Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

At this, a tall, determined-looking woman stepped forward. Elsa Bryson was head of the Materials Science Department at Ohio State University, and as she straightened her black-rimmed glasses, she could hardly conceal her disdain for the last speaker’s presentation.

“Dr. Ruffin,” she began, “nobody here could possibly be more anxious to work with new substances than those of us whose field is materials science. But let’s just reason together for a moment. How are we going to mix these wondrous materials, work with them, store them, heat them, mold them, compress them, extrude them—do anything with them—unless we have basic implements and containers? And the basic implements and containers we need—we crave!—are mostly made out of steel and glass. So please; let these folks get on with the work that needs to be done. There’s plenty of thinking and planning we can do as we wait for our laboratories to take shape, and I’m sure that goes for you and your electronics colleagues as well.”

“Besides,” and here Tom Swift spoke up, “let’s not forget that two hundred people have been assigned to an R and D operation. So it’s not as if the future is being ignored. I’m one of the directors of the enterprise, Donald, and I promise you that we’ll be agitating on behalf of innovation. If you can figure out how to make electricity by sticking bamboo into sand and then transmitting the current through grapevines, we’ll help you work out the details starting tomorrow. And by the way, if we do reinvent the wheel, it will be the best damned wheel that the world has ever seen.”

Wilson Hardy, Sr., had one more volley to discharge. “When we sailed from New York,” he said sternly, “we might have been in what some people liked to call the post-industrial age, the era of wireless communications and the Internet. But, damn it, Donald, we’re not there anymore—if we ever were to the extent that was advertised. Anyhow, before you guys can return to making the world go round with fiber optics and computers, we’re going to have to forge a lot of steel and pour a lot of concrete.” In spite of his protestations about harmony between the engineering specialties, it was apparent that this rugged civil engineer enjoyed telling his high-tech colleague a thing or two about priorities.

In due course, the “Charge of the Electric Light Brigade” flickered away into mumbles and grudging concurrence.

It soon became clear that, when all was said and done, the recommendations of the Joint Planning Subcommittee were going to prevail relatively unscathed. Nevertheless, everyone agreed that the five-day hearing period should be maintained. It was important that time be allowed so that Inlanders with a distance to travel would be able to have their say. Also, there were numerous individuals who, even if they approved the plan in general, wanted to be heard, and required time to get their thoughts together.

On the morning of the third day, for example, a group of academics made a presentation on behalf of “pure science” as opposed to engineering and technological development. This was a subject that the planners had not considered in any depth. Although many of the engineers knew a lot about science, the group contained only a few honest-to-goodness scientists—physicists, chemists, biologists, astronomers, and the like. There were several such professionals among the Inlanders and a number among the spouses who had traveled on the Queen of Africa. In total, however, they numbered merely a handful.

Tom Swift, speaking on behalf of the R and D directors, gave assurances that the scientists would be provided with all possible resources and cooperation. “Yet, obviously, it will be a very long time before we get around to building cyclotrons and radio telescopes.” What he did not say, but thought, was: who knows when, if ever, we will recover the scientific knowledge—and genius—that was eradicated in the Event?

This rather melancholy interlude was followed by the boisterous entry of the self-anointed environmentalists. Banging on tin pans and carrying hand-painted signs, the group captured the attention they desired as they walked into the open meeting. Herb Green and Roxanne Ford stood in the front ranks, waving jauntily at the other members of the Focus Group in the audience. In large letters their placards bore a single word: warning.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Alf Richards shouted above the din. “We hear your message, and agree with you that it is important that environmental considerations be taken into account in all technological decisions.”

“Too vague,” Roxy replied, speaking for her fellow Greens. “We want the establishment of an environmental protection ‘agency,’ controlled by both specialists and citizens.” The public response seemed evenly divided between bravos and jeers.

Richards used his kitchenware gavel to regain order. “The chair will grant your request,” he announced, speaking above the uproar. This spur-of-the-moment decision came mostly because he did not have the time or the fortitude for a prolonged debate with these activists from a world now past… and he agreed with them, at least in part. “You two will co-chair this ‘agency,’ and I’ll appoint two more members when I have a chance to think about it for more than five seconds.”

The eco-activists accepted this victory with quiet satisfaction. However, they made it known that from this time forward they would be maintaining an active watch on all planning activities.

On the fourth day of open meetings, a sizable number of Inlanders arrived, some of them having traveled from the far limits of the Ulundi Circle. They brought with them no significant objections to the proposals for technical development. But this did not mean that they gave the Planning Subcommittee a passing grade. One well-organized group—Alf Richards called them “the United Nations Gang”—expressed serious concerns about the planners’ neglect of politics, law, and economics.

“It is all very well,” said Sanyova Masekela, one of the Zulu elders, “to devote ourselves to material improvements and to say that, after working together in harmony for a year, we will begin to consider social organization. We understand that Peter Mavimbela, speaking on behalf of the miners, has agreed to this concept, and we do not disavow his commitment. But a year is a long time, and there are many among us who believe that discussions should begin as soon as it is practicable.”

“I and my colleagues here agree,” said Ann Meijers. Ann was an experienced government administrator from Pietermaritzburg. “We come to you on behalf of blacks and whites and Indians, thoughtful South Africans all—most of whom, even before the Event, experienced upheavals that they had hoped would be enough for one lifetime. We appreciate your commitment to restoring the physical necessities of life. And we thank the fates that sent people of such talent here to our shores. But engineering is not enough, not nearly enough. We need to start work on a constitution, a legal code, and most of all perhaps, an economic system. It seems to us that we absolutely cannot delay.”

Dr. Wilson Hardy’s shoulders sagged as he listened to these comments. Other members of the two committees, South Africans as well as Engineering Villagers, reacted with dejection as well, but tried not to show their disappointment. Having devoted heart and soul to strategies for survival, they were reaching the point of exhaustion.

The Joint Planning Subcommittee had been directed to concentrate on technical objectives, and this alone had proved to be a daunting task, almost beyond the group’s capacity. Yet here were fellow survivors exhorting them to move immediately to a different level, to do nothing less than establish the social structure of a new civilization.