Гарри Гаррисон - 50 in 50

"You have our thanks, of course."

"Not negotiable!" The pain was almost gone but he could feel the broken ends of the bones grate together when he moved. His nerves felt the same way despite the tranquilizer.

"Listen carefully and try to remember what I say. There is no pie in the sky. What you get for nothing is worth it. Out there are more planets than you could possibly count — and more people on them than I could count. And the transmatter makes them all next-door neighbors. Can you imagine what hell that has wreaked with culture, government, finances, down through the millennia? No, I can see by your face that you can't. Then just think about this one bit of it. To further certain ends individuals form a cooperation, a sort of cross between a cooperative and a corporation, if those words are in any of your books. I belong to one of these called World Openers. We explore unsettled planets and occasionally contact worlds like yours that aren't on the MT net. For services rendered we demand payment in full.”

Patna had come to stand by her father, silently, her arm about his thick knobbed shoulders. Her face, as she looked at Langli, was a study in hatred, contempt. Bekrnatus, a lord on his own world, would still not comprehend the realities of the galaxy outside.

"We will pay what you ask, gladly, but pay with what? We have no money, none of the resources you were asking about last night."

"You have yourselves," Langli said, emotionlessly, as the drugs took hold. "Because that is all you have, it will take generations to repay your debt. You will breed faster and better, and we will help you with that. For a price, of course. We have operations on heavy-gravity worlds that must be supervised. Automatic machinery can't do everything. And there are others who can use workers of your type as well—"

"You come to enslave us, imprison us!" Bekrnatus roared. "To make free men into beasts of burden. Never!"

He grabbed up the axe from the floor and climbed to his feet, swinging it high. Langli was ready. His gun snapped just once and the explosion shook the room as a great pit was blown from the stone wall behind Bekrnatus.

"Just imagine what that would have done to you. Now sit down and don't be foolish. I will kill you to save my own life, be sure of that. We can't imprison you — because you are in prison already on this high-G world. The force that pulls you down, that makes things fall when dropped. This force is weaker on other worlds. I can leave and seal the transmatter and that will be the end of it. If that is what you really wish. The choice is yours to make." He waved the gun at Patna. "Now open that door."

Bekrnatus stood, the axe dangling forgotten from his hand; the world he knew had changed, everything changed. Langli struggled his pack to one shoulder and waved Patna aside. He moved slowly toward the door.

"I will return and you can tell me your decision then."

Patna called to him as he went out, righting down her loathing.

"The transmatter, when will we get to use it? To see the wonders of other worlds?"

"Never in your lifetime. Use of the MT is granted only when all the debts are paid." He had to say it because the sooner she faced the truth the better she would adjust. "And you will be occupied else-wise. Intelligent operators will be needed, not strong backs. Yours is the only womb from which intelligence may spring on this world. Keep it busy."

He hobbled away until he was clear of the buildings, then gratefully set the pack down. It was too much of a burden to take back to the transmatter. He triggered the destruct and went on while it burned fiercely behind him. Expensive equipment, but it would go on the bill. They would choose to accept and pay, — they really did not have much of a choice. It would be for their benefit. Not so much now, but in the long run. The two squat figures were still in the doorway looking after him and he turned quickly away.

What did they expect, charity? The universe was uncharitable. You had to pay for what you took from it. That was a natural law that could not be broken.

And he was doing his job, that was all.

It was just a job.

He was helping them.

Wasn't he?

Stumbling, sweating, and gasping, he hurried to be away from this place.

When I wrote my novel Make Room! Make Room! I was greatly concerned about the threat presented by uncontrolled population growth and environmental destruction. (After all, one causes the other.) Some thirty-five years later my worst predictions seem to be coming true. The developing nations — which truthfully should be called the never-to-be-developed nations — are already on the slippery slope to destruction. Too many people competing for too few resources, and the scourge AIDS decimating them as well — as if they did not have enough trouble already.

The developed world apparently cannot care less. Many countries are approaching ZPG, zero population growth. Apparently preferring the better life — and a better TV set — to a third child. While at the same time refusing to do anything about planetary warming. There is cause for despair. So what will happen to our overpopulated globe? In the stories here I have explored some possible futures.

The first blow of the hammer shook the door in its frame, and the second blow made the thin wood boom like a drum. Benedict Vernall threw the door open before a third stroke could fall and pushed his gun into the stomach of the man with the hammer.

"Get going. Get out of here.” Benedict said, in a much shriller voice than he had planned to use.

"Don't be foolish.” the bailiff said quietly, stepping aside so that the two guards behind him in the hall were clearly visible. "I am the bailiff and I am doing my duty. If I am attacked these men have orders to shoot you and everyone else in your apartment. Be intelligent. Yours is not the first case like this. Such things are planned for."

One of the guards clicked off the safety catch on his submachine gun, smirking at Benedict as he did it. Benedict let the pistol fall slowly to his side.

"Much better," the bailiff told him and struck the nail once more with the hammer so that the notice was fixed firmly to the door.

"Take that filthy thing down," Benedict said, choking over the words.

" 'Benedict Vernall.’ " the bailiff said, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he read from the proclamation he had just posted. " 'This is to inform you that pursuant to the Criminal Birth Act of 2053 you are guilty of the act of criminal birth and are hereby proscribed and no longer protected from bodily injury by the forces of this sovereign state. . ' "

"You're going to let some madman kill me — what kind of a dirty law is that?"

The bailiff removed his glasses and gazed coldly along his nose at Benedict. "Mr. Vernall," he said, "have the decency to accept the results of your own actions. Did you or did you not have an illegal baby?"

"Illegal? Never! A harmless infant…"

Do you or do you not already have the legal maximum of two children?"

"We have two, but…"

"You refused advice or aid from your local birth control clinic. You expelled, with force, the birth guidance officer who called upon you. You rejected the offer of the abortion clinic—" "Murderers!"

"— and the advice of the Family-Planning Board. The statutory six months have elapsed without any action on your part. You have had the three advance warnings and have ignored them. Your family still contains one consumer more than is prescribed by law, therefore the proclamation has been posted. You alone are responsible, Mr. Vernall, you can blame no one else.”

"I can blame this foul law."