Part 2

By the time he woke, Lois had constructed a kind of primitive lean-to shelter over him. Hal was amazed. The sheltering purpose of the structure was evident to him, and he was startled that she should have been able to design such a thing on the spur of the moment.

She heard him stir and looked up from the fire she had built in front of the lean-to. "Hungry?" she asked.

He was ravenous, but his muscles ached in every fibre. His wonder at her cleverness disappeared abruptly when he tried to move. He rolled over groaning and helpless.

Immediately, she was at his side, pushing him back onto the bed of dry, fragrant grass she had put him on. "Now don't try to move around," she admonished. "Just a few days, and you'll be all right."

"Oooo," Hal groaned. "This is awful."

"There, there," she murmured solicitously. "I've made you some soup. You'll like it."

"Soup," he groaned. "I want food. Good solid synthomeat. Don't you have any food?"

"Solid food in your stomach so soon in this heavy gravity would kill you."

She went away and returned quickly with a little cup and spoon, and proceeded to empty the container into his lax mouth a few drops at a time. After a while, he ceased his protesting. It was less painful to swallow the slop than to fight it. Very soon afterward, he lost consciousness.

* * * * *

Later, he was again aware of his surroundings. He felt tremendously better, and observed with a peculiar satisfaction that it was morning. Funny sounds were in the air, which he eventually recognized as the cries of wild birds and insects. Insects? He blinked his eyes and struggled to a sitting position, and looked worriedly around. Insects can carry disease, he remembered. And wild animals were reported to be carnivorous.

His clumsy motions awakened Lois, who had been sleeping beside him. Hal looked down at her with a vague wonder. Such a nice looking savage, he thought, as she popped open her eyes. She smiled a pleased morning smile at him and lazily stretched.

"Hi," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Quite mild," Hal admitted with wonder. "Odd, too. That junk you fed me last night must have some very efficient drug in it."

"Junk I fed you last night?" Lois echoed, sitting up. Then she laughed her amusement. "Oh, you mean that soup. That wasn't last night, Hal Webber. That was last week."

"But--I just woke up," he protested.

"Yes." She smiled at him, reaching up and patting his cheek affectionately. "You've been a little delirious. Gravity trauma, very common. You get used to it fast, but that's one thing they didn't condition you to, I guess, and your conscious promptly rejected the possibility."

Sudden remembrance came to Hal of the agony it had been to move the last time he remembered trying it. Cautiously he lifted an arm and flexed it. He glanced back at Lois, who was watching him with amusement. "It feels all right now. Heavy and clumsy, but no pain."

"Good." She stood up and brushed her unruly hair away from her forehead. "I'll fix your breakfast just as soon as I take my bath, all right?" she said. Hal nodded absently. The stream was twenty yards away, and Lois walked quickly over to it. There she pulled her jumper over her head and dove into the crystal water. "Eeii, it's cold!" she shrieked. Her vigorous splashing threw sharp brilliance in the early morning sunlight. After a few minutes, she came out, letting the water dry on her soft, golden skin.

Hal was watching her in open-mouthed admiration. It was a most remarkable sensation, this pleasure at seeing her move in that lithe, supple way. He had never before experienced such a thing.

As she came up on the grassy bank, she noticed his rapt gaze, and quickly snatched up her single garment and held it in front of her. "All right," she told him briskly. "You too. You're much too big for me to handle effectively, so you haven't had a decent bath since we got here. And it gets pretty hot during the day."

Obediently, as if in a vic-spell, Hal stood up and walked to the water's edge, keeping his eyes on her.

"Look where you're going," she said sharply, and he shook his head dazedly. He slowly removed his clothing, dropped it on the ground, and jumped into the water.

That was the end of the spell. The water was like ice, he howled like a wounded animal and tried to jump out again. But the gravity made him clumsy and he fell back with a great splash. He rose again, gasping and sputtering, making wild, awkward movements--in a frenzy to get out of the excruciating coldness. Finally he was lying on the grass, panting and exhausted.

Lois was standing over him, her pale blue eyes dancing with delight. "What a spectacle," she bubbled merrily. "You should have seen yourself. I sure wish I had a vic-o-graph with me. Such performances should be preserved."

Unaccountably, Hal found himself gurgling like a delighted baby, and then laughing with her in loud, uncivilized guffaws.

After a few minutes, they were both worn out with hilarity. Lois sighed. She gave him a brimming smile, and went on back to the lean-to. "Get your clothes on," she said. "I'll have some breakfast for you in a few minutes."

* * * * *

It was food, Hal agreed, but it was not very good. It had come out of the standard emergency ration from the Aircab master units, and no power on earth could have made it very palatable. And the supply was nearly gone.

"I don't know how we can get back," she said thoughtfully, as she chewed on a wafer. "Plenty of Aircabs go by--I've seen a dozen or so during the past week. But nobody ever looks out of them except Outlanders, and there aren't many of us around. So there isn't any point in building a signal fire."

Hal did not reply. He lay back on the grass, his belly full with unaccustomed satisfaction, staring at the blue sky. He decided that he still preferred green. "It's sort of a washed-out color," he murmured.

"What?"

"The sky. It's sort of pallid and weak-looking."

"That's haze. But spoken like a big, strong man," she said lightly. And then wistfully added, "A pity they always take it out of you."

Hal frowned, and looked down from the sky to the windblown dampness of her golden hair. "What do you mean by that?" he inquired.

"Nothing." Her gaze returned modestly to her wafer, and she continued the former subject. "We were talking about getting back to what you call civilization, remember? Or do you prefer we become the new Adam and Eve lost in the wilderness?" she asked, her eyes dancing. "We could start a new primitive dynasty of plains savages."

"Oh." Hal's mind came back to the immediate problem. "Oh, yes, that's right. We have to get back." He frowned a moment. "Well now, let's see. There're a number of emergency stations spotted around the interurban wilderness. Can't just remember where I learned about them--must have been Treatment information." He thoughtfully picked up a stick and began drawing diagrams of maps in the loose soil. "There." He pointed with the stick. "One of them should be about two hundred miles north of where we are now, provided the automatic pilot of my Aircab was accurate in its final position fix."

Lois was looking at the crude map when he glanced back up at her. There seemed to be a sadness in her expression. She nodded her head at the map. "From that it looks like those emasculating treatments do some good after all."

"Don't talk like that," he reproved her. "The Civilization Conditioning Treatment is the basis of our culture."

She started to speak, hesitated, and then blurted out, "What, precisely, does it do for you?"

"Don't you know?" Hal asked astonished, and then answered his own question. "Oh, of course, Outlanders would hardly know much about civilized history. Well, before interplanetary exploration was started, there weren't any areas at all like this wilderness. The planet was much too crowded. The people lived in huge, contiguous cities and were incessantly battling with each other for economic survival, social survival and animal survival. The vast majority of the population couldn't stand it. They developed all kinds of psychogenic illnesses. The impact of the uncontrolled inclinations of individuals meeting the absolute self-control required by civilization was killing them.

"Then, gradually, the Civilization Conditioning process was developed. What happened then was just what you would expect--the people who took the Treatments were so much better adapted to civilized living conditions that the others simply didn't have a chance. Just as soon as planetary colonies were opened up, the savages were all shipped off. There were a lot of riots and small-scale wars for a while, but eventually the superior conditioning of the civilized people won out.

"After things had stabilized again, anyone who wanted to was permitted to become an Earth citizen, but he had to take the Treatment, and keep it up. But by that time, most savages had a lot of peculiar prejudices against it, so the population of Earth has remained very small. The robotic defenses of the Proprietors protected the planet from further invasion, and now the robotic police maintain order everywhere in the system.

"Of course, the planets are extremely poor in natural resources, so we supply the basic material, even though we relinquished political control long ago. The colonies pay us by sending unusually gifted technicians like your father to work for us. Naturally, Outlanders have no rights, whatsoever, here. Not even the right to life or freedom or payment of the material allotment. But unless they commit a crime or otherwise interfere with the Proprietors, there is not the slightest danger of being molested by any citizen, because citizens are civilized."

Hal stopped his history lecture and looked back up at her. "The Treatment is responsible for the entire rational order of our culture, as you probably know."

"But look how insipid it makes you all," she burst out. "You're so weak and wishy-washy. There isn't a noble or even a strong sentiment in your entire society."

"That is how the process works. It is nothing but a series of checks and balances artificially installed in the subconscious which make strong sentiments unnecessary, and which prevent unstable activity. The result is a perfectly smooth existence with no ups or downs, and a perfect cooperation between civilized people."

Lois thought this over for a moment. Then she asked curiously, "How do you account for the fact that you--after all the Treatments you have taken--are so different from other Proprietors? You, well--" she stumbled, blushing a little--"you seem perfectly normal in your reactions."

Hal shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe my last Treatment had an error in it." But he shook his head again at that idea, because the computer at Central Authority never made mistakes. "It _is_ strange."

"I think it's wonderful." She smiled at him with quick radiance.

Hal grinned happily back at her, feeling an alien surge of joy as he looked at the smile and at her. "Well, whatever it is, for the next few months or so it looks like we'll be savages in fact."

* * * * *

They were. And they took a long time walking north to their destination. It was a remarkably satisfying experience for Hal. And it was for Lois, too, as she pointed out to him the night after they found the emergency station. There was a small Formair shelter at the place, and a simple automatic distress transmitter which was set in operation by one push of a button. Symbols marked on the case of the transmitter assured them that assistance would be forthcoming within twelve hours.

It was their first night in a civilized shelter, and their last night together in the wilderness. Early the next morning, an Authority Aircab came humming swiftly down to the meadow where they were waiting.

Once inside the Aircab, Hal became taciturn and thoughtful, but Lois was not disturbed. She talked enough for both of them. Hal luxuriated in the pleasant reawakened rapport with the things of civilization.

Back at the city, they went to Bruchner's residence, and Lois' father rushed outside to greet them. Lois ran happily to him, embracing him, and volubly explaining how wonderful Hal was, how he had saved her from being gobbled up by a lot of wild animals, and how strong he was, and sundry other affectionately innocuous exaggerations. Hal looked curiously on for a few minutes in idle wonder at the strange attachments of Outlanders. Then Lois proudly pulled him over next to her.

"Isn't he wonderful? And we're in love--oh, so much in love."

"Lois," Bruchner mumbled unhappily. "There are some things you have to be told. I should have told you before--"

"You don't have to tell me anything," she bubbled happily. "You can say all you want to about the Proprietors, but this one is different. He's--he's real!"

Hal laughed diffidently, and moved a little further away from her. He gazed around at the city, recognizing it with thirsty familiarity, happily part of it again. The experience of the past three months already seemed far away.

"Hal," Lois murmured, suddenly aware of his rapidly growing coolness. "Hal, darling, what's wrong?"

"Why nothing at all, uh, Lois." He looked at her uncomfortably for a moment, and backed a step further. "It's just--well, you know."

"Oh no you don't," she cried, rushing up to him and grabbing his arm. "Where are you going--Dad!"

"Please, Miss Bruchner," Hal murmured mildly, disengaging his arm from her. He gazed hungrily around him again the moment she let go, and looked back at her only when he was startled by a sudden, choking sob. Lois was staring at him, her fist to her mouth, the pale blue eyes brimming.

"Oh no!" she cried tremulously.

"Lois," Bruchner said, his voice sounding harsh with repressed emotions, "come in here. You've got to know what the situation is." He put his arm around her trembling shoulders and led her off, glaring at Hal in helpless fury.

The moment they were out of sight, Hal turned and stepped back into the Aircab. He ordered it to take him home. His parents were there, watching a vic-entertainment, which Hal promptly turned off.

"Who did that?" his father mumbled, coming immediately out of the trance. "Hal? That wasn't a very nice thing to do, son."

"Why Hal," his mother sighed mildly. "You're not dead after all. How nice. Don't pay any attention to your father--it wasn't a very interesting vic anyway."

"Shouldn't turn it off like that, though."

"Um, sorry," Hal apologized gently. He relaxed into the comfortable, perfect fit of a Formair lounge. "Just thought I'd let you know I'm still alive."

"Well, we're glad," his mother murmured absently. "Must have been pretty awful."

"That's the funny thing about it, though--I didn't mind it a bit at the time. Very curious. I had an Outlander woman with me--Bruchner's daughter, as a matter of fact."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Webber sighed. "Poor Hal."

"Well, like I say, it wasn't exactly mild, but it was quite tolerable, somehow." He frowned just slightly, and shook his head at the puzzling incongruity. He recalled his three months of association with the uncivilized woman, somewhat wistfully contemplating strong, overpowering sentiments in a chaotic wilderness. "Anyway," he said at last, "I'm home again, and it's all over. I won't have to have anything to do with her now."

"Yes," Mrs. Webber murmured. "Odd that you should have survived though, isn't it? I thought a civilized man in the wilderness would die almost at once."

Webber gave the cultured equivalent of a mild snort. "Of course he could survive. Oh--" and he laughed softly in apology "--that's right. I forgot to tell you about that."

The eyes of his wife politely turned to him and he explained. "A couple of weeks after our son here apparently had been killed, I happened to run into an Authority physician. I mentioned it to him, just in passing. He told me that there was a factor in the CC Treatment that provided for such things.

"It seems that the Civilization Conditioning they give you is only designed to enable a man to survive in a city. In order for the conditioning to function, you have to have that civilized urban environment. Once the environment is removed, the conditioned complex has nothing to react against, and the man immediately becomes almost--but not quite--as savage as a typical Outlander.

"That way, a civilized man can always manage to live in the wilderness, given half a chance. Once he gets back into a city again, the proper, civilized environment is returned, the conditioning starts functioning immediately and presto!--the man is civilized again."

"Well now, that's nice," Mrs. Webber said placidly. "Wouldn't like to see my boy dead."

"Yes," her husband mused. "The physician told me that right after we decided Hal was dead. I was going to mention it to you, but it slipped my mind somehow."

"Well, you're just a tiny bit forgetful at times, dear." Mrs. Webber sighed softly and turned to her son. "Hal, dear, it's awfully nice to see you back again. Would you be kind enough to switch the vic back on?"

* * * * *

Contentedly, Hal complied, and was himself immediately carried away by the vicarious entertainment, pleased to put the disturbing dream of the past three months comfortably behind him.