by Ian Wallace
“That is a trifle impossible. Any substitutions allowed on the menu?”
“Yes. If we could do it ^//-instantaneously while blowing repuslor-static in all directions, it should scramble the gradient.”
“How fast is half-instantaneous?”
“No math for that. But if we arbitrarily define an instant as one quadrillionth of a second, which is generous, it would come out half-instantaneous if we should cover the twenty-one hundred light-years to Erth in one billionth of a second.”
“I think you know how much you are helping, Sita.”
“I do, B.J. But I am thinking of still another impossible ploy—”
Her solution reflected her usual blend of brilliance with de-tail-elegance. Unhappily, as she freely admitted, there was a prerequisite such that she hadn’t the faintest idea how to bring it off.
He ruminated: “I know someone who might be able to do it.”
“Who?”
“Our departed telepath.”
“Dorita Lanceo?”
“Yes.”
“You loved her, didn’t you.”
“Yes.”
“But she is departed.”
“Precisely. Nevertheless, admit that this conversation about erasing the gradient is theoretically interesting.”
“This I do admit, B.J., with enthusiasm.”
“Shall we pursue it a bit, on the impossible assumption that your prerequisite can be met?”
“Let’s do.”
“The first problem that I see is fuel. In backtime, obviously raw space cannot any longer be alive. How would we feed our repulsor engines?”
“If all backtime were perished matter, then time-paradoxes would be impossible. I too had supposed that the idea of a time-paradox was nonsense; and yet within a few days we have experienced two socially and technologically complex time-paradoxes—and the present one is pretty grim.”
“Tell me explicitly what you are saying about backtime fuel.”
“Perhaps what I am guessing relates equally to backtime fuel and to time-paradoxes. Begin with the hypothesis that every atom of germinal matter, once it is post-germinal, once it sinks into backtime, is frozen, perished. But raw space is pre-atomic, its random thrust-lure events probably should not count as matter. Raw space may be eternally raw; and so no matter how far back into time one may go, raw space is just as alive then as it is now. Perhaps.”
“Sita, if your hypothesis is wrong, we could get into backtime and discover that its raw space could not fuel us.”
“We could. But also, we might discover that it could fuel us.”
“Equal chances either way, Doctor?”
“A horse race, Captain, between two unknown horses. But of course, we can bet all night, but we will never see that race—because we cannot backtime.”
Both of them were penetrated by a mind-voice: Bet on a horse, Captain—we can backtime.
They spun in their swivel-chairs. Behind them stood two giant brown spiders.
42
Evening, Day One Twenty-Four
Methuen and Sari came to their feet. Methuen demanded: “Narsua?”
The reply in his mind: Probably you cannot tell one of us from another. I am Narsua, the one slightly in front. The other is my aide and my guard, and she has another useful capability.
“We are honored, madam. You were Varji?”
I am Narsua.
“My first thought, madam, is to worry about your security. What would become of all your racial memories if you were to be slain with no challenger to eat you?”
That is a kind first thought, Captain; it justifies my judgment of you, the judgment that admitted you to our high festival. Not to worry. The first act of a new Narsua is to select ten nervoi as alternate memory repositories, and to pour into them all her memories including the memories of all prior Narsuas; after which the ten spiders are spirited into ten diverse locations under continual guard. Should the Narsua die undevoured, the new Narsua is selected by combat between two champions, and she eats one of the ten. For me, it was quick to do: all ten alternates for my predecessor survive, and I had only to give them my personal memories. Shall we move on to present business? Pray be seated, Captain, Doctor; you have done your courtesies. Her transmission had required three seconds.
He said as he and Sari reseated themselves, “You are graceful, madam, as they said you would be, as I knew you would be. Please interview us, rather than the other way.”
Captain, I applaud your own grace; Doctor, I read in your mindsoul that you are equally graceful. Let me start by saying, Captain: there is no need to send a warning to Erth. There was a need, but now there is not.
“How did you know about my plan to do that?”
It was clever of you to activate your scramblers, and more clever still to have the singers outside your ward room; the combination quite baffled the crew-nervoi aboard. However, they transmitted all that they received, static and all; and collectively we have ways of filtering.
“Very well, madam; I acknowledge your mind-invincibility. Tell me why I need not send a warning.”
Your previsions were correct, Captain: the chancellor would indeed have concluded to invade your Erth. But now he will not do so.
“Now, you are predicting. Can you mind-read the future?” Only to the extent that I know what I intend to do, having met you. We nervoi are dedicated to serving the purposes of humans on Dora; but part of our service is interpretation and consequent moderation. Oho, you are thinking bureaucracy, 1 know your meaning: yes indeed, we are a dedicated bureaucracy. And the chancellor cannot hold you on Dora—because you are going to depart almost immediately.
“How can we depart? Your ships are capable of shooting us out of the sky… . Eh, I think I see: your ships are crewed by spiders, and you will prevent them.”
Not exactly that: without preparation, too many of them would be confused by the weird of such an order from Nar-sua. I am asking you to trust me, / am here as your voluntary hostage. Captain, I do hate to interrupt dinner for your crew—but pray immediately order takeoff.
Sari sat admiring the instant response of the captain: no further discussion, just action. He took the intercom: “Now hear this, this is the captain. With regret, I must interrupt crew dinners; the scientists are invited to linger over their food, they are not needed at the moment. All officers and crew members are to take immediate stations for departure. We will take off in ten minutes, repeat, we will take off in ten minutes. The take off will be easy, no need for hurry: we will do it at ten G.” He turned to Narsua: “May I have one officer on the bridge here?” She affirmed. He added over the intercom: “Commander Zorbin, please report immediately to the bridge for supervision of takeoff and other instrumental duties. That is all.”
Taking Narsua at her word, Methuen activated the Farragut in a laze-off from Dora: forty-nine meters in the first second, a hundred ninety-five after another, four hundred thirty-nine after another; and in sixty-four seconds she was climbing at an altitude of two hundred kilometers and an accelerating velocity of six kilometers per second. Through her mighty inertial shield, felt thrust was negligible; the spiders were taking it easily, leg-bracing only a little.
Zorbin, eyeballing the rear viewscreen, reported just audibly: “Five Dora killer ships pursuing and gaining on us. Shall I gun it?”
“Will they attack us?” Methuen asked Narsua.
That is their intent, responded the queen; they do not know I am aboard. But there is no need to accelerate. Please take your ship into the shadow of Dora, we need total darkness. How far out are we now?
“Over three hundred kilometers, and the Dorians are no more than fifty kilometers back and gaining. What is their gun-range?”
Immaterial. Watch them.
The stomachs of Methuen and Zorbin turned upside down, then righted themselves. No pursuers were now visible.
What I did, said Narsua, was to shift the Farragut into backtime by two days; it is the most that I can manage w
ith a bulk such as your ship, but it is enough. It is a trick l learned from your old friend Quarfar. So here we all are, out in shallow space, on the day before you awoke to find Medzok City all around you; and yet I am with you, having telekinized myself aboard your ship two days in the future. Shall we call it a third time-paradox?
They had maneuvered so that the Dora-planet eclipsed Saiph, and external darkness was as total as darkness ever becomes under clear but pinpoint-remote stars. Methuen queried: “Madam, did you want our ship to pause here in the Dora-shadow?”
Precisely that.
Methuen nodded to Zorbin, who rotated the ship and increased repulsor-thrust to a hundred G, braking the ship to a standstill in space before inertia carried her past the planetary shadow, then starting her drifting back; now he cut thrust totally, the ship was in freefall at a minimal velocity under one kilometer per minute, she would remain indefinitely in the shadow.
Perfect! Narsua commented. Now, Captain, here it is; and your friends Commander Zorbin and Dr. Sari will share it.
Be good enough to face away from the stars; look in the direction of the planet where it is darkest. My aide, here, is about to display the major talent that she has: she can project my memories visually into the sky.
Captain, you are about to watch events of fifty millennia ago, centering on the person who concerns you most: your lost Dorita. Some of these pictures, the later ones, will be my personal memories; the earlier ones will be out of Dorita herself, whose memories I drew out of her when I fanged her into paralysis. Dr. Sari, Mr. Zorbin, pray share this revelation with the captain: you are the two aboard ship whom he values most.
It was a series of still-shots that they watched with absorption and with varying qualities of emotion: still-shots projected into black space in holographic light-and-color fullness. Narsua was sampling the memory-events rapidly in series, they saw no motion, they saw representative stillnesses.
Dorita and Narfar new-arrived on Dora (the watchers felt the tropically humid heat). Narfar hovering with Dorita, having snatched her up above the maniac maniu (the watchers heard the hooves). Narfar on the throne with Dorita on his lap; Dorita backtiming them (the watchers felt the giddiness). Narfar before his leaders proclaiming Dorita; then Narfar, in a series of takes, deforming the body and face of Dorita to accord with the figures of his people (and some of Methuen’s groan escaped from his chest and was audible to Sari).
But, look: has not this Dorita accepted her fate and her distortion? The wedding procession; the marriage ceremony; Narfar mounting her, then flying her aloft for more consummation (Sari and Narsua saw Methuen’s pallor, but he made no sound).
Then the wedding trip: a series of breathtaking shots over the bay of glaciers; then an aloft-shot as they came in on the great crater, and a shot of Narfar and Dorita the next morning looking up at the outer walling of shark’s teeth….
It cut, and Narsua came in subdued. It was Dorita’s plan to enter this crater where Narfar had walled away spiders and full humans, in order to discover the secret and to prove to herself that she could release us, but not actually to release us. Leaving Narfar squatting as faithful guardian with a broken heart at the peak of the crater wall, Dorita entered. Watch: Dorita clambering down the inner wall. Narsua hitting her ? with a web-rope. Narsua carrying her down the rope to the interior. Dorita riding through jungle on the back of Narsua with a myriad spiders of many sizes in train (the watchers heard the flittering). Dorita with Medzok and Narsua at the top of the tower overlooking magical Figure 8; Dorita recoiling, under challenge by crouching Narsua. …
I was comprehending that this Dorita did not really intend to release us, although she had assured us that she knew how. So I forced her to go through with it. A few days later… .
Medzok and Narsua and Dorita leading all the people and spiders out to scale the crater wall. The web-rope operations. The pause at the summit just beneath the ceiling. Dorita opening the ceiling (the watchers felt the glacial wind rushing in)….
Appallingly, the cynical intent of Dorita was coming through to the watchers, coming directly through to them as Dorita’s musing in Dorita’s own voice: I’ll back-spacetime, replacing myself on the far side of the rim with Narfar before my descent. I’ll arm-hook his neck, I’ll smile into his dear face, I’ll tell him: “Good Narfar, I change mind, I not go down. You take me home now. Don’t forget to close hole in ceiling.” Then I’ll vault aboard him, and he’ll fly me homeward—for his city is my .home, now. And back there emerging from the crater, all the men and women and children and spiders will die on the first day, freezing on the ice, because of me, and so they will never give Narfar any trouble. Oh, this is the capstone of all my triumphs! If it weren’t for those poor spiders.. ..
While the projection lingered on the multiple image of hideously startled people and spiders at open rim-top facing into sub-zero gusting, Sari saw Methuen sitting as stiff and cold and pale as though he were Narfar frozen there.
The image changed: it was Narsua fanging the neck of Dorita.
There were pictures to come, shots of the tragic-heroic trek of people and spiders across ice; their partly successful hunting, their ingenious-desperate efforts to survive; the ultimate attainment of ice-edge by a quarter of the humans and a tenth of the spiders who had started. Then the prolonged straggling across the temperate zone southward, filled with lassitude and discouragement. Then, gradually, spirits picking up as the climate grew warmer and the feeding more plentiful. And at last, in some mysterious way, their discovery of Narfar City; and their decision to make camp some distance away from the city while, on the following day, Medzok would enter the city with two or three human companions to learn what might be learned about their probable future. …
The pictures terminated. Outside the ship now, there was only blackness.
Narsua said: We entered Narfar City one year and eighty-five days after departing the crater, which made it one year and one hundred twenty-one days after Dorita's arrival on Dora. I will spare you my memory-pictures of what followed. Narfar still was away, and the people were demoralized, factions were rife, there were contestings for leadership. Those who became aware of Medzok and his companions remembered the old tabu against funny people, and they drove the full humans away. This hardened the heart of Medzok, and he organized his surviving handful of male hunters for battle. They were outnumbered a hundred to one; but that night they fell upon the people of Narfar City and slaughtered most of the people and took full possession. I have to confess, to my shame, that we spiders joined in the rape of the city. Medzok said they weren’t human.
So, Captain, if you are looking for time-paradox velocities, it appears that the inevitability of the current Medzok supremacy was established by the following morning; which means that 49,999 years of social evolution have been accomplished between Day One Hundred Twenty-Two and Day One Hundred Twenty-Three since the arrival of Dorita on this planet. And yet, I assure you, we who lived through all those centuries did live through them, and I remember every day of them.
Prolonged silence on the bridge. Methuen, rigid, was leaning back gazing at the stars above the transparent ceiling. Far back in his mind was an awareness that Sita was gripping his hand on his chair-arm; but other concerns, some of them cosmic, were in his mental foreground.
He said, tightly disciplining the order of his topics: “I have two major questions and one secondary question. How could Medzok possibly have taken all of you across a thousand kilometers of glacial ice without any prior experience of anything but your tropical crater? Next: awhile ago, you mentioned Quarfar: what about him? And then, the secondary question: what finally happened to Dorita? If you like, we can take those questions one by one.”
The answers to all three questions will blend, asserted Nar-sua, in the new projection which my colleague is about to give you, out there on the sky-darkness …
A jungle encampment at twilight. At the forward edge of the campsite, women and children gathering, peer
ing toward Methuen; among them, wan deformed Dorita. Behind Methuen, wild hoarse zany shouting….
Swing camera: what the watchers were seeing: Medzok and his small, triumphant, bloodstained band of men and spiders returning victorious from sacked Narfar City to their camp; Medzok in the van, wildest and loudest, leaping in Dionysian frenzy; beside Medzok, a spider who could only be Narsua, exuding shame from every hair follicle.
Medzok pauses and sets foot on a small rock-outcrop and raises clenched fists and declaims: “I WIN! I YOUR KING! I MEDZOK! I MORE THAN MEDZOK! I GOD! GOD NAMED QUARFAR COME INTO ME WHEN HE LEAVE CRATER, HE SHOW ME HOW TO BRING US HERE, HE SHOW ME HOW TO WIN TODAY! QUARFAR COME INTO ME! I QUARFAR! I QUARFAR MEDZOK! I GOD!”
Loft camera, taking in the whole scene, while minor lenses close in on small groups….
Dorita moves laboriously forward and comes to a halt before Medzok and Narsua. Dorita gazes at Medzok; he wilts, a little. Dorita gazes at Narsua; the spider wilts massively.
Ignoring Medzok, Dorita levels a demand at Narsua: What happen?
Narsua, humiliated and therefore terse: We kill most everybody.
Dorita: Narfar there?
Narsua: Narfar not there.
Dorita, stem: Medzok make you all do this?
Narsua in confessional: We follow Medzok, we all do this.
Dorita: You proud, Narsua?
Narsua: I full of shame.
Dorita aloud: “You proud, Medzok?”
Medzok, re-stiffening himself into the victory pose: “You not call me Medzok! You call me Quarfar-Medzok! I proud! I win! I god!”
Dorita to Narsua: You hear him, Narsua. He not Medzok, he Quarfar-Medzok. He not human, he god. He god, he not human. You understand, Narsua?
The spider eight-eye stares at Dorita. With a sudden spring, Narsua turns ninety degrees to stare up at Medzok.
