Foreigner qa-3

by Robert J. Sawyer

  Novato tried to take it all in, but couldn’t. For a time, she simply floated there, numb, the bright colors in the windows hypnotic but devoid of content. Slowly, though, her mind began to make at least a small amount of sense out of what she was seeing.

  Somehow, each window was looking out on a different scene. As if that weren’t strange enough, the scene each window was showing changed every forty beats or so. Some of the scenes at least were partially comprehensible — why, that one showed a grassy plain and cloudy sky, and this one showed water lapping against a shore, and surely those things in that window over there were buildings of some sort. But the views through other windows were so strange, Novato could make nothing of them.

  Each window was numbered in its upper left corner using the six numerals of the ark-makers. But they weren’t numbered one through nine. Rather, the one in the center had the simple horizontal line the ark-makers used for zero, and the other windows had numbers that changed each time the view through them changed.

  She scanned the nine windows, looking for something — anything — she recognized.

  And suddenly she found just that: something familiar in the maelstrom of confusion.

  Emperor Dybo.

  Yes, the right-hand window in the bottom row was looking in on Dybo’s ruling room. The number in the window’s upper left was 27.

  Except…

  There was no window in the ruling room at that point; indeed, were were no windows in the ruling room at all.

  And yet here was a view of that room from above, as if standing on a ladder, looking down on Dybo, who was lying on the marble throne slab. To his left and right were the katadu benches for imperprial advisors. Three elderly Quintaglios were sitting on these.

  Dybo had a long strip of leather in his hands that appeared to have writing on it. The Emperor looked worried.

  Still — Dybo! How good to see him again! But how was this window here, on the top of the space tower, able to look into Dybo’s ruling room? What magic made this possible?

  She stared through the window, trying to make out details. And suddenly she realized that these glass-covered squares were not windows. If they had been windows, the view would shift as she moved her head left and right, but that did not happen. Also, Dybo was in sharp focus, but the background was not. The tapestries on the rear wall were simply a blur. If she’d been looking through a real window, she could have focused on whatever she wanted. An

  optical process was at work, then, as though — as though she were looking through the eyepiece of a far-seer, perhaps. A far-seer that could see through walls.

  And then her heart soared as someone else walked into the picture.

  Afsan.

  God, it was wonderful to see him again. Novato found herself calling out his name, but he didn’t turn, didn’t react. Dybo was shaking with great agitation, but Novato couldn’t hear the words. And then…

  The view in the window changed. Novato scanned all nine squares, hoping to find Afsan again, but each of them was showed something unfamiliar.

  Her mind was reeling. The cascade of images was incredible, hypnotic. It was all so much to absorb. She decided to concentrate on just one window. She choose the bottom right, the same one that had shown Dybo’s ruling room.

  But what she was seeing now through that window was nothing at all like Capital City. Nothing at all, in fact, like any part of her world.

  There were no familiar objects in the picture — nothing to give any sense of scale. Still, Novato eventually realized she was seeing a portion of a city. But what a bizarre city! Everything seemed to be made of one continuous piece of material, as if the whole thing had been … been grown all at once. The material was pinkish-tan and pockmarked, reminding Novato of the coral reefs she’d seen off Boodskar. But this was no random atoll; if it was coral, it had somehow been made to grow in a specific pattern. At regular intervals, dome-like buildings rose out of the gently undulating surface — they were clearly buildings, for they had windows arranged in neat rows and wide openings for doors. Elsewhere, ornate spires stretched toward the sky, and in some places deep circular pits were sunk into the material, their interior walls also lined with windows. There were no seams anywhere, no dividing lines between where one part ended and another began.

  Suddenly Novato’s claws popped out. A quivering red glob was emerging from one of the doorways. It seemed as if the skin had been flayed from its body: the flesh was completely naked and a reticulum of yellow circulatory channels was visible on or just below the surface. Locomotion was provided by smaller lumps underneath the main body. These lumps had many fine tendrils projecting from them, tendrils that constantly rippled like blades of long grass in the wind. Novato had the feeling that these underbodies weren’t securely attached, and this was confirmed when one of them scampered off on its own into a nearby building. She couldn’t see any sensory organs on the central red glob, but there were things moving over it: hideous leech-like worms with sharp yellow teeth. Other things, like skinless snakes, writhed at the glob’s sides. These, too, were clearly not attached to it, but rather were separate entities, roaming freely over the amorphous red surface.

  Another of the red globs moved into view from the right, the tendrils on its underbodies rippling back and forth. Novato watched, amazed, as one of the naked snakes left the first creature and slithered over to take up residence on the second.

  Suddenly, the view changed again. This time it seemed to be a night scene. Large creatures were moving around in the blackness, but Novato couldn’t make out what they were. She turned her attention to the central window — the one labeled as window zero.

  At least the creatures visible through it had some slight resemblance to Quintaglios. Like Quintaglios, they had a pair of arms ending in five-fingered hands, a pair of legs, and a head with a mouth and two eyes. But that’s where the resemblance ended. They weren’t reptiles, whatever they were. These creatures stood impossibly erect, like the columns used to support buildings. They lacked tails. And their skin seemed to be yellowish-beige. Their heads were round, with only a tiny nose and no muzzle at all. The eyes were slanted. Some of them were wearing headgear, but others apparently were not, although Novato couldn’t be sure. There was a black something crowning each head, a mass of … of fibers, perhaps … that blew around in the wind. There were hints of these same black fibers above the eyes and some of the creatures had traces of the black stuff around their mouths.

  The sky was a bright blue and there was something yellow and huge blazing in it. A sun. But, by the very Egg of God, it was not the sun. If she hadn’t been floating, Novato would have staggered back on her tail.

  The view in the central window changed, but the number in the upper left remained zero. A group of strange quadrupeds were in the middle of the picture. Startling beasts: they were covered with vertical black and white stripes. The view moved, as if whatever eye was capturing these images was scanning, looking for something else. At last it settled on a trio of bipeds. These were like the yellowish ones Novato had already seen, but had skin so dark brown as to be almost black. They also had black fiber on the tops of their heads, but these fibers seemed more coiled than straight. The three of them were wearing pieces of leather cloth around their waists. Obviously they killed animals, then — but how? These brown ones still lacked any sort of muzzle, and — my God! — one had its mouth open now, and Novato could clearly see the yellow-white teeth.

  Flat, square teeth.

  The teeth of a herbivore.

  Novato’s mind reeled. Nothing made any sense. And yet, these creatures were obviously intelligent: in addition to the waist cloths, one of the three was wearing some kind of jewelry. The jeweled one was interesting. Its chest was completely different in construction than that of the other two; a pair of large growths hung from it. What could they possibly be for?

  Novato shook her head, then glanced at the window to the left. Ah, at least the creature it was showing was reasonable.
A reptilian biped, a bit like a runningbeast, with green and brown skin, two arms, two legs, and a long, drawn-out face. It was much less stocky than a Quintaglio, and its hands had only three fingers. The eyes were huge and silver, and its body was held horizontally, with a thin, stiff tail projecting directly to the rear, like the balancing-bar tail used by terrorclaws. Again, this was an intelligent creature, for in its hand was some sort of complex device. The creature seemed to stare directly at Novato for a moment, blinked its eyes, then turned and walked away, its neck weaving back and forth as it moved.

  The view changed. Novato’s mind reeled again, but eventually images coalesced for her. She was seeing an underwater landscape, but seeing it clearly, without the blurring normally associated with opening one’s eyes while submerged. A herd of creatures was moving by on the bottom. Each had seven pairs of stilt-like legs and seven waving tentacles in a row down its back. The tentacles each ended in little pincers. Novato thought she must be hallucinating, the creatures looked so strange.

  Her head spun, unable to sort out all the images. She fought waves of disorientation and confusion.

  What was she seeing? What did it all mean?

  *22*

  Toroca stood on the Dasheter’s rear diamond-shaped hull, leaning over the gunwale. It was late afternoon. Far astern he could see the strange triangular sails of the Other ships spread out in a line.

  Behind them was the top of the Face of God, just a sliver of it sticking above the horizon now, a tiny dome of yellow and orange and brown, all but submerged beneath the waves. In front of it, though, the water was stained red, as if slick with blood, reflecting the light of the setting Face.

  Toroca’s tail swished in sadness. How could it have gone so wrong? He’d sought knowledge, only knowledge, and instead had found death.

  There hadn’t been a war amongst Quintaglios since the time of Dasan. Toroca had thought his race had outgrown such foolishness, had evolved in spirit and morality as well as in physical form.

  But no. The Quintaglios were as bloodthirsty as they’d always been. Instinctive killers, killers to their very cores.

  The Face of God continued to set, its apparent movement caused solely by the Dasheter’s own motion through the water.

  Toroca watched the Other ships, illuminated from the front by the setting sun behind him and from the back by the light reflected from the sliver of Face. It was some time before he realized what was happening, but soon there could be no mistake. Several of the ships on the left and right of the wall of pursuing vessels were turning. He could see them sideways now instead of bow-on. And soon, he saw their sterns. They were going back! They were heading for home!

  Of course, thought Toroca. They worshipped the Face of God and did not want to travel beyond its purview. Perhaps no Other ship had ever sailed onto the back-side hemisphere before.

  Two more ships were turning now.

  Toroca glanced up at the lookout’s bucket atop the foremast. Somebody was up there, but his back was to Toroca, scanning the waters ahead of the Dasheter. Babnol was crossing the deck behind Toroca, though. He called out to her. She looked up, her strange nose horn casting shadows fore and aft in the light of the setting sun and the setting Face. "Please get Captain Keenir for me," he shouted.

  Babnol bowed concession and hurried across the joining piece to the Dasheter’s other hull. Moments later, old Keenir came thundering toward Toroca, his giant stride carrying him quickly across the deck.

  "What is it?" called the captain, his gravelly voice full of concern.

  "The Others!" said Toroca. "They’re turning back!"

  Keenir put a hand up to shield his eyes. "So they are," he said, sounding disappointed.

  "They must be afraid to sail out of sight of the Face," said Toroca. He looked at the captain, hoping the oldster would catch the irony. When Afsan had taken his pilgrimage voyage aboard the Dasheter, Keenir had supposedly had a similar fear, for no Quintaglio ship had yet sailed beyond the Face in the other direction.

  "Perhaps we should turn and give chase," said Keenir.

  "What?" said Toroca. "Good captain, they have weapons; they could sink us. Let them go."

  Keenir was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Aye, I suppose you’re right." The Face of God slipped below the horizon, although the sky was lit up with Godglow. But then the captain pointed. "Look!"

  Toroca turned. A few of the Other ships had given up and gone back, but most of the attack force continued in hot pursuit.

  "I guess their fear of sailing beyond the Face wasn’t that great," said Keenir.

  "Maybe," said Toroca. "Or maybe, since they’re in the right, most of them believe their god won’t forsake them even if they sail beyond its view."

  The captain grunted. Night came swiftly.

  The images in the nine windows continued to change every forty beats or so: red blobs, tailless bipeds, strange reptilians, stilt-legged creatures, other things Novato couldn’t begin to categorize.

  And occasionally an oasis in all the madness: something familiar, Dybo’s ruling room.

  Still, it was too much to absorb, too much to take in. Floating in midair in front of the bank of windows, Novato’s eyes glazed over, the windows becoming just nine squares of colored light flashing in front of her eyes, hypnotic, spellbinding, flashing, flashing…

  She shook her head violently, trying to gain control of her faculties again. She decided to not look at the windows, to avert her gaze for a while, to concentrate on something — anything — else.

  To the left of each window were three vertical strips of glowing characters that changed each time the view in the window changed. The first and second strips were gibberish in the ark-maker’s, script, but the third was a simple diagram. In almost all cases it consisted of a single large circle at the top with a series of smaller circles trailing off below it. In every set, one of the smaller circles was white instead of red. The design seemed vaguely familiar to Novato, and she finally realized what it meant when the lower right window displayed the inside of Dybo’s palace again. Beneath the big circle was a series of three small dots, then three big dots, and finally two more small dots. Rather than one of these being white, though, a tiny white point was glowing next to the second of the three big dots.

  It was a chart of the solar system, Novato realized, grateful at last to have something else she recognized, something her mind could grasp. The big circle was the sun. The three small dots close to it represented the inner rocky worlds of Carpel, Patpel, and Davpel. The string of big dots were the three gas-giant worlds, Kevpel, the Face of God, and Bripel. And the final sequence of two small dots was the outer rocky world of … well, Gefpel, of course, and … and … a hitherto unknown eighth planet. The single white point next to the Face of God represented the location this window was looking in on — the Quintaglio moon.

  She looked at the other windows, and her mind made the glorious leap. All of them were solar system maps — but of other solar systems, alien solar systems, solar systems never even dreamed of before this moment.

  There were the strange bipedal reptiles again: the string of dots indicated that they lived on the fourth planet of a system of eleven worlds. And the beings with the seven pairs of stilt legs: the second planet of five. Novato was shocked to see that almost all of these creatures lived on small planets, rather than on the moons of giant worlds. The upper right monitor switched back to the world of the bizarre red globs that seemed to work in cooperation with other lifeforms. Incredible: that world had two large circles at the top of its display — two suns.

  Although the view in the central zero window changed periodically, sometimes showing the black bipeds, sometimes the yellow, and sometimes a third variety that was beige, the little system map always remained the same: a sun circle, four small worlds — the third of which was illuminated — four large worlds, and a final small one.

  Novato’s mind was still reeling, still trying to deal with the onslaught of images and inform
ation. She realized that the central window never changed to show a different world, but, judging by the system map, simply showed different views of the same third planet. Yet that particular window was connected to all the others by thick black lines. No other connections were drawn between any of the other windows.

  She stared at the windows and the interconnecting lines, her brain aching.

  And then it hit her.

  What she was seeing.

  What it meant.

  Home.

  The world in the center.

  It was the home world. The original home world.

  The ark-makers had brought life from there to here. That’s what the black line connecting the central window to the one that sometimes showed Dybo’s ruling room indicated.

  But the ark-makers had also brought life from the home world to that fourth planet in the system of eleven, to that second planet in the system of five, to the single planet that somehow orbited a double sun, to…

  Novato’s whole body was shaking. Floating in the air, she hugged herself tightly. The home world.

  Life scattered from there to stars across the firmament.

  It was incredible.

  Eyes wide, she watched the windows change, cycling from world to world.

  Sometimes, the windows came up black.

  Not just night, but solid black.

  Novato’s heart fluttered.

  Black.

  Windows onto nothingness.

  Maybe the magic had failed after all this time. These windows were new, of course, but surely at the other end there were eyes of some sort that sent back these pictures. It had been a long time since the ark had crashed here. Maybe some of the eyes had failed in that time.

  Or maybe whole worlds had died in the interim.

  Novato’s head pounded. She turned her attention again to the glowing white numbers overlapping the upper left corner of each window. The number that showed when the window looked in on the Quintaglio moon was 27. When showing the other bipedal reptile, the number 26 was displayed. Ah, there were the stilt-legged aquatic creatures again; number 9. The red globs with their city of coral was number 1. She saw four numbers higher than 27, and all them showed bipedal lifeforms covered with brown shag. And the central window always showed the horizontal mark of zero.