“I see,” Sheerin said morosely. “If they simply fall down dead, it’s a one-shot cost. Buy off the relatives and that’s that. But if they linger for months or years in a public institution, the price can get to be too high.”
“Perhaps a little harshly put,” said Cubello. “But that is essentially the calculation the City Council was forced to make.”
“Dr. Sheerin seems a little testy this morning,” Kelaritan said to the lawyer. “Possibly the idea of going through the Tunnel himself is troublesome to him.”
“Absolutely not,” said Sheerin at once.
“Of course you understand that there is no real necessity for you to—”
“There is,” Sheerin said.
There was silence in the car. Sheerin peered somberly at the changing landscape, the curious angular scaly-barked trees, the bushes with flowers of odd metallic hues, the peculiarly high and narrow houses with pointed eaves. He had rarely been this far north before. There was something very disagreeable about the look of the entire province—and about this crew of mealy-mouthed cynical people, too. He told himself that he’d be glad to get home to Saro again.
But first—the Tunnel of Mystery—
The Jonglor Centennial Exposition was spread over a vast area of parkland just east of the city. It was a mini-city in itself, and quite spectacular in its own way, Sheerin thought. He saw fountains, arcades, shining pink and turquoise towers of iridescent stone-hard plastic. Great exhibit halls offered art treasures from every province of Kalgash, industrial displays, the latest scientific marvels. Wherever he looked there was something unusual and beautiful to engage his eye. Thousands of people, perhaps hundreds of thousands, strolled its glittering, elegant boulevards and avenues.
Sheerin had always heard that the Jonglor Centennial Exposition was one of the marvels of the world, and he saw now that it was true. To be able to visit it was a rare privilege. It was open only once every hundred years, for a three-year run, to commemorate the anniversary of the city’s founding—and this, Jonglor’s Fifth Centennial Exposition, was said to be the greatest of all. Indeed he felt sudden buoyant excitement, such as he had not known in a long while, as he traveled through its well-manicured grounds. He hoped that he’d have some time later in the week to explore it on his own.
But his mood changed abruptly as the car swung around the perimeter of the Exposition and brought them to an entrance in back that led to the amusement area. Here, just as Kelaritan had said, great sections were roped off; and sullen crowds peered across the ropes in obvious annoyance as Cubello, Kelaritan, and Varitta 312 led him toward the Tunnel of Mystery. Sheerin could hear them muttering angrily, a low harsh growling that he found unsettling and even a little intimidating.
He realized that the lawyer had told the truth: these people were angry because the Tunnel was closed.
They’re jealous, Sheerin thought in wonder. They know we’re going to the Tunnel, and they want to go too. Despite everything that’s happened there.
“We can go in this way,” Varitta said.
The facade of the Tunnel was an enormous pyramidal structure, tapering away at the sides in an eerie, dizzying perspective. In the center of it was a huge six-sided entrance gate, dramatically outlined in scarlet and gold. Bars had been drawn across it. Varitta produced a key and unlocked a small door to the left of the facade, and they stepped through.
Inside, everything seemed much more ordinary. Sheerin saw a series of metal railings no doubt designed to contain the lines of people waiting to board the ride. Beyond that was a platform much like that in any railway station, with a string of small open cars waiting there. And beyond that—
Darkness.
Cubello said, “If you don’t mind signing this first, please, Doctor—”
Sheerin stared at the paper the lawyer had handed him. It was full of words, blurred, dancing about.
“What is this?”
“A release. The standard form.”
“Yes. Of course.” Airily Sheerin scrawled his name without even trying to read the paper.
You are not afraid, he told himself. You fear nothing at all.
Varitta 312 put a small device in his hand. “An abort switch,” she explained. “The full ride lasts fifteen minutes, but you just have to press this green panel here as soon as you’ve been inside long enough to have learned what you need to know—or in case you begin to feel uncomfortable—and lights will come on. Your car will go quickly to the far end of the Tunnel and circle back to the station.”
“Thank you,” Sheerin said. “I doubt that I’ll need it.”
“But you should have it. Just in case.”
“It’s my plan to experience the ride to the fullest,” he told her, enjoying his own pomposity.
But there was such a thing as foolhardiness, he reminded himself. He didn’t intend to use the abort switch, but it was probably unwise not to take it.
Just in case.
He stepped out on the platform. Kelaritan and Cubello were looking at him in an all too transparent way. He could practically hear them thinking, This fat old fool is going to turn to jelly in there. Well, let them think it.
Varitta had disappeared. No doubt she had gone to turn on the Tunnel mechanism.
Yes: there she was now, in a control booth high up to the right, signaling that everything was ready.
“If you’ll board the car, Doctor—” Kelaritan said.
“Of course. Of course.”
Fewer than one out of ten experienced harmful effects. Very likely they were unusually vulnerable to Darkness disorders to begin with. I am not. I am a very stable individual.
He entered the car. There was a safety belt; he strapped it around his waist, adjusting it with some difficulty to his girth. The car began to roll forward, slowly, very slowly.
Darkness was waiting for him.
Fewer than one out of ten. Fewer than one out of ten.
He understood the Darkness syndrome. That would protect him, he was sure: his understanding. Even though all of mankind had an instinctive fear of the absence of light, that did not mean that the absence of light was of itself harmful.
What was harmful, Sheerin knew, was one’s reaction to the absence of light. The thing to do is to stay calm. Darkness is nothing but darkness, a change of external circumstances. We are conditioned to abhor it because we live in a world where darkness is unnatural, where there is always light, the light of the many suns. At any time there might be as many as four suns shining at once; usually there were three in the sky, and at no time were there ever less than two—and the light of any of them was sufficient all by itself to hold back the Darkness.
The Darkness—
The Darkness—
The Darkness!
Sheerin was in the Tunnel now. Behind him the last vestige of light disappeared, and he peered into an utter void. There was nothing ahead of him: nothing. A pit. An abyss. A zone of total lightlessness. And he was tumbling headlong into it.
He felt sweat breaking out all over him.
His knees began to shake. His forehead throbbed. He held up his hand and was unable to see it in front of his face.
Abort abort abort abort
No. Absolutely not.
He sat upright, back rigid, eyes wide open, gazing stolidly into the nothingness through which he plunged. On and on, ever deeper. Primordial fears bubbled and hissed in the depths of his soul, and he forced them back down and away.