“But surely, Senator, aren’t you being somewhat legalistic? As I understand it, hyperfilament was developed for construction purposes, especially bridges. And isn’t this a kind of bridge? I’ve heard Dr. Morgan use that analogy, though he also calls it a tower.”
“You’re being legalistic now, Maxine. I prefer the name ‘space elevator’. And you’re quite wrong about hyperfilament. It’s the result of two hundred years of aerospace research. The fact that the final breakthrough came in the Land Division of my – ah – organisation is irrelevant, though naturally I’m proud that my scientists were involved.”
“You consider that the whole project should be handed over to the Space Division?”
“What project? This is merely a design study one of hundreds that are always going on in TCC. I never hear about a fraction of them, and I don’t want to – until they reach the stage when some major decision has to be made.”
“Which is not the case here?”
“Definitely not. My space transportation experts say that they can handle all projected traffic increases – at least for the foreseeable future.”
“Meaning precisely?”
“Another twenty years.”
“And what happens then? The Tower will take that long to build, according to Dr. Morgan. Suppose it isn’t ready in time?”
“Then we’ll have something else. My staff is looking into all the possibilities, and it’s by no means certain that the space elevator is the right answer.”
“The idea, though, is fundamentally sound?”
“It appears to be, though further studies are required.”
“Then surely you should be grateful to Dr. Morgan for his initial work.”
“I have the utmost respect for Dr. Morgan. He is one of the most brilliant engineers in my organization – if not in the world.”
“I don’t think, Senator, that quite answers my question.”
“Very well; I am grateful to Dr. Morgan for bringing this matter to our notice. But I do not approve of the way in which he did it. If I may be blunt, he tried to force my hand.”
“How?”
“By going outside my organization – his organization – and thus showing a lack of loyalty. As a result of his manoeuvrings, there has been an adverse World Court decision, which inevitably has provoked much unfavourable comment. In the circumstances, I have had no choice but to request – with the utmost regret – that he tender his resignation.”
“Thank you, Senator Collins. As always, it’s been a pleasure talking to you.”
“You sweet liar,” said Rajasinghe, as he switched off and took the call that had been flashing for the last minute.
“Did you get it all?” asked Professor Sarath. “So that’s the end of Dr. Vannevar Morgan.”
Rajasinghe looked thoughtfully at his old friend for a few seconds.
“You were always fond of jumping to conclusions, Paul. How much would you care to bet?”
III – THE BELL
22. Apostate
Driven to despair by his fruitless attempts to understand the Universe, the sage Devadasa finally announced in exasperation
ALL STATEMENTS THAT CONTAIN THE WORD GOD ARE FALSE.
Instantly, his least-favourite disciple Somasiri replied “The sentence I am now speaking contains the word God. I fail to see, Oh Noble Master, how that simple statement can be false.”
Devadasa considered the matter for several Poyas. Then he answered, this time with apparent satisfaction:
ONLY STATEMENTS THAT DO NOT CONTAIN THE WORD GOD CAN BE TRUE.
After a pause barely sufficient for a starving mongoose to swallow a millet seed, Somasiri replied: “If this statement applies to itself; Oh Venerable One, it cannot be true, because it contains the word God. But if it is not true -”
At this point, Devadasa broke his begging-bowl upon Somasiri’s head, and should therefore be honoured as the true founder of Zen.
(From a fragment of the Culavamsa, as yet undiscovered)
In the late afternoon, when the stairway was no longer blasted by the full fury of the sun, the Venerable Parakarma began his descent. By nightfall he would reach the highest of the pilgrim rest-houses; and by the following day he would have returned to the world of men.
The Maha Thero had given neither advice nor discouragement, and if he was grieved by his colleague’s departure he had shown no sign. He had merely intoned, “All things are impermanent”, clasped his hands, and given his blessing.
The Venerable Parakarma, who had once been Dr. Choam Goldberg, and might be so again, would have had great difficulty in explaining all his motives. “Right action” was easy to say; it was not easy to discover.
At the Sri Kanda Maha Vihara he had found peace of mind – but that was not enough. With his scientific training, he was no longer content to accept the Order’s ambiguous attitude towards God; such indifference had come at last to seem worse than outright denial.
If such a thing as a rabbinical gene could exist, Dr. Goldberg possessed it. Like many before him, Goldberg-Parakarma had sought God through mathematics, undiscouraged even by the bombshell that Kurt G�del, with the discovery of undecidable propositions, had exploded early in the Twentieth Century. He could not understand how anyone could contemplate the dynamic asymmetry of Euler’s profound, yet beautifully simple,
e^(pi * i) + I = 0
without wondering if the universe was the creation of some vast intelligence.
Having first made his name with a new cosmological theory that had survived almost ten years before being refuted, Goldberg had been widely acclaimed as another Einstein or N’goya. In an age of ultra-specialisation, he had also managed to make notable advances in aero and hydrodynamics – long regarded as dead subjects, incapable of further surprises.
Then, at the height of his powers, he had experienced a religious conversion not unlike Pascal’s, though without so many morbid undertones. For the next decade, he had been content to lose himself in saffron anonymity, focusing his brilliant mind upon questions of doctrine and philosophy. He did not regret the interlude, and he was not even sure that he had abandoned the Order; one day, perhaps, this great stairway would see him again. But his God-given talents were reasserting themselves; there was massive work to be done, and he needed tools that could not be found on Sri Kanda – or even, for that matter, on Earth itself.
He felt little hostility, now, towards Vannevar Morgan. However inadvertently, the engineer had ignited the spark; in his blundering way, he too was an agent of God. Yet at all costs the temple must be protected. Whether or not the Wheel of Fate ever returned him to its tranquillity, Parakarma was implacably resolved upon that.
And so, like a new Moses bringing down from the mountain laws that would change the destinies of men, the Venerable Parakarma descended to the world he had once renounced. He was blind to the beauties of land and sky that were all around him; for they were utterly trivial compared to those that he alone could see, in the armies of equations that were marching through his mind.
23. Moondozer
“Your trouble, Dr. Morgan,” said the man in the wheelchair, “is that you’re on the wrong planet.”
“I can’t help thinking,” retorted Morgan, looking pointedly at his visitor’s life-support system, “that much the same may be said of you.”
The Vice-President (Investments) of Narodny Mars gave an appreciative chuckle.
“At least I’m here only for a week – then it’s back to the Moon, and a civilised gravity. Oh, I can walk if I really have to: but I prefer otherwise.”
“If I may ask, why do you come to Earth at all?”
“I do so as little as possible, but sometimes one has to be on the spot. Contrary to general belief; you can’t do everything by remotes. I’m sure you are aware of that.”
Morgan nodded; it was true enough. He thought of all the times when the texture of some material, the feel of rock or soil underfoot, the smell of a jungle, the sting of spray upon his face, had played a vital role in one of his projects. Some day, perhaps even these sensations could be transferred by electronics-indeed, it had already been done so crudely, on an experimental basis, and at enormous cost. But there was no substitute for reality; one should beware of imitations.
“If you’ve visited Earth especially to meet me,” Morgan replied, “I appreciate the honour. But if you’re offering me a job on Mars, you’re wasting your time. I’m enjoying my retirement, meeting friends and relatives I haven’t seen for years, and I’ve no intention of starting a new career.”
“I find that surprising; after all, you’re only 52. How do you propose to occupy your time?”
“Easily. I could spend the rest of my life on any one of a dozen projects. The ancient engineers – the Romans, the Greeks, the Incas – they’ve always fascinated me, and I’ve never had time to study them. I’ve been asked to write and deliver a Global University course on design science. There’s a text-book I’m commissioned to write on advanced structures. I want to develop some ideas about the use of active elements to correct dynamic loads – winds, earthquakes, and so forth – I’m still consultant for General Tectonics. And I’m preparing a report on the administration of TCC.”