"This is a new colony. I doubt there are a hundred people on the planet over twenty-five. How many doctors would there be in a population like ours? I don't think there is a death rate. Do you know how we came to be here?" "Your father told me," said Calhoun, "at the military base on the next planet out. They're getting ready for an attack—and they asked me to warn you about it. Three days from now." Young Walker ground his teeth. "They won't dare attack. We'll smash them if they do. They lied to us! Worked us to death—" "And no death rate?" asked Calhoun. The younger man knitted his brows. "There's no use your arguing with us. This is our world! We made it and we're keeping it! They made fools of us long enough!" "And you've no health problems at all?" The sardonic young man hesitated. One of the others said coldly: "Make him happy. Let him talk to the women. They're worried about some of the kids." Calhoun breathed a private sigh of relief. These relatively mature young men were the first-landed colonists. They'd had the hardest of all the tasks put upon the younger generation by the adults of Phaedra. They'd had the most back-breaking labor and the most urgent responsibilities. They'd been worked and stressed to the breaking-point. They'd finally arrived at a decision of desperation. But apparently things could be worse. It is the custom, everywhere, for women to make themselves into whatever is most attractive to men. Young girls, in particular, will adopt any tradition which is approved of by their prospective husbands. And in a society to be formed brand-new, appalling new traditions could be started. But they hadn't. Deep-rooted instincts still worked. Women—young women—and girls appeared still to feel concern for young children which were not even their own. And Fredericks' story— "By all means," agreed Calhoun. "If there's something wrong with the health of children—" Young Walker gestured and turned back toward the houses. He scowled as he walked. Presently he said defensively:
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