The Old Man of the Stars. John Burke
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He was denounced by public speakers, scientists, and ministers of religion. A fanatic tried to shoot him. Somebody else demanded an investigation into the death of Philipson all those years ago.
But whatever suspicions might attach to the circumstances of Philipson’s death, no evidence remained today. Matthew’s story remained unshaken. In the original inquiry he had said nothing about the injection he had received, because, he now said, he had not known if it would work
He was Philipson’s friend, and had offered to act as Philipson’s guinea-pig. At the time he had been sceptical. If he had told the full story at the inquest, he would have been laughed at. Now, however, he knew that Philipson had been right. If only poor Philipson had lived, what a boon he could have bestowed on mankind!
He had always realised that the man in the street would resent the existence of someone else with a long life span, but he had not anticipated quite such jealousy and bitterness as he now had to endure. Life was almost intolerable. Although he was taken up by some of the fashionable hostesses, and asked to give innumerable interviews this phase did not last; only resentment and suspicion were left.
He was forced to resign from the I.D.C. and seek a quieter life in the country. There, boredom crept up on him. The local inhabitants soon discovered who he was, and shunned him or peered at him with dark, superstitious hostility. Occasionally scientists would travel out to see him, trying to sift his memories in the hope that he could give them some clue as to Philipson’s work so that they could pursue it and find the answer. But what had he known of the technicalities? Even if he had listened more carefully to Philipson, he would not have understood what he heard.
In the middle of the first interplanetary war with Martian colonists, he tried to join up, giving his age as twenty-five. But he was recognised, and scoffed at. His real age, incredible as it was, was known. It was absurd that any attention should be paid to such a conventional point, when he was obviously fit for service: but it soon came home to him that they did not want him—they did not trust him. He was almost an outcast, thrust away from the rest of the human race.
He considered marrying again at one time, then visualised the same weary process taking place again. His wife would grow old and unattractive and would suffer untold miseries as she saw him remaining young.
Monotony weighed down on him. He had wanted to be a great man, and the world would not let him be one. He was feared. He was a freak. Filled with confused ambitions, he had no outlet for all his energies and forceful impulses.
It was not until he was approaching the end of his second century that escape came.
On that sunny morning in June that he would never forget, a government helicar dropped swiftly from the skies outside his house, and an elderly man in grey uniform came up to the door. He studied Matthew’s face with the expression of faint wonderment that everyone wore at such times.
Indoors, he got to the point at once.
“I have come to ask if you are willing to work for us. There is a great challenge in the heavens, and the time has come when we must answer it.”
Matthew gazed at him stupidly for a moment. He had sunk into a dull, slumberous existence, and could not respond quickly. He said at length:
“I don’t quite get you.”
The other man folded his arms. “It is simple enough. We are ready to send out a ship to the stars.”
“You mean—”
“I mean that we are going to go beyond the confines of our own solar system. It has taken us a long time to reach this stage. Now we are ready. But there are snags. Serious difficulties, in fact.”
Memory stirred. Matthew remembered old conversations old dreams. He said:
“It will take a long time to get there?”
“Several generations will live and die on the ship in the course of the voyage. We have men and women who are prepared to set out in full awareness of that fact. But in addition to them we felt that we should take a chance—we should run the risk of asking you to go also, in the hope that you would survive the whole journey.”
There was no hesitation in Matthew’s mind. He said: “I’ll go.”
“It is a great hazard. You may all perish within a very short time. If you do survive, and reach the nearest star systems, none of the people who have set out will ever come home: they will all have died, with the exception of yourself. There is every chance that under such conditions you will all go mad.”
“But the attempt has to be made,” said Matthew softly. “The stars have been there, waiting for us, for a long time. It’s a challenge we can’t refuse.”
An appreciative smile crossed the other’s face. He held out his hand. They shook hands, and as the visitor rose to go he said: “I was doubtful of you when I came here. Now I feel confident. You are one man who must go on this enterprise.”
Matthew nodded. “I shall go.”
* * * *
And here, after the weary years in space, when children had been born and grown old and died, after adventures on fantastic worlds with generations now dead and forgotten, he was; here he was on Elysium, an old man whose knowledge was regarded as nonsense, whose factual narratives were called fables. An old man in his physical prime but mentally weary, wanting one thing and one thing only—to go home, no matter how long it might take.
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