Isaac Asimov - Nightfall (novel)

“Hardly. It would have been written by some of the keenest minds of the new cycle—and it would have been based on the fugitive memories of the children, combined with the confused, incoherent babblings of the half-mad morons, and, yes, perhaps some of the tales that the clods told.”

“You’d better not let Folimun hear that.”

“Of course, the text would have been extensively edited and re-edited over the years. And even passed on, perhaps, from cycle to cycle, the way Athor and his people hope to pass along the secret of gravitation. But my essential point is this: that it can’t help but be a mass of distortion, even if it is based on fact. For instance, consider that experiment with the holes in the roof that Faro and Yimot were telling us about—the one that didn’t work.”

“What of it?”

“Well, the reason why it didn’t w—” Sheerin stopped and rose in alarm. “Uh-oh.”

“Something wrong?” Theremon asked.

“Athor’s coming this way. Just look at his face!”

Theremon turned. The old astronomer was moving toward them like some vengeful spirit out of a medieval myth. His skin was paper-white, his eyes were blazing, his features were a twisted mask of consternation. He shot a venomous glance toward Folimun, who still stood by himself in the corner on the far side of the window, and another at Theremon.

To Sheerin he said, “I’ve been on the communicator for the past fifteen minutes. I talked to the Sanctuary, and to the Security people, and to downtown Saro City.”

“And?”

“The newspaperman here will be very pleased with his work. The city’s a shambles, I hear. Rioters everywhere, looters, panicky mobs—”

“What about the Sanctuary?” Sheerin asked anxiously.

“Safe. They’re sealed off according to plan, and they’re going to stay hidden until daybreak, at the earliest. They’ll be all right. But the city , Sheerin—you have no idea—” He was having difficulty in speaking.

Theremon said, “Sir, if you would only believe me when I tell you how deeply I regret—”

“There’s no time for that now,” snapped Sheerin impatiently. He put his hand on Athor’s arm. “What about you? Are you all right, Dr. Athor?”

“Does it matter?” Athor leaned toward the window, as if trying to see the riots from there. In a dull voice he said, “The moment the eclipse began, everyone out there realized that all the rest of it was going to happen just as we had said—we, and the Apostles. And hysteria set in. The fires will be starting soon. And I suppose Folimun’s mob will be here too. What are we to do, Sheerin? Give me some suggestion!”

Sheerin’s head bent, and he stared in long abstraction at his toes. He tapped his chin with one knuckle for a time. Then he looked up and said crisply, “Do? What is there to do? Lock the gates, hope for the best.”

“What if we were to tell them that we’d kill Folimun if they tried to break in?”

“And would you?” Sheerin asked.

Athor’s eyes sparked in surprise. “Why—I suppose—”

“No,” Sheerin said. “You wouldn’t.”

“But if we threatened to—”

“No. No. They’re fanatics, Athor. They already know we’re holding him hostage. They probably expect us to kill him the moment they storm the Observatory, and that doesn’t faze them at all. And you know you wouldn’t do it anyway.”

“Of course not.”

“So, then. How long is it until totality?”

“Not quite an hour.”

“We’ll have to take our chances. It’ll take time for the Apostles to get their mob together—it’s not going to be a bunch of Apostles, I’ll bet on that, it’s going to be a huge mass of ordinary townspeople stirred up to panic by a handful of Apostles, who’ll promise them immediate entrance into grace, promise them salvation, promise them anything—and it’ll take more time to get them out here. Observatory Mount is a good five miles from the city—”

Sheerin glared out the window. Theremon, beside him, looked also, staring down the slopes. Below, the farmed patches gave way to clumps of white houses in the suburbs. The metropolis beyond was a blur in the distance—a mist in the waning blaze of Dovim. Eerie nightmare light bathed the landscape.

Without turning, Sheerin said, “Yes, it’ll take time for them to get here. Keep the doors locked, keep on working, pray that totality comes first. Once the Stars are shining I think not even the Apostles will be able to keep that mob’s mind on the job of breaking in here.”

Dovim was cut in half. The line of division was pushing a slight concavity across the middle into the still bright portion of the red sun. It was like a gigantic eyelid inexorably dropping down over the light of a world.

Theremon stood frozen, staring. The faint clatter of the room behind him faded into oblivion, and he sensed only the thick silence of the fields outside. The very insects seemed frightened mute. And things were dimmer and dimmer. That weird blood-hue stained everything.

“Don’t look so long at a time,” Sheerin murmured in his ear.

“At the sun, you mean?”

“At the city. At the sky. I’m not worried about you hurting your eyes. It’s your mind, Theremon.”

“My mind’s all right.”

“You want it to stay that way. How are you feeling?”

“Why—” Theremon narrowed his eyes. His throat was a little dry. He ran his finger along the inside of his collar. Tight. Tight. A hand beginning to close around his throat, was that how it felt? He twisted his neck back and forth but found no relief. “A little trouble breathing, maybe.”

“Difficulty in breathing is one of the first symptoms of a claustrophobic attack,” Sheerin said. “When you feel your chest tightening, you’d be wise to turn away from the window.”

“I want to see what’s happening.”

“Fine. Fine. Whatever you like, then.”

Theremon opened his eyes wide and drew two or three long breaths. “You don’t think I can take it, do you?”

Wearily Sheerin said, “I don’t know anything about anything, Theremon. Things are changing from moment to moment, aren’t they?—Hello, here’s Beenay.”

The astronomer had interposed himself between the light and the pair in the corner. Sheerin squinted up at him uneasily. “Hello, Beenay.”

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. “My reckonings are set, and there’s nothing for me to do till totality.” Beenay paused and eyed the Apostle, who was poring intently through a small leather-bound book that he had drawn from the sleeve of his robe. “Say, weren’t we going to put him away?”

“We decided not to,” Theremon said. “Do you know where Siferra is, Beenay? I saw her a little while ago, but she doesn’t seem to be here now.”

“Upstairs, in the dome. She wanted to get a view through the big telescope. Not that there’s anything much to see that we can’t see with our naked eyes.”

“What about Kalgash Two?” Theremon asked.

“What’s there to see? Darkness in Darkness. We can see the effect of its presence as it moves in front of Dovim. Kalgash Two itself, though—it’s just a chunk of night against the night sky.”

“Night,” Sheerin mused. “What a strange word that is.”

“Not any more,” said Theremon. “So you don’t actually see the wandering satellite at all, even with the big telescope?”

Beenay looked abashed. “Our telescopes really aren’t very good, you know. They do fine for solar observations, but let it get just a little dark, and—” He shook his head. His shoulders were thrown back and he seemed to be working hard to pull air into his lungs. “But Kalgash Two is real, all right. The strange zone of Darkness that’s passing between us and Dovim—that’s Kalgash Two.”