The Stars My Destination

by Alfred Bester

He was Gully Foyle, the oiler, wiper, bunkerman; too easy for trouble, too slow for fun, too empty for friendship, too lazy for love.

Devoted to the principle of conspicuous waste, on which all society is based,

Commerce obeyed, for this war (like all wars) was the shooting phase of a commercial struggle.

“Yes, no matter how we defend ourselves against the outside we’re always licked by something from the inside. There’s no defense against betrayal, and we all betray ourselves.”

He ignored his enemies and examined the perpetual beam carved in the robot face of the bartender, the classic Irish grin. “Thank you,” Foyle said. “My pleasure, sir,” the robot replied and awaited its next cue. “Nice day,” Foyle remarked. “Always a lovely day somewhere, sir,” the robot beamed. “Awful day,” Foyle said. “Always a lovely day somewhere, sir,” the robot responded. “Day,” Foyle said. “Always a lovely day somewhere, sir,” the robot said. Foyle turned to the others. “That’s me,” he said, motioning to the robot. “That’s all of us. We prattle about free will, but we’re nothing but response…mechanical reaction in prescribed grooves. So…here I am, here I am, waiting to respond. Press the buttons and I’ll jump.” He aped the canned voice of the robot. “My pleasure to serve, sir.” Suddenly his tone lashed them. “What do you want?”

“This is bigger than idealism.” “Nothing’s bigger than idealism.”

But I’m not a robot. I’m a freak of the universe…a thinking animal…and

I’ve blown the last secret wide open. No more secrets from now on…No more telling the children what’s best for them to know…Let‘em all grow up. It’s about time.”

“You pigs, you. You rut like pigs, is all. You got the most in you, and you use the least. You hear me, you? Got a million in you and spend pennies. Got a genius in you and think crazies. Got a heart in you and feel empties. All a you. Every you…”

“Take a war to make you spend. Take a jam to make you think. Take a challenge to make you great. Rest of the time you sit around lazy, you. Pigs, you! All right, God damn you! I challenge you, me. Die or live and be great. Blow yourselves to Christ gone or come and find me, Gully Foyle, and I make you men. I make you great. I give you the stars.”

“Faith in faith,” he answered himself. “It isn’t necessary to have something to believe in. It’s only necessary to believe that somewhere there’s something worthy of belief.”

Gully Foyle is my name And Terra is my nation. Deep space is my dwelling place, The stars my destination.

“And then you will punish him.” “He has found it already in himself,” Jóseph said.