Ivan Yefremov: The Heart of the Serpent

Kari Ram checked the safety devices. They showed all the automatic installations of the ship to be working normally. He sat back and gave himself up to his thoughts.

The Earth was now far, far away. Seventy-eight light years separated them from the good and beautiful Earth which mankind had made a haven of happy life, of inspired, creative labour. In the classless society man had created for himself every individual knew his planet so well there was little left to learn — he knew not only its factories and mines and plantations, its marine industries and research centres, its museums and preserves, but also the quiet retreats where one could enjoy the beauties of Nature in solitude or with one’s beloved.

It was a wonderful world, but man in his insatiable desire for more knowledge had reached out to the icy chasms of cosmic space, searching for the solution to the riddle of the Universe, eager to fathom Nature’s secrets and subordinate her more and more to man’s will. First he had reached the Moon and seen the lunar plains and mountains drenched in a lethal shower of X-ray and uftra-viofet radiation from the Sun. Then on to torrid,

lifeless Venus with its oceans of oil, sticky, tarry soil and eternal fog; on to cold, sandy Mars with only a faint flicker of life in its subterranean depths. Hardly had exploration of Jupiter begun when new ships reached the nearest stars. Space ships from Earth visited Alpha and Proxima Centauri, Barnard’s star, Sirius, Eta Eridani and even Tau Ceti — not the stars themselves, but their planets or their immediate vicinities, as was the case with the twin stars of Sirius which have no planetary system.

But never had astronauts from Earth been on planets where life had reached its highest stage of development, in other words, planets inhabited by thinking beings.

From the infinity of the Cosmos ultrashort radio waves brought tidings of other populated worlds, sometimes reaching us thousands of years after they were sent out. Man was only learning to read these messages, obtaining the first inkling of the vast ocean of scientific and engineering skill and artistic accomplishment that washed the shores of the inhabited worlds of our Galaxy. These worlds were as yet beyond our reach. And what of those other worlds in island universes millions of light years away!

Knowledge of all this whetted man’s eagerness to journey to planets inhabited by men — perhaps unlike our Earthmen, but men nevertheless who, like ourselves, had built rational, sane societies where every member had the right to his share of happiness in a measure limited only by the degree of mastery acquired over Nature. It had already been established that there existed worlds inhabited by people like ourselves, and that these were probably the majority. For the laws governing the development of planetary systems and of life on their planets were the same not only through our Galaxy, but throughout the entire known Universe.

The space-warp ship, the latest triumph of human genius, had made it possible to answer the call of all these distant worlds. And now the Tellur was on its way. If the flight was successful, then… But as was the case with everything else in life, there was another side to this invention.

“Yes, there’s the other side,” Kari Ram said aloud, so completely immersed in his thoughts that he was unaware he had spoken until Moot Ang’s deep, resonant voice singing an old song brought him to with a start.

The other side of Love, Now rolling deep as the ocean’s flood, Now narrow as a winding stair, There’s no escape, ‘tis in your blood,

the captain sang.

“I had no idea you liked old songs too,” he said. “That one’s at least five hundred years old.”

“I wasn’t thinking about songs,” replied the astronavi-gator. “I was thinking of this flight. And what Earth will be like when we return.”

The captain’s face clouded.

“We have only made the first warp. Are you already thinking of our return?”

“Oh no! You know how eager I was to be among the few chosen for the voyage. I was just thinking that when we return to Earth seven hundred years of terrestrial time will have passed. And even though the average life-span has doubled, our sisters’ and brothers’ great-grandchiidren will be dead by then.”

“Didn’t you know that?”

“Of course. But something else has struck me.”

“The seeming futility of our flight?”

“Exactly. Long before the Tellur was built or even invented, ordinary rocket ships set out for Fomalhaut, Ca-pella and Arcturus. That was fifty years ago, but the Fomalhaut expedition is expected back only two years from now. The Arcturus and Capella parties will be returning in some forty or fifty years; you know Arcturus is twelve and Capella fourteen parsecs away. But the warp ships being built now can get to Arcturus in one warp. The distance there is nothing in comparison with this flight. And by the time we get back people will have completely conquered time, or space, whichever way you want to put it. The space ships they will build then will have a range much greater than ours and leave us to waddle back with a cargo of obsolete and useless information.”

“You mean our departure from Earth was something like death, and that we’ll return as primitive men, mere survivals of an age long past?” Moot Ang said.

“Yes.”

“You’re right and at the same time completely wrong. Accumulation of knowledge and experience, including exploration of the Universe, must never cease. Otherwise the laws of development would be violated, and development is always uneven and contradictory. Suppose the ancient scientists who now seem naive to us had waited for, say, the modern quantum microscope to be invented. Or if the farmers and builders of ancient times who drenched the earth with their sweat had decided to do nothing before automatic machines were made. Had they done that we would still be living in holes in the ground and subsisting on the crumbs Nature might bestow on us.”

Kari Ram laughed, but Moot Ang went on.

“Besides, we have our duty to perform, like every other member of society. The price of being the first to penetrate to hitherto inaccessible parts of the Universe is to die for seven hundred years. But those who remained behind to enjoy all the pleasures of terrestrial life will never know the wonder and joy of glimpsing the innermost secrets of the Universe. As for going back… I don’t think you need to fear the future. There has never been an age since the beginning of human history when mankind did not retain something of the past in spite of the ascending spiral of progress. Every century has had, besides its own unique peculiarities, features common to all times. Who knows but that the tiny particle of knowledge we shall take back to Earth will help to bring about a new advance in science, to make men’s lives still richer and fuller. And even if we ourselves will be returning from the distant past, are our lives not dedicated to the future? Can we be strangers to the new people we shall be going to? In general, can anyone who gives his all to society be a stranger to his fellow-men? You must admit that man is more than just an accumulation of knowledge; he is also a carrier of complex emotions, and in this respect we shall not be found wanting after the trials of our voyage.” He paused, then added in a lighter tone: “Speaking for myself, I am so eager to look into the future that for that alone…”

“You’re ready to die for a while as far as the Earth is concerned?” prompted the navigator.

The captain nodded.

“You’d better go and have something to eat,” he said. “It’ll soon be time for the next warp. What are you doing here, Tey?”

The second-in-command shrugged his shoulders.