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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'Because great laws are not divined by flashes of inspiration, whatever

you may think. It usually takes the combined work of a world full of

scientists over a period of centuries. After Genovi 4I discovered that

Lagash rotated about the sun Alpha rather than vice versa -- and that was

four hundred years ago -- astronomers have been working. The complex motions

of the six suns were recorded and analyzed and unwoven. Theory after theory

was advanced and checked and counterchecked and modified and abandoned and

revived and converted to something else. It was a devil of a job.'

Theremon nodded thoughtfully and held out his glass for more liquor.

Sheerin grudgingly allowed a few ruby drops to leave the bottle.

'It was twenty years ago,' he continued after remoistening his own

throat, 'that it was finally demonstrated that the Law of Universal

Gravitation accounted exactly for the orbital motions of the six suns. It

was a great triumph.'

Sheerin stood up and walked to the window, still clutching his bottle.

'And now we're getting to the point. In the last decade, the motions of

Lagash about Alpha were computed according to gravity, and if did not

account for the orbit observed; not even when all perturbations due to the

other suns were included. Either the law was invalid, or there was another,

as yet unknown, factor involved.'

Theremon joined Sheerin at the window and gazed out past the wooded

slopes to where the spires of Saro City gleamed bloodily on the horizon. The

newsman felt the tension of uncertainty grow within him as he cast a short

glance at Beta. It glowered redly at zenith, dwarfed and evil.

'Go ahead, sir,' he said softly.

Sheerin replied, 'Astronomers stumbled about for year, each proposed

theory more untenable than the one before -- until Aton had the inspiration

of calling in the Cult. The head of the Cult, Sor 5, had access to certain

data that simplified the problem considerably. Aton set to work on a new

track.

'What if there were another nonluminous planetary body such as Lagash?

If there were, you know, it would shine only by reflected light, and if it

were composed of bluish rock, as Lagash itself largely is, then, in the

redness of the sky, the eternal blaze of the suns would make it invisible --

drown it out completely.'

Theremon whistled. 'What a screwy idea!'

'You think that's screwy? Listen to this: Suppose this body rotated

about Lagash at such a distance and in such an orbit and had such a mass

that its attention would exactly account for the deviations of Lagash's

orbit from theory -- do you know what would happen?'

The columnist shook his head.

'Well, sometimes this body would get in the way of a sun.' And Sheerin

emptied what remained in the bottle at a draft.

'And it does, I suppose,' said Theremon flatly.

'Yes! But only one sun lies in its plane of revolution.' He jerked a

thumb at the shrunken sun above. 'Beta! And it has been shown that the

eclipse will occur only when the arrangement of the suns is such that Beta

is alone in its hemisphere and at maximum distance, at which time the moon

is invariably at minimum distance. The eclipse that results, with the moon

seven times the apparent diameter of Beta, covers all of Lagash and lasts

well over half a day, so that no spot on the planet escapes the effects.

That eclipse comes once every two thousand and forty-nine years.'

Theremon's face was drawn into an expressionless mask.

'And that's my story?'

The psychologist nodded. 'That's all of it. First the eclipse -- which

will start in three quarters of an hour -- then universal Darkness and,

maybe, these mysterious Stars -- then madness, and end of the cycle.'

He brooded. 'We had two months' leeway -- we at the Observatory -- and

that wasn't enough time to persuade Lagash of the danger. Two centuries

might not have been enough. But our records are at the Hideout, and today we

photograph the eclipse. The next cycle will start off with the truth, and

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when the next eclipse comes, mankind will at last be ready for it. Come to

think of it, that's part of your story too.'

A thin wind ruffled the curtains at the window as Theremon opened it

and leaned out. It played coldly with his hair as he stared at the crimson

sunlight on his hand. Then he turned in sudden rebellion.

'What is there in Darkness to drive me mad?'

Sheerin smiled to himself as he spun the empty liquor bottle with

abstracted motions of his hand. 'Have you ever experienced Darkness, young

man?'

The newsman leaned against the wall and considered. 'No. Can't say I

have. But I know what it is. Just -- uh -- ' He made vague motions with his

fingers and then brightened. 'Just no light. Like in caves.' ,

'Have you ever been in a cave?'

'In a cave! Of course not!'

'I thought not. I tried last week -- just to see -- but I got out in a

hurry. I went in until the mouth of the cave was just visible as a blur of

light, with black everywhere else. I never thought a person my weight could

run that fast.'

Theremon's lip curled. 'Well, if it comes to that, I guess I wouldn't

have run if I had been there.'

The psychologist studied the young man with an annoyed frown.

'My, don't you talk big! I dare you to draw the curtain.'

Theremon looked his surprise and said, 'What for? If we had four or

five suns out there, we might want to cut the light down a bit for comfort,

but now we haven't enough light as it is.'

'That's the point. Just draw the curtain; then come here and sit down.'

'All right.' Theremon reached for the tasseled string and jerked. The

red curtain slid across the wide window, the brass rings hissing their way

along the crossbar, and a dusk-red shadow clamped down on the room.

Theremon's footsteps sounded hollowly in the silence as he made his way

to the table, and then they stopped halfway. 'I can't see you, sir,' he

whispered.

'Feel your way,' ordered Sheerin in a strained voice.

'But I can't see you, sir.' The newsman was breathing harshly. 'I can't

see anything.'

'What did you expect?' came the grim reply. 'Come here and sit down!'

The footsteps sounded again, waveringly, approaching slowly. There was

the sound of someone fumbling with a chair. Theremon's voice came thinly,

'Here I am. I feel . . . ulp . . . all right.'

'You like it, do you?'

'N -- no. It's pretty awful. The walls seem to be -- ' He paused. 'They

seem to be closing in on me. I keep wanting to push them away. But I'm not

going mad! In fact, the feeling isn't as bad as it was.'

'All right. Draw the curtain back again.'

There were cautious footsteps through the dark, the rustle of

Theremon's body against the curtain as he felt for the tassel, and then the

triumphant roo-osh of the curtain slithering back. Red light flooded the

room, and with a cry of joy Theremon looked up at the sun.

Sheerin wiped the moistness off his forehead with the back of a hand

and said shakily, 'And that was just a dark room.'

'It can be stood,' said Theremon lightly.

'Yes, a dark room can. But were you at the Jonglor Centennial

Exposition two years ago?'

'No, it so happens I never got around to it. Six thousand miles was

just a bit too much to travel, even for the exposition.'

'Well, I was there. You remember hearing about the "Tunnel of Mystery"

that broke all records in the amusement area -- for the first month or so,

anyway?'

'Yes. Wasn't there some fuss about it?'

'Very little. It was hushed up. You see, that Tunnel of Mystery was

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