“We’re landing,” Andrews said to the old woman, touching her On the shoulder.
“She can’t hear you, sir,” the robant said.
Andrews grunted. “Well, she can see.”
Below them the pitted, ruined surface of Emphor III was rising rapidly. The ship entered the cloud belt and emerged, coasting over a barren plain that stretched as far as the eye could see.
“What happened down there?” Norton said to Andrews. “The war?”
“War. Mining. And it’s old. The pits are probably bomb craters. Some of the long trenches may be scoop gouges. Looks like they really exhausted this place.”
A crooked row of broken mountain peaks shot past under them. They were nearing the remain of an ocean. Dark, unhealthy water lapped below, a vast sea, crusted with salt and waste, its edges disappearing into banks of piled debris.
“Why is it that way?” Mrs. Gordon said suddenly. Doubt crossed her features. “Why?”
“What do you mean?” Andrews said.
“I don’t understand.” She stared uncertainly down at the surface below. “It isn’t supposed to be this way. Earth is green. Green and alive. Blue water and…” Her voice trailed off uneasily. “Why?”
Andrews grabbed some paper and wrote:
COMMERCIAL OPERATIONS EXHAUSTED SURFACE
Mrs. Gordon studied his words, her lips twitching. A spasm moved through her, shaking the thin, dried-out body. “Exhausted…” Her voice rose in shrill dismay. “It’s not supposed to be this way! I don’t want it this way!”
The robant took her arm. “She had better rest. I’ll return her to her quarters. Please notify us when the landing has been made.”
“Sure.” Andrews nodded awkwardly as the robant led the old woman from the viewscreen. She clung to the guide rail, face distorted with fear and bewilderment.
“Something’s wrong!” she wailed. “Why is it this way? Why…”
The robant led her from the control room. The closing of the hydraulic safety doors cut off her thin cry abruptly.
Andrews relaxed, his body sagging. “God.” He lit a cigarette shakily. “What a racket she makes.”
“We’re almost down,” Norton said frigidly.
Cold wind lashed at them as they stepped out cautiously. The air smelled bad—sour and acrid. Like rotten eggs. The wind brought salt and sand blowing up against their faces.
A few miles off the thick sea lay. They could hear it swishing faintly, gummily. A few birds passed silently overhead, great wings flapping soundlessly.
“Depressing damn place,” Andrews muttered.
“Yeah. I wonder what the old lady’s thinking.”
Down the descent ramp came the glittering robant, helping the little old woman. She moved hesitantly, unsteady, gripping the robant’s metal arm. The cold wind whipped around her frail body. For a moment she tottered—and then came on, leaving the ramp and gaining the uneven ground.
Norton shook his head. “She looks bad. This air. And the wind.”
“I know.” Andrews moved back towards Mrs. Gordon and the robant. “How is she?” he asked.
“She is not well, sir,” the robant answered.
“Captain.” the old woman whispered.
“What is it?”
“You must tell me the truth. Is this—is this really Earth?”
She watched his lips closely. “You swear it is? You swear?” Her voice rose in shrill terror.
“It’s Earth!” Andrews snapped irritably. “I told you before. Of course it’s Earth.”
“It doesn’t look like Earth.” Mrs. Gordon clung to his answer, panic-stricken. “It doesn’t look like Earth, Captain. Is it really Earth?”
“Yes!”
Her gaze wandered towards the ocean. A strange look flickered across her tired face, igniting her faded eyes with sudden hunger. “Is that water? I want to see.”
Andrews turned to Norton. “Get the launch out. Drive her where she wants.”
Norton pulled back angrily. “Me?”
“That’s an order.”
“Okay.” Norton returned reluctantly to the ship. Andrews lit a cigarette moodily and waited. Presently the launch slid out of the ship, coasting across the ash towards them.
“You can show her anything she wants,” Andrews said to the robant. “Norton will drive you.”
“Thank you, sir,” the robant said. “She will be grateful. She has wanted all her life to stand on Earth. She remembers her grandfather telling her about it. She believes that he came from Earth, a long time ago. She is very old. She is the last living member of her family.”
“But Earth is just a—” Andrews caught himself. “I mean—”
“Yes, sir. But she is very old. And she has waited many years.” The robant turned to the old woman and led her gently towards the launch. Andrews stared after them sullenly, rubbing his jaw and frowning.
“Okay,” Norton’s voice came from the launch. He slid the hatch open and the robant led the old woman carefully inside. The hatch closed after them.
A moment later the launch shot away across the salt flat, towards the ugly, lapping ocean.
Norton and Captain Andrews paced restlessly along the shore. The sky was darkening. Sheets of salt blew against them. The mud flats stank in the gathering gloom of night. Dimly, off in the distance, a line of hills faded into the silence and vapours.
“Go on,” Andrews said. “What then?”
“That’s all. She got out of the launch. She and the robant. I stayed inside. They stood looking across the ocean. After a while the old woman sent the robant back to the launch.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She wanted to be alone, I suppose. She stood for a time by herself. On the shore. Looking over the water. The wind rising. All at once she just sort of settled down. She sank down in a heap, into the salt ash.”
“Then what?”
“While I was pulling myself together, the robant leaped out and ran to her. It picked her up. It stood for a second and then it started for the water. I leaped out of the launch, yelling. It stepped into the water and disappeared. Sank down in the mud and filth. Vanished.” Norton shuddered. “With her body.”
Andrews tossed his cigarette savagely away. The cigarette rolled off, glowing behind them. “Anything more?”
“Nothing. It all happened in a second. She was standing there, looking over the water. Suddenly she quivered—like a dead branch. Then she just sort of dwindled away. And the robant was out of the launch and into the water with her before I could figure out what was happening.”
The sky was almost dark. Huge clouds drifted across the faint stars. Clouds of unhealthy night vapours and particles of waste. A flock of immense birds crossed the horizon, flying silently.
Against the broken hills the moon was rising. A diseased, barren globe, tinted faintly yellow. Like old parchment.
“Let’s get back in the ship,” Andrews said. “I don’t like this place.”
“I can’t figure out why it happened. The old woman.” Norton shook his head.
“The wind. Radio-active toxins. I checked with Centaurus II. The War devastated the whole system. Left the planet a lethal wreck.”
“Then we won’t—”
“No. We won’t have to answer for it.” They continued for a time in silence. “We won’t have to explain. It’s evident enough. Anybody coming here, especially an old person—”
“Only nobody would come here,” Norton said bitterly. “Especially an old person.”
Andrews didn’t answer. He paced along, head down, hands in pockets. Norton followed silently behind. Above them, the single moon grew brighter as it escaped the mists and entered a patch of clear sky.
“By the way,” Norton said, his voice cold and distant behind Andrews. “This is the last trip I’ll be making with you. While I was in the ship I filed a formal request for new papers.”
“Oh?”
“Thought I’d let you know. And my share of the kilo
positives. You can keep it.”
Andrews flushed and increased his pace, leaving Norton behind. The old woman’s death had shaken him. He lit another cigarette and then threw it away.
Damn it—the fault wasn’t his. She had been old. Three hundred and fifty years. Senile and deaf. A faded leaf, carried off by the wind. By the poisonous wind that lashed and twisted endlessly across the ruined face of the planet.
The ruined face. Salt ash and debris. The broken line of crumbling hills. And the silence. The eternal silence. Nothing but the wind and the lapping of the thick stagnant water. And the dark birds overhead.
Something glinted. Something at his feet, in the salt ash. Reflecting the sickly pallor of the moon.
Andrews bent down and groped in the darkness. His fingers closed over something hard. He picked the small disc up and examined it.
“Strange,” he said.
It wasn’t until they were out in deep space, roaring back towards Fomalhaut, that he remembered the disc.
He slid away from the control panel, searching his pockets for it.
The disc was worn and thin. And terribly old. Andrews rubbed it and spat on it until it was clean enough to make out. A faint impression—nothing more. He turned it over. A token? Washer? Coin?
On the back were a few meaningless letters. Some ancient, forgotten script. He held the disc to the light until he made the letters out.
E PLURIBUS UNUM
He shrugged, tossed the ancient bit of metal into a waste disposal unit beside him, and turned his attention to the star charts, and home…
THE INDEFATIGABLE FROG
“Zeno was the first great scientist,” Professor Hardy stated, looking sternly around his classroom. “For example, take his paradox of the frog and the well. As Zeno showed, the frog will never reach the top of the well. Each jump is half the previous jump; a small but very real margin always remains for him to travel.”
There was silence, as the afternoon Physics 3-A Class considered Hardy’s oracular utterance. Then, in the back of the room, a hand slowly went up.
Hardy stared at the hand in disbelief, “Well?” he said. “What is it, Pitner?”
“But in Logic we were told the frog would reach the top of the well. Professor Grote said—”
“The frog will not!”
“Professor Grote says he will.”
Hardy folded his arms. “In this class the frog will never reach the top of the well. I have examined the evidence myself. I am satisfied that he will always be a small distance away. For example, if he jumps—”
The bell rang.
All the students rose to their feet and began to move towards the door. Professor Hardy stared after them, his sentence half finished. He rubbed his jaw with displeasure, frowning at the horde of young men and women with their bright, vacant faces.
When the last of them had gone, Hardy picked up his pipe and went out of the room into the hall. He looked up and down. Sure enough, not far off was Grote, standing by the drinking fountain, wiping his chin.
“Grote!” Hardy said. “Come here!”
Professor Grote looked up, blinking. “What?”
“Come here,” Hardy strode up to him. “How dare you try to teach Zeno? He was a scientist, and as such he’s my property to teach, not yours. Leave Zeno to me!”
“Zeno was a philosopher.” Grote stared up indignantly at Hardy. “I know what’s on your mind. It’s that paradox about the frog and the well. For your information, Hardy, the frog will easily get out. You’ve been misleading your students. Logic is on my side.”
“Logic, bah!” Hardy snorted, his eyes blazing. “Old dusty maxims. It’s obvious that the frog is trapped for ever, in an eternal prison and can never get away!”
“He will escape.”
“He will not.”
“Are you gentlemen quite through?” a calm voice said. They turned quickly around. The Dean was standing quietly behind them, smiling gently. “If you are through, I wonder if you’d mind coming into my office for a moment.” He nodded towards his door. “It won’t take too long.”
Grote and Hardy looked at each other. “See what you’ve done?” Hardy whispered, as they filed into the Dean’s office. “You’ve got us into trouble again.”
“You started it—you and your frog!”
“Sit down, gentlemen.” The Dean indicated two stiff-backed chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’m sorry to trouble you when you’re so busy, but I do wish to speak to you for a moment.” He studied them moodily. “May I ask what is the nature of your discussion this time?”
“It’s about Zeno,” Grote murmured.
“Zeno?”
“The paradox about the frog and the well.”
“I see.” The Dean nodded. “I see. The frog and the well. A two thousand-year-old saw. An ancient puzzle. And you two grown men stand in the hall arguing like a—”
“The difficulty,” Hardy said, after a time, “is that no one has ever performed the experiment. The paradox is a pure abstraction.”
“Then you two are going to be the first to lower the frog into his well and actually see what happens.”
“But the frog won’t jump in conformity to the conditions of the paradox.”
“Then you’ll have to make him, that’s all. I’ll give you two weeks to set up control conditions and determine the truth of this miserable puzzle. I want no more wrangling, month after month. I want this settled, once and for all.”
Hardy and Grote were silent.
“Well, Grote,” Hardy said at last, “let’s get it started.”
“We’ll need a net,” Grote said.
“A net and a jar.” Hardy sighed. “We might as well be at it as soon as possible.”
The “Frog Chamber”, as it got to be called, was quite a project.
The University donated most of the basement to them, and Grote and Hardy set to work at once, carrying parts and materials downstairs. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t know about it before long. Most of the science majors were on Hardy’s side; they formed a Failure Club and denounced the frog’s efforts. In the philosophy and art departments there was some agitation for a Success Club, but nothing ever came of it.
Grote and Hardy worked feverishly on the project. They were absent from their classes more and more of the time, as the two weeks wore on. The Chamber itself grew and developed, resembling more and more a long section of sewer pipe running the length of the basement. One end of it disappeared into a maze of wires and tubes: at the other there was a door.
One day when Grote went downstairs there was Hardy already, peering into the tube.
“See here,” Grote said, “we agreed to keep hands off unless both of us were present.”
“I’m just looking inside. It’s dark in there.” Hardy grinned. “I hope the frog will be able to see.”
“Well, there’s only one way to go.”
Hardy lit his pipe. “What do you think of trying out a sample frog? I’m itching to see what happens.”
“It’s too soon.” Grote watched nervously as Hardy searched about for his jar. “Shouldn’t we wait a bit?”
“Can’t face reality, eh? Here, give me a hand.”
There was a sudden sound, a scraping at the door. They looked up. Pitner was standing there, looking curiously into the room, at the elongated Frog Chamber.
“What do you want?” Hardy said. “We’re very busy.”
“Are you going to try it out?” Pitner came into the room. “What are all the coils and relays for?”
“It’s very simple,” Grote said, beaming. “Something I worked out myself. This end here—”
“I’ll show him,” Hardy said. “You’ll only confuse him. Yes, we were about to run the first trial frog. You can stay, boy, if you want.” He opened the jar and took a damp frog from it. “As you can see, the big tube has an entrance and an exit. The frog goes in the entrance. Look inside the tube, boy. Go on.”
Pitner peered into the open end
of the tube. He saw a long black tunnel. “What are the lines?”
“Measuring lines. Grote, turn it on.”
The machinery came on, humming softly. Hardy took the frog and dropped him into the tube. He swung the metal door abut and snapped it tight. “That’s so the frog won’t get out again, at this end.”
“How big a frog were you expecting?” Pitner said. “A full-grown man could get into that.”
“Now watch.” Hardy turned the gas cock up. “This end of the tube is warmed. The heat drives the frog up the tube. We’ll watch through the window.”
They looked into the tube. The frog was sitting quietly in a little heap, staring sadly ahead.
“Jump, you stupid frog,” Hardy said. He turned the gas up.
“Not so high, you maniac!” Grote shouted. “Do you want to stew him?”
“Look!” Pitner cried. “There he goes.”
The frog jumped. “Conduction carries the heat along the tube bottom,” Hardy explained. “He has to keep on jumping to get away from it. Watch him go.”
Suddenly Pitner gave a frightened rattle. “My God, Hardy. The frog has shrunk. He’s only half as big as he was.”
Hardy beamed. “That is the miracle. You see, at the far end of the tube there is a force field. The frog is compelled to jump towards it by the heat. The effect of the field is to reduce animal tissue according to its proximity. The frog is made smaller the farther he goes.”
“Why?”
“It’s the only way the jumping span of the frog can be reduced. As the frog leaps he diminishes in size, and hence each leap is proportionally reduced. We have arranged it so that the diminution is the same as in Zeno’s paradox.”
“But where does it all end?”
“That,” Hardy said, “is the question to which we are devoted. At the far end of the tube there is a photon beam which the frog would pass through, if he ever got that far. If he could reach it, he would cut off the field.”
“He’ll reach it,” Grote muttered.
“No. He’ll get smaller and smaller, and jump shorter and shorter. To him, the tube will lengthen more and more, endlessly. He will never get there.”
They glared at each other. “Don’t be so sure,” Grote said.
A Handful of Darkness Page 11