Page:Weird Tales volume 02 number 03.djvu/36

Rh so old that I doubted whether he was her father; there was something great about him, a giant both in intellect and stature, a man who could only die by inches. I had often stolen into the room to watch him. He was like a god, splendid and supreme even in his weakness.

At his request Sora withdrew from the room. I helped him among his pillows and straightened them out. I sat beside him. He reached over and touched me with his hand. He spoke in the language of Zar:

"My daughter has taught you the speech of Zar?"

"She has."

"Who are you?"

"I am Alvas the Sansar."

"What is Sansar?"

"It is the name of a country—a kingdom."

"And you are one of its people?"

"I am its king."

He nodded.

"I see. You have a civilization, perhaps equal to that of Zar. We had kings. But our men were equal. Our great men were great by their merits. We had our Wise Men."

"We in Sansar also have our Wise Men. The king is supposed to be the wisest of them all. He could not be a king, else.'

"That is good," he spoke. "I like that kind of a king. You look worthy. You are a man, clean, strong, noble. I have prayed to the One above us, to the One who rules us all, and asked for your coming. I asked it for Sora, the little one—I could not leave her alone."

When he spoke of the maiden his voice went tender, and seemed to be strung to fine music. Before, it had been that of a patriarch, or rather, that of a stricken Zeus. He was a wonderful figure, his beard and hair snow white, his forehead massive, his eyes steel cold, and his mouth the firmest I had ever seen. Both in torso and in spirit, he would have ranked as a giant among my kind of men. He was sublime even in his helplessness.

"Sora," he went on. "You know her name. Did she tell you the meaning of Sora?"

"No. It is a name. To me it is a beautiful one."

He gave me a quick look, as if he understood what was behind my words: it seemed to please him.

"It means sunlight,”=" he answered, "And sunlight is a thing she has never seen—except as a baby. But she is sunlight to me and to the little world she lives in. Even the birds love her. She is love itself."

"I know that," I answered.

"He reached out and placed his hand upon my head.

"My son," he asked, "Tell me. Do you love her?"

"I am sure of it."

"That is well," he answered. "And you are worthy. You will protect her and care for her. You are chosen by One higher than myself. Tell me now, how you came here."

"I am an astronomer,” 1 answered. "I am an astronomer who lived upon the Earth, a scientific king of the Sansars. I was interested in comets. Upon the Earth we know practically nothing about comets, we know nothing about their laws, nor of their relation to Infinity, We only know that they are not planetary, and that they are seemingly interstellar. We know nothing of the why of a comet."

"Have you no theory?"

"Yes. I have a theory. A strange one. One that I would prove."

"I see. Go on. What is your theory?"

"I have contended that our planet Earth with its central sun—or I should say, the sun and all its planets—is but an atom. I would take the atomic theory and apply it to the stars."

"His eyes brightened: he straightened perceptibly: and he looked at me in a sort of pride.

"Yes," he said. "Go on."

"That was and is my contention. Our solar system is nothing but an atom. I am an astronomer. On the Earth, I held that we would never solve Infinity through our telescopes. Better, I said, that we study our own atom. Afterward, we might be able to find our way out. I held that a comet is but an ion of cohesion or adhesion, as the case may be, with a function exactly analogous to the ions that hold together the atoms of this pencil. I would solve the comet and get at its secret. I came in an ether ship. When I reached the nucleus I found the gap in the rim. I sailed through and discovered this marvelous cometary world. I found Sora and yourself; and I determined to stay."

He thought a moment.

"Then you contend that the visible Universe is, after all, nothing but matter—substance?"

"Yes."

He shut his eyes and lay back for a minute—thinking. Suddenly he opened them.

"What is this substance?"

"I do not know."

"Yet you say that the comet is an ion?"

"Yes."

"And you cannot see your way out?"

"I am afraid that I do not understand."

He held out his hand.

"Here," he said, "feel my hand. What is the matter with it?"

I took it in my own. I did not understand. His hand was cold, ice cold. I looked up in question.

"What is the matter with my hand?" He repeated.

"I do not know." I answered. "Your hand is cold. I do not understand."

"Yet you would solve the Universe," he answered. "You would go into Infinity before you have solved yourself. You have placed your finger on the secret of all matter, and you have not guessed it. You say that my hand is cold. Do you know the reason? You can see that I am old, dying. Why?"

I did not answer.

"Simply," he went on, "because of this—the ions are going, passing out. I am old, worn; the cohesive forces of my body are slipping away; and as they pass away the atoms fall apart, one by one. I have been a strong man. Now I am an old one. I am old because the ions that hold the atoms have been expelled in the struggle of life. When the ions go the atoms have nothing to hold them together: they pass out to form new combinations—perhaps new life. Next to the atoms the molecules break down, the flesh cells shrivel and we lose strength—hence, old age—weakness—death. We die by ions. When the spirit goes, all goes; the center fountain of the ion has dried up. We call that Death. The Spirit goes on."

"But matter is indestructible."

"To be sure it is. But not identity. Matter may pass back into the ether and still be matter. It can hold its identity only through its cohesion. The ions of cohesion and adhesion are the forces that control: they are at the bottom of all life and substance, of all that man calls matter. Be it iron or flesh, matter can hold its identity only through its cohesion; and there is nothing so small or so great but what has its identity. The Universe has it. Infinity itself must have identity, at least intrinsically. Everything must have its ions. You have guessed right. A comet is an ion."

"All this sounds good," I answered. "It is my theory. Every man likes to have his own theory justified. But for all that, unless we can prove it, our argument remains, after all, nothing but subtle sophistry. Talk is talk, no matter how lofty. Is there any way of proving