Isaac Asimov - The Gods Themselves

“But by then it will be too late.”

Chen shrugged. “Perhaps. Much more likely, you will find that you were wrong and no evidence is to be had.”

“I’m not wrong.” Lamont took a deep breath, and said in a confidential tone, “Mr. Chen. There are very likely trillions upon trillions of inhabited planets in the Universe, and among them there may be billions with intelligent life and highly developed technologies. The same is probably true of the para-Universe. It must be that in the history of the two Universes there have been many pairs of worlds that came into contact and began Pumping. There may be dozens or even hundreds of Pumps scattered across junction points of the two Universes.”

“Pure speculation. But if so?”

“Then it may be that in dozens or hundreds of cases, the mixture of natural law advanced locally to an extent sufficient to explode a planet’s Sun. The effect might have spread outward. The energy of a supernova added to the changing natural law may have set off explosions among neighboring stars, which in turn set off others. In time perhaps an entire core of a galaxy or of a galactic arm will explode.”

“But that is only imagination, of course.”

“Is it? There are hundreds of quasars in the Universe; tiny bodies the size of several Solar systems but shining with the light of a hundred full-size ordinary galaxies.”

“You’re telling me that the quasars are what are left of Pumping planets.”

“I’m suggesting that. In the century and a half since they were discovered, astronomers have still failed to account for their sources of energy. Nothing in this Universe will account for it; nothing. Doesn’t it follow then—”

“What about the para-Universe? Is it full of quasars, too?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Conditions are different there. Para-theory makes it seem quite definite that fusion takes place much more easily over there, so the stars must be considerably smaller than ours on the average. It would take a much smaller supply of easily-fusing hydrogen to produce the energy our Sun does. A supply as large as that of our Sun would explode spontaneously. If our laws permeate the para-Universe, hydrogen becomes a little more difficult to fuse; the para-stars begin to cool down.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” said Chen. “They can use Pumping to supply themselves with the necessary energy. By your speculations, they’re in fine shape.”

“Not really,” said Lament. Until now, he hadn’t thought the para-situation through. “Once our end explodes, the Pumping stops. They can’t keep it up without us, and that means they’ll face a cooling star without Pump-energy. They might be worse off than we; we’d go out in a painless flash while their agony would be long-drawn-out.”

“You have a good imagination, Professor,” said Chen, “but I’m not buying it. I don’t see any chance of giving up Pumping on nothing more than your imagination. Do you know what the Pump means to mankind? It’s not just the free, clean, and copious energy. Look beyond that. What it means is that mankind no longer has to work for a living. It means that for the first time in history, mankind can turn its collective brains to the more important problem of developing its true potential.”

“For instance, not all the medical advances of two and a half centuries have succeeded in advancing man’s full life-span much past a hundred years. We’ve been told by gerontologists over and over that there is nothing, in theory, to stand in the way of human immortality, but so far not enough attention has been concentrated on this.”

Lament said angrily, “Immortality! You’re talking pipe dreams.”

“Perhaps you’re a judge of pipe dreams, Professor,” said Chen, “but I intend to see that research into immortality begins. It won’t begin it Pumping ends. Then we are back to expensive energy, scarce energy, dirty energy. Earth’s two billions will have to go back to work for a living and the pipe dream of immortality will remain a pipe dream.”

“It will anyway. No one is going to be immortal. No one is even going to live out a normal lifetime.”

“Ah, but that is your theory, only.”

Lament weighed the possibilities and decided to gamble. “Mr. Chen, a while ago I said I was not willing to explain my knowledge of the state of mind of the para-men. Well, let me try. We have been receiving messages.”

“Yes, but can you interpret them?”

“We received an English word.”

Chen frowned slightly. He suddenly put his hands in his pockets, stretched his short legs before him, and leaned back in his chair. “And what was the English word?”

“Fear!” Lament did not feel it necessary to mention the misspelling.

“Fear,” repeated Chen; “and what do you think it means?”

“Isn’t it clear that they’re afraid of the Pumping phenomenon?”

“Not at all. If they were afraid, they would stop it. I think they’re afraid, all right, but they’re afraid that our side will stop it. You’ve gotten across your intention to them and if we stop it, as you want us to do, they’ve got to stop also. You said yourself they can’t continue without us; it’s a two-ended proposition. I don’t blame them for being afraid.”

Lament sat silent.

“I see,” said Chen, “that you haven’t thought of that. Well, then, we’ll push for immortality. I think that will be the more popular cause.”

“Oh, popular causes,” said Lamont slowly. “I didn’t understand what you found important. How old are you, Mr. Chen?”

For a moment, Chen bunked rapidly, then he turned away. He left the room, walking rapidly, with his hands clenched.

Lamont looked up his biography later. Chen was sixty and his father had died at sixty-two. But it didn’t matter.

“You don’t look as though you had any luck at all,” said Bronowski.

Lamont was sitting in his laboratory, staring at the toes of his shoes and noting idly that they seemed unusually scuffed. He shook his head. “No.”

“Even the great Chen failed you?”

“He would do nothing. He wants evidence, too. They all want evidence, but anything you offer them is rejected. What they really want is their damned Pump, or their reputation, or their place in history. Chen wants immortality.”

“What do you want, Pete?” asked Bronowski, softly.

“Mankind’s safety,” said Lamont. He looked at the other’s quizzical eyes. “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you. But what do you really want?”

“Well, then, by God,” and Lamont brought his hand down flat on the desk before him in a loud slap. “I want to be right, and that I have, for I am right.”

“You are sure?”

“I am sure! And there’s nothing I am worried about, because I intend to win. You know when I left Chen, I came near to despising myself.”

“You?”

“Yes, I. Why not? I kept thinking: At every turn Hallam stops me. As long as Hallam refutes me everyone has an excuse not to believe me. While Hallam stands like a rock against me, I must fail. Why, then, didn’t I work through him; why didn’t I butter him up, indeed; why didn’t I maneuver him into supporting me instead of needling him into fighting me?”

“Do you think you could have?”

“No, never. But in my despair, I thought—well, all sorts of things. That I might go to the Moon, perhaps. Of course, when I first turned him against me there was as yet no question of Earth’s doom, but I took care to make it worse when that question arose. But, as you imply, nothing could have turned him against the Pump.”

“But you don’t seem to despise yourself now.”