The belt
The Belt

By Wallace West

Scientific theories are never "true or "false"; they are "good" or "bad" in various degrees, and the criterion is one of usefulness—predictability and manipulation to (seeming) advantage. Theories are often discarded, simply because evidence may be insufficient for one, where it seems to sustain another—or where another can account for observed phenomena more simply. Take Lamarck's theories on the effect of environment on heredity; so far, the evidence seems to put this in the "bad" classification. But if certain experiments could be made....

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Science Fiction Quarterly November 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

No one foresaw what would come of the social experiment Jonathan Robertson started early in the 18th Century, on this little island. And Jonathan the 7th found the terrible fruit of what had been sown....

"Rum port to come home to, if I may say so, sir." The captain spat over the rail into the blue waters.

"Rum?" Jonathan Robertson, 7th, continued to study the cliffs which he had not seen for twenty years. "Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. Gives me the jumps every time I touch here. Maybe it's the name—New Patmos."

"Yes, Saint John did have a rough time when he was exiled on the original Isle of Patmos, didn't he?"

"And then there's that gang on the dock...."

"It's just Old Tom and some of my father's workmen."

"I know." The captain relit his pipe. "But any other Caribbean port I stop at, the dock workers are singing and skylarking. Those fellows never say a word. Rum, I call it! Some of my crew think they're jumbies ... won't set foot on shore here."

"Jumbies are one thing I can assure you they're not, captain," Jonathan chuckled. "They're just plain workmen—and English to boot. As for the Old Tom, he carried me on his shoulders when I was a kid."

"Cheerio, Tom," he continued after the lines had been made fast and the ebony-colored ancient was clambering over the rail. "Where's father?"


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