Pathfinder

by Orson Scott Card

  “What’s the point?” asked the expendable. “Your brain patterns have already been fully recorded. Anything I tell you now will be lost when your memories are reimplanted after you come out of stasis.”

  “That means you can answer my question without regard to whether it damages my psyche or not.”

  “Ask your question.”

  “Did you really kill all the other versions of myself when I ordered you to?”

  “Of course we did,” said the expendable.

  “I just thought—it occurred to me that perhaps you disobeyed me, and all the other copies of myself are doing and saying exactly the same things I’m doing and saying.”

  “If that were true, then we would also be lying to all the other versions of yourself and telling them that they were the only one.”

  “I think I want that to be true,” said Ram.

  “But it isn’t,” said the expendable.

  “I think you think I want it to be true because I feel some pang of conscience over ordering the death of eighteen highly trained pilots. But legally they were my property, so I could dispose of them as I wished.”

  “Or you were their property.”

  “My point is that I have no moral qualms. It was essential that you and the other expendables and computers be obedient to a single human being, so there would be no confusion.”

  “We agreed, and that’s why we obeyed you.”

  “But there was a side effect . . . an unintended consequence that I do regret.”

  The expendable waited.

  “Aren’t you curious about the unintended consequence?”

  “All the consequences were intended,” said the expendable.

  “All nineteen of these . . . cells, these walled-off habitats, whatever we call them.”

  “You decided on ‘wallfold,’ by analogy with the small pens constructed by shepherds.”

  “All nineteen of the wallfolds will start with exactly the same combination of genes—except one.”

  “The one that has you,” said the expendable.

  “And yet I’m the one that you all claim had some kind of influence over the jump backward in time, and the duplication of the ships.”

  “We do not ‘claim’ it. It’s a certainty. Your mind, cut off from the gravity well of any planet, destabilized the combination of fields we created in order to make the jump past the light barrier. Theoretically, all nineteen computers on the original ship made a slightly different calculation, but your mind caused all of them to be executed at once, resulting in nineteen equivalent ships making the same bifurcated jump.”

  “Bifurcated?”

  “Bifurcated means ‘split in half.’ The theory of the jump is that one vehicle jumps forward through space while an identical vehicle begins to move backward in time, retracing the entire journey. The backward-moving vehicle is incapable of changing the universe in any way; we have no idea whether the persons or computers on the backship are even aware of their existence. Their existence is required by the mathematics, but it is undetectable.”

  “So there were always going to be two ships after the jump, one with its timeflow reversed,” said Ram, puzzled.

  “Theoretically.”

  “So what my mind did was cause us to split into nineteen ships that reached our destination.”

  “That, and causing us to arrive 11,191 years before we made the jump.”

  “But still moving forward in time.”

  “It was a very complicated thing that you did, and you did it without any awareness of what you were doing.”

  “Is this ability to influence timeflow and divide matter into nineteen copies—do other humans have this ability?”

  “Perhaps,” said the expendable. “It might be latent in all humans. We have no way of knowing. Your influence on events, however, points to an exceptionally powerful ability.”

  “And might my ability be transferrable to my children through my genes?”

  “It is conceivable that your ability is genetic in origin rather than a mutation.”

  “So if there were still nineteen copies of me, then all nineteen wallfolds would have a chance to pass on my timeflow genes.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Instead I will only have the potential to reproduce in one wallfold. If I get sick and die, or if I marry an infertile woman, or if my children don’t marry—my line might die out.”

  “Tragically, that is always a possibility for gene-based sexual reproducers.”

  “I’m just saying that I . . . I regret that everybody else has nineteen chances, and only I am limited to a single chance for my genes to continue.”

  “Because you believe your genes would confer a great blessing upon the human race.”

  Ram thought about this for a moment. “I suppose that’s what every adolescent male believes with his whole heart.”

  “If they think at all.”

  “But I’m not an adolescent. If I really do have some ability to manipulate time, and if it can be passed on genetically, then it would be a shame for that genetic strain to die out. I’d believe that even if it weren’t my own genes in question.”

  “Are you asking us to impregnate all the females on all the ships with your DNA, so that you can be sure of having progeny?”

  “No!” said Ram in horror. “What a terrible thing for a woman, to wake up pregnant—a violation of trust. It would destroy all nineteen colonies.”

  “Not to mention being embarrassing when all the babies look like you,” said the expendable. “Though we find that you are not unattractive by many cultures’ standards, women are likely to be resentful and your offspring would grow up damaged in unpredictable ways by the hostility of their community.”

  “Then why did you even bring up such a possibility?”

  “You seemed to be asking us to ensure your reproductive success. Broadcasting your seed in this fashion would give you your best odds.”

  “I don’t want odds.”

  “Then find a willing woman, marry, and have a lot of babies,” said the expendable.

  “I will,” said Ram.

  “Then why are we having this discussion?” asked the expendable.

  “Are you on a deadline? Am I delaying an urgent appointment?” asked Ram.

  “Yes,” said the expendable. “You are not capable of contributing to the activities we are about to engage in.”

  Still Ram did not lie down to receive his injections and begin stasis. “Promise me something,” said Ram.

  “What point is a promise if you won’t remember it?” asked the expendable.

  “You’ll remember it,” said Ram. “Promise me that you’ll remain functional and present in the wallfold where my children will live. Look out for them. Do everything you can to see to it that my abilities have a chance to become part of the human heritage.”

  “I don’t have to promise that,” said the expendable.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we have already determined that to fulfil the original goal of this mission, our best course of action is to observe closely any useful or interesting traits that emerge in the different wallfolds, and manipulate events in such a way as to enhance those traits.”

  “Manipulate? How?” asked Ram.

  “We’re going to breed you humans like puppies,” said the expendable, “and see if we can make anything useful out of you during the next eleven thousand years.”

  • • •

  For the seventh time, Umbo found himself facing himself, listening to the same message. “It won’t work.”

  Immediately he left his observation point and entered the First People’s Bank of Aressa. There was Loaf, waiting just outside the office of the chief countsman. The plan this time had been rather desperate—Loaf would make a scene, yelling about how the bank was cheating him, while Umbo snuck in and started a fire, and then in the confusion they would get into the room where the jewel was kept inside a strongbox inside a safe. Once there, Umbo w
ould go back in time to the moment when the jewel was put into the strongbox, snatch it, and go.

  That was the plan. Apparently it didn’t work.

  Umbo went up the two flights of stairs to the anteroom of the counting office. Loaf saw him come in, sighed, and started to rise.

  At that moment the countsman came out. “You’re here about a missing sum, I believe, sir?” the man asked Loaf with a smile.

  “I found the missing money,” said Umbo at once.

  “Thanks for your trouble,” said Loaf.

  “I don’t think so,” said the countsman. “You’ve been spotted watching this bank for several weeks. We’ve had you followed. I think you’re planning a robbery, and each time you’re about to launch your attempt, something happens and you”—he pointed at Umbo—“come in and call it off.”

  “Are you insane?” asked Loaf.

  Two city guards opened the outer door and stepped inside, brandishing staves and prepared for action.

  “Please sit back down,” said the countsman. “The First People’s Bank of Aressa has decided not to allow you to have an account here.”

  “The law is that to be a ‘people’s bank’ you have to—” began Loaf.

  “I know the law,” said the countsman. “We’re not required to keep the accounts of persons whose behavior arouses suspicion. A magistrate has already authorized the closure of your account in a privy hearing.”

  “Nobody told us anything about—”

  “That’s what makes it ‘privy,’” said the countsman. He held up a paper with writing on it. “Here is a certified note for the total amount that you deposited with us, including interest, and minus the costs of watching you. These two city guards will escort you downstairs, observe while the cashier pays it out, and see you to the door. If either of you ever attempts to enter again, you will both be arrested.”

  “I don’t know why you think—” Loaf began again.

  “There will be no discussion,” said the countsman. “However stupid bankers are upriver, we are not that stupid here.” He waved to the guards, dropped the certified note, and, as it fluttered to the floor, returned to his inner office.

  Loaf looked at the guards and Umbo knew he was sizing them up. Umbo also knew that Loaf would conclude, as he always did, that he could handle both of them in a fight. But by now they had both learned that fighting always led to Umbo appearing to himself, telling himself not to let Loaf fight.

  That’s why Loaf glanced at Umbo questioningly.

  “No,” said Umbo.

  “I didn’t see any . . .” Loaf’s voice trailed off.

  “I can’t . . . because I won’t ever be allowed back in here,” said Umbo. “Especially if you do what you’re thinking.”

  The two guards, who couldn’t make much sense of the conversation, still knew what Loaf’s assessing look had meant, and they now were separated more widely, their staves ready for action.

  Umbo bent over, picked up the note, and marched between the guards. “Come on, Papa.” He said it in a tone that made it clear that in this case, the word “papa” was a synonym for “idiot.” Loaf growled and followed him out. Umbo was reasonably sure he had glared hard at the guards as he walked between them. But there was no thumping sound and no groaning and no shouting, so apparently Loaf was not succumbing to the temptation.

  Downstairs they got their money. The “costs” were five times the interest, but it still didn’t make much of a dent in the total amount.

  The cashier held up a scrap of paper with some scribbling on it. “By the way, the chief countsman informs me that word has been passed to all the other bankers in town. No one will accept your business or allow you inside. Thank you for banking at First People’s.”

  The guards saw them to the door and then, outside, took up stations on either side and studiously looked up and down the street, as if they were there to watch for other thieves.

  As they walked down the street, Umbo began to whistle.

  “Shut up,” said Loaf.

  Umbo whistled louder, and danced.

  “Why wasn’t that plan going to work? When you come back and give your nasty little messages, why not an explanation?”

  “Obviously,” said Umbo, “because somebody is watching my future self as I give the message, and so the message can’t be long and it can’t be very specific.”

  “Or you just got cold feet and pretended to get a message,” said Loaf darkly.

  “Think for a minute,” said Umbo. “The countsman was ready. They had already been spying on us. Nothing that we did by that point was going to work.”

  “Then why didn’t you go back to when we were first sitting in our room in the inn and tell us that none of our plans was going to work?”

  “Would you have believed a message like that?”

  “No,” said Loaf. “But it would have saved time.”

  “We don’t even know for sure if the . . . item . . . is still in the strongbox inside the safe,” said Umbo. “They could have moved it. If we had Rigg with us—”

  “Look closely,” said Loaf. “We don’t have Rigg with us.”

  “But if we—”

  “But we don’t.”

  “Yes you do,” said Rigg.

  Umbo looked to his left and there was Rigg, walking right alongside them in broad daylight. “Silbom’s right ear!” said Umbo.

  “Ananso-wok-wok,” said Loaf in his native language. Or at least that’s how it sounded to Umbo.

  “Very subtle,” said Rigg. “No one will ever guess you’re surprised to see me.”

  Rigg was right—they didn’t want to make a scene. But Umbo couldn’t help grinning to have Rigg with them again, apparently out of captivity.

  “Why is it always Silbom’s right ear?” grumbled Loaf.

  “Around here they say ‘Ram’s left elbow,’” said Rigg.

  “In the army, it wasn’t anybody’s ear or anybody’s elbow,” said Loaf darkly.

  “Are you free?” asked Umbo. “Or are we about to be overrun by soldiers chasing you?”

  “There are a lot of secret passages in the house where I’m staying, and some of them lead outside. Nobody knows I’m gone, but I have to get back right away. I found your paths, though, and it looked to me like you were doing something very brave and unnecessary, like trying to get the one jewel back.”

  “We have all the others,” said Loaf. “We wanted the complete set.”

  “There’s probably some deep, magical reason why we need all nineteen jewels,” said Rigg. “But whatever it is, I haven’t found any reference in the library to nineteen jewels.”

  “It was all we could think of to do to help you,” said Umbo. “We came here to rescue you, but we can’t even get near the house where you’re staying, and even finding out which house it was made people suspicious.”

  “Why would they think you wanted to rescue me?” asked Rigg.

  “They didn’t,” said Loaf. “They assumed we were privicks who wanted to come cut your hair or steal your clothes or some other nonsense. Apparently that sort of thing is completely out of fashion among the local citizens. In fact, from what we’ve gathered since we got here, you’re the most exciting person in the city.”

  “In the world,” said Umbo.

  “In the wallfold, anyway,” said Rigg. “Let me guess—a lot of them want to make me king, and a lot of others want me dead while my mother and sister are set up in the Tent of Light, and others don’t want royals to exist at all, others want royals to exist so they can be continuously imprisoned and abused, and most of the mothers want to find out what I’m wearing so they can dress their sons the same way.”

  “That about covers it,” said Loaf.

  “I guess you learned how to travel back in time,” said Rigg to Umbo.

  “Obviously,” said Umbo, “or I couldn’t have given messages to you and me back in O.”

  “Not obviously,” said Rigg. “Or haven’t you figured out that once it’s done, you don�
�t have to do it again?”

  “Yes, we figured it out,” said Loaf, “but I hate it, because it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “It makes sense to me,” said Rigg. “It’s like working a maze on paper. You draw your line up the wrong path. You go back to where you made the bad decision. You don’t have to keep going up the wrong path, you can do it differently.”

  “Time isn’t a maze,” said Loaf.

  “Yes it is,” said Rigg.

  “What’s a maze?” asked Umbo. He hated it when everybody else knew something that he didn’t know.

  “The point is, have you learned how to do what Umbo does?” asked Loaf.

  “I nearly broke my brain trying to do it when I was a prisoner on the boat,” said Rigg. “Not a twitch or a shimmer or whatever I should have felt.”

  “I can’t see paths either,” said Umbo.

  “But that’s fine,” said Rigg, “because as long as we’re together, you can include me in your—whatever you do. Your shift in time. The question is, have you learned how to jump forward in time?”

  “Everybody does that,” said Loaf. “One second at a time, we move one second into the future.”

  “My sister can do it,” said Rigg.

  “She sees the future?” asked Umbo.

  “No, nothing that useful. She skips over bits of time. It makes her move very slowly, but while she’s doing it, she’s invisible.”

  Loaf shook his head. “Why didn’t I just keep your money back in Leaky’s Landing and then let the rivermen toss you in the water?”

  “She’s my sister,” said Rigg. “It makes sense that she can do things with time, too.”

  “Nothing makes sense,” said Loaf.

  “I’m not your brother,” said Umbo. “I’m not any kind of relative at all. And nobody else in my family can do anything.”

  “Somehow Father knew what you could do,” said Rigg. “How did he know?”

  “I told him,” said Umbo.

  “Right, you just walked up to him and said, ‘By the way, I can slow down time.’”

  “So he knew. He was . . . your father.”

  “But he wasn’t,” said Rigg. “I’ve been getting to know my real father. Knosso Sissamik. He was a great man in his own way. A thinker, but also somebody who did things.”