externally as auxiliary craft. Along with Ormont on the bridge, the ship’s captain and chief of flight engineering were confirming the final countdown details being reported by their staffs.
The position implied far more than ship’s commander, director in chief of a space mission, or even mayor of a large city. The vast enterprise that he was heading would become a nation-state in flight. The role ahead called not just for ability in command and management, but for political leadership. And failure to come up to the challenges and demands that could be expected had destroyed a much larger and more robust world than the microcosm contained in the Aurora .
The dominant method of selecting political leaders in the old world had been through a kind of popularity contest in which the citizenry was expected to judge and choose their rulers directly. Such mass-endorsed adulation seemed bound to create inflated self-images and delusions of greatness that would inevitably result in immense power and authority being vested in hands superbly unfit to wield them. Doctors, architects, engineers, and other professionals were appraised and certified by bodies of peers who were expert in the field in question. How much more important was the supreme profession of running a country?
The procedure that had given Ormont his position was modeled on the way the government was formed in Sofi. Eligible candidates had to meet some of the highest educational standards required by any profession, and in addition have demonstrated practical competence in a progression of public offices of increasing responsibility. The final choice was made by an appointing body of individuals in turn elected by the people, who were responsible to them for their decision in the same way that the Highways Department was responsible for the performance of the engineers entrusted with the design and construction of the country’s bridges. The system conferred full authority and demanded acceptance of total responsibility, which suited Ormont perfectly. He believed such conditions were essential to running an operation of any importance effectively, and felt contempt for those who hid behind collective anonymity by attributing their pronouncements to such faceless originators as “The Committee.” A leader not prepared to put his name to his decisions and stand by them was not worthy of the name.
His own background had been with the military, which he had played a part in shaping in earlier years, when Sofi found it necessary to organize more comprehensive defenses. People often expressed surprise that he wasn’t staying on as a Progressive to further develop Sofi’s interests and extend its influence. But he had spent enough time in the thick of Sofian politics to see the way things were heading. Too many strong minds with diametrically opposed ideas were vying with each other, dissipating their energies fruitlessly in mutual obstructionism and achieving little. Ormont liked to see things getting done – and getting done his way.
By temperament he was a commander first and a politician second, and that was the role that the mission required. As was true with most, his reasons for leaving were varied and complex, but high among them was the appeal of the unique form of directorship that the position entailed. Aurora ’s population was made up to a large degree of intellectuals and idealists – bright and creative people, yes, and sometimes surprisingly obstinate; but in Ormont’s experience they tended to be too trusting in their expectations of human nature, and politically naive. Ormont had long ago made it a first rule never to totally trust anybody.
It was he who had insisted years ago on having eyes and ears inside Sofian military intelligence that would remain loyal to the Aurora planners, and found the ideal person in the form of Lubanov. Intellectuals were brilliant when it came to designing starships and making robots, but they would never think
The position implied far more than ship’s commander, director in chief of a space mission, or even mayor of a large city. The vast enterprise that he was heading would become a nation-state in flight. The role ahead called not just for ability in command and management, but for political leadership. And failure to come up to the challenges and demands that could be expected had destroyed a much larger and more robust world than the microcosm contained in the Aurora .
The dominant method of selecting political leaders in the old world had been through a kind of popularity contest in which the citizenry was expected to judge and choose their rulers directly. Such mass-endorsed adulation seemed bound to create inflated self-images and delusions of greatness that would inevitably result in immense power and authority being vested in hands superbly unfit to wield them. Doctors, architects, engineers, and other professionals were appraised and certified by bodies of peers who were expert in the field in question. How much more important was the supreme profession of running a country?
The procedure that had given Ormont his position was modeled on the way the government was formed in Sofi. Eligible candidates had to meet some of the highest educational standards required by any profession, and in addition have demonstrated practical competence in a progression of public offices of increasing responsibility. The final choice was made by an appointing body of individuals in turn elected by the people, who were responsible to them for their decision in the same way that the Highways Department was responsible for the performance of the engineers entrusted with the design and construction of the country’s bridges. The system conferred full authority and demanded acceptance of total responsibility, which suited Ormont perfectly. He believed such conditions were essential to running an operation of any importance effectively, and felt contempt for those who hid behind collective anonymity by attributing their pronouncements to such faceless originators as “The Committee.” A leader not prepared to put his name to his decisions and stand by them was not worthy of the name.
His own background had been with the military, which he had played a part in shaping in earlier years, when Sofi found it necessary to organize more comprehensive defenses. People often expressed surprise that he wasn’t staying on as a Progressive to further develop Sofi’s interests and extend its influence. But he had spent enough time in the thick of Sofian politics to see the way things were heading. Too many strong minds with diametrically opposed ideas were vying with each other, dissipating their energies fruitlessly in mutual obstructionism and achieving little. Ormont liked to see things getting done – and getting done his way.
By temperament he was a commander first and a politician second, and that was the role that the mission required. As was true with most, his reasons for leaving were varied and complex, but high among them was the appeal of the unique form of directorship that the position entailed. Aurora ’s population was made up to a large degree of intellectuals and idealists – bright and creative people, yes, and sometimes surprisingly obstinate; but in Ormont’s experience they tended to be too trusting in their expectations of human nature, and politically naive. Ormont had long ago made it a first rule never to totally trust anybody.
It was he who had insisted years ago on having eyes and ears inside Sofian military intelligence that would remain loyal to the Aurora planners, and found the ideal person in the form of Lubanov. Intellectuals were brilliant when it came to designing starships and making robots, but they would never think
Similar Books
