“I tell you, it is not possible for me to arrange it.”
“Not possible for one of the five senior administrators of the Sirian Colonial Service?”
“No.”
“I appeal to you. It may surprise you to know that your economy is more flexible in certain ways than ours.”
“I am sorry.”
“Then we shall have to undertake it.”
I attempted to joke in the face of his evident disappointment, and even worry. “A million all at once will certainly impose a strain on Shammat!”
“It might keep them busy for a bit, at least. And I must confess it does give me some pleasure, unworthy though it is, I am sure, that these will become slaves now in their turn. Shammat is short of labour at this time.”
“I share your feelings.”
“Will you help us perhaps with the task of rehabilitating the tribes?”
And now I did hesitate for a long time. I did feel in the wrong about refusing our aid in the matter of the mass space-lift. I was feeling lacking generally in relation to Canopus—hardly a new emotion! But I also could not understand why he, or they, should concern themselves with this trivial nastiness.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why take so much trouble?”
“It will be useful for us—for everyone—for the whole Galaxy, if the tribes are enabled to return as far as possible to their old state. They will be returned to their own territories, and encouraged to resume their former simple lives in balance with the environment. Not taking more than they need, not despoiling, not overrunning their geographical areas, or laying waste. Before the Lelannian conquest this continent was in harmony. We shall see that it becomes so again.”
“And for how long?” I enquired, making him face me on this.
“Well, not forever, certainly. No. That we know.”
“Why?—oh, don’t talk to me of the Necessity!”
“There is nothing else, or less, I can talk to you of.”
“Then do so,” I cried, excited and peremptory. “I am waiting. I feel always at the edge of things, and you never come to the point.”
At this he looked, at first, faintly startled, then grieved, and then—as if he had determined to use this aid—amused.
“Sirius, you are indeed hard to please.”
I was angry. I was angry because of knowing I was in the wrong. I even knew then that this was why I was so fatally angry. I rose to my feet, unable to prevent myself, and said: “Canopus, I am leaving now.”
“I shall not prevent you!” said he, in an attempt to remind me of our old ironical understanding of the real situation.
“Very well, you can stop me if you want. But you won’t. Perhaps I would even be glad of that—if you would simply, and once and for all, do something unequivocal.”
And now he laughed. He laughed out, shaking his head with comical disbelief. This finally enraged me. I ran out into the open, summoned the hovering Space Traveller, and turned to see him in the doorway watching.
“May I perhaps give you a lift? To your Planet 10, perhaps? I shall be passing it.”
“I shall be staying here for a while.”
“Then goodbye.”
And that was how this encounter of ours came to its conclusion.
Once again, distancing myself, it was with relief. I was simply not up to it! It was all too much! And, as I approached home again, I found myself muttering: “That’s it then—it's enough!” And: “Very well, if that's how you want it!” But what these defiances actually meant was something I soon discovered, after I reported back and started to re-align myself with the work I had interrupted, for I found my mind was at work in quite other ways.
Recently I was scanning a history of that time in connection with a different subject, when I came across this: “Checks and restrictions were imposed on our experimental and research programmes; and as a result the numbers of animals licensed for use fell sharply.”
In this dry sentence is encapsulated what I am sure must have been the hardest effort of my career. I did not depart for the borders of our Empire. I did not apply for leave—which I was entitled to. I did not do, as Klorathy wanted, anything about our responsibility for Rohanda. But what I did do was engage myself with a fight to force us, Sirius, into a different attitude towards our subject populations, and particularly as regards their use as laboratory material. This battle is by no means over. As I write this, different factions of opinion are still engaged.
Large-scale experiments of the biosociological kind are in progress—the kind that one of our wits has summed up as: What if we…? In other words, populations are subjected to this and that stress, or the planets of planets moved about—all that class of thing. I am far from claiming that this does not cause suffering.
Of course it does. I do not believe that it is useful—as some of our technicians still do—to say things of this sort: “These creatures are of so low a mental development that they do not know what is happening to them.” Yes, I was certainly of their company—once. I like to think that it was a long time ago. It will not have escaped the speculation of the more sensitive reader that my—perhaps unnecessarily full—account of the Lombis was for a purpose. But it is not possible to avoid such disturbances of a Colonised Planet altogether. What would then be the purpose of colonising one? No planet is welcomed into the Sirian system without careful thought and planning and, as I have said, at this particular time our expansion is suspended.
To be of the Sirian whole is to be part of progress, development, an attitude of “one for all and all for each!” Sacrifices have to be made by everyone for such an ideal. I want to make it clear, here, at this point, that I do not demand the total abolition of all social disturbance—that would be to demand the end of Sirius itself—Sirius the Planet, herself daughter of the great star Sirius, and sister to her two siblings—Sirius the glorious, with her wonderful children scattered so felicitously through the Galaxy. Of course, I cannot mean that, cannot want that… I want no part of the sentimentalism that says that “Nature has its rights!” “Each in its own place!” Or “Hands off…”—whatever planet is in question: to mention a few of the more popular current slogans. No. It is the duty of the more evolved planets, like the great daughter of Sirius, to guide and control.
But that is a very different thing from using not hundreds, not thousands, not even millions, but billions of animals of all kinds and types of genera and species in cruel and unnecessary experiments. As we used to do. For a very long time. For not millennia, but for long ages. I say unnecessary. I use the word knowing how this goes straight to the point of the argument, the disagreement. Necessary for what?
At the time of my return from Rohanda on that trip, two-thirds of all the technicians throughout the Empire were employed on experiments on various kinds of animals. These were of every kind, from the mild to the horrific. In some there was concern that the pain suffered by the animals should be kept minimal. In others there was no concern at all. But, as often happens, the debate that started, and then raged—the only word for it—as a result of my efforts, was centered on the pain suffered or not suffered, and how much, and how it should be regulated, was not discussed then—and what to my mind has not been adequately recognised since—is the question of the actual use of the animals at all, our attitude to them, what right we have to arbitrarily take them and exploit them according to our current needs. And this question, which to my mind is the real one, is rooted in another, much deeper: what is a genus for? What is its function? What does it do? What part does it play in the cosmic harmony?
It will be seen that I approach here the Canopean formula, or tenet, or habit of mind: according to the Necessity.
It is also, of course, linked with our existential situation or problem. And much more fundamentally than on that level where we had to face the truth that something like fifteen millions of our most highly trained technicians were without an occupation. Without a function. Which is what we did have to face as the controversy raged, and resulted in public opinion changing to the point where it could not tolerate any longer the mass torture—the accurate word—the mass and unnecessary torture of billions of living creatures. If we, Sirius were—are—to decide, at last, what we are for, what our function is, then it follows that we have to wonder at last what these lower animals are for.
Well, a great many of us are now pondering just this question… The fifteen million technicians, finding themselves without a use, were retired, according to our custom, on to planets of their choice, to live out the remainder of their lives in honour and peace. And, of course, to join those who have leisure to devote themselves to our basic, crucial, quintessential problem. Most of them died off very quickly. This is what happens when a class of workers finds itself obsolete.
None of this happened without bitterness, emotional and mental conflict, even—in some planets—rioting and social disturbance. It will almost certainly strike present-day students unpleasantly, and surprisingly, to know that some of the slogans under which these old battles were fought included: What we have, we hold. Might is right. Victory to the strongest. The ends justify the means. The function of the inferior is to serve the superior.
Our entire administrative class was threatened. As for my own position, I had to face a long period of near-ostracism. That I was wrongheaded was the least of it. It was only with difficulty that I avoided being sent off to Adjustive Hospitalisation. Yes, it was put about that my mentality had been affected by sojourns in inimical climates on unpleasant planets—Rohanda being chiefly blamed. And in some moods I even found myself agreeing with my critics. It was not always easy to see Klorathy’s influence on my life—on (I insist) Sirius—as unambiguously good.
What I have put down here can give only a hint of what was behind those words: “Checks and restrictions were imposed…” etc.
While all this was going on, I had no word from Canopus, though it can be imagined how much I thought of things Canopean and of my friends. Yes, I thought of Klorathy and Nasar thus, although it was never without strain. The strain that the inferior must feel in coming into contact with the superior. I hope that this statement will not earn me, again, a threat of Adjustive Hospitalisation!
It on the day that the law was passed in our Legislature, restricting the use of animals for research, that this message came from Klorathy. “And now I am looking forward very much to meeting on Shikasta’s planet shortly. Our co-operation is desirable during the period of the deepening crisis on Shikasta.”
I feel that there is no need for me to describe my reactions to this.
I did think, and seriously, about whether I would return a message suggesting a date for our meeting, but the fact remained that Sirius had decided not to involve itself further with Rohanda. I therefore did nothing, reflecting how past experience indicated that if Canopus had decided on something, then this tended to come to pass. I had again made plans to take up my interrupted work, when I was instructed to go to Rohanda’s planet and deal with a crisis there. I went, unsurprised that this had happened; and expecting to meet Nasar or Klorathy.
The situation on this moon was at that time as follows: For a long time Shammat’s base there had been small, only used as a way station for its personnel and as a fueling depot. Then, as conditions on Rohanda steadily deteriorated—as Canopus saw it—and improved, from the point of view of Shammat, the emanations that Shammat elicited and used became too plentiful for previous means of transmission, and an accumulator was set up. This needed a permanent staff of technicians. These were of Shammat’s dominant class who demanded high standards in living conditions, which amenities were soon being used by their workers on Rohanda for ever-longer periods of recreation. What amounted to good-sized settlements came into existence. These were underground, because of the peculiar conditions of this moon, vulnerable to bombardment from space because of its lack of atmosphere, mostly from an asteroid belt that was the remains of a former planet. It was at that point that we placed our own personnel there, to keep a close and permanent watch on Shammat, who soon had gone further, and was engaged in extensive mining operations.
Neither Canopus nor ourselves objected to this: we were not short of minerals of any kind. But now Canopus, too, established itself in an observational capacity. No hostilities of a physical sort occurred between Shammat and the two superior powers—for Shammat was too afraid of us both. But while contact took place continually between ourselves and Canopus, of a formal kind, Shammat shunned us, and we were only too pleased to have it so.
From this time onwards, Rohanda was visited continually by spacecraft of all kinds, mostly Shammatan. The Canopus influence was more indirect: I have hinted at some of their means of coming and going. They seldom used physical craft, and when they did, it was with discretion, or with deliberate intent to instruct the current Rohandan dominant species in some necessary way. The Shammatans, on the other hand, were using their spacecraft with increasing indifference to the effect a sight of these vehicles might have on the populations. They had had underground settlements on Rohanda itself for a long time. From these they came and went, using every type of craft, quite freely. And they used, too, underwater craft. They took from Rohanda supplies of foodstuffs unavailable on the moon, and easier to fetch from there than from Shammat itself. They took, often, fresh water. They also kidnapped Rohandans from anywhere there were species that intrigued or amused them. These became pets on the moon or were sent back to Shammat itself to entertain the ruling caste. They were taken off vehicles on the oceans, or from isolated places.