Ivan Yefremov - Andromeda (A Space-Age Tale)

“Then help me to the telephone room. Switch on to the world network and call the information centre in the northern zone. How are things on Satellite 57?”

“We called the satellite but got no answer.”

“Are the telescopes in working order?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Look for the satellite in the telescope and examine it through the electronic inverter to get the maximum magnification.”

The night operator at the northern information centre looked into his screen and saw a face smeared with blood, the eyes gleaming feverishly. He had to study the face for some time before he recognized Mven Mass who, as the Director of the Outer Stations, was a person well known throughout the planet.

“I want Grom Orme, President of the Astronautical Council and Evda Nahl, psychiatrist.”

The operator nodded his head and began fiddling with the switches and vernier scales of the memory machines. The answer came back in a minute.

“Grom Orme is preparing some papers and is spending the night at the Council. Shall I call the Council?”

“Yes, call them. And Evda Nahl?”

“She’s at School No. 410 in Ireland. If you need her I can try to call her to…” — here the operator looked up at a diagram — ”… to telephone station No. 5654SP!”

“She’s badly needed. It is a matter of life or death!”

The operator looked up from his diagrams.

“Has there been an accident?”

“A very serious accident.”

“Then I’ll hand everything over to my assistant and get busy on your call alone. Wait for me.”

Mven Mass dropped into an armchair that had been pushed towards him, in an effort to gather his thoughts and regain his strength. The Director of the observatory came running into the room.

“The situation of Satellite 57 has been ascertained. There is no satellite.”

Mven Mass jumped to his feet as though he had not received any injuries.

“A piece of the bow which acts as a quay for the reception of ships, has survived,” continued the staggering report, “and is still in the same orbit. There are probably some smaller pieces but they have not yet been discovered.”

“So the observers….”

“They must have been killed!”

Mven Mass clenched his fists and sank back into the chair. A few minutes of oppressive silence followed, then the screen lit up again.

“Grom Orme is at the Council transmitter,” said the operator and turned a handle. The screen showed a huge, dimly-lit hall and then the well-known head of the President of the Astronautical Council appeared. The narrow seemingly streamlined face, the big aquiline nose, the deep-set eyes under sceptically raised brows, the questioning twist of the tightly pressed lips…. Under Grom Orme’s glance Mven Mass hung his head like a naughty boy.

“Satellite 57 has just been destroyed,” began the African, plunging straight into his confession as he would into dark water. Grom Orme started and his face seemed even sharper.

“How could that have happened?”

Briefly and precisely Mven Mass told him everything, not hiding the illegality of the experiment or in any way sparing himself. The President’s brows knitted together, deep lines appeared at the corners of his mouth but his glance remained calm.

“Wait a moment, I’ll see about aid for Renn Bose. Do you think that Ahf Noot….”

“Oh, if you could get Ahf Noot!”

The screen went dark. There was a long wait and Mven Mass forced restraint upon himself with the last of his strength. He would be all right, soon… ah, here was Grom Orme.

“I found Ahf Noot and have given him a planetship. He will require an hour to prepare his apparatus and his assistants. In two hours he’ll be at your observatory. Make the necessary arrangements for the handling of heavy cargo. Now about you — did the experiment succeed?”

The question took Mven Mass by surprise. He did not doubt that he had seen Epsilon Tucanae. Was this, however, real contact with an inaccessibly distant world? Or had it been a combination of the deadly effect of the experiment on his organism and the burning desire to see that had produced a very clear hallucination? Could he announce to the whole world that the experiment had been a success, that fresh efforts, new sacrifices and further expenditure to repeat it would be justified? Could he say that the method adopted by Renn Bose was more successful than that of his predecessors? For fear of risking anybody else’s life they had foolishly carried out the experiment alone, just the two of them. But what had Renn seen? What could he tell them?… Would he ever be able to talk… if he had seen!.. Mven Mass stood up still straighter. “I have no proof that the experiment was successful. I don’t know what Renn Bose saw….”

Undisguised sorrow was expressed on Grom Orme’s face. A minute before that he had only been attentive, now he had become stern.

“What do you propose to do?”

“Please permit me to hand over the station to Junius Antus immediately. I am no longer worthy to direct it. Then, I’ll remain with Renn Bose to the end…” he stammered and then corrected himself, “… until the end of the operation. Then… then I’ll go away to the Island of Oblivion to await trial. I have already condemned myself!”

“Possibly you are right. Some of the circumstances are not yet clear to me so I must reserve my judgement. Your actions will be examined at the next meeting of the Astronautical Council. Whom do you consider the most fitting successor to your post — firstly for the work of rebuilding the satellite?”

“I don’t know a better candidate than Darr Veter!” The President of the Council nodded his consent. For some time he continued looking at the African as though he intended saying something, but instead he just made a gesture of farewell. The screen was extinguished just in time, for at that moment everything went hazy in Mven Mass’ head.

“You tell Evda Nahl yourself,” he whispered to the observatory Director who was standing near by; then he fell, made several attempts to get up and lost consciousness.

A little man with Mongoloid features, a merry smile and unusually imperative in his words and actions became the centre of attention at the Tibetan Observatory. The assistants that had come with him obeyed him with that glad willingness with which faithful soldiers had probably followed the great captains of ancient days. The authority of their teacher, however, did not suppress their own ideas and enterprise. They constituted a very harmonious little group of strong people worthy to give battle to man’s most terrible and implacable enemy — death!

When Ahf Noot learned that Renn Bose’s heredity record had still not been received he gave vent to exclamations of indignation, but was just as quickly calmed when he was told that it was being prepared by Evda Nahl herself and that she would bring it in person.

The Director of the observatory asked quietly what the card was needed for and in what way Renn’s distant ancestors could help. Ahf Noot screwed up his eyes slyly as though he were about to divulge a great secret.

“Accurate knowledge of the heredity structure of every person is needed both for an understanding of his psychological structure and to help make predictions in that field; it also provides important data on his neuro-physiological peculiarities, the resistance factor of his organism, immunity, selective sensitivity to traumas and allergy to medicines. The choice of treatment cannot be precise without an understanding of the heredity structure and the conditions under which his ancestors lived.”

The Director wanted to ask more questions but Ahf Noot stopped him.

“I’ve given you a sufficient answer for independent thought. I have no time for more!”