrough in "cracking the genetic
code." It is a tiny crack, however, with a long way to go before we will
have the human chromosomes charted and still longer before we will be able
to "tailor" human beings by gene manipulation. The possibility is there �
but not by year 2000. This is probably just as well. If we aren't bright
enough to build decent houses, are we bright enough to play God with the
architecture of human beings?
(g) Our editor suggested that I had been too optimistic on this one � but I
still stand by it. It is still thirty-five years to the end of the century.
For perspective, look back thirty-five years to 1930 � the American Rocket
Society had not yet been founded then. Another curve, similar to the one
extrapolates to show faster-than-light travel by year 2000. I guess I'm
chicken, for I am not predicting FTL ships by then, if ever. But the
prediction still stands without hedging.
(h) Predicting intelligent life on Mars looks pretty silly after those
dismal photographs. But I shan't withdraw it until Mars has been thoroughly
explored. As yet we really have no idea � and no data � as to just how
ubiquitous and vaned life may be in this galaxy; it is conceivable that
life as we don't know it can evolve on any sort of a planet . . . and
nothing in our present knowledge of chemistry rules this out. All the talk
has been about life-as-we-know-it-which means terrestrial conditions.
But if you feel that this shows in me a childish reluctance to give up
thoats and zitidars and beautiful Martian princesses until forced to, I
won't argue with you � I'll just wait.
(i) I must hedge number thirteen; the "cent" I meant was scaled by the 1950
dollar. But our currency has been going through a long steady inflation,
and no nation in history has ever gone as far as we have along this route
without reaching the explosive phase of inflation. Ten-dollar hamburgers?
Brother, we are headed for the hundred-dollar hamburger � for the
barter-only hamburger.
But this is only an inconvenience rather than a disaster as long as there
is plenty of hamburger.
(j) This prediction stands. But today physics is in a tremendous state of
flux with new data piling up faster than it can be digested; it is
anybody's guess as to where we are headed, but the wilder you guess, the
more likely you are to hit it lucky. With "elementary particles" of nuclear
physics now totaling about half the number we used to use to list the
"immutable" chemical elements, a spectator needs a program just to keep
track of the players. At the other end of the scale, "quasars" �
quasi-stellar bodies � have come along; radio astronomy is now bigger than
telescopic astronomy used to be; and we have redrawn our picture of the
universe several times, each time enlarging it and making it more complex �
I haven't seen this week's theory yet, which is well, as it would be out of
date before this gets into print. Plasma physics was barely started in
1950; the same for solid-state physics. This is the Golden Age of physics �
and it's an anarchy.
(k) I stand flatly behind prediction number fifteen.
(I) I'll hedge number eighteen just a little. Hunger is not now a problem
in the USA and need not be in the year 2000 � but hunger as a world problem
and problem for us if we were conquered . . . a distinct possibility by
2000. Between our present status and that of subjugation lies a
whole spectrum of political and economic possible
shapes to the future under which we would share the
worldwide hunger to a greater or lesser extent. And
the problem grows. We can expect to have to feed
around half a billion Americans circa year 2000-our
present huge surpluses would then represent acute
shortages even if we never shipped a ton of wheat to
India.
(m) I stand by prediction number nineteen.
I see no reason to change any of the negative predictions which follow the
numbered affirmative ones. They are all conceivably possible; they are all
wildly unlikely by year 2000. Some of them are debatable if the terms are
defined to suit the affirmative side � definitions of "life" and "manlike,"
for example. Let it stand that I am not talking about an amino acid in one
case, nor a machine that plays chess in the other.
(n) Today the forerunners of these synthesists are already at work in many
places. Their titles may be anything; their degrees may be in anything � or
they may have no degrees. Today they are called "operations researchers,"
or sometimes "systems development engineers," or other interim tags. But
they are all interdisciplinary people, generalists, not specialists � the
new Renaissance Man. The very explosion of data which forced most scholars
to specialize very narrowly created the necessity which evoked this new
non-specialist. So far, this "unspecialty" is in its infancy; its
methodology is inchoate, the results are sometimes trivial, and no one
knows how to train to become such a man. But the results are often
spectacularly brilliant, too � this new man may yet save all of us.
I'm an optimist. I have great confidence in Homo Sapiens.
"tough all over." H-bombs, Communism, race riots, water shortage � all
nasty problems. But not basic problems, merely current ones.
We have three basic and continuing problems: The problem of population
explosion; the problem of data explosion; and the problem of government.
Population problems have a horrid way of solving themselves when they are
not solved rationally; the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are always
saddled up and ready to ride. The data explosion is now being solved,
mostly by cybernetics' and electronics' men rather than by librarians � and
if the solutions are less than perfect, at least they are better than what
Grandpa had to work with. The problem of government has not been solved
either by the 'Western Democracies" or the "Peoples' Democracies," as of
now. (Anyone who thinks the people of the United States have solved the
problem of government is using too short a time scale.) The peoples of the
world are now engaged in a long, long struggle with no end in sight,
testing whether one concept works better than another; in that conflict
millions have already died and it is possible that hundreds of millions
will die in it before year 2000. But not all.
I hold both opinions and preferences as to the outcome. But my personal
preference for a maximum of looseness is irrelevant; what we are
experiencing is an evolutionary process in which personal preference
matters, at most, only statistically. Biologists, ecologists in particular
are working around to the idea that natural selection and survival of the
fittest is a notion that applies more to groups and how they are structured
than it does to individuals. The present problem will solve itself in the
cold terms of revolutionary survival, and in the course of it both sides
will make changes in group structure. The system that survives might be
called "Communism" or it might be called "Democracy" (the latter is my
guess) � but one thing we can be certain of: it will not resemble very
closely what either Marx or Jefferson had in mind. Or it might be called by
some equally inappropriate neologism; political tags are rarely logical.
For Man is rarely logical. But I have great confidence in Man, based on his
past record. He is mean, ornery, cantankerous, illogical, emotional � and
amazingly hard to kill. Religious leaders have faith in the spiritual
redemption of Man; humanist leaders subscribe to a belief in the
perfectibility of Man through his own efforts; but I am not discussing
either of these two viewpoints. My confidence in our species lies in its
past history and is founded quite as much on Man's so-called vices as on
his so-called virtues. When the chips are down, quarrelsomeness and
selfishness can be as useful to the survival of the human race as is
altruism, and pig-headedness can be a trait superior to sweet
reasonableness. If this were not true, these "vices" would have died out
through the early deaths of their hosts, at least a half million years
back.
I have a deep and abiding confidence in Man as he is, imperfect and often
unlovable � plus still greater confidence in his potential. No matter how
tough things are, Man copes. He comes up with adequate answers from
illogical reasons. But the answers work.
Last to come out of Pandora's Box was a gleaming, beautiful thing � eternal
Hope.
FREE MEN
"THAT MAKES three provisional presidents so far," the Leader said. "I
wonder how many more there are?" He handed the flimsy sheet back to the
runner, who placed it in his mouth and chewed it up like gum.
The third man shrugged. "No telling. What worries me � " A mockingbird
interrupted. "Doity, doity, doity," he sang. "Terloo, terloo, terloo,
purty-purty-purty-purty."
The clearing was suddenly empty.
"As I was saying," came the voice of the third man in a whisper in the
Leader's ear, "it ain't how many worries me, but how you tell a de Gaulle
from a Laval. See anything?"
"Convoy. Stopped below us." The Leader peered through bushes and down the
side of a bluff. The high ground pushed out toward the river here,
squeezing the river road between it and the water. The road stretched away
to the left, where the valley widened out into farmland, and ran into the
outskirts of Barclay
ten miles away.
The convoy was directly below them, eight trucks preceded and followed by
half-tracks. The following half-track was backing, vortex gun cast loose
and ready for trouble. Its commander apparently wanted elbow room against a
possible trap.
At the second truck helmeted figures gathered around its rear end, which
was jacked up. As the Leader watched he saw one wheel removed.
"Trouble?"
"I think not. Just a breakdown. They'll be gone soon." He wondered what was
in the trucks. Food, probably. His mouth watered. A few weeks ago an
opportunity
like this would have meant generous rations for all, but the
conquerors had smartened up.
He put useless thoughts away. "It's not that that worries me, Dad," he
added, returning to the subject. "We'll be able to tell quislings from
loyal Americans. But how do you tell men from boys?"
"Thinking of Joe Benz?"
"Maybe. I'd give a lot to know how far we can trust Joe. But I could have
been thinking of young Morrie."
"You can trust him."
"Certainly. At thirteen he doesn't drink � and he wouldn't crack if they
burned his feet off. Same with Cathleen. It's not age or sex � but how can
you tell? And you've got to be able to tell."
There was a flurry below. Guards had slipped down from the trucks and
withdrawn from the road when the convoy had stopped, in accordance with an
orderly plan for such emergencies. Now two of them returned to the convoy,
hustling between them a figure not in uniform.
The mockingbird set up a frenetic whistling.
"It's the messenger," said the Leader. "The dumb fool! Why didn't he lie
quiet? Tell Ted we've seen it."
Dad pursed his lips and whistled: "Keewah, keewah, keewah, terloo."
The other "mockingbird" answered, "Terloo," and shut up.
"We'll need a new post office now," said the Leader. "Take care of it,
Dad."
"Okay."
"There's no real answer to the problem," the Leader said. "You can limit
size of units, so that one person can't give away too many � but take a
colony like ours. It needs to be a dozen or more to work. That means they
all have to be dependable, or they all go down together. So each one has a
loaded gun at the head of each other one."
Dad grinned, wryly. "Sounds like the United Nations before the Blow Off.
Cheer up, Ed. Don't burn your bridges before you cross them."
"I won't. The convoy is ready to roll."
When the convoy had disappeared in the distance, Ed Morgan, the Leader, and
his deputy Dad Carter stood up and stretched. The "mockingbird" had
announced safety loudly and cheerfully. "Tell Ted to cover us into camp,"
Morgan ordered.
Dad wheepled and chirruped and received acknowledgment. They started back
into the hills. Their route was roundabout and included check points from
which they could study their back track and receive reports from Ted.
Morgan was not worried about Ted being followed � he was confident that Ted
could steal baby 'possums from mama's pouch. But the convoy break-down
might have been a trap � there was no way to tell that all of the soldiers
had got back into the trucks. The messenger might have been followed;
certainly he had been trapped too easily.
Morgan wondered how much the messenger would spill. He could not spill much
about Morgan's own people, for the "post office" rendezvous was all that he
knew about them.
The base of Morgan's group was neither better nor worse than the average of
the several thousand other camps of recalcitrant guerrillas throughout the
area that once called itself the United States. The Twenty Minute War had
not surprised everyone. The mushrooms which had blossomed over Washington,
Detroit, and a score of other places had been shocking but expected � by
some.
Morgan had made no grand preparations. He had simply conceived it as a good
period in which to stay footloose and not too close to a target area. He
had taken squatter's rights in an abandoned mine and had stocked it with
tools, food, and other useful items. He had had the simple intention to
survive; it was during the weeks after Final Sunday that he discovered that