Free Nightfall by Isaac Asimov, Robert Silverberg Page A

Suddenly Theremon’s eyes brightened. “Good lord, man! What a story! Are you telling me that the brand-new supercomputer at Saro University, installed at a cost of I don’t want to think how many millions of credits, is
inaccurate
? That there’s been a gigantic scandalous waste of the taxpayers’ money? That—”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the computer, Theremon. Believe me.”
    “Can you be sure of that?”
    “Positive.”
    “Then—what—”
    “I might have given the computer erroneous figures, maybe. It’s a terrific computer, but it can’t get the right answer from the wrong data.”
    “So that’s why you’re so upset, Beenay! Listen, man, it’s only human to make an error once in a while. You mustn’t be so harsh on yourself. You—”
    “I needed to be completely certain that I had fed the right numbers into the computer, first of all, and also that I had given it the right theoretical postulates to use in processing those numbers,” said Beenay, clutching his glass so tightly that his hand shook. The glass was empty now, Theremon noticed. “As you say, it’s only human to make an error once in a while. So I called in a couple of hotshot young graduate students and let
them
work on the problem. They had their results for me today. That was the meeting I had that was so important, when I said I couldn’t see you. Theremon, they confirmed my findings. They got the same deviation in the orbit that I did.”
    “But if the computer was right, then—then—” Theremon shook his head. “Then what? The Theory of Universal Gravitation is wrong? Is that what you’re saying?”
    “Yes.”
    The word appeared to have come from Beenay at a terrible price. He seemed stunned, dazed, devastated.
    Theremon studied him. No doubt this was confusing for Beenay, and probably very embarrassing. But the journalist still couldn’t understand why the impact of all this on him was so powerful.
    Then abruptly he understood everything.
    “It’s Athor! You’re afraid of hurting Athor, aren’t you?”
    “That’s it exactly,” said Beenay, giving Theremon a look of almost pathetic gratitude for having seen the true situation. He threw himself down in his chair, shoulders hunched, head lowered. In a muffled voice he said, “It would kill the old man to know that someone’s poked a hole in his wonderful theory. That
I
, of all people, had poked a hole in it. He’s been like a second father to me, Theremon. Everything I’ve accomplished in the past ten years has been done under his guidance, with his encouragement, with—with, well, his love, in a manner ofspeaking. And now I repay it like this. I wouldn’t just be destroying his life’s work—I’d be stabbing him, Theremon,
him.
”
    “Have you considered simply suppressing your findings?”
    Beenay looked astonished. “You know I couldn’t do that!”
    “Yes. Yes, I do know. But I had to find out whether you were thinking of it.”
    “Whether I was thinking of the unthinkable? No, of course not. It never entered my mind. But what am I going to do, Theremon? —I suppose I could just throw all the papers away and pretend I never looked into the whole subject. But that would be monstrous. So what it comes down to is, I have a choice between violating my own scientific conscience and ruining Athor. Ruining the man I look upon not simply as the head of my profession but as my own philosophical mentor.”
    “He can’t have been much of a mentor, then.”
    The astronomer’s eyes widened in astonishment and fury. “What are you saying, Theremon!”
    “Easy. Easy.” Theremon spread his hands wide in a conciliatory gesture. “It seems to me you’re being awfully condescending to him, Beenay. If Athor’s really the great man you think he is, he’s not going to put his own reputation above scientific truth. Do you see what I mean? Athor’s theory is not cast-iron. No theory is and there is always room for improvement. Isn’t that so? Science is