Specialist Joseph Chessman stood stolidly before a viewing screen. Theoretically he was on watch. Actually his eyes were unseeing, there was nothing to see. The star pattern changed so slowly as to be all but permanent.

Not that every other task on board was not similar. One man could have taken the Pedagogue from the Solar System to Rigel, just as easily as its sixteen-hand crew was doing. Automation at its ultimate, not even the steward department had tasks adequately to fill the hours.

He had got beyond the point of yawning, his mind was a blank during these hours of duty. He was a stolid, bear of a man, short and massive of build.

A voice behind him said, “Second watch reporting. Request permission to take over the bridge.”

Chessman turned and it took a brief moment for the blankness in his eyes to fade into life. “Hello Kennedy, you on already? Seems like I just got here.” He muttered in self-contradiction, “Or that I’ve been here a month.”

Technician Jerome Kennedy grinned. “Of course, if you want to stay ...”

Chessman said glumly, “What difference does it make where you are? What are they doing in the lounge?”

Kennedy looked at the screen, not expecting to see anything and accomplishing just that. “Still on their marathon argument.”

Joe Chessman grunted.

Just to be saying something, Kennedy said, “How do you stand in the big debate?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I favor Plekhanov. How we’re going to take a bunch of savages and teach them modern agriculture and industrial methods in fifty years under democratic institutions, I don’t know. I can see them putting it to a vote when we suggest fertilizer might be a good idea.” He didn’t feel like continuing the conversation. “See you later, Kennedy,” and then, as an afterthought, formally, “Relinquishing the watch to Third Officer.”

As he left the compartment, Jerry Kennedy called after him, “Hey, what’s the course!”

Chessman growled over his shoulder, “The same it was last month, and the same it’ll be next month.” It wasn’t much of a joke but it was the only one they had between themselves.

In the ship’s combination lounge and mess he drew a cup of coffee. Joe Chessman, among whose specialties were propaganda and primitive politics, was third in line in the expedition’s hierarchy. As such he participated in the endless controversy dealing with overall strategy but only as a junior member of the firm. Amschel Mayer and Leonid Plekhanov were the center of the fracas and right now were at it hot and heavy.

Joe Chessman listened with only half interest. He settled into a chair on the opposite side of the lounge and sipped at his coffee. They were going over their old battlefields, assaulting ramparts they’d stormed a thousand times over.

Plekhanov was saying doggedly, “Any planned economy is more efficient than any unplanned one. What could be more elementary than that? How could anyone in his right mind deny that?”

And Mayer snapped, “I deny it. That term planned economy covers a multitude of sins. My dear Leonid, don’t be an idiot ...”

“I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Oh, don’t get into one of your huffs, Plekhanov.”

They were at that stage again.

Technician Natt Roberts entered, a book in hand, and sent the trend of conversation in a new direction. He said, worriedly, “I’ve been studying up on this and what we’re confronted with is two different ethnic periods, barbarism and feudalism. Handling them both at once doubles our problems.”

One of the junior specialists who’d been sitting to one side said, “I’ve been thinking about that and I believe I’ve got an answer. Why not all of us concentrate on Texcoco? When we’ve brought them to the Genoa level, which shouldn’t take more than a decade or two, then we can start working on the Genoese, too.”

Mayer snapped, “And by that time we’ll have hardly more than half our fifty years left to raise the two of them to an industrial technology. Don’t be an idiot, Stevens.”

Stevens flushed his resentment.

Plekhanov said slowly, “Besides, I’m not sure that, given the correct method, we cannot raise Texcoco to an industrialized society in approximately the same time it will take to bring Genoa there.”

Mayer bleated a sarcastic laugh at that opinion.

Natt Roberts tossed his book to the table and sank into a chair. “If only one of them had maintained itself at a reasonable level of development, we’d have had help in working with the other. As it is, there are only sixteen of us.” He shook his head. “Why did the knowledge held by the original colonists melt away? How can an intelligent people lose such basics as the smelting of iron, gunpowder, the use of coal as a fuel?”

Plekhanov was heavy with condescension. “Roberts, you seem to have entered upon this expedition with a lack of background. Consider. You put down a hundred colonists, products of the most advanced culture. Among these you have one or two who can possibly repair an I.B.M. machine, but is there one who can smelt iron, or even locate the ore? We have others who could design an automated textile factory, but do any know how to weave a blanket on a hand loom?

“The first generation gets along well with the weapons and equipment brought with them from Earth. They maintain the old ways. The second generation follows along but already ammunition for the weapons runs short, the machinery imported from Earth needs parts. There is no local economy that can provide such things. The third generation begins to think of Earth as a legend and the methods necessary to survive on the new planet conflict with those the first settlers imported. By the fourth generation, Earth is no longer a legend but a fable ...”

“But the books, the tapes, the films ...” Roberts injected.

“Go with the guns, the vehicles and the other things brought from Earth. On a new planet there is no leisure class among the colonists. Each works hard if the group is to survive. There is no time to write new books, nor to copy the old, and the second and especially the third generation are impatient of the time needed to learn to read, time that should be spent in the fields or at the chase. The youth of an industrial culture can spend twenty years and more achieving a basic education before assuming adult responsibilities but no pioneer society can afford to allow its offspring to so waste its time.”

Natt Roberts was being stubborn. “But still, a few would carry the torch of knowledge.”

Plekhanov nodded ponderously. “For a while. But then comes the reaction against these nonconformists, these crackpots who, by spending time at books, fail to carry their share of the load. One day they wake up to find themselves expelled from the group if not knocked over the head.”

Joe Chessman had been following Plekhanov’s argument. He said dourly, “But finally the group conquers its environment to the point where a minimum of leisure is available again. Not for everybody, of course.”

Amschel Mayer bounced back into the discussion. “Enter the priest, enter the war lord. Enter the smart operator who talks or fights himself into a position where he’s free from drudgery.”

Joe Chessman said reasonably, “If you don’t have the man with leisure, society stagnates. Somebody has to have time off for thinking, if the whole group is to advance.”

“Admittedly!” Mayer agreed. “I’d be the last to contend that an upper class is necessarily parasitic.”

Plekhanov grumbled, “We’re getting away from the subject. In spite of Mayer’s poorly founded opinions, it is quite obvious that only a collectivized economy is going to enable these Rigel planets to achieve an industrial culture in as short a period as half a century.”

Amschel Mayer reacted as might have been predicted. “Look here, Plekhanov, we have our own history to go by. Man made his greatest strides under a freely competitive system.”

“Well now ...” Chessman began.

“Prove that!” Plekhanov insisted loudly. “Your so-called free economy countries such as England, France and the United States began their industrial revolution in the early part of the nineteenth century. It took them a hundred years to accomplish what the Soviets did in fifty, in the next century.”

“Just a moment, now,” Mayer simmered. “That’s fine, but the Soviets were able to profit by the pioneering the free countries did. The scientific developments, the industrial techniques, were handed to her on a platter.”

Specialist Martin Gunther, thus far silent, put in his calm opinion. “Actually, it seems to me the fastest industrialization comes under a paternal guidance from a more advanced culture. Take Japan. In 1854 she was opened to trade by Commodore Perry. In 1871 she abolished feudalism and encouraged by her own government and utilizing the most advanced techniques of a sympathetic West, she began to industrialize.” Gunther smiled wryly, “Soon to the dismay of the very countries that originally sponsored bringing her into the modern world. By 1894 she was able to wage a successful war against China and by 1904 she took on and trounced Czarist Russia. In a period of thirty-five years she had advanced from feudalism to a world power.”

Joe Chessman took his turn. He said obdurately, “Your paternalistic guidance, given an uncontrolled competitive system, doesn’t always work out. Take India after she gained independence from England. She tried to industrialize and had the support of the free nations. But what happened?”

Plekhanov leaned forward to take the ball. “Yes! There’s your classic example. Compare India and China. China had a planned industrial development. None of this free competition nonsense. In ten years time they had startled the world with their advances. In twenty years

“Yes,” Stevens said softly, “but at what price?”

Plekhanov turned on him. “At any price!” he roared. “In one generation they left behind the China of famine, flood, illiteracy, war lords and all the misery that had been China’s throughout history.”

Stevens said mildly, “Whether in their admitted advances they left behind all the misery that had been China’s is debatable, sir.”

Plekhanov began to bellow an angry retort but Amschel Mayer popped suddenly to his feet and lifted a hand to quiet the others. “Our solution has just come to me!”

Plekhanov glowered at him.

Mayer said excitedly, “Remember what the Co-ordinator told us? This expedition of ours is the first of its type. Even though we fail, the very mistakes we make will be invaluable. Our task is to learn how to bring backward peoples into an industrialized culture in roughly half a century.”

The messroom’s occupants scowled at him. Thus far he’d said nothing new.

Mayer went on enthusiastically. “Thus far in our debates we’ve had two basic suggestions on procedure. I have advocated a system of free competition; my learned colleague has been of the opinion that a strong state and a planned, not to say totalitarian, economy would be the quicker.” He paused dramatically. “Very well, I am in favor of trying them both.”

They regarded him blankly.

He said with impatience, “There are two planets, at different ethnic periods it is true, but not so far apart as all that. Fine, eight of us will take Genoa and eight Texcoco.”

Plekhanov rumbled, “Fine, indeed. But which group will have the use of the Pedagogue with its library, its laboratories, its shops, its weapons?”

For a moment, Mayer was stopped but Joe Chessman growled, “That’s no problem. Leave her in orbit around Rigel. We’ve got two small boats with which to ferry back and forth. Each group could have the use of her facilities any time they wished.”

“I suppose we could have periodic conferences,” Plekhanov said. “Say once every decade to compare notes and make further plans, if necessary.”

Natt Roberts was worried. “We had no such instructions from the Co-ordinator. Dividing our forces like that.”

Mayer cut him short. “My dear Roberts, we were given carte blanche. It is up to us to decide procedure. Actually, this system realizes twice the information such expeditions as ours might ordinarily offer.”

“Texcoco for me,” Plekhanov grumbled, accepting the plan in its whole. “The more backward of the two, but under my guidance in half a century it will be the more advanced, mark me.”

“Look here,” Martin Gunther said. “Do we have two of each of the basic specialists, so that we can divide the party in such a way that neither planet will miss out in any one field?”

Amschel Mayer was beaming at the reception of his scheme. “The point is well taken, my dear Martin, however you’ll recall that our training was deliberately made such that each man spreads over several fields. This in case, during our half century without contact, one or more of us meets with accident. Besides, the Pedagogue’s library is such that any literate can soon become effective in any field to the extent needed on the Rigel planets.”