“I take it you refer to the program on genetic engineering.”
“That’s the most spectacular case of course, but not the only one,” said Montez, bitterly.
“Frankly, I can’t get excited over the abandonment of genetic engineering. It was a tissue of failures.”
“We lost our chance at intuitionism.”
“There has never been any evidence that intuitionism is desirable, and considerable indications of its undesirability.… Besides what about the Lunar colony itself? This certainly is no indication of stagnation on Earth.”
“It is,” said Montez, vigorously. “The Lunar colony is a hangover, a last remnant of the period before the Crisis; something that was carried through as a last sad forward thrust of mankind before the great retreat.”
“That’s too dramatic, Montez.”
“I don’t think so. The Earth has retreated. Mankind has retreated, everywhere but on the Moon. The Lunar colony is man’s frontier not just physically, but psychologically, too. Here is a world that doesn’t have a web of life to disrupt; that doesn’t have a complex environment in delicate balance to upset. Everything on the Moon that is of any use to man is man-made. The Moon is a world constructed by man from the start and out of basics. There is no past.”
“Well?”
“On Earth, we are unmanned by our longing for a pastoral past that never really existed; and that, if it had existed, could never exist again. In some respects, much of the ecology was disrupted in the Crisis and we are making do with the remnants so that we are frightened, always frightened.… On the Moon, there is no past to long for or dream about. There is no direction but forward.”
Montez seemed to be catching fire with his own words. He said, “Gottstein, I have watched it for two years; you will watch it for at least that much longer. There is a fire here on the Moon; a restless burning. They expand in every direction. They expand physically. Every month, new corridors are bored, new living quarters established, a new population potential made room for. They expand as far as resources are concerned. They find new construction materials, new water sources, new lodes of specialized minerals. They expand their sun-power battery-banks, enlarge their electronics factories.… I suppose you know that these ten thousand people here on the Moon are now the major source for Earth’s supply of mini-electronic devices and fine biochemicals.”
“I know they’re an important source.”
“Earth lies to itself for comfort’s sake. The Moon is the major source. At the present rate, it may become the sole source in the near future.… It’s growing intellectually, too. Gottstein, I imagine there isn’t a bright science-oriented youngster on Earth who doesn’t vaguely—or perhaps not so vaguely—dream of going to the Moon one day. With Earth in retreat from technology, the Moon is where the action is.”
“You’re referring to the proton synchrotron, I suppose?”
“That’s one example. When was the last new synchrotron built on Earth? But it’s just the biggest and most dramatic item; not the only or even the most important. If you want to know the most important scientific device on the Moon—”
“Something so secret I haven’t been told?”
“No, something so obvious that no one seems to notice. It’s the ten thousand brains here. The ten thousand best human brains there are. The only close-knit group of ten thousand human brains that are, in principle and by emotion, science-oriented.”
Gottstein moved restlessly and tried to shift his chair’s position. It was bolted to the floor and wouldn’t move, but in the attempt to do so, Gottstein found himself skittering out of the chair. Montez reached out an arm to steady him.
Gottstein flushed. “Sorry.”
“You’ll get used to the gravity.”
Gottstein said, “But aren’t you making it out a lot worse than it is? Earth isn’t a know-nothing planet altogether. We did develop the Electron Pump. That’s a purely Terrestrial accomplishment. No Lunarite had anything to do with it.”
Montez shook his head and muttered a few words in his native Spanish. They didn’t sound like placid words. He said, “Have you ever met Frederick Hallam?”
Gottstein smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. The Father of the Electron Pump. I believe he has the phrase tattooed on his chest.”
“The mere fact that you smile and make that remark proves my point, really. Ask yourself: Could a man like Hallam really have fathered the Electron Pump? For the unthinking multitude, the story will do, but the fact is—and you must know it if you stop to think about it—there is no father to the