Isaac Asimov - Nightfall (novel)

“Enough,” Athor said. “Call Security. Have this man thrown out of here.”

“You have exactly one hour,” Folimun said, unperturbed. “And then the Army of Holiness will attack.”

“He’s bluffing,” Sheerin said suddenly.

Athor, as though he hadn’t heard, said again, “Call Security. I want him out of here!”

“Damn it, Athor, what’s wrong with you?” Sheerin cried. “If you turn him loose, he’ll get out there to fan the flames. Don’t you see, chaos is what all these Apostles have been living for? And this man’s a master at creating it.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Lock him up,” Sheerin said. “Stash him away in a closet and slap a padlock on him, and keep him there for the duration of the time of Darkness. It’s the worst possible thing we could do to him. If he’s locked away like that, he won’t see the Darkness, and he won’t see the Stars. It doesn’t take much of a knowledge of the fundamental creed of the Apostles to realize that for him to be hidden from the Stars when they appear will mean the loss of his immortal soul. Lock him up, Athor. It’s not only what’s safest for us, it’s what he deserves.”

“And afterward,” breathed Folimun fiercely, “when you have all lost your minds, there’ll be no one to let me out. This is a sentence of death. I know as well as you do what the coming of the Stars will mean—I know it far better than you. With your minds gone, you won’t give any thought to freeing me. Suffocation or slow starvation, is it? About what I might have expected from a group of—of scientists. ” He made the word sound obscene. “But it won’t work. I’ve taken the precaution of letting my followers know that they are to attack the Observatory precisely an hour from now, unless I appear and order them not to. Locking me away, then, will achieve nothing useful to you. Within an hour it’ll bring your own destruction upon you, that’s all. And then my people will free me, and together—joyously, ecstatically—we will watch the coming of the Stars.” A vein throbbed in Folimun’s temple. “Then, tomorrow, when you all are babbling madmen, damned forever by your deeds, we will set about the creation of a wondrous new world.”

Sheerin glanced doubtfully at Athor. But Athor looked hesitant too.

Beenay, standing next to Theremon, murmured, “What do you think? Is he bluffing?”

But the newspaperman didn’t reply. He had gone pale to the lips. “Look at that!” The finger he pointed toward the window was shaking, and his voice was dry and cracked.

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

Dovim 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.

For Theremon the sight of that small arc of darkness struck with terrible force. He winced and put his hand to his forehead and turned away from the window. He was shaken to the roots of his soul by that little chip in Dovim’s side. Theremon the skeptic—Theremon the mocker—Theremon the tough-minded analyst of other people’s folly—

Gods! How wrong I was!

As he turned, his eyes met Siferra’s. She was at the other side of the room, looking at him. There was contempt in her eyes—or was it pity? He forced himself to meet her gaze and shook his head sadly, as though to tell her with all the humility there was in him, I fouled things up and I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

It seemed to him that she smiled. Maybe she had understood what he was trying to say.

Then the room dissolved in shrieking confusion for a moment, as everyone began to rush frenziedly around; and a moment after that, the confusion gave way to an orderly scurry of activity as the astronomers leaped to their assigned tasks, some running upstairs to the Observatory dome to watch the eclipse through the telescopes, some going to the computers, some using hand-held instruments to record the changes in Dovim’s disk. At this crucial moment there was no time for emotion. They were merely scientists with work to do. Theremon, alone in the midst of it all, looked about for Beenay and found him, finally, sitting at a keyboard, madly working out some sort of problem. Of Athor there was no sign at all.

Sheerin appeared at Theremon’s side and said prosaically, “First contact must have been made five or ten minutes ago. A little early, but I suppose there were plenty of uncertainties involved in the calculations despite all the effort that went into them.” He smiled.—“You ought to get away from that window, man.”

“Why is that?” said Theremon, who had swung around again to stare at Dovim.

“Athor is furious,” the psychologist whispered. “He missed first contact on account of this fuss with Folimun. You’re in a vulnerable position, standing where you are. If Athor comes by this way he’s likely to try to throw you out the window.”

Theremon nodded shortly and sat down. Sheerin looked at him, eyes wide with surprise.

“The devil, man! 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, are you?”

“No!” cried Theremon in a flash of indignation. “Give me a chance, will you? You know, Sheerin, I wanted to believe all this eclipse rigmarole, but I couldn’t, I honestly couldn’t, it all seemed like the sheerest woolly fantasy to me. I wanted to believe it for Beenay’s sake, for Siferra’s sake—even for Athor’s sake, in a strange way. But I couldn’t. Not until just this minute. Give me a chance to get used to the idea, all right? You’ve had months. It’s all hitting me at once.”

“I see what you mean,” Sheerin said thoughtfully. “Listen. Have you got a family—parents, wife, children?”

Theremon shook his head. “No. Nobody I need to worry about. Well, I have a sister, but she’s two thousand miles away. I haven’t even spoken with her in a couple of years.”

“Well then, what about yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could try to get to our Sanctuary. They’d have room for you there. There’s probably still time—I could call them and say that you’re on the way, and they’d unlock the gate for you—”

“So you think I’m scared stiff, do you?”

“You said yourself you didn’t feel so good.”

“Maybe I don’t. But I’m here to cover the story. That’s what I intend to do.”

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

“You might call it that.” Wearily Theremon said, “Besides, I helped in a big way to undermine Athor’s preparedness program, or have you forgotten? Do you really think I’d have the gall now to go running for shelter into the very Sanctuary I was poking fun at, Sheerin?”

“I hadn’t seen it that way.”

“I wonder if there’s any more of that miserable wine hidden around here somewhere. If ever there was a time when a fellow needed a drink—”

“Shh!” Sheerin said. He nudged Theremon violently. “Do you hear that? Listen!”

Theremon glanced in the direction Sheerin was indicating. Folimun 66 stood by the window, a look of wild elation on his face. The Apostle was droning something to himself in a low singsong tone. It made the newspaperman’s skin crawl.

“What’s he saying?” he whispered. “Can you make it out?”

“He’s quoting the Book of Revelations, fifth chapter,” replied Sheerin. Then, urgently, “Keep quiet and listen, will you?”