The Warlock Wandering

by Christopher Stasheff

  "We be," Rod assured her.

  "And that bare, great hall that we came into from the ship—that was truly on the moon? Truly perched upon that circle of light within the nighttime sky?"

  "It really was, dear. Of course, that 'circle of light' was actually a ball of rock, five hundred miles thick."

  She sank back into her seat, shaking her head. "Tis wondrous!" Then she looked down at the chair beneath her. "As is this throne! How marvelously soft it is, and how wondrous is this cloth that covers it!" She looked up at Rod. "And they are not for nobility alone?"

  "Well, technically, no." Rod frowned. "Though I suppose anyone who can afford space travel has to be as rich as an aristocrat."

  "Or a criminal," Yorick added, from across the aisle. "In which case, he doesn't have to pay anything at all."

  "Yeah, but the accommodations aren't quite this classy. And he doesn't really want to be going where he's headed, either."

  "True," Yorick said judiciously. "Of course, if you're going away from prison, you're not too picky about the service."

  "This isn't really all that fancy," Rod explained to Gwen.

  "This whole room is just a little blip on the side of a great, big freight-carrier, so they can carry passengers if they have to."

  "Or get a chance to," Yorick added. "We bring in a lot more money per cubic meter than cargo does."

  "That is somewhat reassuring." Gwen looked up at Rod. "But explain to me again the nature of this moment of strangeness that we but now suffered, when it seemed that up was down and, for a moment, I had thought we were on the outside of this ship of the skies."

  Rod shook his head. "Don't know if I really can, dear. I know the words for it, but I'm not sure what they mean."

  "Then say them to me," she urged.

  "Okay. The fastest anything can go is the speed of light— about 186,280 miles per second, remember? But the only reason light goes that fast is because it's made of infinitesimal little motes called photons…"

  "There's nothing to it," Yorick confided.

  Rod nodded. "Right. Nothing at all. Photons don't weigh anything, don't have any substance, any 'mass.' If you or I climbed into a spaceship and tried to go faster and faster until we got to the speed of light, our ship would get shorter and shorter, and heavier and heavier, and more and more massive. And the more mass it would have, the more power it would take to make it go faster."

  "So there doth come a point at which each mite more of power, doth make so much more 'mass,' that the ship doth go no faster?"

  "Right!" Rod beamed at her, delighted again by her quickness of understanding. But a chill passed through his belly—how could she understand so quickly, when her culture didn't give her the necessary background concepts? "Technically, we would be going just a fraction faster; we'd always be getting a tiny bit closer to the speed of light, and a tiny bit more, and a tiny bit more, but we'd never quite reach it."

  "I cannot truly understand it," she sighed, sinking back.

  "Yet an thou dost say it, my lord, I will credit it."

  "Well, that helps a little. But you'll understand it thoroughly soon enough, dear, or I quite mistake you. Then you can decide for yourself whether you believe it or not."

  "Yet what is this 'other space' thou, and Yorick and Chomoi, did say we have passed into?"

  "Oh." Rod rolled his eyes to the side, pursing his lips for a moment. "Well, you see, dear… uh… Otranto, the planet we're going to, is about forty-five light-years from Wolmar. The distance that light can travel in a year is about five billion, eight hundred eighty million miles—and forty-five times that is something like 265 trillion. And that's roughly how far it is from Wolmar to Otranto."

  She turned her head from side to side, wide-eyed. "'Tis inconceivable."

  "Totally. We can't even imagine a distance that great, not really. It's just a string of numbers."

  "But we do get the main point," said Yorick, "which is that even if we could go almost as fast as light does, it'd still take us fifty years to get to Otranto."

  "And I don't know about you," Chornoi added, "but for myself, I have a lot of better things to do, than just sit around aboard a ship playing checkers for that long a time."

  "I assure thee, so have I." Gwen shivered.

  "But we can't go any faster," Yorick reminded her. "Not if we want to stay solid. No faster than the speed of light."

  "So we go around it," Rod explained.

  Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I cannot comprehend that."

  "Neither can I," Rod admitted. "But there's a gadget in the back of the ship called an 'isomorpher,' and when the pilot turns it on, it makes us isomorphic with H-space. I'm not sure what H-space is, but I gather it's a kind of space that isn't quite part of this universe."

  Gwen frowned. "And we are part of that H-space?"

  "Well, no, not part of it, really." Rod sat back, staring at the corner of the ceiling, pursing his lips. "Just identified with it—point for point, atom for atom. Which is what we are right now." He looked around at the interior of the cabin.

  "But I feel no differently—," she cried, "nor doth aught appear transformed!"

  "We aren't." Rod shook his head. "We aren't different, at all—relative to this ship, and relative to each other— because we're all isomorphic with H-space right now. But when the ship's computer pulls out the pattern for what normal space is like, near Otranto, and when it identifies that pattern, it'll turn off the isomorpher, and we'll go back to being ordinary parts of the regular universe."

  "Tis magic," Gwen said firmly.

  "Personally, I agree," Rod sighed, "but the man who explained it to me, assured me it was all perfectly natural, and thoroughly understandable."

  "So," said Gwen, "are my witch-powers."

  "Only on Gramarye, my dear." Rod squeezed her hand. "And I suppose all this isomorphism and H-space is normal and understandable out here." He turned to Yorick. "I don't suppose it's possible for Dr. McAran to shoot you the pieces of the time machine while we're in this condition, is it?"

  Yorick shook his head. "He can't lock onto us, Major. However his time machines work, it ain't through H-space."

  "I thought not," Rod sighed, "which is too bad, because this is going to be at least half the trip—two days, at least. But he can do it once we're back into normal space."

  "Well, he can try." Yorick frowned. "But that's what I was trying to signal you about back there at Cholly's, when you were talking to the General-Governor. Locking onto a moving object that's any smaller than a planet, is an awfully tricky operation. If Doc Angus misses, the components he's trying to throw at us are lost for good, and time machine parts cost enough to make even him wince."

  Rod just stared at Yorick for a moment. Then he said, "You're telling me that, even though we have a good day or two between our break out point and Otranto, forty-eight perfectly usable hours without any interruptions, you're not

  going to be able to build us a time machine?"

  Yorick shook his head. "Sorry, Major. 'It ain't in the state of the art.'"

  "And probably never will be," Rod sighed. "But inside a shed back on Wolmar would have been a moving target, too—and you were so sure you could manage it there!"

  "Yeah, but it was a stationary target, relative to the huge mass it was sitting on. It was only the planet that was moving—and all that planetary mass is easy enough to lock onto. Then it's just a matter of aiming at a small target that stays put, relative to the large one." Yorick shrugged. "You know what a planet's gravitational field does to space-time, Major. It makes space curve, so it does most of the focusing for you. All you have to do is lock onto the planet's rotation, and as soon as you have that rate figured out, it's no problem. But here…" He spread his hands, a gesture taking in the whole cabin and the vast ship outside it. "I mean, this whole freighter can't be more than half a kilometer long!"

  "Well, what do you expect?" Chornoi snapped. "Bush-league planets don't get the big sh
ips, you know."

  Yorick ignored her. "Half a kilometer, two kilometers, what difference does it make? That's just a dust-mote on the planetary scale. It just ain't big enough to have enough mass to have any major effect on the curvature of space!" He shook his head, looking doleful. "Sorry, but I can't get you out of this mess while we're in transit."

  "Oh, well, I should have known better," Rod sighed. "All right, if we can't get a portable time machine here, we'll just have to find some quiet place on Otranto where we can set one up."

  Yorick nodded. "Shouldn't be any problem, Major."

  "It shouldn't have been any problem on Wolmar, either." Rod gave Yorick a jaundiced glance. "I don't suppose there'd happen to be a permanent time machine somewhere on Otranto, all ready and waiting, would there?"

  Yorick shook his head. "Not that I know of. In fact, the only permanent installation that I know about, at this point in history…" He frowned. "Well, I can't say I know about it, damn it!"

  "Where is it?" Rod exploded.

  "All right, all right!" Yorick held up both palms, shielding himself. "Not so loud, okay? We're pretty sure that the LORDS party, the ones who are running the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra, had some Futurian help in engineering their coup d'etat—and they've probably stayed in contact, all the way through their regime. I mean, PEST could have figured out which planet was going to rebel, when—but it is kind of odd that they just happened to always have a naval squadron right nearby."

  "Very odd," Rod agreed. "So you're pretty sure there's a permanent time machine somewhere in PEST headquarters on Terra?"

  "Yeah." Yorick gave him a bleak smile. "But good luck getting to it. It belongs to the opposition, and it's guaranteed to be very tightly guarded."

  "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," Rod sighed. "I always did want to visit humanity's ancestral home, anyway."

  "Well, that's great! I mean, you'll love it there, Major, it's…" Suddenly the Neanderthal's eyes widened in horror. "My lord! Chornoi! We shouldn't be talking about this with her around!"

  "So I thought," Gwen agreed. "The poor lass was overly wearied. I thought it best that she slumber awhile."

  Yorick turned around, craning his neck over the back of the seat, and saw Chornoi slumped in her recliner, head rolled to the side, breathing deeply and evenly. "Well, that's a relief! Thank you, Lady Gallowglass! I really gotta keep a better eye on my tongue!" He frowned. "That didn't sound right…"

  "We catch your meaning," Rod assured him.

  "Thou hast yet to tell me of this 'Terra' of thine," Gwen reminded.

  "Earth," Rod answered. "The place where your ultimate ancestors came from—and mine, too, of course. And everybody's. It's the planet where humanity evolved, the only planet where our bodies really feel at home."

  "Not anymore, they don't." Yorick shook his head. "The whole place is concrete and steel now." He frowned. "Well, there are a few parks…"

  "Are we to go there, then?"

  "We can't. This freighter is going to Otranto. But maybe, there, we can find a ship that's going to Terra."

  "Of course, we may not need to," Yorick said. "If we can just find a quiet place for a little while, Doc Angus can shoot me the spare parts I need to make a time machine." He sighed. "Of course, there is another little problem…"

  Rod felt the familiar cold chill spread over his back. "Oh? What problem?"

  "The Futurians. I mean, they kidnapped you in the first place. Then they set up an elaborate little plot that had almost everybody on Wolmar cooperating in an attempt to assassinate you."

  "Yeah, but that was Wolmar," Rod said. "And the people of this time haven't invented faster-than-light radio yet, so their communication is still limited to couriers riding FTL ships, like this one."

  Yorick nodded. "But VETO and SPITE have time machines. So they can send a message from Wolmar to Otranto, and get it there the next day." He frowned. "Or the day before, if it comes to that."

  Rod stared.

  "So it's quite possible, Major, that we might find a reception committee waiting for us."

  Rod leaned back, trying to relax. "Give me a little while to get used to the idea."

  "Sure." Yorick leaned back, too, and twiddled his thumbs. "You've got time. A couple of days, at least."

  "The waiting is driving me crazy," Chornoi growled. "Anticipay-hay-hay-shun," Yorick sang.

  The world twisted inside out.

  Then it twisted right-side-out again, leaving Gwen holding her stomach. Rod clapped a hand over his mouth. They both swallowed, hard, then looked across the cabin. Chornoi was a delicate shade of green, and Yorick was gulping air. "Yes," he said finally, "Well—the wonders of modern travel, right?"

  Rod nodded. "The price you pay for speed, and all that."

  The Neanderthal heaved himself to his feet and waddled down the aisle to the viewscreen. "As long as we're back where there's something to see, let's look at the outside, instead of this saccharine melodrama that nobody's been watching anyway." He punched a button, and a vast vista of unwinking stars replaced the 3DT program.

  "Hey!" yelped Chornoi. "How'll I find out whether or not Chuck will stop Allison from marrying Tony, because she's about to have Tommy's baby, but doesn't want Karen to have Tony, even though she really wants to marry Chuck?"

  Then she fell silent, awed by the majesty of the panorama before her. The computer had dimmed the brightness of the sun, of course, or they wouldn't have been able to look directly at it, even though it was only a very small disk in the center of the huge screen. Blips that were planets floated around it, brightened and colorized electronically—and the net impression was gorgeous. Gwen caught her breath with delight. "Eh, my lord! Be this truly how a sun and its worlds do appear?"

  Rod nodded. "This is the real thing, darling. Of course, if you saw it with your naked eye, the sun would be a lot brighter, and the planets would be lost in its glare. They aren't lined up so neatly that you can count them, but you can ferret 'em out. Let's see—there's one, that little dot near the sun, that's probably a planet. And, yes, there's number two, a little further away, and number three…"

  "Yet what is that one that doth grow?"

  Rod frowned. "Yeah, that is kind of funny."

  "Not humorous at all!" Yorick whirled and scuttled back to his seat. "That swelling dot is growing knobs and fins! Web in, everybody—we're about to be intercepted!"

  Rod stared. Then he whipped about to Gwen, but her webbing was still secure from break out. So was his, for that matter.

  "What's the trouble?" Chornoi looked around at them, frowning. "So they're intercepting us. They're not going to shoot us down, you know."

  "No," Rod grated, "we don't know. They tried to kill us twice already, remember?"

  Chornoi stared at the screen, her eyes growing huge.

  Gwen frowned up at Rod. "What is it, mine husband?"

  "Another ship," Rod explained, "and there's no way to tell who's steering it."

  Across the aisle, Yorick looked nervous. "I'm sure the captain is busy trying to find out that very datum."

  The glowing dot had swelled into the form of a spaceship, seen head-on. It spat a bolt of light that washed the screen with searing brightness. The ship lurched about them, and somewhere, a huge gong chimed.

  "Yoicks!" Yorick bleated. "What a way to answer a hail! Doesn't his radio work?"

  Rod felt his stomach sliding over toward his left kidney. "Everybody hold on! Our pilot isn't waiting for a second sentence!"

  On the screen, the attacking ship slid up to the upper right-hand corner. Another bolt of energy shot out from it— and off the screen.

  "Missed!" Rod squeezed his fist tight. "Way to go, skipper! Zig your zags!"

  His stomach dropped back toward his coccyx. Gwen gasped, and Chornoi moaned. On the screen, the attacker veered toward the lower left-hand corner, and the stars wheeled behind it. The sun slipped toward the left, too.

  "Be brave, dear." Rod clasped her hand. "It ha
s to end some time." Hopefully, the right way…

  "Tis not… entirely… unpleasant," Gwen gasped. "I

  shall become accustomed to it, my lord."

  "I hope you won't have time…"

  The enemy ship fired another bolt that lit up the upper right-hand corner of the screen. The sun-disc drifted off the screen to the left.

  "Missed again." Rod nodded. "Have we got a good pilot!"

  "Or a good computer," Yorick added. "No human being could react this fast. So just punch the buttons for 'evasive action.'"

  Rod glowered at him. "Just had to make a point of it, didn't you?"

  Yorick grinned. "What can I tell you? Homo sapiens has its limits, too."

  "You don't have to be so happy about it, though… Whoa! Hold on!"

  The other ship veered into the center of the screen; the sun-disc disappeared entirely.

  "What is that maniac doing?" Chornoi gasped.

  "Trying to get between the ship and the planet." Rod put out an arm as Gwen leaned over against him—or tried to, but the webbing held her tightly.

  "Smart!" Chornoi's eyes glowed. "If he can get close enough to the planet's surface, the bandit won't dare shoot, for fear he'll fry innocent people."

  "I… don't… really think that would make him hesitate." Rod scowled. "But he might attract the attention of the local constabulary."

  "You mean I'm supposed to cheer for the cops?" Chomoi asked.

  "Why not? You were one…"

  On the screen, the pirate spat another bolt. It mushroomed out to fill the screen with glaring whiteness, and the whole cabin sang as though they were inside a piano string. Stars glared through a ragged hole in the ceiling.

  "Abandon ship!" Yorick howled. "Or is it the other way around?"

  But Rod didn't answer. His eyes lost focus as, frantically, he concentrated on his psi powers, seeing the passenger blister not as it really was, but as he wanted it to be. In his mind's eye, he saw the little bulge falling away from the main freight ship. He pictured a thin membrane sliding over the open side, where the ship had been.

  Yorick looked around, flabbergasted. "Hey! I can still breathe! How come we're not drinking vacuum? How come our blood isn't boiling out our noses, from sheer lack of air pressure?"