PAGE 11
Graveyard Of Dreams
by
“You didn’t mention any of these doubts to the others, did you?”
“They were just doubts. You knew for sure, and you couldn’t tell them.”
“I’d come home intending to–tell them there was no Brain, tell them to stop wasting their time hunting for it and start trying to figure out the answers themselves. But I couldn’t. They don’t believe in the Brain as a tool, to use; it’s a machine god that they can bring all their troubles to. You can’t take a thing like that away from people without giving them something better.”
“I noticed you suggested building a spaceship and agreed with the professor about building a computer. What was your idea? To take their minds off hunting for the Brain and keep them busy?”
Conn shook his head. “I’m serious about the ship–ships. You and Colonel Zareff gave me that idea.”
His father looked at him in surprise. “I never said a word in there, and Klem didn’t even once mention–“
“Not in Kurt’s office; before we went up from the docks. There was Klem, moaning about a good year for melons as though it were a plague, and you selling arms and ammunition by the ton. Why, on Terra or Baldur or Uller, a glass of our brandy brings more than these freighter-captains give us for a cask, and what do you think a colonist on Agramma, or Sekht, or Hachiman, who has to fight for his life against savages and wild animals, would pay for one of those rifles and a thousand rounds of ammunition?”
His father objected. “We can’t base the whole economy of a planet on brandy. Only about ten per cent of the arable land on Poictesme will grow wine-melons. And if we start exporting Federation salvage the way you talk of, we’ll be selling pieces instead of job lots. We’ll net more, but–“
“That’s just to get us started. The ships will be used, after that, to get to Tubal-Cain and Hiawatha and the planets of the Beta and Gamma Systems. What I want to see is the mines and factories reopened, people employed, wealth being produced.”
“And where’ll we sell what we produce? Remember, the mines closed down because there was no more market.”
“No more interstellar market, that’s true. But there are a hundred and fifty million people on Poictesme. That’s a big enough market and a big enough labor force to exploit the wealth of the Gartner Trisystem. We can have prosperity for everybody on our own resources. Just what do we need that we have to get from outside now?”
His father stopped again and sat down on the edge of a fountain–the same one, possibly, from which Conn had seen dust blowing as the airship had been coming in.
“Conn, that’s a dangerous idea. That was what brought on the System States War. The Alliance planets took themselves outside the Federation economic orbit and the Federation crushed them.”
Conn swore impatiently. “You’ve been listening to old Klem Zareff ranting about the Lost Cause and the greedy Terran robber barons holding the Galaxy in economic serfdom while they piled up profits. The Federation didn’t fight that war for profits; there weren’t any profits to fight for. They fought it because if the System States had won, half of them would be at war among themselves now. Make no mistake about it, politically I’m all for the Federation. But economically, I want to see our people exploiting their own resources for themselves, instead of grieving about lost interstellar trade, and bewailing bumper crops, and searching for a mythical robot god.”
“You think, if you can get something like that started, that they’ll forget about the Brain?” his father asked skeptically.
“That crowd up in Kurt Fawzi’s office? Niflheim, no! They’ll go on hunting for the Brain as long as they live, and every day they’ll be expecting to find it tomorrow. That’ll keep them happy. But they’re all old men. The ones I’m interested in are the boys of Charley’s age. I’m going to give them too many real things to do–building ships, exploring the rest of the Trisystem, opening mines and factories, producing wealth–for them to get caught in that empty old dream.”