Twenty-Three

We managed to get some sleep, about four hours worth, when Mike returned with a blue plastic box, and woke us up.

"Here it is. I put it in a box so it'd fit into the space we had it in, but it's actually only about as big as a shoe, and it's simplicity itself--if it works. This knob here will let us adjust the frequency it'll receive. The numbers here are different from ours, and I wasn't sure what the color light we're using would work out to be in their terms, so we made it variable, which is what took us so much time. Let's try it. Are we in a position to receive?"

It turned out that we weren't, for another hour, which we spent unable to do anything except install the instrument in its place (where its bright blue against the gray of the instruments made it stand out like a sore thumb) and stare at it.

"Couldn't he have made it gray?" asked Michele at one point.

"Hey listen! When a guy's saving your life, you don't ask him if he's got another color life jacket!"

"I wish they'd hurry up and get into position!" she said.

"--still hoping for the best," said the receiver, the blessed, beautiful blue sore thumb, "and that Mike's friend can manage to do what he said (we had sent back a complete report). And in case he has already done it, we're sending this message."

And so on. It was one of those messages of hope that didn't really have any hope to it. I didn't know whether on earth they thought we had been making the whole Acosmia story up and had simply been raving all this time, or whether they believed us--and I have a suspicion that they didn't really know themselves.

In any case, I was able to type back into the communicator that everything was rosy on the receiving end, and would they please send up all the data we had erased from our EPROMS for navigation, before something else happened.

While I was sending this, there was a kind of recorded message that they sent updating us on what had been happening up to that time. They had this on constantly, like the old reports on the weather radio station, interspersed with live comments so that we'd know that a real person was still standing by.

We found out that the stuff we discovered on the navigation computer was probably an explosive, and that Janice Jones was probably responsible for it, though no one could prove anything; but those were the two instruments she had been working on the day the reducer chip disappeared. Either she was shrewder than we thought or luckier, or whoever was behind her was, because there wasn't any evidence anyone could find to bring any charge against her.

"When we get back, I'll bring a charge against her," said Mike. "A strong electrical charge."

"I wonder what she was really trying to do," I said. "Just sabotage us, or what?"

"Somebody evidently thought that once they got hold of a chip they'd have the secret, and then we were expendable," he answered.

"You know," said Michele, "I've been thinking. We know it's not all that simple to derive how to reduce mass from looking at a chip, but it's possible that if you had one for a good long time, you could figure it out. Suppose they managed to get one some other way. Don't you think it'd be a good idea to send back the information we have, just in case?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, as far as we know, Keith and company weren't able to steal the secret; but we know now that someone else has been trying to, and it's conceivable they have it. I think we ought to send the information we memorized just in case--with the proviso that they won't use it for military purposes."

"Not a chance," said Mike. "They'd tell us what we wanted to hear, and then use it any way they felt like."

This led to a considerable discussion; but both Michele and I felt that we could trust Jonathan if no one else, while Mike thought that even if we could, there was no telling that someone else wouldn't be listening in on the transmission. By this time, he pointed out, there were probably antennas in China trained on us, and our code wasn't all that hard to break if you knew what was going on; it was only meant not to be noticed by someone unsuspecting.

That tipped the scales. We both reluctantly agreed that if we didn't get back, then either the secret died here with us--as we'd planned--or China had it and the United States didn't.

"Which still doesn't seem likely," said Michele, "because even if someone saw that chip, they couldn't have had it long enough to make any difference."

"Anyway, we're going to get back now," said Mike. "Why wouldn't we?"

But by this time, earth was responding to our signal and was sending up the data to reprogram the navigational computer, so that we actually had a good deal of hope that Mike's statement would come true.

This now meant that the problem wasn't one of survival, but was back to the danger to earth of bringing Galileo; only now, my inclination was that he had shown his good faith, and we owed it to him to take him with us.

"I don't think you can make that a consideration, Paul," said Michele. "I know how you feel about being fair; but we made no promises--"

"All the more reason," said Mike.

"I know how it looks," she resumed. "But the fact is, we have to consider whether we're putting everyone in jeopardy by having him come with us. We can't let good sportsmanship or something override that."

We went back and forth, especially Mike and Michele, for a good two hours after this; and Mike behaved admirably, I thought. There were several times when he was about to blow up again, but he restrained himself, because he realized--or had been told by Galileo--that a temper tantrum was guaranteed to tip the scales against him. He wasn't exactly the voice of sweet calm reason, but he left generalizations about women out of the discussion, which was a step forward.

Finally, I said, "We're getting nowhere like this. I have to talk to Galileo myself and see what he has to say. Mike, could you take me to his house?"

"Now wait just a minute!" said Michele. "I suppose you're not going to be satisfied unless you talk to him; but if you're going to do it, I at least want to be somewhere where I can hear it."

"Well, we don't want to bring him in here, because he'd be drunk and maybe not coherent," I said.

"Not to mention the fact that I'm not letting him in until I'm absolutely sure we're bringing him--which I hope will be never. How'd we get him out?"

"Well then, why don't we all go over to see him?"

"Fine if you want to wait three hours until the next blackout from earth," she said. "But we can't go now; we were scheduled to go back to earth in two days, and now that they know we're in communication again, somebody's going to have to stay here to be ready to answer transmissions. Besides, the sooner we get this resolved the better."

"I'm all for that," said Mike. "Why make a big deal about it? I'll go get Galileo, and you can talk to him outside, Paul, and Michele can listen in from here. What's the problem?"

And, of course, this did make sense, with the result that within fifteen minutes or so, Mike came back with Galileo, and I met him outside.

He made part of himself into a hand and extended it to me (a greeting many of the Acosmians adopted, and one Mike had probably told him about). "I want to apologize for my unconscionable behavior in the ship," he said, again with Mike's voice, down to the last intonation, including the difference in L's that Mike had picked up from his parents. It would be impossible here to distinguish which of the two was talking, since I couldn't see Mike's face clearly in his helmet.

"That's all right," I said.

"The irony is," he replied, "that if I were trying to persuade you to take me with you, I probably made the worst possible impression. I did want to see you again, however, to let you know, first of all, that I was not then really myself, and secondly, to say that the effect wears off after a while, so that if you did take me, you would not have been burdened with the blithering fool that you encountered so inauspiciously."

"I don't quite understand," I said.

"But," came Mike's voice, bewildered--evidently from Mike--"you are coming with us, aren't you?"

"You remember, Mike," said Mike's voice, "that it was your idea that I come; and I agreed only if all of you were in favor of it. In spite of your touching effort to conceal the facts, you made it pellucid that there was not universal enthusiasm at the idea."

"You don't want to come?" said Mike.

"It isn't really a question of what I want," he answered. "If I were to come with you, the real reason I would do so would be because I believed that there would be something I could do to help your people; I have tried to help the people here, and failed miserably. But if in the very beginning, my very presence causes discord, what hope would there be that anything productive could come of my living among you permanently?"

"But they only have objections because they don't know you."

"You don't know me either, Mike. We've been acquainted only a very short time. I might be totally different from what you think me to be; after all, I am one of the unfortunate people."

"That unfortunate stuff is a lot of crap!"

"Oh, no, it isn't. You have to be one of the unfortunate people to know what an appropriate name it is. I'll concede that I don't think of myself as evil, which is one of the implications of the name; but I doubt if any evil person really regards himself as evil.

"However, from the point of view of the people here, I certainly am evil, in the only way we can be evil; and I would gladly make everyone else evil, were I but able to accomplish it. It is even evil for me now to entertain the thought of coming with you, since now there is a law against it. But you were so insistent on the myriad ways I could help you, and on how interesting earth was, that I confess I was tempted by the prospect, law or no law. But that doesn't alter the fact that it is evil."

"But you yourself said that that command was from the priests, not God."

"You've leaped to a conclusion again, Mike; it's one of your major faults. I only said that it could have come from the priests, though I had no idea why they would want to give such an order; and when you waxed skeptical, I demonstrated to you how it could have been done. But it may have come from some supernatural agency; I can't rule that out. My not believing in it doesn't prove that there is none.

"Nor does it absolve me of evil. Evil is either the willingness to violate some transcendent command, or to go against the laws of society; in either case, what I have done, and intend to continue doing, is evil. And what is relevant to you is the fact that if I am willing to violate my own society's laws--because I happen to believe that they do not have a transcendent source--then what assurance would you have that I would not be willing to violate your own society's most cherished expectations?

"And from the little I have learned of your society, it seems you take a completely different attitude toward evil from what is found here. Here, the evil person is simply left alone, with the result that, if there is any harm in what he does, he harms no one but himself, and his only punishment is loneliness, which he can remove at any time by repenting. But you people seem to want to take a stand against evil and eradicate it, and the result is a strife and a spreading of evil and discord as you divide into factions for and against those who go contrary to your society, whatever their intentions.

"I know what evil is, you see--from long experience; and I would not wish the evil about me to spread to anyone else, except as I can do it here, by convincing others that what I believe is actually the truth, upon which it becomes a great benefit and not evil at all. But on earth, this does not seem to be a realistic possibility."

"I think you're being a little too scrupulous," I broke in. "We recognize that we have bad laws, and some of the people we admire most are precisely the ones who have violated the society's laws and saved the population from oppression by them. We think of evil as doing harm to others, not just violating laws."

"Well, as to that," he answered, "I certainly have no intention of harming anyone; and, as I said, from my point of view, the few discoveries I have made by violating my society's rules have compensated me enough so that I would not change back to the state I was in previously. So if that is what you mean by evil, then perhaps I am not evil after all.

"But this is all semantics. I know that my reason for being tempted to come with you is that Mike has been the only person ever to be willing to listen to me, and this has been a relief to my spirit that can never be imagined by anyone who has not found what he thinks is a truth everyone desperately needs to hear but will not listen to. It made me wonder what it would be like to be among many like him.

"As I say, this I know about myself; but how could you know it? It could just as easily be the case that I am scheming to gain power over you, and the best way I could do so would be to disarm you by acting just as I am now: to be apparently open and frank, willing to help, while warning you of the dangers that would already have occurred to you in my coming in your midst. I would be running the risk that you would not be sympathetic to me and would take what I say at face value; but one who desires anything must take risks, as I know so well.

"Even my telling you this could be part of the scheme, because it sounds as if I am sincere, and it could make you wonder that I would reveal such devious methods to you if I actually had them.

"No, there is no way you could know from speaking to me whether I am interested in manipulating you or am speaking sincerely. I know I am sincere, but you can't. And since there is the possibility of my manipulating you, then from your point of view, you should leave me here; and from mine, I would not want to go with you under this cloud. I can wait. Perhaps when you return, we can spend more time together, and you will then be in a better position to judge whether I would be an asset to you on earth, or only harm."

He was right, at least theoretically. He could be saying all this to convince me of his sincerity and make me eager to take him. Yet this was absurd, really. Why would anyone be that devious?

I said, "I don't think you understand the real situation. There's probably not going to be another trip back here. As far as your coming to earth, it's now or never."

"Well, then, I think I would have to advise you that it be never, regrettable as that might be from my position. I can see that I have inadvertently managed to incline you toward trying to persuade me to come with you; but if I were you, I would not trust me. It is too clear that I would like to go. No, Paul, it is too dangerous; if I am as devious as I might be, then the danger to you if I arrived on earth would be far greater than you could have imagined."

"Well, we have to be the judge of that," I said. "You only know of us through Mike."

"And you seem to have a more commendable sense of prudence. Mike is intrepid, but somewhat rash; he is very easy to persuade. But I don't seem very successful in persuading you, since I seem to be inclining you in the wrong direction. But I don't really think you should take me into your consideration at all. Life goes on in any case, and my life from now on will not be any worse than it has been."

The same voice continued, "And it's been hell up to now," and then went on, "That was Mike that said that, not I. If it has been hell, it has been a reasonably comfortable hell. I have no regrets; and I am not at all sure it would be worth the effort to try to win those of you on earth to my desires--though if I were a certain kind of person, the challenge might be interesting. Of course, the benefits to you might also outweigh the effort to convince you that they were benefits. I don't know. But the question is moot, really."

The longer he talked, the more I saw what a treasure we would be leaving behind. Why would he care about making puppets of us? Just for the challenge?

"Paul," broke in Mike's voice passionately, "you can't leave him here. You don't know what his life is like, alone like that, but I've seen it! People go by him as if he doesn't even exist!"

"That isn't quite true, now, Mike. Mike has known me only for a short while, remember. Others don't shun me; I shun them, really, because it pains me when they refuse to listen when I try to tell them something that affects them so closely."

"As to that," I said, "I don't know whether this will help you at all, but St. Peter--you know St. Peter?"

"I think I do. Was he the one we saw you with in the stadium?"

"Yes. Well, just before I saw you in the cabin there, I had come back from the church with him; and he went into that room where you people stop changing--and came out again."

"He did? Did you see him?"

"I was right outside the door when he did it."

"That is very interesting indeed. Did Mike tell you I put an animal in there, and it vanished?"

"Yes, we were going to do it ourselves, but the thing got so scared we couldn't bring ourselves to go through with it. St. Peter told me it wouldn't really prove anything anyway. But then he went in himself."

"I see . . . . Well, it was certainly intelligent of you not to take my word for it. I must say he possesses more fortitude than I have; I was afraid to enter to see if the animal was still there. But now that he has done it, I will have to do some checking on my own. You are sure that he went in."

"I didn't actually see him go in, but I saw him inside, and I saw him come out. He was in there."

"How long was he inside?"

"It seemed like hours, but it must have been only a few seconds. I was going to go in after him myself, but didn't get to the door before he came out."

"Conceivably the process takes time. But if so, I should be able to get out before any harm is done; I can stay near the door. It goes against a great deal that I have discovered so far, but possibly they have been right all along. Unless--but why would you seek to trap me? You realize that if you are lying just to discover my reaction, I might very well kill myself."

This hadn't occurred to me. Certainly, his reaction was the one I would expect, though, if he was sincere. "No, I saw him," I said.

"I can't understand it. Perhaps I'll have to give up being unfortunate and try to be happy. Happy? How ironic! How could I be happy, knowing what I know now? It simply cannot be that we are immortal and ought not to study ourselves.

"I must say, Paul, that you have made my future here look bleak. It is not your fault. But now, with all my seeking after the truth, I am confronted with a possibility that seems to contradict everything I have learned; and I doubt whether I could believe we were immortal even if it were proved conclusively. I am unfortunate indeed, it seems. I have spent so long trying to make others see reason, and it might be that they have not only faith but reason too on their side.

"Well . . . it will be interesting to see what I do with my life from now on."

"But you don't have to stay here," I said. "Even if you're mistaken on this one point, your knowledge is so much greater than ours, you could still be helpful to us--immensely helpful. Your life can still be full of meaning."

"Don't tempt me, Paul. You may have helped me, and perhaps the future is not as dreary as it seems. I might invite others to witness my experiment with that room, and if I die, then they will know that it is the room and not their faith that makes us vanish. If St. Peter could risk death for you, I can risk it for them. And if I fail, and we do not die--well, I will not think of that."

I knew he'd try; and I knew just as certainly that he'd fail. But all this would be after we got home--without him. But why would we not take him with us? Because he might be trying to dominate us, not to help us. But that was ridiculous. How could it be true? How could I persuade him to come?

"Have you thought," I said, "that if you do die, you're taking from them a life of illusion that only makes them happy?"

"I have thought of it. But I have also thought that they are killing themselves in ignorance. Which is worse?"

"I don't know. But what I do know is that we can use you on earth, if you'd only be willing to come with us. You can give these people only a questionable benefit, which they don't want. But we can change our minds, at least, and--"

"Oh, no, Paul," came Michele's voice. "I thought for a minute he'd gone too far at the end there, and you saw through him. And you would have, if you hadn't known what it was like to grow old on earth, and wait for death. His idea was to show you how noble he was to sacrifice himself for everyone, and at the same time make you think it was a futile gesture that would certainly fail when it was too late to bring him back. He runs risks. You might have cared enough for the people here to let him try his little experiment on the chance that he might succeed, and by his death bring others to avoid his fate. If he'd kept talking, you would have seen this; and then he'd have had to do some really fancy persuasion to bring you round again; and then you'd have spotted the serpent's tail. He was lucky."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"Paul," she answered, "you don't have a suspicious mind. I do. Can't you see, even when I've pointed it out to you, what he's been doing? He's been giving you the facts, and they all point away from taking him; but he's been doing it so 'sincerely' that you've been constantly put into the position of having to make distinctions, and trying to prove to him that things aren't as bad as he makes them out to be.

"And all the time he's been warning you against himself, he's been sticking in little phrases like, 'Of course, I don't actually feel this way, but . . . ' and making you feel like a heel for suspecting him, and always hinting that if you don't take him you will be suspecting him of nefarious designs or something. Oh, he's very good. He even had me with him for a while. He's so good it scares the life right out of me to think of him getting loose on earth!"

"I don't believe it," I said.

"You are out of your MIND!" screamed Mike.

"I am, am I? Well, I took the precaution of making a recording of this little conversation. Just come in and listen to it, now that you know what it's all about. And while you're listening, ask yourself two questions: If he's so anxious for you not to take him, why did he stay on and on when he saw he was persuading you in the opposite direction? He could have left. And if he wants to die for the sake of the people, why didn't he do it years ago? Nothing you found out changes that."

"You're crazy!" said Mike. "Don't listen to her, Paul! She's so full of prejudice that she'd twist anything anybody could say! She--"

"Be quiet, Mike. Nothing good ever came of losing control. I think you should do as she says, Paul. But let me just give you an answer to her questions--not for the sake of convincing you, but just to explain myself. I have been at fault; I confess it. I didn't go when I saw you inclined to take me, because I would like very much to go with you, in spite of everything. And I never tried the 'little experiment' before because I am afraid to die. I still am. But now what do I have to live for?"

"Maybe a lot," I said. "We'll have to see. Would you wait out here for us?" Mike and I swam toward the hatch, which Michele had already opened into the airlock. We entered, and were about to swing the door shut, when we noticed Galileo right behind us. Mike held the door open for a minute. "Do you think, if I came--"

"You're not getting into this ship!" came Michele's voice, and the door slammed.

"My hand!" screamed Mike. "My hand! Oh, God, Michele! My hand!"

"Open the door!" I shrieked. "Mike's hand is caught in the door!"