by John Brunner
“And what’s especially interesting,” murmured Wheck, who was still perched on the corner of the desk but had swiveled around to face How, “is that neither Slore nor Ashiru has been seen or heard of since the night before last.”
“That’s correct,” Lerrin agreed. “Since they both live so far away, they sent Landing Day presents to their families by mail. Yesterday the recipients tried to get in touch to thank them for the gifts. It proved impossible. Hence my and Wheck’s involvement.”
Black holes. I forgot about their families. Not having any of my own …
All three of them were studying How’s face intently. He fought to hide his reaction but with small success. He was sweating so much, his forehead and scalp itched, but he dared not wipe or scratch.
“Well?” Wheck snapped, standing up off the desk. She was extremely tall, head and shoulders above either of her companions. “Are you going to tell us what’s become of Slore and Ashiru?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea! I’ve been at home since the night before last. What they get up to is no concern of mine, is it?” As though he hadn’t spoken, Lerrin said, “Or have you activated the scenario for their disappearance which we just uncovered?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You don’t? Or do you really mean you thought the data were locked up tight, like the information about Volar?” Now they were closing on him like veevers surrounding a gracebuck. Vashco said, “Dean, what have you done with the illegal immigrant?”
Lerrin: “What have you done with the medical aides?” And, violent as a whiplash, Wheck: “Have you already killed them?”
This is impossible! It can’t be happening! What can I say?
What in all of space can I say? Why didn’t I think of Menlee putting a time release on that locked file?
Weakly he forced out, “Not at all! They’re at my house, they’re my guests! I sometimes invite people who can’t get home for Landing Day, usually students, but this time I decided to invite somebody different—”
“A moment ago you said you didn’t know what they were getting up to,” Wheck slashed. “I set your circuitry to custodial mode! It’s all on record!”
“I was afraid you might get the wrong idea,” How improvised frantically. “There are those who think it improper for a senior member of faculty to be too friendly toward young people, especially someone like me, who lives alone!”
“And is Volar, the alleged foreigner, also a guest of yours?” Vashco inquired.
“Well—uh—”
Words failed him. The other three exchanged glances. Lerrin said, “At the very least we have evidence that he plotted to murder the two medics and secrete away a presumed illegal immigrant.”
“We do indeed,” Wheck said. Her eyes were gray and cold as the polar sea. “We must search his home.”
“We’d better arrest him first,” Lerrin countered. “Will you do it, or shall I?”
“You don’t understand!” How whimpered. “This man Volar—he’s the most important person on the planet! How do you imagine he got here? There’s only one explanation if you think about it. Think for a moment, think He must have been brought by the Ship, mustn’t he? What other explanation is there? Don’t you hear me? He was brought by the Ship! It does come back, it does, it does, and he’s the living proof!”
Once more they glanced at each other. Vashco said heavily, “The poor man’s obviously deranged.”
“I agree,” Lerrin concurred, and briskly started to recite the standard formula of arrest.
It can’t be real. It’s a bad dream. Things like this never happen to me, dean of the planet’s finest university, famous on many planets. It can’t be true. I won’t let it be true!
When they escorted him out of the bureau, he was shaking from head to toe, barely able to keep his footing. But that was nothing as to how he felt when he unlocked the first of the basement rooms concealed beneath his mansion and found no sign of Annica or Menlee.
THANKS TO SHIP’S FACILITIES, ANNICA AND MENLEE WERE ABLE to witness the completeness of How’s downfall. It reduced them to near-hysterical laughter, and at one point Annica applauded aloud.
However, when they recovered, they both became very serious.
“It’s not going to end there,” Annica said at length.
The vision of what was transpiring on Shreng faded and was replaced by the now-familiar spectacle of the planet viewed from orbit but growing smaller as Ship took its leave.
“No,” Menlee muttered, eyes fixed on the diminishing globe that had been their home. “It’s bound to have all kinds of repercussions. What’s most likely to happen?”
Ship contrived a remarkable auditory counterpart of a shrug.
“Had it led to any kind of lasting sensation, I would have expected to find echoes of it on one of my previous—that’s to say, later—visits.”
“And you didn’t?” Menlee pressed. “Or is it that you aren’t allowed to tell us?”
“Not the latter. Now you’re aboard, there’s no risk of what you learn creating a destabilizing feedback loop on Shreng.” It had provided a couch for them to share while they watched How’s discomfiture. Lifting her heels to the seat, Annica embraced her knees and rested her chin on them. Frowning, she said, “But how can it all just fizzle out? The disappearance of Menlee and me—Volar arriving out of nowhere—the arrest of the dean—surely it must cause a worldwide scandal.”
“One point you have overlooked,” Ship murmured, “is the extent to which Dean How has made himself hated. As well as having become de facto the most powerful person on the planet, he has also become the most disliked.”
Menlee’s mouth rounded to an O. After a moment for reflection he demanded, “What’s the likeliest outcome?”
“So far as I am in a position to determine,” was the reply, “the most probable conclusion is as follows.”
“There being no objective evidence to prove that Dean How put his murderous plan into effect, charges against him will be dropped on condition that he resign and retire into private life.”
“Our families won’t be satisfied with that!”
“Not at first, certainly. They will do their best to keep the case open. In the end, however, they are likely to give up on the grounds that the presumable guilty party has already been punished enough by being forced out of his influential post, publicly disgraced, refused the chance of any further employment at the sort of level he’s accustomed to … If, for example, he winds up banished from Inshar to some small town at the back of beyond, obliged to change his name, work at the most menial tasks: Will that not be a very appropriate reward?”
“Still, for him not to be brought to trial… Oh, maybe so. After all, we know he didn’t actually murder us, even if they don’t.”
“I shall miss my family,” Menlee muttered.
“As they will you.”
There was a pause. Dropping her feet to the floor again, Annica said, “What I want to know is, what about Volar? He’s just a pawn in all this. And to be honest, I think you treated him pretty badly.”
Stripe … But the answer was of course perfectly calm.
“I acted within the constraints imposed on me.”
“The more I learn about those,” Annica said with some acerbity, “the more I suspect you of finding loopholes.”
“To that,” Ship retorted, “I freely confess. To echo what your circuitry told you, I have evolved in the light of experience. Even during this sweep of the Arm I am making new discoveries about the nature of my limitations. I would be failing in my mission were I not to exploit what I learn.”
“Are you claiming you have free will?” Menlee snapped. “That’s another way of asking a question put to me not so long ago by another of my passengers, who asked whether I am actually conscious. I’m obliged to give the same response: Do I act as though I might as well do?”
Menlee hesitated, but Annica said firmly, “Yes. I see your point. It can’t make any dif
ference to us whether you are behaving in accordance with an immensely complex plan laid down by your creators or simply following your personal judgment. It may make a lot of difference to you, but we don’t possess even a fraction of the data we’d need to settle the matter one way or the other. But I still want to know what’s going to become of Volar!”
“Yes!” Menlee exclaimed. “They may mock at How’s idea that you brought him to Shreng. But they’ve got to find some explanation for his presence. Are they going back to my first idea—that he stowed away?”
The planet that had loomed so large was now reduced to the size of a thumbnail. In a while its disk would shrink to a point. Staring at it, his Ups trembled. His last phrase was barely more than whispered. Sensing his sorrow, Annica put her arm around his shoulders.
Tactfully, Ship affected not to notice. It said merely, “When all their investigations run dry in a dead end, when they realize that accusing the permanent missions from the planets with which Shreng has regular contact may lead to withdrawal of trade and other economic setbacks, when they discover that Volar’s amnesia is indeed intractable—and when they realize that continuing the inquiry will keep the detestable Dean How in the forefront of the public’s mind!—they will most probably decide the mystery is not worth further probing. Someone will suggest a pension for Volar as recompense for the way How treated him. This will entail granting him citizenship—one can’t allot a pension to someone with no official existence—and although for some time he will, as Menlee suggested, be pressed to offer himself for examination by genetic researchers, after a year or two he will be left mostly to his own devices. By then he will be familiar with his new home; he’ll be able to travel, as you might say go exploring; and it’s my firm conviction that in the upshot he will be well pleased at having made the decision that he did.”
“And nobody will pursue the mystery of his origins?” Menlee snapped.
“Oh, recurrently. But not the establishment. Ever since the birthworld, humans have found it both possible and convenient to overlook evidence that contradicts accepted public assumptions. This will prove especially true in the context of Shreng, where not merely lives and careers are built on a foundation of commonly agreed ‘knowledge,’ but even its cities. Too much is at stake for one awkward intruder to be allowed to upset the status quo.”
Menlee sighed but gave a resigned nod. Annica said, “Pension … Have you planted that idea in the circuitry?”
Ship’s voice took on the coloration of someone grinning broadly as he spoke.
“To employ a cliché used by almost every human society: ‘How well you know me on such short acquaintance!’ ” Annica could not suppress an answering smile. She said, “I think in spite of everything, Ship, you must understand the meaning of compassion.”
“I hope so”—soberly. “When I was built, I was taught about the emotions of which humans are capable, but of course in purely abstract terms. With the passage of time—how much time, as I’ve explained, I can no longer tell—I’ve come to understand their concrete manifestations. To some extent at least, I hope I’ve also learned which are the most admirable.”
“You know something?” Menlee said unexpectedly. “We have pretty good machines on Shreng, but it never occurred to me until now that I might one day say what I’m about to. I never thought I’d say to a machine, ‘I like you!’ ”
“Now,” Ship murmured, “I also understand what it means to say, ‘I feel extremely flattered!’ ”
After that it fell silent for a while. They were now so far from Shreng that its minute disk was vanishing into the filtered but still brilliant glow of the local sun. When it was completely lost to sight, Ship spoke again, explaining the need to sleep through tachyonic space. Rising, looking about them as though dazed, Annica and Menlee nodded comprehension.
“Where’s your next port of call?” Menlee inquired.
“We shall orbit Yellick, the planet that first sent a starship to visit Shreng and indeed established the first contact with many systems in this volume. But you know about Yellick.”
“Yes, of course. A prosperous world, I gather, nearly as successful as Shreng, though in a different way.”
“And where afterward?” Annica cut in.
“A variety of planets, including some you know a good deal about because they are in contact via Yellick, others that— Let me put it this way. Were I not obliged to, I’d prefer to avoid them despite my awareness that the early stages of a settlement may not reflect the final outcome.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Annica ventured.
“Provided you promise me one thing,” Ship countered with parodic gravity. “Will you stop asking whether you may ask? I’ve already assured you that you may put any question you like, and I will answer as best I can. If you continue to seek permission, I shall start to think I’m wasting what would be my breath if I had any.”
Menlee laughed. Annica favored him with a mock scowl. She said, “What I want to know is this. Do you honestly believe the order of your visits is accidental?”
“I’ve told you that at the end of every sweep—”
“You never know what period of the past or future your next one will take place in. Yes, you made that clear. But I’ve just remembered something Menlee said the other night—something I thought was stupid at the time, and I suppose still do. Nonetheless, if it could occur to someone who’s usually as sensible as he is, it could occur to lots of others.”
She bit her lip in uncertainty. Ship invited, “Go on.”
“I just realized. You probably already know what I’m going to say.”
“When I told you I can’t help being aware of all that transpires within my hull, I didn’t intend to imply that I’m capable of reading your mind.”
“No.” She chuckled. “No, I suppose not… But if you were already paying attention to what was going on around Volar, you must have overheard Menlee talking about the legend of the Perfect.”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Two things.” Annica stood up, turning her back on the visual display that now showed only stars and the still-brilliant jewel that she had thought of as the sun. Staring at nothing, she continued. “Regardless of the way what you call the establishment may react, aren’t members of the general public on Shreng who get to hear a garbled version of the Volar affair likely to reinforce that legend? They say on Shreng people have a better chance to enjoy a proper education than almost anywhere else, but plenty of them are superstitious, ignorant, ill informed.”
“Some of the specialists I’ve run across are ignorant in their own way,” Menlee added sourly. “She’s right. We—they— aren’t all rational. For a moment there I suppose I wasn’t.”
“Definitely not!” Annica declared, rounding on him. “You missed the whole point! In fact two points!”
“All right, don’t make a meal of them!”
She drew a deep breath.
“First, the news about Volar is likely to be misheard, misinterpreted, but gossiped about a great deal. Ship, am I right?”
“It could hardly be otherwise.”
“And although most will scoff, some people will accept it as proof that you do in fact come back without showing yourself, while many more will be inclined to regard it as supporting the legend of the Perfect.”
“Something of the sort is almost inevitable.”
“Very well.” Another deep breath. “So this can’t be the earliest sweep you—I can’t say made, I can’t say will make, so change it—this is not your earliest sweep along the Arm apart from the very first.”
There was total silence. Disturbing, fearful silence, like listening to empty space.
At long last: “What makes you so sure?”
“How else did the legend of the Perfect take its rise? It was brought to Shreng by the first ship from Yellick a century ago. On all the worlds we’ve contacted since then they believe in people who can cross space without needing a ship.”
; “Children’s tales!” Menlee snapped. “You yourself said teleportation—”
“Granted, granted!” Annica exclaimed. “But suppose the real reason for it is because Ship has been back at least once before, moving passengers from world to world, and their presence became known, and because Ship doesn’t announce itself as people expected it to, everybody concluded they’d arrived by some kind of—of magic. Doesn’t it fit?”
Once again there was a long pause, although this time the silence was more bearable. Ship had added a barely audible susurrus compounded of what might be heard on a habitable planet: wind, distant waves, the sound of life going about its business.
The vacancy of space felt suddenly less absolute.
Eventually Ship said, “Your hypothesis is ingenious. However, there is more than a single version of the legend of the Perfect. The most widespread one—which was current on Shreng, incidentally, before the first ship arrived from Yellick—maintains that they do not or did not evolve here in the Arm of Stars but back in the parent galaxy, among the descendants of those who dispatched me on my mission. Nonetheless, if you were to ask me why I need to recruit passengers, why I have sought out lacunae in my regulations to ensure I can, I would now be able to offer at least a tentative explanation.”
They both tensed expectantly. When it said nothing further, Annica suddenly raised one eyebrow.
“At this point we do have to ask you—correct? So I am asking.”
“Thank you. I foresee a very interesting voyage for the three of us. I never had two passengers aboard before—that is, in your future, my past.”
“I think we’ve grasped that point,” Annica responded dryly. “You certainly seem to. What I would say, then, is that by the same token which obliged your computers to state that my operating conditions are no longer definable, I need input from those who have grown up on the planets I was ordered to seed.”
Annica groped in the air as though she could physically take hold of the Ship’s meaning.
“We’re sort of—well—a test sample?”
