Айзек Азимов - Before The Golden Age

Sam was appalled. He tried to grasp the story entire. It was logical, he admitted, up to a certain point. The forces involved were already at work in his own time. But to think that all the world had died, except for this enshrouded city of Hispan! “What happened to the others?” he insisted.

He saw the quick, warning glance that Gano flashed. He noted Beltan’s hesitation. “On that,” the latter admitted reluctantly, “the records are somewhat garbled. It seems there was a cataclysm some time in the forty-first century. A celestial body from outer space, traveling at high speed, smashed into the earth, destroyed a goodly part, laid waste all the cities but Hispan.”

“Why Hispan alone?”

“Because our city was the only one inclosed with neutron walls. Not even the impact of millions of tons could penetrate its solidity.”

“And no attempt was ever made to explore outside, to investigate conditions?”

Gano rose suddenly. “There is no way out,” he said smoothly, “and there have been questions enough. We have been patient with your rather primitive ignorance, but it is time to call a halt. And remember,” he finished meaningly, “these tales which Beltan, who should have known better, has told you must go no further. Only the Olgarchs know of these, and Tomson, the chief Technician, the Workers, the other Technicians even, have no faintest idea that there is a world, a universe beyond this city of Hispan. To them there never was a sun or moon or stars, or earth of other cities and peoples. This is the round entire, the circumscription of their destinies. See to it that they hear no other.”

“I see,” Sam answered grimly. He was beginning to understand. It was only by a tremendous effort that he held back the rising wrath within him. But Kleon, child of an earlier, franker era, held no inhibitions. “I am a Greek,” he declared proudly, “and bow to no man. My speech is my own, and subject to no restrictions.”

Sam nudged him sharply. The brave fool was making trouble for them both.

Gano surveyed them thoughtfully, then nodded to Beltan as though he had not heard. “We shall decide on our course later,” he said evenly, “when the council meets. In the meantime let these two be held in your quarters. You will take care of them.”

Kleon’s hand strayed to his sword. Sam’s mouth set in a straight line. Very casually, his fingers touched the butt of his revolver. He knew what Gano meant. They were prisoners. The Greek, by his defiance, had brought this upon them. Yet he liked the headstrong warrior all the more for his folly. He was a man!

Beltan said with peculiar intonation, “Please come without delay.”

Sam relaxed. He sensed the warning against resistance in the Olgarch’s voice. Gano’s delicately veined forefinger rested on a green square on the signal board. Intuitively, Sam felt that the slightest pressure would release blasting death against them.

“O. K.,” he said laconically, in the elder speech. “Let’s go, Kleon.”

In silence the three entered a waiting car; in silence they sped over the noble park lands to a small, blank-walled building near the center of the level. In silence Beltan escorted them inside, the slide panel clicking smoothly behind them.

Sam cast a swift glance around. The walls were bare and smooth, the furnishings simple. There were no windows or doors other than the way they had entered. “We are prisoners, are we not?” he demanded.

Beltan looked at them with a certain pity. “I am afraid worse than that,” he admitted. “Your presence in Hispan will give rise to talk, to questionings. You must eventually come in contact with the other castes. You know things of which they have no knowledge. Discontent may arise, dissatisfaction. The ordered peace and security of Hispan may be broken. You especially, Sam Ward, have subversive ideas. You do not like our distribution of functions?”

“I do not,” Sam answered emphatically.

Beltan sighed. “I thought as much. As for you, Kleon, you are more sympathetic. But you spoiled it with your defiance of Gano. Still,” he meditated, “if you would but admit your hastiness of speech, perhaps an exception might be made in your favor.”

Kleon gazed at him with candid blue eyes. “Would that mean I must desert Sam Ward?”

“I’m afraid so.”

The Greek stood poised like a young god. “Then I remain with him.”

“Even if it means death?”

“Even so.”

Beltan turned swiftly to the American. “And you,” he inquired, “would you be willing to give an oath that your tongue would always remain submissive to the Olgarchs? Remember,” he added hastily, “an answer to the contrary will mean a quiet dissolution. I am but one against many. In any event I shall plead your cause in the council, but my fellow Olgarchs will feel as Gano does.”

Sam swallowed hard, but there was no tremor in his voice. “Kleon was right,” he answered steadily. “We are not slaves. We can give no such promises.”

Beltan sighed again. There was regretful admiration in that sigh. “You are both brave men,” he said. “It seems that elder, more primitive day bred sturdier frames than now. Yet you must die. I see no way out.”

Sam fingered his gun. He glanced significantly at Kleon. “At least,” he remarked evenly, “we’ll go out fighting.”

Kleon rattled his sword. “By Zeus and Ares,” he swore, “you speak sooth, friend Sam. We’ll take a goodly number of these Olgarchs to the lower realms along with us.”

“You won’t have the chance,” Beltan assured them. “Gano controls your fates literally at his finger tips. A pressure on the proper square before him and lethal rays sweep through this structure.”

Somehow Sam’s gun was in his hand, its cold muzzle pressed against the Olgarch’s ribs. “I’m sorry to have to do this,” he said crisply, “but we don’t give up very easily. You, Beltan, will show us a means of escape, or you die along with us.”

The Olgarch looked at the two desperate men. Kleon’s sword was out, its keen point pressed against his other side. He shook his head slowly. “I am not afraid to die,” he answered with simple dignity. “I am weary of this aimless dalliance to which I am bound. Slay, if you will.”

Sam stepped back, sheathed his gun. Kleon raised his sword in salute. “You, too, are a man,” the American approved. “We three, I think, given the chance, could conquer the universe.”

A slow, unaccustomed red spread over the Olgarch’s aristocratic features. “Believe me,” he spoke earnestly, “I am your friend.” Then he made a despairing gesture. “But there is no escape. I cannot help you. No nook or cranny of Hispan is remote from the search screens of the Olgarch council.”

“I wouldn’t stay here if I could,” Sam declared harshly. “Your city of Hispan is a stench in my nostrils, with its brutal caste system, its limited round. Me—I prefer freedom and space and a bit of anarchy even, where men are human beings and not mere soulless cogs in a hierarchic society, no matter how efficient. There must be a way to get out.”

“There isn’t,” Beltan replied somberly. “The neutron walls are impassable. And outside, besides wild desolation in which no man may live, there are lethal gases: Cyanogen, carbon monoxide, phosgene, products of the collision. The atmosphere has been destroyed. We do not even know what, if anything, remains of earth, of the sun itself.”

“That,” Sam retorted with a grin, “is mere propaganda. Your Olgarchic ancestors must have been singularly adept at that sort of thing. Something tells me they foisted that tale even on themselves, in order to keep their position intact. If ever Workers or Technicians or even mutant Olgarchs like yourself came in contact with other forms of civilization, with other methods, there might be comparisons not at all favorable to Hispan.”