Physically, Firth's world was a paradise. It still is. Yet the dissolution began before the last colonist had arrived. Here they had assembled their wealth—in terms of machines, comforts, books, art treasures, amusements, laboratory equipment. They were entirely free from the burden of taxation. But, somehow, their wealth lost its meaning.
They claimed they had not withdrawn from the world in order to hibernate and decay among their luxuries. They wanted freedom in order to create, to invent, to experiment as they pleased. And they had that in Firth's world: a maximum opportunity for the development of individual initiative. For a short time they turned out a wonderful assortment of new gadgets and new machines, but slowly their industry ground to a stop.
If they had faced the truth then—but they were far too human to admit the failure of the dream. Instead, they found a scapegoat. John Firth has left us a record of a conversation he had with Adam Boetz; it is typical of their thinking at the time.
Boetz, as you may know, was one of the outstanding physicists of his day; he had created and built Atomic Cores, Incorporated, until it was the largest power company in the Confederation.
John Firth met Boetz one morning on the golf course in the recreation cavern.
"Adam!" Firth cried, with his usual, boisterous good-humor. "I never thought I'd find you out here at this time of day."
"Why not?" The physicist shrugged. "I'm tired, Firth. I had to do my four hour shift in the light plant last night. Maybe I'll feel like working in the lab tomorrow—and maybe not. I'm scheduled for a shift in hydroponics then."
"The shifts are short, Adam, and—"
"Still too long for me. I'm not used to so much physical labor." The physicist's lips curled in a sneer. "So very democratic, isn't it, Firth? Back home I hired men to do that kind of work for me."
Firth clapped him heartily on the back. "But we have other compensations, Adam. Four hours out of twenty-four is a small price to pay for freedom."