[Jan Darzek 05] - The Whirligig of Time

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  Somewhere above, on the surface of the seventh planet, was the bleak, airless, frozen landscape. From the mining combine that owned it, the Zarstans had purchased a barren planet that for uncounted cycles had been gradually stripped of its mineral wealth. Its surface was uninhabited except for stations in the invisible guidance network that regulated the enormous spaceship traffic to Vezpro - maintained there by the Vezpronian government with the Zarstans' permission. The world did not have a transfer station, so no ships called there. Its supplies and anything else its population needed were imported from Vezpro by transmitter. If its exploited veins of ore still yielded minerals, or if the Zarstans had found new deposits, they were exported the same way. It was much cheaper than space transport and far more convenient. When the planets were properly positioned, a flow of ore could be sent directly to a smelter on Vezpro.

  The Zarstans lived, worked, and supposedly worshipped in the networks of tunnels that originally were mining excavations, extensively modified to suit their needs. What Darzek had been unable to find out - and what he desperately needed to know - was what he would encounter once he slipped past the public areas where the Zarstans performed and transacted business.

  Every informant had failed him. He had even visited another mineral-exhausted planet in the Vezpro system whose tunnels had been turned into a tourist attraction. It featured artificial stalagmites and stalactites, frozen waterfalls in rainbow colors, and other simulated wonders that never existed in nature. The gullible admired them through the transparent walls of a heated tunnel that led through the mine to an enormous underground excavation, famous for its echo effects, where weird musical concerts were given. Darzek found that establishment somehow reassuring - it proved that humans had no monopoly on the bad taste in the universe - but he knew there would be no such nonsense on Zarst.

  There wasn't. When he stepped through the final transmitter it was neither a tourist trap nor a cathedral that he emerged in, but a business office; and he saw immediately that the amount of business transacted there was huge. The reception hall was an enormous, vaulted room, and throngs of diversified life forms were coming and going constantly. Probably 80 per cent of the customers were Vezpronians, which only confirmed what both rumor and logic had indicated, that Vezpro was the Zarstans' best customer.

  Darzek marched confidently toward the reception desk, with Raf Lolln trailing after him and trying valiantly to look like an industrialist. They both wore revoltingly colored garments of the type affected by the more affluent Vezpronians, and Darzek felt absolutely like an ass and was trying hard not to show it. He had never had on pink, purple, and green trousers before.

  A multilimbed, white-robed, electron-ornamented priest politely inquired as to their business, took the firm name Darzek supplied, glanced briefly at one of the rolls of drawings that Gud Baxak had collected, and imperiously ordered them to wait. There were comfortable lounge groupings, with chairs, recliners, stools of various sizes and designs - every type of sitting or resting device that could be devised for the comfort of an unpredictable variety of life forms.

  Darzek seated himself, and Raf Lolln, after poking about the furniture, picked a chair for himself nearby. The plan now was in operation. Miss Schlupe, with Vezpronian officials, was controlling all transmitter traffic to Zarst, and a company of Skarnaffian proctors, with the chief proctor himself in charge, was standing by and ready for action. Darzek tried to relax. The flow of traffic had ceased abruptly with Darzek's entrance. Customers were leaving, but none were arriving. The priest at the reception desk seemed not to have noticed.

  Then Gud Baxak stepped from the transmitter. He looked about, saw Darzek, and found a seat for himself near the transmitter. After him, at intervals, Miss Schlupe's investigators arrived one at a time to simulate an influx of customers. Each reported at the reception desk, talked with the priest, displayed a roll of design drawings while spouting a carefully rehearsed story, and was waved to the lounge area.

  With nothing to do but wait, Darzek studied his surroundings. The hall's walls and vaulted ceiling were smooth as plaster and a gleaming white. The lighting came from large colored jewels representing atoms, some of them exceedingly strange-looking to Darzek. Had it not been for the spectacular lights and the cleanliness of the place, Darzek would have been reminded of a transportation waiting room. The only object that interested him was at the remote end of the hall: the transmitter station to on-planet locations. At intervals the receptionist pronounced a name - usually Vezpronian but sometimes a gargle of syllables - and a young priest stepped forward to guide the summoned customer to the transmitter and his destination.

  The room's waiting population gradually diminished, since no customers had arrived after the last of Miss Schlupe's investigators. Those who had finished their business emerged from the transmitter at the far end of the room, crossed to the interworld transmitter, and left. Darzek turned to watch Raf Lolln, wondering how the old scientist was reacting to the fact that he was about to commit a crime. Any kind of an illegal act should have been incomprehensible to him.

  It was. He still hadn't grasped what it was he was about to do. He said suddenly to Darzek, "I think you're wrong about your assistants. I've been watching both of them carefully, and I'm sure they could not be involved in activity against their own world. They're splendid workers, too."

  Darzek smiled and said politely, "You may be right." The previous day, Wolndur and Melris had told him the same thing about Raf Lolln.

  Finally only Darzek, Raf Lolln, Gud Baxak, and the ten investigators were left in the waiting room. The receptionist was becoming puzzled. No doubt the priests were accustomed to slack periods and rush periods, but a virtually empty waiting room was unusual. The receptionist called Darzek's name, stood up and looked around - and then sat down with an alien equivalent of a shrug. Darzek, with Raf Lolln hurrying after him, followed the young priest and guide to the far transmitter.

  "Nuclear design," the guide said politely, punching buttons on the transmitter's destination board. "Follow me, please." The priest stepped through. Darzek immediately punched another number: 3939392839. He motioned to Raf Lolln and stepped through, and the old scientist followed him.

  Behind them, a sequence of events was set in motion. The transmitter's destination number, since Darzek had set it for two passages, returned to zero. The guide, who certainly would return to the reception hall at once in search of his lost customers, would not be able to discover where they had gone unless the transmitter was equipped with a recording device, and consulting it would take time. His search would be interrupted before he could get the machine apart.

  The moment Darzek and Raf Lolln entered the transmitter, Gud Baxak would have got to his feet, leisurely strolled to the interworld transmitter, and departed. His arrival at his destination would be the signal for action. The waiting Skamaffian proctors would pour into the Zarstan waiting room and seize the astonished priest and the guide. They and any other priests entering the reception hall would be hustled off the planet before they could sound an alarm.

  In the meantime, Miss Schlupe's ten investigators would hurry to the interior transmitter, punch destination numbers they had been supplied with in advance, and step through. Their assignments were to use their ears and eyes, cover as much territory as they could, and learn as much as possible about the Zarstan establishment before they were physically restrained. In the meantime, more proctors would be arriving, and when it became obvious that Darzek, Raf Lolln, and the investigators had seen as much as they were likely to see or were captives, the proctors would begin their takeover of the world of Zarst.

  The numbers, including Darzek's, had been obtained by Miss Schlupe from a renegade priest who had left the Order. Only an emotional appeal to his patriotism had induced him to violate his priestly oath - he was a Vezpronian - and the transmitter numbers, to key points in the establishment, were all that he would divulge.

  Darzek, with Raf Lolln stumbl
ing after him, emerged in a broad corridor that was vaulted like the reception room, with gleaming white walls and ceiling. It was dimly lit with colored, jewel-like lights that were placed at intervals high up on the walls. He could see a tremendous sweep of it before it gradually curved out of sight in either direction.

  There was no one in sight. Darzek quickly slipped off his cloak and outer garments, and Raf Lolln did the same. Underneath they wore white robes that were as close a facsimile of a priest's clothing as could be produced in the short time they'd had, complete with jeweled electrons. Darzek made a bundle of the discarded garments, tucked it under his robe, mentally flipped a coin, and turned right. On the left side of the corridor, which was the outside of the vast, curving circle it seemed to form, they occasionally passed openings into smaller passageways, some slanting upward or downward. Darzek glanced into each one without breaking his stride. He set a brisk pace, and Lolln had to scramble and huff to keep up with him. He paused only when he found an opening that led into a large shaft with a spiraling ramp leading downward. Leaning over a railing, he dropped the bundle of discarded clothing. It bounced from level to level and finally vanished.

  They moved on along the curving corridor, making haste cautiously and as noiselessly as possible. The mystic number seemed to have sent them to a level that was not in use, at least during that time of day. That Darzek had seen nothing of interest did not surprise him - he'd considered the renegade priest's numbers a gamble - but he was puzzled that they'd met no one. He began to wonder how long it would take an arc of that curvature to make a complete circle. Obviously they should have turned the other way.

  Then they encountered a door. Double doors.

  On their right. All of the other openings had been on the left. And opposite the doors was an alcove with another transmitter. Miss Schlupe's informant had been only slightly in error about the number.

  Behind them he heard footsteps. Someone cried out. Darzek did not hesitate. The doors were broad, with typical Vezpronian hinges that ran from floor to ceiling and operated pneumatically, and they would support a door weighing a ton in a manner that made it possible to open it with one finger. Darzek pushed one of the doors open. With Raf Lolln on his heels, he slipped through.

  Heat smote them in the face. They were in an enormous room, on a slanting balcony that curved around an abyss. It was a cathedral, with a ceiling that arched to infinity, but that thought occurred to Darzek only much later. What he grasped now was a dim impression of unclothed worshippers about him and, in the center of the abyss, a monstrous, blazing sun, with rays that shot toward him.

  Then the intense light and heat blinded him.

  He was still clasping his hands to his eyes when the priests seized him.

  "A special emissary of Supreme," the Prime Number said heavily.

  He kept his eyes steadily on Darzek; he was of a life form that Darzek had not seen before, but there was no mistaking his attitude. He was outraged. "If you had presented your credentials honorably, you would have been received as the Order's exalted guest."

  "Would you have shown me your place of worship?" Darzek asked politely.

  The Prime Number was silent for a moment. Then he said, "In every religion, there are matters that are of no concern to outsiders."

  "I have explained to you the threat to the world of Vezpro," Darzek said. "If your Order is not responsible, surely it is in your best interest to cooperate and assist us. If it is responsible, you will understand that you cannot proceed and have your Order survive."

  "Why would my Order threaten Vezpro?" the Prime Number demanded. "It is essential to our existence."

  "It is also essential to your prosperity," Darzek observed dryly.

  "Threatening it could be a way to greater prosperity."

  The Prime Number had no reply.

  "At this moment," Darzek said, "everything concerning your religion is of intense interest to a special emissary of Supreme. Either you cooperate fully with myself and my agents, or this world will be classified Uncertified and you'll be completely isolated. Which will it be?"

  "We have no choice," the Prime Number muttered. His anger had not lessened.

  "No, you don't. But you need have no concern about your secrets.

  I, and my agents, and Supreme, keep secrets at least as well as your priests."

  The Prime Number got to his feet resignedly. "Very well. What do you want to see?"

  "Everything," Darzek answered bluntly.

  He conferred privately with Miss Schlupe's investigators, all of whom had been taken prisoner in forbidden places. Some had managed to roam about much longer than others, but none of them had seen anything of interest.

  The only worthwhile clue, then, was the cathedral of the miniature sun that Darzek and Raf, Lolln had happened onto. Darzek first presented the chief proctor of Skarnaf to the Prime Number and told him that the proctors were to be permitted to search everywhere and see everything. The Prime Number gestured resignedly and gave the order.

  Then Darzek sent for Raf Lolln and asked that the Order's leading astrophysicist explain to him the miniature sun that they had seen. The Prime Number hesitated - dearly that secret was the key to the Order's holy of holies - but soon Raf Lolln was in conference with an elderly priest, who was filling a workscreen with formulae.

  Darzek found Miss Schlupe waiting patiently in the reception hall.

  "This is Gula Schlu," he told the Prime Number. "She also is an emissary of Supreme. She seeks information concerning an individual from Skarnaf whom your order recruited some three cycles ago."

  "Regretfully, we have no records," the Prime Number said. "Regretfully, you had better find some records," Miss Schlupe said firmly. "The recruit's name was Qwasrolk."

  The Prime Number gestured bewilderedly. "Once a transmutation has taken place, an individual's past has no significance for us. It should have none for you. Why keep records if there is no need for them?"

  "That's your problem," Miss Schlupe said. "I refuse to believe that there are no records of any kind about the members of your Order. How do you know how many members you have? How would you decide how much food to order? How could you arrange activities? It defies logic, and a scientific religion has got to be logical. Until you produce some records on Qwasrolk, the transmitter embargo remains in effect."

  The Prime Number got to his feet wearily. "I will ask."

  The spiritual leader of the Order of Prime Forces clearly was no administrator. He had to rummage through departments he probably had never visited before and may not have known existed. Finally he located a secretary-priest who actually was a computer technician and whose department maintained some records. It seemed that is was the Order's custom to notify a priest's next of kin on his death, and that obscure action was not known or thought of by most priests of the Order, including the Prime Number. It necessitated some rudimentary record keeping.

  "The name," Miss Schlupe said, "is Qwasrolk. As far as I know, he is not dead."

  The secretary-priest worked briefly at a strangely arranged keyboard. "Qwasrolk. From Skamaf."

  "That's the one."

  "Joined the Order from Vezpro. A little more than three cycles ago, if you're referring to Vezpronian cycles."

  "What can you tell me about him?" Miss Schlupe asked impatiently.

  "Nothing. "

  Miss Schlupe placed both hands on hips. "Listen, Buster, there's a limit to the amount of nonsense I'll take in one afternoon."

  The secretary-priest worked his keyboard again, sat back with a negative gesture. "After his novicehood, which takes - in Vezpronian time - a bit more than half a cycle, he was assigned to industrial design. But our records on him end about a half cycle after that."

  "Why?" Miss Schlupe demanded.

  "He disappeared."

  While Miss Schlupe attempted to coax more information from a computer that almost certainly had none, and the Prime Number tried to locate anot
her obscure department that maintained records, Darzek returned to the scientific conference between Raf Lolln and the astrophysicist priest.

  The formulae now filled the screen and could be measured in meters, and the two paused to argue occasionally when a new segment was added. Raf Lolln was enjoying himself immensely, and so - Darzek thought - was the priest.

  Another argument broke out. The priest moved a segment of formula to a smaller screen and began to dissect it. One component at a time was isolated, enlarged, carried through a series of derivatives, and finally returned to its original position.

  Suddenly there was a sharp intake of breath, and Raf Lolln leaned forward excitedly.

  One small cluster of symbols had exploded the scientific dogma of a galaxy.

  10

  Darzek gave his desk calendar a spin and remarked, "Do you realize that we didn't accomplish a thing?"

  Miss Schlupe arched her eyebrows. "If the Zarstans can produce a miniature sun, what's to prevent their doing it on a larger scale? And even if they're innocent, knowing how it's done ought to be an enormous help to us. Raf Lolln is in ecstasy."

  "I noticed. Unfortunately, their miniature sun is just that - it's only a few centimeters in diameter, and they do the rest with mirrors to make it look maybe thirty or forty meters across. The thing is an optical illusion."

  "I didn't know that," Miss Schlupe said. "illusion or not, it certainly looks impressive."

  "It ought to. Producing a sun of any size is a tremendous achievement, and Raf Lolln is right to feel ecstatic. He said it could be done, and dogma said it couldn't. Too bad we have to keep it a secret - he could have a great time laughing at all the galaxy's leading scientists, especially those that got him fired. Unfortunately, taking a small mass of carefully compounded materials and starting a sun-type nuclear reaction with it is not the same thing as starting the same reaction with a large planet. Worlds aren't compounded according to the Zarstans' chemical formula. They would have to use whatever was there, and I have my doubts that their technique would work. They agree with me. They've promised to study the problem, though, and Raf Lolln will work with them, so I suppose we did accomplish that. As for Qwasrolk -"