Colin Kapp - Letter From An Unknown Genius(1).pdf - Colin Kapp - margozap

LETTER FROM AN UNKNOWN GENIUS

There can be situations in which a genius might definitely prefer that his work of

genius not be associated with him. It would be a lot safer that way. . .

COLIN KAPP

ILLUSTRATED BY MICHAEL GILBERT

Dancing on a sea of silvery wavelets, the small boat came: under the radar towers, past the brief

defenses—the clamor of its tiny engine sounding loud across the bay. The men behind the guns spared it

not a second glance. It was an ordinary scene—the priest returning from the blessing of the fishing fleet

and the casting of bread upon the waters. This was part of the pattern by which the village lived, a way of

life almost unchanged as far as the yellowed records could remember.

Only a shrewd eye, and one equipped with good binoculars and a good memory, would have

noticed that this day was different. The boat returning from its mission carried one more occupant than it

had taken. Around the shadow of the headland the nuclear submarine, its assignment completed, had

already slipped silently across the shelf, making for deep water.

The monastery of San Cherno was old. Its walls, built continuously up from the bedrock of the cliffs,

in places dipped almost to the water. Here, past the sad harbor, the great, gray steps of the ecclesiastic

landing stage showed for just how many centuries the church of San Cherno had comforted and been

concerned with those who fought their living from the sea.

But it was not only the years which had left their mark on the gray and dedicated walls. Scars of the

ravages of cannon shell and rocket remained an ineradicable reminder of the impact of the century into

which they had survived. As though acknowledging its grudged awareness of the' times, the chapel wore

a copper crown whose newly acquired patina had not yet learned to live in harmony with the dull stone

walls.

The boat pulled in at the landing stage at the foot of the monastery steps. A priest and one other

disembarked before the novices turned the craft away to place it at anchorage safe against the tides. The

priest permitted the cowl of his cloak to fall back to his shoulders, revealing his curiously sharp, ascetic

face and the whitened wisps of a tonsured head—a vision of piety who might unchanged, have occupied

the selfsame role at any time in the monastery's history. His companion maintained the garb intact,

concealing beneath it the casual clothes of one more than usually aware of the progress of the Atomic

Age. Not until they had ascended the steps and entered the great, shaded halls of San Cherno did the

visitor disrobe.

The priest took the cloak from her with an air of deference.

"It is good of you to come here, Madam Karp—especially on so dangerous a journey."

"If the news that has reached us is true, the dangers involved in my coming are nothing compared to

the dangers had I not come."

"May God preserve us all!" said the priest quietly. "If you would be so good as to wait here, I will

inform the abbè of your arrival. He will wish to speak with you immediately."

Left alone, Marion Anderson Karp, greatly regretting that the occasion had caused her to abandon

her high heels, began to examine her surroundings. The buildings were classic examples of their age, and

the housekeeping was loving and meticulous. But time and war had caused many faults in the fabric, and

the process of reconstruction, due to the unfitting poverty of the area, was a labor to be measured in

lifetimes rather than years.

She approached the great portal, looking out appreciatively at the incredibly bright sunshine which

flooded the headland and the bay, but careful to keep her own self concealed in the shadows against any

casual eye. The number of lives set at risk by her presence in San Cherno warned her to great caution,

and the nuclear submarine which had delivered her to these shores showed the involvement of

governments and the shadowy hand which gripped the world with cold pincers of fear.

The sound of footsteps returning across the flagged halls made her turn. It was the priest, his face

nearly impassive yet made rich with the deep, searching eyes and the resolute quietude which was so

characteristic of the Order in Residence at San Chemo.

"The abbe awaits you in the library, Madam Karp. If you please, I will show you the way. And may I

add this is an historic occasion. Never before in the four hundred and fifty years of San Chemo's

existence, has a woman been permitted to enter these walls. Unfortunately it is also an event which must

be forever left unrecorded."

"Madam Karp, this is indeed a pleasure!" The abbe extended his hand towards her. Momentarily she

hesitated, overwhelmed by the size and richness of the huge, dim library in which the abbe sat. "Forgive

me for not rising," he continued, "but it is many years since these legs last served me."

She broke her reverie and went to him quickly. "I wasn't aware of your infirmity, Abbe Mesnil—only

of your courage." She shook his hand gravely. "It is I who should apologize."

"Nonsense, Madam . . . my child!" His face was overcome by a kind of wonder. "Please stand more

fully in the light, for I think I have been misled. Seroia told me he was sending someone brilliant, but he

forgot to tell me he was sending someone beautiful."

"Not beautiful," said Marion Karp reprovingly. "Truth to tell, I'm uncommonly plain."

"That isn't true, my child, but to find these virtues combined with both a sense of humor and of

humility is something that happens but once in a lifetime."

"Abbe Mesnil!" Her voice sharpened. "I've not come all this way just to receive compliments."

"Indeed no! But let me say this: had I known Seroia would send . . . you . . . I would probably not

have consented. What will be told in San Chemo today places the hearer at great risk. I could expect

that much of a man. I would not knowingly have imposed it on a woman."

Marion Karp smiled. "Perhaps my society is less chivalrous in what it expects of a woman. And then

again, perhaps not. Think what your society demands of a peasant-wife, and then ask yourself who is the

more fortunate."

Abbe Mesnil's face softened. "And wisdom also! You are indeed one of the rarer kind."

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a novice bearing refreshments on a tray. Marion Karp

took the offered sweetmeats and sipped the wine appreciatively, her eyes roving the great bookshelves

as if trying to summarize her host by the literary environment in which he lived and of which he seemed

almost a part. What she saw impressed her. When the novice had departed she returned to the abbe's

side.

"Considering you're so isolated from it, Abbe Mesnil, you're remarkably au fait with the latest

developments of modern science."

The old man smiled. "Does one need to stand in a puddle in order to study animalcula, or to dwell in

a vacuum in order to study the stars?"

She faltered momentarily. "My mistake, Abbe. I come so steeped in scientific method I tend to forget

the power of thought. May we now come to the matter which brought me here?"

"Surely, my child! First, I will tell you about a man. Later I shall ask you to meet someone and let him

tell his own story. I need scarcely warn you that what you will hear could be the cause of your own death

at the hands of our secret police, if they should learn of it. Equally it could cause my death and the death

of the one you shall meet. It could even bring about a pogrom which would end this church and this

village."

"I understand that."

"I'm sure you do. But remember that whoever speaks to you, or who even knows of your presence

here, is guilty of high treason in our modern police state. Nor are we willing traitors to the land of our

own flesh. We have invited you here in the name of God and in the cause of the preservation of

humankind . . . for the sake of Humanity."

"The greater cause . . ." Marion Karp was watching him closely.

"As you say—the greater cause. Even theologians must sometimes accept a compromise."

"May we now get to the point?" Her voice was edged with a hint of intolerance.

Mesnil looked at her for a long second before replying.

"For nearly four centuries our church mission has maintained the village school in San Chemo. Our

basic teachings are reading, writing, figures, and the scriptures. However for students of special ability we

extend the curriculum. Some we train for higher things here in the monastery, and some we even send to

the seminary in Gozaro. Thus no one in the village, no matter what the circumstances of his birth, need

lack for education if he can prove his ability to learn. One such exceptional student was Pietr

Salmonique."

"Pietr Salmonique?"

"The name is unimportant, since no one now owns it. But the lad was gifted at figures, so much so

that Brother Amarillo, who was once a lecturer in mathematics, became his personal tutor. Pietr, whose

father was a hedge-cutter, proved to be not only exceptional, but brilliant. He outgrew all that we had to

offer, and the seminary would have wasted his talents. Although we are a poor Order, we gave him a

grant which enabled him to go to the university at San Paulo."

"That much is history." Marion Anderson Karp was still waiting for the point.

"History with a purpose." Mesnil was unruffled. "I seek first to convince you what class of man Pietr

Salmonique was."

"Was?"

"Don't force me to jump ahead of my story. Pietr not only gained his doctorate, but the work he did

for his thesis showed him to have one of the most brilliant minds in the country, if not in the world. I have

myself no doubt that had he been able to continue his work undisturbed his name would one day have

ranked alongside that of Einstein."

"He didn't continue, then?"

"The ways of God are never certain. We cannot be sure. In a totalitarian state, the truth is not always

what appears at the surface. We know he joined the Government Science Institute to do some research

work on fundamental physics. That was the last we ever heard of Pietr Salmonique."

"So?"

"That was nearly two years ago. The silence was not unexpected. Our government is ambitious, and

their Security is absolute. They had a big research station on the Mariam desert at a place called Gratz,

and We presume it was to there that he went. In any event, Gratz was the center of the blowup in which

you are interested. That was three months ago."

"What do you know about the Gratz blowup?"

"Only what I hear, and that is pitifully little. Even today the majority of the population in this country

are unaware that the blowup even occurred. But I do not think that your observation satellites could have

missed it. Some disaster happened at Gratz . . . something that wasn't a nuclear reaction because there

was no radiation and no radioactive fallout. Whatever happened was some kind of particulate reaction

the like of which the world has never before known. One white flame reached out from. Gratz . . . and

thirty thousand square kilometers of sand were burned into a film of glassy slag ten meters thick. The

Gratz research station and three-small villages disappeared in that instant of time—leaving nothing but a

glazed enigma."

"Your information agrees with our own," said Marion Karp evenly. "The Gratz reaction was of an

unknown type. It was a far more fundamental type of particulate reaction than our own relatively crude

attempts at nuclear fusion and the like. What confused us was that before your mention of Pietr

Salmonique, we were reasonably certain that your Government Science Institute had no brains of a

stature sufficient to carry out particulate research of that order. I still think that the resources of your

country are insufficient to support research of that magnitude."

"That is substantially true, my child. But now to the reason I agreed to allow you to come here. Four

days after the blowup a sick man arrived here at San Chemo asking for sanctuary. He was ill for many

weeks with a delirium which seemed to be of the mind rather than the body. But in his sickness he talked

much, and, being his comforters, we listened. In a little while I'm going to ask you to talk with him

yourself."

"He's still here then?"

"Our Order has gained a new brother—Brother Simon. From whence he comes we know not, but

he is undoubtedly the most devout and pious amongst us." Mesnil was smiling slightly, as if to belie his

own words. "Since this is a day of exceptions, I am releasing him from his vow of silence in order for you

to conduct an interview. Remember, since we know nothing about him, I can vouch for nothing that he

says, nor even if he is sane or mad. He bears some resemblance to Pietr Salmonique, except that Pietr

had dark hair, whilst Simon's is white. Also Pietr was a young man, whilst Simon seems to have no age at

all except that his eyes are old."

Her first impression was that the cell was in complete darkness, and it took many seconds for her

eyes to adapt before she could make out details of the interior. The walls were of rough, unfinished stone,

massive in the way of all things at San Cherno. A plain wooden bench with two coarse blankets served

as bed, chair and table. Two iron pins driven into the wall made a more than adequate wardrobe. Light

was admitted from one small grille placed high and recessed deeply into the mammoth blocks of stone.

The sole relief in the spartan scheme was a great wooden cross upon the wall, on which a carved

near-lifesize figurine of Christ hung in eternal anguish. There was also a bible. And a man.

She stood for many minutes watching the man on his knees, his hands together, head raised, eyes

closed yet looking upwards to the frozen crucifixion. If he was aware of her he gave no sign, but

continued his prayer with a kind of single-minded desperation; as though the world would cease to turn if

he should falter. Then, by dropping his hands before him he signaled that the prayer was done.

"Simon?" Marion Karp found her voice oddly at variance with her surroundings.

"They call me the same." The man rose from his knees and turned towards her. His face was white,

almost silken, against the backdrop of the hood which he pulled around his head. His eyes were deep

pools of something which reflected the agony of the figure on the crucifix. As Mesnil had said, he had no

age except that his eyes were old.

"The abbe asked me to listen to your story."

"You?" He was slightly incredulous. "I agreed to speak only once and then only to someone capable

of comprehending what I have to say—because there is great danger in such knowledge. Only someone

who understands completely what I have to tell could decide between my words and the dreams of a

madman. But even a fool could attempt to use my words—and one fool did."

"I can understand."

"I think not . . ."

"You doubt my credentials?"

"You are a woman." Simon left the rest unsaid.

"Then you have never heard of Marion Anderson Karp?"

His expression changed suddenly. "Madam Karp . . . the physicist ... forgive me! You and Curie . . .

I know well of your work on particulate theory, but I had not realized that you could be so young and

..."

". .. Beautiful?"

"Yes . . . an old crow I could have understood."

"It's axiomatic that old crows must once have been young, and many of them beautiful also. Do you

wish me to return in fifteen years?"

"Madam . . . I live up to my name. They call me Simon now—in fact it is mostly Simon the Idiot. You

see how aptly the name applies. Nobody but an idiot would treat you like this."

Marion Karp laughed lightly. "I would judge you anything but an idiot."

Simon spread his hands expressively. "It is a pose I must adopt in case the police should come. If I

maintain it long enough, I suspect it will even become true. But once I was . . ."

"Pietr Salmonique, the mathematician?"

"You have been primed by the abbe, Madam Karp. Therefore my life is in your hands." He gestured

for her to sit on the bench, and s beside her, looking fixedly at symbol of the cross whilst he spoke.

"When I left the university I secured a position at the Science Institute under Professor Omado. In fact I

carried Professor Omado. He was fool. His academic degrees were bought, and his appointment as

head of the Institute was political. But was a dangerous fool. He had a little knowledge, but no idea at all

of how much he did not know."

"I have met Omado at conferences," said Marion Karp. "You summary agrees with my own."

"Good!" Simon was warming to his subject. "President Perdo, knowing even less about science than

he does about government, thought that his expensive Science Institute should be able to give him an

atomic bomb. This was ludicrous, but Ornado, to keep his position and possibly his life, became

committed to make an attempt. Fortunately neither the Russians nor the Americans would supply us with

the necessary isotopes. The Chinese made sympathetic noises but failed to deliver. Ornado decided to

go it alone."

"That should have been fairly harmless."

"It should have been—would have been." Simon never once took his eyes from the hanging Christ.

"Ornado flew against the books because he hadn't a ghost of a chance of doing it the orthodox way. He

began experimenting with hydrogen fusion, apparently under the impression that he could achieve a

thermonuclear reaction by subjecting hydrogen under pressure to high-intensity arcs. By this he could

have hoped to do no more than placate President Perdo, and thus prolong his own life. But then the letter

arrived."

"What letter?"

"A letter from an unknown genius. No name. No address. Simply a set of equations and the

suggestion of a method for producing a particulate reaction more basic than anything known in

conventional nuclear physics. It could be the type of reaction by which the stars were first lit."

"Go on," said Marion Anderson Karp.

"The mathematics were horrific. I had to develop special techniques to handle the equations. Even

then I was only grasping at the edge of a new unified-field theory which I doubt if the human brain has the

capacity to encompass as a whole. Limiting myself to only one minuscule part of the problem, I was able

to produce a working hypothesis for this new and vastly simpler kind of particulate reaction. Indeed, it

was so simple that even Omadp had the type of facilities to make it work."

"And you gave your hypothesis to Omado for his bomb?"

Simon spread his hands. "I did so with the greatest reservations. I left him in no doubt of the dangers

of proceeding with something so far beyond the limits of known physics. In a conventional nuclear fission

or fusion reaction, the physics of the reaction causes its own termination. Neither can become

self-sustaining. But I could see no such limitation inherent in this new class of reaction. It could have

consumed the world or even the universe."

"Yet Omado still dared to try it?"

"He had nothing to lose, Madam. He would have been quite as dead at the hands of Perdo's police

had he not produced a bomb. He was a very frightened man. But he was cautious. He tried quite

honestly to test-fire the device under circumstances which involved the minimum risk to human life.

Nobody could have predicted the actual consequences."

"What happened then?"

"The test-point was in the desert and only some thirty kilometers from Gratz. Omado had designed

that the first reaction would be a very small one. I was sent to the edge of the desert to an observation

post. I think something went wrong with his timing, because I was only meters out of the desert and not

yet at the post when the blowup came. It was like a sheet of white flame, not a fireball. A low, spreading

mass ... an unholy tide of white fire that burned the desert sand to slag yet had no heat of its own."

"What makes you say it had no heat?" asked Marion Karp.

"There were monitors in the observation post. I looked at them later. There was no heat recorded,

and no radioactivity."

Colin Kapp - Letter From An Unknown Genius(1).pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: