"In ordinary worlds the sun is the only source of radiant energy, or, at least, by far the major source. In the shelter of clouds, or at night, the carbon and nitrogen compounds combine and recombine, in the fashions made possible by the absence of those little bits of energy hurled into the midst of them by the sun-like bowling bans into the midst of an infinite number of infinitesimal tenpins.
"But on radioactive worlds, sun or no sun, every drop of water-even in the deepest night, even five miles undersparkles and bursts with darting gamma rays, kicking up the carbon atoms-activating them, the chemists say-and forcing certain key reactions to proceed only in certain ways, ways that never result in life."
Arvardan's drink was gone. He placed the empty glass on the waiting cabinet. It was withdrawn instantly into the special compartment where it was cleaned, sterilized, and made ready for the next drink
"Another one?" asked Ennius.
"Ask me after dinner," said Arvardan. "I've had quite enough for now."
Ennius tapped a tapering fingernail upon the arm of his chair and said, "you make the process sound quite fascinating, but if an is as you say, then what about the life on Earth? How did it develop?"
"Ah, you see, even you are beginning to wonder. But the answer, I think, is simple. Radioactivity, in excess of the minimum required to prevent life, is still not necessarily sufficient to destroy life already formed. It might modify it, but, except in comparatively huge excess, it will not destroy it...You see, the chemistry involved is different. In the first case, simple molecules must be prevented from building up, while in the second, already-formed complex molecules must be broken down. Not at all the same thing."
"I don't get the application of that at all," said Ennius.
"Isn't it obvious? Life on Earth originated before the planet became radioactive. My dear Procurator, it is the only possible explanation that does not involve denying either the fact of life on Earth or enough chemical theory to upset half the science."
Ennius gazed at the other in amazed disbelief. "But you can't mean that."
"Why not?"
"Because how can a world become radioactive? The life of the radioactive elements in the planet's crust are in the millions and billions of years. I've learned that, at least, during my university career, even in a pre-law course. They must have existed indefinitely in the past."
"But there is such a thing as artificial radioactivity, Lord Ennius-even on a huge scale. There are thousands of nuclear reactions of sufficient energy to create all sorts of radioactive isotopes. Why, if we were to suppose that human beings might use some applied nuclear reaction in industry, without proper controls, or even in war, if you can imagine anything like a war proceeding on a single planet, most of the topsoil could, conceivably, be converted into artificially radioactive materials. What do you say to that?"
The sun had expired in blood on the mountains, and Ennius's thin face was ruddy in the reflection of that process. The gentle evening wind stirred, and the drowsy murmur of the carefully selected varieties of insect life upon the palace grounds was more soothing than ever.
Ennius said, "It sounds very artificial to me. For one thing, I can't conceive using nuclear reactions in war or letting them get out of control to this extent in any manner-"
"Naturally, sir, you tend to underestimate nuclear reactions because you're living in the present, when they're so easily controlled. But what if someone-or some army-used such weapons before the defense had been worked out? For instance, it's like using fire bombs before anyone knew that water or sand would put out fire."
"Hmm," said Ennius, "you sound like Shekt."
"Who's Shekt?" Arvardan looked up quickly.
"An Earthman. One of the few decent ones-I mean, one that a gentleman can speak to. He's a physicist. He told me once that Earth might not always have been radioactive."
"Ah...Well, that's not unusual, since the theory is certainly not original with me. It's part of the Book of the Ancients, which contains the traditional, or mythical, history of prehistoric Earth. I'm saying what it says, in a way, except that I'm putting its rather elliptical phraseology into equivalent scientific statements."
"The Book of the Ancients?" Ennius seemed surprised, and a little upset. "Where did you get that?"
"Here and there. It wasn't easy, and I only obtained parts. Of course all this traditional information about non-radioactivity, even where completely unscientific, is important to my project...Why do you ask?"
"Because the book IS the revered text of a radical sect of Earthmen. It is forbidden for Outsiders to read it. I wouldn't broadcast the fact that you did, either, while you're here. Non-Earthmen, or Outsiders, as they call them, have been lynched for less."
"You make it sound as if the Imperial police power here is defective."
"It is in cases of sacrilege. A word to the wise, Dr. Arvardan!"
A melodious chime sounded a vibrant note that seemed to harmonize with the rustling whisper of the trees. It faded out slowly, lingering as though in love with its surroundings.
Ennius rose. "I believe it is time for dinner. Will you join me, sir, and enjoy such hospitality as this husk of Empire on Earth can afford?"
An occasion for an elaborate dinner came infrequently enough. An excuse, even a slim one, was not to be missed. So the courses were many, the surroundings lavish, the men polished, and the women bewitching. And, it must be added, Dr. B. Arvardan of Baronn, Sirius, was lionized to quite an intoxicating extent.
Arvardan took advantage of his dinner audience during the latter portion of the banquet to repeat much of what he had said to Ennius, but here his exposition met with markedly less success.