Джек Макдевитт - Cryptic - The Best Short Fiction of Jack McDevitt

One of the jailers lingered in the doorway throughout the long discussion. He seemed worried, and at one point cautioned Socrates against speaking too much, or getting excited. “If you get the heat up,” he said, “the poison will not work well.”

“We would not wish that,” Socrates replied. But he saw the pained expression on the jailer’s face, and I thought he immediately regretted the remark.

Women arrived with lunch, and several stayed, so that the room became more and more crowded. In fact, no doors were locked, and no guards, other than the reluctant jailer, were in evidence. Phaedo, who is the narrator of Plato’s account, was beside me. He told me that the authorities had hoped profoundly that Socrates would run off. “They did everything they could to avoid this,” he said. “There is even a rumor that last night they offered him money and transportation if he would leave.”

Socrates saw us conversing, and he said, “Is there something in my reasoning that disturbs you?”

I’d lost the train of the discussion, but Phaedo said, “Yes, Socrates. However, I hesitate to put my objection to you.”

Socrates turned a skeptical gaze on him. “Truth is what it is. Tell me what disturbs you, Phaedo.”

He swallowed to make sure of his voice. “Then let me ask,” he said in a carefully neutral tone, “whether you are being truly objective on this matter? The sun is not far from the horizon and, although it grieves me to say it, were I in your position, I also would argue in favor of immortality.”

“Were you in his position,” said Crito, with a smile, “you would have taken the first ship to Syracuse.” The company laughed, Socrates as heartily as any, and the strain seemed relieved for the moment.

“You are of course correct in asking, Phaedo. Am I seeking truth? Or trying to convince myself? I can only respond that, if my arguments are valid, then that is good. If they are false, and death does indeed mean annihilation, they nevertheless arm me to withstand its approach. And that too is good.” He looked utterly composed. “If I’m wrong, it’s an error that won’t survive the sunset.”

Simmias was seated immediately to the right of Moses. “I for one am convinced,” he said. “Your arguments do not admit of refutation. And it is a comfort to me to believe that we have it in our power to draw this company together again in some place of God’s choosing.”

“Yes,” said Crito. “I agree. And, Socrates, we are fortunate to have you here to explain it to us.”

“Anyone who has thought about these issues,” said Socrates, “should be able to reach, if not truth, at least a high degree of probability.”

Moses seemed weighed down with the infirmities of age, and with the distress of the present calamity. Still, he continued to glance periodically at Helen. Now, for the first time, he spoke: “I very much fear, Socrates, that within a few hours there will be no one left anywhere in Hellas, or anywhere else for that matter, who will be able to make these matters plain.”

“That’s Shel ’s voice,” Helen gasped, straining forward to see better. The light was not good, and he was turned away from us now, his face hidden in the folds of his hood.

Then he turned and looked openly at us. He smiled sadly at her. And his lips formed the English words hello, Helen .

She was getting to her feet.

At that moment, the jailer appeared with the poisoned cup, and the sight of him, and the silver vessel, froze everyone in the chamber. “I hope you understand, Socrates,” he said, “this is not my doing.”

“I know that, Thereus,” said Socrates. “I am not angry with you.”

“They always want to blame me ,” Thereus said.

Silence flowed through the chamber.

The jailer laid the cup on the table before him. “It is time,” he said.

The rest of the company, following Helen’s example, got one by one to their feet.

Socrates gave a coin to the jailer, squeezed his hand, thanked him, and turned to look at his friends one last time. “The world is very bright,” he said. “But much of it is illusion. If we stare at it too long, in the way we look at the sun during an eclipse, it blinds us. Look at it only with the mind.” He picked up the hemlock. Several in the assemblage started forward, but were restrained by their companions. Someone in back sobbed.

“Stay,” a voice said sternly. “You have respected him all your life. Do so now.”

He lifted the cup to his lips, and his hand trembled. It was the only time the mask slipped. Then he drank it down and laid the cup on the table. “l am sure Simmias is right,” he said. “We shall gather again one day, as old friends should, in a far different chamber.”

Shel clasped Helen a long time in his big arms. “It’s good to see you again,” he said. Tears ran down his cheeks.

She shivered. “What happened to you?”

A smile flickered across his lips. “I’ve been traveling a long time.” He stood silhouetted against the moon and the harbor. Behind us, the waterfront buildings of the Piraeus were illuminated by occasional lamps. He turned toward me. “David, you seem to have become my dark angel.”

I was emotionally drained. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said.

A gull wheeled overhead. “Socrates dies for a philosophical nicety. And Shelborne continues to run when all the world is at stake. Right?”

“That’s right,” I said.

Helen was still trembling. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

His lips twitched, and he ran his hand over the long white whiskers. He looked haunted. “I haven’t seen you for forty years,” he said. “You have no idea how many times I’ve gone to sleep dreaming of you. And you are even lovelier than I remember.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. Steadied her. “He’s been out here a long time.”

Her eyes blazed. “What happened to my Shel? What did you do with him?”

“He’s been living his allotted years,” he said. “Making them count for as much as he can as long as he can. Before my conscience here—” lifting his eyes and targeting me, “before my conscience succeeds in driving me into my grave.”

She couldn’t hold back any longer. She burst into tears. And in that moment, I hated him.

“I’ve tried to go back,” he said. “God help me, I’ve tried. But I could not bring myself to lie in that bed.” Anger surfaced. I could not tell where it was directed. “Did you know that my skull was crushed?”

We knew.

He looked very old. And broken. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. The robes had no pockets. But he needed some kind of defensive gesture, so he folded his arms and turned to face the harbor. “I am not Socrates, Dave,” he said. “I will not drink from his cup.” His eyes locked on mine, and I could see him come to a decision. He drew us together, within the field of his Watch, and punched in a set of coordinates. “But I will settle the issue for you.”

Helen shook her head no. No more surprises. And everything began to slow down. The harbor winked out, a ship’s deck materialized underfoot, and the sky filled with fire.

We were on a Roman galley. The air was thick with powder and cinders, and the sails were down. We were pitching and rolling. The ocean broke across the deck, and men scrambled and swore at their stations. Below us, long oars dipped rhythmically into the waves. It was daylight, but we could not see more than twenty feet.

“How did you manage that?” I screamed at Shel over the hurricane of noise. The Watches had never possessed the precision to land people on a ship at sea.

“It’s been a lot of years,” he said. “Technology’s better than it used to be.”