Paradox Alley s-3

by John Dechancie

  The universe wheezed and sighed. It was growing old. The heat-death was upon it, and there was no hope.

  On a planet of a sun that had shriveled to a cold white pinpoint in the sky-a planet that was a construct composed of the reprocessed material of most of what had been its solar system-a meeting took place. The date had been set four thousand years in advance. The meeting commenced on time.

  It was contended that something should be done to give a rounded graceful finish to the grand story, the Universal Drama. Surely it was not in accord with esthetic principles to let the tale simply peter out. There was a need for a proper ending. What had all the struggle been for? To what purpose? Why had a thousand billion races evolved, developed, matured, withered, and died. For what end?

  There was this reply: Why can it not end as it surely willby itself, when there is no more to tell, at its proper time? The rejoinder: There is no more to tell, yet it has not ended. The universe is exhausted, and hobbles on its useless way to oblivion. There is no race living that lacks the will to continue the quest. It is commonly accepted that everything that can be done, and is worth doing, has been done, that everything knowable and worth knowing is already known. Came this riposte: But those deeds and truths are ends in themselves. You spoke of the achievements of many races…. One day those achievements will be dust. The very particles of which that dust is composed will decay, fly apart into random noise…

  And so? There will be no one about to mourn….

  It need not be so. There exists a possibility that something new may be achieved, something totally revolutionary. There is the potential that this thing will survive even the death of the physical universe….

  Can this be?

  Yes. It is possible.

  We will take your word for it. Granted that it is a possibility, there is no need for it. Again, we wish to speak of the attainments of past epochs. Look:

  Towers of transparent metal so high that spacecraft docked at their tops, once, billions of years ago… the Crystal Towers of Zydokzind still stand…

  So, too, stand the Works of the race with the name that means Shining Consequence. None know what these Works are or what they mean, but they populate a vast black plain and are as various as they are beautiful. Some are structures, some are mechanisms, some are the remnants of acts or events. Most are indescribable. The Works must be seen and felt and experienced. Many have traveled to the planet of the Shining Consequence to do these things…

  Immediately after the first singing of the Great Glad Song of the race of the Dreaming Sea of Ninn, the song was repeated, note-for-note, by the poet's nearest neighbor, who thought it the most beautiful thing ever heard. The song was taken up by another, and was passed along from individual to individual around the planet. The Great Glad Song was sung continuously for thirteen million years, each generation learning it, passing it on, never allowing a lapse in the chain of perpetual repetition. The last survivor of the race died singing it. Hear it now…

  In a globular cluster of a galaxy called Wafer there exists a religion which undergoes constant theological transformation. The pantheon of gods constantly shifts; old deities are deposed and new ones installed on an almost daily basis. The body of canonical dogma is vast and complex. The rituals and ceremonies which this religion prescribes are beautiful and compelling. There are only fourteen living adherents to this religion. Their faith is adamantine. There never have been more than thirty-six practitioners living at any one time in this sect's 400,000-year history…

  There was once a race that spent most of its resources in devising a means by which a star may be moved. This they learned how to do, and did. They rearranged some of the constellations seen from their home planet. How this was done is unknown. The motive was not religious or superstitious in nature, but derived chiefly from esthetic concerns…

  Enough. There is more.

  We understand. But there must be further growth and development.

  Granted that this is necessary, what exactly do you propose?

  We propose the creation of a new kind of conscious entity. There already exists the physical instrumentality needed in order to bring it into being. We need but the willing participation of enough individuals.

  What will be the nature of this proposed entity? We cannot know that until it is brought into being. What purpose will it serve?

  Whatever purpose it chooses, discovers, or invents. We understand the essence of the idea. We will assist. So quickly?

  The thing is too dangerous to leave to those who are enthusiastic to do it.

  Then we are agreed. We shall begin at once…

  * * *

  A starburst of light grew in the darkness.

  I bolted to a sitting position, awake, fragments of the dream clinging to my consciousness. An eddy of force then carried the remnants away, and I was fully awake.

  The white starburst did not disappear, and kept growing. Light filled the chamber, the star formation reflected deep within the four walls.

  There was a flash. Something materialized in the air about a meter off the floor-a figure. I squinted, shielding my eyes. "On your knees, mortal," I heard a woman say. The voice was about three times louder than normal.

  I rolled off the mattress and jumped to my,feet with gun in hand.

  "On your knees! Is that not how your kind shows obeisance?"

  My eyes could pick out some detail now. It was a woman dressed in white robes. Her hair was red, her skin as white as her garments. She floated amid an aura of lambent light.

  "Not this mortal," I said. "Who are you?"

  "Then what is your manner of making homage?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "You are impertinent. Not like the others. You show a weapon."

  "Sorry. I'm like that until I've had my coffee."

  The lady didn't respond. I backed off a little, toward the door.

  "You are afraid of me, though," she said.

  "Call it wary," Isaid. "What do you want?"

  "I wish you no harm."

  "Fine with me."

  I could see her better now. Small white feet, the toenails painted bright green, dangled from beneath the hem of her robe. Her eyes were watery gray. She kept her arms to her side, one hand angled on her slender hip, the other holding something that looked familiar-a small gray cylindrical object.

  "You are the leader of your tribe," she told me, then waited for a response.

  It wasn't a question, but I answered, "That's pretty much the wrong word. Expedition would be more like it."

  "Of course. Your journey has been a long one. You have come far, seeking."

  "Lady, I'm not seeking a blessed thing. I never wanted to make this trip. We're here because we were brought here."

  "Yes. Your case is special. You carry the Origin Experiment."

  "What's that, if I may ask?"

  "A black cubical object. Do you have it?"

  "Uh… not on me."

  "Can you get it quickly?"

  "Not very quickly."

  She seemed disappointed. "I desire to possess it. You will give it to me."

  "I will?"

  "You will. I will give you something in return. This." She held up the cylindrical object.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "That which you seek. The key to the road you call the Skyway."

  "Lady, that's the last thing I want."

  She was silent a moment, regarding me. "I find that difficult to believe. The others want it very badly."

  "What others?"

  "Those others of your kind who came here. They are your enemies, are they not?"

  "Yes, they are." I saw no use in denying it.

  "You wish to see them obtain this thing?"

  I considered it, and decided I really didn't know what to think about that. "Not especially."

  "Then take it."

  The object floated out of her hand and drifted toward me. I reached and grabbed it. It was ordinary-looking computer pipe
tte, a conventional data recording and storage device.

  "I thought you wanted the Black Cube," I said.

  "I do. You will give it to me. I give you this thing as a token of good faith. I-"

  Something seemed to disturb the air. The woman's image flickered.

  "I must leave," she said. "I will tell you this. Do not listen to the being who calls himself Prime. He is… misguided. His plans for you will come to no good."

  The image wavered again, blurred and grew dim, then brightened and sharpened again., But, I thought, it can't be just an image, unless the pipette in my hand was an image, too. It felt real enough.

  "I must leave you now. I have other artifacts which you may want. Other things. Believe in me and you will prosper. Farewell."

  Another flash blinded me. When I could see again, the room was dark and empty, and the smell of ozone came to me. I looked at the pipette. If the White Lady could be believed, this was the Roadmap.

  The real one. "Oh, hell," I said.

  7

  The dream and the vision stayed with me as I wandered through Emerald City for at least an hour. I didn't cover much territory because there were some interesting things lying about, and I stopped to look at a few of them. What they were, I couldn't tell. More alien wizardry, I supposed.

  "Jake! Where the hell were you?" Susan hugged me as I walked into the suite.

  "Carl," I said, "I'm sorry I chewed you out for getting lost."

  "Easy, wasn't it?"

  "You bet. Are you guys okay?"

  "We're all fine," Sean said. "Though `I hae dream'd a dreary dream."'

  "Did you dream it, too, Jake?" Darla asked.

  "Yep."

  "Good morning."

  The crew turned around to greet Prime.

  "I hope you're all refreshed," he said brightly. Everyone nodded.

  "Breakfast, then?"

  "I'm starved," Susan said.

  "Good. My servant will come to conduct you to the dining hall, where I will meet you very shortly. Until then."

  He bowed and strode out of the suite. We all sat down to wait.

  "He's always so polite and, like, formal all the time," Lori commented:

  "Yeah, like he has a poker up his butt," Carl sneered.

  "Carl!" Lori said indignantly.

  "Sorry."

  "I wonder what this servant is like," Liam mused, "and if he calls Prime `Your Lordship' or something."

  "I thought he meant another of those light spheres," Roland said.

  "Sounded like he meant a real live servant," Susan said. "Didn't he mention that he had one?"

  "I think he did," John said. "But I wonder what real and live can mean in this context."

  "I'm thinking about the dream," Yuri said.

  "What was it like for you guys?" I asked.

  Zoya told me, "We've been discussing it since we awoke."

  "I saw those… beings," Susan said. "The ones who were having the debate."

  "Anybody have any thoughts on what they were talking about?" I asked.

  "It was just overwhelming," Susan said, taking a deep breath. "I can't believe that somehow I've been chosen to be witness to what will happen ten billion years in the future, that I'm a part of things happening on a cosmic scale-literally. Maybe it's too much for me. Prime's right-it's frightening."

  "I think, perhaps, I have a dim understanding of the project they were contemplating," Yuri said. "A group mind of some sort. A union of conscious entities, such that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Obviously this was the Culmination, or the beginning of it."

  "According to Prime, the Culmination is already a reality," Sean said.

  "Apparently it is."

  "Or so he says," I put in.

  "You doubt him, Jake?" asked, not incredulously, but John as if he had doubts of his own.

  "I have reason to believe-" The thought of telling them about the White Lady crossed my mind. But no; Prime very well could be monitoring our every word. He probably was. "I don't think," I went on, "we should take everything that Prime tells us at face value, and that goes for what comes by way of mystical dreams and visions. Granted, we don't have much of a way to check out his story. But a good dose of skepticism never hurt anybody."

  "Jake's right," Yuri said. "We should all bear it in mind. I'm certainly far from accepting it all on faith."

  "Well, I guess I'm a born believer," Susan replied. "I mean, the dream was so real. It didn't have that surrealistic quality that most dreams do. I don't want to say I'm completely convinced, but…" She scratched her scalp, scowling. "The only thing I can't figure out is what our part in this is supposed to be."

  "Prime wants us to join the group mind," Roland said.

  "I get the overwhelming feeling that Prime is to us as we are to a clam." Yuri said. "Or an amoeba, more likely."

  "But why? I mean, why us? Why would anybody want my poor, mixed up little birdbrain?"

  "I can't imagine," Roland said dryly.

  Susan threw a pillow at him. "Or yours, you insufferable creep."

  "Or any of ours, for that matter," Yuri said.

  "He certainly is slumming, then," I said.

  "He may not be God, but he must be a god, for all practical purposes. And this is his Olympus."

  "Could be. But where there's a god, there may be gods."

  "Are you saying that Prime is not alone?"

  "Well, the notion of a group mind certainly implies the existence of others, by definition."

  "You think Prime is just a part of it, then?" Susan asked.

  "I dunno," I said, "but see if this makes sense. Prime is kind of like a computer terminal. The group thing acts through him. Maybe there's a supercomputer somewhere, with all these minds whizzing around inside it, see. And Prime is just an input-output device. He said as much, actually. When we speak to him, we're communicating with the Culmination:"

  Susan made a face. "I don't know how I feel about whizzing around inside a computer."

  "Prime," Roland said. "It makes sense that he calls himself Prime. He's probably the main input-output device."

  "Makes a dollop of sense;" Sean said, nodding.

  "Good guess, Roland," I said. I got up, moving from the weirdly curved recliner I was on to a comfy overstuffed chair. "Damned perceptive."

  "But just a guess."

  "What else have we got?" Yuri said, "At least we have a working hypothesis."

  "Okay, so essentially we're dealing with a computer here. Hypothetically, that is. What does that tell us?"

  "Somebody must have programmed it," Liam said.

  "Not necessarily," Darla said. "Even we have selfprogramming computers."

  Liam scratched his beard and nodded ruefully. "Point well taken."

  "So," I said, "this computer, which very well may be in or about Emerald City, is pretty much autonomous. Hypothetically."

  "And," Roland said, "hypothetically, it's in charge here."

  "Probably. Next question is, what's it doing here? What does it want? From us, specifically?"

  "A lube job," Carl grumbled.

  "A what?" Susan asked, frowning.

  "Never mind."

  "What did he say?"

  "Maintenance," I said. "Help. It needs us. That's the implication. The way Prime talks, it's incomplete, somehow. Is that what you meant, Carl, more or less?"

  Carl gave me a grouchy look. "I don't know a damn thing about computers. Back on Earth, I never even saw one. I know that on the Skyway they're everywhere. Little things. You plug these little pipettes into 'em and they'll do anything for you. Back on Earth… I mean, when I left Earth, computers were real big things with all these spinning whaddycallits and flashing lights and stuff. When I got accepted at USC, they sent all these forms you were supposed to fill out, and this IBM card that says on it, `Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate.' That's all I know about computers."

  "USC… IBM," John said, sampling them on his tongue. "Jake? Do you know what he's talking abo
ut?"

  "Well, USC… sounds familiar."

  "University of Southern California," Carl said. "International Business Machines, Incorporated. I have an uncle that works for IBM."

  "Oh, yes, of course," John said remembering. "History of Cybernetics, my first year at Cambridge. IBM, the American computer company."

  "This is interesting," Roland said. "You said you got an IBM card? Card? You mean a-"

  "A card. Like made of paper."

  "Paper?"

  "Cardboard. Stiff paper, with all these little holes punched in it."

  "Holes."

  Carl nodded. "Holes."

  There was a short bemused silence. Then Yuri said, "This hypothetical computer… I suppose we must assume it's a very advanced type."

  "Yeah, it probably doesn't need IBM cards," I said.

  Yuri laughed. "Likely not."

  "Damn it," Carl said suddenly, springing to his feet. He stalked out of the room.

  Susan gave him a moment's grace. Then: "Was it something I said?"

  Lori looked fretful. "I think he's homesick."

  "Poor kid. Aren't we all."

  "He doesn't want to stay."

  "It's crazy," Susan murmured.

  "What is?" I asked.

  "Just yesterday we'd've all given our right arms to go home. For months now we've been chasing all over creation — literally! — getting involved in the craziest goddamn shit, excuse my language, and now we can go back anytime we want to, and we're sitting here debating whether we want to get ourselves involved in sheer absolute lunacy! I think we all need to leave a call with our therapists."

  "Sam's my therapist," I said. "Which reminds me. He's probably thinking we're all dead. I should have checked on him last night, but…" I got out Sam's key and flicked it on. Nothing but static. "No way this thing can punch through a kilometer of rock. I'll have to go down to the garage."

  Carl came running back into the room, looking like he'd met up with something big in a dark alley. He halted, then looked a trifle embarrassed. "Scared the shit out of me for a minute." He cocked a thumb in the direction of the L-shaped connecting passage, from which came sounds of shuffling feet. "Wait till you get a load of this."