World Without War

Mark's breath hissed as he gasped. Jennette was blushing all over her body, heightening the golden color of it. He let her go, and she slid off his lap onto the shadowed grass beside him. She bit her lip. "I didn't really mean to tell you—yet."

There was silence. Mark said quietly, "That's all right, Jennette."

"You aren't angry with me, are you?"

"No," he said slowly. "Not angry."

"Mark—"

"Yes?"

"Now that we're into this thing," she asked hopefully, "why don't we try this marriage agreement—you know, like the ancients did. It seems like such a beautiful thing to do when two people like us—you know."

"I don't know." Mark shook his head doubtfully. "I just don't know about it."

"Why not? You wouldn't have to really stay here. It could be just a secret agreement between us. And you could come and see me whenever you liked."

"It all seems so unreal," he muttered.

They lapsed into thought, both avoiding looking at the other. There was no sound except a faint sighing of wind in the leaves of the well trimmed shrubbery.

"Suppose," Mark said finally, "suppose other people started doing this thing? This cooperative agreement? Lots of people must want to, just like we do."

"I suppose so," she admitted.

"I went through this once before," he went on absently. "About ninety years ago I met this woman—she was awfully nice. Clever. Understood things. Not like you, of course, but still she was very nice. I thought about it then."

"What happened to her?" Jennette asked numbly.

"She died after a while. She was pretty old. Oh, we didn't do anything," he hastened to add. "We kept it all on a perfectly moral and honest plane—never saw each other except at authorized government sex parties, like this, and all. Fought whenever we ran across each other outside. But I remember thinking at the time that some sort of agreement would be nice. We got along awfully well. I could never understand what she saw in me."

"I can," Jennette whispered.

"This is just the same, only a lot more so," Mark went on thoughtfully. "And it's wrong. You know it's wrong. Suppose a lot of people started it. First thing you know, whole groups of people would be cooperating with each other again. And when they got into trouble outside, or planned an innocent little raid on somebody's shelter, they would all work together on it. And pretty soon, there would be other groups cooperating in fighting back again. They'd have to.

"And that, of course, would be the end of civilization. Pretty soon, there would be nothing left, and everybody would be dead."

Jennette did not reply when he stopped. She turned her head away, but Mark could hear her uneven breathing.

"We have a responsibility toward society at large. We know it. We've been well educated and we aren't savages. Neither one of us can get away from it. It might be wonderful at first, but our conscience would come out sooner or later, and the whole thing would be ruined."

She rubbed her face with her cupped hands, shaking her head. "I suppose—" she murmured unhappily.

"You'd hate yourself for it after a while," he said.

For a few minutes, Jennette stared at the grass before her feet, pulling up little blades of it one by one. Then Mark stood up, and she flashed him a small, wistful, damp smile. Together they walked back toward the elevator, stepping quietly and almost furtively on the soft ground. "If it weren't for that—" he started.

"I understand," she replied quickly. Taking hold of his arm, she said, "I'm sorry."

"Sure." Mark grinned affectionately at her. "Come on. Let's see if they've been having any good fights upstairs." They stepped into the elevator and disappeared. The artificial moon continued its regular motion through the simulated sky.