In the early teens of twenty-one, new techniques of effective psychological therapy began to transform Earth culture and politics. Therapied individuals, as a new mental rather than economic class, behaved differently. Beyond the expected reduction in extreme and destructive behaviors, the therapied proved more facile and adaptable, effectively more intelligent, and therefore more skeptical. They evaluated political, philosophical, and religious claims according to their own standards of evidence. They were not "true believers." Nevertheless, they worked with others — even the untherapied — easily and efficiently. The slogan of those who advocated therapy was, "A sane society is a polite society."
With the economic unification of most nations by 2070, pressure on the untherapied to remove the kinks and dysfunctions of nature and nurture became almost unbearable. Those with inadequate psychological profiles found full employment more and more elusive.
By the end of twenty-one, the underclass of untherapied made up about half the human race, yet created less than a tenth of the world economic product.
Nations, cultures, political groups, had to accommodate the therapied to survive. The changes were drastic, even cruel for some, but far less cruel than previous tides in history. As Alice reminded me, the result was not the death of political or religious organization, as some had anticipated — it was a rebirth of sorts. New, higher standards, philosophies, and religions developed.
As individuals changed, so did group behavior change. At the same time, in a feedback relationship, the character of world commerce changed. At first, nations and major corporations tried to keep their old, separate privileges and independence. But by the last decades of twenty-one, international corporations, owned and directed by therapied labor and closely allied managers, controlled the world economy beneath a thin veneer of national democratic governments. Out of tradition — the accumulated mass of cultural wishful thinking — certain masques were maintained; but clear-seeing individuals and groups had no difficulty recognizing the obvious.
The worker-owned corporations recognized common economic spheres. Trade and taxation were regulated across borders, currencies standardized, credit nets extended worldwide. Economics became politics. The new reality was formalized in the supra-national alliances.
GEWA — the Greater East-West Alliance — encompassed North America, most of Asia and Southeast Asia, India, and Pakistan. The Greater Southern Hemisphere Alliance, or GSHA — pronounced Jee-shah — absorbed Australia, South America, New Zealand, and most of Africa. Eurocon grew out of the European Economic Community, with the addition of the Baltic and Balkan States, Russia, and the Turkic Union.
Non-aligned countries were found mostly in the Middle East and North Africa, in nations that had slipped past both the industrial and dataflow revolutions.
By the beginning of the twenty-second century, many Earth governments forbade the untherapied to work in sensitive jobs, unless they qualified as high naturals — people who did not require therapy to meet new standards. And the definition of a sensitive job became more and more inclusive.
There were only rudimentary Lunar and Martian settlements then, with stringent requirements for settlers; no places for misfits to hide. The romance of settling Mars proved so attractive that organizers could be extremely selective, rejecting even the therapied in favor of high naturals. They made up the bulk of settlers.
All settlements in the young Triple accepted therapy; most rejected mandatory therapy, the new tyranny of Earth.
Alice and I gradually moved from the stuffy air of an exam to a looser conversation. Alice made the change so skillfully I hardly noticed.
I wondered what it had been like to live in a world of kinks and mental dust. I asked Alice how she visualized such a world.
"Very interesting, and far more dangerous," she answered. "In a way there was greater variety in human nature. Unfortunately, much of the variety was ineffective or destructive."
"Have you been therapied?" I asked.
She laughed. "Many times. It is a routine function of a thinker to undergo analysis and therapy. Have you?"
"Never," I said. "I don't seem to have any destructive kinks. May I ask you a question?"
"Certainly."
I was beginning to feel at ease. If Alice found me inadequate, she wasn't giving any signs. "If Earth is so fit and healthy, why are they putting so much pressure on Mars? Doesn't therapy improve negotiating skills?"
"It allows better understanding of other individuals and organizations. But goals must still be established and judgments made."
"Okay." I felt the heat of argument rise in me. "Say we are both operating from the same set of facts, and I disagree with you."
"Do we share the same goals?"
"No. Say our goals differ. Why can't we pool our resources and compromise, or just leave each other alone?"
"That may be possible as long as the goals are not mutually exclusive."
"Earth is pressuring Mars, and conflict is possible. That implies we're involved in a game with only one winner, winner take all."
"That is one possibility, a zero-sum game. Yet it is not the only type of game in which conflict may result."
I sniffed dubiously. "I don't understand," I said, meaning, I don't agree.
"Hypothetical situation allowed?"
"Go ahead."
"I will model the Earth-Mars conflict without complex mathematics."
"I have the feeling you've modeled this at a much higher level ..."
"Yes," Alice answered.
I laughed. "Then I'm outclassed."
"I don't mean to offend."
"No," I said. "I just wonder why I'm bothering to argue."
"Because you are never satisfied with your present condition."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You must never cease from improving yourself. From my point of view, you are an ideal human partner in a discussion, because you never close me off. Others do."
"Does Bithras close you off?"
"Never, though I have made him furious at times."
"Then go on," I said. If Bithras can take it, so can I.
Alice described in words and graphic projections an Earth rapidly approaching ninety percent agreement in spot plebiscites — the integration of most individual goals. Dataflow would give individuals equal access to key information. Humans would be redefined as units within a greater thinking organism, the individuals being at once integrated — reaching agreement rapidly on solutions to common problems — but autonomous, accepting diversity of opinion and outlook.
I wanted to ask What diversity? Everybody agrees! but Alice clearly had higher, mathematical definitions for which these words were mere approximations. The freedom to disagree would be strongly defended, on the grounds that even an integrated and informed society could make mistakes. However, rational people were more likely to choose direct and uncluttered pathways to solutions. My Martian outlook cried out in protest. "Sounds like beehive political oppression," I said.
"Perhaps, but remember, we are modeling a dataflow culture. Diversity and autonomy within political unity."
"Smaller governments respond to individuals more efficiently. If everybody is unified, and you disagree with the status quo, but can't escape to another system of government — is that really freedom?"
"In the world-wide culture of Earth, dataflow allows even large governments to respond quickly to the wishes of individuals. Communication between the tiers of the organizations is nearly instantaneous, and constant."
I said that seemed a bit optimistic.
"Still, plebiscites are rapid. Dataflow encourages humans to be informed and to discuss problems. Augmented by their own enhancements, which will soon be as powerful as thinkers, and by connections with even more advanced thinkers, every tier of the human organization acts as a massive processor for evaluating and determining world policy. Dataflow links individuals in parallel, so to speak. Eventually, human groups and thinkers could be so integrated
as to be indistinguishable.
"At that point, such a society exceeds my modeling ability," Alice concluded.
"Group mind," I said sardonically. "I don't want to be mere when that happens."
"It would be intriguing," Alice said. "There would always remain the choice to simulate isolation, as an individual."
"But then you'd be lonely," I said, with a sudden hitch in my voice. Perversely, I yearned for some sort of connection with agreement and certainty — to truly belong to a larger truth, a greater, unified effort. My Martian upbringing, my youth and personality, kept me isolated and in constant though not extreme emotional pain, with little sense of belonging. I deeply wished to belong to a just and higher cause, to have people — friends — who understood me. To not be lonely. In a few clumsy, halting sentences, I expressed this to Alice as if she were a confidant and not an examiner.
"You understand the urge," Alice told me. "Possibly, being younger, you understand it better than Bithras."
I shuddered. "Do you want to belong heart and soul to something greater, something significant?"
"No," Alice said. "It is merely a curiosity to me."
I laughed to relieve my embarrassment and tension. "But for people on Earth ..."
"The wish to belong to something greater is an historical force, recognized, sometimes fought against, but regarded by many as inevitable."
"Scary."
"For Mars in its present condition, very scary," Alice agreed. "Earth's alliances disapprove of our 'kinks,' as you call them. They desire rational and efficient partners, of equal social stability, in an economically united Solar System."
"So they put pressure on us, because we're a rogue planet . . . You don't think Martians want to belong to something greater?"
"Many Martians place a high premium on their privacy and individuality," Alice said.
"Frontier philosophy?" I asked.
"Mars is remarkably urbanized. Individuals are tightly knit into economic groups across the planet. This does not much resemble families or individuals isolated on a frontier."
"Have you and Bithras discussed Earth's goals?"
"That is for him to tell you."
"All right," I said. "Then I'll tell you what I think, all right?"
Alice nodded.
"I think Earth has some greater plan, and autonomy of any part of the Triple stands in their way. Eventually, they'll want to tame and control Mars as they've already done with the Moon. And then they'll work on the Belters, the asteroids and space settlements . . . bring us all into the fold, until their central authority controls all the resources in the Solar System."
"That is close to my evaluation," Alice said. "Have you spent much time in simulated Earth environment?"
"No," I confessed.
"There is much to be learned by doing so. You may also wish to put on a simulated Terrestrial personality, just to understand."
"I'm really not into that much . . . technical intimacy," I said.
"May I say this is also typical of Martians? You must understand your counterparts intimately to engage in effective negotiations. I guarantee they will have studied Martian attitudes in detail."
"If they become us, won't they think like us?"
"This is a curious misconception, that to understand how someone else thinks is to agree with their thinking. Understanding is not becoming, is not agreeing."
"All right," I said. "So what happens if the entire Earth links up and we deal with a group mind? Why should that increase their need for resources?"
"Because the goals of a highly integrated mentality will almost certainly be more ambitious than those of a more disparate organization."
"Nobody's ever satisfied with what they have?"
"Not in human experience; not at the level of governments, nations, or planets."
I shook my head sadly. "What about you?" I asked. "You're more powerful and integrated than I am. Are you more ambitious?"
"By design, I serve human needs, and am content to do so."
"But legally you're a citizen, with rights like me. That should include the right to want more."
"Equal in law is not equal in nature."
I worked this over in silence for a moment. Alice's image smiled. "I've enjoyed our conversation very much, Casseia."
"Thank you," I said, suddenly remembering why this meeting had been arranged. I sobered. "It's been great . . . fun."
"That is a compliment to me."
I itched to ask the obvious question.
"I will relay my evaluation to Bithras."
"Thank you," I said meekly.
"There will of course be interviews with humans."
"Of course."
"Bithras usually does not interview."
I had heard that before, and found it odd.
"He places high trust in his associates, and in me, actually," Alice said, still smiling.
And not much trust in his own judgment? "Oh."
"We will talk again later," she said. Her image stood and the provost, Peck, opened the door to the office and entered. I said good-bye.
"How did I do?" I asked Peck as he escorted me out.
"I haven't grit of an idea," he said.
I waited anxiously for six days. I remember being more than testy — I was intolerable. Mother defended me before my irritated father; my brother, Stan, simply stayed out of my way. More relatives crowded the warrens, my aunt's family and her four adolescent children. I tried to hide as much as possible, unable to decide whether I was some sort of social leper or a chrysalis about to become a butterfly.
I spoke once with Diane, now an apprentice instructor at UM Durrey, but didn't tell her about the interview. I half-believed in jinx. The support of friends and family, I thought, might attract the attention of vicious deities, looking for all-too-fortunate young women who needed to be cut down to size.
On the sixth day, my slate chimed its melody for an official message. I retreated from the hall outside our family quarters to my room, sealed the door, lay on my side on the cot, and pulled the slate from my pocket, propping it up before me. I took a deep breath and scrolled the words.
Dear Casseia Majumdar,
Your application to serve as an apprentice to Syndic Bithras Majumdar of Majumdar BM has been approved. You will act as his assistant on the upcoming journey to Earth. You will meet with Bithras soon. Please prepare your affairs quickly.
(signed)
Helen Dougal
Secretary to the Syndic, Majumdar BM
A shiver took me. I lay back on the bed, wondering whether I would laugh or throw up.
I was spinning right to the center of power, if only to observe.
The other lucky apprentice was an earnest fellow from Majumdar's station in Vastitas Borealis, Allen Pak-Lee. Allen was two years older than me. I had met him briefly at UMS. He seemed quiet and sincere.
We were also taking a registered copy of Alice. Majumdar BM was paying, at discount, about seven and a half million to ferry the four of us — Alice Two counting as one passenger, though she weighed less than twenty kilos.
As secretary and apprentice negotiator I would spend a lot of time with my third uncle. Bithras, a perpetual bachelor almost three times my age, was legendary for his tendency to seek the female. Our family relationship presented no absolute obstacle to him; I was not blood, and while liaisons within BMs were mildly discouraged, they were common enough. I knew this going into the job — I thought I could handle the situation.
I had been told his advances were reasonably diplomatic and that he took rebuffs without loss of face or resentment; I was also told that in public he would act fatherly and protective, and that in many respects he was honorable, intelligent, and kind.
"But if you go to bed with him," my mother told me as she helped me pack, "you're sunk."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because he's a conservative old sodder," she said. "He professes to love women dearly, and he does in his own way, But —
and this I learned from one of his partners — he hates sex."
"I'm confused," I said, packing a cylinder of raw cloth into the single steel case allowed for the journey.
"He's like a dog that adores the hunt but doesn't enjoy killing the fox."
I laughed, but Mother raised her eyebrows and pinched her lips. "Believe me. He lives for his work, and for an unmarried man of his stature, sex can be messy, irrational, and potentially dangerous. He has to live with this other self, a self he has never been able to control. But this is a prime opportunity for you."
I made a face and folded my medicine kit into the case.
"Poke it," mother said. I poked the kit and it squirmed.
"It's fresh," I said. "I didn't know he was such a monster. Why does anybody put up with him?"
"A sacred monster, dear Casseia. If he didn't exist, we'd have to invent him. Think of him as a family rite of passage. Resist his advances with humor and cleverness, and he'll do anything in the world for you. And once he has your measure, he'll stop pushing." She surveyed the perfectly packed case with a critical eye, then nodded approval. "I envy you," she said wistfully. "I'd love to go to Earth."
"Even traveling with Bithras?"
"There isn't a chance in hell you or I would go to bed with him." She winked. "We have such good taste. But what an opportunity . . . Resist the beast, and come out the other side still a virgin, covered with gold and jewels."
"Well . . . " I said.
Two days before we were to depart, Bithras summoned me to his offices in Carter City in Aonia Terra. I boarded the train in Jiddah and crossed to Aonia, removing my bag at the Carter depot. Carter was where most of Majumdar BM's staff lived, the locus of long-range planning; it was Bithras's home, as well.
I had never met Bithras and I was more than a little nervous.
Helen Dougal met me at the depot and escorted me as we took a cab through the transit tunnels. Helen was an attractive woman of twenty Martian years who appeared not much older than me.