The Deacon shook his head despairingly. "My boy, you had better cancel and take this course over. Those dumb brutes aren't dangerous." "But Jasper says, in Predators and Prey, that the two trickiest, most dangerous-" "Jasper's maiden aunt! I'm talking about the real King of the Beasts, the only animal that is always dangerous, even when not hungry. The two-legged brute. Take a look around you!" The instructor leaned forward. "I've said this nineteen dozen times but you still don't believe it. Man is the one animal that can't be tamed. He goes along for years as peaceful as a cow when it suits him.
Then when it suits him not to be, he makes a leopard look like a tabby cat. Which goes double for the female of the species. Take another look around you. All friends. We've been on group-survival field tests together; we can depend on each other. So? Read about the Donner Party or the First Venus Expedition. Anyhow, the test area will have several other classes in it, all strangers to you." Doctor Matson fixed his eye on Rod.
"I hate to see some of you take this test, I really do. Some of you are city dwellers by nature; I'm afraid I have not managed to get it through your heads that there are no policemen where you are going. Nor will I be around to give you a hand if you make some silly mistake." His eye moved on; Rod wondered if the Deacon meant him. Sometimes he felt that the Deacon took delight in rawhiding him. But God knew that it was serious; the course was required for all the Outlands professions for the good reason that the Outlands were places where you were smart - or you were dead. Rod had chosen to take this course before entering college because he hoped that it would help him to get a scholarship - but that did not mean that he thought it was just a formality.
He looked around, wondering who would be willing to team with him now that Jimmy had dropped out. There was a couple in front of him, Bob Baxter and Carmen Garcia. He checked them off, as they undoubtedly would team together; they planned to become medical missionaries and intended to marry as soon as they could. How about Johann Braun? He would make a real partner, all right-strong, fast on his feet, and smart. But Rod did not trust him, nor did he think that Braun would want him. He began to see that he might have made a mistake in not cultivating other friends in the class besides Jimmy.
That big Zulu girl, Caroline something-unpronounceable. Strong as an ox and absolutely fearless. But it would not do to team with a girl; girls were likely to mistake a cold business deal for a romantic gambit. His eyes moved on until at last he was forced to conclude that there was no one there to whom he wished to suggest a partnership. "Prof, how about a hint? Should we take suntan oil? Or chilblain lotion?" Matson grinned and drawled, "Son, I'll tell you every bit that I know.
This test area was picked by a teacher in Europe. . . and I picked one for his class. But I don't know what it is any more than you do. Send me a postcard." "But-" The boy who had spoken stopped. Then he suddenly stood up. "Prof, this isn't a fair test. I'm checking out." "What's unfair about it? Not that we meant to make it fair." "Well, you could dump us any place-" "That's right." "-the backside of the Moon, in vacuum up to our chins. Or onto a chlorine planet. Or the middle of an ocean. I don't know whether to take a spacesuit or a canoe. So the deuce with it. Real-life isn't like that." "It isn't, eh?" Matson said softly.
"That's what Jonah said when the whale swallowed him." He added, "But I will give you some hints. We mean this test to be passed by anyone bright enough to deserve it. So we won't let you walk into a poisonous atmosphere, or a vacuum, without a mask.
If you are dumped into the water, the land won't be too far to swim. And so on. While I don't know where you are going, I did see the list of test areas for this year's classes. A smart man can survive in any of them. You ought to realize, son, that the Board of Education would have nothing to gain by killing off all its candidates for the key professions." The student sat down again as suddenly as he had stood up. The instructor said, "Change your mind again?" "Uh, yes, sir. If it's a fair test, I'll take it."
Matson shook his head. "You've already flunked it. You're excused. Don't bother the Registrar; I'll notify him." The boy started to protest; Matson inclined his head toward the door. "Out!" There was an embarrassed silence while he left the room, then Matson said briskly, "This is a class in applied philosophy and I am the sole judge of who is ready and who is not. Anybody who thinks of the world in terms of what it 'ought to be, rather than what it is, isn't ready for the final examination. You've got to relax and roll with the punch . . . not get yourself all worn out with adrenalin exhaustion at the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Any more questions?" There were a few more but it became evident that Matson either truthfully did not know the nature of the test area, or was guarding the knowledge;
his answers gained them nothing. He refused to advise as to weapons, saying simply that the school armorer would be at the gate ready to issue all usual weapons, while any unusual ones were up to the individual. "Remember, though, your best weapon is between your ears and under your scalp - provided it's loaded." The group started to drift away; Rod got up to leave.
Matson caught his eye and said, "Walker, are you planning to take the test?" "Why, yes, of course, sir." "Come here a moment." He led him into his office, closed the door, and sat down. He looked up at Rod, fiddled with a paperweight on his desk, and said slowly, "Rod, you're a good boy . . . but sometimes that isn't enough." Rod said nothing. "Tell me," Matson continued, "why you want to take this test?" "Sir?" "'Sir' yourself," Matson answered grumpily. "Answer my question." Rod stared, knowing that he had gone over this with Matson before he was accepted for the course. But he explained again his ambition to study for an Outlands profession. "So I have to qualify in survival. I couldn't even get a degree in colonial administration without it, much less any of the planetography or planetology specialties." "Want to be an explorer, huh?" "Yes, sir." "Like me." "Yes, Sir. Like you." "Hmm. .. would you believe me if I told you that it was the worst mistake I ever made?" "Huh? No, sir!" "I didn't think you would. Son, the cutest trick of all is how to know then what you know now. No way to, of course. But I'm telling you straight: I think you've been born into the wrong age. "Sir?"
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