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Show gathering. According to tradition, the good Doctor looked around at his folk packed in the elaborately carved benches of the MainCouncilRoom in NewOxbridge, and sighed. "Look ye, my dears," he'd said. "The fan hath hit the shit in full measure and it's swim or sink for u s . . ." In truth, the Doctors had been very happy swimming in BauerWorlde. They'd had their work. They'd had their beautiful, tempestuous world, unspoiled by technology. The Doctors could Gather Data to their hearts' content and place it immediately into the hardcopy library without going through a Board of Editors, then sit around at night in the alehouses together, discussing and disputing hypotheses. Yet Earth was expecting some precious and heavy minerals at its orbiting industry satellites in return for its investment in BauerWorlde, and was expecting them pretty bedamned quick. Verily, the Doctors reasoned, we have had our sabbatical leave. The real world had returned, alas. Earth had returned. Yea, to haunt them. Isaac, in faith, had always been a fair man. BauerWorlde in all good conscience had a debt to pay off. He was also pragmatic, Isaac was. He knew if they didn't comply with their Charter, they'd wind up welcoming a colonial governor and supporting staff on a totally unplanned for Sleeper. Mayhap a Board of Editors into the bargain! And the BauerWorlders would thereby bequeath to their fair progeny the certainty of a future revolution against none but MotherEarth. In that manner did they come to make plans for BauerWorlde's technology, including in them the proviso that such technology must not intrude on their lifestyle, and gave over exclusively to the Managers the 71 |
