Pebble in the Sky (5 page)

“You see, proteins, as I probably needn’t tell you, are immensely complicated groupings of amino acids and certain other specialized compounds, arranged in intricate three-dimensional patterns that are as unstable as sunbeams on a cloudy day. It is this instability that is life, since it is forever changing its position in an effort to maintain its identity—in the manner of a long rod balanced on an acrobat’s nose.

“But this marvelous chemical, this protein, must be first built up out of inorganic matter before life can exist. So, at the very beginning, by the influence of the sun’s radiant energy
upon those huge solutions we call oceans, organic molecules gradually increase in complexity from methane to formaldehyde and finally to sugars and starches in one direction, and from urea to amino acids and proteins in another direction. It’s a matter of chance, of course, these combinations and disintegrations of atoms, and the process on one world may take millions of years while on another it may take only hundreds. Of course it is much more probable that it will take millions of years. In fact, it is most probable that it will end up never happening.

“Now physical organic chemists have worked out with great exactness all the reaction chain involved, particularly the energetics thereof; that is, the energy relationships involved in each atom shift. It is now known beyond the shadow of a doubt that several of the crucial steps in the building of life require the absence of radiant energy. If this strikes you as queer, Procurator, I can only say that photochemistry (the chemistry of reactions induced by radiant energy) is a well-developed branch of the science, and there are innumerable cases of very simple reactions which will go in one of two different directions depending upon whether it takes place in the presence or absence of quanta of light energy.

“In ordinary worlds the sun is the only source of radiant energy, or, at least, by far the major source. In the shelter of clouds, or at night, the carbon and nitrogen compounds combine and recombine, in the fashions made possible by the absence of those little bits of energy hurled into the midst of them by the sun—like bowling balls into the midst of an infinite number of infinitesimal tenpins.

“But on radioactive worlds, sun or no sun, every drop of water—even in the deepest night, even five miles under—sparkles and bursts with darting gamma rays, kicking up the carbon atoms—activating them, the chemists say—and forcing certain key reactions to proceed only in certain ways, ways that never result in life.”

Arvardan’s drink was gone. He placed the empty glass on the waiting cabinet. It was withdrawn instantly into the special compartment where it was cleaned, sterilized, and made ready for the next drink.

“Another one?” asked Ennius.

“Ask me after dinner,” said Arvardan. “I’ve had quite enough for now.”

Ennius tapped a tapering fingernail upon the arm of his chair and said, “You make the process sound quite fascinating, but if all is as you say, then what about the life on Earth? How did it develop?”

“Ah, you see, even you are beginning to wonder. But the answer,
I
think, is simple. Radioactivity, in excess of the minimum required to prevent life, is still not necessarily sufficient to destroy life already formed. It might modify it, but, except in comparatively huge excess, it will not destroy it. . . . You see, the chemistry involved is different. In the first case, simple molecules must be prevented from building up, while in the second, already-formed complex molecules must be broken down. Not at all the same thing.”

“I don’t get the application of that at all,” said Ennius.

“Isn’t it obvious? Life on Earth originated
before
the planet became radioactive. My dear Procurator, it is the only possible explanation that does not involve denying either the fact of life on Earth or enough chemical theory to upset half the science.”

Ennius gazed at the other in amazed disbelief. “But you can’t mean that.”

“Why not?”

“Because how can a world
become
radioactive? The life of the radioactive elements in the planet’s crust are in the millions and billions of years. I’ve learned that, at least, during my university career, even in a pre-law course. They must have existed indefinitely in the past.”

“But there is such a thing as artificial radioactivity, Lord Ennius—even on a huge scale. There are thousands of nuclear
reactions of sufficient energy to create all sorts of radioactive isotopes. Why, if we were to suppose that human beings might use some applied nuclear reaction in industry, without proper controls, or even in war, if you can imagine anything like a war proceeding on a single planet, most of the topsoil could, conceivably, be converted into artificially radioactive materials. What do you say to that?”

The sun had expired in blood on the mountains, and Ennius’s thin face was ruddy in the reflection of that process. The gentle evening wind stirred, and the drowsy murmur of the carefully selected varieties of insect life upon the palace grounds was more soothing than ever.

Ennius said, “It sounds very artificial to me. For one thing, I can’t conceive using nuclear reactions in war or letting them get out of control to this extent in any manner—”

“Naturally, sir, you tend to underestimate nuclear reactions because you’re living in the present, when they’re so easily controlled. But what if someone—or some army—used such weapons before the defense had been worked out? For instance, it’s like using fire bombs before anyone knew that water or sand would put out fire.”

“Hmm,” said Ennius, “you sound like Shekt.”

“Who’s Shekt?” Arvardan looked up quickly.

“An Earthman. One of the few decent ones—I mean, one that a gentleman can speak to. He’s a physicist. He told me once that Earth might not always have been radioactive.”

“Ah. . . . Well, that’s not unusual, since the theory is certainly not original with me. It’s part of the
Book of the Ancients
, which contains the traditional, or mythical, history of prehistoric Earth. I’m saying what it says, in a way, except that I’m putting its rather elliptical phraseology into equivalent scientific statements.”

“The Book of the Ancients?”
Ennius seemed surprised, and a little upset. “Where did you get that?”

“Here and there. It wasn’t easy, and I only obtained parts.
Of course all this traditional information about nonradioactivity, even where completely unscientific, is important to my project. . . . Why do you ask?”

“Because the book is the revered text of a radical sect of Earthmen. It is forbidden for Outsiders to read it. I wouldn’t broadcast the fact that you did, either, while you’re here. Non-Earthmen, or Outsiders, as they call them, have been lynched for less.”

“You make it sound as if the Imperial police power here is defective.”

“It is in cases of sacrilege. A word to the wise, Dr. Arvardan!”

A melodious chime sounded a vibrant note that seemed to harmonize with the rustling whisper of the trees. It faded out slowly, lingering as though in love with its surroundings.

Ennius rose. “I believe it is time for dinner. Will you join me, sir, and enjoy such hospitality as this husk of Empire on Earth can afford?”

An occasion for an elaborate dinner came infrequently enough. An excuse, even a slim one, was not to be missed. So the courses were many, the surroundings lavish, the men polished, and the women bewitching. And, it must be added, Dr. B. Arvardan of Baronn, Sirius, was lionized to quite an intoxicating extent.

Arvardan took advantage of his dinner audience during the latter portion of the banquet to repeat much of what he had said to Ennius, but here his exposition met with markedly less success.

A florid gentleman in colonel’s uniform leaned toward him with that marked condescension of the military man for the scholar and said, “If I interpret your expressions rightly, Dr. Arvardan, you are trying to tell us that these hounds of Earth represent an ancient race that may once have been the ancestors of all humanity?”

“I hesitate, Colonel, to make the flat assertion, but I think there is an interesting chance that it might be so. A year from now I confidently hope to be able to make a definite judgment.”

“If you find that they are, Doctor, which I strongly doubt,” rejoined the colonel, “you will astonish me beyond measure. I have been stationed on Earth now for four years, and my experience is not of the smallest. I find these Earthmen to be rogues and knaves, every one of them. They are definitely our inferiors intellectually. They lack that spark that has spread humanity throughout the Galaxy. They are lazy, superstitious, avaricious, and with no trace of nobility of soul. I defy you, or anyone, to show me an Earthman who can in any way be an equal of any true man—yourself or myself, for instance—and only then will I grant you that he may represent a race who once were our ancestors. But, until then, please excuse me from making any such assumption.”

A portly man at the foot of the table said suddenly, “They say the only good Earthman is a dead Earthman, and that even then they generally stink,” and laughed immoderately.

Arvardan frowned at the dish before him and said, without looking up, “I have no desire to argue racial differences, especially since it is irrelevant in this case. It is the Earthman of prehistory that I speak of. His descendants of today have been long isolated, and have been subjected to a most unusual environment—yet I still would not dismiss them too casually.”

He turned to Ennius and said, “My Lord, I believe you mentioned an Earthman before dinner.”

“I did? I don’t recall.”

“A physicist. Shekt.”

“Oh yes. Yes.”

“Affret Shekt, perhaps?”

“Why, yes. Have you heard of him?”

“I think I have. It’s been bothering me all through dinner, ever since you mentioned him, but I think I’ve placed him. He wouldn’t be at the Institute of Nuclear Research at—Oh, what’s the name of that damned place?” He struck at his forehead with the heel of his palm once or twice. “At Chica?”

“You have the right person. What about him?”

“Only this. There was an article by him in the August issue
of
Physical Reviews
. I noticed it because I was looking for anything that had to do with Earth, and articles by Earthmen in journals of Galactic circulation are very rare. . . . In any case, the point I am trying to make is that the man claims to have developed something he calls a Synapsifier, which is supposed to improve the learning capacity of the mammalian nervous system.”

“Really?” said Ennius a bit too sharply. “I haven’t heard about it.”

“I can find you the reference. It’s quite an interesting article; though, of course, I can’t pretend to understand the mathematics involved. What he has done, however, has been to treat some indigenous animal form on Earth—rats, I believe they call them—with the Synapsifier and then put them to solving a maze. You know what I mean: learning the proper pathway through a tiny labyrinth to some food supply. He used non-treated rats as controls and found that in every case the Synapsified rats solved the maze in less than one third the time. . . . Do you see the significance, Colonel?”

The military man who had initiated the discussion said indifferently, “No, Doctor, I do not.”

“I’ll explain, then, that I firmly believe that any scientist capable of doing such work, even an Earthman, is certainly my intellectual equal, at least, and, if you’ll pardon my presumption, yours as well.”

Ennius interrupted. “Pardon me, Dr. Arvardan. I would like to return to the Synapsifier. Has Shekt experimented with human beings?”

Arvardan laughed. “I doubt it, Lord Ennius. Nine tenths of his Synapsified rats died during treatment. He would scarcely dare use human subjects until much more progress has been made.”

So Ennius sank back into his chair with a slight frown on his forehead and, thereafter, neither spoke nor ate for the remainder of the dinner.

Before midnight the Procurator had quietly left the gathering and, with a bare word to his wife only, departed in his private cruiser on the two-hour trip to the city of Chica, with the slight frown still on his forehead and a raging anxiety in his heart.

Thus it was that on the
same afternoon that Arbin Maren brought Joseph Schwartz into Chica for treatment with Shekt’s Synapsifier, Shekt himself had been closeted with none less than the Procurator of Earth for over an hour.

Arbin was uneasy in Chica. He
felt surrounded. Somewhere in Chica, one of the largest cities on Earth—they said it had fifty thousand human beings in it—somewhere there were officials of the great outer Empire.

To be sure, he had never seen a man of the Galaxy; yet here, in Chica, his neck was continually twisting in fear that he might. If pinned down, he could not have explained how he would identify an Outsider from an Earthman, even if he were to see one, but it was in his very marrow to feel that there was, somehow, a difference.

He looked back over his shoulder as he entered the Institute. His biwheel was parked in an open area, with a six-hour coupon holding a spot open for it. Was the extravagance itself suspicious? . . . Everything frightened him now. The air was full of eyes and ears.