"Then it should all go without a hitch," Keaflyn said happily.
Didorik frowned. "I didn't say that. My plantation's ship terminal is a pretty busy place. A good many people will see your ship and wonder why you, whoever you are, stay hidden inside. They'll wonder why you came to me for servicing, rather than to a public spaceport. Somebody might recognize your ship by its make. Anyway, enough suspicion will be aroused to catch the attention of the Sect Dualers or Arlan Siblings pretty soon, but your ship should be serviced and you on your way even sooner."
"That could result in reprisals against you," Keaflyn protested.
"I doubt it. We haven't slid that far backtrack. Not yet. And if it comes to that," Didorik grinned wolfishly, "I can take care of myself." He pulled his glove on and picked up his helmet. "So consider it settled. Have your ship tail me down."
Keaflyn nodded, and Didorik cycled out to his small launch.
The Kelkontar spent less than five hours on Danolae, and Keaflyn saw no more of the planet than was visible on his screens. It was something of a treat for him to chat with the maintenance technicians Didorik sent aboard, even though the Neg pestered him the whole time. He had been missing human companionship. Didorik came in again shortly before the sere icing was completed.
"I don't want to know where you're going from here," he said, "but if you want some advice, stay away from the stabilities. All of them are heavily guarded now. I realize your ship can outrun trouble, but what's the point? You're not going to be left alone around a stability long enough to run any of your tests. And every time you get chased away from one, there'll be more public static. I'd say, go to ground somewhere in an isolated spot and let the whole affair cool off for a few years." That was sensible advice, Keaflyn thought, nodding slowly. The catch was that "a few years" no longer had the same meaning for him as for Didorik . . . like a drink of water would be nothing to a man standing beside a clear, pure lake, but everything to a man stranded on a desert.
"Thank, Clav," he said. "I'll think it over." Didorik understood and shrugged.
"Have you told Tinker I'm here?" Keaflyn asked.
"No. Thought it best not to, until you're gone. But I told Felston, just in case they might have been ready to take a crack at your pleasure-impress. They aren't. He sends his regards."
"Give him mine, and Tinker my love."
"I will. And I'll give her your write-up on the Locuses."
"Okay. Thanks for everything, Clav."
"Sure. Now, get out of here, man!" A few minutes later, Keaflyn did.
Chapter 12
The Whorl was a . . .
Keaflyn stopped the mental verbalization in mid-sentence. Bad semantics? Could it be accurately stated that the Whorl was or is anything?
Well, yes. The Whorl was a condition in space. That was vague enough to get by.
This condition had form and motion. It was roughly lenticular, twenty light-minutes in diameter and three light-minutes thick at its center. Its round faces were not smooth. They had irregularities that were spiral in shape. The semblance was thus that of a small, three-dimensional "shadow" of a galaxy. The spiral aspect gave the condition its name, the Whorl.
It was not visible in the ordinary sense. It obscured stars behind it but reflected absolutely no light (or so earlier tests indicated). Its form had been revealed only by exploding bombs of radioactive tracerdust in its vicinity and then mapping the "surface" of vanishment of the dust particles.
The Whorl revolved about the center of the galaxy, but in the direction opposite the galaxy's rotation. It moved face first, and all matter and energy coming in contact with that face disappeared from existence. Three stars had vanished in the Whorl while humans had been watching, the first two witnessed only by distant astronomers and the third—coming after the development of interstellar travel—observed close-up by shiploads of scientists.
Not that they had learned a hell of a lot, Keaflyn snickered. The star had simply been gulped down by the Whorl. No informative outbursts of peculiar radiation, no gravitational phenomena other than what might obviously be expected when a star ceased existing, no indigestive burpings from the Whorl afterward.
"What really puzzles me, Kelly," Keaflyn remarked, "is the purpose of the Whorl. The other stabilities can be understood generally as anchors of universal normality—the enduring curtain-rods on which the flimsy fabric of reality flutters." He chuckled at himself and continued, "But I can't fit the Whorl into the curtain-rod pattern. Why should there be a stability that annihilates?"
"I don't know, Mark," replied the ship.
"It's a philosophical question," said Keaflyn, "which means we don't know enough to treat it as a scientific question."
The Neg was working on him, making him feel giddy. That feeling, coupled with the effects of the pleasureimpress, was resulting in something closely akin to drunken irresponsibility. This could be dangerous, he knew, but it was so comfortable and relaxing that he was reluctant to fight it.
Also, he guessed, it was an activity the Neg would not be able to sustain for long, since it produced pleasure rather than pain. Nonetheless, while it lasted it might prove far more effective than the Neg's usual tactics, for that very reason.
Maybe, he thought lazily, he should simply drift in space until the Neg became tired. On second thought, that hardly seemed necessary. He was approaching the Whorl and had his plans all made. Following through should be simple enough despite his carefree condition. The ship was proceeding under normal warp velocity, so as not to give away Keaflyn's identity. "How many cordoning ships can you pick up?" the man asked.
"I've detected seventeen, Mark. If their stationing pattern is uniform, nine others are out of range behind the Whorl, making a total of twenty-six."
"All right. Move in and make like number twentyseven," Keaflyn giggled. "You have your speeches all set."
"Okay, Mark."
The Kelkontar reduced speed and finally broke out of warp to edge slowly closer to the loose assembly of ships. Keaflyn monitored the call it sent out:
"This is the approaching Condor Quarto, Series 2600–50. My owner, who prefers to be anonymous, volunteers our service for cordon duties and requests assignments."
"Comm received," the reply came a few seconds later.
"Stand by for reply."
Keaflyn grinned. "They've got to huddle and think it over."
Minutes passed before a stern, half-angry face appeared on the screen. "Am I in comm with the owner of the Condor Quarto?" he demanded.
"My owner prefers to be anonymous," said the Kelkontar.
"Nuts to that noise!" snapped the face. "We're not playing games out here! I'm informing your owner that if he wishes to assist he must identify himself and permit an inspection of his ship before he receives instructions. Also, I'm informing your owner to do so quickly, because his ship happens to be the make and model of Mark Keaflyn's."
"Thank you, sir," replied the Kelkontar. "My owner apologizes for taking your attention and time and regrets he cannot accept your conditions on his assistance. Therefore we will withdraw. Out."
"You will not withdraw!" the man snarled. "You will remain where you are for boarding and inspection!"
"My owner regrets, but he declines to cooperate," said the Kelkontar. "Out."
"Beautiful!" Keaflyn applauded. "Move away at normal warp maximum."
His ship complied, and a moment later the situation graphic on the screen showed four cordon ships start moving in pursuit. It was soon evident that they were closing the gap. They were faster ships than the Kelkontar's normal maximum.
"Break off ninety degrees," chuckled Keaflyn, "and increase velocity thirty-five percent."
"Right, Mark."
The ship broke warp and immediately assumed a new course at a right angle to the old and slightly more than one-third faster. Instantly eleven more cordon ships responded by taking up the chase. "They know who I am now," Keaflyn glowed. "The only uncertainty about all this is, do they k
now how fast we can really move? I'm counting on them thinking the info on the new warpdrive has been greatly exaggerated. If they don't they won't bother to chase me."
"The cordon leader is on the comm again, Mark."
"Okay. Let's see him."
The man's face appeared on the screen. "We know it's you, Keaflyn!" he barked. "Believe me, we don't want to blast you and your ship, but if you don't halt and place yourself in custody we'll have no choice."
"Give him visual," Keaflyn told the ship, then responded, "Thanks for the warning, friend. I'll consider it . . . when and if you get within blasting distance of me. Not before. Out."
The man's eyes widened momentarily. He replied, "Don't be too sure we're not within blasting distance right now, Keaflyn."
"Cut him off, Kelly. Start doing evasive zig-zags."
"Right, Mark."
Evasive action, rather than a straight-line retreat from the Whorl vicinity, would allow the defending ships to close up on him somewhat. And now his identity was definitely established for them. Keaflyn watched the situation graphic eagerly. Soon more of the guarding ships were under warp.
"How many are after us now, Kelly? My count is twenty."
"There are nineteen, Mark."
"Well, we want to do better than that. Fit the evasive pattern into a large circle around the Whorl, if you can. Don't get any further away from it right now."
"Okay, Mark."
Minutes passed, then the ship said, "I now count twenty-six ships in pursuit, Mark."
"Good!" he gloated. "Gradually narrow the zig-zags, on a course away from the Whorl."
"Right, Mark."
"When we start pulling away from them, stutter the warp, as if we're having technical problems with it, until they catch up. I don't want them to get discouraged and go back."
Keaflyn left the viewscreen and had some lunch. The chase had become a routine the ship could handle alone, so he took advantage of his Neg-induced giddy relaxation by taking a nap. His opportunities for easy sleep came seldom and unpredictably. He didn't want this one to get away from him.
The situation had not changed when he woke, except that the Neg was apparently taking a break. He could not detect the twisty bitterness of its presence.
"Just you, me, and my pleasure-impress, Kelly," he remarked through a yawning chuckle.
"Yes, Mark," said the ship.
He moved up to count the pursuers on the situation graphic. They were all still there. "Some kind of gauntlet should be shaping up somewhere ahead by this time," he said. "No sign of it yet?"
"No. I detect no activity ahead, Mark."
"Well, the moment you do, scoot back to the Whorl as fast as our new drive will take us." Keaflyn ate breakfast, and lingered over a glass of cold Terratea.
"Kelly," he asked suddenly, "what do you think of my personal situation?"
"That is not a matter to which I have given computational attention, Mark," the ship replied.
"No, I guess you haven't," the man said musingly.
"The day is long gone when people were so inept with their life-problems that they sought the advice of computers, fortune-tellers, astrologers, and even Terratea leaves. Now we're content to let you handle warp matrix configurations, supply-demand semi-equations, observational summations, and the like. But do you know, Kelly, that people once tried to use computers to find mates for themselves?"
"That historical data is available to me, Mark."
Keaflyn sipped his tea for a while. Then he asked, "But you are aware of my personal situation, aren't you? The fact that I'm no longer totally sane, since the Sect Dualers loaded me with a pleasure-impress—you know about that from hearing me discuss it with others, even though I've never told you about it directly."
"Yes, Mark. That data is stored. I have made no computational use of it."
"And that a contralife entity . . . a Neg . . . has impinged itself on my mind. And that my life is in danger, and I can't afford to die, because the pleasure-impress will produce accumulative life-to-life degradation?"
"Yes, I am aware of all that, Mark."
"All that, and much more," Keaflyn said. "That is true, Mark."
After a silence, the ship said, "You asked me what I think of your personal situation, Mark. Does that mean you wish me to attempt a computation on the data we've discussed, and offer an extrapolation?"
Keaflyn stared at his empty glass.
Advice from his ship? Funny, he had never considered that before, and the Kelkontar had been with him for two and a half lifetimes. But what he had said was true: people didn't need that kind of advice from computers . . . or didn't want it. A life was not something to reduce to an equation—if, indeed, that could be done. Living was more interesting and exciting as an art than it would be as an exact science. A life should be an adventure, not a formula.
But hell, his life had become too damned much of an adventure to suit him! If computer advice would assist him to continue his work . . .
No generalized predictions, he decided firmly, not from Kelkontar. He had confidence in his ship and would be too inclined to accept the ship's predictions as gospel . . . perhaps to the point of not trying to think for himself. But maybe, in dealing with specific situations . . .
"Go ahead and compute, Kelly," he said, "but hold up on offering me your extrapolations. I'll ask you specific and limited questions from time to time, as occasions arise. For a start, tell me if you would have advised tactics other than those we're using to lure the cordon away from the Whorl."
"Assuming I had advised proceeding with your planned test of the Whorl—" the ship began.
"Yes, assuming that."
"Then the tactics used would meet my approval, Mark."
"Good! Then you think we'll gain enough uninterrupted time at the Whorl to conduct the test?"
"The probability is that we will. However, to maximize that probability we should turn back to the Whorl immediately, without waiting for indications of ships ahead." Keaflyn saw the point instantly. "Of course! You're taking in the possibility that ships could be mobilized from areas nearer the Whorl than we are, for a new cordon, long before our pursuers could get back. I thought of that but didn't include it in my planning because I didn't know if it had much likelihood. Okay. Head back for the Whorl right now, full speed!"
"As for the advisability of conducting the planned test—" began the ship.
"Never mind," Keaflyn broke in quickly with a loud giggle. "I want you to limit your answers to questions in this area to specifically what I ask. Otherwise I might depend too heavily on you. Okay?"
"Very well, Mark. Now on course for the Whorl. The cordon ships are out of detection range."
* * *
When they were again near the star-obscuring presence of the Whorl, Keaflyn asked, "Anybody else around?"
"No ships are detected, Mark."
"All right. Get as close as you consider safe to the face of the Whorl and release a tracerdust bomb."
The ship complied. After a pause, the bomb exploded with a brief bright flare and space glowed with fluorescent particles.
"The Whorl boundary surface is now detectable, Mark," the ship reported. "I can close to within five meters."
"Okay. Do it."
The ship eased closer to the black presence. Keaflyn felt a tenseness at that awesome, threatening nearness, a feeling that was not Neg-inspired, as far as he could tell. The Neg was apparently still off-duty.
"We are in position, Mark," the ship reported.
"Okay. Open up the flare bay and turn on your receptor cellbanks. Everything clear?"
"No, Mark. There are still traces of dust from our bomb between our receptors and the surface."
"Oh. Well, let's hold up until they thin out. Dust motes would put too much noise level over whatever reflection we might receive."
They waited, Keaflyn slightly annoyed with himself for not foreseeing so elementary a problem as this. "There's no way you can put a repulsing electric
charge on your outer hull?" he asked.
"Not immediately, Mark. In perhaps two hours you could assemble a simple electrostatic generator and condenser. By then, however, the dust will have dispersed."
"So we just sit here a while," said Keaflyn, gazing at the blank blackness of the Whorl on the viewscreen. "I hope we don't drift into that thing in the meantime, or it doesn't drift into us."
"Our motion relative to the Whorl was established at under two millimeters per minute while the particles were rendering its boundary detectable, Mark," the ship assured him.
"Okay," Keaflyn chuckled, still staring at the screen. After a few minutes of silent contemplation he said, "Kelly, I have a childish desire to suit up, go outside, and poke that thing with a stick. That's the way primitive creatures investigate unknown objects that look dangerous. The Whorl seems to bring out the animal in me."
"Analogous tests of the Whorl have, as you know, been performed," said the ship. "However, a sufficiently sophisticated version could provide possible data."
"No kidding?" laughed the man. He thought about it, then said: "You mean poke the stick in, then yank it out a sophisticatedly small sliver of a second later, hopefully before the Whorl has time to destroy the part that was inside?"
"In essence, yes," the ship said.
"That shouldn'tbedifficult to set up," Keaflyn mused, "with equipment we could improvise. Probably the quickest way to poke something in and out would be with a warp, wouldn't you say?"
"That is correct, Mark. That has been tried before, without successful recovery of any of the stick material, so to speak—"
"But that was using the horse-and-buggy warp of last month," Keaflyn chortled. "We can do it almost two orders of magnitude more nimbly."
"Correct, Mark."
"Okay, we'll try it, after we finish this light-reflection experiment . . . provided we don't have company before then."
Finally the drifting dust had thinned to the point where Kelkontar calculated it would offer no critical interference.
A Sense of Infinity Page 22
