Captive Universe

“May I see the book? What day was this decided?”

“A day fixed in history, but look for yourself.” The old man smiled and opened the book, apparently at random, on the table before him. “See how it opens to the correct place? I have read in it so often.”

Chimal took the book and read the entry. It occupied less than a page. Surely a record of brevity for such a momentous occasion.

“There is nothing here about the observations and the reasons for the decisions,” he said, “No details on the planets that were so unsuitable.”

“Yes, there, begi

“But why? There are no details.”

“Details are not needed. This was a decision of faith. The Great Designer had made allowance for the fact that suitable planets might not be found, and He is the one who knew. If the planets were suitable he would have not given us a choice. This is a very important doctrinal point. We all looked through the telescope and agreed. The planets were not suitable. They were tiny, and had no light of their own like a sun, and were very far away. They obviously were not suitable…”

Chimal sprang to his feet, slamming the book onto the table.

“Are you telling me that you decided simply by looking through the telescope while still at astronomical distance? That you made no approaches, no landings, took no photographs… ?”

“I know nothing of those things. They must be things that Arrivers do. We could not open the valley until we were sure these planets were proper. Think — how terrible! What would it have been like if the Arrivers found these planets unsuitable! We would have betrayed our trust. No, far better to make this weighty decision ourselves. We knew what was involved. Every one of us searched his heart and faith before coming to a reluctant decision. The planets were unsuitable.”

“And this was decided by faith alone?”

“The faith of good men, true men. There was no other way, nor did we want one. How could we have possibly erred as long as we stood true to our beliefs?”

In silence, Chimal copied the date of the decision onto his writing tablet, then put the book back onto the table.

“Don’t you agree that it was the wisest decision?” the Master Observer asked, smiling.

“I think you were all mad,” Chimal said.

“Blasphemy! Why do you say that?”

“Because you knew nothing at all about those planets, and a decision made without facts or knowledge is no decision — just superstitious nonsense.”

“I will not hear these insults — even from the First Arriver. I ask you respectfully to leave my quarters.”

“Facts are facts, and guesswork is guesswork. Stripped of all the mumbo-jumbo and faith talk, your decision is just baseless. Worse than a guess since you make a guess from incomplete facts. You pietistical fools had no facts at all. What did the rest of your people say about the decision?”

“They did not know. It was not their decision. They serve, that is all they ask. That is all we observers asked.”

“Then I’m going to tell them all, and find the computer. We can still turn back.”

The eskoskeleton hummed to follow his body as the old man stood, straight and angry, pointing his finger at Chimal.

“You ca

“Why not? You are just men. Damn fallible, stupid men at that. You were wrong and I’m going to right that wrong.”

“If you do you will prove that you are not the First Arriver after all, but something else. I know not what. I must search the breviary for the meaning of this.”

“Search, I act. We turn.”

For long minutes after Chimal slammed out the Master Observer stood, staring at the closed door. When he finally reached a decision he wanted to groan aloud with unhappiness at the terribleness of it all. But hard decisions had to be made too: that was the burden of his responsibility. He picked up his communicator to make the call.

The sign on the door read NAVIGATION ROOM — OBSERVERS ONLY. Chimal had been so angry at the time of his discovery that he had not thought to search out this room and verify his information. The anger was still there, but now it was cold and disciplined: he would do whatever had to be done. A search of the charts had revealed the existence of this place. He pushed open the door and went in.

The room was small and contained only two chairs, a computer input, some breviaries of data, and a chart on the wall of simplified operating instructions. The input was designed for a single function and took instructions in ordinary language. Chimal read the chart quickly, then sat before the input and tapped out a message with one finger.

IS THE ORBIT NOW TOWARD PROXIMA CENTAURI?

As soon as he pressed the button for answer the input burst into rapid life and typed:

NO.

HAVE WE PASSED PROXIMA CENTAURI?

QUESTION IS UNCLEAR. SEE INSTRUCTION 13.

Chimal thought a moment, then fed in a new question.

CAN THE ORBIT BE CHANGED TO GO TO PROXIMA CENTAURI?

YES.

That was better. Chimal typed in HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE TO REACH PROXIMA CENTAURI IF THE ORBIT IS CHANGED NOW? This time the computer took almost three seconds to answer, since there were many computations to be made and memories to be consulted.

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 100 ASTRONOMICAL UNITS DISTANCE PROXIMA CENTAURI 17,432 DAYS.

Chimal did the division quickly. “That’s less than 50 years. The arrival might even be in my lifetime if we begin the new orbit now!”

But how? How could the observers be made to change the orbit? There was a possibility that he could find the proper instructions and breviaries and work out how to do it himself, but only if he were undisturbed. He could not possibly do the work in the face of their active hostility. Nor would words alone convince them. What would? They had to be forced to make the orbit change whether they wanted to or not. Violence? It wouldn’t be possible to capture them all and force them to the work. The Watchers would never permit this. Nor could he simply kill them: this was equally distasteful, though he was certainly in the humor for it He felt like doing violence to something.

The air machinery? The equipment he had worked on — it was vital for life, but only over a period of time. If there were some way to damage it, he was the only one who would be able to repair it. And he would not even begin the repairs until the course had been changed and they were on their way to the nearby star.

This was what he had to do. He slammed out into the passageway and saw the Master Observer and the other observers hurrying toward him at the highest speed their eskoskeletons would go. Chimal ignored their shouts and ran in the opposite direction, easily outdistancing them. As fast as he could, by the most direct route, he ran to the tu

The track was empty. No car was waiting.

Should he walk? It would take hours to get through this tu

“This is the First Arriver. I want a car at once, at station 187.” The speaker hummed silently for a moment, then a voice answered.

“It shall be as you order. It will be there in a few minutes.”

Would it? Or would the man report it to the observers? Chimal paced in an agony of apprehension, unable now to do anything except wait. It was only a few minutes before the car arrived, but the time seemed endless to him.

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