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After receiving unanimous agreement, he continued:
‘Now here is the topic:
‘“The candidates should explain in broad outline what they consider to be the best programme for the nine years of their term of office, and the direction, impulse and priorities, etc., with which they will imbue this programme if they attain the post of president.
‘“Important note: This topic must of course be treated in a rigorously scientific spirit, but the candidates may, if they judge it useful, include certain extra-scientific considerations, such as the needs and aspirations of the working classes. No rule, nor rigid framework is imposed on them.”’
That was all. O’Kearn asked once more if this had been understood and if anyone had a question to ask. Then, looking at the electric clock, he said:
‘Fine. Madam, and gentlemen, the competition starts now. It is the 10th of May and it is ten minutes past nine. As your rule must last nine years, as you know, you have nine full days to write your compositions. On the 19th of May at ten minutes past nine your papers will be collected. I remind you that you have the right to make use of any document and I hope you feel inspired.’
Fawell waited quite a long while before deciding to write, looking at certain other candidates already leaning over their desks. He exchanged a friendly glance with Betty, and then with Yranne. They were also deep in thought, no doubt trying to concentrate before getting down to work. The feeling that there was some communion of minds with his friends gradually dissipated the tension which had been paralysing him since the start of the session. He now felt fresh and sure of himself.
He fixed his gaze on the platform where the three Nobels were conversing in low voices, against the backdrop of the busts of famous scholars, who had become the patrons of the scientific era, perched on their pedestals. At first only three busts had been thus arranged in the place of honour in the great amphitheatre: those of Galileo, Newton and Einstein. But this exclusive choice of physicists lead to lively protests on the part Nobel physiologists and it had become necessary to add to them the effigies of several great masters in their special field. But the physicists had however managed to arrange for the bust of Einstein to be placed in the centre and for his pedestal to be raised a little higher than those of the others.
In a more modest corner of the area one could also see a smiling portrait of citizen Garry Davis. He could not be ranked as highly as the scientific geniuses, but he had been one of the pioneers of the world government and it would have been a pity for him not to remembered here.
Without understanding especially why, Fawell smiled at them all and concentrated on his topic, confident of the outcome of the competition.
3.
The revolution of the ‘men of science’, or ‘the conspiracy of the Nobels’ as certain people sometimes called it (wrongly, because the initiative had not come from them), took on its precise form in California, amongst a small group of scholars, in an atomic city, which had been created around a giant betatron and several instruments of that kind, which were at the same time both monstrous and sensitive. Having gone there to pursue their research, which enabled them to penetrate a little further each day into the structure of matter, the physicists from all over the world liked to meet in the evening after work to compare their results with those of their colleagues, to discuss this or that theory or simply to exchange ideas in general. Most of the time these meetings were in small groups and had a truly international character. For several years Soviet and Asian scholars had been able to obtain permission to teach courses in the atomic city, and had developed the habit of doing so, conversing as freely as the others with the most qualified men of science of the New World and with the western world in general.
But if the idea arose and matured there, followed immediately by the will to action and to make a plan, it was only the culmination of a slow progression of the scientific mind, which had been happening in every country for a long time. In the course of their meetings and their conversations, which became more and more frequent, the scholars had come to regard themselves as having formed a truly international world organisation, and the only worthwhile one, that of knowledge and intelligence. Science was for them at the same time the soul of the world and the only force in a position to realise its destiny, after having rescued it from the trivial and infantile preoccupations of ignorant and long-winded politicians. Thus, in the course of numerous friendly discussions, which were almost fraternal, there had gradually developed the vision of a triumphant future, of a planet united, and finally governed by learning and wisdom. It was no longer a matter of confused views and imprecise aspirations. Those who tested the ideas out found them to be based on evidence and good sense, but they were a long way from being able to predict ways of putting them into practice.
The spark flared up almost simultaneously, however, in the brains of several relatively young scholars, invited to the bungalow where Fawell lived with his daughter. He had married quite young, but had lost his wife while Ruth was still a child, and becoming more and more absorbed in his research, he had never remarried. Ruth, who had no real taste for her studies but pursued them to please her father, ran the household, which was an easy job, given her father’s lack of concern about material matters.
A commonplace incident was the cause of the sudden explosion of minds: a television programme, which managed to unnerve some ordinarily calm colleagues invited to come and have a drink after a long day’s work. Several physicists of various nationalities were present, as well as the mathematician Yranne, who apart from his personal research (which he was able to pursue wherever he was, needing only a pencil and a sheet of paper), provided help to several others with his talent for analysis. Mrs Betty Han was also present. When staying in the region she never missed a chance to catch up with her friends.
After having refilled the glasses and confirmed that the guests’ favourite drinks were at hand, Ruth asked for permission to withdraw, foreseeing that there would be the usual discussions concerning work in progress. But these rather languished after she left and were soon abandoned. It seemed that all of them, without any mutual consultation, were prey to an idée fixe which distracted them that evening from their favourite topics. After glancing at his guests, Fawell switched on the television set. Everyone listened, glass in hand, and watched with curiosity, frowning and with tense expressions on their faces, which seemed to reflect a common feeling of exasperation. It was the usual interview, with a prominent politician giving his opinions with equal confidence on the country’s internal problems as on foreign affairs. It lasted a quarter of an hour. The comments struck Fawell as exceeding the bounds of stupidity, and noticing that his guests had the same feeling, he turned off the programme with a violent gesture and looked at his friends.
‘You heard it, just as I did,’ he said. ‘Every day it’s the same, more or less, with very few variations. The same nonsense churned out over the airwaves every day by men who imagine that they are actually running the country.’
An Englishman, who was teaching a course for several months at the betatron, interrupted him to reassure him that the same stupid things were common currency in the United Kingdom.
‘And I’ve heard even worse in France,’ confirmed Yranne.
An Italian declared that in his country the comments of politicians were no less childish than those which had just been heard. The same expressions, ‘unbearable’, and ‘intolerable’ were uttered in all corners of the room.
They had heard nothing more than the usual clichés and official or semi-official declarations. The average viewer would not have been offended. Normally they were not concerned very much about it themselves. But this evening all trace of resignation had disappeared. ‘It’s intolerable, you’re right,’ insisted Fawell, in an odd tone which made everyone focus their attention on him.
He remained silent for a moment, and then he continued, rapping out the syllables:
‘In-to-le-ra-ble, we all agree. Is there anyone who will contradict me if I affirm that that which is intolerable must not be tolerated?’
‘Certainly not me,’ said the mathematician Yranne.
‘It is therefore our duty to act –’
He was going to continue, when a new person burst into the room. His rapid entrance, with his hair in a mess, his clothes dishevelled, and in his pyjama jacket, would have surprised them, even among this circle of friends where any kind of ceremony was unknown, if it was not for the fact that it was the astronomer Zarratoff, who was at that time on a visit to the United States, and who had come to spend a few days at the house of Yranne, one of his best friends. He was known for his absent-mindedness, his sudden enthusiasms, the passion which he brought to his profession, a passion finding expression sometimes in lyrical outbursts, and his mastery of the game of chess. Of all enthusiasts, only Yranne was occasionally able to beat him.
‘What’s come over you?’ Fawell asked him without very much concern. ‘We were not expecting you this evening. Yranne told me that you were buried in your work. Please don’t consider that a reproach. On the contrary, you could not have come at a better moment.’
In fact Yranne had left the astronomer in his room, in his customary posture: deep in contemplation with a map of the heavens spread out before him, and only pausing to make some hurried notes combined with complex calculations. He knew his friend well enough to know that it was pointless suggesting some distraction when he was absorbed in that way. He had simply warned Fawell that they could not count on Zarratoff that evening.
‘Forgive me, said the astronomer, who see
med to have his mind elsewhere. I couldn’t stand it. I had to talk to someone. I fled my room… It’s the television.’
