Pebble in the Sky by Isaac Asimov (best novels of all time .txt) 📗

contingency against which the Ancients guard me. When you came to my house this morning I even thought you might be a go-between. I thought that Ennius suspected.”

“He may suspect—I cannot answer for that. But I am not a go-between. I’m sorry. If you insist on making me your confidant, I can promise to see him for you.”

“Thank you. It is all I ask. That—and to use your good offices to intercede for Earth against too strong a reprisal.”

“Of course.” Arvardan was uneasy. At the moment he was convinced that he was dealing with an elderly and eccentric paranoiac, perhaps harmless, but thoroughly cracked. Yet he had no choice but to remain, to listen, and to try to smooth over the gentle insanity—for Pola’s sake.

Shekt said, “Dr. Arvardan, you have heard of the Synapsifier? You said so this morning.”

“Yes, I did. I read your original article in Physical Reviews. I discussed the instrument with the Procurator and with the High Minister.”

“With the High Minister?”

“Why, certainly. When I obtained the letter of introduction that you—uh—refused to see, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry for that. But I wish you had not—What is the extent of your knowledge concerning the Synapsifier?”

“That it is an interesting failure. It is designed to improve learning capacity. It has succeeded to some extent on rats, but has failed on human beings.”

Shekt was chagrined. “Yes, you could think nothing else from that article. It was publicized as a failure, and the eminently successful results have been suppressed, deliberately.”

“Hmp. A rather unusual display of scientific ethics, Dr. Shekt.”

“I admit it. But I am fifty-six, sir, and if you know anything of the customs of Earth, you know that I haven’t long to live.”

“The Sixty. Yes, I have heard of it—more than I would have liked, in fact.” And he thought wryly of that first trip on a Terrestrian stratoliner. “Exceptions are made for noted scientists, among others, I have heard.”

“Certainly. But it is the High Minister and the Council of Ancients who decide on that, and there is no appeal from their decisions, even to the Emperor. I was told that the price of life was secrecy concerning the Synapsifier and hard work for its improvement.” The older man spread his hands helplessly. “Could I know then of the outcome, of the use to which the machine would be put?”

“And the use?” Arvardan extracted a cigarette from his shirt-pocket case and offered one to the other, which was refused.

“If you’ll wait a moment—One by one, after my experiments had reached the point where I felt the instrument might be safely applied to human beings, certain of Earth’s biologists were treated. In each case they were men I knew to be in sympathy with the Zealots—the extremists, that is. They all survived, though secondary effects made themselves shown after a time. One of them was brought back for treatment eventually. I could not save him. But, in his dying delirium, I found out.”

It was close upon midnight. The day had been long and much had happened. But now something stirred within Arvardan. He said tightly, “I wish you’d get to the point.”

Shekt said, “I beg your patience. I must explain thoroughly, if you’re to believe me. You, of course, know of Earth’s peculiar environment—its radioactivity—”

“Yes, I have a fair knowledge of the matter.”

“And of the effect of this radioactivity upon Earth and its economy?”

“Yes.”

“Then I won’t belabor the point. I need only say that the incidence of mutation on Earth is greater than in the rest of the Galaxy. The idea of our enemies that Earthmen are different thus has a certain basis of physical truth. To be sure, the mutations are minor, and most possess no survival value. If any permanent change has occurred in Earthmen, it is only in some aspects of their internal chemistry which enables them to display greater resistance to their own particular environment. Thus they show greater resistance to radiation effects, more rapid healing of burned tissues—”

“Dr. Shekt, I am acquainted with all you say.”

“Then has it ever occurred to you that these mutational processes occur in living species on Earth other than human?”

There was a short silence, and then Arvardan said, “Why, no, it hasn’t, though, of course, it is quite inevitable, now that you mention it.”

“That is so. It happens. Our domestic animals exist in greater variety than on any other inhabited world. The orange you ate is a mutated variety, which exists nowhere else. It is this, among other things, which makes the orange so unacceptable for export. Outsiders suspect it as they suspect us—and we ourselves guard it as a valuable property peculiar to ourselves. And of course what applies to animals and plants applies also to microscopic life.”

And now, indeed, Arvardan felt the thin pang of fear enter.

He said, “You mean—bacteria?”

“I mean the whole domain of primitive life. Protozoa, bacteria, and the self-reproducing proteins that some people call viruses.”

“And what are you getting at?”

“I think you have a notion of that, Dr. Arvardan. You seem suddenly interested. You see, there is a belief among your people that Earthmen are bringers of death, that to associate with an Earthman is to die, that Earthmen are the bearers of misfortune, possess a sort of evil eye—”

“I know all that. It is merely superstition.”

“Not entirely. That is the dreadful part. Like all common beliefs, however superstitious, distorted, and perverted, it has a speck of truth at bottom. Sometimes, you see, an Earthman carries within his body some mutated form of microscopic parasite which is not quite like any known elsewhere, and to which, sometimes, Outsiders are not particularly resistant. What follows is simple biology, Dr. Arvardan.”

Arvardan was silent.

Shekt went on, “We are caught sometimes, too, of course. A new species of germ will make its way out of the radioactive mists and an epidemic will sweep the planet, but, by and large, Earthmen have kept pace. For each variety of germ and virus, we build our defense over the generations, and we survive. Outsiders