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"No. We guess that they must be relatively nearby, either in our own main
galaxy or in Andromeda or one of its satellites. But we can't document that;
it's below the five per cent level of probability, according to the City
Fathers. All the other alternatives are way below five per cent, but where no
solution is statistically significant, we aren't entitled to choose between
them."
"The Web of Hercules," Amalfi said. "It can't be anything else."
Schloss spread his hands helplessly. "It could well be anybody else, for all
we know," he said. "My intuition says just what yours says, John; but there's
no reliable evidence."
"All right. There's the ambiguous news, I gather. What's the first piece of
bad news?"
"You've already had it," Schloss said. "It's the second piece of news, which
is ambiguous, that makes the first piece bad. We've argued a long time about
this, but we're now in at least tentative agreement. We think that it is
possible-barely possible-to survive the catastrophe."
Quickly, Schloss held up one hand, before the stunned faces before him could
even begin to lighten with hope. "Please," he said. "Don't overestimate what I
say in the least. It's only a possibility, a very dim one, and the kind of
survival involved will be nothing like human life as we know it. After we've
described it to you, you may all much prefer to die instead. I will tell you
flatly that that would be my preference; so this is not a white hope by any
means. It looks black as the ace of spades to me. But-it exists. And it is
what makes the news about the competition bad news. If we decide to adopt this
very ambiguous form of survival, we must go to work on it immediately. It's
possible only under a single very fleeting set of conditions which will hold
true only for microseconds, in the very bowels of the catastrophe. If our
unknown competitors get there first-and bear in mind that they have a good
head start-they will capture it instead, and close us out. It has to be a real
race, and a killing one; and you may not think it worth the pace."
"Can't you be more specific?" Estelle said.
"Yes, Estelle, I can. But it will take quite a few hours
to describe. Right now* what you need to know is this: if we choose this way
out, we will lose our homes, our worlds, our very bodies, we will lose our
children, our friends, our wives, and every vestige of companionship we have
ever known; we will each of us be alone, with a thoroughness beyond the
experience of the imagination of any human being in the past. And quite
possibly this ultimate isolation will kill us anyhow-or if it does not, we
will find ourselves wishing desperately that it had. We should all make very
sure that we want to survive that badly-badly enough to be thrown into hell
for eternity- not Torn the Apostle's hell, but a worse one. It's not a thing
we should decide here and now."
"Helleshin!" Amalfi said. "Retma, do you concur! Is it going to be as bad as
that?"
Retma turned upon Amalfi eyes which were silver and unblinking.
"Worse," he said.
The room was very quiet for a while. At last, Hazleton said:
"Which leaves us one piece of bad news left. That must be a dilly, Dr.
Schloss; maybe we'd better have it right away."
"Very well. That is the date of the catastrophe. We got excellent readings on
the energy level on the other side, and we are all agreed on the
interpretation. The date will be on or around June second, year Four Thousand
One Hundred and Four."
"The end?" Dee whispered. "Only three years away?" "Yes. That will be the end.
After that June second, there will be no June third, forever and ever."
"And so," Hazleton said to the people in his living room. "It seemed to me
that we ought to have a farewell dinner. Most of you are leaving, with He,
tomorrow morning, for the metagalactic center. And those of you that are
leaving are mostly my friends of hundreds of years, that I'll never see again;
for me, when June second comes, time will have to stop-whatever apotheosis you
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