Isaac Asimov - The Gods Themselves

“No. Because my conversation with Chen brought a dividend. It showed me I was wasting time.”

“So it would seem.”

“Yes, but needlessly. It is not here on Earth that the solution lies. I told Chen that our Sun might blow up but that the para-Sun would not, yet that would not save the para-men, for when our Sun blew up and our end of the Pump halted, so would theirs. They cannot continue without us, do you see?”

“Yes, of course I see.”

“Then why don’t we think in the reverse. We can’t continue without them. In which case, who cares whether we stop the Pump or not. Let’s get the para-men to stop.”

“Ah, but will they?”

“They said F-E-E-R. And it means they’re afraid. Chen said they feared us; they feared we would stop the Pump; but I don’t believe that for a moment. They’re afraid. I sat silent when Chen made his suggestion. He thought he had me. He was quite wrong. I was only thinking at that moment that we had to get the para-men to stop. And we’ve got to. Mike, I abandon everything, except you. You’re the hope of the world. Get through to them somehow.”

Bronowski laughed, and there was almost a childlike glee in it. “Pete,” he said, “you’re a genius.”

“Aha. You’ve noticed.”

“No, I mean it. You guess what I want to say before I can say it. I’ve been sending message after message, using their symbols in a way that I guessed might signify the Pump and using our word as well. And I did my best to gather what information I’ve scrabbled together over many months to use their symbols in a way signifying disapproval, and using an English word again. I had no idea whether I was getting through or was a mile off base and from the fact that I never got an answer, I had little hope.”

“You didn’t tell me that’s what you were trying to do.”

“Well, this part of the problem is my baby. You take your sweet time explaining para-theory to me.”

“So what happened?”

“So yesterday, I sent off exactly two words, our language. I scrawled: P-U-M-P B-A-D.”

“And?”

“And this morning I picked up a return message at last and it was simple enough, and straightforward, too. It went Y-E-S P-U-M-P B-A-D B-A-D B-A-D. Here look at it.”

Lament’s hand trembled as it held the foil. “There’s no mistaking that, is there? That’s confirmation, isn’t it?”

“It seems so to me. Who will you take this to?”

“To no one,” said Lament decisively. “I argue no more. They will tell me I faked the message and there’s no point in sitting still for that. Let the para-men stop the Pump and it will stop on our side too and nothing we can do unilaterally will start it up again. The entire Station will then be on fire to prove that I was right and the Pump is dangerous.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because that would be the only way they could keep themselves from being torn apart by a mob demanding the Pump and infuriated at not getting it. ... Don’t you think so?”

“Well, maybe. But one thing bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

“If the para-men are so convinced that the Pump is dangerous, why haven’t they stopped it already? I took occasion to check awhile ago and the Pump is working swimmingly.”

Lament frowned. “Perhaps they don’t want a unilateral stoppage. They consider us their partners and they want a mutual agreement to stop. Don’t you suppose that might be so?”

“It might. But it might also be that communication is less than perfect; that they don’t quite understand the significance of the words B-A-D. From what I said to them via their symbols, which I might well have twisted utterly, they may think that B-A-D means what we consider G-O-O-D.”

“Oh, no.”

“Well, that’s your hope, but there’s no pay-off on hopes.”

“Mike, just keep on sending messages. Use as many of the words they use as possible and keep ringing the changes. You’re the expert and it’s in your hands. Eventually, they’ll know enough words to say something clear and unmistakable and then we’ll explain that we’re willing to have the Pump stopped.”

“We lack the authority to make any such statement.”

“Yes, but they won’t know, and in the end we’ll be mankind’s heroes.”

“Even if they execute us first?”

“Even so. ... It’s in your hands, Mike, and I’m sure it won’t take much longer.”

And yet it did. Two weeks passed without another message and the strain grew worse.

Bronowski showed it. The momentary lightness of heart had dissipated, and he entered Lament’s laboratory in glum silence.

They stared at each other and finally Bronowski said, “It’s all over the place that you’ve received your show-cause.”

Lament had clearly not shaved that morning. His laboratory had a forlorn look about it, a not-quite-definable, packing-up look. He shrugged. “So what? It doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is that Physical Reviews rejected my paper.”

“You said you were expecting that.”

“Yes, but I thought they might give me reasons. They might point out what they thought were fallacies, errors, unwarranted assumptions. Something I could argue about.”

“And they didn’t?”

“Not a word. Their referees did not consider the paper suitable for publication. Quote, unquote. They just won’t touch it. ... It’s really disheartening, the universal stupidity. I think that I wouldn’t grieve at mankind’s suicide through sheer evilness of heart, or through mere recklessness. There’s something so damned undignified at going to destruction through sheer thickheaded stupidity. What’s the use of being men if that’s how you have to die.”

“Stupidity,” muttered Bronowski.

“What else do you call it? And they want me to show-cause why I ought not to be fired for the great crime of being right.”

“Everyone seems to know that you consulted Chen.”

“Yes!” Lamont put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and wearily rubbed his eyes. “I apparently got him annoyed enough to go to Hallam with tales, and now the accusation is that I have been trying to sabotage the Pump project by unwarranted and unsupported fright tactics in an unprofessional manner and that this makes me unsuitable for employment on the Station.”

“They can prove that easily, Pete.”

“I suppose they can. It doesn’t matter.”

“What are you going to do.”

“Nothing,” said Lamont indignantly. “Let them do their worst. I’ll rely on red tape. Every step of this thing will take weeks, months, and meanwhile you keep working. We’ll hear from the para-men yet.”

Bronowski looked miserable. “Pete, suppose we don’t. Maybe it’s time you think about this again.”

Lamont looked up sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell them you’re wrong. Do penance. Beat your breast. Give up.”

“Never! By God, Mike, we’re playing a game in which the stakes are all the world and every living creature on it.”

“Yes, but what’s that to you? You’re not married. You have no children. I know your father is dead. You never mention your mother or any siblings, I doubt if there is any human being on earth to whom you are emotionally attached as an individual. So go your way and the hell with it all.”

“And you?”

“I’ll do the same. I’m divorced and I have no children. I have a young lady with whom I’m close and that relationship will continue while it can. Live! Enjoy!”

“And tomorrow!”

“Will take care of itself. Death when it comes will be quick.”

“I can’t live with that philosophy.... Mike. Mike! What is all this? Are you trying to tell me that we’re not going to get through? Are you giving up on the para-men?”