Читаем The Star Virus полностью

Far from being abashed by his noticeable uniqueness, however, the pirate thrived on it. In a matter of minutes he had found them a hotel where they could leave the lens in a Guaranteed Safe Room.

"And now, dear colleagues," he said, turning to them with a flourish, "we will proceed to the most enjoyable part of our mission: to search the dens of this place for Mard Sinnt!"

In the next few hours they learned what he had meant when trying to describe the "science clubs" with which Kell abounded. Some of the neon-outlined entrances on the streets gave access to such clubs, though the latter were more in the nature of drinking places with a particular kind of clientele. They plunged into a dim half-world of smoke-filled rooms and bizarre talk. Redace and Clave drank heavily, and seemed to be developing a close comradeship. But Rodrone drank little and said little. To the others, he seemed to be sulking.

Diagrams and microphotographs adorned the walls of many of the places they visited. Much of their content was semi-mystical nonsense or downright crankiness, but there were also what seemed to Rodrone many interesting ideas that he had not encountered elsewhere.

He also found evidence of latter-day sun worship. One reason why atomic science flourished here was that Kelever's hot dense sun provided an excellent object for study in the field of nuclear physics. To the inhabitants hiding beneath their perpetual umbrellas of cloud, it had come to resemble the fount of all knowledge, showing itself clearly only in brief flashes when the clouds parted or from satellite research stations. The reverence many of the men he met that night held for their sun reminded him of the attitude of the ancient Egyptians towards Ra.

But their search for Mard Sinnt, the man Redace insisted should be consulted about the lens, was not at first successful. Although everyone had heard of him, no one knew where to find him. He did not frequent any of the well-known clubs and societies. He had not made known any new work lately. Some believed him to be dead.

Eventually they were directed to a back-street tavern on the other side of the city. Coming in out of downpouring rain, they found themselves in a low-ceilinged dive, the upper stories of the building supported by thick pillars of the local wood, jet black and immensely strong. Only old men were drinking there, and they looked on suspiciously at the entrance of younger faces.

The man they had been told to ask for sat alone in a corner, a saucer of syrupy fluid before him. It seemed to be the favorite beverage here; it could not be drunk directly, but was best lapped and slowly swallowed. Rodrone suspected that it also helped to relieve the bronchial troubles which must be rife in this humid, unhealthy atmosphere. "So you look for a man of science, do you?" the old man answered to their question, speaking laboriously. "You young fellows don't know what science is all about."

"Hmm. Well, you know, at least we have time to learn. You couldn't say the same for your case." Redace put this not-too-kind point in a tone of affable reasonableness.

"Young pups, always think you can do better than your fathers," the other continued, ignoring him. "But you can't. Your half-cocked notions are so much water down the drain. In our time it was different—no deduction, no philosophy, only induction. Hard empirical fact. That's the only method. Stray from it and you might as well bury your head in a barrel of muck." He lifted his saucer, sipped and swallowed painfully. "Pah! They think of energy as if it was something to worship. Bad, very bad… projection of subjective feelings. They seem to think the sun is a purposive intelligence. Yes, these youngsters even talk about deities."

He uttered the last word in a tone of incredulous disgust, then went on to remark on the mental decadence of the younger generation. Fascinated, Rodrone prompted him further and began to piece the picture together. The men in the tavern represented an older generation of hard-liners who perhaps for the first time in centuries had tried to put physics back on a solid line of planned progress. They had stuck strictly, almost fanatically, to the experimental method and had ruthlessly thrown out any idea or theory that was not a suitable subject for demonstrable proof. But the generation they had reared had grown tired of their tough, colorless doctrine. They had begun to philosophize, and the insistence on fact had foundered in a morass of cults and cosmic speculation. Embittered and excluded, prevented even from pursuing their own brand of research, the elders now spent their time reminiscing and cursing their children.