The Shores of Death Read Free Page A

most of us feel that the degeneration of mind and body that comes to inter-galactic astronauts is so gross that it would be a crime even to continue asking for volunteers. Secondly, we feel that if there is an intelligent race in another galaxy we should not want it to see the—-contents of one of our intergalactic ships.” He sighed. “Thirdly, as Barre Calax knows, we rarely get one crew-member back alive. They commit suicide almost before they’re out of the galaxy. I agree that we should leave something behind, though nothing physical can survive the cataclysm. I have an idea which I shall publish soon for your approval. Tomorrow the last ship we sent out arrives back here. We have already gained some idea of what we shall find inside—our laser-screens gave us a hint before transmission ceased. Three men and three women went out. If there is anything alive now it will not be what we should like to think of as human. Barre Calax is now the only dissenter. If there are others, let them speak. If there are not, then we shall have to regard the project as closed. Although I and my colleagues are no longer officially members of the Direction Committee, it will be our duty to tidy up the final details of the project we encouraged and, perhaps, organise work on the new project which I have in mind. Are there any other dissenters?”
    There were none. Someone spoke, and the silvery phonoplates hanging in the air around the auditorium picked up the words and amplified them to the others.
    “May we hear Clovis Marca on the subject?”
    Velusi glanced at Marca. Marca said: “I can add nothing more to what Narvo Velusi has said. I am sorry —there is little consolation. The invading galaxy is already approaching the speed of light and when it exceeds that speed it will convert to energy—converting us with it. The end of both galaxies. There is nothing we can do but live our lives to the full in as civilised a manner as possible. Many of us will be—many of us will be dead before that time. We have agreed that no more children shall be born. Those still alive will be old and ready for death, I hope. Our only destiny now is to die. Let us do it well.”
    There was silence. Fastina felt overwhelmed by Marca’s reminder. She felt miserable and she felt proud. The human race hadn’t been going all that long, she thought, but it had grown up quickly. What a thing it could have been, given the chance. There had been a certain amount of mild panic the year before, when the government had first released the facts, the explanation of what the new stars in the sky signified. A whole galaxy swinging off course towards our own, its speed increasing at a fantastic rate. A tremendous conception that many still could not quite accept. Death. The death of everything. Yet, in reality, merely a transformation, a metamorphosis of matter from one state to another. The human race was merely a small piece of that matter on a slightly larger piece, ready to be transformed along with the rest. At length, perhaps, new galaxies would form, new suns and planets would arise—and perhaps a new race similar to humanity—but even Earth’s most enthusiastic scientists could not completely convince themselves of the relative unimportance of their race, for after all it did seem to be the only intelligent one in the galaxy. But was intelligence important, she wondered. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked herself that question, and it wasn’t the first time she’d been unable to answer.
    Nobody was leaving the auditorium yet, people were talking quietly amongst themselves. Marca, Velusi and Calax were deep in conversation.
    Perhaps centuries ago, she thought, when there were religions and the promise of some sort of super-physical after-life, we should have accepted this end as the work of a god. Yet people had resisted death then, so maybe in their hearts they hadn’t really believed in their religions. Now there was only the code of decent