Robert Silverberg - Waiting for the Earthquake

There was a glint in the fux’s eyes. Amusement? Contempt? Compassion? Who could read a fux’s eyes?

“All along,” Morrissey said, “you were all just waiting for the earthquake. Right? The earthquake that would make everything whole again. Well, now it’s almost upon us. And I’m going to stand here alongside you and wait for the earthquake, too. It’s my contribution to inter-species harmony. I’ll be the human sacrifice. I’ll be the one who atones for all that we did here. How does that sound, Dinoov? Is that all right with you?”

“I wish,” the fux said slowly, “that you had boarded one of those ships and gone back to Earth. Your death will give me no pleasure.”

Morrissey nodded. “I’ll he back in a few minutes,” he said, and went into his cabin.

The cubes of Nadia and Paul and Danielle sat beside the screen. Not for years had he played them, but he jacked them into the slots now, and on the screen appeared the three people he had most loved in all the universe. They smiled at him, and Danielle offered a soft greeting, and Paul winked, and Nadia blew a kiss. Morrissey said, “It’s almost over now. Today’s earthquake day. I just wanted to say good-bye, that’s all. I just wanted to tell you that I love you and I’ll be with you soon.”

“Dan—” Nadia said.

“No. You don’t have to say anything. I know you aren’t really there, anyway. I just wanted to see you all again. I’m very happy right now.”

He took the cubes from their slots. The screen went dark. Gathering up the cubes, he carried them outside and carefully buried them in the soft moist soil of his garden. The fux watched him incuriously.

“Dinoov?” Morrissey called. “One last question.”

“Yes, my friend?”

“All the years we lived on Medea, we were never able to learn the name by which you people called your own world. We kept trying to find out, but all we were told was that it was taboo, and even when we coaxed a fux into telling us the name, the next fux would tell us an entirely different name, so we never knew. I ask you a special favor now, here at the end. Tell me what you call your world. Please. I need to know.”

The old fux said, “We call it Sanoon.”

“Sanoon? Truly?”

“Truly,” said the fux.

“What does it mean?”

Why, it means the World,” said Dinoov. “What else?”

“Sanoon,” Morrissey said. “It’s a beautiful name.”

The earthquake was thirty minutes away—plus or minus a little. Sometime in the past hour the white suns had disappeared behind Argo. Morrissey had not noticed that. But now, he heard a low rumbling roar, and then he felt a strange trembling in the ground, as though something mighty were stirring beneath his feet and would burst shortly into wakefulness. Not far offshore terrible waves rose and crashed.

Calmly Morrissey said, “This is it, I think.”

Overhead a dozen gleaming balloons soared and bobbed in a dance that looked much like a dance of triumph.

There was thunder in the air and a writhing in the heart of the world. In another moment the full force of the quake would be upon them and the crust of the planet would quiver and the first awful tremors would rip the land apart and the sea would rise up and cover the coast. Morrissey began to weep, and not out of fear. He managed a smile. “The cycle’s complete, Dinoov. Out of Medea’s ruins Sanoon will rise. The place is yours again at last.”