The Pursuit of the Pankera: A Parallel Novel About Parallel Universes

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Belts fastened, Captain.”

  “All tight, Cap’n Bligh, honey.”

  “Belt fastened, door seal checked, Captain.”

  “Portside door seal checked. Copilot, by plan—rotate. Execute!”

  Gay Deceiver rotated—somewhere.

  XXXI

  Zebadiah

  Nowhere ….

  Freefall and utter blackness ….

  The cabin of Gay Deceiver held only the faint light of the instrument board, barely enough to count one’s fingers if a hand were passed between eyes and board, not enough light to see each other’s faces.

  My wife broke the silence with hushed tones; “Zebadiah … uh, Captain, could we hlave the inside lights on? This is spooky.”

  “No. Copilot?”

  Dr. Burroughs was slow in answering. “No opinion … yet. I would like to see in all directions.”

  “Skewed? Or a tumbling pigeon?”

  “The latter, I think, Captain. A hundred and eighty degrees should suffice.”

  “Jake, do you object to three sixty?”

  “Not if you wish it, Captain.”

  “I prefer it because I can do it by pre-program. Change attitude around l-axis, clockwise as seen from starboard, one full turn and back to zero, and stop. Done that way, I can switch off the instrument board lighting.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Pipe down, Deety. We’ll all be trying to see things much fainter than lighted instruments. The full tumble will take twenty seconds. How’s the clock in your head?”

  “I think it’s stopped.”

  “No matter, I’ll be counting seconds. And we’ll all be able to feel both the start and the stop, as well as a slight pressure against your seat belts since we are all forward of the center of mass. Science Officer, watch the sky to starboard; Astrogator, the same to port.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Aye aye, Cap’n Bligh. I’m scared.”

  “That makes four of us. Pilot and copilot will scan forward. Hello, Gay.”

  “Howdy, Zeb.”

  “Tumbling pigeon, Gay.”

  “Forward somersault, Zeb.”

  I switched off instrument lighting. “Execute!” I started counting locomotives in my mind and felt pressure against my safety belts. I reached ‘nineteen locomotives’ as Deety announced “Twenty seconds!” and Gay reported “Tumble completed.” We were again in freefall, no pressure against our belts. I switched back on the board lights. “You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”

  “If I were smart, I wouldn’t be pushing this baby carriage. Over.”

  “Over and out, Gay. Jake, did you see anything? I didn’t.”

  “Nothing, Captain.”

  “Astrogator?”

  “Just blankness. Please, can we have the lights on?”

  I flipped on the overhead lights. “Science Officer?”

  “USS Enterprise being chased by a Klingon cruiser.”

  “Sharpie, that’s a false report. The Enterprise doesn’t run from just one Klingon cruiser.”

  “It was going boldly where no man has gone before. Aside from that, I didn’t see a thing. Let’s try another universe; this one stinks.”

  “That stink is me, Sharpie; your captain is chicken. Jake, of what use is an empty universe?”

  “Captain, ‘empty universe’ is a meaningless expression. Space-time implies mass-energy, and vice versa.”

  “It looked awfully empty to me, Jake.”

  “And to me. Captain, I’m troubled by a dilemma in theory. Is the mass in this space-time so far away that we can’t see it with bare eyes? Or is it in a state of ‘cold death,’ level entropy? Or … did we create it by rotating?”

  “Create it? Huh?”

  “A theoretical possibility. If we are the only mass in this universe, then it had no existence until we created it by rotation. But it will not collapse when we rotate out of it … because we will be leaving behind quanta radiated.”

  “Hmm … Jake, I’m not even going to attempt to understand that; I’m just a sky jockey. But I’m bothered by something else. We started from Universe-Ten and made one normal or ninety-degree rotation—correct?”

  “Yes. We rotated as planned around axis h and thereby moved each of the other five ninety degrees. We are now experiencing duration along the axis, while our former axis of duration, t, replaces h as a spatial axis—and so on.”

  “Hmm …. Deety, what Greenwich time is it?” I watched my autopilot clock.

  “Huh? Uh …. Zero-zero-thirteen.”

  “Gay says you’re still about twenty seconds slow.” I opened the glove compartment, got out my navigation watch, strapped it on. “But my watch splits the difference, just about. How many minutes since we left the Bay of Blood?”

  “Nine minutes thirteen seconds. Ask me a hard one.”

  “I’m going to ask your father a hard one, instead. Jake, if I now tell G. D. to use the B, U, G, O, U, T program, would we bump into anything?”

  “Why, I suppose we might, Captain. Ten minutes isn’t very long to tidy up after our picnic. If you have some reason to go back, why not wait a half hour? Or longer.”

  “Would it make a difference? You just told me that we were experiencing duration along the axis.”

  “But …. Oh! I’m stupid. I’m stupid! No time has elapsed on t-axis; we would return at the exact instant we left. Oh, how Mobyas Toras will laugh at me!”

  “Deety, hon? Do you agree with your father?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it—suddenly looked very upset. “I … I don’t know! Pop! That first trip to the world without the letter “J”—time did pass, it did!”

  I said gently, “But that was translation, Deety. You were still experiencing duration along t-axis.”

  “But Gay agrees with me. And so does your watch. And …. But …. Oh, I’m confused! Zebadiah, I don’t know what time it is—I’m sorry.”

  I reached behind, found my wife’s hand, squeezed it. “You have nothing to be sorry about, my darling. All three of you—you and the two mechaniwockles—are continuing to measure duration. We just made a right-angle turn from Main Street onto Broadway, that’s all. If we make a U-turn and go back, we arrive at the same intersection. Jake wouldn’t describe it that way, but he’s a mathematician and I’m not. I just skip over the hard parts and look up the answer in the back of the book.”

  “Captain, you are an intuitive geometer.”

  “The hell I am, Jake! I’ve simply tried to memorize all the things you told me this buggy would do. Are you certain that we would return at that exact instant?”

  Burroughs did not hesitate. “I’m certain.”

  “Deety?”

  She let out a deep sigh. “Pop is right, Zebadiah. I wasn’t thinking straight. I can’t experience duration on two axes at once, any more than Gay can. But will I ever get the clock in my head set right again?”

  “Sure you will. Just like crossing a time zone. But I agree with Hilda; this universe stinks. I want to get out of it … but I don’t want to get lost doing so. Copilot, I still think we ought to try one schedule of normal rotations—but not from here. So I propose this sequence. Back to the Bay of Blood. You present your verniers for a hundred thousand klicks, straight us up. The instant you see the Bay of Blood—execute!”

  “One hundred thousand kilometers, ten thousand minimums of transition, or four by vernier. Captain, may I ask why?”

  “You not only may ask but I won’t do it at all without your approval, Jake. I want to put us back into Universe-Zero … but I don’t want to do it on the ground; I want plenty of empty space around us. Then ….”

  “Cap’n Bligh, I don’t want to go back to Universe-Zero! Monsters! Just let me off at the Bay of Blood; I’ll hitch a ride back to Helium.”

  “Sharpie dear, let me finish explaining to your husband the schedule of transitions, translations, and rotations I’d like to impose—one simple enough that I think I can follow it without getting lost among the universes and wi
thout tangling with something big and heavy such as a planet. We can’t check all the accessible universes; there are too many of them—we settled that the day we arrived at the Bay of Blood. But the schedule I have in mind may give us a representative sample fast enough to get you two bulging bellies to an obstetrician before our power, air, and supplies run out.”

  “I’m sorry, Cap’n Zebbie. I’ll keep quiet.”

  “No, I don’t want you to keep quiet. I want opinions from everybody, after I finish and after Jake decides on feasibility. First step, back to Bay of Blood. Second step, preset for transition straight up one hundred thousand kilometers executed at once—and don’t bother to stick your tongue out, Deety; you are not going to kiss everybody goodbye a third time—they won’t even know we’ve been gone. Third step, translation to Universe-Zero, near Mars but with elbow room. Fourth step, run straight through six rotations—and, Jake, in each case you preset the next rotation so that we can duck out fast if we run into something sticky ….”

  “Excuse me, Captain, but I can’t preset the next one until the preceding one is made.”

  “Uh, Deety, can you preset six rotations into G. D.?”

  My wife answered slowly, “I would rather not attempt to do it orally, Captain; it’s awfully easy to bollix up an oral program. I would want to write them down and try to debug them on paper … and even then I might make a mistake. I do think rotating by vernier is safer, I do. But I’ll try if you tell me to.”

  “Mmm, no, we’ll have Jake do that. Jake, is the sequence in its simplest order? Easiest to set up?”

  “Easiest, yes. Simplest, no. Because I plan on using twenty rotations to sample fifteen universes normal to this one. I planned to do it in five groups, returning to zero at the end of each group—six, then five, then four, then three, then two. The last rotation in each group simply brings us back to home base—but it keeps me from getting mixed up and doesn’t take any time, really, ten seconds or less wasted, all told.”

  “We’ll do it your way, Jake. Fifth step, after running through those twenty rotations—and we will run through them quite fast—Science Officer.”

  “Still aboard, Cap’n honey.”

  “Hilda, please keep a written record, in order, of all twenty rotations—brief notes, so that Jake can take us back to one that looks promising without searching for it. The fifth step, one that assumes that we do not find what we want by rotation, is to start searching by translation along the axis from Earth-Zero. Comment?”

  “Why teh-axis, Captain?”

  “Jake, we know that tau-axis is infested by Panki at Earth-Zero and Earth-Ten. To me that suggests that any or all analogs of Earth-Zero are open to Panki and may be infested. You remember how tickled you were when Mobyas Toras told you that he was impressed by your invention of math to cover both rotation and translation … when there had been a lapse of a couple of thousand years between steps in Barsoomian math?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “We don’t know what mathematical theory the Panki use—but the oldest and simplest theory of multiple universes is the one that uses the analogy of pages of a book … parallel universes separated by infinitesimals. That one doesn’t even require curved space to describe it. Nor does it require quantum mechanics. Merely the notion of one additional spatial dimension. Like Newtonian mechanics, it would be an early approximation. Jake, it seems to me possible that the Panki are not nearly as sophisticated in mathematical physics as you are; they may have discovered the sheaf of universes along the tau-axis … without ever suspecting that there is another sheaf along the teh-axis.”

  “Possible. I can’t assign a probability to it.”

  “Neither can I, Jake. But Sharpie pointed out about a week ago that tau-axis was not the place to look. Which leaves teh-axis as a better bet … if we miss by rotation. Shucks, tau-axis could keep them busy for millions of years. Comments, anybody?”

  “I go along with your reasoning, Captain. No certainty, of course—but I see no better approach.”

  “Hilda? Deety?”

  “Suits me, Cap’n Zebbie. Let’s get cracking.”

  “Zebadiah, I like it, too. But may I offer a definition—my notion of a definition—of what we are looking for?”

  “Certainly, sweetheart.”

  “An analog of Earth with an advanced civilization of viviparous human beings living on it. Maybe a touch more tropical than Earth is now … because we will want to be able to tell just by looking without landing that they go naked or nearly naked much of the time. I don’t think I could ever feel safe again on a planet where those monsters can hide just by disguising themselves. If our own planet didn’t have such stupid notions about ‘modesty,’ those things could never have invaded.”

  Hilda started clapping. “Passed by acclamation!”

  “Copilot.”

  “Captain.”

  “Preset the transition.”

  “Ten thousand minimums—set, Captain!”

  “Execute without orders on arrival Bay of Blood. Hello, Gay.”

  “Howdy, Zeb.”

  “Gay Deceiver—Bug Out!”

  For a split second we were again on Barsoom, then at once were a hundred thousand kilometers above it. Hilda said, “Thuvia was still waving!”

  “I didn’t even have time to spot Kanakook.”

  “Knock it off, gals. Copilot, set for first rotation, by your schedule. Family, we can spare a few moments to look at Mars—Mars-Zero. No photographs—Carl Sagan’s boys have done a far better job of photographing this Mars than we can possibly do with one Polaroid.” I was tilting the nose down as I spoke. “Hilda, you got the binox?”

  “Getting them, Cap’n!”

  “Verniers set for first rotation, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Copilot.” I steadied Gay Deceiver so that Mars centered the windscreen. “Jake, feed me some makee-learnee. Do you care what attitude this craft is in at rotation?”

  “Only for transitions, Zeb. For translations and for rotations, attitude does not matter.”

  “Hmm … then it follows as the night from day thou canst not then predict what attitude we’ll be in whenever we arrive in a new universe.”

  “Only with respect to the built-in arbitrary zero reference frame. Does it matter?”

  “Not as long as we always have plenty of space around us. But I don’t want to risk any more translations or rotations parked on the surface of a planet. You’ve lucked through twice, I’ve lucked through twice—the fifth time might come up snake-eyes. Sharpie, give Deety a crack at the binoculars, too, then pass ’em forward.”

  “Deety has them now, Cap’n Zebbie; I saw all I wanted to see. A most inferior planet. I prefer Barsoom.”

  “Me, too. Here’re the glasses, Zebadiah.”

  “Here, Jake; give it a gander. Don’t be snooty, you two in the peanut gallery; you wouldn’t look any better than that if you’d had all your breath knocked out some millions of years back. Wait ’til Jake and I get through terraforming it—it’ll sell like beach frontage in Florida.”

  “Zebbie, are you and Jacob serious about terraforming other planets?”

  “Dead serious … once we clear up some minor problems. Panki. Pregnancy. Provisions, power, et cetera. How does she look, Jake?”

  “Much like the NASA photographs.” Jake passed me the binoculars. “But I consider it as an empirical confirmation of our methodology. That planet is the Mars of our home universe. It checks—does it not?”

  “It does for me—but I’m no expert. Here, Hilda, hang on to ’em. All hands, prepare for rotation. At each rotation I’ll do one tumbling pigeon, with all four of us scanning as before—unless we spot danger. If we do, Jake will make the next rotation with all possible speed. Jake, at each completion of rotation please set up your next rotation at once, before even glancing outside, and announce ‘Set!’—because I may yell ‘Execute!’ so fast I’ll step on your heels.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  “If you
ever sniff danger, don’t wait for my orders; rotate at once. And, all hands, the standing order that permits any one of us to use G, A, Y, D, E, C, E, I, V, E, R, T, A, K, E, U, S, H, O, M, E, still applies at all times. In case of doubt, use it at once! We used it an hour ago; we know we can handle it. Jake, if one of us uses it, take us straight up to a hundred thousand kilometers without waiting for orders, just as you did ten minutes ago at the Bay of Blood. That will give us time to decide what to do next—since we can’t really go home. But—Hear This!—do not use B, U, G, O, U, T, again. Some time has passed on t-axis; we don’t know that our landing spot is clear—and I don’t ever want to find out by personal experience what happens when two masses occupy the same space. Someday by remote control, maybe, from a million kilometers away—but not in person. Astrogator, we could use a scram program that would take us back to about this point instead of Bay of Blood.”

  “I’ll work on one, Zebadiah.”

  “Any questions? We are about to rotate. Copilot … execute!”

  Utter blackness ….

  “Set!” Jake reported.

  “Tumbling pigeon, coming up.” I switched off the instrument board lights, then ordered the autopilot to carry out the maneuver. Half a minute later, having shut down the autopilot, I asked, “Anybody see anything?”

  “Not me.”

  “Nor me, Zebadiah.”

  “Nothing, Captain.”

  “That makes four of us. Record it, Hilda. Stand by to rotate. Copilot … execute.”

  Again, utter blackness ….

  Again I went through tumbling pigeon routine. “Anybody see anything?”

  Hilda answered, “I’m not certain. I think I did … but it was faint. Could we do that tumble again?”

  “Certainly. Deety? Report.”

  “Nothing on my side … that I could see.”

  “Copilot?”

  “Nothing, Captain.”

  “Sharpie, call out when you see it.” By autopilot I started the maneuver again.

  “There!”