time you’re a professor of human behavior or something…”
“Cognitive psychology,” Massey supplied. “I study what kinds of things people
believe, and why they believe them. Deception and delusion play a big part in
it. So, you see, the hobby is really an extension of my job, but in disguise.”
“It sounds a fascinating field to be associated with,” Sylvia Fenton commented.
“Button’s right—it’s valuable,” Buhl said. “Not enough people know how to begin
telling sense from nonsense. Most of our managers don’t know where to start . .
. nobody to show ’em how. Financial mechanics are all you get from the business
schools these days.”
“An interesting point,” Ramelson said. He went through the motions of thinking
to himself for a few seconds. “Have you, er . . . have you ever wondered what
your knowledge might be worth to you outside of the academic community, Mr.
Massey?” Massey made no immediate response, and after a pause Ramelson went on,
“I’m sure I don’t have to spell out at great length what it might mean to have
the resources of an organization like GSEC at your disposal. And as we all know,
such an organization is able, if it so chooses, to reward the services that it
considers particularly valuable with . . . well, shall we say, extreme
generosity.”
The rest of the company had fallen quiet. Massey walked slowly away toward the
center of the room, stopped to sip some more of his drink, and then turned back
to face them. “Let’s come right to the point,” he suggested. “You want to buy me
off of the Mars mission.”
Ramelson seemed to have been half expecting the sudden directness, and remained
affable. “If you wish to put it that way,” he agreed. “We all have our
price—it’s a worn and tired phrase, but I believe it nevertheless. So what’s
yours, Massey? Name it—research facilities and equipment? Staff? Effectively
unlimited funding? Publicity? . . . Someone like you doesn’t need the details
elaborated. But everything is negotiable.”
Massey frowned at the glass in his hand, and, perplexed, exhaled a long breath,
then answered obliquely. “I don’t understand all this. I know that you know
Zambendorf is a fake. Okay, so the stunt on Mars could be good for business—but
I can’t see what makes it so essential. The logical thing would be to drop
Zambendorf now since it looks like more trouble than it’s worth. But that’s not
what’s happening. What do people in your positions care whether he keeps his
image clean or not? So what’s the real story?”
“You just said it,” Buhl replied, shrugging and following Ramelson’s candid
lead. “It’s good for business. The more the idea of colonies is popularized, the
sooner they’ll become financially viable and potentially profitable. Yes, we
like making money. Who doesn’t?”
The answer sounded more like a rationalization than a reason and left Massey
feeling dissatisfied. But his instincts told him that any attempt at delving
deeper would be futile. “I’ve nothing against trying to popularize the
colonies,” he said. “But if you’re going to do it, why can’t you do it through
rational education and reason? Why resort to spreading miseducation and
unreason?”
“Because it works,” Sylvia Fenton said simply. “It’s the only thing that has
ever worked. We have to be realistic, not idealistic. We didn’t make people the
way they are. What benefit has rational education ever had, except on a small
minority of any population, anytime in history? Nobody wants to hear it.”
“Some people do,” Massey replied. “There are a lot of people on this planet who
used to starve by the millions, and while their children withered away and died
like flies, they prayed to cows that wandered the streets. Now they’re building
their own fusion plants and launching moonships. I’d say they got quite a bit
out of it.”
“But that kind of thing takes centuries to trickle down,” Fairley pointed out.
“We don’t have centuries. No popular mass movement was ever started in a
laboratory or a lecture theater. Thinking things through takes too much time for
most people. Sylvia made a valid point —look at anybody from Jesus Christ to