Mack Reynolds - Dawnman Planet

The scholar pursed his lips. “Or perhaps, because of it?”

“Oh, now, don’t be ridiculous.”

Count Fitz-james looked apprehensive, as though he feared he had gone too far.

But the Baron nodded to him. “Go on, my dear Count. Tell us a bit more of the caste system and its origins. And why you think it analogous to the Dawnworld’s culture.”

The other bobbed his head. “Yes, Your Lordship.” He looked back at Ronny. “The origins of the system are lost in the mists of antiquity, but it is usually thought that when the Aryans invaded from the north—destroying the earlier culture, or assimilating it—they realized that unless they took stringent measures, they would soon interbreed and merge with the more numerous conquered indigenous people. So they divided society into four orders: the Brahmins , who performed religious and scholarly pursuits, the Kshatriyas , who were the ruling class and warriors, and the Vaishyas , traders and businessmen. All these were composed of the conquering Aryans. Intermarriage between castes was forbidden—a deep religious matter. Below these three castes were the Sudras , which were composed of the original peoples and took over the laboring jobs. Beneath these were the Outcastes, the untouchables, who were consigned to the most menial tasks.

“Now, consider. This system prevailed for a thousand years, two thousand years, or even more. A man born into the Brahmin caste became a scholar or religious; a Kshatriyas, a soldier or ruler, and so on. A man born into one of the subdivisions of the Sudras was a cobbler, if his father, grandfather and so on had been. It never occurred to him to seek education, beyond what was involved in learning to make shoes. However, he did learn to make shoes and make them very well indeed. On the other hand, it never occurred to a Brahmin not to be educated. That was in the nature of things. It was inevitable. Indeed, did he fail in his studies and application of them, he had a good chance of being ostracized from society. What family would wish their perfectly normal, well-educated, Brahmin daughter to marry a cloddy? There were exceptions, of course, but on an average and over a period of time, the outstanding scholar in the caste got the pick of the girls. I assume your knowledge of genetics leads you the proper conclusions.”

Ronny was looking at him thoughtfully. “I think I begin to see your ultimate point.”

“Indeed. Actually, man on Earth has seldom come up with the type of socio-economic system that developed in India. Oh, there have been some. The so-called Incas of Peru were one. You were born into your social strata and could seldom, if ever, leave it. The Inca clan supplied the warrior-priests, the administrators; other clans supplied artisans; but most were of the soil and automatically became farmers.” The old man looked up. “It worked, by the way, surprisingly well. The average inhabitant of Peru, at the time of the conquistadores lived on a considerably higher level than did the average inhabitant of Europe.”

“The anthill,” Ronny said, an edge of distaste in his voice.

The Baron shrugged and smiled pleasantly. “Perhaps,” he said. “We are not exactly advocating such a socio-economic system, my dear Bronston; however, it has its admitted advantages.”

“From your ambitious viewpoint.”

“Granted. But the point the good Count is making is that man can evolve along such a path. He need not automatically follow the more individualistic road we most often witnessed in Earth’s early development. On the Dawnworlds, it would seem—if we interpret the information we’ve accumulated correctly—they have taken a path of specialization unknown even in caste system India.”

“But what has this got to do with your claim that they aren’t intelligent?”

“My dear Bronston, extrapolate a bit on the example the good Count gave you of the cobbler. Suppose that instead of being a cobbler for two millennia, he stuck to his specialty for a megayear or so. No need for education, no need for anything—except learning to make shoes.”

“Yes, but such a cloddy doesn’t invent a method of converting matter.”

“Are you sure? Our cobbler doesn’t invent a matter converter, obviously. His field is shoes. But as the centuries go by, and the millennia, a slight improvement in technique here, a slightly different tool put into use there, and you’d wind up with some very nearly perfect shoes. Remember, by this time he instinctively makes shoes. Over the megayears, the inadequate shoemakers, the throwbacks, have been weeded out. It has become a matter of genetics. The child born into the cobbler—let’s call it caste—can make shoes without training. In the same manner that the bee takes no training to collect honey, nor the soldier ant to guard the community.”

“But the matter converter?”

“Obviously devised by some other caste. Some caste which has been at work in manufacture a megayear or so. Undoubtedly, a member of this caste is no more capable of making shoes, other than putting them into a converter and copying them, than the cobbler is capable of producing matter converters, or fusion reactors.”

The Baron pursed his lips. “Actually, of course, I doubt if they have cobblers at this late date. With the matter converter, such skills would disappear.”

He looked suddenly at the elderly scholar, “That will be all, Count Fitz-james.”

The Count scrambled hurriedly to his feet, put his hand over his heart in the salute he had made when he entered the room, and backed hurriedly toward the door through which he had come half an hour earlier.

When he was gone, the Baron looked at his visitor. “It’s all rather mind shaking, isn’t it?”

Ronny didn’t immediately answer. Finally, he shook his head, as though to clear it, and said, “Frankly, I can’t understand your reason for letting me in on all this. Surely, you must realize I’ll simply report to Ross Metaxa.”

“I hope not,” the Baron said seriously, pouring the remainder of the light wine into their glasses.

All right, you’ve got it . Ronny thought. Start bouncing .

The Baron said judiciously, “Largely, what your commissioner reported to the chiefs of state, there at the conference in the Octagon, is valid. Man is face to face with his greatest crisis. Nothing can prevent our coming in contact with the Dawnworlds and their unique culture, sooner or later. Probably sooner than we would wish. However, where Metaxa and I differ is in the manner in which United Planets must be organized most efficiently.”

Ronny said, bitterly, “You, the strongman, figure on enforcing union.”

The Baron smiled and sipped his wine. “My dear Bronston, has it never occurred to you that your admired Ross Metaxa is a strongman himself?”

“He works within the framework of the United Planets Charter.”

The other clucked deprecation. “Does he, indeed? I am afraid, only when it so suits him. His methods differ little from my own, in actuality. He is downright Machiavellian when he can achieve his purpose by no other means. For instance, in selecting his tools… his agents, such as yourself. I am sometimes surprised that young men of obvious integrity and idealism, remain on his, ah, team.”

Ronny could see something was coming. Another curve ball.

Baron Wyler said decisively, his friendly eyes boring earnestly into the Section G operative’s, “Bronston, we of Phrygia know the location of the nearest Dawnworlds. We are on the verge of sending an expedition there. We are of the opinion that it will be quite practical to land and observe sufficient of that culture to be able to duplicate some of their ultra-advanced devices.” He twisted his mouth. “If not duplicate them, perhaps, ah, liberate one or two. It would seem that the matter converter is highly portable, for instance.