“A very trustworthy one. A close friend.”
“They’re all scoundrels, Beenay. Believe me.”
“Not this one, sir. I know him, and I know he’d never do anything to hurt me or offend me. In fact Theremon gave me some excellent advice, by which I mean he said I absolutely had to come here, which is why I did. But also—trying to offer me some hope, you see, some consolation—he said the same thing you did, that maybe there was an ‘unknown factor’—his exact phrase, an unknown factor—that was confusing our understanding of Kalgash’s orbit. And I laughed and told him that it was useless to drag unknown factors into the situation, that it was too easy a solution. I suggested—sarcastically, of course—that if we allowed any such hypothesis, then we might as well tell ourselves that it was an invisible giant that was pushing Kalgash out of orbit, or the breath of a giant dragon. And now here you are, sir, taking the same line of reasoning—not a layman like Theremon, but the greatest astronomer in the world!—Do you see how foolish I feel, sir?”
“I think I do,” said Athor. All this was becoming a little trying. He ran his hand through his imposing white mane and gave Beenay a look of mingled irritation and compassion. “You were right to tell your friend that inventing fantasies to solve a problem isn’t very useful. But the random suggestions of laymen aren’t always without merit. For all we know, there is some unknown factor at work on Kalgash’s orbit. We need at least to consider that possibility before we toss the theory overboard. I think what we need to do here is to make use of Thargola’s Sword. You know what that is, Beenay?”
“Of course, sir. The principle of parsimony. First put forth by the medieval philosopher Thargola 14, who said, ‘We must drive a sword through any hypothesis that is not strictly necessary,’ or words to that effect.”
“Very good, Beenay. Though the way I was taught it, it’s ‘If we are offered several hypotheses, we should begin our considerations by striking the most complex of them with our sword.’ Here we have the hypothesis that the Theory of Universal Gravitation is in error, versus the hypothesis that you’ve left out some unknown and perhaps unknowable factor in making your calculations of the orbit of Kalgash. If we accept the first hypothesis, then everything we think we know about the structure of the universe tumbles into chaos. If we accept the second one, all we need to do is locate the unknown factor, and the fundamental order of things is preserved. It’s a lot simpler to try to find something we may have overlooked than it would be to come up with a new general law governing the movements of heavenly bodies. So the hypothesis that the Theory of Gravitation is wrong falls before Thargola’s Sword and we begin our investigations by working with the simpler explanation of the problem. Eh, Beenay? What do you say?”
Beenay looked radiant.
“Then I haven’t overthrown Universal Gravitation after all!”
“Not yet, anyway. You’ve probably won a place in scientific history for yourself, but we don’t know yet whether it’s as a debunker or as an originator. Let’s pray it’s the latter. And now we need to do some very hard thinking, young man.” Athor 77 closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, which was beginning to ache. It had been a long time since he’d done any real science, he realized. He’d occupied himself almost entirely with administrative matters at the Observatory for the past eight or ten years. But the mind that had produced the Theory of Universal Gravitation might yet have a thought or two left in it, he told himself.—“First, I want to take a closer look at these calculations of yours,” he said. “And then, I suppose, a closer look at my own theory.”
10
The headquarters of the Apostles of Flame was a slender but magnificent tower of gleaming golden stone, rising like a shining javelin above the Seppitan River, in the exclusive Birigam quarter of Saro City. That soaring tower, Theremon thought, must be one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in the entire capital.
He had never stopped to consider it before, but the Apostles had to be an exceedingly wealthy group. They owned their own radio and television stations, they published magazines and newspapers, they had this tremendous tower. And probably they controlled all sorts of other assets too that were less visibly theirs. He wondered how that was possible. A bunch of fanatic puritan monks? Where would they have managed to get their hands on so many hundreds of millions of credits?
But, he realized, such well-known industrialists as Bottiker 888 and Vivin 99 were outspoken adherents of the teachings of Mondior and his Apostles. It wouldn’t surprise him to know that men like Bottiker and Vivin, and others like them, were heavy contributors to the Apostles’ treasury.
And if the organization was even a tenth as old as it claimed to be—ten thousand years, was what they said!—and if it had invested its money wisely over the centuries, there was no telling what the Apostles could have achieved through the miracle of compound interest, Theremon thought. They might be worth billions. They might secretly own half of Saro City.
It was worth looking into, he told himself.
He entered the vast, echoing entrance hall of the great tower and peered about in awe. Though he had never been here before, he had heard it was an extraordinarily lavish building both inside and out. But nothing he had heard had prepared him for the reality of the cultist’s building.
A polished marble floor, with inlays in half a dozen brilliant colors, stretched as far as he could see. The walls were covered with glittering golden mosaics in abstract patterns, rising to arched vaults high overhead. Chandeliers of woven gold and silver threw a shimmering shower of brightness over everything.
At the opposite end from the entrance Theremon saw what seemed to be a model of the whole universe, fashioned, apparently, entirely of precious metals and gems: immense suspended globes, which seemed to represent the six suns, hung from the ceiling by invisible wires. Each of them cast an eerie light: a golden beam from the largest of them, which must be Onos, and a dim red glow from the Dovim globe, and cold hard blue-white from the Tano-Sitha pair, and a gentler white light from Patru and Trey. A seventh globe that must be Kalgash moved slowly among them like a drifting balloon, its own colors changing as the shifting pattern of the suns’ light played over its surface.
As Theremon stood gaping in astonishment, a voice coming from nowhere in particular said, “May we have your name?”
“I’m Theremon 762. I have an appointment with Mondior.”
“Yes. Please enter the chamber on your immediate left, Theremon 762.”
He saw no chamber on his immediate left. But then a segment of the mosaic-covered wall slid noiselessly open, revealing a small oval room, more an antechamber than a chamber. Green velvet hangings covered the walls and a single bar of amber light provided illumination.
He shrugged and stepped in. At once the door closed behind him and he felt a distinct sensation of motion. This wasn’t a room, it was a lift! Yes, he was rising, he was certain of it. Up and up and up he went, in a very unhurried way. It took half an eternity before the lift chamber came to a halt and the door slid open once again.
A black-robed figure was waiting for him.
“Would you come this way, please?”
A narrow hallway led a short distance into a kind of waiting room, where a large portrait of Mondior 71 occupied most of one entire wall. As Theremon entered, the portrait seemed to light up, coming strangely to life and glowing, so that Mondior’s dark, intense eyes looked straight at him and the High Apostle’s stern face took on a luminous inner radiance that made him seem almost beautiful, in a fierce sort of way.