said. “We are talking about chances, about possibilities. Statistical probabilities. It may work; it may not. I don’t claim to
know;
I am only hoping. I have no certitude about the future—
nor does anyone else, including the Kalends
. That is the basis of my entire position. And my intent.”
Joe said, “But to try and then to fail—”
“Is that so terrible?” Glimmung said. “I’ll now tell you all something about yourselves, something that every one of you possesses: a quality in common. You have met failure so often that you have all become afraid to fail.”
I thought so, Joe thought. Well, so it goes.
“What I am doing,” Glimmung said, “is this. I am attempting to learn how much strength I have. There is no abstract way of determining the limits of one’s force, one’s ability to exert effort; it can only be measured in a way such as this, a task which brings into view the actual, real limitation to my admittedly finite—but great—strength. Failure will tell me as much about myself as will success. Do you see that? No, none of you can. You are paralyzed. That’s why I brought you here. Self-knowledge; that is what I will achieve. And so will you: each about himself.”
“Suppose we fail?” Mali asked.
“The self-knowledge will be there anyhow,” Glimmung said; he sounded baffled, as if there was a gap between himself and the group of them. “You really do not understand, do you?” he said to them all. “You will, before it’s over. Those of you, anyhow, who want to go through with it.”
A fungiform lispingly asked, “At this late point do we still have the right to choose?”
“Any of you who wish to return to your own world are free to do so,” Glimmung said. “I will provide passage—first class—back. But those of you who do go back—you will find it once again as it was. And, as it was, you could not live such a life; each of you intended to destroy yourselves, and were in the process of so doing when I found you. Remember. That is what lies behind you.
Don’t make it that which lies ahead of you.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I’m leaving,” Harper Baldwin said.
Several others moved closer to him, signifying that they would leave, too.
“What about you?” Mali asked Joe.
Joe said, “What’s behind me is the police.” And death, he thought. The same as for you … for us all. “No,” he said. “I’m going to try. I’ll take the chance that he—we—fail. Maybe he’s right; maybe even failure is valuable. As hesays, it tells us the limit of ourselves; it maps our boundaries.”
“If you’ll give me a tobacco cigarette,” Mali said, with a shiver of fear, “I’ll stay, too. But I’m dying for a cigarette.”
“That’s nothing worth dying for,” Joe said. “Let’s die for this. Even if we fall ten stories into the basement doing it.”
“And the rest of you are staying,” Glimmung said.
“That’s right,” a univalvular cephalopod squeaked.
Uneasily, Harper Baldwin said, “I’ll stay. I guess.”
Glimmung, with satisfaction, said, “Then let us begin.”
At the curb before the Olympia Hotel heavy-duty trucks had been parked. Each had a driver and each driver knew what to do.
A portly organism with a long, ropy tail approached Joe and Mali, a clipboard clutched energetically in its fuzzy paw. “You two are to go with me,” the organism declared, and then picked from the group eleven more individuals.
“That’s a werj,” Mali said to Joe. “Our driver. They can make excellent speed; their reflexes are so acute. We’ll be out on the promontory in the manner of a minute.”
“Matter of minutes,” Joe corrected absently as he seated himself on the bench in the rear segment of the truck.
Other life-forms squeezed in with Joe and Mali, and then the truck engine came noisily to life.
“What kind of turbine is that?” Joe said, annoyed by the noise it made.
A kindly looking bivalve beside him groaned,
know;
I am only hoping. I have no certitude about the future—
nor does anyone else, including the Kalends
. That is the basis of my entire position. And my intent.”
Joe said, “But to try and then to fail—”
“Is that so terrible?” Glimmung said. “I’ll now tell you all something about yourselves, something that every one of you possesses: a quality in common. You have met failure so often that you have all become afraid to fail.”
I thought so, Joe thought. Well, so it goes.
“What I am doing,” Glimmung said, “is this. I am attempting to learn how much strength I have. There is no abstract way of determining the limits of one’s force, one’s ability to exert effort; it can only be measured in a way such as this, a task which brings into view the actual, real limitation to my admittedly finite—but great—strength. Failure will tell me as much about myself as will success. Do you see that? No, none of you can. You are paralyzed. That’s why I brought you here. Self-knowledge; that is what I will achieve. And so will you: each about himself.”
“Suppose we fail?” Mali asked.
“The self-knowledge will be there anyhow,” Glimmung said; he sounded baffled, as if there was a gap between himself and the group of them. “You really do not understand, do you?” he said to them all. “You will, before it’s over. Those of you, anyhow, who want to go through with it.”
A fungiform lispingly asked, “At this late point do we still have the right to choose?”
“Any of you who wish to return to your own world are free to do so,” Glimmung said. “I will provide passage—first class—back. But those of you who do go back—you will find it once again as it was. And, as it was, you could not live such a life; each of you intended to destroy yourselves, and were in the process of so doing when I found you. Remember. That is what lies behind you.
Don’t make it that which lies ahead of you.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“I’m leaving,” Harper Baldwin said.
Several others moved closer to him, signifying that they would leave, too.
“What about you?” Mali asked Joe.
Joe said, “What’s behind me is the police.” And death, he thought. The same as for you … for us all. “No,” he said. “I’m going to try. I’ll take the chance that he—we—fail. Maybe he’s right; maybe even failure is valuable. As hesays, it tells us the limit of ourselves; it maps our boundaries.”
“If you’ll give me a tobacco cigarette,” Mali said, with a shiver of fear, “I’ll stay, too. But I’m dying for a cigarette.”
“That’s nothing worth dying for,” Joe said. “Let’s die for this. Even if we fall ten stories into the basement doing it.”
“And the rest of you are staying,” Glimmung said.
“That’s right,” a univalvular cephalopod squeaked.
Uneasily, Harper Baldwin said, “I’ll stay. I guess.”
Glimmung, with satisfaction, said, “Then let us begin.”
At the curb before the Olympia Hotel heavy-duty trucks had been parked. Each had a driver and each driver knew what to do.
A portly organism with a long, ropy tail approached Joe and Mali, a clipboard clutched energetically in its fuzzy paw. “You two are to go with me,” the organism declared, and then picked from the group eleven more individuals.
“That’s a werj,” Mali said to Joe. “Our driver. They can make excellent speed; their reflexes are so acute. We’ll be out on the promontory in the manner of a minute.”
“Matter of minutes,” Joe corrected absently as he seated himself on the bench in the rear segment of the truck.
Other life-forms squeezed in with Joe and Mali, and then the truck engine came noisily to life.
“What kind of turbine is that?” Joe said, annoyed by the noise it made.
A kindly looking bivalve beside him groaned,
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