A Bow to Malthus

Thomas Robert Malthus

Nineteenth-century English political economist famed for his population studies.

A Bow To Malthus

Henry Collier rose with the sun, strode to the east window to stare appreciatively at the dew-strewn grass glistening in the splash of the new day. Jesus, it felt great to be alive. Behind him, the rumpled bed still exuded Phyllis’ scent. He had kissed her goodbye an hour ago. He flung open the window, clearing away the musk of sex. Distantly, beyond the horizon, lay the challenge of the vastness of space.

For the big day, following a hot shower, he shaved with special care. Before lifting off in the rocket, Earth Twothe exploratory probe to Alpha Centauri, whose trip Henry Collier and his colleagues would duplicate, had been dubbed Earth Onehis face would be on the screens of millions of television sets. The cameras of Earth One had identified six planets orbiting Alpha Centauri. Collier dressed safari: shorts, knee socks and bush jacket. He went downstairs.

Good mornin’, Cap’n.

And to you, Frieda.

She put down his orange juice and oatmeal.

Tha lady comin down, Cap’n? Miss Broder?

She’s a working girl, Frieda. Long gone.

Tha usual?

Three eggs today, over easy, toast, coffee, and marmalade, please.

Ya got it, suh. There was a pause. Cap’n, could I aks ya somethin’?

Shoot.

You goin’ ta be gone eight or ten years, he nodded, an seem lak one year fer you?

That’s right.

That because your space ship is travelin’ so fast?

Major Collier smiled his agreement and Frieda departed for the kitchen. He would miss Frieda and her pleasant speech, sometimes correctly articulated, more often comfortably slurred. Aside from the trip itself, a very, very big deal, she had put her finger on the related oddity. The faster his ion-propelled rocket flew through empty space, the less he and the other crew members would age, until at the near approach to the speed of light, the aging process became close to nil.

Army Major Collier, chosen to lead this military-civilian mission which hoped to set foot on the strange soil of a far planet, had been designated captain of the Earth Two à la the custom of the sea. The bullet-nosed, cylindrical Earth Two with its multi-layered heat shield would be blitzing through the ether of spaceestimated to contain one double hydrogen molecule per cubic centimeter—at close to the speed of light. This means that the heat shield of the seven meter diameter rocket is sweeping aside 908,465x1011 molecules per second.

The helicopter arrived from the space center’s auxiliary facility at 0800 hours. Major Collier, handbag and briefcase in hand, boarded. The launch pad for Earth Two was sited on a sand spit twelve miles north of Cape Canaveral on Florida’s central east coast.

The Douglas Stohl Space Exploration Center with its three gantry-identified launch pads and supporting complex of sheds and buildings, came into view almost at once. Named for a U.S. senator who, as a young man, had volunteered to serve in one of America’s brush fire wars on which vast numbers of the young and eligible male Americans had turned their backs, the Stohl Center had been Collier’s duty station for the past year. Stories of the heroics of the twice-wounded eponym for the space exploration facility had been the magnet that had drawn young Collier to this activity from his Army sphere of artillery and special forces service.

As his taxi settled to the lawn in front of the headquarters building, twenty miles distant from the off-base house that he had rented, out of the corner of his eye he could see the bright metal of Earth Two glinting in the sun. Soon enough, he and his crew would be encapsulated in their vehicle to glory or oblivion. For the moment, he was concerned with the circus that would attend their departure. The lawn was clear, but the environs were a sea of people and vehicles, particularly in the direction of the mile-distant launch pads.

As Collier ducked under the still-whirling blades, he was greeted by the commanding general’s aide.

Captain Collier, sir, General Allen requests a moment of your time. Sir, the President is here and wishes to acknowledge your departure.

My crew, captain? The aide and his boss were Air Force officers.

They are on board, sir.

Lead on, captain.

****

Mr. President, this is Major Collier, the captain of the Earth Two, General Allen said.

Collier, the President said, as he and the astrospace officer shook hands, I wish you had room for me.

Your job is too important, sir.

The President smiled. I see that we’re sending a diplomat as well as a soldier. Major, no man is indispensable, especially a politician. God speed and return to us with news of other worlds.

Henry Collier saluted and left.

With Collier’s departure, the President turned to General Allen, Charles, that kid is the best-looking young man I’ve met in a year. I can see him in a movie. Does he have the nuts and bolts qualifications for this job?

In spades, sir. A master’s in physics, two combat decorations and a Purple Heartthat fracas that we got into two years agoand a year here at the enter preparing for this day. I understand that he does a great deal of scientific reading. This assignment interrupted his doctoral studies.

The President nodded, then asked, Is it true that time will stand still for them?

Almost, sir. We figure Alpha Centauri, their destination, as 4.3 light years away. Traveling at close to the speed of light and allowing six weeks to build up speed, then an equal period for slowing down, I would estimate their trip as…Hell, sir, call it five years each way. Ten years to us; for them, maybe, six months to a year. Extended visiting time is added at par value.

Thanks, Charlie. On another subject, I don’t like this major-captain business. Too late to straighten out Collier’s title, but the next time, let’s keep it simple. How long do we have?

Thirty, maybe, forty minutes, sir.

Let’s get some coffee, then drive over.

****

Collier looked around, counting noses. Stanley Kellogg, his rocket engineer; Titus Graves, the astro-navigator; Grace Fielding, medical doctor; Hannah Eads, biologist; and Alice Knox, agronomist. All, as was he, in street clothes. All single and in the twenty-five to thirty-five age bracket. Obviously, the authorities were thinking of procreation should they be marooned.

Okay, chaps, put on your space suits. Picture taking formation, then we’re off.

The sixty-five by twenty-three foot rocket contained a twenty-two foot-long crew cabin. Doctor Fielding drew a nylon privacy curtain across the aft section behind which the three females stripped and redressed in the ultra-light silver coveralls that were the crew’s travel costume. The men did the same. Insulated, airtight space suits were aboard for hostile environment landings or in-flight emergencies. This morning their individual surreptitious entries had been through an access tunnel and then an enclosed outside elevator.

When we go out to the platform, I will take position on the right, one of the ladies on my left, then Stanley or Titus, another lady, and so on.

The still and motion picture cameras went into action with the appearance of the six explorers as they emerged from the access hatch onto a mobile platform forty-five feet above the ground. The exterior elevator had been replaced by the platform crane, which, following the ceremonial photography, would be trundled off freeing the gleaming space ship to begin its journey.

Smile, please, everyone, Collier requested.

The distant faces prompted Grace Fielding to say, Who can tell?

Telephoto lenses, Grace. They can identify the color of your lipstick.

I don’t really care for heights, Alice Knox said as with each hand she clung tightly to the arms of Stanley Kellogg and Titus Graves.

Microphones may be trained on us, Collier warned. He waved his hand, then led his crew back into the ship.

With the double-skinned hatch secured, Collier turned to his colleagues.

Hands together.

Briefly, the six palms touched at the top of the pyramid of upward stretched arms.

Titus, are you happy with your instruments?

Ja wohl, Herr Kapitan. The English-descended astronomer, who was responsible for their course, had studied German.

Collier smiled. Horseplay relieved tension. Stanley, he turned to the engineer, your department in order?

Yes, Henry. I’ve been aboard for an hour checking my equipment. The ion-thruster is in top condition. Its malfunction alarms test out (designed to awaken the hibernating engineer to attend to any operational difficulty.), we have enough fuel on board for twenty years. Our auxiliary thrusters and braking rockets were tested yesterday. Our two landers are operational.

Alice? Collier asked.

Food packets and water supply in order.

Hannah Eads raised her hand. Cap’n, the atmosphere equipment is in shape. It’s on now.

Collier went to each woman, kissed her forehead, shook hands with each man.

Take position in your launch chairs.

Again Collier checked. The very pretty woman who was his flight surgeon smiled her readiness from the strapped-in embrace of her chair. Hannah and Alice raised their thumbs, his two male colleagues nodded in turn.

Rotate chairs, he commanded in order for the plastering force of lift-off to be absorbed by each galactic explorer’s presented back.

Base, this is Earth Two. Crew is positioned for launch.

Earth Two. Halted countdown is resumed. You have approximately ninety seconds.

Inside the cabin there was only a hint of the roar of the four discardable thrusters. The five Gs force of lift-off manifested itself almost instantly, flattening the six astronauts against the reinforced leather-covered foam upholstery of their body-length chairs.

At one hundred thousands miles per hour the four booster rockets fell away and Stanley Kellogg’s eight-barrel ion engine cut in. They were clear of significant planetary gravitational pull and still accelerating. The far lesser thrust of the ion engine was now added to the diminishing launch acceleration. In time the indefatigable, relentless energy of the atomic engine would boost the rocket to just under the speed of light.

Using hand rails, Kellogg and Graves worked their way to their consoles. The women went to their hibernation capsules, entered the coffin-like compartments where they attached their sustenance and two refuse tubes, checked that their oxygen supply was in go and switched the capsule’s temperature to cool. The hibernation inducing drug flowed through the sustenance tube attached to the user’s wrist.

Satisfied from their instrument panel gauges that their equipment was functioning properly following the set-back stresses of the launch, flight engineer Kellogg and flight navigator Graves repaired to their capsules.

Collier used the hand rails to reach his office, a compact cubicle situated against the cabin’s forward bulkhead. Sliding into his floor-bolted swivel chair, he turned on his message center. The screen displayed: Good luck and bon voyage. Charles Allen and staff, Stohl Center.

He advanced the screen. Another best wishes message, three from his Special Forces buddies, followed by one from the staff of the Artillery School where he had served several years ago. More messages of a similar nature followed including: Henry, don’t forget to smell the roses, P. Phyllis, of course, but how had she slipped that into the transmission net? Speculation was idle. He moved on. By the time he returned, if such was the case, Phyllis would long since have married. None of the messages were important. A number that had been addressed to others of the crew, he tagged for their attention. Then, at the very end: Official to Major Collier from General Allen. The President directs that you be promoted to colonel. I suggest that in furtherance of this directive your crew be informed that the title captain is discontinued. Congratulations, Colonel Collier. Not bad for a twenty-eight year old! The date/time group was, he glanced at his watch, ten minutes ago. The space ship had not yet reached a velocity or distance that materially affected their relative times.

Collier sent an all well, on course message, signed it with his new rank. This constituted acknowledgement of his promotion, as well as receipt of antecedent correspondence.

Time to hit the sack. He visited each capsule, studied the occupant through the viewing window, as well as checked the gauges that showed the occupant’s body temperature, rate of breathing, and pulse. Grace’s flawless skin and long auburn hair fanned out on her pillow held his attention. Unbelievably she opened her right eye, held his for a moment, then winked. The eye closed. He read her gauges. Temperature 78°F, respiration six breaths per minute, pulse forty-eight. She must have been reading. He continued on to Hannah Eads. Unlike the strikingly beautiful doctor, Hannah, was merely nice-looking, but an Amazon. At six feet one inch she was the tallest crew member, except for Collier (six-two). There was no flirtatious winking from this sleeping beauty. She was under, no question. Her gauges confirmed this. Sixty degrees, four breaths per minute and twenty-eight heartbeats. Alice Knox was as out of it as Hannah. She was Miss Average; size, appearance, and very agreeable manner. A lot like Phyllis, but not quite as pretty. The thin, acerbic Stanley Kellogg was next. The eyes, which when open, surreptitiously followed Hannah’s every move, were at rest. And then Titus Graves, the yang to Alice’s yin. Though Henry had not observed anything overt between them, he was certain that there was an attachment. He returned to Grace. Temperature 58°F, three breaths per minute and twenty heart beats. He would see her in six months.

The crew got up for a day or two every six months to empty body waste sacs, shower, read, exercise, and for recreation, watch TV tapes on the big screen monitor. The capsule alarms were set for pairs. The first week, Stanley and Titus; next, Hannah and Alice, and the third week Grace and Henry. Course and distance would be affirmed by Titus, Stanley would look in on his ion engine.

Collier seated himself at his built-in desk, switched on his monitor. Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov or Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire? The discs available contained hundreds of novels, works of science, geography, history, philosophy, and the Encyclopedia Britannica, as well as the Oxford English Dictionary. He had been rereading the Brothers…., but under present circumstances he favored a review of Gibbon’s classic discussion which led that author to the observation that history is a record of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind. More grandly, there was Spangler’s massive work, The Decline of the West, in which that author viewed each civilization as a flower, doomed to decay. Gibbon’s cousin Lord Acton said succinctly: Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. Dictators of the twentieth century; Stalin, Hitler, and Mussolini come to mind. Lesser egos such as four-term Franklin Roosevelt, the cherubic and brilliant Winston Churchill, for whom the acronym VIP was invented, and Charles de Gaulle joined the parade.

Soon Collier was lost in the organization of the Roman legion, without which there would have been no Roman Empire for Gibbon to have chronicled. It was these thirty legions of twelve and a half thousand men each that built the empire in the days of the republic (almost no territory was added by the emperors) and, for the Caesars, maintained it. Although the corruption that beset imperial Rome set in early, it took six hundred years for Rome’s power to be totally vitiated.

America has been prominent for a hundred years; before that, England had shone for two hundred and fifty years. Russia, Germany, and France had occupied the world stage more brilliantly for shorter bursts of fame.

Yes, Collier decided as he read and mused, the Romans for-thus-far recorded history had been the planet’s greatest and most genuine super power. Today, he realized, there were none. Perhaps that was for the best. Vis-à-vis the United States, whose writ was not so large as its nuclear arsenal, was the growing strength of the united Europeans and several Asian powers, including India, China, and Japan. Vast China, by virtue of its burgeoning strength, cast a longer shadow each day.

Collier fell asleep in the comfortable chair, awoke refreshed two hours later. Enough mooning. He looked around his sophisticated domain—panels festooned with gauges, the built-in desks of his colleagues, the small exercise area with its tensile and compression strength gear, the big screen with the stereo speakers, the toilet cubicle and discreetly curtained shower were salient—went to the ion-engine controls. They read correctly. The gentle acceleration of the rocket was a continuous reminder of its effectiveness. All six crew members were trained as back-ups