Prophets for the End of Time| Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
Prophets for the End of Time
For part two of "Let There Be Light," the back wall of the raised platform slid away.
The back part of the platform revealed by the sliding wall looked to Henri like a collage of gadgets, busier than Dr. Bernardin’s lab with all the equipment running at once. There was a giant wheel with numbers arranged in random order along the outer edge, black and red backgrounds alternating regularly for each number; there were three rectangular machines with right-handed levers and viewslots displaying multicolored geometric shapes; there was Mandi of the bloated mammary glands and wide hips, standing before a board displaying six columns of numbers progressively increasing by multiples of six.
"That’s all for show, pal," the dark shape whispered to him. "Don’t worry about running the machinery, just answer the questions."
The booming voice of disembodied Bob resumed. "Now let’s introduce Henri to our current champions: Socrates of Athens, and our all-time high scorer, Solomon, King of Israel!"
A portion of the floor became transparent, and a long table rose to the level of the platform. There were three spots at the table, two of them already occupied by old gentlemen who, like Henri, also appeared to be dressed in sleeping gowns. Henri no longer felt self-conscious about that.
"Take a seat, Henri!" the dark shape said. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment we’ve been waiting for, the final round of ‘Let There Be Light!’ Our three finalists have proved themselves worthy, and now it comes down to the final question. Are our contestants ready? Henri?"
Henri had just sat down. He looked away from the two old men and toward the dark shape. "Well . . . all right. I suppose. I’m ready."
"Socrates?"
The old man furthest from Henri’s left leaned forward. "When one discusses readiness, it would seem that there must be both an object toward which preparedness is focused, as well as a subject experiencing the state of preparedness. In this situation, the competition is the object, and I am sufficiently willing to act the part of the subject."
"Solomon?"
The man to Henri’s immediate left said, "Yup. Shoot away."
"All right, then. Audience, silence please, and contestants, give us your best answers." The outline of the dark shape’s hand pulled an envelope from under the top of the standing-desk. The hundreds-of-people audience whispered amongst themselves. The dark shape tore the envelope and extracted a square card.
"Gentlemen. One of the best-known Robert Frost poems begins, ‘Some say the world will end in fire,/Some say in ice.’ For the game, the championship, and the all-expense paid trip to anywhere other than Kerguélen—how would you end the world if it were totally up to you?" The dark shape pointed with what should have been its arm. "Socrates?"
The old man called Socrates scratched at his beard for a moment. Then he stood and addressed the dark shape directly.
SOCRATES: One would assume that the question offers one of two options, either a world ended by extreme heat, or a world ended by bitter coldness.
DARK SHAPE: Yes, that would seem to be what the question asks.
SOCRATES: Then it would seem best to consider the merits of each of those options. Shall we first consider fire?
DARK SHAPE: That would seem to be no better or worse than starting with the other.
SOCRATES: Indeed. Now fire is one of the basic elements of the universe, is it not?
DARK SHAPE: That is true.
SOCRATES: So it would seem a noble thing for a world to be consumed by fire.
DARK SHAPE: Indeed, it would.
SOCRATES: But our object is to end the world. Can the seas catch fire?
DARK SHAPE: That seems ludicrous.
SOCRATES: I agree. And since one must find a way to end the world, one must take into account the sea. For is not the sea part of the world?
DARK SHAPE: Indeed it is, and you have ten seconds.
SOCRATES: Therefore, cold would be the way to end the world for the seas. Still, is it not true that many animals in the world have skins and furs to keep them safe from the cold? And just as the seas must be considered a part of the world, should not animals likewise be consid- ered?
DARK SHAPE: Yes they should, and I’m afraid your time is up. An answer please.
SOCRATES: I must conclude that the one thing I know about the end of the world is that I know nothing about the end of the world.
DARK SHAPE: And you won’t get a chance to travel around it to find
out, either, because the judges have ruled your answer
insufficient! I’m sorry.
There was hissing from the audience, and wailing sounds that Henri was certain indicated disapproval. Socrates stepped back from his spot at the table and wandered away, his eyes fixed with curiosity toward the ceiling.
"And that’s one disqualification. Over to you, King Solomon. End of the world, fire and ice, your answer please."
The second old man didn’t hesitate a moment. "I think I’d cut the world down the middle and let one half burn up and the other half freeze."
There was a loud buzzing sound. More wails and hisses from the hundreds.
"No, I’m sorry, not only is that answer wrong, it’s silly, so over to you, Henri Elobert!"
Henri felt dizzy. He sat there.
"End of the world, Henri. Fire? Ice? Anything?"
The dark shape, Henri decided, was not one of the More-Than-Six. It was an entirely new species, not a person. Even the two old men with Henri had not seemed real. Illusions? Holographs? Henri’s stomach began to feel heavy, as if all of the hundreds of people had moved in there. The dark shape left the standing-desk and approached the table. He towered over Henri now.
"C’mon, Henri, think!"
The hundreds were yelling, some of them "Fire!" the rest "Ice!" Henri’s left forearm began to tingle. Then to buzz. Then to burn.
"Five seconds, Henri. Fire or ice? End of the world! How does it happen?"
The dark shape was expanding and started surrounding Henri. By instinct, Henri raised the burning arm in front of his face. The encircling darkness was cold, and he could no longer see the hundreds. But he could still hear them. Fire. Ice. Ice. Fire. End of the world, fire/ice.
"Neither!" Henri yelled. "By Urim and by Thummim!"
Blackness, quiet, and Henri was lying under the blankets on his cot. The room felt small, way too small. The feel of fire in his arm had stopped. The dark shape, he saw, was back beside the bed.
"Good answer, pal," it said, and the place where it stood lost its blackness. Henri pushed himself out from under the covers. He walked to the far side of the room, toward the door, almost tripping over his own shoes near the closet. When he turned on the light, he confirmed that it was his own chamber, and nothing more. The light bulb didn’t seem as bright as he remembered it.
Throughout the next week and a half, Henri did not mention the More-Than-Six hypothesis. He slowed down his work for the doctors, even for Dr. Elobert. They seemed not to notice; perhaps they were relieved he had abandoned his questioning about other islands and human reproduction.
Dinner conversation slowed down, too.
The only time Henri had the opportunity to know what they were thinking was when he was walking down the southwest corridor toward the kitchen to meet Dr. Elobert for lunch. Dr. Bernardin and Dr. Rousas were around the corner of the corridor heading north to the laboratories, and as Henri approached he heard them discussing him.
"Again," Rousas said. "All morning he dawdled through string theory mathematics and pretended not to understand a thing."
"Perhaps he doesn’t," said Bernardin. "Perhaps he has reached the peak of his learning curve."
"Good God, to even think it! Good God."
"Well, no. I do not actually believe it myself. Action is being taken?"
"As we speak. But LeFavre is not with us. Neither is Elobert, of course."
"Of course."
They stopped talking as Henri passed the corridor. Henri pretended not to notice them there.
Dr. Elobert was waiting for him at the dining room. "Good day, Henri," he said. It was hard for Henri to be angry at the doctors as a group since Dr. Elobert was one of them. He did not wish to feel anger toward Dr. Elobert. There was always a kindness between them. Anger toward Dr. Elobert would be like anger toward Roland. But was it not Dr. Elobert who first stole Henri’s ideas and sent them out to the More-Than-Six?
"Good day, Doctor," Henri said.
"We won’t be eating lunch just yet. Would you come with me, if you please?"
Henri walked wordlessly with him, a half-step behind. They passed the recreation wing, the gymnasium, and finally came to Dr. Elobert’s chambers.
"Come in."
Henri was rarely invited into any of the doctors’ chambers. He had not even been in Dr. Elobert’s for over a year. The two of them passed through the front lounge. They went into Dr. Elobert’s sleeping chambers and on through a door to the west that led into the doctor’s personal study. It was a room that Henri had only been in once, when he had eight years of age, and it fascinated him now even more than it had then. Rectangular shapes with thick, wooden borders hung at irregular spots around the room. Each shape had a different portrayal at its center: one a landscape with trees and a thin stream of water diminishing toward the background; one a dark and somewhat sloppy etching of five or more human forms battling with sticks or rods, two of the forms hatless and obviously losing the fight; another an arrangement of geometric shapes and conflicting colors that felt like violence when Henri looked at it too long.
It was that wall, the one with the drawing of the geometric shapes, that Dr. Elobert slid open to reveal a portion of the compound that Henri never knew existed. Dr. Elobert smiled at Henri. He stepped through into the corridor behind the wall.
They still said nothing as they walked. Henri followed a little slower. There were windows along the length of the corridor, and Henri glanced out at parts of the island he had never seen. One window showed a wide, open area, covered with short, very green grass, and with a small, irregularly shaped stretch of water at the very center. Trees surrounded the open area, but behind them were mountains Henri had never been able to see from the south side of the compound.
The corridor joined a main hallway that had no windows. The hallway went just a little to the east of north, and there were other passages leading off of it back toward the compound. Compound? Well, this was the compound, too, so it was back toward the part of the compound Henri had known all his life.
At last they turned into a room. It was a small room. There was a single chair set in front of a panel with several dozen switches and controls. On the wall behind the panel there was a raised gray patch three meters in both height and width.
"Sit down, please." Henri sat, and Dr. Elobert manipulated several of the control switches. The gray patch displayed static images, and Henri realized it was a viewing screen. The images came into focus: yet another room, empty except for a large table and six chairs.
"Henri, I am about to give you some experimental evidence to confirm your More-Than-Six hypothesis." Henri looked at him. Dr. Elobert was still staring at the screen, and he had that telling half-smile again. Pride in what Henri had accomplished. Henri thought about telling him that he already had experimental evidence, the hundreds of people who had cheered for him in the dark shape’s game, and even Mandi, the alternate configuration. Still, those did not seem real. They were illusions thrown inside his head by the dark shape called Michael. Not physical manifestations.
Then Henri realized that Dr. Elobert was sharing information. Unveiling the secret. Dr. Elobert was not like the others. Henri started to feel better.
"Do the others know you are showing me this?"
Dr. Elobert said nothing, which meant, No, they had no idea he was showing Henri this. "Stay here," he said. "I will be going into that room you see to talk with a man from the Société."
The term "Société" meant nothing to Henri. Dr. Elobert started to leave, and Henri said, "Will you be back soon, Father?"
Dr. Elobert turned and looked at Henri. His mouth was open. He walked back to where Henri sat and put both hands on Henri’s shoulders.
"That is the term, no? ‘Father’ is the male genetic contributor to direct offspring."
Dr. Elobert still said nothing for quite a while. Then he said, "The term means a great deal more."
"Really? What is the rest of the definition?"
Dr. Elobert took his hands away, slowly, and left the room. On the screen, Henri watched him enter the other room. In less than a minute another man entered. His hair was fuller than that of any of the doctors, and in color it was light, much like Roland’s. The man was shorter than Dr. Elobert, only a little taller than Henri himself. His shirt was similar to the shirts worn in the compound, but his trousers were blue and made of a material Henri had never seen on the island. He carried a folder.
The short man talked, but Henri could not understand the words.
"Please, Monsieur Hutchison, speak French," Dr. Elobert said. "Thirteen years spent mostly on this island make it tiresome for me to speak English."
The short man talked nonsense again, and this time Henri discerned the name "Dr. Rousas" amid the random syllables.
"What?" said Dr. Elobert. "I’m sorry. . . ."
"For God’s sake, fine. I’ll speak French." The short man looked upset. "Rousas and Bernardin say there are problems with the child."
"None more than usual. He goes through different stages."
The short man pulled a sheet of paper from his folder. " ‘A slow-down in his work,’ says Rousas. ‘A refusal to discuss concepts that should be simple for him,’ says Bernardin. ‘Suspicions that there are societies outside the compound. An anatomically accurate sketch of a female, despite the fact he has never seen one.’ "
Dr. Elobert laughed. "He has nearly fourteen years of age, Monsieur Hutchison. It seems a quite natural time to be discovering girls."
Monsieur Hutchison did not laugh. He stayed standing even though Dr. Elobert had seated himself at the large table. Henri supposed Monsieur Hutchison remained standing because it made him feel taller than, perhaps even superior to, Dr. Elobert.
No, Henri did not simply suppose that; he was certain of it, and he wondered why he was so certain.
"Doctor," said Monsieur Hutchison, "perhaps some of you around the compound have become a little less careful than you’ve been in the past. You understand what I mean. Freer discussion of the outside world. Sloppy conversation where the child may overhear you."
"No. I am quite certain he invented women all on his own."
Monsieur Hutchison reacted to that, and Henri decided the man found the word "invented" pretentious.
"Your phrasing is quite pretentious, Doctor," Hutchison said.
By way of explanation:
A fuller account of how Henri knew what Hutchison would say about the phrasing would be as follows—
Henri watched the quick movement in Monsieur Hutchison’s eyes: down, up fast at the doctor, a feint to the left followed by a very slight lowering of the left eyebrow. He disliked the phrasing, but why? Distrusts the certainty? No. The negative beginning? Not that either. Invented, then. Yes, because invented was what Henri had, in fact, done. But if Hutchison were accustomed to the presence of "women" in everyday life, the term "invented" would sound unusual, as if Dr. Elobert were trying to make Henri sound more impressive than he really was. But perhaps Henri was, in fact, that impressive. Dr. Elobert would be trying to get that idea across to Monsieur Hutchison. Monsieur Hutchison, of course, would not see it that way, since he, no matter how many dealings he had had with women, had not had any whatsoever with Henri. He would find the phrasing . . . stuffy? bloated? pretentious? Indeed, pretentious, the word which, in highest probability, he would use.
Such detailed explanations into Henri’s observations would be fruitful for understanding how Henri’s mind worked, but would result in making quite tedious and protracted what was, after all, a very brief discussion.
"Your phrasing is quite pretentious, Doctor," Hutchison said.
Dr. Elobert nodded. "But if you knew Henri, it would seem less so."
Hutchison put his hand on the edge of the table—achieving the perception of greater mass, Henri decided, from which to deliver a statement of superiority; biting his lower lip, so he was going to play a little.
"Perhaps that is not so terrible an idea."
Dr. Elobert leaned back in the chair. Resist the urge to cross your arms, thought Henri, but the Dr. crossed his arms.
"In fact, Henri’s discovery of the outside world comes at a very convenient time. This scientific isolationism, this hide-away charade . . . whose idea was that?" From the way Hutchison tilted his head, Henri could see the man knew exactly whose idea it had been.
"Mine," said Dr. Elobert.
"And a damn good one, in its time. The child has been responsible for groundwork in a Nobel Prize every year since 1970."
One corner of Dr. Elobert’s mouth raised slightly. "Two in 1972. Superconductivity and enzyme studies. Physics and chemistry."
"Yes. Yes." Said with superiority. No, with condescension. "Quite a boy. I hear he was found reading René Descartes three weeks after he learned the alphabet."
Dr. Elobert shifted in his chair. "A bit of an exaggeration. But he was a quite obvious prodigy even at two years of age."
"When his mother died."
Well, thought Henri. Now that was a thought. Died. A person. Just like a plant. It made sense, of course. It also cleared up the question of his female progenitor.
Dr. Elobert glanced in the direction of the screen, and Henri thought for a moment that the doctor would say something to him directly. But it was only a brief glance.
"Look, Hutchison, what do you want?"
Hutchison moved away from the table and walked with his hands clasped behind his back. "Ah, Doctor, things are quite in turmoil back home." Trying to sound wistful and chagrined. Poorly done, Henri decided. "Premier Chirac has resigned, the economy being what it is. And the President! Giscard won the last election over the Socialists, but only just. Only just. The Société is quite displeased with the idea of a socialist France."
Dr. Elobert stood. A good move; it showed he was taller than Hutchison. "If this is about money, I am certain you know that we are totally self-funded."
"Indeed. Mostly with money from American corporations."
"That should be fine with you. Your English is good enough for the Americans, I’m certain."
"One learns what one must to survive," Monsieur Hutchison said. "To be honest, the Société is wholeheartedly in favor of Henri bringing in American dollars. In fact"—here was the point; Henri could tell it by the very slight lift in Hutchison’s chin—"they feel that Henri could do a great deal of good back home in France itself, where resources could be provided him much more freely than on this godforsaken island south of nowhere."
Dr. Elobert leaned on the table, both palms flat and his head down. "So," he said. "So."
"The Société also feels it would be best if he were separated from you for a time. To provide him with a clean break from the last thirteen years. They would be happy to continue funding any research you would like to conduct on your own. Down here."
Dr. Elobert did not lift his head. "We are self-funded. I appreciate the interest of the Société, but I believe we have paid them back in full for their original sponsorship."
"Doctors Rousas and Bernardin said you would be adverse to the idea." Hutchison drew a hand-sized device from under his shirt: angular, metal, a hand grip that fit into his palm and a nozzle at the opposing end. "Shall we skip negotiations?"
Henri analyzed: Hutchison was now acting more superior than he had at any time previously in the discussion. Dr. Elobert seemed to lose stature. His eyes were focused on the nozzle with the hand grip. There was a new emotion. Confusion? Anger?
Fear.
"Henri," Dr. Elobert said. Henri sat straight in the chair. Dr. Elobert was looking directly out from the screen at him. Hutchison looked back and forth between the doctor and where the doctor stared. "Henri, run from the compound and hide from this man. This man is bad. You can trust Dr. LeFavre, but no one else. Run and hide."
Monsieur Hutchison finally seemed to understand that Dr. Elobert really was talking directly to Henri. He yelled something, again in the unintelligible syllables, and then there was an exploding noise, like the sound of hydrogen and oxygen touched with a match when escaping from a test tube after electrolysis. An old sound, a child’s experiment back from when Henri had only four years of age. Why would he remember that now? Dr. Elobert had laughed at Henri’s surprise at that experiment, but Henri had been frightened by the popping sound and the shooting flame. Dr. Elobert had seen how frightened Henri was, and he had put his arms around him and patted his back, telling him everything was all right. Dr. Elobert was very kind, had always been kinder than the rest of the doctors. Perhaps there really was a macro-level attachment between two organisms related on the genetic micro level.
On the screen, Dr. Elobert was now lying on the floor with his left arm bent under his head at a peculiar angle and one leg propped up on the seat of one of the chairs. There was blood, and Henri knew there should not be, not without properly sterilized equipment to draw it from him. And from his arm, not from the center of his torso like that. And only for an experiment, not now.
Henri ran out of the viewing room.
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