Isaac Asimov & Robert Silverberg - Nightfall

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Isaak Asimov. Nightfall
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Nightfall
Author: Isaak Asimov
Original copyright year: 1941
Genre: science fiction
Date of e-text: September 12, 1999
Prepared by: Ken
------------------------------------------------------------------------
If the stars should appear one night in
a thousand years, how would men believe
and adore, and preserve for many generations
the remembrance of the city of God?'
EMERSON
Aton 77, director of Saro University, thrust out a belligerent lower
lip and glared at the young newspaperman in a hot fury.
Theremon 762 took that fury in his stride. In his earlier days, when
his now widely syndicated column was only a mad idea in a cub reporter's
mind, he had specialized in 'impossible' interviews. It had cost him
bruises, black eyes, and broken bones; but it had given him an ample supply
of coolness and self-confidence. So he lowered the outthrust hand that had
been so pointedly ignored and calmly waited for the aged director to get
over the worst. Astronomers were queer ducks, anyway, and if Aton's actions
of the last two months meant anything; this same Aton was the queer-duckiest
of the lot.
Aton 77 found his voice, and though it trembled with restrained
emotion, the careful, somewhat pedantic phraseology, for which the famous
astronomer was noted, did not abandon him.
'Sir,' he said, 'you display an infernal gall in coming to me with that
impudent proposition of yours.' The husky telephotographer of the
Observatory, Beenay 25, thrust a tongue's tip across dry lips and interposed
nervously, 'Now, sir, after all -- '
The director turned to him and lifted a white eyebrow.
'Do not interfere, Beenay. I will credit you with good intentions in
bringing this man here; but I will tolerate no insubordination now.'
Theremon decided it was time to take a part. 'Director Aton, if you'll
let me finish what I started saying, I think -- '
'I don't believe, young man,' retorted Aton, 'that anything you could
say now would count much as compared with your daily columns of these last
two months. You have led a vast newspaper campaign against the efforts of
myself and my colleagues to organize the world against the menace which it
is now too late to avert. You have done your best with your highly personal
attacks to make the staff of this Observatory objects of ridicule.'
The director lifted a copy of the Saro City Chronicle from the table
and shook it at Theremon furiously. 'Even a person of your well-known
impudence should have hesitated before coming to me with a request that he
be allowed to cover today's events for his paper. Of all newsmen, you!'
Aton dashed the newspaper to the floor, strode to the window, and
clasped his arms behind his back.
'You may leave,' he snapped over his shoulder. He stared moodily out at
the skyline where Gamma, the brightest of the planet's six suns, was
setting. It had already faded and yellowed into the horizon mists, and Aton
knew he would never see it again as a sane man. He whirled. 'No, wait, come
here!' He gestured peremptorily. I'll give you your story.'
The newsman had made no motion to leave, and now he approached the old
man slowly. Aton gestured outward.
'Of the six suns, only Beta is left in the sky. Do you see it?'
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The question was rather unnecessary. Beta was almost at zenith, its
ruddy light flooding the landscape to an unusual orange as the brilliant
rays of setting Gamma died. Beta was at aphelion. It was small; smaller than
Theremon had ever seen it before, and for the moment it was undisputed ruler
of Lagash's sky.
Lagash's own sun. Alpha, the one about which it revolved, was at the
antipodes, as were the two distant companion pairs. The red dwarf Beta --
Alpha's immediate companion -- was alone, grimly alone.
Aton's upturned face flushed redly in the sunlight. 'In just under four
hours,' he said, 'civilization, as we know it, comes to an end. It will do
so because, as you see. Beta is the only sun in the sky.' He smiled grimly.
'Print that! There'll be no one to read it.'
'But if it turns out that four hours pass -- and another four -- and
nothing happens?' asked Theremon softly.
'Don't let that worry you. Enough will happen.'
'Granted! And still -- it nothing happens?'
For a second time, Beenay 25 spoke. 'Sir, I think you ought to listen
to him.'
Theremon said, 'Put it to a vote, Director Aton.'
There was a stir among the remaining five members of the Observatory
staff, who till now had maintained an attitude of wary neutrality.
'That,' stated Aton flatly, 'is not necessary.' He drew out his pocket
watch. 'Since your good friend, Beenay, insists so urgently, I will give you
five minutes. Talk away.'
'Good! Now, just what difference would it make if you allowed me to
take down an eyewitness account of what's to come? If your prediction comes
true, my presence won't hurt; for in that case my column would never be
written. On the other hand, if nothing comes of it, you will just have to
expect ridicule or worse. It would be wise to leave that ridicule to
friendly hands.'
Aton snorted. 'Do you mean yours when you speak of friendly hands?'
'Certainly!' Theremon sat down and crossed his legs.
'My columns may have been a little rough, but I gave you people the
benefit of the doubt every time. After all. this is not the century to
preach "The end of the world is at hand" to Lagash. You have to understand
that people don't believe the Book of Revelations anymore, and it annoys
them to have scientists turn aboutface and tell us the Cultists are right
after all -- '
'No such thing, young man,' interrupted Aton. 'While a great deal of
our data has been supplied us by the Cult, our results contain none of the
Cult's mysticism. Facts are facts, and the Cult's so-called mythology has
certain facts behind it. We've exposed them and ripped away their mystery. I
assure you that the Cult hates us now worse than you do.'
'I don't hate you. I'm just trying to tell you that the public is in an
ugly humor. They're angry.'
Aton twisted his mouth in derision. 'Let them be angry.'
'Yes, but what about tomorrow?'
'There'll be no tomorrow!'
'But if there is. Say that there is -- just to see what happens. That
anger might take shape into something serious. After all, you know, business
has taken a nosedive these last two months. Investors don't really believe
the world is coming to an end, but just the same they're being cagy with
their money until it's all over. Johnny Public doesn't believe you, either,
but the new spring furniture might just as well wait a few months -- just to
make sure.
'You see the point. Just as soon as this is all over, the business
interests will be after your hide. They'll say that if crackpots -- begging
your pardon -- can upset the country's prosperity any time they want, simply
by making some cockeyed prediction -- it's up to the planet to prevent them.
The sparks will fly, sir.'
The director regarded the columnist sternly. 'And just what were you
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proposing to do to help the situation?'
'Well' -- Theremon grinned -- 'I was proposing to take charge of the
publicity. I can handle things so that only the ridiculous side will show.
It would be hard to stand, I admit, because I'd have to make you all out to
be a bunch of gibbering idiots, but if I can get people laughing at you,
they might forget to be angry. In return for that, all my publisher asks is
an exclusive story.'
Beenay nodded and burst out, 'Sir, the rest of us think he's right.
These last two months we've considered everything but the million-to-one
chance that there is an error somewhere in our theory or in our
calculations. We ought to take care of that, too.'
There was a murmur of agreement from the men grouped about the table,
and Aton's expression became that of one who found his mouth full of
something bitter and couldn't get rid of it.
'You may stay if you wish, then. You will kindly refrain, however, from
hampering us in our duties in any way. You will also remember that I am in
charge of all activities here, and in spite of your opinions as expressed in
your columns, I will expect full cooperation and full respect -- '
His hands were behind his back, and his wrinkled face thrust forward
determinedly as he spoke. He might have continued indefinitely but for the
intrusion of a new voice.
'Hello, hello, hello!' It came in a high tenor, and the plump cheeks of
the newcomer expanded in a pleased smile. 'What's this morgue-like
atmosphere about here? No one's losing his nerve, I hope.'
Aton started in consternation and said peevishly, 'Now what the devil
are you doing here, Sheerin? I thought you were going to stay behind in the
Hideout.'
Sheerin laughed and dropped his stubby figure into a chair. 'Hideout be
blowed! The place bored me. I wanted to be here, where things are getting
hot. Don't you suppose I have my share of curiosity? I want to see these
Stars the Cultists are forever speaking about.' He rubbed his hands and
added in a soberer tone. 'It's freezing outside. The wind's enough to hang
icicles on your nose. Beta doesn't seem to give any heat at all, at the
distance it is.'
The white-haired director ground his teeth in sudden exasperation. 'Why
do you go out of your way to do crazy things, Sheerin? What kind of good are
you around here?'
'What kind of good am I around there?' Sheerin spread his palms in
comical resignation. 'A psychologist isn't worth his salt in the Hideout.
They need men of action and strong, healthy women that can breed children.
Me? I'm a hundred pounds too heavy for a man of action, and I wouldn't be a
success at breeding children. So why bother them with an extra mouth to
feed? I feel better over here.'
Theremon spoke briskly. 'Just what is the Hideout, sir?'
Sheerin seemed to see the columnist for the first time. He frowned and
blew his ample cheeks out. 'And just who in Lagash are you, redhead?'
Aton compressed his lips and then muttered sullenly, 'That's Theremon
762, the newspaper fellow. I suppose you've heard of him.'
The columnist offered his hand. 'And, of course, you're Sheerin 501 of
Saro University. I've heard of you.' Then he repeated, 'What is this
Hideout, sir?'
'Well,' said Sheerin, 'we have managed to convince a few people of the
validity of our prophecy of -- er -- doom, to be spectacular about it, and
those few have taken proper measures. They consist mainly of the immediate
members of the families of the Observatory staff, certain of the faculty of
Saro University, and a few outsiders. Altogether, they number about three
hundred, but three quarters are women and children.'
'I see! They're supposed to hide where the Darkness and the -- er --
Stars can't get at them, and then hold out when the rest of the world goes
poof.'
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'If they can. It won't be easy. With all of mankind insane, with the
great cities going up in flames -- environment will not be conducive to
survival. But they have food, water, shelter, and weapons -- '
'They've got more,' said Aton. 'They've got all our records, except for
What we will collect today. Those records will mean everything to the next
cycle, and that's what must survive. The rest can go hang.'
Theremon uttered a long, low whistle and sat brooding for several
minutes. The men about the table had brought out a multi-chess board and
started a six-member game. Moves were made rapidly and in silence. All eyes
bent in furious concentration on the board. Theremon watched them intently
and then rose and approached Aton, who sat apart in whispered conversation
with Sheerin.
'Listen,' he said, let's go somewhere where we won't bother the rest of
the fellows. I want to ask some questions.'
The aged astronomer frowned sourly at him, but Sheerin chirped up,
'Certainly. It will do me good to talk. It always does. Aton was telling me
about your ideas concerning world reaction to a failure of the prediction --
and I agree with you. I read your column pretty regularly, by the way, and
as a general thing I like your views.'
'Please, Sheerin,' growled Aton.
'Eh? Oh, all right. We'll go into the next room. It has softer chairs,
anyway.'
There were softer chairs in the next room. There were also thick red
curtains on the windows and a maroon carpet on the floor. With the bricky
light of Beta pouring in, the general effect was one of dried blood.
Theremon shuddered. 'Say, I'd give ten credits for a decent dose of
white light for just a second. I wish Gamma or Delta were in the sky.'
'What are your questions?' asked Aton. 'Please remember that our time
is limited. In a little over an hour and a quarter we're going upstairs, and
after that there will be no time for talk.'
'Well, here it is.' Theremon leaned back and folded his hands on his
chest. 'You people seem so all-fired serious about this that I'm beginning
to believe you. Would you mind explaining what it's all about?'
Aton exploded, 'Do you mean to sit there and tell me that you've been
bombarding us with ridicule without even finding out what we've been trying
to say?'
The columnist grinned sheepishly. 'It's not that bad, sir. I've got the
general idea. You say there is going to be a world-wide Darkness in a few
hours and that all mankind will go violently insane. What I want now is the
science behind it.'
'No, you don't. No, you don't,' broke in Sheerin. 'If you ask Aton for
that -- supposing him to be in the mood to answer at all -- he'll trot out
pages of figures and volumes of graphs. You won't make head or tail of it.
Now if you were to ask me, I could give you the layman's standpoint.'
'All right; I ask you.'
'Then first I'd like a drink.' He rubbed his hands and looked at Aton.
'Water?' grunted Aton.
'Don't be silly!'
'Don't you be silly. No alcohol today. It would be too easy to get my
men drunk. I can't afford to tempt them.'
The psychologist grumbled wordlessly. He turned to Theremon, impaled
him with his sharp eyes, and began.
'You realize, of course, that the history of civilization on Lagash
displays a cyclic character -- but I mean cyclic!'
'I know,' replied Theremon cautiously, 'that that is the current
archaeological theory. Has it been accepted as a fact?'
'Just about. In this last century it's been generally agreed upon. This
cyclic character is -- or rather, was -- one of the great mysteries. We've
located series of civilizations, nine of them definitely, and indications of
others as well, all of which have reached heights comparable to our own, and
all of which, without exception, were destroyed by fire at the very height
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of their culture.
'And no one could tell why. All centers of culture were thoroughly
gutted by fire, with nothing left behind to give a hint as to the cause.'
Theremon was following closely. 'Wasn't there a Stone Age, too?'
'Probably, but as yet practically nothing is known of it, except that
men of that age were little more than rather intelligent apes. We can forget
about that.'
'I see. Go on!'
There have been explanations of these recurrent catastrophes, all of a
more or less fantastic nature. Some say that there are periodic rains of
fire; some that Lagash passes through a sun every so often; some even wilder
things. But there is one theory, quite different from all of these, that has
been handed down over a period of centuries.'
'I know. You mean this myth of the "Stars" that the Cultists have in
their Book of Revelations.'
'Exactly,' rejoined Sheerin with satisfaction. 'The Cultists said that
every two thousand and fifty years Lagash entered a huge cave, so that all
the suns disappeared, and there came total darkness all over the world! And
then, they say, things called Stars appeared, which robbed men of their
souls and left them unreasoning brutes, so that they destroyed the
civilization they themselves had built up. Of course they mix all this up
with a lot of religio-mystic notions, but that's the central idea.'
There was a short pause in which Sheerin drew a long breath. 'And now
we come to the Theory of Universal Gravitation.' He pronounced the phrase so
that the capital letters sounded -- and at that point Aton turned from the
window, snorted loudly, and stalked out of the room.
The two stared after him, and Theremon said, 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing in particular,' replied Sheerin. 'Two of the men were due
several hours ago and haven't shown up yet. He's terrifically short-handed,
of course, because all but the really essential men have gone to the
Hideout.'
'You don't think the two deserted, do you?'
'Who? Faro and Yimot? Of course not. Still, if they're not back within
the hour, things would be a little sticky.' He got to his feet suddenly, and
his eyes twinkled. 'Anyway, as long as Aton is gone -- '
Tiptoeing to the nearest window, he squatted, and from the low window
box beneath withdrew a bottle of red liquid that gurgled suggestively when
he shook it.
'I thought Aton didn't know about this,' he remarked as he trotted back
to the table. 'Here! We've only got one glass so, as the guest, you can have
it. I'll keep the bottle.'
And he filled the tiny cup with judicious care. Theremon rose to
protest, but Sheerin eyed him sternly.
'Respect your elders, young man.'
The newsman seated himself with a look of anguish on his face. 'Go
ahead, then, you old villain.'
The psychologist's Adam's apple wobbled as the bottle upended, and
then, with a satisfied grunt and a smack of the lips, he began again. 'But
what do you know about gravitation?'
'Nothing, except that it is a very recent development, not too well
established, and that the math is so hard that only twelve men in Lagash are
supposed to understand it.'
'Tcha! Nonsense! Baloney! I can give you all the essential math in a
sentence. The Law of Universal Gravitation states that there exists a
cohesive force among all bodies of the universe, such that the amount of
this force between any two given bodies is proportional to the product of
their masses divided by the square of the distance between them.'
'Is that all?'
'That's enough! It took four hundred years to develop it.'
'Why that long? It sounded simple enough, the way you said it.'
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file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/Asimov,%20Isaac%20&%20Silverberg,%20Robert%20-%20Nightfall.txtIsaakAsimov.Nightfall------------------------------------------------------------------------Title:NightfallAuthor:IsaakAsimovOriginalcopyrightyear:1941Genre:sciencefictionDateofe-text...

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