Hogan, James - Giant Series 04 - Entoverse (v1.1)

by Entoverse [lit]

  “Believe it now?” He waved a hand casually. “Shiban, one of Jevlen’s principal metropolises.”

  Gina moved forward to take in more of the view and saw, through a gap between two of the structures, a tall, streamlined shape standing upright in what appeared to be an open space, possibly beyond the edge of the city proper. Although the bottom part of it was obscured, she had seen enough pictures to recognize it. “Isn’t that the Shap­ieron?” she asked, indicating with a motion of her head. It was the Ganymean spacecraft from ancient Minerva. If anything, the nose was still some way below the level they were looking out from—and the Shapieron stood almost half a mile high.

  “Shiban is where the Shapieron is currently berthed,” Hunt replied. “It’s at a place called Geerbaine, just to the west of the city. The place we’re in is Garuth’s Planetary Administration Center. It used to be the governing center for this region of Jevlen. We can’t go any farther without resorting to total simulation, because this is the only part that the Thuriens adapted for VISAR—Jevlen was managed by JEVEX, which had slightly different sensor wiring. But anyhow, welcome to another world. What do you think?”

  Gina stared outside again. She rubbed her brow with a knuckle and shook her head, then looked back at Hunt. “No. . . this still doesn’t make any sense. How can I be seeing Jevlen through VISAR, if I’m not coupled into VISAR?”

  The strange smile, which had never quite left Hunt’s face, broad­ened. “Aren’t you?”

  “Well, no. . . I got up out of the chair and talked to you. I—oh, Vic, stop looking at me like that. Tell me what’s going on.”

  And then, just as abruptly as before, she was standing inside the cubicle in the Thurien starship again, with Hunt facing her from the doorway, just as they had been before the transition.

  “It’s simple,” Hunt told her. “If VISAR can make us think we’re walking around on Jevlen, it can just as easily make us think we’re standing here in the ship.”

  It took a few seconds for the meaning of what he was saying to sink in. “You’re kidding!” Gina breathed incredulously. Hunt shook his head. She ran a finger experimentally down the edge of the door-frame. It felt cool and hard and solid. There was even a burr at one place, where something had scratched it.

  “Hold out your hand,” Gina said. Hunt obliged. She ran a finger along one of his and traced it over the palm. It felt warm and fleshy, with each line and wrinkle in the skin clearly discernible. “It’s un­canny,” she whispered.

  “Not bad,” Hunt agreed. “What you saw a moment ago is what’s happening in a part of Shiban at this moment. Those people are really there. VISAR is very good at realism.” Hunt pointed at a spot on her arm. “You’ve even got the stain on your sleeve, where you rubbed your elbow in some ash that had fallen on the table when we were in the cafeteria.”

  Gina looked at the sleeve of the green sweater she was wearing, and flicked at the gray patch with her other hand. Sure enough, most of it brushed away, leaving a faint smudge, just as real ash on a real sleeve would have done.

  Hunt laughed. “There’s an easier way. In this world, you can do anything you want. VISAR, clean the sleeve.” The remaining dis­coloration vanished, leaving no trace. “Or change the whole thing if you don’t like it. VISAR, how about a red sweater?” Gina’s sweater promptly changed to a rich ruby red.

  She gasped. “It’s true! This is all happening inside my head? I’m not really standing here? So aren’t you here, either?”

  “Of course not. I’m inside your head, too. So I must be hooked in through another coupler, just as you still are.”

  Gina struggled to come to terms with the meaning of it, but in the end faltered and shook her head decisively. “It’s no good. I can’t believe this. Prove it.”

  “I can’t. Ask VISAR to.”

  “VISAR. Prove it.”

  And instantaneously she was back in the recliner, at ease and comfortable, as if she had never gotten up from it.

  “Voilà,” VISAR announced, managing to sound quite proud of itself.

  As Gina’s confusion subsided, she reminded herself that she never had gotten up. She had been here all the time . . . or had she? Was she really here now, or was this yet another construct in the maze of mirages that Hunt had led her into? She sat up with a strange feeling of déjà vu—only this time, Hunt wasn’t standing watching from the doorway, and the door was closed. Her sweater was green again; the smudge of gray was back on her elbow. It was all as the real thing should have been, but there was no way of telling. If this was another illusion, she could see no purpose in it. Anyway, it seemed she had no option but to go along. She moistened her handkerchief and cleared the smudge from her sleeve.

  “Where’s Vic?” she asked aloud.

  “Next door, to the right.”

  Gina got up and moved to the door. She opened it, let herself out into the corridor, and peered into the next cubicle. Hunt was in repose in the recliner there, motionless with his eyes closed.

  “Happy now?” VISAR asked her.

  Okay, it was good enough for her. “Convinced, anyhow,” she conceded.

  “Never say I don’t give you your money’s worth.”

  Hunt opened his eyes and sat up. “Neat, eh?” he said to Gina. “Just think, you could go anywhere in the Thurien world-system right now if you wanted to. Imagine what that saves them in a year on bus fares.”

  “Right now, you only need to worry about getting back to the

  lounge area,” VISAR said. “The others are there, and they’re asking where you are.”

  “Tell them we’re on our way,” Hunt answered.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Twelve hours after leaving Earth, the Vishnu was five hundred mil­lion miles past the mean orbit of Uranus.

  By the internal clocks of most of the passengers it was the small hours of the morning, and the mess area of the Terran section was quieter than it had been earlier. Gina and the four from UNSA were still up, occupying a couple of tables pulled together, where they had been joined by the schoolteacher from Florida, whose name was Bob, and two of the Disney World marketing executives, Alan and Keith.

  “Wasn’t there something about an ancestor of modern horses?” Duncan Watt was saying to Danchekker. “It had stripes, suggesting that striping could be an inherited potential of all horse types. So there really isn’t any such group as zebras at all? They could all be more closely related to the horse lines than to each other.” They were talking about the investigations that Danchekker had conducted on specimens of early mammals from Earth’s late Oligocene period, which had been discovered in the wrecked Ganymean ship found on Ganymede, before the Shapieron’s appearance.

  “Mesohippus,” Danchekker supplied. “Yes, indeed—which makes it not as complex a characteristic as one might imagine. Several separate lineages could then have acquired stripes independently, which would make the zebras simply realizations of a developmental path common to all members of genus Equus. It becomes even more interesting when one considers the chromosome counts, where a distinct correlation is seen to occur between . .

  Duncan nodded as he sat with his arms wedged across his chest. He looked a little glazed and seemed content to let Danchekker carry on doing the talking.

  Across the other table, Bob, the teacher, and the two Disney World executives were into politics.

  “Maybe Ganymeans are instinctively what socialist idealists try to turn humans into,” Bob said. “But since it comes naturally to Gany­means, nobody has to try and make them anything they’re not. So it works.”

  “He’s got a point,” Al declared, turning to Keith. “We’re a com­petitive species—a competitive economic system fits our nature. Whether you like the thought of it or not, we work for what we are gonna get out of it, not the other guy. That’s the way humans are. The only way you can try to change them is through force. And people don’t like that. That’s why all these fancy ideas about molding human nature don’t work. They can’t work.”


  Sandy pushed herself back in her seat and yawned. “I’ve just had three hectic days that I think have caught up with me,” she an­nounced. “Sorry, but I’m going to be the first one to break up the party. So I’ll see you people tomorrow, wherever. The other side of Pluto, 1 guess.’

  “Yes, get some rest,” Danchekker said. “I should, too, for that matter. You’ve certainly been busy. We didn’t give you much no­tice.’’

  “Don’t forget that chip you wanted me to borrow,” Gina re­minded her as she stood up.

  “If you want to stop by my room, I’ll let you have it now,” Sandy said.

  “What chip’s that?” Hunt asked, turning from the conversation between Danchekker and Duncan.

  “Some tracks of Jevlenese music that I collected together,” Sandy said. “Some of it’s really wild stuff.”

  “Vie likes music,” Gina said as she rose. “I don’t know if what you’re talking about would be his style, though. That was a Beetho­ven score that you had pinned up on the wall at your place, wasn’t it, Vie?’’

  “Observant,” Hunt complimented. He took a sip of his drink. Did you know that his dot~ had a wooden leg?’’

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  walked across the room.” He raised a hand to conduct an imaginary orchestra. “Dah-dah-dah-dah . . . Dah-dah-dah-dah. See?”

  Gina shook her head, smiling hopelessly. “Are all the English insane? Or did you take a class in it?”

  “Come on, let’s go,” Sandy murmured. “They’re all past the crazy hour.”

  “No, but you have to work at it,” Hunt said. He waved a hand at them both and grinned. “We’ll see you two at breakfast, then.” The rest of the group added a chorus of goodnights.

  Gina and Sandy left the room and headed toward the cabins. “Guys and alcohol,” Gina said. “I didn’t want to be left that outnum­bered.”

  “I know the feeling,” Sandy agreed.

  “Are we turning into old maids, Sandy?” Gina asked jokingly. “Six men back there, and the two girls leave together. Perhaps we really are as bad as they tell us.”

  “You speak for yourself. I meant what I said: I’m exhausted.”

  “Duncan was giving you looks.”

  ‘‘I know.’’

  ‘‘Net your type?’’

  “Oh, Duncan’s okay. We’ve known each other since Floustoji. But you know what they say about keeping the complicated side of life separate from your work. I think it’s good advice.”

  They reached the door of Sandy’s cabin, which she opened with an unvoiced command to VISAR. Inside, she picked up a briefcase, set it on the bureau top, and took out a flat box of the kind used for carrying storage chips. “How about a coffee before you go?” she asked Gina.

  “Why not? Make it black, no sugar.”

  “Anything else to go with it?”

  “Uh-uh. Dinner just about filled me up.”

  Sandy asked VISAR for two coffees. “Ah, here’s the one I was talking about,” she said, handing Gina one of the capsules from inside the box. “I’ve got another with some of their classical stuff, but I don’t think it’s here. I must have left it at home. It’s a bit weird, anyhow.”

  “Thanks. This’ll be fine.” Gina put the capsule into a pouch in her

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  replacing the briefcase, Gina picked up the mugs and carried them over to a table in the lounge, where she settled herself into one of the easy chairs. Sandy followed a few moments later.

  “So, how about the romantic side of your life?” Sandy asked as she sat down in the other chair. “Or are writers always too busy to have one?”

  “Oh, now and again, when it wants to happen. But nothing. .

  “Entangling?”

  “Right. I don’t want complications getting mixed up with my work, either. But with me, work and life keep having this tendency to become the same thing.”

  Sandy tasted her coffee. “Not bad.” She looked up. “Were you ever married?”

  “Once, awhile ago now—for about four years. We lived in Cali­fornia. But it didn’t work.”

  “What happened? Did you see yourself heading toward oblivion on Domesticity Street?” Sandy gave Gina a critical look over the top of her mug. “Somehow I can’t picture you taking pies to garden parties or selling Tupperware.”

  Gina smiled distantly. “Actually it was more the opposite. Larry was the kind of guy who wanted to go everywhere, do everything. You know, always meeting new people, the life of every party

  It was fine as long as I was content to tag along as an accessory in his life. The problem was, it didn’t leave any room for me to have one of my own.”

  “You should have introduced him to me,” Sandy said. She made a motion with her free hand to indicate herself. “It’s nice in some ways to work surrounded by scientists and all kinds of other guys who are smart, but there’s an incredible number of nerds among them. You know the kind—they think a hard-on’s some kind of quantum particle.”

  Gina had to stifle a scream of laughter. “Vie doesn’t seem like that, though,” she commented.

  “He’s an exception. Now him I could go for. Maybe it’s the accent. But like I said, it’s not the thing to do. Anyhow, he got tangled up with somebody when we were at Houston, before the division relocated to D.C., and nowadays he likes to keep his day-times uncomplicated, too.”

  “You, er, don’t exactly come across as the epitome of detached, intellectual science,” Gina said.

  “Give me a break. I spent a year and a half down a hole in the ice on Ganymede. That’s a lot of time to make up for. Vie said something once about not wanting to get old with a lot of regrets about missing out. I agree with him.”

  Gina, watching the way Sandy’s straight, dark brown hair fell about her face as she leaned forward to pick up her cup again, noticed the firmly defined features and the long lines of the jeans-clad legs. Sandy was the kind of girl that men had told her radiated sex appeal without being especially pretty, Gina decided. Intelligent, adventuresome, and uninhibited. Definitely Larry’s type.

  Sandy looked up. “Anyhow, scientists are supposed to be curious, aren’t they? Like journalists. Isn’t that what the job is all about?”

  “I suppose so,” Gina agreed.

  Back in her own cabin, Gina found herself restless and not inclined toward sleep, despite the time she had been awake. Lurking just below the level of consciousness, something that she couldn’t pin­point was disturbing her, something tugging for attention, distilled from the day’s flood of events and experiences. She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth while she grappled with the prob­lem.

  It had something to do with VISAR. More specifically, it had something to do with the way VISAR was designed to function. Back in the bedroom, still fully dressed, she propped herself up with a couple of pillows and stared at the picture of a snowy mountain scene from some world or other, on the far wall of the room.

  The part of the PAC complex on Jevlen that she had “visited” with Hunt earlier in the evening had contained such objects as ornaments and pictures on the walls of the cafeteria from where they had seen the Shapieron, and some tools standing against a wall in the gallery outside. What would have happened, she had asked Hunt, if she had tried to “move” one of those objects to a different place? He had said that VISA..R would cause her to experience the action faithfully. In that case, she asked, where would she find it when they arrived physically at Jevlen tomorrow? Obviously, where it had been in the first place, Hunt replied—since the object would never have really been moved at all.

  That bothered her. She remembered, too, the burr that she had felt on the edge of the door into the coupler cubicle, and the business with the cigarette ash on her sleeve. It all bothered her. She got up<
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  from the bed, went back into the lounge to get a cup of hot chocolate from the autochef, and tried to fathom why.

  Judged by Terran notions of what constituted worthwhile return for cost and effort, the whole thing seemed a pointless exercise in elaborate absurdity. More than that: a deception that confused syn­thesis with reality, leaving the recipient to disentangle the resulting fusion that would be left impressed upon memory. But the Thuriens could handle it naturally, without conflict or contradiction. Indeed, to them, in a way that no human could really feel or comprehend, the capturing of the actuality was all-important, and the degree to which the system failed to do so constituted the deception. Hence their extraordinary obsession with levels of detail that to humans would have served no meaningful purpose and made no sense.