During the past 90 days, Maisam Dhala had adapted himself so totally to his solitary way of life that he found it hard to remember any other existence. He had passed beyond despair and beyond hope, and had settled down to a largely automatic routine, punctuated by occasional crises as one or another of Pesquisador's systems showed signs of malfunctioning.705Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ9BlkGmEAv
But he had not passed beyond curiosity, and sometimes the thought of the goal toward which he was driving filled him with a sense of exaltation---and a feeling of power. Not only was he the representative of the entire human race, but his actions during the next few weeks might determine its very future. In the whole of history, there had never been a situation quite like this. He was an Ambassador Extraordinary--Plenipotentiary--for all mankind.
That knowledge helped him in many subtle ways. He kept himself neat and tidy; no matter how tired he became, he never skipped a shave. Central Control, he knew, was watching him closely for the first signs of any abnormal behavior; he was determined that it should watch in vain--at least, for any serious symptoms.
Dhala was aware of some changes in his behavioral patterns; it would have been silly to expect anything else in the circumstances. He could no longer tolerate silence; except when he was sleeping, or talking over the circuit to Earth, he kept the ship's sound system running at almost painful loudness.
At first, needing the companionship of the human voice, he had listened to classical plays--especially the works of Azevedo, Sousa, and Lispector ---or poetry readings from Pesquisador's enormous library of recorded sounds. The problems they dealt with, however, seemed so remote, or so easily resolved with a little common sense, that after a while he lost patience with them.
So he switched to opera--usually in Italian or German, so that he was distracted even by the minimal intellectual content that most operas contained. The phase lasted for two weeks before he realized that the sound of all these superbly trained voices was only exacerbating his loneliness. But what finally broke this cycle was Verdi's Requiem Mass, which he had never heard performed on Earth. The "Dies Irae," roaring with ominous appropriateness through the empty ship, left him totally shattered; and when the trumpets of Doomsday echoed from the heavens, he couldn't endure any more.
Thereafter, he played only instrumental music. He started with the romantic composers, but shed them one by one as their emotional outpourings became to oppressive. Sibelius, Tchaikovsky, Berloiz, lasted a few weeks, Beethoven rather longer. He finally found peace, as so many others had done, in the abstract architecture of Bach, sometimes ornamented with Mozart.
And so Pesquisador pushed onward toward Saturn, as often as not pulsating with the cool music of the harpsichord, the frozen thoughts of a brain that had been dust for twice a hundred years.
Even from its present ten million miles, Saturn already appeared larger than the Moon as seen from Earth. To the naked eye it was a glorious spectacle; through the telescope, it was unbelievable.
The body of the planet might've been mistaken for Jupiter in one of his quieter mood. There were the same bands of cloud---though paler and less distinct than on that slightly larger world---and the same continent-sized disturbances sliding slowly across the atmosphere. However, there was one striking difference between the two planets; even at one glance, it was clear that Saturn was not spherical. It was so flattened at the poles that it sometimes gave the impression of slight deformity.
But the glory of the rings continually drew Dhala's eye away from the planet; in their complexity of detail, and delicacy of shading, they were a universe in themselves. In addition to the great main gap between the inner and outer rings, there were at least fifty other subdivisions or boundaries, where there were distinct changes in the brightness of the planet's gargantuan halo. It was as if Saturn was surrounded by scores of concentric hoops, all touching each other, all so flat that they might have been cut from the thinnest possible paper. The system of the rings looked like some delicate work of art, or a fragile toy to be admired but never touched. By no effort of human will could Dhala really appreciate its true scale, and convince himself that the whole planet Earth, if set down here, would look like a ball bearing rolling around a dinner plate's rim.
At times a star would drift behind the rings, losing only a little of its brilliancy as it did so. It would continue to shine through their translucent material....though often it would twinkle slightly as some larger fragment of orbiting debris eclipsed it.
The rings---as had been known since the 19th century, were not solid: that was a mechanical impossibility. They consisted of countless myriads of fragments---perhaps the remains of a moon that had come too close and had been torn to pieces by the great planet's tidal pull. Whatever their origin, the human race was fortunate to have seen such a wonder; it could exist for only a brief moment of time in the Solar System's history.
As long ago as 1945, a British astronomer had pointed out that the rings were ephemeral, gravitational forces were at work which would soon destroy them. Taking this argument backward in time, it therefore followed that they had been created just recently---a mere two or three million years ago.705Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoBVJ6cu0cc
But nobody had ever given the slightest thought to the curious coincidence that the rings of Saturn had been born at the same time as the human race!705Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7iWwKPRkso
