A Mixture of Genius Part 4

"I wrote an article on the subject some time ago," Ambly told him, "but was never able to get it published. It seems that people, for the most part, are more interested in the traditional sordid-sensational type of juvenile delinquency.

"Whereas, this is something different, something unique. It isn't the result of poverty or broken homes, ignorance or twisted personalities--this is a mixture of genius, knowledge, restlessness, and something else I don't think we understand."

"What do you suggest be done about it?" Duran asked.

"Well, the first step," said Ambly, "is to get Congress to recognize the problem for what it is. And even that won't be easy."

"That's where you're supposed to come in," the Governor said, grinning a little guiltily. "Fritz has been tryin' to get me to talk to you about it for some months. I've got to admit, though, that the business this afternoon involvin' your son was what finally convinced me you might be sold."

"I'm sold, Will," Duran told him. "But what's the solution? We can't supervise the activities of every kid in the country with an IQ above a hundred and ten. Anyway, they're too limited as it is. That, it seems to me, is part of the trouble. And we can't hold their parents accountable. Responsibility has to be an individual matter. So what's the solution?"

Governor Gorton raised a quizzical eyebrow at Fritz Ambly, who in turn merely shrugged. The senator glanced at each of them, then down at his drink.

"So there isn't one," he said.

"Whatever it is," said Ambly, "it won't be simple or painless. There's only one such solution, and that's the time-honored technique of letting them grow into maturity. And even that is far from painless and simple to those doing the growing, nor is it always the solution."

"Yet you're convinced this--" the senator paused briefly, "phenomenon const.i.tutes a danger to the nation?"

Ambly merely smiled. But very, very grimly.

"Well, think it over, Vance," the Governor said, getting to his feet.

"Say, there are a couple of hydroponics men here somewhere who are pretty interested in meetin' you. You've heard of Van Neef Industries.

He's one of 'em."

_So much for the welfare of the nation_, Duran thought with a taste of bitterness. _Now back to politics._

But he finished off his drink, and put out his cigar, and rose to follow the Governor. Politics, after all, was the reason he had come.

It was two a.m. before Senator Vance Duran wearily dropped into bed.

But he found no rest in sleep that night. For in his dreams he seemed to see a youngster walking, now through a forest, now through a city, now through an autumn countryside. And in the boy's hand was a tightly capped bottle. And the expression on his face was an enigma....

Early the next morning Jack Woodvale parked the helicopter in a lot back of the city youth detention home. Five minutes later the senator was again talking to his older son.

"I have to get back to Was.h.i.+ngton this morning, Roger," he said. "I've scheduled a committee meeting for ten-thirty. I suppose I could call it off, but we've got to do something about the Mars colony project before public apathy forces us to drop the whole thing. You understand, don't you?"

"Sure," the boy said with apparent indifference. "Maybe you should have let _me_ volunteer. You'd have solved two problems at the same time."

"Now, Roger--" Duran began. But he stopped, suddenly alert.

"Son, you weren't ever serious about that, were you? I mean all that talk I used to hear about your wanting to go to one of the planets?"

"Ah, I don't know, Dad--"

"Please, Roger, you've got to be honest with me. I want to know exactly how you feel about it. I know you've tried before, and I refused to take you seriously. I realize that. But now--now tell me the truth."

And the curious thing was, he realized, that he wanted to hear from his son what he feared most to hear.

"Well--sure, I wanted to go," his son said. "I kept telling you, didn't I? Of course, I wouldn't want to go unless some of the gang were going too."

"You really think that you'd be willing to leave Earth, your home, your family--"

Duran hesitated angrily, knowing it was the wrong approach. He waited a moment, then began again.

"I'm not condemning you for it, Roger. I just find it hard to believe.

And I have to be sure you know what you'd be sacrificing."

"I think I do, Dad," Roger said. "But you've got to make a break sometime. I guess there'd be some girls going along, wouldn't there?"

Duran grinned numbly.

"I guess there would, son," he said.

The Senator watched the land of his home state sink rapidly into the morning haze as the jetliner soared upward. It was a sight he had seen often, but never with the sense of challenge he experienced now. For every moment brought him closer to what beyond all doubt would be the toughest fight of his political career. But he felt that he had logic on his side, though sentiment would very probably be against him.

He sat back, lit a cigarette, and considered the irony of the situation. When legislation had been pa.s.sed authorizing the Department of Extraterrestrial Development to start the colony project, a list of criteria had been drawn up for the would-be settler. It had meticulously specified the requirements of health, intelligence, and adaptability. And most rigidly adhered to of all had been the provision that the applicant be over the age of twenty-five. For, above all, it was a.s.sumed, a colonist must be mature.

And in that a.s.sumption, Duran concluded, had been hidden the fallacy which had made a fiasco of the project. For was not maturity largely a matter of finding an acceptable place for oneself in the scheme of things? Was not maturity essentially a realistic, but wholly irrevocable, resignation? If so, it had been inevitable that those who came to volunteer would, for the most part, be the misfits and the malcontents, men who hoped to escape the imagined or to find the imaginary.

The mature, the resigned, had a.s.suredly inherited the earth. Only the young could seek the stars.

END