Human Error Page 3
errorless man would be adead man.
"Any living man is going to make errors. That's the process of learning:make an approach, correct for error, approach again, correct once more.It's the only way there is to learn."
The General inhaled deeply and hesitated. "I know nothing about that,"he said finally. "You know what I want. Even if what you say werepartially true, there remains no reason why that which has been learnedcannot be performed without error. I may have to put up with it, butyou'll save yourself and all of us a lot of time if you don't spendthree months digging up reasons why the Project can't succeed."
He stood up as if everything had been said that could possibly be said."Let's go and have a look at your laboratory quarters."
* * * * *
In the hot sunlight of the Southwest desert, they walked across the yardfrom the administration building to a large laboratory which had beencleared to the bare floor and walls. Paul felt a sense of instabilityreturning. But only for an instant. He'd all but insulted the Generaland told him he had no intention of producing the iron superman theSpace Command contemplated. And still he had not been thrown out. Theymust want him very badly, indeed!
He had no qualms of conscience about taking the post now. GeneralOglethorpe had been forewarned and knew what Paul Medick's hopes andintentions were.
"You can build your staff as big as you need it," the General wassaying. "This Project has crash priority over everything else. We've gotthe machines to go to space. The machines need the men.
"You can have anybody you want and do anything you like to them. We hopeyou can put them back together again in reasonable shape, but thatdoesn't matter too much."
Paul turned about the bare room that would serve adequately as officespace. "All right," he said. "Consider Project Superman begun. Remember,I have no hope of finding a solution in an errorless human being. I'llfind whatever answer there is to be found. If you have any objections tomy working of those terms, say so now. I don't intend to get fired againwith a Project in the middle of its course."
"You won't be. You'll find the way to give us what we need. I want youto come down to the other end of the building and meet a man who will beworking closely with you."
There had been sounds of activity in the distance, and GeneralOglethorpe led Paul towards them. They entered a large area in whichinstrumental equipment was being set up. A tall, thin, dark-haired mancame up as they entered.
"Dr. Nat Holt," said the General, "instrument and electronics expert.This is Dr. Medick, the country's foremost man in psychology andpsychometric analysis.
"Dr. Holt will be your instrument man. He will design and build whateverspecial equipment your researches call for. Let me know soon what you'llneed in the way of furniture and assistants."
He left them standing in the nearly bare room. Through the window theywatched his stiff form march back to his own office.
Nat Holt shifted position and grinned at Paul. "I may as well tell youthat the General has briefed me thoroughly on what he considered yourprobable reaction to the Project. I'm just curious enough to want toknow if he was right."
"The General and I understand each other--I think," said Paul. "He knowsI'm contemptuous of his approach to a problem of human behavior byordering it solved. But he knows I'll take his money and spend it on thebiggest, deepest investigation of human behavior via psychometricalanalysis that has ever been conducted."
"It ought to be enough to buy gold fringed couches for all the analystsin the country."
Paul raised his brows. "If it's that way with you, then why are youjoining me?" he asked.
"Because I have a stake in this, too! I want to see the problem solvedjust as much as the General does. And I think it _can_ be solved. Butnot this way!
"There's only one way to produce men of superior abilities. The methodof adequate training. Hard, brutal discipline and training of oneself.I'm going to convince Oglethorpe of it after he's seen the failure youintend to produce for him."
"That shouldn't be hard," said Paul. "It's the General's own view. TheProject is simply to implement that view.
"But let's not have any misunderstanding about my intentions. I expectto give honest value in research for every dollar spent. I expect toturn up data that will go a long way toward providing better spacemenfor the Command--and to give Captain West the monument he asked for!"
* * * * *
Alone in his hotel room that night, Paul stood at the window overlookingthe desert. Beyond the distant hills a faint glow in the sky marked thelocation of Space Command Base. He regarded it, and considered theenormity of the thing that was being brewed for the world in thatisolated outpost. Now the chance was his to prove that manhood was aquality to be proud of, that machines could be built and junked andbuilt again, but that a man's life was unique in the universe and couldnever be replaced once it was crushed.
For years he'd struggled to probe the basic nature of Man and find outwhat divorces him from the merely mechanical. He'd known there wouldprobably never be enough money to reach his goal. And then Oglethorpehad come, offering him all the money in the world to reach a nebulousobjective that Space Command did not know was unobtainable.
_Somebody_ was going to spend that money. With clear conscience, Paulrationalized that it might as well be him. He'd see that the country gotvalue for what it spent, even if this was not quite what the SpaceCommand expected.
Nat Holt was going to be a most difficult obstacle. Paul wished theGeneral had let him pick his own technical director, but obviously thetwo men understood each other. In their separate fields, they were alikein their approach to human performance. Whip a man into line, make himcome to heel like a reluctant hound. Beat him, shape him, twist him tothe form you want him to bear.
_Discipline_ him. That was the magic word, the answer to all things.
Paul turned from the window in revulsion, drawing the curtains on theskyglow of the Base.
Human error!
When would Man cease to indulge in this most monumental of all errors?When would he cease to regard himself and his fellows as brute creaturesto be beaten into line?
He had to find the right answer before Oglethorpe and his kind foundsome flimsy validation for the one they had already chosen long ago.
He stood up and glanced at the clock, deciding he wanted dinner, afterall. Tomorrow he'd wire Betty and the kids to get packed and be on theirway. No--he'd phone tonight. She had a right to know immediately theoutcome of his interview.
The dining room was almost empty. He ordered absently and clipped thespeaker of his small personal radio behind his ear while waiting. Heseldom used it, but here in the desert was a sense of isolation thatmade him seize almost compulsively upon any contact with the bright,distant world. The music was dull, and the news uninspiring. He wasabout to turn it off when his order arrived.
The wine was very bad; the steak, however, was good, so Paul consideredit about even. His finger touched the radio switch once more. Thenewscaster's voice changed its tone of pounding urgency. "Repercussionsof the recent crash of the world's first space station are still beingheard," he said. "Murmurs of protest against construction of a new Wheelare rising in many quarters. Today they approach the proportions of aroar.
"The influential New England Times states that it is 'unqualifiedlyopposed' to any restoration of the Wheel. 'In its three years' existencethe structure proved beyond any question of doubt its utter lack ofutility. Now its fall to Earth demonstrates the menace constituted byits presence over every city on the face of the globe.'
"Senator Elbert echoes these sentiments. 'It was utter folly in thefirst place to spend billions of dollars to construct this Sword ofDamocles in the sky of all the world. I propose that our Government goon record denying any further intention to rebuild such a threat to thepeace and well-being of nations who stand now on the threshold ofunderstanding and friendliness which they have sought for so long.'"
Paul
switched it off. He remembered the hours of world-wide tensionwhile the Wheel was falling toward the city of San Francisco. In panic,the whole population of the Bay Area attempted evacuation, but therewasn't time. The bridges became clogged with traffic, and somehysterical drivers left their cars and jumped to the waters below.
As the wreckage neared Earth, the computers narrowed their circle oferror until it was certain at last that the city would not be struck.But the damage was done. The fear remained, and now was congealing inangry determination that another Wheel would not be built.
Paul finished his meal, wondering what effect this would have on theplans to build a new Wheel--and on Project Superman. Maybe Congresswould react in