“Our present population is just over fifty thousand, which is a little short of the desired optimum. That’s why we keep our eyes open for recruits. And, of course, there is a certain wastage: we’re not yet quite self-supporting in some of the more specialized talents.
“Here on this island we’re trying to save something of humanity’s independence, its artistic traditions. We’ve no hostility towards the Overlords: we simply want to be left alone to go our own way. When they destroyed the old nations and the way of life man had known since the beginning of history, they swept away many good things with the bad. The world’s now placid, featureless and culturally dead: nothing really new has been created since the Overlords came. The reason’s obvious. There’s nothing left to struggle for, and there are too many distractions and entertainments. Do you realize that every day something like five hundred hours of radio and TV pour out over the various channels? If you went without sleep and did nothing else, you could follow less than a twentieth of the entertainment that’s available at the turn of a switch! No wonder that people are becoming passive sponges — absorbing but never creating. Did you know that the average viewing time per person is now three hours a day? Soon people won’t be living their own lives any more. It will be a full-time job keeping up with the various family serials on TV!
“Here, in Athens, entertainment takes its proper place. Moreover, it’s live, not canned. In a community this size it is possible to have almost complete audience participation, with all that that means to the performers and artists. Incidentally we’ve got a very fine symphony orchestra — probably among the world’s half-dozen best.
“But I don’t want you to take my word for all this. What usually happens is that prospective citizens stay here a few days, getting the feel of the place. If they decide they’d like to join us, then we let them take the battery of psychological tests which are really your main line of defence. About a third of the applicants are rejected, usually for reasons which don’t reflect on them and which wouldn’t matter outside. Those who pass go home long enough to settle their affairs, and then rejoin us. Sometimes, they change their minds at this stage, but that’s very unusual and almost invariably through personal reasons outside their controL Our tests are practically a hundred-per-cent reliable now: the people they pass are the people who really want to come.”
“Suppose anyone changed their mind later?” asked Jean anxiously.
“Then they could leave. There’d be no difficulty. It’s happened once or twice.”
There was a long silence. Jean looked at George, who was rubbing thoughtfully at the side-whiskers currently popular in artistic circles. As long as they weren’t burning their boats behind them, she was not unduly worried. The Colony looked an interesting place, and certainly wasn’t as cranky as she’d feared. And the children would love it. That, in the final analysis, was all that mattered.
They moved in six weeks later. The single-storied house was small, but quite adequate for a family which had no intention of being greater than four. All the basic labour-saving devices were in evidence: at least, Jean admitted, there was no danger of reverting to the dark ages of domestic drudgery. It was slightly disturbing, however, to discover that there was a kitchen. In a community of this size, one would normally expect to dial Food Central, wait five minutes, and then get whatever meal they had selected. Individuality was all very well, but this, Jean feared, might be taking things a little too far. She wondered darkly if she would be expected to make the family’s clothes as well as to prepare its meals. But there was no spinning-wheel between the automatic dishwasher and the radar range, so it wasn’t quite as bad as that…
Of course, the rest of the house still looked very bare and raw. They were its first occupants, and it would be some time before all this aseptic newness had been converted into a warm, human home, The children, doubtless, would catalyze the process rather effectively. There was already (though Jean did not know it yet) an unfortunate victim of Jeffrey’s expiring in the bath, as a result of that young man’s ignorance of the fundamental difference between fresh and salt water.
Jean moved to the still uncurtained window and looked across the Colony. It was a beautiful place, there was no doubt of that. The house stood on the western slopes of the low bill that dominated, because of the absence of any other competition, the island of Athens. Two kilometres to the north she could see the causeway — a thin knife-edge dividing the water — that led to Sparta. That rocky island, with its brooding volcanic cone, was such a contrast to this peaceful spot that it sometimes frightened her. She wondered how, the scientists could be so certain that it would never reawaken and overwhelm them all. A wavering figure coming up the slope, keeping carefully to the palm-trees’ shade in defiance of the rule of the road, attracted her eye. George was returning from his first conference. It was time to stop daydreaming and get busy about the house.