The fence

Science fiction by Khristo D. Poshtakov, Bulgaria

The huge invisible circle covered part of large lowlands and a strip of the ocean with a few tiny islands scattered near the shore. The village stood in the centre of the fenced territory, close to a calm little lake. The low houses huddled in the brownish shrubs and, together with the sluggish clouds, got reflected on the mirror surface of the lake. There was no flutter of the stuffy air; eternal tranquility reigned in this part of the world due to the transparent, and yet resilient body of the fence.

That hateful frontier was all too familiar to Sargol. It could be traced out from the top of the hill where he was standing; the fence stood very near to him, only a few steps away. It was still here, while beyond the wind was blowing; that word was left over from the previous generations and it sounded mysterious, stripped of meaning. What it actually stood for remained a secret and the wind could be detected only by the result of its action.

Over there the boughs of the trees were bending, leaves were flying in the air; they were bumping against the invisible wall and falling down at its foundations. The wind scattered them again, sweeping over the swaying grass, and disappeared behind the endless pastures where wild animals roamed undisturbed. Food was abundant over there, while this side was desolate. The soils were growing thinner from one year to another, crops were getting poorer, the number of livestock was diminishing.

The legends went that mountains spread behind the horizon. Sargol tried to imagine something much higher than the hill where he was standing but he failed. He tried again. His deeply set eyes closed, his nostrils opened wide because of the strain but it did not work; the vision turned into a blurred spot and its outlines melted away. Suddenly he felt furious; his muscles strained and he felt like fighting that inexorable thing which restrained his freedom. Then he managed to pull himself together and he sank helplessly. His bitter experience had taught him that the fence would reject him indifferently, just like the stones which bounced off instead of finding the tiniest hole.

Sargol did not want to give up. He had studied the wall for years; he knew every little bit of it and he was till desperate to overcome it. But it was too high, only clouds and birds could fly over it. The foundations were equally inaccessible; all attempt at digging a tunnel had failed.

He shook his head to drive helplessness away and rushed down the slope. The striking feeling of wind swept the gloomy thoughts, he was overwhelmed by the yearning to fly. His long hair was blown in the air, his feet lifted from the ground... only to stamp on it again. Disappointed by the false flight, Sargol slowed down his steps and walked towards the village.

The sun was setting when he approached Veronar's house. He entered the courtyard covered with stone, bent his head to drink from the thin streak of water coming from the fountain in the stone wall and went to the bench which years had polished. A slim old man was sitting there.

"Peace unto thy house, Master!", Sargol greeted him.

"Peace unto thy house, too, honourable," Veronar answered. "I haven't seen you for ages, what made you come here?"

"The need for belief. Recently my sleep has become restless. I have nightmares because I think about the fence all the time. I cannot believe that there were times when it did not exist!"

"Come sit here and calm down! Irritation gives bad advice to reason and hampers good talks. The origin of the fence was described by Gorah, the author of the alphabet, as living witnesses say. Previously, we were ignorant; we worshipped idols smeared with animal blood, we had no livestock and knew no useful crops. The fence made us learn a lot of things. Our ancestors knew that if they slaughtered all the animals behind the fence, they would be doomed to death. They had to overcome their own avarice in order to survive. Later on, they discovered fire and metals. The fence was useful, in a sense -"

"Yes, but it is an obstacle now!" Sargol shouted. "I hate it!"

Veronar's embarrassment made Sargol change the topic. The cruelty which had twisted his features melted down and he went on in a quiet voice:

"I'm sorry to have interrupted you but, as I said, I need to believe. A couple of years ago you said that we would get out!"

"That's right!", said Veronar. "Though it was only a guess."

"And now you want to persuade me in the opposite?"

"You missed my point. We shall overcome the fence when the power of our reason and our abilities grow stronger."

"How long shall we wait? Life is getting intolerable, food is scarce!"

"Misfortunes whit the mind and speed up thinking," Veronar replied quietly. "Everything in this world has rationale."

Sargol's shoulders were drooping helplessly.

"Who built the fence?", he asked with despair in his voice. "Who locked us in this hideous trap?"

"It's impossible to say for sure. Only the centenarian Cartal is convinced that it was the omnipotent Nargot who sits on his throne in the mountains and rules the whole world. It may sound naive, so I would ask why the fence was built rather than who did it. Its essence runs contrary to common sense, to the overall harmony in nature. Hence, its origin is artificial and it serves some objective. Its shape comes to prove the same: it is a perfect cylinder going up to the clouds. Simple logic suggests to heap up a mound on this side and then make a similar one on the other side. This will take years and years of hard work of the whole population. Besides, half of the surface within the fence will turn into an arid hole. Such a solution is unacceptable. It is necessary to find out something else - original and simple at that."

"Wise Veronar, you know the secrets of geometry, the endless world of numbers is familiar to you, you can follow the way of the stars! Put your powerful knowledge together and find the appropriate solution! You can always rely on my strong arms to fulfil any wise idea of yours."

Sargol left after this brief and emotional speech. It was dusky out in the courtyard and he saw the starving eyes of his children who were looking for him around the village.



A greenish halo sprang over the air-free satellite of the planet which was much smaller than the Moon. Gradually it went pale and a disc-shaped craft appeared. Its shadow crawled over the surface dotted with craters and sharp rocks. The short flashes in the reflectors oriented it to a deep canyon. The craft slowed down and soon its stabilizers touched a metal platform which was hardly visible among the protruding rocks. Some thirty feet below two young men looked at each other worriedly. The sight on the screen did not leave room for doubts.

"They have found us," the larger man said. "This is the inspector!"
The face of the smaller man darkened.

"It has to happen some time," he muttered angrily. "But why to us?"

The hatch of the entrance lock chamber opened. A tall man appeared, took off his helmet and looked at them with cool curiosity.

"Martin Bonner," he introduced himself and bowed lightly. "The purpose of my visit is clear to you, I believe. Recently the inspectorate has got information about your experiment but, as the saying goes, better late than never."

He pulled the magnetic zipper of his pocket and took out a flat digital secretary. He pressed a few sensors and said: "Gleb Ustinoff, ASD-2100-X11?"

The larger man gave a gloomy nod. "Philip Le Clerke, KMS-112-H23?"

The smaller man bowed his head sadly. "How long will your duty take?"

"Two more local months," said Gleb.

"Probably you'll have to leave earlier. Those wretches below have to put up with your interference for almost three centuries of theirs. They've had enough."

"I object!", Philip interrupted him angrily. "Do you know Kalev's arguments and the thesis of the heads of the institute? The creatures down there are no wretches, they are fighting for their future."

"The majority of the World Council are of a different opinion."

"Haven't they understood that we have achieved a huge leap in the development of the civilization? We have saved thousands of years of slumber for reason in its fragile receptacle. This is an unique experiment!"

"Don't get so angry, nobody has authorized you to make experiments with reasoning creatures."

"It is in their best interests!", Philip almost shouted.

"Relax, young man! I've come to explain to you some details but, apparently, you are not prepared to listen to me."

"You don't want to see the efforts of so many scientists fail, do you?"

"I personally have no such intention; I only fulfil the instructions of the Council."

"You are not familiar with the latest developments," Gleb intervened. "The progress of the natives is incredibly rapid. Every day gives a new surprise."

"Leave enthusiasm aside! I want to make you understand the awkward position of your Institute. Billions of people scattered all over the universe abide by generally accepted moral standards under the supervision of the World Council. You are just tiny particles of a huge conglomerate guided by common principles. I apply the same standards to the heads of your Institute."

"Still, some members of the Council did vote against and they were not so few, I presume -"

"Yes, indeed," the inspector agreed after some hesitation. "But they were not the majority."

"You see?", Gleb shouted triumphantly and went on, "The majority was blind to facts. A computer would make a much more accurate judgement."

"Why go on like that?", Bonner was annoyed. "The decision is clear: to dismantle the thermonuclear plant on the planet and leave the satellite. When I come to think about the amounts of energy wasted to maintain the power field, my hair stands on end. This is a crime!"

"I strongly disagree!" Philip objected furiously. "Besides, there is something else which you seem to forget. The "tiny particles" will use their right to supreme appellation, the Council is bound to consider it within the prescribed time."

"What do you count on? One more month?"

"Completion of the Experiment," Gleb announced firmly. "It is almost completed."

"A most striking enthusiasm, absolutely incredible!" said the inspector. "Can't you understand that nobody has authorized you to doom the natives to starvation? Not to speak about the development of cannibalism on the islands!"

"The islanders had the chance to settle on the mainland but they didn't. The fence has nothing to do with their behavior. You seem to deliberately miss the main point: the objective of the Experiment. In several thousand years time, this star system will pass through another system whose star has grown so large that it can be observed with a naked eye. Such a rare space disaster offers one single choice: settlement on a new planet with appropriate living conditions. But for this purpose, the natives will have to master enormous knowledge and we are not in a position to mould the convolutions of their brains in a different way.

"It sounds quite convincing. Then why the heads of your Institute did not succeed in making their point?"

"Probably the attacks were too furious," Philip suggested.

"Your persistence is striking," Bonner smiled all of a sudden. "Though we spoke different languages, I'll try to convey your appellation to the Secretariat of the Council. Perhaps I came to like you but this would hardly change anything. I have nothing to add, there's no use trying."

He bade farewell ceremoniously, put on the helmet and disappeared in the hatch followed by the incredulous eyes of the two men left behind.



The initial intoxication faded away, the haunting fear in the face of uncertainty remained somewhere below, at the astringent smell of smoke and the people who had turned into specks. He thought that he had noticed the light clothes of Veronar and remembered his instructions. He bent down, took a stone from the pile on the floor and threw it overboard. The basket reacted strangely and jumped up, free of the load. Sargol went on throwing the remaining ballast until the white body of a fluffy cloud absorbed him, covered him with a misty blanket and hid the earth from his eyes. Up and up again! The huge ball above his head was no longer visible; the air current drifted him, the moisture penetrated to his skin and made him breathe with difficulty. The previous ecstasy with the flight had disappeared, the unpleasant sensations were supplemented by the loneliness which strangled him and tied him with the sticky threads of uncertainty. He had entered into a strange and unreal world and he longed to get rid of it.

Finally, the earth re-appeared. The light spot of the lake could be seen in the distance. It was surrounded by the tiny cubes of houses and there was also the all too familiar hill. The place seemed strange and unfriendly. Sargol looked around and could no believe his eyes. Then incredible triumph swept him and his happy shouts filled the skies. HE HAD DEFEATED THE FENCE! Overwhelmed by the great discovery, he paid no attention to the strange bird which accompanied him all the time and did not notice how its only eye reflected the surprised sun.

The earth was coming nearer at a threatening speed; the ballast had finished. Sargol flew over a flock of cattle which ran away in panic. The bottom of the basket banged on the surface and threw him out. Freed from its last load, the balloon raised up in the sky, over the forests and disappeared.

Sargol lay sprawling on his back. He moaned and tried to get up. It was not easy but he managed to stand on his bruised feet and walk slowly the frontier. The wind pushed his back and made him forget all the pain. The powerful sense of victory urged him to run towards the long chain of stupefied people waiting in the far distance.

They were standing silent and dismayed by the incredible event. Sargol stretched his arms out of habit and proceeded slowly, ready to bump against the invisible wall. One step, then another one, and yet another, and a few more... He thrust himself in the arms of the Master and wept happily.
THE FENCE HAD DISAPPEARED!

Due to the weak gravitation the sparkling champagne poured out slowly like honey. In spite of that difficulty, Philip managed to fill the glasses. He left the bottle aside and looked at Gleb questioningly.

"It is too mature," he said with apprehension. "Notwithstanding the special space conditions for the fermentation process, it would be unfair to get poisoned now. It might be two-hundred-years-old; nobody knows when it was brought here."

"It's worth the risk," Gleb said thoughtfully. "Take no doubt that we'll be saved. I feel sorry for Kalev; he did not survive to see this day. We did not expect it that soon either but it happened. It took less than a month for the natives to reach the idea of a balloon and implement it!"

The two men touched the edges of their glasses carefully, drank some wine and turned to see the glaring eyes of Sargol on the videotape.

"It's time to visit the planet," said Philip. "We owe them another pleasant surprise."

"I agree," Gleb answered. "Besides, it is necessary to arrange for the welcome of the inspector in a more exquisite atmosphere; he is not accustomed to the local traditions."



The sounds of a musical instrument could be heard from Veronar's house. Someone was singing quietly. The weak flashes of a lamp played on the knit curtains; the gentle night was thrilled their bodies that felt much heavier because of the long forgotten gravity and made them remember the Earth. Gleb raised the pressure with the conditioning mechanisms of his spacesuit, stretched his hand and knocked at the door.