The Gods Themselves (4 page)

"I've heard of them. For that matter, I've seen them."

"Surely, then, you have the urge to tackle the problem, Dr. Bronowski? You have had the desire to work out what they say?"

"No desire at all, Dr. Lament, because there's no problem."

Lament stared at him suspiciously, "You mean you can read them?"

Bronowski shook his head. "You mistake me. I mean I can't possibly read them, nor can anyone else. There's no base. In the case of Earthly languages, however dead, there is always the chance of finding a living language, or a dead language already deciphered, that bears some relationship to it, however faint. Failing that, there is at least the fact that any Earthly language was written by human beings with human ways of thought. That makes a starting point, however feeble. None of this is the case with the para-symbols, so that they constitute a problem that clearly has no solution. An insolubility is not a problem."

Lamont had kept himself from interrupting only with difficulty, and now he burst out, "You are wrong, Dr. Bronowski. I don't want to seem to be teaching you your profession but you don't know some of the facts that my own profession has uncovered. We are dealing with para-men, concerning whom we know almost nothing. We don't know what they are like, how they think, what kind of world they live on; almost nothing, however basic and fundamental. So far, you are right."

"But it's only
almost
nothing that you know, is that it?" Bronowski did not seem impressed. He took out a package of dried figs from his pocket opened them and began to eat. He offered it to Lamont, who shook his head.

Lamont said, "Right. We do know one thing of crucial importance. They are more intelligent than we are. Item one: They can make the exchange across the inter-Universe gap, while we can play only a passive role."

He interrupted himself here to ask, "Do you know anything about the Inter-Universe Electron Pump?"

"A little," said Bronowski. "Enough to follow you, Doctor, if you don't get technical."

Lamont hastened on. "Item two: They sent us instructions as to how to set up our part of the Pump. We couldn't understand it but we could make out the diagrams just sufficiently well to give us the necessary hints. Item Three: They can somehow sense us. At least they can become aware of our leaving tungsten for them to pick up, for instance. They know where it is and can act upon it We can do nothing comparable. There are other points but this is enough to show the para-men to be clearly more intelligent than we are."

Bronowski said, "I imagine, though, that you are in the minority here. Surely your colleagues don't accept this."

"They don't. But what makes you come to that conclusion?"

"Because you're clearly wrong, it seems to me."

"My facts are correct And since they are, how can I be wrong?"

"You are merely proving the technology of the para-men is more advanced than ours. What has that to do with intelligence? See here"—Bronowski rose to take off his jacket and then sat down in a half-reclining position, the soft rotundity of his body seeming to relax and crease in great comfort as though physical ease helped him think— "about two and a half centuries ago, the American naval commander Matthew Perry led a flotilla into Tokyo harbor. The Japanese, till then isolated, found themselves faced with a technology considerably beyond their own and decided it was unwise to risk resistance. An entire warlike nation of millions was helpless in the face of a few ships from across the sea. Did that prove that Americans were more intelligent than the Japanese were, or merely that Western culture had taken a different turning? Clearly the latter, for within half a century, the Japanese had successfully imitated Western technology and within another half a century were a major industrial power despite the fact that they were disastrously beaten in one of the wars of the time."

Lamont listened gravely, and said, "We thought that, too, Dr. Bronowski, though I didn't know about the Japanese—I wish I had the time to read history. Yet the analogy is. wrong. It's more than technical superiority; it's a matter of difference in degree of intelligence."

"How can you tell, aside from guessing?"

"Because of the mere fact that they sent us directions. They were eager for us to set up our part of the Pump; they
had
to have us do it. They could not physically cross over; even their thin foils of iron on which their messages were incised (the substance most nearly stable in either world) slowly grew too radioactive to keep in one piece, though, of course, not before we had made permanent copies on our own materials." He paused for breath, feeling himself to be too excited, too eager. He mustn't oversell his case.

Bronowski regarded him curiously. "All right, they sent us messages. What are you trying to deduce from that?"

"That they expected us to understand. Could they be such fools as to send us rather intricate messages, in some cases quite lengthy, if they knew we would not understand? ... If it hadn't been for their diagrams, we would have ended nowhere. Now if they
had
expected us to understand, it could only be because they felt that any creatures like ourselves with a technology roughly as advanced as their own (and they must have been able to estimate that somehow—another point in favor of my belief) must also be roughly as intelligent as themselves and would experience little difficulty in working out something from the symbols."

"That might also be just their naïveté," said Bronowski, unimpressed.

"You mean they think there is only one language, spoken and written, and that another intelligence in another Universe speaks and writes as they do? Come on!"

Bronowski said, "Even if I were to grant your point, what do you want me to do? I've looked at the para-symbols; I suppose every archaeologist and philologist on Earth has. I don't see what I can do; neither, I'm sure, does anyone else. In over twenty years, no progress has been made."

Lament said, intensely, "What's true is that in twenty years, there has been no desire for progress. The Pump Authority does not want to solve the symbols."

"Why shouldn't they want to?"

"Because of the annoying possibility that communication with the para-men w
ill
show them to be distinctly more intelligent. Because that would show human beings to be the puppet-partners in connection with the Pump to the hurt of their ego. And, specifically," (and Lament strove to keep venom out of his voice) "because Hallam would lose the credit for being the Father of the Electron Pump."

"Suppose they
did
want to make progress. What could be done? The will is not the deed, you know."

"They could get the para-men to cooperate. They could send messages to the para-Universe. This has never been done, but it could be. A message on metal foil might be placed under a pellet of tungsten."

"Oh? Are they still looking for new samples of tungsten, even with Pumps in operation?"

"No, but they'll notice the tungsten and they'll assume we're trying to use it to attract their attention. We might even place the message on tungsten foil itself. If they take the message and make any sense of it at all, even the slightest, they'll send back one of their own, incorporating their findings. They might set up an equivalence table, of their words and ours, or they might use a mixture of their words and ours. It will be a kind of alternate push, first on their side, then on ours, then on theirs, and so on."

"With their side," said Bronowski, "doing most of the work."

"Yes."

Bronowski shook his head. "No fun in that, is there? It doesn't appeal to me."

Lament looked at him with flaring anger. "Why not? Don't you think there'll be enough credit in it for you? Not enough fame? What are you, a connoisseur of fame? What kind of fame did you get out of the Etruscan inscriptions, damn it. You beat out five others in the world. Maybe six. With them you're a household word and a success and they hate you. What else? You go about lecturing on the subject before audiences amounting to a few dozen and they forget your name the day after. Is that what you're really after?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"All right. I won't be. I'll get someone else. It may take longer but, as you say, the para-men will do most of the work anyway. If necessary, I'll do it myself."

"Have you been assigned this project?"

"No, I haven't. What of it? Or is that another reason you don't want to get involved. Disciplinary problems? There is no law against attempting translation and I can always place tungsten on my desk. I will not choose to report any messages I get in place of the tungsten and to that extent I will be breaking the research-code. Once the translation is made, who will complain? Would you work with me if I guaranteed your safety and kept your part in it secret? You would lose your fame but you may value your security more. Oh, well," Lament shrugged, "If I do it myself, there's the advantage of not having to worry about someone else's security."

He rose to go. Both men were angry and bore themselves with that stiff-legged courtesy one assumes when addressing someone who is hostile, but still mannerly. "I presume," said Lament, "you will at least treat this conversation as confidential."

Bronowski was on his feet, too. "Of that you may be assured," he said coldly, and the two shook hands briefly.

Lamont did not expect to hear from Bronowski again. He then began the process of talking himself into believing it would be better to handle the translation effort on his own.,

Two days later, however, Bronowski was at Lament's laboratory. He said, rather brusquely, "I'm leaving the city now, but I'll be back in September. I'm taking the position here and, if you're still interested, I'll see what I can do about the translation problem you mentioned."

Lamont had barely time for a surprised expression of thanks when Bronowski stalked off, apparently angrier at having given in, than at having resisted.

They became friends in time; and, in time, Lamont learned what had brought Bronowski around. The day after their discussion, Bronowski had had lunch at the Faculty Club with a group of the higher officials of the university, including, of course, the president. Bronowski had announced that he would accept the position and sending a formal letter to that effect in due time and all had expressed gratification.

The president had said, "It will be quite a feather in our cap to have the renowned translator of the Itascan Inscriptions at the university. We are honored."

The malapropism had gone uncorrected, of course, and Bronowski's smile, though strained, did not actually waver. Afterward, the head of the Department of Ancient History explained the president to be more of a Minnesotan than a classical scholar and since Lake Itasca was the point of origin of the mighty Mississippi, the slip of the tongue was a natural one.

But, in combination with Lament's sneer at the extent of his fame, Bronowski found the expression rankling.

When Lamont finally heard the story, he was amused. "Don't go on," he said. "I've been down that road, too. You said to yourself, 'By God, I'll do something even
that
knot-head will have to get straight.'"

"A little like that," said Bronowski.

5

A year's work, however, had netted them very little. Messages had finally come across; messages had come back. Nothing.

"Just guess!" Lamont had said feverishly to Bronowski. "Any wild guess at all. Try it out on them."

"It's exactly what I'm doing, Pete. What are you so jumpy about? I spent twelve years on the Etruscan Inscriptions. Do you expect this job to take less time?"

"Good God, Mike. We can't take twelve years."

"Why not? Look, Pete, it hasn't escaped me that there's been a change in your attitude. You've been impossible this last month or so. I thought we had it clear at the start that this work can't go quickly, and that we've got to be patient. I thought you understood that I had my regular duties at the university, too. Look, I've been asking you this several times, now. Let me ask again. Why are you in such a hurry now?"

"Because I'm in a hurry," said Lament abruptly. "Because I want to get on with it."

"Congratulations," said Bronowski, dryly, "so do L Listen, you're not expecting an early death, are you? Your doctor hasn't told you you're hiding a fatal cancer?"

"No, no," groaned Lamont.

"Well, then?"

"Never mind," said Lamont, and he walked away hurriedly.

When he had first tried to get Bronowski to join forces with him, Lament's grievance had concerned only Hallam's mean-minded obstinacy concerning the suggestion that the para-men were the more intelligent. It was in that respect and that respect only that Lamont was striving for a breakthrough. He intended nothing beyond that—at first.

But in the course of the following months, he had been subjected to endless exasperation. His requests for equipment, for technical assistance, for computer time were delayed; his request for travel funds snubbed; his views at interdepartmental meetings invariably overlooked.

The breaking point came when Henry Garrison, junior to himself in point of service and definitely so in point of ability, received an advisory appointment, rich in prestige, that, by all rights, should have gone to Lamont. It was then that Lament's resentment built up to the point where merely proving himself right was no longer sufficient. He yearned to smash Hallam, destroy him utterly.

The feeling was reinforced every day, almost every hour, by the unmistakable attitude of everyone else at the Pump Station. Lamont's abrasive personality didn't collect sympathy, but some existed nevertheless.

Garrison himself was embarrassed. He was a quiet-spoken, amiable young man who clearly wanted no trouble and who now stood in the doorway of Lamont's lab with an expression that had more than a small component of apprehension in it.

He said, "Hey, Pete, can I have a few words with you?"

"As many as you like," said Lament, frowning and avoiding a direct eye-to-eye glance.

Garrison came in and sat down. "Pete," he said, "I can't turn down the appointment but I want you to know I didn't push for it. It came as a surprise."