The Mammoth Book of 20th Century SF II (65 page)

For about twenty-five days we worked steadily in the laboratory filling more and more containers with solar gas. During this period we invented ingenious valves for our solar containers. We
equipped each of them with a clock mechanism with a simple face, as on an alarm clock. Adjusting the dials of three cylinders we could obtain light over any given period of time, and lengthen the
period of its combustion and its intensity from a dim half-hour of glimmer to an instantaneous explosion – depending on the time set. We worked without inspiration, almost unwillingly, but I
must admit that this was the most productive time of my stay on Cayambe. But it all ended abruptly, fantastically, and horribly.

Once, early in August, Lord Charlesbury, even more tired and aged than usual, came to visit me in the laboratory; he said to me calmly and with distaste:

“My dear friend, I feel that my death is not far away, and old convictions are making themselves heard. I want to die and be buried in England. I will leave you some money, these
buildings, the equipment, the land and this laboratory. The money, on the basis of what I have spent, should be ample for two or three years. You are younger and more active than I and perhaps you
will obtain some results for your labors. Our dear Mr. Nideston would give his support at any time. Please think on it.”

This man had become dearer to me than my father, mother, brother, wife or sister. And therefore I answered with deep assurance:

“Dear sir, I would not leave you for one minute.”

He embraced me and kissed me on my forehead.

The next day he summoned all the workers and paying them two years in advance said that his work on Cayambe had come to an end and that day they were to leave Cayambe for the valley below.

They left carefree and ungrateful, anticipating the sweet proximity of drunkenness and dissipation in the innumerable taverns which swarmed in the city of Quito. Only my assistant, the silent
Slav – an Albanian or a Siberian – tarried near the master. “I will stay with you as long as you or I am alive,” he said. But Lord Charlesbury looked at him firmly, almost
sternly and said:

“I am leaving for Europe, Mr. Peter.”

“Then I will go with you.”

“But you know what awaits you there, Mr. Peter.”

“I know. A rope. But nonetheless I will not abandon you. I have always laughed in my heart at your sentimental concerns for men in the millions of years to come, but when I came to know
you better I also learned that the more insignificant is mankind the more precious is man, and therefore I have stayed with you, like an old, homeless, embittered, hungry, and mangy dog turns to
the first hand that sincerely caresses it. And therefore I will stay with you. That is all.”

With astonishment and deep feeling I turned my eyes to this man whom I had always thought to be incapable of elevated feelings. But my teacher said to him softly and with authority:

“No, you must leave. Right now. I value your friendship and your tireless labors. But I’m leaving for my native land to die and the possibility that you might suffer would only
darken my departure from this world. Be a man, Peter. Take this money, embrace me in farewell, and let us part.”

I saw how they embraced and how blunt Peter kissed the hand of Lord Charlesbury several times and then left us, not turning back, almost at a run and disappeared around a nearby building.

I looked at my teacher: covering his face with his hands he was weeping . . .

Three days later we left on the old
Gonzalez
from Guayaquil for Panama. The sea was rough, but we had a following wind and to help out the small engine the captain had sails spread. Lord
Charlesbury and I never left our cabins. I was seriously concerned about his condition and there were even times when I feared he was losing his mind. I observed him with helpless pity. I was
especially troubled by the manner in which he invariably referred after every two or three phrases to container no.216 which we had left behind on Cayambe, and every time he referred to it, he
would say through tight lips: “Did I forget, how could I forget?” but then his speech would become melancholy and abstracted.

“Do not think,” he said, “that a petty personal tragedy forced me to abandon my work and the persistent searches and inspirations which I have patiently worked out during the
course of my conscious life. But circumstances jarred my thoughts. Recently I have much altered my ideas and judgments, but only on a different plane than before. If only you knew how difficult it
has been to alter my view of life at the age of sixty-five. I have come to believe, or, more correctly, to feel, that the future of mankind is not worth our concern or our selfless work. Mankind,
growing more degenerate every day, is becoming flabbier, more decadent, and hard-hearted. Society is falling under the power of the cruelest despotism in the world – capital. Trusts,
manipulating the supply of meat, kerosene, and sugar, are creating a generation of fabulous millionaires and next to them millions of hungry unemployed thieves and murderers. And so it will be
forever. And my idea of prolonging the sun’s life for the earth will become the property of a handful of villains who will control it or employ my liquid sunshine in shells or bombs of
unheard of power . . . No, I do not want that . . . Ah, my God! that container! How could I forget! How could I!” and Lord Charlesbury clapped his hands to his head.

“What troubles you, my dear teacher?” I asked.

“You see, kind Henry, . . . I fear that I have made a small but fateful mistake . . .”

But I heard no more. Suddenly in the east flashed an enormous golden flame. In a moment the sky and the sea were all agleam. Then followed a deafening roar and a burning whirlwind threw me to
the deck.

I lost consciousness and revived only when I heard my teacher’s voice above me.

“What?” asked Lord Charlesbury. “Are you blind?”

“Yes, I can see nothing, except rainbow-colored circles before my eyes. Was it some kind of a catastrophe, Professor? Why did you do it or allow it to happen? Didn’t you foresee
it?”

But he softly laid his beautiful little white hand on my shoulder and said in a deep and gentle voice (and from that touch and his confident tone I immediately was calmed):

“Don’t you believe me? Wait a moment, close your eyes tightly and cover them with the palm of your right hand, and hold it there until I stop talking or until you catch a glimpse of
light; then, before you open your eyes, put on these glasses which I am placing in your left hand. They are very dark. Listen to me. It seems that you have come to know me better in a brief time
than anyone else close to me. It was only for your sake, my dear friend, that I did not take on my conscience a cruel and pointless experiment which might have brought death to tens of thousands of
people. But what difference would the existence of these dissolute blacks, drunken Indians, and degenerate Spaniards have made? If the Republic of Ecuador with its intrigues, mercenary attitudes
and revolutions were instantly transformed into a great door to Hell there would be no loss to science, the arts, or history. I am only a little sorry for my intelligent, patient, and affectionate
mules. I will tell you candidly that I would have not hesitated for a second to sacrifice you and millions of lives to the triumph of my idea, if only I were convinced of its significance, but as I
said only three minutes ago I have become totally disillusioned about the future generations’ ability to love, to be happy and to sacrifice themselves. Do you think I could take revenge on a
tiny part of humanity for my great philosophical error? But there is one thing for which I cannot forgive myself: that was a purely technical mistake, a mistake which could have been made by any
workman. I am like a craftsman who has worked for twenty years with a complicated machine, and on the next day falls into melancholy over his family affairs, forgets his work, ignores the rhythm of
his machine so that a belt parts and kills several unthinking workmen. You see, I have been tormented by the idea that thanks to my forgetfulness for the first time in twenty years I neglected to
shut down the controls on container no.216 and left it set at full power. And that realization, like a nightmare, pursued me on board this ship. And I was right. The container exploded and as a
result the other storage units also. Once more it was my mistake. Rather than storing such great amounts of liquid sunshine I should have conducted preliminary experiments, it is true at the risk
of my life, on the explosive capabilities of compressed light. Now, look in this direction,” and he gently but firmly turned my head toward the east. “Remove your hand and then slowly,
slowly open your eyes.”

At that moment with extraordinary clarity, the way, they say, that occurs in the seconds before death, I saw a smoking red glow to the east, now contracting, now expanding, the steamship’s
listing deck, waves lashing over the railings, an angry, bloody sea and dark purple clouds in the sky and a beautiful calm face with a gray, silken beard and eyes which shone like mournful stars. A
stifling hot wind blew from the shore.

“A fire?” I asked, turning slowly, as though in a dream, to face the south. There, above Cayambe’s summit, stood a thick smoky column of fire cut by rapid flashes of
lightning.

“No, that is the eruption of our good old volcano. The exploding liquid sunshine has stirred it into life. You must agree that it has enormous power! And to think it was all in
vain.”

I understood nothing . . . My head was spinning. And then I heard a strange voice near me, both gentle like a mother’s voice and commanding like that of a dictator.

“Sit on this bale and do everything faithfully as I tell you. Here is a life belt, put it on and fasten it securely under your arms, but do not restrict your breathing; here is a flask of
brandy which you are to place in your left chest pocket along with three bars of chocolate, and here is a waterproof envelope with money and letters. In a moment the
Gonzalez
will be swamped
by a terrible wave, such as has rarely been seen since the time of the flood. Lie down on the ship’s starboard side. That is so. Place your legs and arms around this railing. Very good. Your
head should be behind this steel plate, which will prevent you from becoming deaf from the shock. When you feel the wave hitting the deck, hold your breath for twenty seconds and then throw
yourself free, and may God help you! This is all I can wish and advise you. And if you are condemned to die so early and so stupidly . . . I would like to hear you forgive me. I would not say that
to any other man, but I know you are an Englishman and a gentleman.”

His words, said so calmly and with such dignity, aroused my own sense of self-control. I found enough strength to press his hand and answer calmly:

“You can believe, my dear teacher, that no pleasures in life could replace those happy hours which I spent working with you. I only want to know why you are taking no precautions for
yourself?”

I can see him now, holding to a compass box, as the wind blew his clothes and his gray beard, so terrible against the red background of the erupting volcano. That second I noticed with surprise
that the unbearably hot shore wind had ceased, but on the contrary a cold, gusty gale blew from the west and our craft nearly lay on its side.

“Oh!” exclaimed Lord Charlesbury indifferently, and waved his arm, “I have nothing to lose. I am alone in this world. I have only one tie, that is you, and you I have put into
deadly peril from which you have only one chance in a million to escape. I have a fortune, but I do not know what to do with it,” and here his voice expressed a melancholy and gentle irony,
“except to disperse it to the poor of County Norfolk and thereby increase the number of parasites and supplicants. I have knowledge, but you can see that it too has failed. I have energy but
I have no way to employ it now. Oh, no, I will not commit suicide: if I am not condemned to die this night, I will employ the rest of my life in some garden on a bit of land not far from London.
But if death comes,” he removed his hat and it was strange to see his blowing hair, tossing beard, and kind, melancholy eyes and to hear his voice resounding like an organ, “but if
death comes I shall commit my body and my soul to God, may He forgive the errors of my weak human mind.”

“Amen,” I said.

He turned his back to the wind and lighted a cigar. His dark figure defined sharply against the purple sky was a fantastic, and magnificent, sight. I could smell the odor of his fine Havana
cigar.

“Make ready. There is yet only a minute or two. Are you afraid?”

“No . . . But the crew and the other passengers! . . .”

“While you were unconscious I warned them. Now there is not a sober man nor a lifebelt on the ship. I have no fear for you, for you have the talisman on your finger. I had one, too, but I
have lost it. Oh, hold on! Henry! . . .

I turned to the east and froze in horror. Toward our eggshell craft from the east roared an enormous wave as high as the Eiffel tower, black, with a rosy-white, frothing crest. Something
crashed, shook . . . and it was as though the whole world fell onto the deck.

I lost consciousness once more and revived only several hours later on a little boat belonging to a fisherman who had rescued me. My damaged left hand was tied in a crude bandage and my head
wrapped in rags. A month later, having recovered from my wounds and emotional shock I was on my way back to England.

This history of my strange adventure is complete. I must only add that I live modestly in the quietest part of London, needing nothing, thanks to the generosity of the late Lord Charlesbury. I
occupy myself with the sciences and tutoring. Every Sunday Mr. Nideston and I alternate as hosts for dinner. We are bound by close ties of friendship, and our first toast is always to the memory of
the great Lord Charlesbury.

H. Dibble

P.S. All the personal names in my tale are not authentic but invented by me for my purposes.

Frank Herbert (1920–86) is the author of
Dune
(1965), the single most popular SF novel of the century, according to some published polls of
readers. In response to that popularity he wrote a number of sequels in the 1970s and 1980s. Herbert was a journalist (he was proud to show a picture of the Army–McCarthy hearings with himself in
the front row) and an articulate public speaker. His first major impact came in the 1950s with his impressive novel
The Dragon in the Sea
(1956), which is an intense psychological
examination of a small crew enclosed together in a submarine; it forecast an international oil crisis, and Cold War-style submarine oil theft.