The Old Man of the Stars Read online

  Matthew said: “And you’ve succeeded, haven’t you?”

  “I believe so. But the atmosphere of our planet is a strongly destructive force. You know how coastlines are eroded: you’ve seen how wood can be rubbed away with sandpaper. The human frame is like that: quite apart from the sharper action of bacteria and disease, there is the constant erosion and weakening caused by the mere act of living and breathing. My discovery will prolong life: but I believe we may one day find planets on which the optimum conditions prevail. There will be none of this physical friction. On such a planet, a man who had been injected with this culture might be almost immortal. Only if he came back to Earth would he once more start—though slowly—to wear away.”

  And as his hand relaxed, letting the electronic revolver sag, Matthew struck at him suddenly, knocking him sideways. When he recovered his balance, Matthew was holding the gun.

  Matthew said: “Now. Come on. I’m not asking much. I just want to take part in your experiment. You can regard me as guinea-pig. I’m willing to take a chance.”

  Philipson had turned pale. He tried to stammer an appeal, but Matthew was prepared to waste no more time. He barked a peremptory command, and in another minute Philipson was filling a long hypodermic from a small grey culture bottle.

  “And no funny business,” said Matthew.

  Philipson shook his head sadly. He looked at the syringe that he had just laid gently on the bench, and then at Matthew.

  “No,” he said with sudden violence. “You are not worth it. You’re not.”

  And he jumped.

  They crashed against the bench. There was a tinkle of glass and a pungent smell.

  Matthew struck Philipson on the side of the head and sent him reeling. Philipson came back with a furious attack that took Matthew’s breath away. He hadn’t realised the man had it in him.

  But Philipson was wasting his breath; shouting, “You’re not fit to go on, even as a guinea-pig. I won’t let you.”

  It was not with any deliberately murderous intent that Matthew fired the gun. His hand had closed about it instinctively and suddenly his thumb found the small plunger. Trying to force Philipson away from him, he was conscious of nothing but a blur of anger and the urgency of his need to get hold of that hypodermic, in which lay the seeds of all that the future could hold for him.

  He pressed the plunger, and the searing cartridge exploded into white light in Philipson’s head. There was a great glow about him, and as he fell backwards a flame licked up ravenously from the end of the bench.

  Matthew grabbed the syringe. He plunged the needle into the vein on his left forearm, feeling a strange heat racing up his arm, more agonising than the heat of the flames that raced along the bench and engulfed a whole shelf in a matter of seconds.

  He dropped the gun into his pocket and ran for the door.

  The laboratory had been transformed into a furnace. Philipson and all the things that Philipson had been working on were utterly consumed. The telecasts that evening paid tribute to a great but little appreciated scientist, and one of the learned societies a month later staged a memorial discussion of various aspects of his work.

  Nothing was said about longevity and immortality that wasn’t rather mocking. Philipson’s main interest had not been taken very seriously by his colleagues. They thought his line of approach had been doomed to frustration.

  And Matthew at a later date destroyed the gun, after being congratulated by the police on his narrow escape and thanked for the assistance he had given them in their routine inquiries.

  A year or so later, wishing to make still further advances in his social position and also within the Corporation itself, he married the wealthy and beautiful daughter of one of the directors.

  * * * *

  At first it was a successful marriage from the worldly point of view. He and his wife were both selfish, and both acknowledged the fact, so that they struck a working compromise and lived fairly happily together for a time.

  For a time: for some years....

  Then he noticed that she was looking at him as he had once, speculatively and incredulously, looked at Philipson.

  Her face was becoming lined while his remained smooth. She grew middle-aged and shrewish while he stayed young. She began to hate him, her envy turning her speech sour, and she accused him of having affairs with other women. When she became really viciously abusive, he admitted that she was right: he turned on her and scoffed at her fading charms, and boasted of his other conquests. He was still young and vigorous, and by now he was wealthy.

  In her anger she did what he ought to have guessed she would do. Her father was dead, but two of her brothers served on the board of directors of the I.D.C., and she went to them with her bitter complaints. They had so far regarded Matthew as being merely a remarkably healthy man who was lucky or intelligent enough to keep in splendid physical condition. “Just what a pack of unobservant men would think!” jeered their sister. Now they studied him, and were staggered by what they saw. They had not realised how many years had gone by since Matthew had married: they had not realised how old he was, and now they faced up to the fact that no man of his age had any natural right to have such a fresh, almost boyish appearance. It was so unnatural as to be frightening.

  There were questions. The telecast newsmen got on to the story. Portable cameras whirred in Matthew’s face as he came to the I.D.C. translucent perslite tower for a board meeting,

  Who was this man who did not grow old? A scared, jealous muttering spread through the city and reached out into the rest of the country. Wild rumours circulated. An immortal man? Even in these enlightened times there were those who could talk fearfully of pacts with the devil.

  In the face of the inquiries of his directors and the growing clamour that the telecast scaremongers were whipping up, Matthew lost patience. The truth would have to come out sooner or later. He told it now. He told the truth to his unbelieving, angry directors, and then went on to an interview, which was televised all over the country.

  He was called a liar. He was called a freak. He was denounced by public speakers, scientists, and ministers of religion. A fanatic tried to shoot him. Somebody else demanded an investigation into the death of Philipson all those years ago.

  But whatever suspicions might attach to the circumstances of Philipson’s death, no evidence remained today. Matthew’s story remained unshaken. In the original inquiry he had said nothing about the injection he had received, because, he now said, he had not known if it would work

  He was Philipson’s friend, and had offered to act as Philipson’s guinea-pig. At the time he had been sceptical. If he had told the full story at the inquest, he would have been laughed at. Now, however, he knew that Philipson had been right. If only poor Philipson had lived, what a boon he could have bestowed on mankind!

  He had always realised that the man in the street would resent the existence of someone else with a long life span, but he had not anticipated quite such jealousy and bitterness as he now had to endure. Life was almost intolerable. Although he was taken up by some of the fashionable hostesses, and asked to give innumerable interviews this phase did not last; only resentment and suspicion were left.

  He was forced to resign from the I.D.C. and seek a quieter life in the country. There, boredom crept up on him. The local inhabitants soon discovered who he was, and shunned him or peered at him with dark, superstitious hostility. Occasionally scientists would travel out to see him, trying to sift his memories in the hope that he could give them some clue as to Philipson’s work so that they could pursue it and find the answer. But what had he known of the technicalities? Even if he had listened more carefully to Philipson, he would not have understood what he heard.

  In the middle of the first interplanetary war with Martian colonists, he tried to join up, giving his age as twenty-five. But he was recognised, and scoffed at. His real age, incredible as it was, was known. It was absurd that any attention should be paid to such a conventio
nal point, when he was obviously fit for service: but it soon came home to him that they did not want him—they did not trust him. He was almost an outcast, thrust away from the rest of the human race.

  He considered marrying again at one time, then visualised the same weary process taking place again. His wife would grow old and unattractive and would suffer untold miseries as she saw him remaining young.

  Monotony weighed down on him. He had wanted to be a great man, and the world would not let him be one. He was feared. He was a freak. Filled with confused ambitions, he had no outlet for all his energies and forceful impulses.

  It was not until he was approaching the end of his second century that escape came.

  On that sunny morning in June that he would never forget, a government helicar dropped swiftly from the skies outside his house, and an elderly man in grey uniform came up to the door. He studied Matthew’s face with the expression of faint wonderment that everyone wore at such times.

  Indoors, he got to the point at once.

  “I have come to ask if you are willing to work for us. There is a great challenge in the heavens, and the time has come when we must answer it.”

  Matthew gazed at him stupidly for a moment. He had sunk into a dull, slumberous existence, and could not respond quickly. He said at length:

  “I don’t quite get you.”

  The other man folded his arms. “It is simple enough. We are ready to send out a ship to the stars.”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean that we are going to go beyond the confines of our own solar system. It has taken us a long time to reach this stage. Now we are ready. But there are snags. Serious difficulties, in fact.”

  Memory stirred. Matthew remembered old conversations old dreams. He said:

  “It will take a long time to get there?”

  “Several generations will live and die on the ship in the course of the voyage. We have men and women who are prepared to set out in full awareness of that fact. But in addition to them we felt that we should take a chance—we should run the risk of asking you to go also, in the hope that you would survive the whole journey.”

  There was no hesitation in Matthew’s mind. He said: “I’ll go.”

  “It is a great hazard. You may all perish within a very short time. If you do survive, and reach the nearest star systems, none of the people who have set out will ever come home: they will all have died, with the exception of yourself. There is every chance that under such conditions you will all go mad.”

  “But the attempt has to be made,” said Matthew softly. “The stars have been there, waiting for us, for a long time. It’s a challenge we can’t refuse.”

  An appreciative smile crossed the other’s face. He held out his hand. They shook hands, and as the visitor rose to go he said: “I was doubtful of you when I came here. Now I feel confident. You are one man who must go on this enterprise.”

  Matthew nodded. “I shall go.”

  * * * *

  And here, after the weary years in space, when children had been born and grown old and died, after adventures on fantastic worlds with generations now dead and forgotten, he was; here he was on Elysium, an old man whose knowledge was regarded as nonsense, whose factual narratives were called fables. An old man in his physical prime but mentally weary, wanting one thing and one thing only—to go home, no matter how long it might take.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The following day he went to visit the observatory and the construction plant on the far side of the woods.

  The buildings were hidden away as though people were ashamed of their very existence. On Elysium the scientist did not hold an honoured place in the community. Research was not frowned on, but it was not encouraged. Only those without the capacity for what the Elysians considered real living—that is, a pleasant pastoral life, making the most of immediate joys—dabbled in the sciences. Living conditions on this planet were ideal. No effort was needed. Work was something you did only to amuse yourself, and there were few who found scientific research amusing. When the world was so idyllic, why struggle and belabour your brain too earnestly?

  Matthew walked briskly along the path through the woods. It was a fine morning, but he did not take a great deal of pleasure in it: nearly every morning on Elysium was fine, and where was the charm in that?

  As he approached the main road that led down to the massive white building in which lay all his hopes, he noticed a young woman in the shade of the trees above the slope. She did not hear his footsteps. She was looking down wistfully at the entrance to the main workshop.

  Matthew said: “What brings you here?”

  She started, and gave a little cry. When she turned to face him her eyes widened, but it was with a sort of angry curiosity rather than the distaste he was accustomed to read in the eyes of young women.

  “You are old Matthew,” she said accusingly.

  He grimaced. “Old Matthew,” he echoed.

  “You are behind the work that is going on down there. You wish to build a ship that will take you back to Earth.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why must you do it?” she demanded. “Why? Isn’t this world beautiful enough? Life here is sweet.”

  “For you it is,” he said. “You are young.”

  “But you are not old in any physical sense—you are not tired or ill. Can’t you enjoy what life has to offer? Has life here never meant anything to you?”

  It was a question he could hardly bring himself to answer. He recalled the joy of those first decades here, when the weary travellers felt that they had at last reached the perfect world. Automatically they had named the planet Elysium. Here they had rested, then set up their homes, gradually building up the small towns and communities, which could exist so easily on the fertile lands all about them. And Matthew had realised that here was a planet that provided what Philipson had called the optimum conditions: here, if anywhere in the universe, was the golden world on which he would be immortal.

  Had life here never meant anything to him? It had meant a great deal, at first. And then, as the years rolled by, it had palled. He who had survived the aching, cramped monotony of space and the dangers of galactic exploration now found that contentment was a thing that did not last. He became restless and querulous. A sedentary contemplative life did not suit him.

  He looked at the girl’s fair complexion and at her mobile, eager mouth. She was all that was young and desirable, seeing life before her as an adventure and a delight. He said:

  “I am very conscious of the beauties of this planet. Only someone like myself who has known other worlds can truly appreciate this one.”

  “Then why must you persist in trying to get back to Earth—if there is such a place?”

  “There is indeed such a place,” Matthew assured her. “And there are other places that ought to be visited on the way back. When we left Earth, we made many exploratory landings on other worlds. As our numbers grew, and families in the ship increased, we sought out temperate climates and left small colonies there. On at least three worlds we found other races who were friendly, and we left representatives there to work on the construction of spaceships that could return to Earth with the news of what we had found. All across the universe we left groups of Earthmen and their families. Our own ship, overhauled time and time again, went ever onwards...until at last we reached here and sank into this—this slothfulness.”

  “Not slothfulness,” she said: “happiness.”

  Again she glanced down towards the building below.

  Matthew said: “You are concerned about someone?”

  “I am worried about your influence on Clifford of the Martin,” she said defiantly.

  “He’s your brother?”

  She blushed. “No.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Matthew envied young Clifford. He envied all people who were mortal—all people who were not doomed to go on living as he was, until desire had grown stale and life had lost its savour. Brusque
ly he said:

  “He’s one of my most loyal men. He has been on the project from the start. One of the few young men today with a real flair. He’s brilliant.”

  “And you want to take him away, out there.” She waved towards the tranquil skies.

  “He wants to come,” Matthew observed.

  “He would be better living out his life here. How can anyone spend a lifetime shut up in a metal box, hurtling through space? That is not—what we were born or.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Matthew, “he wants to come. The spirit of adventure is not yet dead.”

  “If he goes,” she said, “I shall go with him.”

  Matthew put his hand on her shoulder. She did not flinch, but turned her vexed, appealing face towards him again.

  He said: “I hope you will come with us. There will not be many who will volunteer. And now, don’t you think you ought to come down and see the ship? Have you ever seen it before?”

  “Only when I was a little girl, when it was still regarded as a museum piece, before you started work on it again.”

  “Then you must certainly come and see the progress we have made.”

  They went down the slope together and walked along the road below the great bulk of the main workshops.

  * * * *

  The ship lay in its great cradle, tilted over to one side as the welders crouched over the rocket exhausts and played glaring flames against the metal. The thumping of a machine at the far end of the hall echoed and boomed through the high building.

  “This is it,” said Matthew: “this is the ship that brought us here—myself and your ancestors. The historians may scoff at most of what I say, and they may claim that there is no such place as Earth, but at least they’ve never got round to claiming that there was never any space ship. They may have doubts about where it came from, but they can’t deny that it’s here.”

  The girl, dwarfed by the enormity of the vessel, looked up at it with an unfathomable expression. Was she trying to imagine herself inside it, flung away from the surface of the only world she had known, out into the vastness of space, in search of an old world that was perhaps only a figment of Matthew’s imagination?