Robert Silverberg: The Happy Unfortunate

“Please calm down, Mr. Dekker. You don’t seem to realize that you’re a perfectly normal-looking Spacer. You were bred to look this way. It’s your genetic heritage. Space is not a thing for everyone; only men with extraordinary bone structure can withstand acceleration. The first men were carefully selected and bred. You see the result of five centuries of this sort of breeding. The sturdy, heavy-boned Spacers—you, Mr. Dekker, and your friends—are the only ones who are fit to travel in space. The others, the weaklings like myself, the little people, resort to plastic surgery to compensate for their deficiency. For a while the trend was to have everyone conform to a certain standard of beauty; if we couldn’t be strong, we could at least be handsome. Lately a new theory of individualism has sprung up, and now we strive for original forms in our bodies. This is all because size and strength has been bred out of us and given to you.”

“I know all this,” Rolf said. “Why can’t you—”

“Why can’t I peel away your natural face and make you look like an Earther? There’s no reason why; it would be a simple operation. But who would you fool? Why can’t you be grateful for what you are? You can go to Mars, while we can merely look at it. If I gave you a new face, it would cut you off from both sides. The Earthers would still know you were a Spacer, and I’m sure the other Spacers would immediately cease to associate with you.”

“Who are you to say? You’re not supposed to pass judgment on whether an operation should be performed, or you wouldn’t pull out people’s eyes and stick diamonds in!”

“It’s not that, Mr. Dekker.” The surgeon folded and unfolded his hands in impatience. “You must realize that you are what you are. Your appearance is a social norm, and for acceptance in your social environment you must continue to appear, well, perhaps, shall I say apelike?”

It was as bad a word as the surgeon could have chosen.

“Ape! Ape, am I! I’ll show you who’s an ape!” Rolf yelled, all the accumulated frustration of the last two days suddenly bursting loose. He leaped up and overturned the desk. Dr. Goldring hastily jumped backwards as the heavy desk crashed to the floor. A startled nurse dashed into the office, saw the situation, and immediately ran out.

“Give me your instruments! I’ll operate on myself!” He knocked Goldring against the wall, pulled down a costly solidograph from the wall and kicked it at him, and crashed through into the operating room, where he began overturning tables and heaving chairs through glass shelves.

“I’ll show you,” he said. He cracked an instrument case and took out a delicate knife with a near-microscopic edge. He bent it in half and threw the crumpled wreckage away. Wildly he destroyed everything he could, raging from one end of the room to the other, ripping down furnishings, smashing, destroying, while Dr. Goldring stood at the door and yelled for help.

It was not long in coming. An army of Earther policemen erupted into the room and confronted him as he stood panting amid the wreckage. They were all short men, but there must have been twenty of them.

“Don’t shoot him,” someone called. And then they advanced in a body.

He picked up the operating table and hurled it at them. Three policemen crumpled under it, but the rest kept coming. He batted them away like insects, but they surrounded him and piled on. For a few moments he struggled under the load of fifteen small men, punching and kicking and yelling. He burst loose for an instant, but two of them were clinging to his legs and he hit the floor with a crash. They were on him immediately, and he stopped struggling after a while.

The next thing he knew he was lying sprawled on the floor of his room in Spacertown, breathing dust out of the tattered carpet. He was a mass of cuts and bruises, and he knew they must have given him quite a going-over. He was sore from head to foot.

So they hadn’t arrested him. No, of course not; no more than they would arrest any wild animal who went berserk. They had just dumped him back in the jungle. He tried to get up, but couldn’t make it. Quite a going-over it must have been. Nothing seemed broken, but everything was slightly bent.

“Satisfied now?” said a voice from somewhere. It was a pleasant sound to hear, a voice, and he let the mere noise of it soak into his mind. “Now that you’ve proved to everyone that you really are just an ape?”

He twisted his neck around—slowly, because his neck was stiff and sore. Laney was sitting on the edge of his bed with two suitcases next to her.

“It really wasn’t necessary to run wild there,” she said. “The Earthers all knew you were just an animal anyway. You didn’t have to prove it so violently.”

“Okay, Laney. Quit it.”

“If you want me to. I just wanted to make sure you knew what had happened. A gang of Earther cops brought you back a while ago and dumped you here. They told me the story.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You’ve been telling everyone that all along, Rolf. Look where it got you. A royal beating at the hands of a bunch of Earthers. Now that they’ve thrown you out for the last time, has it filtered into your mind that this is where you belong?”

“In Spacertown?”

“Only between trips. You belong in space, Rolf. No surgeon can make you an Earther. The Earthers are dead, but they don’t know it yet. All their parties, their fancy clothes, their extra arms and missing ears—that means they’re decadent. They’re finished. You’re the one who’s alive; the whole universe is waiting for you to go out and step on its neck. And instead you want to turn yourself into a green-skinned little monkey! Why?”

He pulled himself to a sitting position. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been all mixed up, I think.” He felt his powerful arm. “I’m a Spacer.” Suddenly he glanced at her. “What are the suitcases for?” he said.

“I’m moving in,” Laney said. “I need a place to sleep.”

“What’s the matter with Kanaday? Did he get tired of listening to you preaching? He’s my friend, Laney; I’m not going to do him dirt.”

“He’s dead, Rolf. When the Earther cops came here to bring you back, and he saw what they did to you, his hatred overflowed. He always hated Earthers, and he hated them even more for the way you were being tricked into thinking they were worth anything. He got hold of one of those cops and just about twisted him into two pieces. They blasted him.”

Rolf was silent. He let his head sink down on his knees.

“So I moved down here. It’s lonely upstairs now. Come on; I’ll help you get up.”

She walked toward him, hooked her hand under his arm, and half-dragged, half-pushed him to his feet. Her touch was firm, and there was no denying the strength behind her.

“I have to get fixed up,” he said abruptly. “My leave’s up in two days. I have to get out of here. We’re shipping for Pluto.”

He rocked unsteadily on his feet. “It’ll really get lonely here then,” he said.

“Are you really going to go? Or are you going to find some jack-surgeon who’ll make your face pretty for a few dirty credits?”

“Stop it. I mean it. I’m going. I’ll be gone a year on this signup. By then I’ll have enough cash piled up on various planets to be a rich man. I’ll get it all together and get a mansion on Venus, and have Greenie slaves.”

It was getting toward noon. The sun, high in the sky, burst through the shutters and lit up the dingy room.

“I’ll stay here,” Laney said. “You’re going to Pluto?”