"I will never tell you. It is too terrible for you ever to know. It is better forgotten."
"Certainly, if you say so," Meredith murmured. "Man has always listened to you. Come and asked and listened."
The Great C was silent. "You know," it said presently, "I have existed a long time. I remember life before the Smash. I could tell you many things about it. Life was much different then. You wear a beard and hunt animals in the woods. Before the Smash there were no woods. Only cities and farms. And men were clean-shaven. Many of them wore white clothing, then. They were scientists. They were very fine. I was constructed by scientists."
"What happened to them?"
"They left," the Great C said vaguely. "Do you recognize the name, Einstein? Albert Einstein?"
"No."
"He was the greatest scientist. Are you sure you don't know the name?" The Great C sounded disappointed. "I answered questions even he could not have answered. There were other Computers, then, but none so grand as I."
Meredith nodded.
"What is your first question?" the Great C said. "Give it to me and I will answer it."
Sudden fear gripped Meredith, surging over him. His knees shook. "The first question?" He murmured. "Let me see. I must consider."
"Have you forgotten?"
"No. I must arrange them in order." He moistened his lips, stroking his black beard nervously. "Let me think. I'll give you the easiest one first. However, even it is very difficult. The Leader of the Tribe--"
"Ask."
Meredith nodded. He glanced up, swallowing. When he spoke his voice was dry and husky. "The first question. Where--where does--"
"Louder," the Great C said.
Meredith took a deep breath. "Where does the rain come from?" he said.
There was silence.
"Do you know?" he said, waiting tensely. Rows of lights moved above him. The Great C was meditating, considering. It whirred, a low, throbbing sound. "Do you know the answer?"
"Rain comes originally from the earth, mostly from the oceans," the Great C said. "It rises into the air by a process of evaporation. The agent of the process is the heat of the sun. The moisture of the oceans ascends in the form of minute particles. These particles, when they are high enough, enter a colder band of air. At this point, condensation occurs. The moisture collects into great clouds. When a sufficient amount is collected the water descends again in drops. You call the drops rain."
Meredith rubbed his chin numbly, nodding.
"I see." He nodded again. "That is the way it occurs?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Of course. What is the second question? That was not very hard. You have no conception of the knowledge and information that lies stored within me. Once, I answered questions the greatest minds of the world could not make out. At least, not as fast as I. What's the next question?"
"This is much more difficult." Meredith smiled weakly. The Great C had answered the question about rain, but surely it could not know the answer to this question. "Tell me," he said slowly. "Tell me if you can: What keeps the sun moving through the sky? Why doesn't it stop? Why doesn't it fall to the ground?"
The Great C gave a funny whirr, almost a laugh. "You will be astonished at the answer. The sun does not move. At least, what you see as motion is not motion at all. What you see is the motion of the earth as it revolves around the sun. Since you are on the earth it seems as if you were standing still and the sun were moving. That is not so. All the nine planets, including the earth, revolve about the sun in regular elliptical orbits. They have been doing so for millions of years. Does that answer your question?
Meredith's heart constricted. He began to tremble violently. At last he managed to pull himself together. "I can hardly believe it. Are you telling the truth?"
"For me there is only truth," the Great C said. "It is impossible for me to lie. What is the third question?"
"Wait," Meredith said thickly. "Let me think a moment." He moved away. "I must consider."
"Why?"
"Wait." Meredith stepped back. He squatted down on the floor, staring dully ahead. It was not possible. The Great C had answered the first questions without trouble! But how could it know such things? How could anyone know things about the sun? About the sky? The Great C was imprisoned in its house. How could it know that the sun did not move? His mind reeled. How could it know about something it had not seen? Books, perhaps. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Perhaps, before the Smash, someone had read books on it. He scowled, setting his lips. Probably that was it. He stood up slowly.
"Are you ready now?" the Great C said. "Ask."
"You can't possibly answer this. No living creature could know. Here is the question. How did the world begin?" Meredith smiled. "You could not know. You did not exist before the world. Therefore, it is impossible that you could know."
"There are several theories," the Great C said calmly. "The most satisfactory is the nebular hypothesis. According to this, a gradually shrinking--"
Meredith listened, stunned, only half hearing the words. Could it be? Could the Great C really know how the world had been formed? He drew himself together, trying to catch the words.
"... There are several ways to verify this theory, giving it credence over the others. Of the others, the most popular, although in disrepute of late, is the theory that a second star once approached our own, causing a violent--"
On and on the Great C went, warming up to its subject. Clearly, it enjoyed the question. Clearly, this was the type of question that had been asked of it in the dim past, before the Smash. All three questions, questions the Tribe had worked on for an entire year, had been easily answered. It did not seem possible. He was stunned.
The Great C finished. "Well?" it said. "Are you satisfied? You can see that I know the answers. Did you really imagine that I would not be able to answer?"
Meredith said nothing. He was dazed, terrified with shock and fear. Sweat ran down his face, into his beard. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
"And now," the Great C said, "since I have been able to answer the questions, please step forward."
Meredith moved forward stiffly, gazing ahead as if in a trance. Around him light appeared, flickering into life, illuminating the room. For the first time he saw the Great C. For the first time the darkness lifted.
The Great C lay on its raised dais, an immense cube of dull, corroded metal. Part of the roof above it had been broken open, and blocks of concrete had dented its right side. Metal tubes and parts lay scattered around on the dais, broken and twisted elements that had been severed by the falling roof.
Once, the Great C had been shiny. Now the cube was dirty and stained. Water had dripped through the broken roof, rain and dirt washed down the walls. Birds had flown down and perched on it, leaving feathers and filth behind. In the original destruction, most of the connecting wires had been cut, the wiring from the cube to the control panel.
And with the metal and wire remnants scattered and heaped around the dais were something else. Littering the dais in a circle before the Great C were piles of bones. Bones and parts of clothing, metal belt buckles, pins, a helmet, some knives, a ration tin.
Remains of the fifty youths who had come before, each with his three questions to ask. Each hoping, praying, that the Great C would not know the answers.
"Step up," the Great C said.
Meredith stepped up on the dais. Ahead of him a short metal ladder led to the top of the cube. He mounted the ladder without comprehension, his mind blank and dazed, moving like a machine. A portion of the metal surface of the cube grated, sliding back.
Meredith stared down. He was looking into a swirling vat of liquid. A vat within the bowels of the cube, in the very depths of the Great C. He hesitated, struggling suddenly, pulling back.
"Jump," the Great C said.
For a long moment Meredith stood on the edge, staring down into the vat, paralyzed with fear and horror. His head rang,
his vision danced and blurred. The room began to tilt, spinning slowly around him. He was swaying, reeling back and forth.
"Jump," the Great C said.
He jumped.
A moment later the metal surface slid back into place. The surface of the cube was again unbroken.
Inside, in the depths of the machinery, the vat of hydrochloric acid swirled and eddied, plucking at the body lying inert within it. Presently the body began to dissolve, the component elements absorbed by pipes and ducts, flowing quickly to every part of the Great C. At last motion ceased. The vast cube became silent.
One by one the lights flickered out. The room was dark again.
The last act of absorption was the opening of a narrow slot in the front of the Great C. Something gray was expelled, ejected. Bones, and a metal helmet. They dropped into the piles before the cube, joining the refuse from the fifty who had come before. Then the last light went off and the machinery became silent. The Great C began its wait for the next year.
After the third day, Kent knew that the youth would not return. He came back to the Shelter with the Tribe scouts, his face dark, scowling and saying nothing.
"Another gone," Page said. "I was so damn sure it wouldn't be able to answer those three! A whole year's work gone."
"Will we always have to sacrifice to it?" Bill Gustavson asked. "Will this go on forever, year after year?"
"Some day, we'll find a question it can't answer," Kent said. "Then it'll let us alone. If we can stump it, then we won't have to feed it any more. If only we can find the right question!"
Anne Fry came toward him, her face white. "Walter?" she said.
"Yes?"
"Has it always been--been kept alive this way? Has it always depended on one of us to keep it going? I can't believe human beings were supposed to be used to keep a machine alive."
Kent shook his head. "Before the Smash it must have used some kind of artificial fuel. Then something happened. Maybe its fuel ducts were damaged or broken, and it changed its ways. I suppose it had to. It was like us, in that respect. We all changed our ways. There was a time when human beings didn't hunt and trap animals. And there was a time when the Great C didn't trap human beings."
"Why--why did it make the Smash, Walter?"
"To show it was stronger than we."
"Was it always so strong? Stronger than man?"
"No. They say that, once, there was no Great C. That man himself brought it to life, to tell him things. But gradually it grew stronger, until at last it brought down the atoms--and with the atoms, the Smash. Now it lives off us. Its power has made us slaves. It became too strong."
"But some day, the time will come when it won't know the answer," Page said.
"Then it will have to release us," Kent said, "according to tradition. It will have to stop using us for food."
Page clenched his fists, staring back across the forest. "Some day that time will come. Some day we'll find a question too hard for it!"
"Let's get started," Gustavson said grimly. "The sooner we begin preparing for next year, the better!"
Out in the Garden
"That's where she is," Robert Nye said. "As a matter of fact, she's always out there. Even when the weather's bad. Even in the rain."
"I see," his friend Lindquist said, nodding. The two of them pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the porch. The air was warm and fresh. They both stopped, taking a deep breath. Lindquist looked around. "Very nice-looking garden. It's really a garden, isn't it?" He shook his head. "I can understand her, now. Look at it!"
"Come along," Nye said, going down the steps onto the path. "She's probably sitting on the other side of the tree. There's an old seat in the form of a circle, like you used to see in the old days. She's probably sitting with Sir Francis."
"Sir Francis? Who's that?" Lindquist came along, hurrying behind him.
"Sir Francis is her pet duck. A big white duck." They turned down the path, past the lilac bushes, crowded over their great wooden frames. Rows of tulips in full bloom stretched out on both sides. A rose trellis stretched up the side of a small greenhouse. Lindquist stared in pleasure. Rose bushes, lilacs, endless shrubs and flowers. A wall of wisteria. A massive willow tree.
And sitting at the foot of the tree, gazing down at a white duck in the grass beside her, was Peggy.
Lindquist stood rooted to the spot, fascinated by Mrs. Nye's beauty. Peggy Nye was small, with soft dark hair and great warm eyes, eyes filled with a gentle, tolerant sadness. She was buttoned up in a little blue coat and suit, with sandals on her feet and flowers in her hair. Roses.
"Sweetheart," Nye said to her, "look who's here. You remember Tom Lindquist, don't you?"
Peggy looked up quickly. "Tommy Lindquist!" she exclaimed. "How are you? How nice it is to see you."
"Thanks." Lindquist shuffled a little in pleasure. "How have you been, Peg? I see you have a friend."
"A friend?"
"Sir Francis. That's his name, isn't it?"
Peggy laughed. "Oh, Sir Francis." She reached down and smoothed the duck's feathers. Sir Francis went on searching out spiders from the grass. "Yes, he's a very good friend of mine. But won't you sit down? How long are you staying?"
"He won't be here very long," her husband said. "He's driving through to New York on some kind of business."
"That's right," Lindquist said. "Say, you certainly have a wonderful garden here, Peggy. I remember you always wanted a nice garden, with lots of birds and flowers."
"It is lovely," Peggy said. "We're out here all the time."
"We?"
"Sir Francis and myself."
"They spend a lot of time together," Robert Nye said. "Cigarette?" He held out his pack to Lindquist. "No?" Nye lit one for himself. "Personally, I can't see anything in ducks, but I never was much on flowers and nature."
"Robert stays indoors and works on his articles," Peggy said. "Sit down, Tommy." She picked up the duck and put him on her lap. "Sit here, beside us."
"Oh, no," Lindquist said. "This is fine."
He became silent, looking down at Peggy and all the flowers, the grass, the silent duck. A faint breeze moved through the rows of iris behind the tree, purple and white iris. No one spoke. The garden was very cool and quiet. Lindquist sighed.
"What is it?" Peggy said.
"You know, all this reminds me of a poem." Lindquist rubbed his forehead. "Something by Yeats, I think."
"Yes, the garden is like that," Peggy said. "Very much like poetry."
Lindquist concentrated. "I know!" he said, laughing. "It's you and Sir Francis, of course. You and Sir Francis sitting there. 'Leda and the Swan'."
Peggy frowned. "Do I--"
"The swan was Zeus," Lindquist said. "Zeus took the shape of a swan to get near Leda while she was bathing. He--uh--made love to her in the shape of a swan. Helen of Troy was born--because of that, you see. The daughter of Zeus and Leda. How does it go ... 'A sudden blow: the great wings beating still above the staggering girl'--"
He stopped. Peggy was staring up at him, her face blazing. Suddenly she leaped up, pushing the duck from her path. She was trembling with anger.
"What is it?" Robert said. "What's wrong?"
"How dare you!" Peggy said to Lindquist. She turned and walked off quickly.
Robert ran after her, catching hold of her arm. "But what's the matter? What's wrong? That's just poetry!"
She pulled away. "Let me go."
He had never seen her so angry. Her face had become like ivory, her eyes like two stones. "But Peg--"
She looked up at him. "Robert," she said, "I am going to have a baby."
"What!"
She nodded. "I was going to tell you tonight. He knows." Her lips curled. "He knows. That's why he said it. Robert, make him leave! Please make him go!"
Nye nodded mechanically. "Sure, Peg. Sure. But--it's true? Really true? You're really going to have a baby?" He put his arms around her. "But that's wonderful! Sweetheart, that's marvel
ous. I never heard anything so marvelous. My golly! For heaven's sake. It's the most marvelous thing I ever heard."
He led her back toward the seat, his arm around her. Suddenly his foot struck something soft, something that leaped and hissed in rage. Sir Francis waddled away, half-flying, his beak snapping in fury.
"Tom!" Robert shouted. "Listen to this. Listen to something. Can I tell him, Peg? Is it all right?"
Sir Francis hissed furiously after him, but in the excitement no one noticed him, not at all.
It was a boy, and they named him Stephen. Robert Nye drove slowly home from the hospital, deep in thought. Now that he actually had a son his thoughts returned to that day in the garden, that afternoon Tom Lindquist had stopped by. Stopped by and quoted the line of Yeats that had made Peg so angry. There had been an air of cold hostility between himself and Sir Francis, after that. He had never been able to look at Sir Francis quite the same again.
Robert parked the car in front of the house and walked up the stone steps. Actually, he and Sir Francis had never gotten along, not since the first day they had brought him back from the country. It was Peg's idea from the beginning. She had seen the sign by the farmhouse--
Robert paused at the porch steps. How angry she had been at poor Lindquist. Of course, it was a tactless line to quote, but still... He pondered, frowning. How stupid it all was! He and Peg had been married three years. There was no doubt that she loved him, that she was faithful to him. True, they did not have much in common. Peg loved to sit out in the garden, reading or meditating, or feeding the birds. Or playing with Sir Francis.
Robert went around the side of the house, into the back yard, into the garden. Of course she loved him! She loved him and she was loyal to him. It was absurd to think that she might even consider--That Sir Francis might be--
He stopped. Sir Francis was at the far end of the garden, pulling up a worm. As he watched, the white duck gulped down the worm and went on, looking for insects in the grass, bugs and spiders. Suddenly the duck stopped, warily.
Collected Stories 1 - The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford and Other Classic Stories Page 42