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

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Sharpie, is it cheating to ask how you mean to use this?”

  “No, Cap’n Zebbie. If my theory is right, the next time we rotate and find ourselves close to a planet, it will turn out to be the scene of a story or group of stories that appears on all four lists. And we’ll be high enough that you will have plenty of time to level off Gay Deceiver … but close enough that we can ground if we want to. But we will never rotate into a mass or into any other danger that you and Jacob can’t handle by some sort of scram. This isn’t chance; we haven’t been dealing with chance. Barsoom startled me. The Land of Oz surprised me a little. But Lilliput didn’t surprise me at all; I expected it. Or at least some place that all of us knew through stories.”

  “How about the empty universes?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they are places about which stories will be written or maybe the stories have already been told but they aren’t stories that are favorites of us four, so we don’t emerge close to their scenes. But those are just guesses—no data. So far as my theory is concerned such universes are ‘null’—they don’t count one way or the other. We’ll find our universes.”

  “Sharpie, you have just invented multiperson solipsism. I didn’t think it was mathematically possible.”

  “Captain, everything is mathematically possible. Mathematics has no content.”

  “Thanks, Jacob. Zebbie, ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word. I’m simply saying that we’ve stumbled onto The Door in the Wall, the one that leads to the land of heart’s desire. I don’t know how we did it and my buttonhead can’t use fancy philosophical rationalizations. I see a pattern, that’s all—I’m not trying to explain it. It just is.”

  “How does that hollow world fit your theory?”

  “Well, Deety called it Pellucidar ….”

  “It was!”

  “… but I’ve read dozens of stories about worlds underground, and I’ll bet everyone else here has, too. Jules Verne, S. Fowler Wright, H. G. Wells, C. L. Moore, Lovecraft—all the great masters of fantasy have taken a crack at it one or more times. Please, can we stop talking and work on those lists? I realize that we don’t fall very fast way out here—but I would like to have all four lists before we rotate again.”

  We all got silently to work. I changed attitude so that Lilliput’s planet was dead ahead and told Gay to hold it there so I’d notice any gross change in distance. The planet looked very small, as if we were a million kilometers out from it rather than one hundred thousand—which was only reasonable. I wrote down “the Dorsai yarns.”

  At last Deety announced, “I’m through, Aunt Hillbilly.” She passed over her list, kept quiet.

  Soon after, her father passed back his list. “Don’t count those I’ve lined out, dear—I had trouble holding it down to twenty.”

  “Twenty is arbitrary, Jacob. I can leave the extras in.”

  “No, dear, after careful thought I’m sure that the four I eliminated, much as I like them, do not stand as high in my favor as the twenty I retained.”

  After a short wait I announced, “Sharpie, I’m stuck at seventeen. Got a baker’s dozen more in mind, but no real choice among them.”

  “Seventeen will do … if they are your prime favorites.”

  “They are.”

  Hilda accepted my list, ran her gaze down it. “A psychoanalyst would have a wonderful time with these four lists.”

  “Wait a half! Sharpie, I told the truth. If you’re going to let a shrink see those lists, I want mine back. Now.”

  “Zebbie darling, I wouldn’t do that to you or any of us. I’m all three of the Three Little Monkeys. But doesn’t anyone mind if I copy off the ones I haven’t read? I apparently missed some goodies.”

  No one objected; she added, “I need a few minutes to tally the score.”

  “Take as long as you like,” I said. “Need help?”

  “No, and it won’t take long. I’ve tallied a ‘one’ after all on my list. I’ve checked Deety’s against mine and tallied a ‘two’ wherever they matched, and added to the bottom of my list, with one vote tallied against each, those she picked but I didn’t. Not very many, Deety; your taste and mine almost match. Now I’m doing the same with Jacob’s list, and tallying threes and twos and ones. Then Zebbie and we’ll wind up with a four-vote list—unanimous!—and a list of stories or related stories with three votes each—and a list with two, and a list with one.”

  Hilda kept very busy for some minutes, then took a fresh sheet, listed the stories or story groups that had been picked by all of them, folded it three times. “This should be in a sealed envelope. To establish my reputation as a fortune-teller. Captain Zebbie, there are nine soi-disant fictional universes listed. Any close approach we make by rotation should be near one of five of them—because I have lined out the four we have already visited.”

  “ ‘Four?’ You included Pellucidar? I didn’t vote for it.”

  “No, Cap’n. Pellucidar got only two votes. I stick to my theory that the inside-out world is a composite scene of all underground fantasies. But our vote identified that third universe—the blinding lights, the one that worried you about radiation.”

  “The hell you say!”

  “Or I think it did. Doctor Isaac Asimov’s Nightfall. Only he wasn’t a doctor then; he wrote it in his teens. I rather expected his Foundation stories to make it but got only three votes. Too bad, because his library planet might have been able to tell us what the Panki are, where they come from—and how to beat them.”

  “My fault, Aunt Hillbilly. Pop told us I should read that series … but I got caught up in the pressure of work and never did. I’m sorry.”

  “Sharpie dear, better hand that list to Deety; she won’t peek … whereas I might. Copilot, shall I rotate? The science officer has me half-convinced that we can get away with it … so let’s do it before I lose my nerve. Fourth and last universe in the second group, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Captain. Verniers set to rotate.”

  “Anybody as chicken as I am, speak now or forever hold your peace! … Isn’t anybody going to get me out of this? … Execute!”

  XXXV

  Zebadiah

  Gay Deceiver was right-side-up and no more than five hundred meters above a sunlit, gentle countryside. I moved quickly, set her to cruise slowly in a circle. “Are we back on Oz? Looks like it to me. Jake—check your setting.”

  “Not Oz, Captain. Impossible. Different universe. I’ve stuck to the schedule.”

  “Sharpie?”

  “If it’s one of the five—and it ought to be—then it’s—” Hilda broke off, wrote a word on the bottom of a fresh sheet, tore it off, folded it, and handed it to me. “Stick this in your pocket, look at it later. This place is safe.”

  I tucked it away. “Well … I’ll ground us in that meadow ahead. We’ll check the air while we’re down. Safer.”

  The field was small; I covered, then squatted her in. “Deety ….”

  “Yessir.”

  “Worked out that new scram program?”

  “I think so. One to do just what you’ve been doing: take G. D. straight up a hundred thousand klicks, but do it in two words, instead of setting dials. Do it in total darkness, if you wish. Or with eyes dazzled, or anything. As long as any of the four of us is able to get out two syllables we’ll be able to get far enough away from trouble that we’ll have time to work out what to do next.”

  “Can you program it orally before I open a door?”

  “I think so, Zebadiah. But in cutting it to two syllables I’ve cut out all preliminaries. If she’s asleep, G. D. will wake up and do it at once. We’ll all have to be careful not to say those two syllables unless we mean it.”

  “Bad deal if her doors are open. Can you program not to let that happen?”

  “Uh … yessir.”

  “Okay, program it. Jake, set up the same thing on your dials as a backup. Meanwhile, I’m going to give the plumbing a field test. Don’t touch the doors ’til I get back. Squeeze past me,
honey, and take my seat.”

  I returned in a few minutes. “Our magic space warp is still with us and functioning—and don’t ask me why or I’ll scream. New program inserted?”

  “Yessir. On tell-me-three-times memory and protected against execution without the doors being closed and locked. I’ve written down the magic words; Pop and Aunt Hilda know them. Don’t read them aloud. Here.” Deety handed her husband a scrap of paper.

  On it was: Gay—Bounce!

  “Just that?”

  “It’s the shortest program I can work out for an emergency. I think. The only hazard is never to use those two syllables casually. But I can wipe it and make it more complex if you wish.”

  “As long as it can’t work with the doors open, it should be okay. Its shortness may save our necks sometime. Sharpie, it’s my turn to be pioneer-mother and canary; we’re on the ground. Everybody, hold your breath; I’m going to sniff the outside air.”

  “Cap’n Zebbie. This planet is Earth-like to nine decimal places.”

  “Which gives me a cheap chance to play hero. Pipe down and hold your breath.” I cautiously opened the door a crack by hand, sniffed.

  “I feel okay—I think. Anybody woozy?”

  “Open the door wide, Zebbie, this place is safe.”

  I did so and stepped out into a field of daisies; the others followed me through the portside door. It certainly seemed safe—quiet, warm, peaceful, a meadow bounded by a hedgerow.

  Suddenly a white rabbit came running past, headed for the hedge. He barely paused, pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, then moaned. “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!” and ran even faster. Deety started after him.

  “Deety!” I yelled.

  She stopped short. “But I must find the hole.”

  “Then keep your eye on her. But you’re not going down the rabbit hole.”

  “On whom?” Deety turned back toward the hedgerow. A little girl in a pinafore was hurrying toward the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. “Oh. But it didn’t hurt her to go down the hole, Zebadiah; you know it didn’t.”

  “No, but Alice got in lots of difficulties before she got out. We haven’t time for that; this is not a place where we can stay.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because England in mid-nineteenth century did not have advanced medicine.”

  “Zebbie,” put in Hilda, “this isn’t England. Look in your pocket. The scrap of paper I handed you.”

  I unfolded the bit of paper, read: Wonderland. “Just so,” I agreed, and handed it to my wife. “But the background is modeled on England sometime in the eighteen-sixties. It either has no medicine at all, like Oz, or it has pre-Pasteur medicine. Possibly even pre-Semmelweiss practices, since England tended to be cautious about adopting newfangled notions from the Continent. Deety, do you want to die from childbed fever?”

  “No, I want to go to the Mad Tea Party.”

  “We can have a mad tea party right here; I went mad several universes back—and it’s time for lunch anyhow. Sharpie, you win the Order of Nostradamus with diamond cluster; it will be awarded as soon as possible. May I ask you two questions?”

  “One may always ask.”

  “Is H. P. Lovecraft on that list?”

  “He got only one vote, Zebbie. Yours.”

  “Cthulhu be thanked! Sharpie, his stories fascinate me the way snakes are said to fascinate birds. But I would rather be trapped with the “King in Yellow” than be caught up in any of the worlds in Necronomicon. Uh … did any horrids get four votes?”

  “No, dear, the rest of us all prefer happy endings.”

  “So do I, so do I! Especially when I’m in it. Did Heinlein get his name in the hat?”

  “Four votes, but split. Two for his Future History, two for Stranger in a Strange Land. So he didn’t make it.”

  “Well I didn’t vote for Stranger and I’ll refrain from embarrassing anyone by asking who did. My god, the things some writers will do for money.”

  “Samuel Johnson said that anyone who wrote for any other reason was a fool.”

  “Johnson was a fat, pompous, gluttonous dirty old fool who would have faded into the obscurity he so richly deserved had he not been followed around by a spit-licking sycophant. Better spell that ‘psycho.’ ” I added, “Did Poul Anderson get in? Or Niven?”

  “Zebbie, that’s far more than two questions.”

  “I haven’t even reached the second question … which is; what do we have for lunch? Or a mad tea party?”

  “Surprise! Glinda had a packed picnic basket placed in our dressing room.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “You didn’t look in the wardrobe. It was the first thing I checked on after we left Oz.” Hilda grinned. “Can sandwiches from Oz be eaten in Wonderland? Or will they ‘softly and silently vanish away’?”

  “ ‘Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!’ ”

  Several hundred calories later, Deety noticed a young man hovering nearby. He seemed to want to speak to them but was too diffident to do so. She promptly jumped up, trotted toward him. “The Reverend Mister Dodgson, is it not? I’m Mrs. Zebadiah Carter.”

  He quickly removed his straw boater—his only concession to the weather. “Mr. Dodgson, yes, uh, Mrs. Carter. Have we met?”

  “A long time ago, before I was married. But it doesn’t matter. You were looking for Alice, were you not?”

  “Dear me! Why, yes, I am. But how ….”

  “I saw her. She went down the rabbit hole.”

  Dodgson looked relieved. “Then she is perfectly safe, and she will be back soon enough. I promised to return her and her sisters to Christ Church before dark.”

  “You did. I mean, you will. Same thing, depending on the coordinates selected. Come meet my family. Have you had luncheon?”

  “Oh, I say, I don’t mean to intrude.”

  “You aren’t intruding. There’s plenty left.” Deety took him by the hand, firmly. Since she was stronger than he was, he had no choice other than by struggling. So he came along, rather awkwardly and blushing … and let go her hand hastily as soon as she loosened her grip. Jake and I got to our feet; Hilda remained in lotus.

  “Aunt Hilda, this is Mr. Dodgson, lecturer in mathematics at Christ Church College, Oxford. My stepmother, Mrs. Burroughs.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Burroughs. Oh dear, I am intruding!”

  “Not at all, Mr. Dodgson. Do sit down.”

  “And this is my father, Dr. Burroughs, professor of mathematics. And, Mr. Dodgson, my dear husband Captain Carter. Aunt Hilda, will you find a clean plate for Mr. Dodgson? He’s been searching for Alice; he must be hungry.”

  The young don visibly relaxed once formal introductions had been made but he was still far more formal than Deety intended to permit. He sat down on the turf, placed his hat carefully beside him, and said, “Truly, Mrs. Burroughs, I’ve just finished tea with three little girls, sisters. One of them wandered off and that is how I chanced by.”

  Deety ignored his protests while she piled his plate with little sandwiches and cakes. Hilda poured tea from a thermos jug. Thus they nailed him down with cup and plate. Jake advised, “Don’t fight it, son, unless you really must leave this instant. Are Alice’s sisters safe?”

  “Why, yes, Professor: they are napping in the shade of a hayrick nearby. But ….”

  “Then relax and be at home. You must wait until Alice returns, in any case. What branch of mathematics do you pursue?”

  “Algebraic logic, usually, sir, with some attention to its applications in geometry.” The Reverend Mr. Dodgson was seated so that he faced Gay Deceiver and sat in the shade of her port wing but nothing in his manner showed that he had even noticed the anachronism.

  “Have your studies led you into multidimensional non-Euclidean geometries?”

  Dodgson blinked. “I fear that I tend to be conservative in geometry, rathuh.”

  “Father, Mr. Dodgson doesn’t work in your field; he works in
mine.”

  Dodgson raised his eyebrows slightly but remained silent. Jake said, “I suspect that my daughter did not introduce herself fully. She is Mrs. Carter but her maiden name is Doctor D. T. Burroughs. Her field is mathematical logic.”

  “And that is why I am so pleased that you are here, Mr. Dodgson. Your book Symbolic Logic is a milestone in our field.”

  “But, my dear lady, I have not written a work titled Symbolic Logic.”

  “I’ve confused things again. I’m sorry. Again, it is matter of selection of the proper coordinates. At the end of the reign of Queen Victoria you will have published it five years earlier. Is that clear?”

  He answered very solemnly. “Quite clear. Then all I need do is to ask Her Majesty how much longer she is going to reign, and subtract five years.”

  “That should do it. Do you like to play with sorites?”

  For the first time, he smiled. “Oh, very much!”

  “Shall we make up some? Then trade and solve them?”

  “Well … not too lengthy. I really must get back to my young charges.”

  “We can’t stay long, either. Anyone else want to play?”

  No one else elected to play. Jake and Hilda went for a walk, Jake promising that they would stay in sight and Hilda cautioning Deety not to bother with tidy-up until later. I stretched out on the grass with a handkerchief over my face.

  “Shall we hold the incomplete statements down to groups of six?” Dodgson suggested.

  “All right. But the conclusion must be true. Not nonsense. Agreed?”

  Both of them kept quiet while I “rested.” I peeked a lot—who wouldn’t? Deety was a “lady” for a while; then she sprawled on her belly and chewed her pencil, having learned most of her life ago that this position facilitated thought.