by M. A. Foster
13
“Characters in a story or tale are, in four dimensions, equivalent to, in two dimensions, the waves on the sea, the ripples on the pond, the waving fields of grass, the snowdrifts, by whose motion and shaping we become able to discern the shape of the wind. It is hard to make up that shape in our minds, just so, but even harder to see the shape of the winds of our own lives, which are displayed by type in the various tales.
—Zermanshan Tlanh
USTEYIN CAME INTO the control room, both excited and apprehensive at the same time, saying, “Han, there are extra footprints out there in the snow, not ours, I think . . . Oh!” She entered the room quietly, closed the door, and stood beside Han, slipping the blanket off herself.
Aving said, “This is a flash gun. It is very good for close work, such as we have here. I have it set on maximum dispersion. It does not completely kill humans or ler at the first shot, but it does incapacitate with severe burns, which produce fatality, later. I know that this one, this girl, is trained for combat, so that by neutralizing her I can easily keep you two in check. Unlike Hatha, I waste no time on tribal-level status-measuring mannerisms and appreciations. She is completely expendable, as are the klesh. I know that you will not sacrifice both.”
He paused briefly, letting that sink in. They did not doubt him for a minute. Liszendir sat quietly in the pilot’s chair, saying, doing nothing. But the expression on her face would have curdled fresh milk in the next town, as Han had heard said. The next town? The next planet.
Aving, seeing that they understood, continued, “So, then. The program is simplicity itself. You will fly us to my homeworld, where you will remain, in one mode or another, as circumstances dictate, while the overcouncil approaches this problem from another angle, to see if anything can be salvaged from this wreckage. And I do not sleep. So, then. To work!”
Han desperately wanted time to think. He asked, “So we were right about the situation here on Dawn?”
“Yes. The Warrior-ler did not see it at all. Whatever abilities they may still have, they are not devious, like all primitives. But we had not reckoned on the abilities of some of the old people—yourself, for example, or that Hetrus on Seabright. He saw far into it, at least by suspicion. I was able to influence events there so that two relative incompetents would be sent. Naturally, you would either see nothing and report the same—or find out something, and vanish without a trace. But you, like Hetrus, have proved to be resourceful, and the ler girl has contributed all out of proportion to our perspective on the ler. You do not see well ahead, but you find ways out. That kind of thinking has managed to create complete disruption of the plan here, and in fact has nullified the future uses of Dawn as a staging base for further operations. You have guessed, I suspect, from your instruments, that that star out there is very sick. By the time we could recover momentum here, a factor in events as well as bodies, there would be no time left to establish an orderly progression of happenings. We do not salvage lost causes.”
“What was that progression?”
“That is no interest to you, now.”
“Satisfy my idle curiosity, if you will.”
Well, there is no harm, I suppose. That, too, was much as you have probably suspected. We hoped to instigate a war between the humans and the ler—you know, ‘no fight half so vicious as between members of the family,’ I believe you say. We hoped that such a conflict would weaken both to the point where we could move into the area and take each world, one at a time, until the strength of the remaining would not matter. We are on the rim and must needs expand inwards. We prefer our worlds already civilized for us—we do not imagine ourselves a race of pioneers, living among the beasts of the wild and hewing forests.”
“Is your appearance a true one, or is it disguised?”
“The basics are as you see. Only certain details have been altered to fit into the Warriors’ surround. But during this project, which has already occupied several lifetimes, we discovered that we look rather more like ler, so it is easier to masquerade as one; but in patterns of thought, we resemble humans, the old people, more, if you can sense the difference between the two types. Except more so! Much more so. But all this wastes time. We can talk on the way, if you like, but be seated and let us be on the way. Or stand, if you prefer. Only remember that she will be the price for creating any suspicion in my mind!”
“I will stand. I will tell Liszendir what settings to insert, and she will do it.” More like humans in the way they thought.... That keyed something. Yes. Han did have one idea. It might work, yes indeed. In fact, the more he thought on it, the more sure he became that it would work, or at least cause enough distraction for him to get the flash gun. Then Aving would see who would burn. They could not afford to take any more chances. If they got any more of their own. But this . . .
Aving said, as Han moved closer to the panels, “Don’t you want the course?”
“Not now. Have you ever flown on a human ship before?”
“No, Nor ler. I used my own craft to make the voyage to Seabright, and other places.”
“Let me explain, then. I do not want you getting suspicious over any act that I might perform. When we traverse space, we use a set of preset points in space whose locations are known in the ship’s memory. I did not know of the location of your planet, so I shall have to set the course manually. Both end-points of the transferral coordinate, because Hatha brought this ship here in the hold of his warship. This process will require a calibration routine, for I shall have to determine my location exactly, bearing Heisenberg’s theorem respectfully in mind. This will require some time and work.”
“Very well. But perform it with dispatch and use no tricks. You know the penalty. First this one, then the fire-haired klesh girl. You do not wish them to suffer? Then haste. I feel the pressure of time.”
Han nodded, grimacing inwardly to himself. If he was wrong ... “Just so. Now we will enter space.” And as he set the course in for the point he wanted, he glanced covertly at Liszendir, and then Usteyin. Not a flicker of recognition was stirring in either of their faces; both were passive, resigned, apprehensive. But nothing else. What he had in his mind depended on that—they must not recognize what he was going to do until he did it; otherwise. Aving might suspect something was coming that was more than it seemed.
The ship reached the point Han had programmed in, and the drives shut down. There remained a minor manual correction, which Liszendir did herself, bringing the Pallenber exactly into position, between the planet and its primary. The star glared whitely through the main screen, an obsession, a fire that drowned out all the rest of the stars in the darks of space.
Now. He turned to Aving, saying, “The girl will now have to hand me a certain object, which I will use to make an exact calculation. It is there, in the small bag. May she get it out and give it to me?”
“What does it look like?”
“To you, a tangle of wire.”
“Are you sure . . . ?”
“Do you know anything about navigation, astrogation?”
“No. This is for the crew. Mere mechanics.”
“Yes, then. I am sure.”
Han turned back to Usteyin. Now she would have to be completely straight. One slip . . . Usteyin still had not caught on. Only concern showed on her face.
“Are you sure you want it, Han? It is dangerous, and I don’t understand . . .”
“Never mind, never mind. I need the block, Usteyin. Please give it to me. I know what I’m doing.” Han felt a slight sense of irritation, of anxiety; this was tense. If she said one word about the story-block’s real purpose . . .
She didn’t. Usteyin moved to the bag, reached within, very carefully withdrew the story-block, opened it to its full size, and handed it to Han, with a reluctance that could not be hidden. “Here, But you must be careful. When somebody else uses one . . .”
Han cut her off. “No matter. I know the cautions.” He took the device, risking a quick glance at L
iszendir. Something was in her eyes; yes! she knew. And at Aving. Suddenly, he was very interested in the story-block, watching it with eerie intensity. Han ignored the alien, held the story-block up to the star, so it would catch the light, looked into it, hoping his pretending would seem reasonably enough like some astrogator taking a measurement.
Curious, he thought, as he held it in his hand, watching the play of light among the wires, the junctions, the positions of the beads. Odd, that you could use a thing like this to symbolize anything. What was it Usteyin had said? Nonverbal. Yes. No words. He wondered how her perception of it was; he stared into it, looking for something suggestive, a symbol, an inkblot, an optical illusion. Nothing. It was just a tangle of wire, just a tangle of wire, but you could follow the lines of it indefinitely, it was hypnotic, relaxing, he felt muscles in the back of his neck relaxing, tiny strain lines in his face loosening. Yes, it could at least put you to sleep, if you weren’t careful; must speak to Usteyin about that part of it. What time was it? Time felt odd, like it was not passing right. He looked away, feeling a reluctance to take his eyes out of it. He looked back. He had not registered the time on the panel chronometer, except the second hand. That had stood out, starkly: it was ten seconds past. Ten seconds past what? Nothing. It didn’t matter. There was no time, time was an illusion, he would see that here, just a little more, the effort that was not effort, the unpremeditated act, the sudden sneaking up upon reality, reality.
There was motion, movement, the control room, the ship was shifting, flowing melting, no not doing anything, he was moving, evolving, changing, the streaks of light were forming themselves into shapes, suggestions, fast, fast, he knew his mind was doing it; slow it down, timeless, timeless, bring the rate down, untryingly trying, effortlessly efforting. Efforting. Not-word. Ha ha. Funny, words. He had no need of them, it was so easy, just beneath the surface, reaching for it, the water changed the apparent angle, things were offset, groping in the water . . . water, silvery wires, swift flowing water, water falling to the bottom of the sink, the well, the pit, water seeking its level, water wetting, soaking, sea-changes, there was a sea on Seabright, something was urgent, he had to do something. Water, that was it. He was water, flowing, penetrating, moving into every space, every void, space had taken the place of water in the old symbolisms, he was water, he was space he could seestars, allonething seerseen seerseen-mediumoftransmission lightwavescrawlinglike worms starsstars and therewassomething more reaching reaching.
STOP. nondeceleration. Juststopinstant. Alone. No. Notalone. Others. Nearfar/herethere. No, he said, trying to find some numbers for this, mask it with symbols, break the chain, why heHan was here in the controlroomnow, there was Aving, and Liszendir and Usteyin and himself himselfselflff. No, must get out of it, goddam deadly thing, got to get out, turn around easy and move. He turned around. There was no around. He looked up. There was no up. The referent universe had vanished. It was gone. How could you get out when you didn’t know how you got in, how could you reach a place if you didn’t know where you were. What difference-diditmakemakemake? A vast joke, and that it was onhim was onlyfunny. Unimportant. Here were them all, Hatha, Dardenglir, Liszendir, Hetrus, a child with red hair, whothehellwasthat? Others. He could blank them, one by one. There was no time. Child-out. Hatha-out. some more anuncountablenumber-out. Gone. Aving, too, he wasn’t anyway. Out. Now him, Liszendir, Usteyin, but not in the right positions. They were all moving around, Liszendir behind him, but he could still see herherher Usteyin in front, the stars came back into view, notstarshere, starssomewhere-else, thick, dewyspiderwebs, clouds, seas, water. He was water, yes! Usteyin was looking toward him, reaching her face. Liszendir was pushing him, notrejecting, moving him, she had sadness on hers, but on Usteyin’s there was more, he was not getting closer, she was expanding, enlarging, beckoning to him with her sea-green eyes from the edge of the universe. No. Outside it, they were expanding, filling it, filling everything, the stars became galaxies, the galaxies shrunk, diminished, faded, went out. Blackness. Then stars again, a few, then many, then repeating cycle again. Stars, galaxies, the night, starsgalaxiesnight. Flashing, flickering, then merginginto continuoussmoothgrey, The Aleph, and Usteyin was now enormous, she filled his vision, she surrounded him, he felt no fear, no apprehension, there was no danger, it was preplanned, programmed into the steady state universe, right-correctproper like falling, falling Liszendir was a point, a one-dimensional object of singular purpose tremendous power, the will, fire, the magicians wand, green sprouting branch, lifegiving, Usteyin was event, air, swords, that the three of them would fall together was a property of the universe, the universe, he could go forwardsbackwards, tofro, sideside, updown the meaning was just out of reach, one more effortlesseffort nownownow its in my hand slippery slippery can’t hold it the more i catch the less i have got to get it all usteyin back into being reaching she has a story block in her other hand other hand, which is the other hand from the other hand/ like a box on both ends it says open other end endless spiral, doctor, which sex is the opposite, i know i no negate gate / usteyin how her body felt when they had been one creature reaching reaching slippery a soundless flash.
He heard the air moving through the ventilators into the control room, he saw the instruments on the panel, he felt time passing at its own rate again, and he held a story-block in his hand, at which he must not look. He felt purged, cleansed, washed out, but he had seen a story, if he could just sort it out, something warm, close, he and Usteyin, and there was Liszendir too, in the future, or was it the past? No. The future. She had long, long, hair, it was iron-gray, she had lines in her face. But stop. Han looked at the chronometer. That was absurd. No time at all had passed. But the second hand had moved, to the 15 mark. Five seconds? Or had he gone all the way around the clock? No. It was now. Han felt himself beginning to shake, to sweat, instantly clammy. That thing was dangerous. Perilous. He looked over to Usteyin, looked at her directly, as if he were seeing her for the first time. She looked back at him, seeing that he was out of the story-block, free, unharmed.
She spoke, and broke the silence. “Did you make your measurement?” Now she knew.
“Yes, I did. It is very simple.”
He looked over to Aving. “Ah, that was a hard one. These outer regions are the very devil to astrogate in. I think we should invent a better way to do it. Don’t you have a better way, Aving?”
Aving said, “What is that thing you were just using?”
“It is a calibration device. We use it only at times when we have to make a transition with both end-points open. Machines are good, machines are fast, but they are more limited than we are. With this, we can see directly, then translate the vision into numbers for the ship.”
“Are you finished? Let me see that thing! I have never seen such a device . . .”
“Well, I do have to make some more measurements, but . . .”
“Give it to me! I wish to examine it. I cannot determine how it works, there is no structure . . .” He trailed off, unfinishing what he might have said. He was staring into the story-block, becoming glassy-eyed. Rather more like humans, not so much like ler, Han reminded himself, still remembering echoes from his own vision, still feeling bits and pieces.
He told Aving, “It is electroptical. Look into it, watch the wires. Hold it at right angles to the star, you’ll see better.”
Aving took the story-block, and held it as Han showed him, never taking his eyes off it. He still held the gun close to Liszendir, but he was becoming oblivious. Han felt sorry for him, just for an instant; what was going to happen to him either way wasn’t going to be pleasant, not at all. . . .
Aving muttered, almost inaudibly, “I can’t quite see it . . .”
Liszendir, listening to the voice, was starting to move. Han checked her with a motion. She must not interrupt this. Aving was a fish, and he must take the hook himself.
Han said, “You need more light, Aving,” and Han turned the dial controlling the filter circuit
s of the viewscreen, simultaneously pulling Usteyin and Liszendir down to the floor as he did. The filter circuits opened and the screen passed all of the energy in the visible band into the control room, all the output of the star within the range of visible light. The glaring, stark, white light filled the room, and in that light Aving was visible, standing quite still, holding a tangle of wire in his free hand, gazing into it with eyes gone completely vacant. The flash gun dropped from his relaxed grip, to dangle on the trigger guard from a finger. Liszendir reached up from the floor beside him, and carefully took the gun from his hand. Han reached over the lip of the main panel, and returned the filter circuits of the viewscreen to a lower setting. The screen darkened, dimmed the glare of the star, and the cabin returned to semidarkness again.
Aving stood in exactly the same position, holding the story-block, still gazing vacantly into the depths of glittering wire. The three of them, Han, Liszendir, and Usteyin, all got to their feet. Aving did not react, nor did he give any sign that he was even aware of them.
Liszendir asked, with awe shading the edges of her voice, “Is he disarmed, now?”
Usteyin answered, “Oh, yes. Forever. I did not see what Han was trying to do at first, but then I saw it. A good trick, one I would not have thought of myself. Look, I will show you.” And she walked over to the silent staring figure, and disengaged the wire tangle from his fingers, pulling it out of his hand with some effort. He did not want to let it go. As she did so, the figure shuddered, as if with a sudden chill, but made no other motions, and continued to stare at the place where the story-block had been.
“Good. Just right,” she said, with a soft voice that revealed satisfaction, and some light anger as well. Then she went behind Aving, kicked the backs of his knees, and caught him a he fell to the floor, breaking his fall. Then she turned to Han.
