Beyond the Tomorrow Mountains Read online

  The Founders had expected failures. They had realized that they and their successors were facing a task considered impossible by the science of their own era. This, after all, was why they’d set up a social system that was in most respects morally repugnant to them. It had been the only way to buy time, enough time for the impossible to be accomplished.

  Transmutation of the elements . . . it was an old dream; before the dawn of science, men had tried to transform base metals into gold. Later men had laughed. No one had imagined a situation in which human survival would hinge upon a variation of the alchemists’ laughable, impossible goal: the changing of other elements into metals.

  The very existence of a planet without usable metals had been a surprise to the Six Worlds’ scientists when, after the initial fruitless explorations that had followed the perfection of the stardrive, they had come upon it. They’d been looking for worlds to colonize, and had previously found none with suitable gravity, climate and atmosphere. At first, this one had elated them. Its soil contained poisons, but technology could deal with poisons. There had been no expectation of discovering planets where advanced technology would be unnecessary—it had been assumed that if such planets existed, intelligent life forms would have evolved upon them, making them unavailable for claim. A species that had fully populated its own solar system could continue to survive only by means of technology: the technology to build starships, and the technology to utilize otherwise-uninhabitable worlds. That was the natural way of things. When survival was threatened, technology developed to meet the threat. Even the nova could not have endangered the survival of a starfaring race, had it not been for the unfortunate chance that the sole refuge located before tragedy struck lacked the metal on which all technology depended.

  Astronomers had long known that some stars were metal-poor; whether their planets were also metal-poor—or even whether they had planets—could be determined only by exploration. Some had been found to have planets without solid ground. This world, however, had been a puzzle at the beginning. It was solid, composed primarily of silicon, yet its proportion of metallic elements was even lower than that of its sun. There was no metal ore at all; the orbital surveys, made with sensitive and trustworthy instruments, showed that clearly. Only traces were present, traces too small to be extracted without prohibitively complex equipment. Baffled, the first landing parties had investigated further, and had come to an awesome conclusion: what little usable metal the planet had once had was already exhausted. It had been mined in past ages by visitors from some other solar system who had depleted the ore and gone on.

  Nothing was known of these mysterious visitors of the past, for though the signs of their excavations were unmistakable, they had left no artifacts. No one could tell where they’d come from or where they had gone. Since this was the first proof of intelligence elsewhere in the universe, the scientists of the Six Worlds had been excited. Such a find had seemed ample compensation for the fact that the planet could never become a self-supporting colony. But that, of course, had been before the nova wiped out all sources of off-world support.

  The Founders had known in advance that the Six Worlds’ sun would nova—but only a few weeks in advance. The starfleet had been small, and there were frustrating limits to what it could carry. Life support equipment had first priority; the computers with their irreplaceable store of knowledge second; facilities for conducting research, although also vital, had of necessity been confined to an absolute minimum. No expansion of those facilities was possible without metal.

  It was a vicious circle. By scouring the planet, the remaining traces of suitable metal might have been located; but such traces could not be utilized without equipment that wasn’t obtainable. Once the breakthrough occurred—once even a small amount of metal had been synthesized—it would become possible to manufacture the equipment. Then the world’s limited resources could be tapped. Perhaps metal could then be reached by drilling into the planet’s core. But would there ever be any breakthrough when the laboratories weren’t adequately outfitted?

  Never before had Noren heard pessimism from the scientists, but at the meeting there were some who expressed it openly. “We’re fools if we don’t recognize that our present line of thought may have to be modified,” one of them asserted. “Within weeks—half a year at the most—this series of experiments will be finished, and without better facilities we’ll find ourselves facing a dead end—”

  “No!” Grenald interrupted, rising to his feet in anger. “It’s not a dead end. This time we will succeed.”

  There was silence, Everyone respected Grenald, and he had been head of the nuclear physics department for many years. Yet he looked old, tired; it was obvious to all that with the culmination of his work close at hand, he himself had become uncertain and afraid. Stefred’s words came back to Noren: He is an old man who has devoted most of his life to research that he won’t live to see completed. Stefred knew, he thought sadly. Stefred knew that Grenald’s hope of an imminent breakthrough was based on wishful thinking.

  “We will succeed,” Grenald repeated, “and because we will, we should take the preliminary steps toward founding a second city. We betray our trust if we delay by a single week the Transition Period’s beginning.”

  The Transition Period was the time during which the groundwork would be laid for the keeping of the Prophecy’s promises. They couldn’t be fulfilled all at once, of course. The people had been told that when the Mother Star appeared there would be machines and cities for everyone, and most pictured those cities rising out of the ground overnight—but it would not happen that way. Building would be a slow process even after metal was available and factories had been established. Furthermore, villagers who stood in awe of machines would not be ready to move into cities, much less to share the job of construction. During the Transition Period, villagers who so wished would be given the opportunity to become Technicians; they would be free to enter training centers, work on the new cities, and then move there. People who preferred to remain farmers, but were willing to sell their land and start farms near the new cities, would rank as Technicians, too. By the time the Star became visible, the promised things would indeed be available to all.

  At Grenald’s words, there was a murmur of agreement; all Scholars were anxious for the Transition Period to begin. Moreover, the Inner City was crowded. Though no children were reared there, the population outside had grown rapidly over the years, and that meant the number of people who became heretics steadily increased; before long no more doubling up in quarters would be feasible. Then one of the Outer City’s domes would have to be taken—an unthinkable step, for it would mean imposing hardship on the Technicians who would be ousted. Some Scholars felt a new city could be justified on those grounds alone.

  Others, however, were cautious. “You speak to bolster your own confidence,” they told Grenald. “Do you think acting as if the research has already succeeded will somehow bring it to pass? It won’t! If we weaken this City by a premature attempt to establish another, we’ll certainly betray our trust. The equipment we’ve safeguarded so long will be lost.”

  The proponents of this view outnumbered Grenald’s supporters, but the proposal for the new city was also backed by the third faction—the group that believed failure of the current experiments would demand an outpost for more dangerous ones. “We know there’s risk in weakening the City’s reserves,” they maintained, “but it’s less than that of nuclear accident if we must turn to the avenues saved for a last resort. So in either case the project makes sense. If we succeed soon, we’ll have a head start on the Transition Period, and if we don’t, well be prepared for what may have to be tried next.”

  Back and forth went the argument, until at last someone suggested, “Wouldn’t it be simpler just to wait and see? It will be no more than half a year until we know the outcome of Grenald’s work. Surely we could make a much wiser decision then; I fail to understand why the committee has brought up the matter at t
his point.”

  It was then that the chairman rose once more. “I did not wish to reveal this until all sides had been considered,” he said, “since if there had been a strong majority either for or against the proposal, it would have outweighed the immediate considerations. But the fact is that if we’re going to set up an outpost beyond the Tomorrow Mountains, we should do it now. A new base will require retrieval of a starship from orbit, and the starships can be reached only if the space shuttle homes in on their electronic beacons, beacons that have been monitored by the computers since the time of the Founders. Three days ago there was a signal failure alarm. The solar-powered beacon in one of the starships is no longer functioning at full strength—and the computers have warned us that if we do not retrieve that ship at once, it will be lost to us forever.”

  * * *

  In the end, when the meeting was over and Noren and Brek walked back to their lodgings to spend the few hours until morning, there could be little doubt that the outpost would be established. The vote had been cast by secret ballot and was not yet counted; but the prevailing opinion had been clear. The beacon failure alarm had become the deciding factor.

  The two looked up at the stars, faint dots speckling the gaps between towers that almost touched overhead. Noren thought of them as they had been in the dream: blazing points of pure, unfiltered light. He would perhaps see them so in reality! But Brek knew nothing of that, and so they could not talk of it.

  Elated, Brek began, “To go beyond the Tomorrow Mountains—”

  “You don’t know that you’ll be one to go. They said that except for certain specialists, the choice would be made by lot.”

  “They also said that the place would be staffed on a rotation basis, that no one would stay there permanently. We’re young, Noren Sooner or later we’ll get there even if we’re not among the first! It’s life imprisonment against . . . hope.”

  “Does it bother you that much—the confinement, I mean?”

  “I—I don’t know. I haven’t had as long as you have to get used to the idea. I’m willing, certainly. But I can’t pretend that it doesn’t matter to me.”

  Noren was detached, numb. “I don’t think I ever felt that way, even at first,” he reflected. “The Inner City has everything I was seeking—”

  “It’s different for you. You’re gifted; someday you’ll be a top scientist.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Noren demanded.

  “In the computer room today, when you were off with Stefred. Everyone knows it. If Grenald’s work should fail conclusively, it would take years to prepare for a new series of experiments, and you’re the best prospect for coming up with some brand-new approach.”

  But that was awful, Noren thought. They were counting on him for something that might not even exist! He did not doubt his ability to learn; he would surely seek out whatever truth was accessible to him; but suppose the truth was that there were no new approaches? He would not become like Grenald, defending an unproven theory with the idea that sheer stubbornness would make it true.

  The next morning Brek was summoned to see Stefred, and after supper Noren too was called. He was relieved, for though he’d planned to spend the evening with Talyra, sharing the day’s meals with her had been a strain. She had not understood his preoccupation; she’d been confused, thinking him tormented by some lingering result of heresy, and had plied him with questions he could not answer. For more reasons than one, he found himself eager to be involved in the retrieval of the starship.

  A small group had gathered in Stefred’s office, all young men who had experienced the dream. Brek had been through it and was as excited as the rest; an opportunity for space flight was beyond the wildest hopes any of them had ever cherished.

  It was not as fantastic as it seemed, Stefred explained. The space shuttle had an automatic pilot, which, as they’d heard at the meeting, was programmed to dock with the starship’s electronic beacon—no piloting skill was needed. The crewmen’s task would be to dismantle the ship so that it could be brought down piece by piece. They would, to be sure, have to work in spacesuits under zero gravity conditions. No one living had ever done anything like that. But neither had the first men to walk in space, back in ancient times when five of the Six Worlds had yet to be colonized. And those men hadn’t had the advantage of a detailed and accurate introduction to it through dreams.

  The Founders had planned well. As Noren had guessed, the shuttlecraft pilot had recorded his thoughts not from memory, but in real time during an actual flight, knowing that those who would make such flights again would have no prior experience even with high-speed aircraft, let alone spaceships. “On the Six Worlds boys of your age would not have been given this job,” Stefred said, “since years of training would have been required. We have no trained astronauts. The older Scholars are engaged in other work for which they’re vitally needed, and besides, they’re not in condition physically. Your youth is an advantage in both those respects; the only other qualification is that you be willing to risk your lives.” He eyed them intently. “You must understand from the beginning that it’s dangerous. The space shuttle has been unused for generations. It has been maintained according to the instructions left us by the Founders, but we have no guarantee that it will perform. And that’s not the only hazard—”

  “Do you really think any of us would turn down a chance to fly into space?” someone interrupted indignantly.

  “I don’t,” Stefred admitted. “That’s why I’m not happy about offering it.” Sighing, he continued, “I will tell you frankly that I voted against the proposed new city both in the executive committee and at last night’s meeting. The majority was with me until the matter of the beacon failure arose; I suspect that those who changed their minds on that basis were following emotion, not reason.”

  “But surely, if an outpost is likely to be needed soon anyway, we shouldn’t waste the last chance to get this starship!” Noren exclaimed. There were no materials left for constructing domes like those of the Outer City, and certain vital equipment could not be installed in village-type buildings of rough stone or brick, which couldn’t be air-conditioned; so a prefabricated “tower” would be needed in every city until the planet’s industry was well established. Moreover, to villagers, a city without any of the unique and spectacular towers would not be a City at all. They would not consider the Prophecy fulfilled unless their own area had one. “There’ll be barely enough towers for the Transition Period as it is,” he argued. “Losing one could affect the outcome of the Founders’ plan.”

  “Some of us,” Stefred said soberly, “feel that it may affect it more if we risk six promising young Scholars in attempts to home in on a signal that’s known to be unreliable.”

  Noren drew breath. “You mean it may fail completely . . . while we’re in space.”

  “It may. In that case the automatic pilot may abort the mission successfully—or it may not. Have you wondered why I made the test dream so rough, Noren? Why I plunged you alone into a blackness you could not comprehend, leading you to think you might be confronting death? If that shuttlecraft fails to dock, it may go into an extrasolar orbit, an endless orbit! Have you any conception of what that means?”

  The thought, though sobering, did not alter anyone’s enthusiasm. Stefred, convinced that they were genuine volunteers, went on to discuss the details of their preparation, setting up schedules for intensive use of the Dream Machine. But it was plain that he was not really comfortable about the project. Noren was uncomfortable also, but for a different cause; when Brek and the others left, he stayed behind a few minutes.

  “Stefred,” he asked, “why, when you knew I’d be away erecting the tower at the new outpost, did you bring Talyra in yesterday? Why did you say that the decision could not wait?”

  Stefred hesitated for a long time. “Someday I’ll tell you, Noren,” he said finally. “It’s complicated.” He made a gesture of dismissal; then, abruptly, burst out, “If you have any res
ervations about what you said yesterday during our talk, any doubts about preferring to know more than can be learned through exclusive concentration on science, then you should not join the space crew.”

  Numerous though Noren’s doubts had become, there were none on that score. He said nothing, realizing that no reply was expected.

  “Grenald begged me to disqualify you arbitrarily, but it wouldn’t have been fair to do that. The choice had to be yours. Nevertheless, he does have logic on his side; the risk, in your case, is perhaps excessive—”

  Slowly, Noren shook his head. “It won’t do, Stefred,” he said. “You’ve been trying to scare me, but you know I won’t back out no matter how scared I am. We both know that the Scholars who voted in favor of this project are just as concerned about the risking of life as you are, and that it’s basic policy to respect the decisions of volunteers. You’ve admitted you can’t bar me from volunteering. You can’t even tell me to consider my potential as a scientist; yesterday you advised the exact opposite! There’s some other issue that’s worrying you, and you still aren’t giving me all the facts.”

  “Maybe I’m not,” Stefred conceded. “But did it ever occur to you that perhaps I don’t have them all?” He stared out into the night, where the glowing windows of the adjacent tower obscured the stars. “I don’t know why I blame myself,” he muttered, more to himself than to Noren. “If I followed Grenald’s urgings and my own best judgment, you would hate me for it. You’ve got too independent a mind to want protection from the perils to which skepticism can lead—and you also have youth. That’s a dangerous combination. Yet if salvation of the world lay solely in old men’s caution, why would young people be born?”

  Noren left the room quietly, pressing the point no further. Though the reply he’d received was cryptic, it was obviously not meant to be otherwise. Always before he had felt secure under Stefred’s guidance. Now he sensed that something was wrong, terribly wrong—something Stefred himself was disturbed by. This time the challenge was not a planned lesson. It was real and unavoidable, and Stefred trusted him to find a way to meet it.