Robert Silverberg - To Open the Sky

Astronomers had found hundreds of planets scattered through other systems. Some could dimly be picked up by telescopic sensors; others could only be inferred from computations of disturbed stellar orbits. But the planets were there. Would they welcome Earthmen?

Only one planet out of nine in Earth’s own system was naturally habitable—not a cheering prognosis for other systems. It had taken two generations of hard work to Terrafonn Mars; the eleven pioneers would hardly be able to do that It had taken the highest genetic skills to convert men into Venusians; that, too, would be beyond the range of the voyagers. They would have to find a suitable world, or fail.

Espers in the Santa Fe retinue said that suitable worlds existed. They had peered into the heavens, reached forth their Mondschein, made contact with tangible and habitable planets out there. Illusion? Deception? Capodimonte was in no position to determine that

Reynolds Kirby, troubled by the project from first to last, said to Capodimonte, “Is it true that they don’t even know what star they’ll be aiming for?”

“That’s true. They’ve detected some kind of emanations coming from somewhere. Don’t ask me how. The way this thing is planned, our espers will supply the guidance and their pushers will supply the propulsion. We find, they heave.”

“A voyage to anywhere?”

“To anywhere,” Capodimonte agreed. “They rip a hole in the sky and shove the capsule through. It doesn’t travel through normal space, whatever normal space is. It lands on this world that our espers claim to have connected with out there, and they send a message back, telling us where they are. We get the message about a generation from now. But meanwhile we’ll have sent other expeditions. A oneway journey to nowhere. And Vorst is the first to take it.”

Kirby shook his head. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? But evidently it’s going to be a success.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Vorst’s had his floaters out there looking, you see. They tell him that he arrived safely. So he’s willing to step out into the dark, because he knows in advance that he’s not running any risks.”

“Do you believe that?” asked Capodimonte, shuffling through his inventory sheets.

“No.”

Neither did Brother Capodimonte. But he did net quarrel with the role assigned to him. He had been at the council meeting where Vorst had announced his stunning intention, and he had heard Reynolds Kirby rise and eloquently argue the case for allowing the Founder to depart. Kirby’s thesis had been a sound one, within the context of nightmare that this whole project embraced. And so the capsule would leave, powered by the joint efforts of some blue-skinned boys, and guided on a thread through the heavens by the roving Mondschein of Brotherhood capers, and Noel Vorst would never walk the Earth again.

Capodimonte checked his lists.

Food.

Clothing.

Books.

Tools.

Medical equipment

Communication devices.

Weapons.

Power sources.

The expedition, Capodimonte thought would be adequately furnished for its adventure. The whole thing might be madness, or it might be the grandest enterprise ever attempted by man; Brother Capodimonte could not tell which. But one thing was certain: the expedition would be adequately furnished. He had seen to that.

It was the day of departure. Chill winter winds raked New Mexico on this late-December day. The capsule stood in a desert flat a dozen miles from the inner compound of the Santa Fe research center. From here to the horizon it was a wilderness of sagebrush and juniper and piñon pine, and in the distance the bowl of mountains rose. Though he was well insulated, Reynolds Kirby shivered as the wind assailed the plateau. In another few days the year 2165 would be dawning, but Noel Vorst would not be here to welcome it. Kirby was not accustomed to that idea yet.

The pushers from Venus had arrived a week ago. There were twenty of them, and since it was inconvenient for them to live in breathing-suits all their time on Earth, the Vorsters had erected a little bit of Venus for them. A domed building not far from the capsule housed them; it was pumped full of the poisonous muck that they were accustomed to breathing. Lazarus and Mondschein had come with them and were under the dome now, getting everything prepared.

Mondschein would remain after the event, to undergo an overhauling in Santa Fe, Lazarus was going back to Venus in a couple of days. But first he and Kirby would face each other across a conference table and hammer out the basic clauses of the new entente. They had met once, twelve years ago, but not for long. Since Lazarus’s arrival on Earth, Kirby had spoken briefly to him and had come away with the feeling that the Harmonist prophet, though strong-willed and purposeful, would not be difficult ultimately to reach understandings with. He hoped not.

Now, on the wintry plateau, the high leaders of the Brotherhood of the Immanent Radiance were gathering to watch their leader vanish. Kirby, glancing around, saw Capodimonte and Magnus and Ashton and Langholt and all the others, dozens of them, spiraling down the echelons into the middle levels of the organization. They were all watching him. They could not watch Vorst, for Vorst was in the capsule already, along with the other members of the expedition. Five men, five women, and Vorst. All of the others under forty, healthy, capable, resilient. And Vorst. The Founder’s quarters aboard the capsule were comfortable, but it was lunacy to think of that old man plunging into the universe like this.

Supervisor Magnus, the European Coordinator, stepped to Kirby’s side. He was a small, sharp-featured man who, like most of the other leaders of the Brotherhood, had served in its ranks for more than seventy years.

“He’s actually going,” Magnus said.

“Soon. Yes. No doubt of it.”

“Did you speak to him this morning?”

“Briefly,” Kirby said. “He seems very calm.”

“He seemed very calm when he blessed us last night,” said Magnus. “Almost joyful.”

“He’s putting down a great burden. You’d be joyful, too, if you could be translated into the sky and shrug off your responsibilities.”

Magnus said, “I wish we could prevent this.”

Kirby turned and looked bluntly at the little man. “This is a necessary thing,” he said. “It must happen, or the movement will founder of its own success.”

“I heard your speech before the council, yes, but—”

“We’ve reached the fulfillment level of our first evolutionary stage,” said Kirby. “Now we need to extend our mythology. Symbolically, Vorst’s departure is invaluable to us. He ascends into the sky, leaving us to carry on his work and go on to new purposes. If he remained, we’d begin to mark time. Now we can use his glorious example to inspire us. With Vorst leading the way to the new worlds, we who remain can build on the foundation he bequeaths us.”

“You sound as though you believed it.”

“I do,” said Kirby. “I didn’t at first. But Vorst was right. He said I’d understand why he was going, and I came to see it. He’s ten times as valuable to the movement doing this as he would be if he remained.”

Magnus murmured, “He isn’t content to be Christ and Mohammed. He has to be Moses, too, and also Elijah.”

“I never thought I’d hear you speak of him so coarsely,” said Kirby.

“I never did either,” Magnus replied. “Damn it, I don’t want him to go!”

Kirby was astonished to see tears glistening in Magnus’s pale eyes.

“That’s precisely why he’s leaving,” Kirby said, and then both men were silent

Capodimonte moved toward them. “Everything’s ready,” he announced. “I’ve got the word from Lazarus that the pushers are in series.”