"Ah, no. They both have beards, males and females. Even when they are quite young. And the breasts on the females are-" He held his hands just below his rib cage, to show how low they swung. "And you do not give them the right smell."
"Holos don't smell at all, Wan," said Paul.
"Yes, exactly! But they do, you see. In rut, they smell very much."
And Vera mumbled and whined over the new data, and shakily drew in the new revisions. After hours of this, what had been a game for Wan turned into drudgery. When he began saying, "Yes, it is perfect, that is exactly how the Dead Men's room looks," they all understood that he was merely agreeing with anything that would stop the boredom for a while, and gave him a rest. Then Janine would take him for a wander through the corridors, sound and vision pickups strapped to her shoulder, in case he said something of value or pointed out a treasure, and they spoke of other things. His knowledge was as astonishing as his ignorance. Both were unpredictable.
It was not only Wan that needed study. Every hour Lurvy or old Peter would come up with a new idea for diverting the Food Factory from its programmed drive, so that they could try to accomplish their original purpose. None worked. Every day more messages came in from Earth. They were still not relevant. They were not even very interesting; Janine let a score of letters from her pen-pals stay in Vera's memory without bothering to retrieve them, since the messages she was getting from Wan filled her needs. Sometimes the communications were odd. For Lurvy, the announcement that her college had named her its Woman of the Year. For old Peter, a formal petition from the city he had been born in. He read it and burst into laughter. "Dortmund still wishes me to run for Burgermeister! What nonsense!"
"Why, that's really nice," Lurvy said agreeably. "It's quite a compliment."
"It is quite nothing," he corrected her severely. "Burgermeister! With what we have I could be elected president of the Federal Republic, or even-" He fell silent, and then said gloomily, "If, to be sure, I ever see the Federal Republic again." He paused, looking over their heads. His lips worked silently for a moment, and then he said: "Perhaps we should go back now."
"Aw, Pop," Janine began. And stopped, because the old man turned on her the look of an alpha wolf on a cub. There was a sudden tension among them, until Paul cleared his throat and said:
"Well, that's certainly one of our options. Of course, there's a legal question of contract-"
Peter shook his head. "I have thought of that. They owe us so much already! Simply for stopping the fever, if they pay us only one percent of the damage we save it is millions. Billions. And if they won't pay-" He hesitated, and then said, "No, there is no question that they won't pay. We simply must speak to them. Report that we have stopped the fever, that we cannot move the Food Factory, that we are coming home. By the time a return message can arrive we will be weeks on our way."
"And what about Wan?" Janine demanded.
"He will come with us, to he sure. He will be among his own kind again, and that is surely what is best for him."
"Don't you think we ought to let Wan decide that? And what happened to sending a bunch of us to investigate his heaven?"
"That was a dream," her father said coldly. "Reality is that we cannot do everything. Let someone else explore his heaven, there is plenty for all; and we will be back in our homes, enjoying riches and fame. It is not just a matter of the contract," he went on, almost pleadingly. "We are saviors! There will be lecture tours and endorsements for the advertising! We will be persons of great power!"
"No, Pop," Janine said, "listen to me. You've all been talking about our duty to help the world-feed people, bring them new things to make their lives better. Well, aren't we going to do our duty?"
He turned on her furiously. "Little minx, what do you know about duty? Without me you would be in some gutter in Chicago, waiting for the welfare check! We must think of ourselves as well!"
She would have replied, but Wan's wide-eyed, frightened stare made her stop. "I hate this!" she announced. "Wan and I are going to go for a walk to get away from the lot of you!"
"He is not really a bad person," she told Wan, once they were beyond the sound of the others. Quarreling voices had followed them and Wan, who had little experience of disagreements, was obviously upset.
Wan did not reply directly. He pointed to a bulge in the glowing blue wall. "This is a place for water," he said, "but it is a dead one. There are dozens of them, but almost all dead."
Out of duty, Janine inspected it, pointing her shoulder-held camera at it as she slid the rounded cover back and forth. There was a protuberance like a nose at the top of it, and what must be a drain at the bottom; it was almost large enough to get into, but bone dry. "You said one of them still works, but the water isn't drinkable?"
"Yes, Janine. Would you like me to show it to you?"
"Well, I guess so." She added, "Really, don't let them get to you. They just get excited."
"Yes, Janine." But he was not in a talkative mood.
She said, "When I was little he used to tell me stories. Mostly they were scary, but sometimes not. He told me about Schwarze Peter, who, as far as I can figure out, was something like Santa Claus. He said if I was a good little girl Schwarze Peter would bring me a doll at Christmas, but if I wasn't he'd bring me a lump of coal. Or worse. That's what I used to call him, Schwarze Peter. But he never gave me a lump of coal." He was listening intently as they moved down the glowing corridor, but he did not respond. "Then my mother died," she said, "and Paul and Lurvy got married and I went to live with them for a while. But Pop wasn't so bad, really. He came to see me as often as he could-I guess. Wan! Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"No," he said. "What's Santa Claus?"
"Oh, Wan!"
So she explained Santa Claus to him, and Christmas, and then had to explain winter and snow and gift-giving. His face smoothed, and he began to smile; and curiously, as Wan's mood improved Janine's grew worse. Trying to make Wan understand the world she lived in made her confront the world ahead. Almost, she thought, it would be better to do what Peter proposed, pack it all in, go back to their real lives. All the alternatives were frightening. Where they were was frightening, if she let herself feel it-in some kind of an artifact that was doggedly plowing its way through space to some unknown destination. What if it arrived? What would they confront? Or if they went back with Wan, what would be there? Heechee? Heechee! There was fear! Janine had lived all her young life with the Heechee just outside it-terrifying if real, less real than mythical. Like Schwarze Peter or Santa Claus. Like God. All myths and deities are tolerable enough to believe in; but what if they become real?
She knew that her family were as fearful as she, though she could not tell that from anything they said-they were setting an example of courage to her. She could only guess. She guessed that Paul and her sister were afraid but had made up their minds to gamble against that fear for the sake of what might come of it. Her own fear was of a very special kind-less fear of what might happen than of how badly she might behave while it was happening to her. What her father felt was obvious to everyone. He was angry and afraid, and what he was afraid of was dying before he cashed in on his courage.
And what did Wan feel? He seemed so uncomplicated as he showed her about his domain, like one child guiding another through his toy chest. Janine knew better. If she had learned anything in her fourteen years, it was that nobody was uncomplicated. Wan's complications were merely not the same as her own, as she saw at once when he showed her the water fixture that worked. He had not been able to drink the water, but he had used it for a toilet. Janine, brought up in the great conspiracy of the Western world to pretend that excretion does not happen, would never have brought Wan to see this place of stains and smells, but he was wholly unembarrassed. She could not even make him embarrassed. "I had to go somewhere," he said sullenly, when she reproached him for not using the ship's sanitary like everybody else.
"Yes, but if you did it the righ
t way Vera would have known you were sick, don't you see? She's always analyzing our, uh, the bathroom stuff."
"There ought to be some other way."
"Well, there is." There was the mobile bioassay unit, which took tiny samples from each of them-which had, in fact, been put to work on Wan, once the necessity was perceived. But Vera was not a very smart computer, and had not thought to program her mobile unit to sample Wan until told to do so, a little late. "What's the matter?"
He was acting uncomfortable. "When the Dead Men give me a medical check they stick things in me. I don't like that."
`It's for your own good, Wan," she said severely. "Hey! That's an idea. Let's go talk to the Dead Men."
And there was Janine's own complicatedness. She didn't really want to talk to the Dead Men. She just wanted to get away from the embarrassing place they were in; but by the time they had propelled themselves to the place where the Dead Men were, which was also the place where Wan's dreaming couch was, Janine had decided to want something else. "Wan," she said, "I want to try the couch."
He tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes, appraising her over his long nose. "Lurvy told me not to do that any more," he stated.
"I know she did. How do I get in?"
"First you tell me I must do what you all say," he complained, "then you all tell me to do different things. It is very confusing."
She had already stepped into the cocoon and stretched out. `Do I just pull the top down over me?"
"Oh," he said, shrugging, "if you've made up your mind-yes. It snaps shut, there, where your hand is, but when you want to come out you just push."
She reached for the webby top and pulled it toward her, looking up at his petulant, concerned face. "Does it-hurt?"
"Hurt? No! What an idea!"
"Well, what does it feel like?"
"Janine," he said severely, "you are very childish. Why do you ask questions when you can see for yourself?" And he pushed down on the shimmery wire covering, and the catch midway down the side rustled and locked. "It is best if you go to sleep," he called down to her, through the shining blue network of wire.
"But I'm not sleepy," she objected reasonably. "I'm not anything. I don't feel a thing. . . ."
And then she did.
It was not what she had expected out of her own experience of the fever; there was no obsessive interference with her own personality, no point source of feelings. There was only a warm and saturating glow. She was surrounded. She was an atom in a soup of sensation. The other atoms had no shape or individuality. They were not tangible or hard-edged. She could still see Wan, peering worriedly down at her through the wire when she opened her eyes, and these other-souls?-were not at all as real or as immediate. But she could feel them, as she had never felt another presence. Around her. Beside her. Within her. They were warm. They were comforting.
When Wan at last wrenched open the metal wire and pulled at her arm, she lay there staring at him. She did not have the strength to rise, or the desire. He had to help her up, and she leaned on his shoulder as they started back.
They were less than halfway back to the Herter-Hall ship when the other members of the family interrupted them, and they were furious. "Stupid little brat!" Paul raged. "You ever do anything like that again and I'll paddle your pink little ass for you!"
"She won't!" her father said grimly. "I will see to that, right now; and as to you, little miss, I will see to you later."
They had all become so quarrelsome! No one paddled Janine's bottom for trying out the dreaming couch. No one punished her at all. They all punished each other, instead, and did it all the time. The truce that had held for three and a half years, because each of them enforced it for himself, the alternative being mutual murder, dissolved. Paul and the old man did not speak for two days, because Peter had dismantled the couch without consultation. Lurvy and her father spat and shouted at each other because she had programmed too much salt in their meal, and then again, when it was his turn, because he had programmed too little. And as to Lurvy and Paul-they no longer slept together; they hardly spoke; they would surely not have stayed married, if there had been a divorce court within 5,000 A.U.
But if there had been a source of authority of any kind within 5,000 A.U., at least the disputes could have been resolved. Someone could have made their decisions. Should they return? Should they try to overpower the Food Factory's guidance? Should they go with Wan to explore the other place-and if so, who should go and who should remain behind? They could not agree on grand plans. They could not even agree on the decisions of every hour, to take a machine apart and risk its destruction, or to leave it alone and give up the hope of some wonderful discovery that could change everything. They could not agree on who should talk to the Dead Men by radio, or what to ask them. Wan showed them, willingly enough, how to try to tempt the Dead Men into conversation, and they put Vera's sound system in linkage with the "radio". But Vera could not handle much give and take; and when the Dead Men did not understand her questions, or did not want to participate, or were simply too insane to be of any use, Vera was beaten.
All this was awful for Janine, but worst of all was Wan himself. The squabbling made him confused and indignant. He stopped following her around. And after one sleep, when she sat up and looked around for him, he was gone.
Fortunately for Janine's pride, everyone else was gone, too- Paul and Lurvy outside the ship to reorient the antennae; her father asleep, so that she had time to deal with her jealousy. Let him be a pig! she thought. It was stupid of him not to realize that she had many friends, while he had only her; but he would find out! She was busy writing long letters to her neglected correspondents when she heard Paul and her sister returning; and when she told them that Wan had been gone for at least an hour she was unprepared for their reaction. "Pa!" Lurvy cried, rattling at the curtain of her father's private. "Wake up! Wan's gone!"
As the old man came blinking out, Janine said disagreeably, "Now, what's the matter with all of you?"
"You don't understand, do you?" Paul asked coldly. "What if he's taken the ship?"
It was a possibility that had never occurred to Janine, and it was like a blow in the face. "He wouldn't!"
"Would he not?" snarled her father. "And how do you know that, little minx? And if he does, what of us?" He finished zipping his coverall and stood up, glowering at them. "I have told you all," he said-but looking at Lurvy and Paul, so that Janine understood she was not a part of their "all"-"I have told you that we must find a definite solution. If we are to go with him in his ship, we must do it. If not, we cannot take the risk that he will take it into his foolish little mind to go back without warning. That is assuredly certain."
"And how do we do that?" Lurvy demanded. "You're preposterous, Pa. We can't guard the ship day and night."
"And your sister cannot guard the boy, yes," the old man nodded. "So we must either immobilize the ship, or immobilize the boy."
Janine flew at him. "You monsters!" she choked. "You've been planning this all out when we weren't around!" Her sister caught and held her.
"Calm down, Janine," she ordered. "Yes, it's true we've talked about it-we had to! But nothing's settled, certainly not that we will hurt Wan."
"Then settle it!" Janine flared. "I vote we go with Wan!"
"If he hasn't gone already, by himself," Paul put in.
"He hasn't!"
Lurvy said practically, "If he has, it's too late for us to do anything about it. Outside of that, I'm with Janine. We go! What do you say, Paul?"
He hesitated. "I-guess so," he conceded. "Peter?"
The old man said with dignity, "If you are all agreed, then what does it matter how I vote? There is only the question remaining who is to go and who is to stay. I propose-"
Lurvy stopped him. "Pa," she said, "I know what you are going to say, but it won't work. We need to leave at least one person here, to keep in contact with Earth. Janine's too young. It can't be me, because I'm the best pilot and
this is a chance to learn something about piloting a Heechee ship. I don't want to go without Paul, and that leaves you."
They took Vera apart, component by component, and redistributed her around the Food Factory. Fast memory, inputs, and displays went into the dreaming chamber, slow memory lining the passageway outside, transmission still in their old ship. Peter helped, silent and taciturn; the meaning of what they were doing was that further communications of interest would come from the exploring party, via the radio system of the Dead Men. Peter was helping to write himself off, and knew it. There was plenty of food in the ship, Wan told them; but Paul would not be satisfied with the automatic replenishment of God knew what product of the Food Factory, and he made them carry aboard rations of their own, as much as they could stow. Whereupon Wan insisted that they stock up with water, and so they depleted the recycling stocks in the ship to fill his plastic bags and loaded them, too. Wan's ship had no beds, None were needed, Wan pointed out, because the acceleration cocoons were enough to protect them during maneuvers, and to keep them from floating around while they slept in the rest of the voyage-suggestion vetoed by both Lurvy and Paul, who dismantled the sleeping pouches from their private and reinstalled them in the ship. Personal possessions: Janine wanted her secret stash of perfume and books, Lurvy her personal locked bag, Paul his cards for solitaire. It was long and hard work, though they discovered they could ease it by sailing the plastic waterbags and the softer, solider other stores along the corridors in a game of slow-motion catch; but at last it was done. Peter sat sourly propped against a corridor wall, watching the others mill about, and tried to think of what had been forgotten. To Janine it seemed as though they were already treating him as though he were absent, if not dead, and she said, "Pop? Don't take it so hard. We'll all be back as soon as we can."
He nodded. "Which comes to," he said, "let me see, forty-nine days each way, plus as long as you decide to stay in this place." But then he pushed himself up, and allowed Lurvy and Janine to kiss him. Almost cheerfully, he said, "Bon voyage. Are you sure you have forgotten nothing?"
Beyond the Blue Event Horizon Page 8
