12
An earlier age would have regarded Professor Sullivan as an expensive luxury. His operations cost as much as a small war: indeed, he could be likened to a general conducting a perpetual campaign against an enemy who never relaxed. Professor Sullivan’s enemy was the sea, and it fought him with weapons of cold and darkness — and, above all, pressure. In his turn, he countered his adversary with intelligence and engineering skill. He had won many victories, but the sea was patient: it could wait. One day, Sullivan knew, he would make a mistake. At least he had the consolation of knowing that he could never drown. It would be far too quick for that.
He had refused to commit himself one way or the other when Jan made his request, but he knew what his answer was going to be. Here was the opportunity for a most interesting experiment. It was a pity that he would never know the result; still, that happened often enough in scientific research, and he had initiated other programmes that would take decades to complete.
Professor Sullivan was a brave and an intelligent man, but looking back on his career he was conscious of the fact that it had not brought him the sort of fame that sends a scientist’s name safely down all the centuries. Here was a chance, totally unexpected and all the more attractive for that, of really establishing himself in the history books. It was not an ambition he would ever have admitted to anybody — and, to do him justice, he would still have helped Jan even if his part in the plot remained forever secret.
As for Jan, he was now having second thoughts. The momentum of his original discovery had carried him thus far almost without effort. He had made his investigations, but had taken no active steps to turn his dream into reality. In a few days, however, he must make his choice. If Professor Sullivan agreed to cooperate, there was no way in which he could retreat. He must face the future he had chosen, with all its Implications.
What finally decided him was the thought that, If he neglected this incredible opportunity, he would never forgive himself. All the rest of his life would be spent in vain regrets — and nothing could be worse than that. Sullivan’s answer reached him a few hours later, and he knew that the die was cast. Slowly, because there was still plenty of time, he began to put his affairs in order.
“Dear Maia (the letter began), This is going to be — to put it mildly — rather a surprise for you. When you get this letter, I shall no longer be on Earth. By that I don’t mean that I shall have gone to the Moon, as many others have done. No: I shall be on my way to the home of the Overlords. I shall be the first man ever to leave the Solar System.
“I am giving this letter to the friend who is helping me: he will hold it until he knows that my plan has succeeded — in its first phase, at least — and that it is too late for the Overlords to interfere. I shall be so far away, and travelling at such a speed, that I doubt if any recall message can overtake me. Even if it could, it seems most unlikely that the ship would be able to put back to Earth. And I very much doubt if I’m all that important, anyway.
“First, let me explain what led to this. You know that I’ve always been interested in space flight, and have always felt frustrated because we’ve never been allowed to go to the other planets, or to learn anything about the civilization of the Overlords. If they had never intervened, we might have reached Mars and Venus by now. I admit that it is equally probable that we would have destroyed ourselves with cobalt bombs and the other global weapons the twentieth century was developing. Yet sometimes I wish we could have had a chance of standing on our own feet.
“Probably the Overlords have their reasons for keeping us in the nursery, and probably they are excellent reasons. But even if I knew what they were, I doubt if it would make much difference to my own feelings — or my actions.