Read Online Nightfall by Isaac Asimov, Robert Silverberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Isaac Asimov, Robert Silverberg
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short-range calculation would widen into a vast abyss, Beenay knew, if more ambitious computations were attempted. What good was the whole Theory of Universal Gravitation if the position that it said Kalgash was going to hold in the sky a century from now turned out to be halfway around Onos from the planet’s actual location then?
Beenay had gone over his figures until he was sick of reworking them. The result was always the same.
But what was he supposed to believe?
His numbers, or Athor’s towering master scheme?
His piddling notions of astronomy, or the great Athor’s profound insight into the fundamental structure of the universe?
He imagined himself standing right on top of the dome of the Observatory, calling out, “Listen to me, everybody! Athor’s theory is wrong! I’ve got the figures right here that disprove it!” Which would bring forth such gales of laughter that he’d be blown clear across the continent. Who was he to set himself up against the titanic Athor? Who could possibly believe that a callow assistant professor had toppled the Law of Universal Gravitation?
And yet—and yet—
His eyes raced over the printout sheets that Yimot and Faro had prepared. The calculations on the first two pages were unfamiliar to him; he had set up the data for the two students in such a way that the underlying relationships from which the numbers were derived were not at all obvious, and evidently they had approached the problem in a way that any astronomer trying to compute a planetary orbit would regard as quite unorthodox. Which was exactly what Beenay had wanted. The orthodox ways had led him only into catastrophic conclusions; but he had too much information at his own disposal to be able to work in any other mode but the orthodox ones. Faro and Yimot hadn’t been hampered in that fashion.
But as he followed along their line of reasoning, Beenay began to notice a discomforting convergence of the numbers. Bythe third page they had locked in with his own calculations, which he knew by heart by this time.
And from there on, everything followed in an orderly way, step by step by step, to the same dismaying, shattering, inconceivable, totally unacceptable culminating result.
Beenay looked up at the two students, aghast.
“There’s no possibility, is there, that you’ve slipped up somewhere? This string of integrations here, for example—they look pretty tricky—”
“
Sir!
” Yimot cried, sounding shocked to the core. His face was bright red and his arms waved about as if moving of their own accord.
Faro said, more placidly, “I’m afraid they’re correct, sir. They tally frontwards and backwards.”
“Yes. I imagine they do,” said Beenay dully. He struggled to conceal his anguish. But his hands were shaking so badly that the printout sheets began to flutter in his grasp. He started to put them down on the table before him, but his wrist jerked uncontrollably in a very Yimot-like gesture and sent them scattering all over the floor.
Faro knelt to pick them up. He gave Beenay a troubled look.
“Sir, if we’ve upset you in any way—”
“No. No, not at all. I didn’t sleep well today, that’s the problem. But this is fine work, unquestionably very fine. I’m proud of you. To take a problem like this, one which has utterly no real-world resonance at all, which in fact is in total contradiction of real-world scientific truth, and to follow so methodically to the conclusion required by the data while succeeding in ignoring the fact that the initial premise is absurd—why, it’s a splendid job, an admirable demonstration of your powers of logic, a first-rate thought-experiment—”
He saw them exchange quick glances. He wondered if he was fooling them even slightly.
“And now,” he went on, “if you’ll excuse me, fellows—I have another conference—”
Rolling the damning papers into a tight cylinder, Beenay shoved them under his arm and rushed past them, out the door, down
Beenay had gone over his figures until he was sick of reworking them. The result was always the same.
But what was he supposed to believe?
His numbers, or Athor’s towering master scheme?
His piddling notions of astronomy, or the great Athor’s profound insight into the fundamental structure of the universe?
He imagined himself standing right on top of the dome of the Observatory, calling out, “Listen to me, everybody! Athor’s theory is wrong! I’ve got the figures right here that disprove it!” Which would bring forth such gales of laughter that he’d be blown clear across the continent. Who was he to set himself up against the titanic Athor? Who could possibly believe that a callow assistant professor had toppled the Law of Universal Gravitation?
And yet—and yet—
His eyes raced over the printout sheets that Yimot and Faro had prepared. The calculations on the first two pages were unfamiliar to him; he had set up the data for the two students in such a way that the underlying relationships from which the numbers were derived were not at all obvious, and evidently they had approached the problem in a way that any astronomer trying to compute a planetary orbit would regard as quite unorthodox. Which was exactly what Beenay had wanted. The orthodox ways had led him only into catastrophic conclusions; but he had too much information at his own disposal to be able to work in any other mode but the orthodox ones. Faro and Yimot hadn’t been hampered in that fashion.
But as he followed along their line of reasoning, Beenay began to notice a discomforting convergence of the numbers. Bythe third page they had locked in with his own calculations, which he knew by heart by this time.
And from there on, everything followed in an orderly way, step by step by step, to the same dismaying, shattering, inconceivable, totally unacceptable culminating result.
Beenay looked up at the two students, aghast.
“There’s no possibility, is there, that you’ve slipped up somewhere? This string of integrations here, for example—they look pretty tricky—”
“
Sir!
” Yimot cried, sounding shocked to the core. His face was bright red and his arms waved about as if moving of their own accord.
Faro said, more placidly, “I’m afraid they’re correct, sir. They tally frontwards and backwards.”
“Yes. I imagine they do,” said Beenay dully. He struggled to conceal his anguish. But his hands were shaking so badly that the printout sheets began to flutter in his grasp. He started to put them down on the table before him, but his wrist jerked uncontrollably in a very Yimot-like gesture and sent them scattering all over the floor.
Faro knelt to pick them up. He gave Beenay a troubled look.
“Sir, if we’ve upset you in any way—”
“No. No, not at all. I didn’t sleep well today, that’s the problem. But this is fine work, unquestionably very fine. I’m proud of you. To take a problem like this, one which has utterly no real-world resonance at all, which in fact is in total contradiction of real-world scientific truth, and to follow so methodically to the conclusion required by the data while succeeding in ignoring the fact that the initial premise is absurd—why, it’s a splendid job, an admirable demonstration of your powers of logic, a first-rate thought-experiment—”
He saw them exchange quick glances. He wondered if he was fooling them even slightly.
“And now,” he went on, “if you’ll excuse me, fellows—I have another conference—”
Rolling the damning papers into a tight cylinder, Beenay shoved them under his arm and rushed past them, out the door, down
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