From the Ocean from teh Stars (91 page)

"When I first left Diaspar," he said, "I did not know what I hoped
to find. Lys would have satisfied me once—more than satisfied me—yet
now everything on Earth seems so small and unimportant. Each discov
ery I've made has raised bigger questions, and opened up wider horizons.
I wonder where it will end. . . ."

Hilvar had never seen Alvin in so thoughtful a mood, and did not
wish to interrupt his soliloquy. He had learned a great deal about his
friend in the last few minutes.

"The robot told me," Alvin continued, "that this ship can reach the
Seven Suns in less than a day. Do you think I should go?"

"Do you think I could stop you?" Hilvar replied quietly.

Alvin smiled.

"That's no answer," he said. "Who knows what lies out there in space? The Invaders may have left the Universe, but there may be other intelligences unfriendly to Man."

"Why should there be?" Hilvar asked. "That's one of the questions
our philosophers have been debating for ages. A truly intelligent race is
not likely to be unfriendly."

"But the Invaders—?"

"They are an enigma, I admit. If they were really vicious, they must
have destroyed themselves by now. And even if they have not—" Hilvar
pointed to the unending deserts below. "Once we had an Empire. What
have we now that they would covet?"

Alvin was a little surprised that anyone else shared this point of view,
so closely allied to his own.

"Do all your people think this way?" he asked.

"Only a minority. The average person doesn't worry about it, but
would probably say that if the Invaders really wanted to destroy Earth,
they'd have done it ages ago. I don't suppose anyone is actually afraid
of them."

"Things are very different in Diaspar," said Alvin. "My people are
great cowards. They are terrified of leaving their city, and I don't know
what will happen when they hear that I've located a spaceship. Jeserac
will have told the Council by now, and I would like to know what it is
doing."

"I can tell you that. It is preparing to receive its first delegation from
Lys. Seranis has just told me."

Alvin looked again at the screen. He could span the distance between
Lys and Diaspar in a single glance; though one of his aims had been
achieved, that seemed a small matter now. Yet he was very glad; now,
surely, the long ages of sterile isolation would be ending.

The knowledge that he had succeeded in what had once been his
main mission cleared away the last doubts from Alvin's mind. He had
fulfilled his purpose here on Earth, more swiftly and more thoroughly
than he had dared to hope. The way lay clear ahead for what might be
his last, and would certainly be his greatest, adventure.

"Will you come with me, Hilvar?" he said, all too conscious of what
he was asking.

Hilvar looked at him steadfastly.

"There was no need to ask that, Alvin," he said. "I told Seranis and all my friends that I was leaving with you—a good hour ago."

They were very high when Alvin gave the robot its final instructions.
The ship had come almost to rest and the Earth was perhaps a thousand
miles below, nearly filling the sky. It looked very uninviting; Alvin
wondered how many ships in the past had hovered here for a little while
and then continued on their way.

There was an appreciable pause, as if the robot was checking controls and circuits that had not been used for geological ages. Then came
a very faint sound, the first that Alvin had ever heard from a machine.
It was a tiny humming, which soared swiftly octave by octave until it was
lost at the edge of hearing. There was no sense of change or motion, but
suddenly he noticed that the stars were drifting across the screen. The Earth reappeared, and rolled past—then appeared again, in a slightly
different position. The ship was "hunting," swinging in space like a com
pass needle seeking the north. For minutes the skies turned and twisted
around them, until at last the ship came to rest, a giant projectile aimed
at the stars.

Centered in the screen the great ring of the Seven Suns lay in its rain-
bow-hued beauty. A little of Earth was still visible as a dark crescent
edged with the gold and crimson of the sunset. Something was happening
now, Alvin knew, beyond all his experience. He waited, gripping his
seat, while the seconds drifted by and the Seven Suns glittered on the
screen.

There was no sound, only a sudden wrench that seemed to blur the
vision—but Earth had vanished as if a giant hand had whipped it away. They were alone in space, alone with the stars and a strangely shrunken
sun. Earth was gone as though it had never been.

Again came that wrench, and with it now the faintest murmur of
sound, as if for the first time the generators were exerting some apprecia
ble fraction of their power. Yet for a moment it seemed that nothing had
happened; then Alvin realized that the sun itself was gone and that the

stars were creeping slowly past the ship. He looked back for an instant and saw—nothing. All the heavens behind had vanished utterly, obliterated by a hemisphere of night. Even as he watched, he could see the stars plunge into it, to disappear like sparks falling upon water. The ship was traveling far faster than light, and Alvin knew that the familiar space of Earth and sun held him no more.

When that sudden, vertiginous wrench came for the third time, his heart almost stopped beating. The strange blurring of vision was unmistakable now: for a moment his surroundings seemed distorted out of recognition. The meaning of that distortion came to him in a flash of insight he could not explain.
It was real, and no delusion of his eyes.
Somehow he was catching, as he passed through the thin film of the Present, a glimpse of the changes that were occurring in the space around him.

At the same instant the murmur of the generators rose to a roar that shook the ship—a sound doubly impressive for it was the first cry of protest that Alvin had ever heard from a machine. Then it was all over, and the sudden silence seemed to ring in his ears. The great generators had done their work; they would not be needed again until the end of the voyage. The stars ahead flared blue-white and vanished into the ultraviolet. Yet by some magic of Science or Nature the Seven Suns were still visible, though now their positions and colors were subtly changed. The ship was hurtling toward them along a tunnel of darkness, beyond the boundaries of space and time, at a velocity too enormous for the mind to contemplate.

It was hard to believe that they had now been flung out of the Solar System at a speed which unless it were checked would soon take them through the heart of the Galaxy and into the greater emptiness beyond. Neither Alvin nor Hilvar could conceive the real immensity of their journey; the great sagas of exploration had completely changed Man's outlook toward the Universe and even now, millions of centuries later, the ancient traditions had not wholly died. There had once been a ship, legend whispered, that had circumnavigated the Cosmos between the rising and the setting of the sun. The billions of miles between the stars meant nothing before such speeds. To Alvin this voyage was very little greater, and perhaps less dangerous, than his first journey to Lys.

It was Hilvar who voiced both their thoughts as the Seven Suns slowly brightened ahead.

"Alvin," he remarked, "that formation can't possibly be natural."

The other nodded.

"I've thought that for years, but it still seems fantastic."

"The system may not have been built by Man," agreed Hilvar, "but intelligence must have created it. Nature could never have formed that perfect circle of stars, all equally brilliant. And there's nothing else in the visible Universe like the Central Sun."

"Why should such a thing have been made, then?"

"Oh, I can think of many reasons. Perhaps it's a signal, so that any strange ship entering our Universe will know where to look for life. Perhaps it marks the center of galactic administration. Or perhaps— and somehow I feel that this is the real explanation—it's simply the greatest of all works of art. But it's foolish to speculate now. In a few hours we shall know the truth."

"We shall know the truth."
Perhaps, thought Alvin—but how much of it shall we ever know? It seemed strange that now, while he was leaving Diaspar, and indeed Earth itself, at a speed beyond all comprehension, his mind should turn once more to the mystery of his origin. Yet perhaps it was not so surprising; he had learned many things since he had first arrived in Lys, but until now he had had not a single moment for quiet reflection.

There was nothing he could do now but sit and wait; his immediate future was controlled by the wonderful machine—surely one of the supreme engineering achievements of all time—that was now carrying him into the heart of the Universe. Now was the moment for thought and reflection, whether he wished it or not. But first he would tell Hilvar all that had happened to him since their hasty parting only two days before.

Hilvar absorbed the tale without comment and without asking for any explanations; he seemed to understand at once everything that Alvin described, and showed no signs of surprise even when he heard of the meeting with the Central Computer and the operation it had performed upon the robot's mind. It was not that he was incapable of wonder, but that the history of the past was full of marvels that could match anything in Alvin's story.

"It's obvious," he said, when Alvin had finished talking, "that the Central Computer must have received special instructions regarding you when it was built. By now, you must have guessed why."

"I think so. Khedron gave me part of the answer when he explained how the men who designed Diaspar had taken steps to prevent it becoming decadent."

"Do you think you—and the other Uniques before you—are part of the social mechanism which prevents complete stagnation? So that whereas the Jesters are short-term correcting factors, you and your kind are long-term ones?"

Hilvar had expressed the idea better than Alvin could, yet this was
not exactly what he had in mind.

"I believe the truth is more complicated than that. It almost looks as
if there was a conflict of opinion when the city was built, between those
who wanted to shut it off completely from the outside world, and those
who wanted to maintain some contacts. The first faction won, but the
others did not admit defeat. I think Yarlan Zey must have been one of
their leaders, but he was not powerful enough to act openly. He did his
best, by leaving the subway in existence and by insuring that at long
intervals someone would come out of the Hall of Creation who did not share the fears of all his fellow men. In fact, I wonder—" Alvin paused,
and his eyes veiled with thought so that for a moment he seemed oblivious
of his surroundings.

"What are you thinking now?" asked Hilvar.

"It's just occurred to me—perhaps / am Yarlan Zey. It's perfectly
possible. He may have fed his personality into the Memory Banks, rely
ing on it to break the mold of Diaspar before it was too firmly established.
One day I must discover what happened to those earlier Uniques; that
may help to fill in the gaps in the picture."

"And Yarlan Zey—or whoever it was—also instructed the Central
Computer to give special assistance to the Uniques, whenever they were
created," mused Hilvar, following this line of logic.

"That's right. The ironic thing is that I could have got all the informa
tion I needed direct from the Central Computer, without any assistance
from poor Khedron. It would have told me more than it ever told him.
But there's no doubt that he saved me a good deal of time, and taught
me much that I could never have learned by myself."

"I think your theory covers all the known facts," said Hilvar cau
tiously. "Unfortunately, it still leaves wide open the biggest problem of
all—the original purpose of Diaspar. Why did your people try to pretend
that the outer world didn't exist?
That's
a question I'd like to see an
swered."

"It's a question I intend to answer," replied Alvin. "But I don't know
when—or how."

So they argued and dreamed, while hour by hour the Seven Suns
drifted apart until they had filled that strange tunnel of night in which
the ship was riding. Then, one by one, the six outer stars vanished at the
brink of darkness and at last only the Central Sun was left. Though it
could no longer be fully in their space, it still shone with the pearly light
that marked it out from all other stars. Minute by minute its brilliance