“I will not hear these insults — even from the First Arriver. I ask you respectfully to leave my quarters.”
“Facts are facts, and guesswork is guesswork. Stripped of all the mumbo-jumbo and faith talk, your decision is just baseless. Worse than a guess since you make a guess from incomplete facts. You pietistical fools had no facts at all. What did the rest of your people say about the decision?”
“They did not know. It was not their decision. They serve, that is all they ask. That is all we observers asked.”
“Then I’m going to tell them all, and find the computer. We can still turn back.”
The eskoskeleton hummed to follow his body as the old man stood, straight and angry, pointing his finger at Chimal.
“You cannot. It is forbidden knowledge for them and I forbid you to mention it to them — or to go near the computers. The decision of the observers cannot be reversed.”
“Why not? You are just men. Damn fallible, stupid men at that. You were wrong and I’m going to right that wrong.”
“If you do you will prove that you are not the First Arriver after all, but something else. I know not what. I must search the breviary for the meaning of this.”
“Search, I act. We turn.”
For long minutes after Chimal slammed out the Master Observer stood, staring at the closed door. When he finally reached a decision he wanted to groan aloud with unhappiness at the terribleness of it all. But hard decisions had to be made too: that was the burden of his responsibility. He picked up his communicator to make the call.
The sign on the door read NAVIGATION ROOM — OBSERVERS ONLY. Chimal had been so angry at the time of his discovery that he had not thought to search out this room and verify his information. The anger was still there, but now it was cold and disciplined: he would do whatever had to be done. A search of the charts had revealed the existence of this place. He pushed open the door and went in.
The room was small and contained only two chairs, a computer input, some breviaries of data, and a chart on the wall of simplified operating instructions. The input was designed for a single function and took instructions in ordinary language. Chimal read the chart quickly, then sat before the input and tapped out a message with one finger.
IS THE ORBIT NOW TOWARD PROXIMA CENTAURI?
As soon as he pressed the button for answer the input burst into rapid life and typed:
NO.
HAVE WE PASSED PROXIMA CENTAURI?
QUESTION IS UNCLEAR. SEE INSTRUCTION 13.
Chimal thought a moment, then fed in a new question.
CAN THE ORBIT BE CHANGED TO GO TO PROXIMA CENTAURI?
YES.
That was better. Chimal typed in HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE TO REACH PROXIMA CENTAURI IF THE ORBIT IS CHANGED NOW? This time the computer took almost three seconds to answer, since there were many computations to be made and memories to be consulted.
ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 100 ASTRONOMICAL UNITS DISTANCE PROXIMA CENTAURI 17,432 DAYS.
Chimal did the division quickly. “That’s less than 50 years. The arrival might even be in my lifetime if we begin the new orbit now!”
But how? How could the observers be made to change the orbit? There was a possibility that he could find the proper instructions and breviaries and work out how to do it himself, but only if he were undisturbed. He could not possibly do the work in the face of their active hostility. Nor would words alone convince them. What would? They had to be forced to make the orbit change whether they wanted to or not. Violence? It wouldn’t be possible to capture them all and force them to the work. The Watchers would never permit this. Nor could he simply kill them: this was equally distasteful, though he was certainly in the humor for it He felt like doing violence to something.
The air machinery? The equipment he had worked on — it was vital for life, but only over a period of time. If there were some way to damage it, he was the only one who would be able to repair it. And he would not even begin the repairs until the course had been changed and they were on their way to the nearby star.
This was what he had to do. He slammed out into the passageway and saw the Master Observer and the other observers hurrying toward him at the highest speed their eskoskeletons would go. Chimal ignored their shouts and ran in the opposite direction, easily outdistancing them. As fast as he could, by the most direct route, he ran to the tunnel that went to the air plant.
The track was empty. No car was waiting.
Should he walk? It would take hours to get through this tunnel that ran the full length of the valley. And if they sent a car after him there would be no possibility of escape. He needed a car himself — but should he call for one? If all the Watchers had been alerted he would be simply trapping himself. He had to make a decision quickly. It was a better than good chance that the people had not been informed; that was not the Master Observer’s way. He turned to the communicator on the wall.
“This is the First Arriver. I want a car at once, at station 187.” The speaker hummed silently for a moment, then a voice answered.
“It shall be as you order. It will be there in a few minutes.”
Would it? Or would the man report it to the observers? Chimal paced in an agony of apprehension, unable now to do anything except wait. It was only a few minutes before the car arrived, but the time seemed endless to him
“Would you wish me to drive?” the operator said.
“No, I can do it myself.”
The man climbed out and saluted Chimal respectfully as the car started down the track. The way was clear. Even if the man did report him, Chimal knew that he had a clear lead. If he kept ahead of any possible pursuers and worked fast he should finish what he had to do before they caught up with him. But now, before he arrived, he must think ahead, plan what would be the best thing to do. The machinery was so massive it would take too long to injure any of that, but the control panels were smaller and more lightly made. Simply destroying some of the instruments or removing their components should be enough. The observers would never be able to repair them without his help. But before he broke anything he had to be sure that there were replacements. Simply removing components from the controls might not be enough; the Master Observer, if pressed, might be able to figure that out from the empty slots. No, something must be broken.
When the car slammed to a stop at the other end of the tunnel he jumped from it, every move planned in advance. First the breviary. It was resting just where he had left it. There was no one else here so apparently the new tender had not taken up his position yet. That was just as well. He had to find the correct diagram, then the parts numbers. He walked into the storeroom as he read. Yes, here they were, the readouts and mechanical actuators from the panel. More than ten of each. The Great Designer had planned well, and overprovided for every eventuality. But He had not considered sabotage. As an added precaution, Chimal removed all the replacements and took them to another storeroom where he buried them deep behind a stock of massive piping. Now, destruction.
A great, open-end wrench, heavy and as long as his arm, would make a perfect weapon. He took it into the main chamber and stood before the board, weighing it in both hands. There, the glass-faced pressure dial first. He swung the wrench up over his head like a war-ax and brought it down with a splintering crash.
Instantly red lights flashed on and off all over the chamber and a siren began a shrill, ear-hurting scream. An amplified voice, louder than thunder, roared out at him.
“STOP! STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING! YOU ARE INJURING THE MACHINE! THIS IS THE ONLY WARNING YOU WILL HAVE!”