The Fugitive Worlds

by Bob Shaw

  "Tell me, father," Toller cut in, his curiosity aroused. "What is this to-do concerning rings and circles and wheels and the like which perplexes you so? What can be so strange and intriguing about an ordinary circle?"

  "A circle has always had certain fixed properties, just like any other geometrical figure, and now those properties have suffered a sudden change," Cassyll said in solemn tones. "Until now, as you very well know, the circumference of a circle has been exactly equal to three times its diameter. Now, however—if you care to put the matter to the test— you will find that the ratio of circumference to diameter is slightly more than three."

  "But. . . ."Toller tried to assimilate the idea, but his mind baulked at the task. "What does it mean?"

  "It means we are a long way from home," Drumme put in, with a twist of the lips which hinted that he had said something very profound.

  "Yes, but will it make any difference to our lives?"

  Cassyll snorted as he took the lens cap off a telescope. "There speaks a man who has never had to earn his crusts in commerce or industry! The re-design and re-calibration of certain classes of machinery is going to cost the state a veritable fortune. And then there will be clerical costs, and accountancy costs, and—"

  "Clerical?"

  "Just think of it, Toller. We have twelve fingers, so we naturally count to the base of twelve. That, coupled with the fact that the circumference of a circle used to be precisely three times the diameter, made whole areas of computation absurdly easy. From now on, however, everything in that line is going to be more difficult—and I am not talking about matters as rudimentary as a cooper having to learn to make longer straps for his barrels. Take, for example, the—"

  "Tell me," Toller said quickly, anxious to forestall one of his father's rambling discourses, "what is the new ratio? I ought to know that much, at least."

  Cassyll glanced significantly at Bartan. "There has been a certain amount of discussion on that point. I have been too busy—what with the distressing events at the palace and so forth—to take measurements in person. Some of my staff are claiming that the new ratio is three-and-a-seventh— which, of course, is nonsense."

  "Why is it nonsense?" Bartan said with some heat.

  "Because, my old friend, there has to be a natural harmony in the world of numbers. Three-and-a-seventh would work in with nothing. I have no doubt at all that when the measurements are made with proper accuracy we will find that the new ratio is amenable to. ..."

  Toller allowed his attention to wander away from what promised to be a lengthy argument of the type from which his father and Bartan Drumme had always derived great satisfaction. He wished that Jerene was by his side, but she had gone to visit her family in the village of Divarl and was not expected back until the morrow. Tired of standing by the balustrade, he made his way to a couch, lowered himself on to it and set his crutches aside. His leg, now that the process of healing was well under way, had become stiff and capable of producing excruciating pain when subjected to any degree of stress. Simply living with such a leg, continually devising strategies to prevent it unleashing bolts of agony, was an experience which Toller found enervating and exhausting, and he was glad to lie down.

  "Son, perhaps you should go off to your room and take your night's sleep," Cassyll Maraquine said gently, coming to stand by the couch. "The wound was more severe than you seem to think."

  "Not yet—I'd rather stay here for a while." Toller smiled up at his father. "I seem to remember us exchanging similar words many times in the past, when I was a child. Are you about to pack me off to bed whether I like it or not?"

  "You are too big for that kind of treatment. Besides, I am busy and I do not want to be plagued with calls for glasses of water."

  "And honey straws," Bartan Drumme bantered from farther along the balcony. "Don't forget the honey straws."

  "Honey straws!" Toller rose on one elbow. "Is that what I. . . ?"

  "Yes, even though it might seem a strange weaning for the one they have begun to call the Godslayer," Cassyll said to Toller. "You didn't know that, did you? One can only guess at what kind of stories your friend Steenameert is noising abroad, but I'm told that every tavern in the realm is ringing with tales of how you flew to a land far beyond the heavens and slew a thousand gods ... or demons ... or a

  promiscuous mixture of both in order to save Overland from being swallowed by a great crystal dragon."

  Cassyll paused, looking rueful. "Now that I weigh the matter up, I suspect that the average ale-fuddled ploughman's understanding of what happened is equal to or better than mine. Toller, all those things that were explained to you when mind addressed mind without recourse to speech . . . Have you no recollection at all, not even a trace, of what was meant by the term 'space-time'? I would dearly love to know why two words which can have no logical connection came to be joined together in that particular way."

  "I am unable to help you," Toller said with a sigh. "When Divivvidiv was speaking within my head I seemed to have a full understanding of what he meant, but the messages were written in smoke. Everything has faded. I reach for meanings, only to find emptiness. Not a true emptiness—but one which is haunted by echoes, a poignant feeling of massive doors having just closed for ever, of my being too slow and too late. I am sorry, father—I wish it were otherwise."

  "Never mind—we will make the journey unaided." Cassyll brought a thick blanket to the couch and draped it over Toller. "The nights are colder here."

  Toller nodded and made himself comfortable, yielding to the luxurious feeling of being well cared for and of having no immediate responsibilities. His leg was throbbing warmly, and the physicians had predicted that he would henceforth walk with a limp, but that gave him even more entitlement to bask like a child in snug warmth, secure like a child beneath a blanket which—better than the stoutest armor —gave protection against all those elements of the outside world which might bring harm.

  Safely cocooned, his mind misting with drowsiness, Toller tried to define his position in an unfamiliar universe. So much had been lost. The Queen was dying, unable to face or even comprehend a reality in which the planet of her birth—to which she had longed to return—no longer existed. Her dream of a single nation encompassing two worlds had been shattered in an instant. It had been a good dream, one with which Toller had instinctively sympathized, but now there would be no mile-high columns of skyships, commercially and culturally laden, plying the invisible trade lanes between Land and Overland. Instead, there would be . . . what?

  More tired than he had realized, Toller found himself quite unable to deal with the sly and shifting enigmas of the future. He began slipping in and out of consciousness, and with each return to lucidity the sky was darker and the stars were more numerous, looking brighter than he had expected. The balcony was dark also, because his father and Bartan Drumme were using the telescopes, busily making and comparing notes.

  Toller listened to the murmurous activity for an indeterminate time . . . dozing and drifting . . . half-comprehending the stray wisps of conversation that came his way . . . and gradually his mood began to change. He could see now that he had allowed himself, possibly through battle shock and extreme weariness, to be intimidated by the new sky, to become downcast and despondent in the face of it. He had asked if Kolcorron would ever find champions worthy of challenging that inimical black void, and at the very time of posing the question had been too blinkered by pessimism to realize that he was already in the company of such heroes.

  Cassyll and Bartan were two middle-aged men whose investment in the old order of things had been much greater than his, and whose stake in a vexed future had to be correspondingly less—but had they slumped down to indulge in self-pity? No! Their reaction had been to take up their swords—swords of the mind—and at that very moment, quietly and without fanfare, they were engaged in no less an undertaking than laying the foundations of a new astronomy!

  Halfway between wakefulness and sleep, Toller smi
led.

  His father and Bartan Drumme were speaking in low voices to avoid disturbing Toller's rest, but whispers insinuate

  themselves into the quasi-realities of the drowsing mind more readily than shouts . . . five planets observed in the local system so far, Bartan . . . counting the double world as one, that is . . . if we have logged five in such a short time, it is only reasonable—don't you think?—to assume that there must be others . . . I should rise to my feet in this very instant and take part in what is going on ... it scarcely seems possible—a cream-colored planet girdled by a great ring— but perhaps I have done enough for the day . . . confirm your initial calculations, Cassyll . . . something very close to an inclination of twenty degrees, which means that Overland will have seasons from now on . . . Jerene will be with me in the morning, and with her help I'll soon be able to work . . . the people, especially the farmers, must prepare to cope with the great changes brought about by the seasons . . . seasons and reasons, reasons and seasons ... I have a curious premonition about that ringed planet, Bartan—it is so exceptional, so portentous in its aspect, that it must be destined to play a major role in our future affairs. . . . Toller lapsed easily into a profound and healing sleep.

  When he awoke the balcony was silent and deserted, an indication that the night was now well advanced. He found he had been covered with extra blankets which had protected him against the growing coldness of the air. The sky looked just as it had done when he first saw it. Unfamiliar constellations were poised overhead, and a tinge of nacreous light on the eastern horizon was beginning to overpaint the faintest of the meager stars.

  This time Toller's attention was caught by what appeared to be a bright double planet which had risen above the pre-dawn spray of luminance. On impulse he threw the blankets aside and struggled to his feet, lips moving silently as the wound in his leg exacted its due toll of pain. He gathered up his crutches and negotiated his way across the tiled floor to the nearest of the telescopes. His disability complicated the task of aiming and focusing the instrument, but within a few seconds he was gazing into the eyepiece.

  And there, suspended before him in velvety blackness, was a shimmering world accompanied by a single huge moon. The larger component of the binary was bluish in color, perhaps a signal that it had an abundance of water, and as his eyes drank in the radiant spectacle Toller felt a touch of the uncanny, a stealthy coolness spreading down his spine.

  "You may be right about the ringed world, father," he whispered. "But—somehow—I wonder. ..."

  End

  AN OFFER HE COULDN'T REFUSE

  They were functional fangs, not just decorative, set in a protruding jaw, with long lips and a wide mouth; yet the total effect was lupine rather man simian. Hair a dark matted mess. And yes, fully eight feet tall, a rangy, tense-muscled body.

  She clawed her wild hair away from her face and stared at him with renewed fierceness. Her eyes were a strange light hazel, adding to the wolfish effect. "What are you really doing here?"

  "I came for you. I'd heard of you. I'm . . . recruiting. Or I was. Things went wrong and now I'm escaping. But if you came with me, you could join the Dendarii Mercenaries. A top outfit—always looking for a few good men, or whatever. I have this master-sergeant who . . . who needs a recruit like you." Sgt. Dyeb was infamous for his sour attitude about women soldiers, insisting that they were too soft . . .

  "Very funny," she said coldly. "But I'm not even human. Or hadn't you heard?"

  "Human is as human does." He forced himself to reach out and tough her damp cheek. "Animals don't weep."

  She jerked, as from an electric shock. "Animals don't lie. Humans do. All the time."

  "Not all the time."

  "Prove it." She tilted her head as she sat cross-legged. "Take off your clothes."

  "... what?"

  "Take off your clothes and lie down with me as humans do. Men and women." Her hand reached out to touch his throat.

  The pressing claws made little wells in his flesh. "Blrp?" choked Miles. His eyes felt wide as saucers. A little more pressure, and those wells would spring forth red fountains. I am about to die. . . .

  I can't believe this. Trapped on Jackson's Whole with a sex-starved teenage werewolf. There was nothing about this in any of my Imperial Academy training manuals. . . .

  BORDERS OF INFINITY by LOIS McMASTER

  BUJOLD

  69841-9 • $3.95

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