Айзек Азимов - Before The Golden Age

Riding through the streets of the city, he was both thrilled and awed, after that tortuous ordeal in the wilds of Jupiter, by the consciousness of the great genius of the human race—that it was able, in the face of so many killing difficulties, to erect this domed city, so well equipped with the luxuries of Earthly life. For outside the city there was a pressure of fifteen thousand pounds to the square inch. There was a gravitation two and a half times that of Earth. There was not a breathable drop of oxygen in the atmosphere, and not a ray of light ever penetrated the vast cloud layer to the planet’s surface. But man had built the city, and it would remain forever, so solidly and efficiently was it constructed.

When Colbie came before the dome commander, that individual listened to his story, eyeing him keenly in the meanwhile.

“So you’re Lieutenant John Colbie, of the Interplanetary Police Force,” he mused. “Yet, not less than thirty-six hours ago another man stood before me and presented proof that he was John Colbie. One of you is wrong, I’d say, and no mistake about it.”

“I’ve told you my story—that other man was a criminal, Edward Deverel by name, and I was put on his trail. I caught up with him on Vulcan, near the Sun, and we found it was hollow by the simple expedient of falling through a cavity on its surface. I had Deverel prisoner then, but he proved a bit too smart for me. We were trapped there, well enough, at the center of gravity. But he figured that the gases filling the planet’s interior would expand as the planet came to perihelion, thus forming currents which Deverel used to his advantage in escaping the trap and eluding me at the same time. I found him again, but we were wrecked above Jupiter, fell into a pit with a liquid ammonia lake at the bottom. And Deverel, using, I’ll have to admit, remarkably astute powers of deduction, figured that the lake drained by means of a siphon of some height. He eluded me that way, and I was left in the pit. I finally caught on—from some deliberate hints he had let drop—and followed him through the siphon. But he was waiting for me at the other end, demanded my credentials, and extracted from me a promise that I’d stay where I was for twenty-four hours.” Colbie grinned in slight mirth. “So after twenty-four hours I came on. And now he’s gone.”

“ ‘Fraid he is,” admitted the other. “I had no reason to suspect he was an imposter, so I gave him a ship. Come to think of it, he seemed in a mighty hurry. Hm-m-m. How can I identify you as Lieutenant John Colbie?”

“Easy,” snapped Colbie. “I’m not unknown. There must be a few IPF men in the city. Let some of them identify me.”

“Good idea.” The man grimaced. “Something I should have done with the other man. However, that’s past. No use replotting an orbit you’ve swung. I’ll hunt up an IPF man or two.”

And this he did. Within the space of a few hours, the commander had no doubt that the man who stood before him was one Lieutenant John Colbie, a native of Earth, and in the service of the Interplanetary Police Force.

“Well, we’ll outfit you again, Lieutenant,” he assured Colbie. “What’s your course of action after that?”

Colbie, lolling in a deep chair, bathed, resplendent in borrowed clothing and refreshingly combed hair, cigarette drooping from a corner of his square lips, said, “My assignment was to apprehend a certain criminal; those are my orders. I just have to keep on trying.”

“Not if things go as they have,” said the other, smiling in such a manner that his sarcasm should have been without edge; but he saw immediately that he had said the wrong thing, for Colbie’s eyes narrowed half angrily. “Sorry,” he added quickly. And then apologetically, “Don’t blame you a bit. Must be a sore point. How come you aren’t in any especial hurry?” He deftly changed the subject.

“I should say I’m not in a hurry!” Colbie exclaimed feelingly. “I’ve been space-tied for a few months now, and I have to stuff a few of the civilized benefits into my life now and then. There’s no need for haste, anyway. Only way I can find Deverel is by deducing his destination, then going there.”

“Where do you think he went?” queried the other man interestedly.

“The new planet. I notice there’s quite a lot about it in the papers. It’s been making its way into the solar system for the past five or six months, I understand. It’s a real wanderer—probably been zipping through interstellar space for ages. There’s a good chance that’s where Deverel’s gone. He’s curious, insanely curious about all things bizarre, and he won’t be able to resist it—I hope,” he added.

“Good lead, anyway. It’ll be a worthwhile experience, too. No exploring parties have set foot on it. You two—if Deverel is there—will be the first to set foot on it. Hope you have good luck, this time,” he added sincerely.

Colbie drew smoke into lungs that had not known cigarette smoke for a full half-year. “If there’s any doubt in your mind, commander, let me assure you that Deverel’s already up for trial, as far as my capturing him is concerned. Yes, I feel it in my bones. He’s going back with me, this time.”

The two men then looked up statistics on the new planet. It was a large sphere of celestial flotsam, somewhere near five thousand miles in diameter, of extremely low density for its bulk. It was traveling at the good clip of eighty-two miles per second toward the Sun, but it was estimated that the speed would be cut in half by a near passage by Jupiter. Finally it would take up an orbit that would be located somewhere between those of Jupiter and Neptune.

Shooting through space at furious velocity in his new cruiser, Colbie’s lips were set and grim. His nerves were on edge. There was a flame in his brain. Truth to tell, he was so furious at Deverel’s repeated escapes that the more he thought about it, the less he found himself able to think straight.

He could see the new planet as a small, gray dot against the ubiquitous veil of stars. It was not yet named, but was destined to be called Cyclops, for a reason to be seen. And with the passing hours it grew in apparent size, until, seven days after Colbie had shot upward into space, fighting Jupiter’s gravitational fingers, it was a vast bulk in the heavens less than ten thousand miles distant. Colbie dived for it. He still had enormous speed, and was checking it with the greatest deceleration he could stand. When he came near enough to the planet, he used its gravitation as a further check. He started to circle it—and forthwith saw the “eye” of Cyclops staring up at him.

It was a mirror—a concave reflector, rather. But it looked like the eye of the planet, an eye that reflected starlight. Starlight, yes, because it was a reflector that caught the rays of the stars and threw them back to space. Indeed, Colbie, gazing on it awestruck, could see no slightest difference between the brilliance of the stars and the brilliance of that colossal mirror.

“Lord!” he whispered to himself, feeling half-reverent. He suddenly had a sensation of smallness, and realized in that second what an infinitesimal part of the universe he was. He lived for only the fraction of a second and surely was no larger than a sub-electron. For that mirror was artificial, had been fabricated by the powerful tools and intelligence of a race which had certainly lived at least thousands, perhaps millions of years ago. Who could tell how far Cyclops had traveled, plunging at steady pace across the void that separates our solar system from the nearest star? Who could tell the manner of people who had constructed it? One could only say that they had been engineers on a scale which human beings could not at present comprehend.