No. They were counting on him to ask the three questions. If he did not, then someone else would have to come later on. There was no turning back. The decision had already been made. It had been made when he had been chosen. Now it was far too late.

He started up the rubbled steps, flashing his light ahead. At the entrance he stopped. Above him were some words, cut in the concrete. He knew a few letters, himself. Could he make these out? Slowly, he spelled: FEDERAL RESEARCH STATION 7 SHOW PERMIT ON DEMAND

The words meant nothing to him. Except, perhaps, the word “federal.” He had heard it before, but he could not place it. He shrugged. It did not matter. He went on.

It took only a few minutes to negotiate the corridors. Once, he turned right by mistake and found himself in a sagging courtyard, littered with stones and wiring, overgrown with dark, sticky weeds. But after that he went correctly, touching the wall with his hand to keep from making a wrong turn. Occasionally his counter ticked, but he ignored it. At last a rush of dry, fetid air blew up in his face and the concrete wall beside him abruptly ended. He was there. He flashed his light around him. Ahead was an aperture, an archway. This was it. He looked up. More words, this time on a metal plate bolted to the concrete.

He smiled. Words, signs. Letters. All gone, all forgotten. He went on, passing through the arch. More air blew around him, rushing past him. A startled bat flapped past. By the ring of his boots he knew that the chamber was huge, larger than he had imagined. He stumbled over something and stopped quickly, flashing his light.

At first he could not make out what they were. The chamber was filled with things, rows of things, upright, crumbling, hundreds of them. He stood, frowning and puzzling. What were they? Idols? Statues? Then he understood. They were things to sit on. Rows of chairs, rotting away, breaking into bits. He kicked at one and it fell into a heap, dust rising in a cloud, dispersing into the darkness. He laughed out loud.

“Who is there?” a voice came.

He froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came. Sweat rose on his skin, tiny drops of icy sweat. He swallowed, rubbing his lips with stiff fingers.

“Who is there?” the voice came again, a metallic voice, hard and penetrating, without warmth to it. An emotionless voice. A voice of steel and brass. Relays and switches.

The Great C!

He was afraid, more afraid than ever in his life. His body was shaking terribly. Awkwardly, he moved down the aisle, past the ruined seats, flashing his light ahead.

A bank of lights glimmered, far ahead, above him. There was a whirr. The Great C was coming to life, aware of him, rousing itself from its lethargy. More lights winked into life, more sounds of switches and relays.

“Who are you?” it said.

“I—I’ve come with questions.” Meredith stumbled forward, toward the bank of lights. He struck a metal rail and reeled back, trying to regain his balance. “Three questions. I must ask you.”

There was silence.

“Yes,” the Great C said finally. “It is time for the questions again. You have prepared them for me?”

“Yes. They are very difficult. I don’t think that you will find them easy. Maybe you won’t be able to answer them. We—”

“I will answer. I have always answered. Come up closer.”

Meredith moved down the aisle, avoiding the rail.

“Yes, I will know. You think they will be difficult. You people have no conception of the questions put to me in times past. Before the Smash I answered questions that you could not even conceive. I answered questions that took days of calculating. It would have taken men months to find the same answers on their own.”

Meredith began to pluck up some courage. “Is it true,” he said, “that men came from all over the world to ask you questions?”

“Yes. Scientists from everywhere asked me things, and I answered them. There was nothing I didn’t know.”

“How—how did you come into existence?”

“Is that one of your three questions?”

“No.” Meredith shook his head quickly. “No, of course not.”

“Come nearer,” the Great C said. “I can’t make your form out. You are from the tribe just beyond the city?”

“Yes.”

“How many are there of you?”

“Several hundred.”

“You’re growing.”

“There are more children all the time.” Meredith swelled a little, with pride. “I, myself, have had children by eight women.”

“Marvelous,” the Great C said, but Meredith could not tell how it meant it. There was a moment of silence.

“I have a gun,” Meredith said. “A pistol.”

“Do you?”

He lifted it. “I’ve never fired a pistol before. We have bullets, but I don’t know if they still work.”

“What is your name?” the Great C said.

“Meredith. Tim Meredith.”

“You are a young man, of course.”

“Yes. Why?”

“I can see you fairly well,” the Great C said, ignoring his question. “Part of my equipment was destroyed in the Smash but I can still see a little. Originally, I scanned mathematical questions visually. It saved time. I see you are wearing a helmet and binoculars. And army boots. Where did you get them? Your tribe does not make such things, does it?”

“No. They were found in underground lockers.”

“Military equipment left over from the Smash,” the Great C said. “United Nations equipment, by the color.”

“Is it true that—that you could make a second Smash come? Like the first? Could you really do it again?”

“Of course! I could do it any time. Right now.”

“How?” Meredith asked cautiously. “Tell me how.”

“The same way as before,” the Great C said vaguely. “I did it before—as your tribe well knows.”

“Our legends tell us that all the world was put to the fire. Made suddenly terrible by—by atoms. And that you invented atoms, delivered them to the world. Brought them down from above. But we do not know how it was done.”

“I will never tell you. It is too terrible for you ever to know. It is better forgotten.”

“Certainly, if you say so,” Meredith murmured. “Man has always listened to you. Come and asked and listened.”

The Great C was silent. “You know,” it said presently, “I have existed a long time. I remember life before the Smash. I could tell you many things about it. Life was much different then. You wear a beard and hunt animals in the woods. Before the Smash there were no woods. Only cities and farms. And men were clean-shaven. Many of them wore white clothing, then. They were scientists. They were very fine. I was constructed by scientists.”

“What happened to them?”

“They left,” the Great C said vaguely. “Do you recognize the name, Einstein? Albert Einstein?”

“No.”

“He was the greatest scientist. Are you sure you don’t know the name?” The Great C sounded disappointed. “I answered questions even he could not have answered. There were other Computers, then, but none so grand as I.”

Meredith nodded.

“What is your first question?” the Great C said. “Give it to me and I will answer it.”

Sudden fear gripped Meredith, surging over him. His knees shook. “The first question?” He murmured. “Let me see. I must consider.”

“Have you forgotten?”

“No. I must arrange them in order.” He moistened his lips, stroking his black beard nervously. “Let me think. I’ll give you the easiest one first. However, even it is very difficult. The Leader of the Tribe—”

“Ask.”

Meredith nodded. He glanced up, swallowing. When he spoke his voice was dry and husky. “The first question. Where—where does—”

“Louder,” the Great C said.