this game."
"Come on, Ian, aren't you overreacting a bit? If they don't want to see us, that's fine with me. In fact, I really don't give a damn if I see them or not. No, let me rephrase that. I might want to find a colony if they have the right women. Didn't you say that one of the colonies was a women's consciousness group, and no men were al lowed?"
"Yeah, Colony 122 . It set off in this general direction. Reports indicate they had stored enough fertilized em bryos and frozen sperm to keep them going for a hundred generations."
"What a paradise."
"I should drop you off on the all-male Colony 123 ."
"Maroon Ellen there. They wouldn't know what to do with her anyhow."
"Now, Richard!"
"It is a charming thought, though, isn't it?" Richard tried to stand up but merely succeeded in banging his head against a locker.
"Speaking of Ellen, that reminds me. She sent me off to look for you. She's planned one of her alleged gourmet meals and wanted your opinion on an arcane formula for something called brie."
"Popular late twentienth -century cheese. Quite big among the alleged intelligentsia. I think I could help her out."
"Well, you better join her in the galley. She wants to serve up a genuine twentieth-century meal."
"God help us."
Richard turned and started to crawl out of lan's hiding spot.
Suddenly lan's hand was on his shoulder, restraining him. He looked back and saw the strain on lan's face.
"What is it?"
"I haven't said it all," Ian whispered.
Richard settled back down.
"Go on then."
"Ellen's dinner points it out."
"How's that?"
"You, Shelley, the Chancellor, in fact, everyone en visions this voyage as a trip to find the Lost Colonies from eleven centuries ago. Look at Ellen: She's cooking up a dinner from the twentieth century as if she half ex pects that we'll dock with a colony and they'll come pour ing aboard in polyester leisure suits, listening to Glenn Miller music, and ask us how our 'personal space' is."
Ian stopped for a moment and looked at Richard in exasperation. "Well, you're all wrong, all of you. It is the ancestors of the people that left eleven centuries ago that we are now looking for. They've had eleven hundred years to progress without the interruption of the Holocaust War. Good lord, Richard, that war took eight hundred years to recover from. Eight hundred years that we lived on the edge of extinction, and only in the last hundred years or so have we again equaled the accomplishments of the late twenty-first century. But those units that left us left intact—their memory banks laden with the sum total of man's knowledge to work on. It's estimated by some— Beaulieu, for example—that we've lost in excess of ninety- five percent of all records before 2087."
"So think of the opportunity," Richard said soothingly.
"Just think of it, man, you're the historian. You should be ready to kill for this chance—just to get aboard one of those ships and to be able to tap into its library. Damn it, Ian, just one ship's library would fill our computer memories to capacity, and still there wouldn't be enough. Return with that, my friend, and then see your books get published. Why, I didn't even think of that—all of us could get published and get on all the telepix interviews. We'd make a bundle, we would."
"Richard, just listen. You've heard of the Vikings, haven't you?"
"Barbarians from around the eighteenth century, right?"
"Close enough. Now just picture a Viking wandering into our society. How would we receive him?"
"Lock him up, most likely."
"My point is made."
"Come on, Ian, we're no Barbarians."
"To them we might be. After all, they've got an eleven- hundred year jump on us if they progressed after their departure."
"If they've progressed. Remember, you yourself said they were closed ecosystems—chances are they're all dead. Anyway, I remember that there were quite a few on Earth that tried to adopt a steady-state system when the fear of shortages hit in the late-twentieth
"Come on, Ian, aren't you overreacting a bit? If they don't want to see us, that's fine with me. In fact, I really don't give a damn if I see them or not. No, let me rephrase that. I might want to find a colony if they have the right women. Didn't you say that one of the colonies was a women's consciousness group, and no men were al lowed?"
"Yeah, Colony 122 . It set off in this general direction. Reports indicate they had stored enough fertilized em bryos and frozen sperm to keep them going for a hundred generations."
"What a paradise."
"I should drop you off on the all-male Colony 123 ."
"Maroon Ellen there. They wouldn't know what to do with her anyhow."
"Now, Richard!"
"It is a charming thought, though, isn't it?" Richard tried to stand up but merely succeeded in banging his head against a locker.
"Speaking of Ellen, that reminds me. She sent me off to look for you. She's planned one of her alleged gourmet meals and wanted your opinion on an arcane formula for something called brie."
"Popular late twentienth -century cheese. Quite big among the alleged intelligentsia. I think I could help her out."
"Well, you better join her in the galley. She wants to serve up a genuine twentieth-century meal."
"God help us."
Richard turned and started to crawl out of lan's hiding spot.
Suddenly lan's hand was on his shoulder, restraining him. He looked back and saw the strain on lan's face.
"What is it?"
"I haven't said it all," Ian whispered.
Richard settled back down.
"Go on then."
"Ellen's dinner points it out."
"How's that?"
"You, Shelley, the Chancellor, in fact, everyone en visions this voyage as a trip to find the Lost Colonies from eleven centuries ago. Look at Ellen: She's cooking up a dinner from the twentieth century as if she half ex pects that we'll dock with a colony and they'll come pour ing aboard in polyester leisure suits, listening to Glenn Miller music, and ask us how our 'personal space' is."
Ian stopped for a moment and looked at Richard in exasperation. "Well, you're all wrong, all of you. It is the ancestors of the people that left eleven centuries ago that we are now looking for. They've had eleven hundred years to progress without the interruption of the Holocaust War. Good lord, Richard, that war took eight hundred years to recover from. Eight hundred years that we lived on the edge of extinction, and only in the last hundred years or so have we again equaled the accomplishments of the late twenty-first century. But those units that left us left intact—their memory banks laden with the sum total of man's knowledge to work on. It's estimated by some— Beaulieu, for example—that we've lost in excess of ninety- five percent of all records before 2087."
"So think of the opportunity," Richard said soothingly.
"Just think of it, man, you're the historian. You should be ready to kill for this chance—just to get aboard one of those ships and to be able to tap into its library. Damn it, Ian, just one ship's library would fill our computer memories to capacity, and still there wouldn't be enough. Return with that, my friend, and then see your books get published. Why, I didn't even think of that—all of us could get published and get on all the telepix interviews. We'd make a bundle, we would."
"Richard, just listen. You've heard of the Vikings, haven't you?"
"Barbarians from around the eighteenth century, right?"
"Close enough. Now just picture a Viking wandering into our society. How would we receive him?"
"Lock him up, most likely."
"My point is made."
"Come on, Ian, we're no Barbarians."
"To them we might be. After all, they've got an eleven- hundred year jump on us if they progressed after their departure."
"If they've progressed. Remember, you yourself said they were closed ecosystems—chances are they're all dead. Anyway, I remember that there were quite a few on Earth that tried to adopt a steady-state system when the fear of shortages hit in the late-twentieth
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