Before The Golden Age - A SF Anthology of the 1930s

by Edited By Isaac Asimov

  “But surely it’s beyond your scientific knowledge how to do a thing like that!” the reporter said.

  “Not at all; I can do it easily but I’ll need more equipment,” the scientist said.

  He fished an envelope and pencil from his pocket and hastily jotted down a list of items. “We’ll go into the village and I’ll telephone New York to have these things rushed up.”

  Garry waited in the village store while the astronomer read his list into the telephone. By the time this was done and they returned to the clearing in the valley woods, darkness had fallen.

  The polyhedron was glowing weirdly in the night, a shimmering, faceted enigma. Garry had to tear his companion away from his fascinated inspection. He finally did so and they climbed to the cabin and cooked and ate a sketchy supper.

  The two sat after supper and tried to play cards by the light of the kerosene lamp. Both men were silent except for the occasional monosyllables of the game. They made error after error, until at last Garry Adams flung the cards down.

  “What’s the use of this? We’re both too wrought up over that darned thing down there to give a thought to anything else. We might as well admit that we’re dying with curiosity. Where did the thing come from and what’s in it? What do those symbols on it mean, and that diagram you said represented the galaxies? I can’t get it all out of my head.”

  Peters nodded thoughtfully. “Such a thing doesn’t come to earth every day. I doubt if such a thing has ever come to earth before.”

  * * * *

  He sat staring into the soft flame of the lamp, his eyes abstracted and his ascetic face frowning in intense interest and disturbed perplexity.

  Garry remembered something. “You said when we looked at that queer diagram on it that it might mean the polyhedron was made when the universe first started expanding. What the devil did you mean by that? Is the universe expanding?”

  “Of course it is. I thought everyone was aware of the fact,” Dr. Peters said irritably.

  Then he smiled suddenly. “But I keep forgetting, since I associate almost always with fellow scientists, how completely ignorant most people are of the universe in which they live.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Garry said. “Suppose you enlighten my ignorance a little on this point.”

  ‘Well,” said the other, “you know what a galaxy is?”

  “A swarm of stars like our sun, isn’t it—a whole lot of them?”

  “Yes, our sun is only one of billions of stars gathered together in a great swarm which we call our galaxy. We know that the swarm has a roughly spiral shape and that as it floats in space the whole spiral swarm is rotating on its center.

  “Now, there are other galaxies in space beside our own, other great swarms of stars. It is estimated, indeed, that their number runs into billions and each of them, of course, contains billions of stars. But—and this has seemed to astronomers a curious thing—our own galaxy is definitely larger than any of the others.

  “Those other galaxies lie at enormous distances from our own. The nearest is more than a million light years away and the others are much farther. And all of them are moving through space, each star cloud sweeping through the void.

  “We astronomers have been able to ascertain the speed and direction of their movements. When a star, or a swarm of stars, is moving in the line of sight of the observer, the movement has a definite effect upon its spectrum. If the swarm is moving away from the observer, the lines in its spectrum will shift toward the red end of the spectrum. The faster it is moving away, the greater will .be the shift toward the red.

  “Using this method, Hubble, Humason, Slipher and other astronomers have measured the speed and direction of movement of the other galaxies. They have found an amazing thing, a thing that has created a tremendous sensation in astronomical circles. They have found that those other galaxies are all running away from our own!

  “It is not just a few of them that are moving away from our own but all of them. In every side, every galaxy in the cosmos is hurtling away from our own galaxy! And they are doing so at speeds as high as fifteen thousand miles a second, which is almost a tenth the speed of light itself.

  “At first astronomers could not believe their own observations. It seemed incredible that all other galaxies should be fleeing from our own, and for a time it was thought that certain of the nearer ones were not receding. But that has been seen to be an observational error and we now accept the incredible fact that all other galaxies are flying away from our own.

  “What does that mean? It means that there must once have been a time when all those outward-speeding galaxies were gathered with our own into a single giant supergalaxy that contained all the stars in the universe. By calculating back from their present speeds and distances, we find that that time was about two billion years ago.

  “Then something made that supergalaxy suddenly break up, and all its outer portions went flying off into space in all directions. The portions that flew off are the galaxies that are still flying away from us. Our own is without doubt the center or core of the original supergalaxy.

  “What caused that break-up of the gigantic supergalaxy? That we do not know, though many theories have been advanced. Sir Arthur Eddington believes that the break-up was caused by some unknown principle of repulsion in matter which he calls the cosmical constant. Others have suggested that space itself started expanding, an even more incredible explanation. Whatever the cause, we know that that supergalaxy did break up and that all the other galaxies formed by its break-up are flying away from our own at tremendous speeds.”

  Garry Adams had listened intently to Dr. Peters as the astronomer spoke in quick, nervous fashion.

  His own lean, newly tanned face was serious in the glow of the lamp. “It seems strange, at that,” he commented. “A cosmos in which all the other galaxies are fleeing from us. But that diagram on the side of the polyhedron—you said that indicated the thing was made when the expansion first started?”

  “Yes.” Peters nodded. “You see, that diagram was made by intelligent or superintelligent beings, for they knew our own galaxy is spiral-shaped and so depicted it.

  “But they depicted the other galaxies as almost touching our own. In other words, that diagram must have been made when the giant super-galaxy first started breaking up, when the other galaxies first started running away from our own. That was some two billion years ago, as I said. Two thousand million years. So you see, if the polyhedron was actually made that long ago it--”

  “I see enough to feel that I’m going crazy with speculation,” Garry Adams said, getting to his feet. “I’m going to bed, whether I’m able to sleep or not.”

  Dr. Peters shrugged. “I suppose we might as well. The equipment I sent for won’t be out until morning.”

  Garry Adams lay thinking in the darkness after he had retired to the upper of the two bunks in the cabin. What was this visitant from outer space and what would they find in it when they opened it?

  His wonderings merged into sleep mists out of which he suddenly awoke to find the cabin bright with morning sunshine. He woke the scientist and after a hasty breakfast they hurried down to the point on the dirt road where Dr. Peters had directed the ordered equipment to be brought.

  They had waited there but a half hour when the sleek high-speed truck came humming along the narrow road. Its driver halted it at sight of them, and they helped him unload the equipment it carried. Then he drove back the way he had come.

  * * * *

  Garry Adams surveyed the pile of equipment dubiously. It looked too simple to him, consisting only of a dozen or so sealed containers of chemicals, some large copper and glass containers, a pile of copper strips and wiring, and some slender ebonite rods.

  He turned to Dr. Peters, who was also gazing at the pile.

  “This sure looks like a lot of junk to me,” the reporter said. “How are you going to use this stuff to de-crystallize the frozen force of the polyhedron?”

>   Dr. Peters turned to him a blank, bewildered stare. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly.

  “You don’t know?” Garry echoed. “Why, what do you mean? Yesterday there at the polyhedron you said it was quite clear to you how to do it. You must have known, to order all this stuff.”

  The astronomer seemed even more bewildered. “Garry, I remember that I did know how then, when I jotted down the list of these things. But I don’t now. I haven’t the slightest idea of how they could be used on the polyhedron.”

  Garry dropped his arms, stared unbelievingly at his companion.

  He started to say something, but as he saw the other’s evident mental distress he checked himself.

  “Well, we’ll take the stuff over to the polyhedron now,” he said calmly. “Maybe by that time you’ll remember the plan you’ve forgotten.”

  “But I’ve never before forgotten anything in this way,” Peters said dazedly as he helped pick up the mass of things. “It’s simply beyond my understanding.”

  They emerged into the crushed clearing where the enigmatic polyhedron still glowed and shimmered. As they set down their burdens beside the thing, Peters burst suddenly into a laugh.

  “Why, of course I know how to use this stuff on the polyhedron. It’s simple enough.”

  Garry stared at him again. “You’ve remembered?”

  “Of course,” the scientist answered confidently. “Hand me that biggest box marked barium oxide, and two of those containers. We’ll soon have the polyhedron open.”

  The reporter, his jaw hanging in surprise, watched Peters start confidently to work with the supplies. Chemicals foamed together in the containers as rapidly as he mixed them.

  He worked swiftly, smoothly, without asking any aid of the reporter. He had an utter efficiency and utter confidence, so dissimilar to his attitude of a few minutes before, that an incredible idea was born and grew in Garry Adams’ mind.

  He said suddenly to Peters, “Doctor, you know completely what you’re doing now?”

  Peters looked up impatiently. “Of course I do,” he replied sharply. “Doesn’t it look like it?”

  “Will you do something for me?” asked Garry. “Will you come back with me to the road where we unloaded the supplies?”

  “Why in the world do that?” demanded the scientist. “I want to get this finished.”

  “Never mind; I’m not asking for fun but because it’s important,” Garry said. “Come on, will you?”

  “Oh, damn such foolishness, but I’ll go,” the scientist said, dropping his work. “It’ll lose us half an hour.”

  Fuming over this, he tramped back with Garry to the dirt road, a half mile from the polyhedron.

  “Now what do you want to show me?” he snapped, looking around.

  “I only want to ask you something,” Garry said. “Do you still know how to open the polyhedron?”

  Dr. Peters’ expression showed pure anger. “Why, you time-wasting young fool! Of course I--”

  He stopped suddenly, and abruptly panic fell on his face, blind terror of the unknown.

  “But I don’t!” he cried. “I did there a few minutes ago but now I don’t even know just what I was doing there!”

  “I thought so,” said Garry Adams, and though his voice was level there was a sudden chill along his spine. “When you’re at the polyhedron, you know well enough how to go about a process that is completely beyond present-day human science.

  “But as soon as you go some distance away from the polyhedron, you know no more about it than any other scientist would. Do you see what it means?”

  Peters’ face showed astounded comprehension. “You think that something—something about that polyhedron, is putting into my mind the way to get it open?”

  His eyes widened. “It seems incredible, yet at that it may be true. Neither I nor any other scientist of earth would know how to melt frozen force. Yet when I’m there at the polyhedron I do know how to do it!”

  Their eyes met. “If something wants that open,” Garry said slowly, “it’s something inside the polyhedron. Something that can’t open it from the inside, but is getting you to do so from the outside.”

  For a space of seconds they stood in the warm morning sunlight looking at each other. The woods around them gave off a smell of warm leaves, a sleepy hum of insects. When the reporter spoke again, his voice was unconsciously lower than it had been.

  “We’ll go back,” he said. “We’ll go back, and if you know how again when we’re at the thing, we’ll know that we’re right.”

  They walked silently, hesitatingly, back toward the polyhedron. Though he said nothing, the hair rose on Garry Adams’ neck as they entered the clearing and approached the glowing thing.

  They went closer until they stood again beside the thing. Then Peters suddenly turned a white face toward the reporter.

  “You were right, Garry!” he said. “Now that I’m back here beside the thing, I suddenly know how to open it!

  “Something inside must be telling me, as you said. Something that ages ago was locked up in this and that wants—freedom.”

  A sudden alien terror fell upon them both, chilling them like a gelid breath from the unknown. With a common impulse of panic they turned hastily.

  “Let’s get away from it!” Garry cried. “For Heaven’s sake, let’s get out of here!”

  Four steps only they ran when a thought sounded in Garry’s brain, clear and loud.

  “Wait!”

  The word, the pleading request, was as strong in his mind as though his ears had heard it.

  Peters looked at him with wide eyes as they unconsciously stopped.

  “I heard it, too,” he whispered.

  “Wait, do not go!” came the rapid thought message into their minds. “Hear me at least, let me at least explain to you, before you flee!”

  “Let’s go while we can!” Garry cried to the scientist. “Peters, whatever’s in that thing, whatever is talking to our minds, isn’t human, isn’t of earth. It came from outside space, from ages ago. Let’s get away from it!”

  But Dr. Peters was looking fascinatedly back at the polyhedron. His face was twisted by conflicting emotions.

  “Garry, I’m going to stay and listen to it,” he said suddenly. “I’ve got to find out what I can about it—if you were a scientist you’d understand! You go on and get away; there’s no reason for your staying. But I’m going back.”

  Garry stared at him, then grinned crookedly though he was still a little white beneath his tan. He said, “Just as a scientist is ridden by his passion, doctor, so is a reporter by his. I’m going back with you. But for Heaven’s sake don’t touch that equipment; don’t try to open the polyhedron, until we at least have some idea as to what kind of thing is inside!”

  Dr. Peters nodded wordlessly and then slowly they moved back to the glowing polyhedron, feeling as though the ordinary sunlit noonday world had suddenly become unreal. When they neared the polyhedron, the thoughts from within it beat more strongly into their minds.

  “I sense that you have stayed. Come closer to the polyhedron—it is only by immense mental effort that I can force my thoughts through this insulating shell of force at all.”

  Numbly they stepped closer until they were at the very side of the faceted, glowing thing.

  “Remember,” Garry whispered hoarsely to the scientist, “no matter what it tells us, what it promises, don’t open it yet!”

  The scientist nodded unsteadily. “I’m as afraid of opening it as you are.”

  * * * *

  The thought messages came clearer into their brains now from the polyhedron.

  “I am a prisoner in this shell of frozen force, as you have guessed. For a time almost longer than you can comprehend, I have been prisoned in it. My prison has at last been cast on your world, wherever that may be. I want your help now and I sense that you are too afraid to help me. If I disclose to you who I am and how I came to be here, you will not then be so afraid. That is why
I wish now to tell you these things.”

  Garry Adams felt as though he stood in a strange dream as the thoughts from the polyhedron beat into his brain.

  “Not in mere thought messages will I tell you what I wish to tell, but visually by thought pictures that you can understand better. I do not know the capacity of your mental systems for reception of such pictures, but I will try to make them clear.

  “Do not try to think about what you see but merely allow your brains to remain in receptive condition. You will see what I wish you to see and will understand at least partially because my thoughts will accompany the visual impressions.”