Mining the Oort Read Online Free PDF

that mean?"
    Dekker knew the answer to that, and it was a good time to regain a little favor. "It means they pledge to be loyal, and that kind of means you'll do what someone tells you."
    "Exactly," the proctor said, looking surprised. "They pledge allegiance to a flag. Do we have a flag?"
    The class sat silent for a moment—Dekker, too, because he was interested in hearing the answer. Finally a girl almost as old as the proctor put her hand up. "No, because we don't need one. We have each other."
    The proctor nodded. "Right. What flags are for," he went on, settling into his lecture for the day, "is so you can see which side is which when you're fighting. So you know who to kill ." He waited for the little gasp of shock from his audience. He got it. He went on, "Yes, they killed people for their flags, and the terrible thing, friends, is that the people doing the killing liked it. Oh, they didn't like getting killed themselves—or burned, or paralyzed, or blinded—but they thought that fighting gave them a chance to be heroes . What's a 'hero'? Anybody?"
    Beside Dekker little Tsumi's hand shot up. He didn't wait to be called, but shouted out: "Somebody very brave who does great things!"
    The proctor gave him a measuring look. '"That's one way to look at it, yes," he said, in a tone that showed he thought that way was the wrong way. "But that depends on what you mean by 'great,' doesn't it? People used to have a different idea of heroes. They used to think they were like gods—and what they thought about gods, those days, was that the gods always did whatever they wanted to. They didn't question themselves, they shoved people around any way they felt like, and they always thought they right. That's what a man named Bernard Knox wrote once; he said were like gods, and he said, 'Heroes might be, usually were, violent, antisocial, destructive.' Now tell me, friends. Would we call people like that heroes? Or would we see anything heroic in a war ?"
    Resoundingly the class roared, "No." Even Dekker. But not, he saw with surprise, little Tsumi, who was sitting next to him with his thumb in his mouth and a thoughtful expression on his face.
     
    They never did finish the class. Just as the proctor was getting into the main work-together docility activity—it was a cooperative project, building a geodesic structure out of struts and cords, impossible to do unless every member of the group held and lifted and pulled just at the right moment in his turn—there was a harsh alarm beeping for a blowout drill.
    It was only practice, of course. It was always only practice—except the one time when, maybe, it would be real, and that was the one they always had to be ready for. So they never fooled around, even when they were sure it was just practice. Everyone scattered to check the automatic corridor seals and the room doors and vents, making sure everything was closed off and airtight, all over Sunpoint City, in a matter of a minute or two; and then there was nothing to do except to sit there, in a little room with the air motionless and almost beginning to stale, for a few more minutes until the lights blinked three times and the long wailing beep sounded "all clear."
    Then the docility class had disintegrated, the proctor long gone to his duty post for the drill. Dekker looked around for a while for Tsumi Gorshak, but not very hard, and then went back to the room he shared with his mother for a nap.
    His conscience was clear, and his hopes high: he wanted to stay awake as much as he could that night, so as not to miss a moment of the comet's final approach and strike.
    He woke when he heard someone coming in the door, and sat up quickly, hoping it would be his mother. It was only Tinker Gorshak, though, looking surprised. "So there you are," he said. "Your mother wondered. She had to go to a meeting, but she said we might as well eat here tonight, so we could watch the comet together. She's a wonderful woman, Dek."
    Dekker nodded