Ruszek woke at sunrise. Breakfast could wait on a swim. Unclad, he and Attila took a footpath to the beach. Dunes stretched in a huge white arc. The water tumbled and rumbled, green, streaked and maned with foam, darkening horizonward to blue and indigo. It was cool, salt, sensuously aflow. The pair frolicked for the better part of an hour.
As they waded back ashore, Ruszek laughed, “Grand! Just one thing wrong, barátom. You’re not a beautiful’ woman.” He must needs jape when he let himself think about that. Well, once we get back to Earth—or maybe, even, when Envoy returns—Attila wouldn’t have understood without a parleur, and probably couldn’t have anyway.
A number of Tahirians had meanwhile come down to the beach. They seemed to be largely clan groups, two or three adults with several children ranging from half-grown to infants borne on the back. Clearly, the human took them by surprise. They stared. Manes shivered, arms gestured, legs pranced, noises and odors blew about on the sea breeze.
Ruszek stopped halfway up the strand. Some of the Tahirians were now moving slowly toward him and Attila. “Let’s get acquainted with our neighbors,” he proposed, though his stomach clamored. Everybody must know about the visitors from beyond, but few had actually seen a live one. These people didn’t crowd in the monkey fashion of his.
Emboldened, a couple of youths galloped his way. Smaller siblings merrily followed their example: They encircled Ruszek, manes and antennae dithering, hands held out. They buzzed, trilled, and gusted scents. Fingers touched him and retreated. He spread his arms wide. “Go ahead,” he invited. “It’s safe, seeing that you are not beautiful women.”
Elders hastened to the cluster. Voices snapped, manes erected, smells grew sharp. Attila exchanged a few “sentences” with them. Ruszek scowled, aware of the sudden tension. After a minute, obviously reluctant, the youngsters trudged off. Their parents followed. The backward glances were—wary?
“What the flaming hell?” Ruszek exclaimed. “Come on, let’s go where we can talk.”
In their cabin he grabbed his parleur and demanded an explanation. Attila hesitated before replying.
“(They are not hostile to you personally.)” Or so Ruszek interpreted it; Cambiante was still riddled with ambiguities, and doubtless always would be. “(They wish to protect their children from your influence. Best we avoid contact during our stay.)”
The man spat an oath. Then he composed a civil question. “(What harm in our company? Most humans would be overjoyed to meet anyone from a different world.)”
“(As I was, and those who think like me. Many do not. They fear unrest, the impact upon this stability our ancestors painfully achieved. Your arrival dismayed them.)”
“(I see.)” Ruszek’s head nodded lead-heavily. Preoccupied with investigation, and sometimes his personal difficulties, he had not thought much about the subtleties that Sundaram, Nansen, and others said they had encountered he had supposed vaguely that a privileged class didn’t want changes that could threaten its status. But if Tahir had no privileged classes—“(If your race got seriously interested again in starfaring, new information and new ideas would pour in, and what might become of your planetary preserve?)” For the last word, he wished he had a way to render “paradise.”
“(The conservatives do not want to maintain things as they are merely for the sake of maintaining them,)” Attila answered. “(Life is a rare and fleeting accident in this cosmos, civilization as fragile as blown glass. Think of what you met in the star cluster you entered. Think of the horror that starfaring brought on that other race we found. Our ancestors deemed their own gains not worth the costs and risks. Indeed, lately there go rumors of some infinitely great peril—)” En stopped. Presently: “(They determined to end the spreading thin of effort and resources. Instead, they would fortify this home of ours against time. That meant creating a society which would endure, adaptable when necessary but always true to itself.)”
“(Humans couldn’t)” I think. Might they try?
“(So some, among you have told some among us, I ‘hear.’ Forgive(?) my saying it, but certain Tahirians wonder if your race is basically sane.)”
“(Maybe we aren’t. By your standards, at least)” Ruszek’s mustache bristled. “(We are what we are, whatever it may be, and I’ll stand by that.)”
“(It is not a simple either-or matter.)” Did Attila’s posture, tone, earthy odor, signify earnestness? “(Individuals vary within both our species. You know how your coming has caused persons like me to look back to the stars and sense in them a future more dangerous but more rich than anything our careful planners ever imagined. Naturally, it is us with whom you have had most to do. But we are a minority.)” Again en paused. “(Our opponents may be right. For the time being, I and those like me will continue to assume they are the ones mistaken.)”
“(They don’t want us touching off dreams in others. Very well, you and I will keep to ourselves here,)” Ruszek said. “(Now let’s make some breakfast,)” he added, although his appetite was not what it had been.
An hour before midnight the common room lay quiet, lighting subdued, mobile adornments in stasis, air cool; but Brent had started some music, very softly, a piece that most of his fellows would not have recognized but that would speak to the same emotions in all, “Là, mi darem la mano.” He stood clad in a blue uniform-like tunic and trousers, hands clasped behind his back, looking out a viewscreen at the stars.
Dayan entered. He turned about and touched his brow, a quasi-salute. She stopped more than a meter from him and stood as if watchful. Her garb was plain to the point of drabness, which was not usual for her, but even in the dusk her hair tumbled vivid to the shoulders.
“Good evenwatch,” she said tonelessly.
“Thank you,” he replied. “For coming here. This late.”
“Well, you asked me to. I can sleep a bit extra in mornwatch.” Her slight smile faded as her glance drifted to the stars. “What do our clocks matter, here?”
“I need to say something to you, Hanny, in private.”
She looked back at him. “Why not my office?” Another forced smile. “I am supposed to act like a captain.”
“You might have … misunderstood … in that setting.”
She waited.
“Though you’ve probably guessed,” he said. Fast: “I love you, Hanny.”
She nodded. “Yes,” she answered gravely, “I did expect this.”
“And—”
The hazel eyes locked with his brown. “Al, be honest. Is it love or lust?”
He reddened. “Both. Sure. You’re a—a marvelous woman.”
“The only one available within a light-year.”
“All right!” he burst out. His hands lifted, though he kept them close in. “And I’m the only available man. Why not? What harm? We’ll both feel better. We’ll function better.”
Her voice stayed level. “Will we really? And what when we return to Tahir?”
“We’ll worry about that then.” He cleared his throat. “But you don’t believe Selim’s spending these two and a half years alone, do you? It was plain already before we left, him and Mam hot for each other.”
She frowned. “Please—”
“And now, here aboard ship, Tim and Jean making like minks.” Seeing her reaction, he lowered his hands and stood nearly at attention. “Oh, I’ve learned self-control. I’ve had to, my whole life. But if you would—” He wrestled his pride to the deck. “If you would be kind—”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Al,” she said, most gently. “I truly am. But no.”
“It wouldn’t commit you,” he argued. “I won’t pester you afterward if you don’t want. I’d do my best to make you want, but it’s your choice. We’re shipmates, Hanny, a long ways from a home that’s a long time gone.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “No.”
His lips writhed. “You don’t like me. Is that it?”
“Wrong. I’m simply not casual.”
“I’m not,
either. I said I love you. That doesn’t count, huh? Not when it’s me.”
“Al, stop that. You’re brave and able. You’re charming when you care to be. I don’t agree with some of your ideas, but as an Israeli and a soldier’s daughter I understand them better than most of our crew, and I share many of your feelings.”
“But I’m not worth a few hours in bed,” he rasped. “Not like Selim Zeyd. Or Ricardo Nansen, if you get a chance at him.”
Her countenance froze. “That will do.”
“All right,” he said dully. “Sorry. No offense intended.”
“None taken.” She failed to conceal that that was not quite true. However, once more she spoke mildly. “I regret this meeting wasn’t more … cordial.”
“Me, too.”
“We’d better end it on that note. It won’t make any difference between us if we leave it here.”
He jerked a nod.
“Good night, Al.” Dayan went out.
He stood motionless till she was gone. “Yeah,” he muttered. “A really, really good night.”
Through the hollow passageways he sought his cabin. Standing amidst portraits of conquerors, he called the Tahirian quarters on the intercom. “Leo,” he said. “Brent. Can you come to me?” The others had learned a few English phrases. For his part, he recognized the sibilance that meant “Yes.” He paced until the door chimed and he let the being in.
“(Thank you for coming,)” he said with his parleur. The irony impaled him. “(I trust I have not disturbed your rest.)”
“(No,)” Leo replied on ens own instrument. “(We have not attempted to adjust to the twenty-four-hour cycle you keep aboard ship. Moreover, I, personally, welcome any distraction.)”
“(Of course.)” Leo was not along to participate in the science or the adventure but to observe it and report back to ens faction on Tahir. Brent had been tempted to think of en as a political officer or secret police agent, but realized that was nonsense. “(I wish I could give you refreshment.)”
“(You can give me discourse. You must have a purpose,)”
Brent gestured en to lie down and took a facing chair. His fingers marched and countermarched across the touchpanel. “(What do you make of our activities here thus far?)”
“(They disturb me profoundly.)”
“(Too dangerous?)”
“(Too successful. Colin and Fernando tell me that knowledge is being gathered which is new to our race as well as yours.)”
“(And you fear it will stimulate Tahirian starfaring.)”
“(By itself, scarcely,)” said Leo in the methodical, academic fashion that Cambiante tended to impose. Ens tone, mane, muscles, and pungencies belied it. “(The information is interesting, and not in itself revolutionary. Indeed, an improved database in stellar dynamics and evolution may prove useful to our long-term planning. What I fear is that the success will cause your people to abide among us longer than you had intended.)”
“(And we’d continue endangering your social order.)” Brett tensed. “(Why don’t you command us to go? Why haven’t you already?)”
“(Why do you ask? You must know that no organization exists to make or enforce such a policy. The need was not foreseen.)”
“Uh-huh,” Brent murmured. “You’ve never thought in term’s of sovereignty or military strength, have you?”
“(Our race has always possessed establishments like that,)” he said.
“(It appears to be in your nature.)” The smell turned rank.
“(If some of you told us to leave against our will, others would reply that we should stay. This could be disruptive. Your people are not accustomed to strong disputes.)”
“You don’t have the instincts for them we do,” Brent added under his breath. “So you’d have a lot more trouble containing any that did break out. And just getting together some killers—unthinkable. Too bad … for you.”
“(You and I and associates of yours such as Peter have touched on these matters before, of course,)” he said. “(What I want to make clear tonight is that certain of us don’t wish to stay. I want to start your side and mine thinking how to bring departure about.)” Never mind why I picked this exact time for it. “(This begins with uniting in our purpose and agreeing on what will be acceptable.)”
“(Can we prevail over your dedicated scientists?)”
“(I believe so, if we have important things to bring back in this ship. Then lingering will become—)” No word for treason. “(—an actual disservice to our race.)”
Leo sat sphinx-alert. “(I suspect what you have in mind.)”
“(Yes. Your science and technology. The mighty capabilities of your planetary engineering. The field drive.)” To go with the robots captured in the star cluster. Study of them had by now revealed potentialities that Brent did not discuss.
“(It has been observed before that humans may well have developed these things for themselves.)”
“(Perhaps, perhaps not. You have your own viewpoint on the universe. Besides, your desires have conditioned the research and engineering you have done.)”
“(True. I have heard of superiorities you possess, notably in artificial intelligence and in … lethal instrumentalities.)”
“(Capabilities mean power.)”
The mane flattened. “(More ships of yours could seek us out.)”
“(Not if a leader forbade, a leader with power. He would have better things for his followers to do.)”
“(Stability, enduring purpose, does not appear to be possible to your race.)”
“(We shall see. At the very least, if you get rid of us you will have fourteen thousand of your years in peace; and first I could suggest defenses, safeguards, to you.)” Brent leaned forward. “(I want to make liaison with your group. We’ll find ways to work together. We’ll bend the future to our will.)”
A rainstorm turned evening into early night. Water dashed against windows and sluiced shimmering down them. Wind skirled. Sometimes lightning flared and thunder crashed. Interior illumination focused like an antique lamp on the desk where Sundaram studied his notes, as if he sat in a cave. It helped him concentrate. He needed the help.
The door opened. He looked up. Yu stepped through, closing the door behind her while a gust tried to seize it. Sundaram sprang to his feet. “Wenji!” he cried gladly. “Where have you been? Two days without a word—”
He went to her. She stood where she was. Water dripped off the hooded poncho, down to the floor. She did not look straight at him, but beyond. “With Esther.” Her tone was flat.
“The physicist? I was becoming worried about you.” He attempted geniality. “Well, you were in fascinating company, I’m sure.”
She remained silent. He looked beneath the hood at her face. Dim though the light was, he saw that the drops along her cheekbones were not rain. “What is wrong?” he whispered.
“I have solved the equation.”
“Equation?”
“With Esther’s help. En led me through the mathematics. I had to go through it. In mere words—” Her voice broke. “How could I have believed? I wouldn’t dare. Esther was appalled, too. She had not realized, either. It is not something that is taught to students.”
He regarded her for a moment longer. The wind hooted. “Come, darling,” he said low. “Sit down. Rest.” He helped her doff the poncho, hung it up, and guided her to the table where they shared medals and played games when they were alone. Passive, she took the seat he drew back for her.
He flicked a thumb at the culinator. “I have a pot of tea there,” he offered. “Or would you prefer something stronger?”
Now she met his eyes. A kind of tenderness trembled in her speech. “Just you. Please come be with me.”
He brought his chair around beside hers and lowered himself to it. When he took her hand, it was colder than the weather outside. He cradled it.
As if drawing strength from the clasp, she told him quietly, “We are a menace to creation.”
Seldom before ha
d she seen him amazed. “No, how? The universe? We, less than dust motes?” Lightning set a window ablaze. Darkness clapped black down. Thunder went like monstrous wheels.
She drew breath and now talked rapidly, as if rattling off a litany. “You recall the theory. When the universe formed, the big bang, that first great quantum leap was not to the lowest energy level, the ground state. It stopped higher up, like an electron falling into one of the outer possible orbits around a nucleus. The unspent energy, the substrate, we borrow from it for our zero-zero drive.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “But the state is metastable, isn’t it?” He shaped a smile. “After all, billions of years have gone by, and we are still here.”
“The state can change. Collapse, fall down. Spontaneously, randomly, at any time, any point.” Her voice went thin. “A sphere of nothingness, expanding from that point at the speed of light, swallowing stars, galaxies, life—blotting them out—the past itself annulled, and we not only cease to be, we never were.”
“It hasn’t happened yet,” he said as soothingly as might be.
“It may already have happened somewhere. It may be on its way to us. We’ll never know.”
“Darling,” he argued, desperately reasonable, “Olivares explained this five thousand years ago. I have read that for a while there was a certain amount of hysteria about it. But the probability is so tiny. Isn’t it unlikely to happen until long after the last star has burned out? Or, yes, if I remember rightly, the last proton has disintegrated?”
She clenched her teeth. “We raise the chance,” she said.
His grip slackened. “I was afraid of that. My chatter—” He sighed. “I was trying to stave the sentence off. I am a coward.”
Warmth surged in her. “No! You’re as brave as anybody, Ajit, more than most, brave enough to be serene.”
“I can grow terribly afraid for you. … Say on.”
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