Carl Staab
Period 7-8
11/1/00
Hindsight
	Roy stared at the telephone morosely.
	“What are you doing?” I asked him.
	“It wants to ring,” he said.
	“It… wants to ring?”
	“Certainly it wan-“ He was cut off by the sudden… ringing.  Startled, I almost failed to notice his look across the table at me as he said, “Told you so.”  He picked up the receiver.  “This is Roy.”
	He paused for a second.  “Is that so.”  I couldn’t distinguish words from the tinny noise coming from the phone, but Roy’s face hardened slightly.  “Well then, I’ll get right on it.”  He replaced the handset in its socket.
	“What’s up?” I queried.
	“Problem in shaft 19,” he grumbled.  “Dammit, I knew that phone wanted to ring.”

	Life in the station was never quite dull, but being cut off from most of humanity for months at a time didn’t exactly engender excitement.  Sure, there was the occasional message from family or outside friends, but most interaction was with the same few people, over and over again.  Thankfully, they picked people who were reserved but made a few close friends, people who could handle the stress.  Even for us it was hard.  Roy had never been an optimistic person, and the station hadn’t changed that.
	Roy and I had become friends in the way of most people there, gradually but deeply.  He had entered before me, but he had become one of those men who are too competent to be promoted.  While I eventually became the station administrator, I knew who I had to thank for our effectiveness.  I never made a major decision without soliciting Roy’s opinion, and it was always worth soliciting.  That’s what I was doing that day, asking Roy about some logistics matter, when he noticed that the phone wanted to ring.

	I caught up with Roy as he turned a corner.  “Problem in shaft 19?  What’s happening?”
	“They don’t know, but they thought it was serious.  They called me first.”
	“Well come on then, what are we waiting for?”

	“They called me first.”  If it had been minor, they could have dealt with it without Roy’s immediate presence.  If it were long-term, it would have been my business.  We had something on our hands that was both urgent and serious.  I’m not sure I realized how much so.

	We arrived at the Shaft 19 control center.  Five people rushed to Roy and started to speak simultaneously.  I couldn’t make any sense out of it, but Roy’s already grim face grew bleaker.  “That can’t be.”  He didn’t mean it, though, and turned to me.  “What does the book say about losing a shaft?”
	“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed.  “We lost a shaft?”  Roy’s expression didn’t change.  “Wow… uh, the book says that the first priority is evacuation.  But if we lost a shaft, then we’ll lose the rest of the station before we can evacuate everyone.  So we need to temporarily shore it up, so we can get everyone out.  Christ, we lost a shaft?  Those were guaranteed for thousands of years!”
	Roy shook his head.  “Yes, already, we lost a shaft.  Can’t change that now.  So, we’ll make arrangements to shore it up, that’s our job.  You start taking care of the evacuation.”

	What if I hadn’t been thinking then?  What if I had just went along with Roy?  But no, I was too good for that.  Maybe ignorance is bliss.

	“But Roy, wait!  Isn’t that my job?  That’s what it says in the book.  And you’re certainly more qualified to handle the evacuation.”
	“You can handle the evac fine, you drill that every two weeks.  All the logistics are set up for you in advance, all you have to do is start the wheels rolling.  You’ll handle it much better than I could; what we need there is a people person.  You, not me.  Here, we need an engineer-type.  Me, not you.  And nobody else can handle either."
	Reluctantly convinced, I turned away and started walking out.  Then I heard someone yell, “Come on, the shaft’s in critical condition!  We need to get someone down there now!”
	I turned back.  “The shaft’s in critical condition.”
	“Yep,” replied Roy.
	“You’re going to die down there.”
	“Yep,” replied Roy.
	“You SOB, you knew it and you weren’t going to tell me.”
	“Yep,” replied Roy.
	He had me trapped.  If I had known before, I might have put up an argument.  But now, he had convinced me that he was the right man for the job, not me.  And he was willing to do it.  “I’ve got to go now,” he said.
	“Goddamn you, Roy.”
	“Thank you.”  He turned and started issuing orders.  I watched for a second, then ran to start the evacuation.

	The evacuation went off without a hitch.  It was my duty to Roy, after all.  When we all regrouped after the evacuation, there was only one casualty reported from all station personnel.
	Some weeks after everyone was rescued, I received a letter.  Roy had willed it to me in the event of something like this.  He told me not to blame myself.  Easy for him to say.
	He’s right, of course.  I couldn’t have ordered him to switch places with me because he was right.  He was the right man to shore up the shaft, and I was the right man to handle the evacuation.  As he sometimes said, “A good leader must be willing to do anything he would order his men to do.  A great leader must be willing to not do it.”  He helped me be a great leader then.
	I imagine, though, Roy sitting in his room with me dead, holding a similar letter in his hand, feeling like I feel now.  We did the right thing that day, and I wonder if I’ll ever forgive us for it.