Asimov's SF, October-November 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “Why, what happened?"

  It was Yimot that answered. “We shut ourselves in and allowed our eyes to get accustomed to the dark. It's an extremely creepy feeling because the total Darkness makes you feel as if the walls and ceiling are crushing in on you. But we got over that and pulled the switch. The caps fell away and the roof glittered all over with little dots of light—"

  “Well?"

  “Well—nothing. That was the whacky part of it. Nothing happened. It was just a roof with holes in it, and that's just what it looked like. We tried it over and over again—that's what kept us so late—but there just isn't any effect at all."

  There followed a shocked silence, and all eyes turned to Sheerin, who sat motionless, mouth open.

  Theremon was the first to speak. “You know what this does to this whole theory you've built up, Sheerin, don't you?” He was grinning with relief.

  But Sheerin raised his hand. “Now wait a while. Just let me think this through.” And then he snapped his fingers, and when he lifted his head there was neither surprise nor uncertainty in his eyes. “Of course—"

  He never finished. From somewhere up above there sounded a sharp clang and Beenay, starting to his feet, dashed up the stairs with a “What the devil!"

  The rest followed after.

  Things happened quickly. Once up in the dome, Beenay cast one horrified glance at the shattered photographic plates and at the man bending over them; and then hurled himself fiercely at the intruder, getting a death grip on his throat. There was a wild threshing, and as others of the staff joined in, the stranger was swallowed up and smothered under the weight of half a dozen angry men.

  Aton came up last, breathing heavily. “Let him up!"

  There was a reluctant unscrambling and the stranger, panting harshly, with his clothes torn and his forehead bruised, was hauled to his feet. He had a short yellow beard curled elaborately in the style affected by the Cultists.

  Beenay shifted his hold to a collar grip and shook the man savagely. “All right, rat, what's the idea? These plates—"

  “I wasn't after them,” retorted the Cultist coldly. “That was an accident."

  Beenay followed his glowering stare and snarled, “I see. You were after the cameras themselves. The accident with the plates was a stroke of luck for you, then. If you had touched Snapping Bertha or any of the others, you would have died by slow torture. As it is—” He drew his fist back.

  Aton grabbed his sleeve. “Stop that! Let him go!"

  The young technician wavered, and his arm dropped reluctantly. Aton pushed him aside and confronted the Cultist. “You're Latimer, aren't you?"

  The Cultist bowed stiffly and indicated the symbol upon his hip. “I am Latimer 25, adjutant of the third class to his serenity, Sor 5."

  “And"—Aton's white eyebrows lifted—"you were with his serenity when he visited me last week, weren't you?"

  Latimer bowed a second time.

  “Now, then, what do you want?"

  “Nothing that you would give me of your own free will."

  “Sor 5 sent you, I suppose—or is this your own idea?"

  “I won't answer that question."

  “Will there be any further visitors?"

  “I won't answer that, either."

  Aton glanced at his timepiece and scowled. “Now, man, what is it your master wants of me? I have fulfilled my end of the bargain."

  Latimer smiled faintly, but said nothing.

  “I asked him,” continued Aton angrily, “for data only the Cult could supply, and it was given to me. For that, thank you. In return, I promised to prove the essential truth of the creed of the Cult."

  “There was no need to prove that,” came the proud retort. “It stands proven by the ‘Book of Revelations.’”

  “For the handful that constitute the Cult, yes. Don't pretend to mistake my meaning. I offered to present scientific backing for your beliefs. And I did!"

  The Cultist's eyes narrowed bitterly. “Yes, you did—with a fox's subtlety, for your pretended explanation backed our beliefs, and at the same time removed all necessity for them. You made of the Darkness and of the Stars a natural phenomenon, and removed all its real significance. That was blasphemy."

  “If so, the fault isn't mine. The facts exist. What can I do but state them?"

  “Your ‘facts’ are a fraud and a delusion."

  Aton stamped angrily. “How do you know?"

  And the answer came with the certainty of absolute faith. “I know!"

  The director purpled and Beenay whispered urgently. Aton waved him silent. “And what does Sor 5 want us to do? He still thinks, I suppose, that in trying to warn the world to take measures against the menace of madness, we are placing innumerable souls in jeopardy. We aren't succeeding, if that means anything to him."

  “The attempt itself has done harm enough, and your vicious effort to gain information by means of your devilish instruments must be stopped. We obey the will of the Stars, and I only regret that my clumsiness prevented me from wrecking your infernal devices."

  “It wouldn't have done you too much good,” returned Aton. “All our data, except for the direct evidence we intend collecting right now, is already safely cached and well beyond possibility of harm.” He smiled grimly. “But that does not affect your present status as an attempted burglar and criminal."

  He turned to the men behind him. “Someone call the police at Saro City."

  * * * *

  There was a cry of distaste from Sheerin. “Damn it, Aton, what's wrong with you? There's no time for that. Here"—he bustled his way forward—"let me handle this."

  Aton stared down his nose at the psychologist. “This is not the time for your monkeyshines, Sheerin. Will you please let me handle this my own way? Right now you are a complete outsider here, and don't forget it."

  Sheerin's mouth twisted eloquently. “Now why should we go to the impossible trouble of calling the police—with Beta's eclipse a matter of minutes from now—when this young man here is perfectly willing to pledge his word of honor to remain and cause no trouble whatsoever?"

  The Cultist answered promptly, “I will do no such thing. You're free to do what you want, but it's only fair to warn you that just as soon as I get my chance I'm going to finish what I came out here to do. If it's my word of honor you're relying on, you'd better call the police."

  Sheerin smiled in a friendly fashion. “You're a determined cuss, aren't you? Well, I'll explain something. Do you see that young man at the window? He's a strong, husky fellow, quite handy with his fists, and he's an outsider besides. Once the eclipse starts there will be nothing for him to do except keep an eye on you. Besides him, there will be myself—a little too stout for active fisticuffs, but still able to help."

  “Well, what of it?” demanded Latimer frozenly.

  “Listen, and I'll tell you,” was the reply. “Just as soon as the eclipse starts, we're going to take you, Theremon and I, and deposit you in a little closet with one door, to which is attached one giant lock and no windows. You will remain there for the duration."

  “And afterward,” breathed Latimer fiercely, “there'll be no one to let me out. I know as well as you do what the coming of the Stars means—I know it far better than you. With all your minds gone, you are not likely to free me. Suffocation or slow starvation, is it? About what I might have expected from a group of scientists. But I don't give my word. It's a matter of principle, and I won't discuss it further."

  Aton seemed perturbed. His faded eyes were troubled. “Really, Sheerin, locking him—"

  “Please!” Sheerin motioned him impatiently to silence. “I don't think for a moment things will go that far. Latimer has just tried a clever little bluff, but I'm not a psychologist just because I like the sound of the word.” He grinned at the Cultist. “Come now, you don't really think I'm trying anything as crude as slow starvation. My dear Latimer, if I lock you in the closet, you are not going to see the Darkness, and you are not going
to see the Stars. It does not take much of a knowledge of the fundamental creed of the Cult to realize that for you to be hidden from the Stars when they appear means the loss of your immortal soul. Now, I believe you to be an honorable man. I'll accept your word of honor to make no further effort to disrupt proceedings if you'll offer it."

  A vein throbbed in Latimer's temple, and he seemed to shrink within himself as he said thickly, “You have it!” And then he added with swift fury, “But it is my consolation that you will all be damned for your deeds of today.” He turned on his heel and stalked to the high three-legged stool by the door.

  Sheerin nodded to the columnist. “Take a seat next to him, Theremon—just as a formality. Hey, Theremon!"

  But the newspaperman didn't move. He had gone pale to the lips. “Look at that!” The finger he pointed toward the sky shook, and his voice was dry and cracked.

  * * * *

  There was one simultaneous gasp as every eye followed the pointing finger and, for one breathless moment, stared frozenly.

  Beta was chipped on one side!

  The tiny bit of encroaching blackness was perhaps the width of a fingernail, but to the staring watchers it magnified itself into the crack of doom.

  Only for a moment they watched, and after that there was a shrieking confusion that was even shorter of duration and which gave way to an orderly scurry of activity—each man at his prescribed job. At the crucial moment there was no time for emotion. The men were merely scientists with work to do. Even Aton had melted away.

  Sheerin said prosaically, “First contact must have been made fifteen minutes ago. A little early, but pretty good considering the uncertainties involved in the calculation.” He looked about him and tiptoed to Theremon, who still remained staring out the window, and dragged him away gently.

  “Aton is furious,” he whispered, “so stay away. He missed first contact on account of this fuss with Latimer, and if you get in his way he'll have you thrown out the window."

  Theremon nodded shortly and sat down. Sheerin stared in surprise at him.

  “The devil, man,” he exclaimed, “you're shaking."

  “Eh?” Theremon licked dry lips and then tried to smile. “I don't feel very well, and that's a fact."

  The psychologist's eyes hardened. “You're not losing your nerve?"

  “No!” cried Theremon in a flash of indignation. “Give me a chance, will you? I haven't really believed this rigmarole—not way down beneath, anyway—till just this minute. Give me a chance to get used to the idea. You've been preparing yourself for two months or more."

  “You're right at that,” replied Sheerin thoughtfully. “Listen! Have you got a family—parents, wife, children?"

  Theremon shook his head. “You mean the Hideout, I suppose. No, you don't have to worry about that. I have a sister, but she's two thousand miles away. I don't even know her exact address."

  “Well, then, what about yourself ? You've got time to get there, and they're one short anyway, since I left. After all, you're not needed here, and you'd make a darned fine addition—"

  Theremon looked at the other wearily. “You think I'm scared stiff, don't you? Well, get this, mister, I'm a newspaperman and I've been assigned to cover a story. I intend covering it."

  There was a faint smile on the psychologist's face. “I see. Professional honor, is that it?"

  “You might call it that. But, man, I'd give my right arm for another bottle of that sockeroo juice even half the size of the one you hogged. If ever a fellow needed a drink, I do."

  He broke off. Sheerin was nudging him violently. “Do you hear that? Listen!"

  Theremon followed the motion of the other's chin and stared at the Cultist, who, oblivious to all about him, faced the window, a look of wild elation on his face, droning to himself the while in singsong fashion.

  “What's he saying?” whispered the columnist.

  “He's quoting ‘Book of Revelations,’ fifth chapter,” replied Sheerin. Then, urgently, “Keep quiet and listen, I tell you."

  The Cultist's voice had risen in a sudden increase of fervor:

  “'And it came to pass that in those days the Sun, Beta, held lone vigil in the sky for ever longer periods as the revolutions passed; until such time as for full half a revolution, it alone, shrunken and cold, shone down upon Lagash.

  “'And men did assemble in the public squares and in the highways, there to debate and to marvel at the sight, for a strange depression had seized them. Their minds were troubled and their speech confused, for the souls of men awaited the coming of the Stars.

  “'And in the city of Trigon, at high noon, Vendret 2 came forth and said unto the men of Trigon, “Lo ye sinners! Though ye scorn the ways of righteousness, yet will the time of reckoning come. Even now the Cave approaches to swallow Lagash; yea, and all it contains."

  “'And even as he spoke the lip of the Cave of Darkness passed the edge of Beta so that to all Lagash it was hidden from sight. Loud were the cries of men as it vanished, and great was the fear of soul that fell upon them.

  “'It came to pass that the Darkness of the Cave fell upon Lagash, and there was no light on all the surface of Lagash. Men were even as blinded, nor could one man see his neighbor, though he felt his breath upon his face.

  “'And in this blackness there appeared the Stars, in countless numbers, and to the strains of ineffable music of a beauty so wondrous that the very leaves of the trees turned to tongues that cried out in wonder.

  “'And in that moment the souls of men departed from them, and their abandoned bodies became even as beasts; yea, even as brutes of the wild; so that through the blackened streets of the cities of Lagash they prowled with wild cries.

  “'From the Stars there then reached down the Heavenly Flame, and where it touched, the cities of Lagash flamed to utter destruction, so that of man and of the works of man nought remained.

  “'Even then—’”

  * * * *

  There was a subtle change in Latimer's tone. His eyes had not shifted, but somehow he had become aware of the absorbed attention of the other two. Easily, without pausing for breath, the timbre of his voice shifted and the syllables became more liquid.

  Theremon, caught by surprise, stared. The words seemed on the border of familiarity. There was an elusive shift in the accent, a tiny change in the vowel stress; nothing more—yet Latimer had become thoroughly unintelligible.

  Sheerin smiled slyly. “He shifted to some old-cycle tongue, probably their traditional second cycle. That was the language in which the original ‘Book of Revelations’ had originally been written, you know."

  “It doesn't matter; I've heard enough.” Theremon shoved his chair back and brushed his hair back with hands that no longer shook. “I feel much better now."

  “You do?” Sheerin seemed mildly surprised.

  “I'll say I do. I had a bad case of jitters just a while back. Listening to you and your gravitation and seeing that eclipse start almost finished me. But this “—he jerked a contemptuous thumb at the yellow-bearded Cultist—"this is the sort of thing my nurse used to tell me. I've been laughing at that sort of thing all my life. I'm not going to let it scare me now."

  He drew a deep breath and said with a hectic gaiety, “But if I expect to keep on the good side of myself, I'm going to turn my chair away from the window."

  Sheerin said, “Yes, but you'd better talk lower. Aton just lifted his head out of that box he's got it stuck into and gave you a look that should have killed you."

  Theremon made a mouth. “I forgot about the old fellow.” With elaborate care he turned the chair from the window, cast one distasteful look over his shoulder and said, “It has occurred to me that there must be considerable immunity against this Star madness."

  The psychologist did not answer immediately. Beta was past its zenith now, and the square of bloody sunlight that outlined the window upon the floor had lifted into Sheerin's lap. He stared at its dusky color thoughtfully and then bent and squinted
into the sun itself.

  The chip in its side had grown to a black encroachment that covered a third of Beta. He shuddered, and when he straightened once more his florid cheeks did not contain quite as much color as they had previously.

  With a smile that was almost apologetic, he reversed his chair also. “There are probably two million people in Saro City that are all trying to join the Cult at once in one gigantic revival.” Then, ironically, “The Cult is in for an hour of unexampled prosperity. I trust they'll make the most of it. Now, what was it you said?"

  “Just this. How do the Cultists manage to keep the ‘Book of Revelations’ going from cycle to cycle, and how on Lagash did it get written in the first place? There must have been some sort of immunity, for if everyone had gone mad, who would be left to write the book?"

  Sheerin stared at his questioner ruefully. “Well, now, young man, there isn't any eyewitness answer to that, but we've got a few damned good notions as to what happened. You see, there are three kinds of people who might remain relatively unaffected. First, the very few who don't see the Stars at all; the blind, those who drink themselves into a stupor at the beginning of the eclipse and remain so to the end. We leave them out—because they aren't really witnesses.

  “Then there are children below six, to whom the world as a whole is too new and strange for them to be too frightened at Stars and Darkness. They would just be another item in an already surprising world. You see that, don't you?"

  The other nodded doubtfully. “I suppose so."

  “Lastly, there are those whose minds are too coarsely grained to be entirely toppled. The very insensitive would be scarcely affected—oh, such people as some of our older, work-broken peasants. Well, the children would have fugitive memories, and that, combined with the confused, incoherent babblings of the half-mad morons, formed the basis for the ‘Book of Revelations.'

  “Naturally, the book was based, in the first place, on the testimony of those least qualified to serve as historians; that is, children and morons; and was probably extensively edited and re-edited throughout the cycles."