He sat down on the floor, put his head between his hands, and pondered. Everything made sense — if he could force his mind to accept one incredible possibility. And it was a possibility that he was finally in a position to check for himself.
Peron stood up. He took the heaviest metal tureen that he could find in the galley, and swung it as hard as he could against the metal wall. It did not bend. He headed back to the chamber where the patient robots sat, and waited until one of them rose from its position. Then he followed it closely as it proceeded along one of the numerous passageways branching off from the central opening.
When the machine turned to move through one of the small doors, Peron was ready. The door opened, and the robot slid through. While the door was still open Peron jammed the sturdy metal container into the gap. There was a squeak of metal and a protesting whine from the door’s control mechanism, but the aperture remained open.
Peron crouched down and looked through.
An icy current of air met him from the other side. The temperature there must be very close to freezing. The little robot had gone on its way, and the area beyond was lit only by the dullest of red glimmers of light.
Peron judged the width of the door with his eye. There would be just enough space for him to squeeze through, provided he was willing to risk the skin on his shoulders. He eased off his jacket, pushed it through ahead of him, and wriggled to the other side.
It was even colder and darker than he had thought. He shivered, and pulled his jacket tight about him. Unless he had more clothing, it would not be possible for him to stay there long.
Peron recognized the room that he was in. It was next to Rinker’s living quarters. He had been there before, in his original explorations of the ship. But there was one great difference. Instead of a one-gee field he now felt that he was still in freefall.
The little robot had disappeared. As he watched it came into view along the corridor. It was carrying an empty bottle of the fermented drink that Rinker usually enjoyed with his solitary meals. The robot came steadily closer. Again it ignored Peron. It hesitated at the door jammed open by the tureen, then went to another door and calmly passed through it. As it did so, another pair of service robots appeared on the other side, and set to work to free the obstruction and repair the door.
Peron did not stay to observe. He hurried through to Rinker’s apartment, where Rinker was sitting in a chair. He was completely motionless, his hand raised and his mouth open. Peron stood and watched for several minutes. Finally the hand inched closer to the open mouth. Peron stepped forward and touched Rinker’s cheek. It was like chilled marble. Fingers stabbed to within an inch of Rinker’s eyes produced no reflexive blink of the lids.
It was proof enough. Peron hurried out and headed for the suspense room. On the way there he passed the dining area, where the motionless figures of Garao, Ferranti, and Atiyah still sat at table, three perfect sculptures of frozen flesh.
The suspense room was deserted. Peron paused for a long moment in front of the cold sleep caskets. Again he wondered at his motives. To risk his own life was one thing; to put the lives of his friends in jeopardy was another. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until the ship arrived at the mysterious Headquarters of the Immortals, and see how the group would be treated there?
He tried to imagine the answers that the others would give. Part of his mind could create a simulated conversation with Lum, Kallen, Sy, Elissa, and Rosanne. “You’re in no danger in the tanks, and I’m not sure just how the revival process works. It looks simple, but suppose there’s a hidden snag? Maybe I should just wait and see what happens when we get to Headquarters?”
He thought he could hear their consensus: “Hell, no. If there’s one thing none of us can stand it’s to have somebody else running our lives for us. You know that — why do you think we were considered as troublemakers? Go on. Make trouble. Get us out of here.”
He stepped to examine each tank in turn. The controls were all identical. He could change the dial setting either to S or N, and there was a table to indicate the correct procedure for each. The return from cold sleep to N-state was a fairly long process. It would take twelve hours. But Peron did not need to stand guard all that time. He would forage for warm clothing for everyone — Elissa and the others were all naked except for the filmy white covering. Then he could crack open another door, and return to the warmer area where the robots lived and the galley was located.
He considered a barricade for the door to the suspense room, then decided that it would not be necessary. If things went according to plan his work would be over before Rinker and the others could interfere.
Elissa first. He couldn’t wait to see her and talk to her again. It took only a few moments to change the setting and press the Start command. Peron peered in anxiously through the transparent top of the tank. There was a hum of motors within the casket, and after a few moments a yellow vapor began to fill the interior. Then Elissa and everything else within were soon invisible. Filled with trepidation, Peron went on from tank to tank, setting the conditions that should bring all the others back to consciousness from cold sleep. * * *
The horror had begun for Elissa when she saw the condition of Peron’s suit. It had been shredded and ruptured by impact with Whirlygig’s rough surface until it must be useless for thermal protection. The outside temperatures guaranteed that he could not survive.
Before their grief could do more than begin, Wilmer had taken charge. Even Lum’s casual self-confidence and Sy’s remote air of superiority had crumbled and been swept aside by the other’s grim certainty. They had done as Wilmer asked — and done it without questions.
First a breathable atmosphere had to be created within the dome. Then Elissa and Kallen had eased Peron gently out of his suit and clothing. His skin had darkened, and veins were prominent against the dusky surface. Elissa bent close. She could see no sign of breathing. She felt for a pulse, but could find no trace. His wrist and throat were ice-cold to the touch of her ungloved hand. “Give me a hand to turn him over,” said Wilmer. “We want him face down. Good. Now you go over there and help Lum with the temperature controls. They have to be precise — and you don’t want to watch this.”
Elissa had watched anyway, unable to tear herself away. Wilmer removed the gloves of his suit and encased his hands in a fine, glassy material that molded itself tight to his skin. He flexed his fingers a few times, testing the fit, then took a silver scalpel from his green case. He made careful incisions into the base of Peron’s neck and at the lower end of his spine. Fine, gleaming catheters were inserted there. Placed at the entrance of each aperture, they snaked inward without further action from Wilmer, insinuating themselves deep into Peron’s body. Wilmer placed a face mask in position over Peron’s nose and mouth, and connected it to a small blue-gray cylinder. He turned a valve, and Elissa heard the hiss of gas.
The temperature in the dome had risen a little. Wilmer opened his faceplate and sniffed the air.
“Warm enough,” he said. “I suggest we all open our faceplates and conserve air in the suits — we may need it.”
He took another cylinder from his case. “Here.” He handed it to Elissa. “This will improve the atmosphere. Bleed this into the central circulator for the dome, then we can take that face mask off Peron.”
“Is he alive?”
“For the moment — but he’s still in danger.”
Elissa took the cylinder across to the air circulation unit and snapped it into position. She cracked the nozzle. At first it seemed that nothing had happened. Then the chilly air of the dome took on a heavy, perfumed weight, as though the oxygen in it was bleeding away. Elissa turned frowning toward Wilmer. She noticed that he had closed the faceplate of his suit. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but she could not phrase her thought. The moment stretched. Wilmer was motionless, watching and waiting. There was a final, odd sense of detachment, as though she were rising to the ceiling of the dome and leaving her body beh
ind.
And now… she was awakening… to find Peron standing anxiously over her. She blinked her eyes to clear the blurred image.
“Elissa? Are you all right?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and raised her to a sitting position. She shivered uncontrollably, from a mixture of emotion and freezing cold. She looked down at herself. She had been wearing thermal clothing in the dome, now she was naked except for a transparent membrane of fine cloth.
Where was she? How had she come here? She struggled to think clearly. In the moment of waking it was hard to be logical. And what did logic matter? Peron was here, alive. She felt peculiar, chilled but fluffy-headed and giggly. Explanations could wait for a few more seconds. She snuggled into Peron’s embrace.
“Here I am,” she said. Everything was pleasant and vastly amusing. “But Peron, I’m cold.”
“Good, you’re waking up.” He pointed to an assortment of garments in a heap by their side. “Help yourself to any that fit you. I’ve got to see how the others are doing.”
“Peron!” She shivered, then reached out and gave Peron a hug strong enough to make their ribs creak. “Explain. What’s been happening to me?”
“Tell you later.” He returned the embrace with interest. “Come on. I may need help to get Lum out. He should have been called Lump.”
Elissa rummaged through the pile and found an adequate set of coveralls while Peron opened the door of the next tank and did his best to pull out its occupant. There was a good deal of grunting and swearing. Lum was semi-conscious, and offering plenty of disorganized resistance.
“Here. Let me have a go at him.” Elissa moved round to the other side and leaned over. She took hold of Lum’s hair and gave it a great tug. He came suddenly upright, his eyes popped wide open, and he yelped in protest.
“No need to do that. I’m awake.” His eyes closed again, and he started to sink back. “It’s all right, I’m awake, I’ll be up in just a minute.”
“Pull his hair again, then give him a hand with his clothes,” said Peron. “See if you can find anything big enough. Kallen’s next, but I bet he’ll be easier. Rosanne told me Lum sleeps like a dead man, even under normal conditions.” In a few more minutes Rosanne and Kallen had been brought back to groggy wakefulness. Peron left them sighing and shivering and searching for warm clothes. Sy was processed last of all. He went instantly from sleep to full attention. Even as his eyes popped open he was twisting sideways like a cat, moving his body to a defensive posture.
“Relax,” said Peron. “You’re with friends.”
Sy gave Peron one brief, incredulous look, then stared around him. “Where am I? Last thing I remember we were in the Whirlygig dome. What happened?” “That’s a long story. Get some clothes on, and follow me. I’ll explain as we go.”
Peron led them to the dining room, where Ferranti and the others were finally showing signs of movement. Garao was halfway to the door, one foot clear of the floor.
“I wanted each of you to see this to save arguments,” said Peron. “Or you might have told me I was chewing dillason weed. Fourteen hours ago I was in that condition. That’s S-space. Remember how much we were troubled by the idea that the Immortals could travel to the stars in days?”
“I still don’t believe it,” said Sy. “They can’t exceed light-speed.” “You’re right — but you’re wrong, too. Here’s a question for all of you. How far does light travel in one second, or in one year?”
There was a brief silence.
“We all know the answer to that,” said Rosanne. “So I assume it’s a trick question.”
“In a way,” said Peron. “The answer depends on your definition of a second and a year. We’ve been thinking about S-space all wrong. It’s not some sort of parallel universe, or hyperspace. It’s the same space we live in, but S-space is a state of changed perception. If you want proof, look at these people.” Kallen had been watching Olivia Ferranti very closely. “She seems to be unconscious,” he said softly. “And her skin is cold. But her eyes are open. They’re alive, that’s clear. Are they hibernating?”
“No. Each of them is fully conscious. In that condition you feel normal except for a few subtle differences. But their metabolisms have been drastically slowed — two thousand times slower than usual. That’s S-space, and it changes your perception of everything. In one of our seconds, light travels three hundred thousand kilometers. In one of theirs, it travels six hundred million kilometers. To us, Sol is eighteen light-years away. To them, it’s only a little more than three light-days. That’s why we heard that the Immortals can travel between the stars in days — their days. Time passes so slowly for them that what feels like a day to us they experience as less than a minute.”
Peron went close to Garao and passed his hand slowly in front of the other’s face. “See? They don’t even know we’re here.” He moved over to the stationary figure of Atiyah, removed the belt from around the man’s tubby middle, and looped it around Olivia Ferranti’s neck. “In about twenty minutes he’ll notice that his belt is missing. In another hour of our time he’ll begin to wonder where it went. It will be an hour more before he can do anything to get it back.”
The others made their own inspections, touching skin and fingering hair. “How did they get this way?” asked Lum.
“The same way that I did, when Wilmer operated on me back on Whirlygig. I know that’s not much of an answer, but it’s the best one I can give you. There has to be a complicated treatment, but it must be fairly standardized — and it’s fully reversible. I’ve been both ways, and so has Captain Rinker. He had to go back to normal living to fix a mechanical problem with this ship. Let’s take a look at the ship now. We’ll all need that information later.”
Peron led the way back through to the suspense room. As they went he responded to their torrent of questions. The ship they were travelling on was deep in interstellar space, heading for the headquarters of the Immortals. That headquarters was far from any sun or planet, a full light-year away from the Cass system. They were moving at only a fraction of light-speed — probably no more than a tenth. During their journey, nearly ten years would pass back on Pentecost.
The other Planetfest winners were not on board. Their fate could only be conjectured, but Peron thought they were all still back in the Cass system, probably living on The Ship. That was where the Immortals lived in the Cass system. The other winners would probably become Immortals themselves after some kind of indoctrination. They would prefer to live in S-space for the longer subjective life span it offered, and they would return to normal life, as Wilmer had done, only for special duties.
“How long does an Immortal live?” asked Sy. “It’s obvious that nobody can be truly immortal.”
“Seventeen hundred years.”
There was another long silence. Finally Elissa said: “You mean seventeen hundred subjective years? That’s two thousand times seventeen hundred ordinary years back on Pentecost — three million four hundred thousand. They live three million four hundred thousand years!”
“Right,” said Peron cheerfully. Adjusting to that idea hadn’t been easy, and he was glad to see that others had the same reaction. “Of course, that’s only a conjecture. As Dr. Ferranti pointed out, they can only make estimates of full life span — because no one has lived it yet. It’s only twenty thousand years or so since we left Earth, and no one was living in S-space there.”
“But what about side effects?” said Elissa. “When you make such a profound change…”
“I only know of a couple,” said Peron. He brushed his hand through his hair. “See? It has stopped growing, and I think I was starting to lose it in S-space. Better get ready to lose those beautiful locks, Rosanne. I think that when you change metabolic rates for a while you become hairless. That’s what happened to Wilmer, and the other contestant Kallen met. Back on Whirlygig I couldn’t believe it when Wilmer told me that he had been in trouble there three hundred years before. But it makes sense no
w. That was just a few months in S-space. He was living there until he was with us in the ‘Fest. A hundred years on Pentecost would be only a few weeks for him.”
“That would explain why we only saw videos of former winners,” said Lum. “They didn’t come back to Pentecost. But there’d be no problem with videos. They could take them at S-space speed, then speed them up so they’d look normal. Personal appearances would be impossible unless they had moved back to normal time — N-space, you called it.”
“And they’ll be reluctant to do that,” said Peron. “They lose the benefit of extended life expectancy when they leave S-space. You have to eat special food there, and you don’t feel quite normal. But people will put up with a lot to increase their subjective life span by a factor of twenty.”
They were again in the suspense chamber. Peron led them into and through one of the caskets, using it as a convenient path to the other parts of the ship. There was a substantial temperature change as they passed through the suspense tank, and they all loosened their warm clothing.
“I’ll tell you one thing I still don’t understand,” Peron said. “When I was in S-space, I felt as though I was in a one-gee environment. Now we’re in exactly the same part of the ship, but we’re in freefall. I don’t see how that can happen.”
There was silence for a while, then Kallen made a little coughing noise. “T-squared effect,” he said softly.
“What?”
“He’s quite right,” Sy said calmly. “Good for you, Kallen. Don’t you see what he’s saying? Accelerations involve the square of the time — distance per second per second. Change the definition of a second, and of course you change the perceived speed. That’s why they can travel light-years in what they regard as a few days. But you change perceived acceleration, too — and you change that even more. By the square of the relative time rates — “
Between the Strokes of Night Page 17
