Mack Reynolds: After Utopia

Tracy dialed his own meal, including a half bottle of claret. One thing he had to concede to this age. It was impossible to get a second-rate drink, or a less than superlative dish. They simply didn’t make them.

He said, “One of you mentioned, the other day, a manned Jupiter probe.”

“That’s right,” the other said. “It was going to have to be a one-man affair, in view of the limited space available for fuel, food and air on such a long jaunt.”

Tracy said, “But after they built the ship, nobody would go?”

“That’s right,” Jo laughed. “I don’t blame them. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

“Why not just send an unmanned, automatic ship?”

“Oh, they had already done that,” Edmonds said. “But there are limits to what an unmanned spaceship can do, don’t you know? Particularly at that distance. There was some discussion at the time of the possibility that some of the larger satellites of Jupiter, Ganymede, in particular, might be able to sustain life. It’s got a diameter of some 3,000 miles, which makes it half again as large as our Luna. The scientists seem to think that none of the other planets, Mercury, Venus, Mars, and so forth could support life, but Ganymede just might.”

“Interesting,” Tracy said.

“I suppose so. I went through a period as a youngster when I was all gung-ho about space. But there’s little to do about it now.”

Their food had come and they were both eating.

Tracy said curiously, “What ever happened to the spaceship they built for the Jupiter trip.”

The other frowned. “It seems to me they put it in mothballs. Isn’t that the term you used to use?”

“Yes. You mean it’s still there?”

“I suppose so,” Jo said. “It was about twenty years ago when they wrapped the space program up. Oh, they still have the artificial communications satellites and the observatories on the moon, also automated; but there’s no more original research going on, at least so far as I know.”

Tracy nodded. “More of the indications that the race is turning to mush, eh?”

“I suppose so.”

Tracy asked, “Where’s the nearest Dream Palace, Jo?”

The other was surprised at the question. “Why, right here in Tangier.”

“Where?”

Jo looked at him, frowning slightly. “It’s located in the former palace of the sultans on the Kasbah. It’s one of the few buildings that’s come down from the old days. In a minor sort of way, the Kasbah is now a Pleasure Center. Most people go over to Gibraltar, up to Torremolinos, or down to Rabat for their, ah, sinning. But the Kasbah has a few places, including a very popular duo of nightclubs for homosexuals. One for men, one for lesbians. Rooms on the second floor, of course.”

Tracy said, “I think I’ll go on over. Will you check me out again on how to get a programmed dream?” Jo was obviously disappointed but he said, “Well, yes, of course.”

Tracy said, “I’ll be gone for the full eight hours.” Jo Edmonds said, “It’s your affair. When I took you to the Dream Palace in Torremolinos and you asked me if I had ever tried it and asked me what, I told you that it wasn’t any of your business. And you went into the gardens of Hasan something or other.”

“Yes.”

“Well, have you ever read the poem of Samuel Coleridge, Kubla Khan ? It goes like this:

“Yes,” Tracy said. “I had a lot of time to read, in hospitals, concentration camps… prisons. Yes, I’ve read it. I understand that he wrote it under the influence of laudanum, didn’t recognize it when he came out of the influence of the drug, and never finished it.”

“So I’ve read too,” Jo said. “However, I can recommend Xanadu. I suspect, even more worthwhile than your Hasan whatever-his-name gardens.”

“No thanks,” Tracy told him. “I have another thing in mind.” He allowed himself a grin at the other. “Something more exciting.”

“I doubt it,” Jo said, in resignation. He hadn’t expected Tracy Cogswell to get hooked on the programmed dream bit.

But Tracy Cogswell not only spent eight hours at the Dream Palace that day but every day for the next two weeks or more. His way of life became somewhat frenetic. He allowed himself six hours of sleep, exercised hard, usually jogging and shadow punching, for two hours, and spent the balance of his time at hurried meals and before his autoteacher. The other three saw precious little of him; even Betty, who still occupied his bed.

Needless to say, they were distressed at his actions. Finally, at dinner one night, Walter Stein confronted him on the matter.

“Tracy,” he said, his voice conciliatory, “I believe that Jo has already told you that it is quite possible to become so addicted to the programmed dreams that there is no return. Your real life goes down the drain.”

“It won’t happen to me,” Tracy told him.

Jo said, “That’s what they all say, some of them even after they’ve been hooked. Some get hooked on women and other sensuous pleasures, some on the thrills of war, various things. What have you been specializing in, Tracy?”

Tracy smiled at him. He said, “I’ve been piloting that spaceship the Russians flew to Mars. I started with blast-off, and now, each day, I’ve been taking up where I left off at the previous eight-hour period. I’ve finally made the whole round trip, including the stay on Mars.”

“Good heavens,” Betty blurted. “Why?”

Tracy didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked at Stein and said, “Would it be possible to take that Jupiter probe out of mothballs?”

The academician was flustered. “Why… why I suppose so. All the pertinent information would be in the computer data banks. And there are still some technicians, those in charge of the automated communications satellites and the moon observatories. From time to time it is necessary to launch a new satellite, or send equipment to Luna. If there were any repairs, or whatever, undoubtedly they could be made.”

Tracy took a sip of his wine before saying, “If I volunteered to pilot that Jupiter probe, would it attract much attention?”

Walter Stein frowned. “Probably,” he said. “People are jaded now. Any new fad, any new excitement, will bring their attention. There’s precious little in the news, year in and year out, to cause excitement. A while ago someone invented a new game, Battle Chess. Within six months, half the population of Earth was playing it, with world champions and everything else. A year later, it was forgotten. Yes, you’d attract a great deal of attention. On your way out, they’d be on the edge of their chairs, waiting for you to have a failure of your spacecraft. When and if you returned, they’d probably forget your name within months.”

Jo said mildly, “You don’t impress me as being the glory-grabber type, old chap.”

Tracy looked at him. He said, “While going to the Dream Palace eight hours of each day, I was also studying on the autoteacher everything I could about space and the training of an astronaut, or cosmonaut. I’m a man of action. This life I’ve been leading with you three isn’t for me. I want to be up and doing something.”

They were aghast. Stein blurted, “But the program, the new goal, the new society to plan?”

Tracy shook his head at them wearily. He said, “I worked it over and over. There is no program of change. The fact is, there’s nothing particularly wrong with this socioeconomic system. It works as well, or better, than any in history.” He took a deep breath before going on. “The shortcoming is in the people who live in it.”