She looked around at the others to see if they were thinking what she was. She couldn't tell. Dannerman had gone off to talk to Martin and Rosaleen, the others simply looked grim. Whether it was because, like herself, they were considering the possibility that the Beloved Leaders might have some similar plans for the human race she did not know.
"Damn," Pat said ruefully. "You know, I was almost getting to like the little shit."
Pat Five looked at her curiously. "For God's sake, why?"
Lamely, "Well... he brought us food. And other things. We would have starved without him."
Pat Five said in disgust, "Oh, Pat, what's the matter with you? You don't really understand what kind of people they are, do you? Tell me something. When you see the supermarket fish clerk checking the pumps in the lobster tank, do you think she does it because she wants the lobsters to be happy?" She glared at Pat, then abruptly added, "Why didn't you ever ask me how I got pregnant?"
Uncomfortably, "I did wonder, I mean about the implants."
"Right, the implants," said Pat Five, nodding. "The implants made a real problem for the damn birds. When they found out about them they just took the things right out, and, honey, that was not fun. Not for me, even though I was the lucky one; I survived the operation. Dan Three told me that the first two of us they tried didn't. Of course, they didn't bother with anesthesia.... And then they killed Dan, too. I think it was something about studying how the human body reacted to pain; he was screaming so loud I bet he could be heard all over the compound."
Patrice shuddered, but there was something else she wanted to know. As delicately as possible, she began, "Who was the- ah-the-?"
"The father?" Pat Five shrugged morosely. "Rosaleen thought it was Jimmy, one of the Jimmys, but I don't know. I'm not sure I ever met the gent." She glanced casually at the surviving Jimmy, who was standing suddenly thunderstruck. "All I know for sure is they had sperm they'd collected-I don't know whose-and so they did it to me by artificial insemination, you see. Looked like they just didn't want us to have any fun at all."
"Hey!" said Jimmy Lin, finding his voice at last. "I mean- hey!"
Pat Five scowled at him. "What are you getting excited about? I'm not going to ask for child support."
"It isn't that," he protested. "I just-you know-I mean, I feel sort of responsible if it was my, uh, sperm-"
Pat Five looked at him thoughtfully, then softened. "Well, don't worry about it. Listen, I think being pregnant had its advantage. I'm pretty sure that's why they kept me alive when the Horch started shooting and the birds terminated all the others.
They'd gone to a lot of trouble to knock me up; I guess they didn't want to waste all that work." She glanced at Dopey, nervously making his rounds of the guard posts. "There were two of those goddam birds arguing about it in the examining room," she said, nodding toward the shattered partitions at the far end of their space, "while a couple of the goons held me down. I was sure I'd had it. But then the birds walked off and the goons just dropped me and went away. And I've been here alone ever since."
Patrice couldn't stand still another minute. Pat Five's tale of horrors was more than she could handle. She moved toward the broken partitions. "Over here?" she asked. "Is that where they were doing it?"
"Don't go wandering away from your post!" Jimmy Lin ordered, and Pat Five chimed in:
"I wouldn't go there at all if I were you-"
But that came too late. Patrice had reached the partitions and peered through them. She couldn't see clearly in the minimal light that filtered in from outside, but that, Patrice thought, the contents of her stomach trying to rise up through her throat, was a good thing. There were bodies there. A Dannerman. A Jimmy Lin. Another of those half-absorbed corpses, caught incompletely flushed away when the power died, that was facedown but, she thought, probably had been another Jimmy Lin. The stench of decay was awful. She retreated to the others, holding her hand over her face.
Pat Five laughed-not unkindly. "I warned you," she said. "I've been living with that for days. The birds said it was all right, you know; they just sent them on early to the eschaton."
"So they told you about the eschaton?" Pat asked.
"That Tipler business, sure. They were asking a lot of questions about it just before they terminated the guys- Is something the matter?"
Pat and Patrice were exchanging glances. "You remembered the name!" Pat cried.
"Of course I remembered the name. Frank Tipler. Tulane University. He wrote a book. I also remembered that old what's-his-face told us it was a lot of crap, since the Hubble Constant showed that the universe wasn't ever going to collapse again anyway.
"I've been wondering about that myself," Patrice said, and Pat put in:
"Dan says it doesn't matter if it's true. What matters is that the Horch and the Beloved Leaders act as if they believe it's true, and-"
She stopped there, blinking; they were all blinking, as suddenly the lights were on. And from across the space Dopey chortled: "We have the power! Now we can serve the Beloved Leaders again!"
CHAPTER FORTY
Patrice
The return of the lighting made things clearer but didn't make them better; the place was still a ruin. An eye-hurting flicker told Patrice that, in spite of damage, just beside her one of those magic mirror walls was trying to reconstitute itself near the "examining room": bright mirror surface leaping from floor to ceiling, then crackling and turning dark again, over and over. "Stand back, Patrice!" Rosaleen warned urgently, but there was no danger there; Patrice was already hastily backing away. At the tachyon terminal Dopey was babbling in excitement as a Doc was doing something to its controls. Patrice couldn't see what, exactly, but she couldn't even see the controls, for that matter. Whatever they were, they were invisible to her. But Dopey was in ecstasy-delight, certainly; fear, too. "This is our most dangerous time," he called, then, joyously: "See, here are some weapons! Take them! Be ready! The machines will surely detect this energy, and they-oh, hurry!" But he was talking to the Doc again, not to the humans, who were quick to seize the trombone like things as the Doc lifted them out of the cavernous interior of the terminal, then closed the door for the next batch.
"What about our food?" Jimmy Lin demanded, hefting the weapon.
Dopey looked at him distractedly. "Please be careful with that, now there is power! Food? Of course we'll get food from your Starlab, as soon as we are prepared to deal with the Horch machines. First the weapons, then a few more fighters. I believe we should make more copies of you, Agent Dannerman, since it is probable that there will be some losses. Also General Delasquez and Commander Lin; I think it is best to copy the males first, don't you? Since, as I understand it, all of you males have had some weapons training, while the females have not. Or not very much. But of course," he added hastily, turning away to urge the Doc to greater speed, "if you wish we will copy more females as well, as soon as we have finished destroying the Horch machines-"
"Shut up," Dannerman said, pointing one of the weapons at Dopey. Who goggled at him uncomprehendingly.
"But I have asked you, Agent Dannerman, to be very careful with that weapon! It could easily accidentally go off-"
"Not accidentally," Dannerman said.
Patrice had never seen the alien look so bewildered. He stared, his plume agitatedly flickering, then turned to the nearest armed human, which happened to be Martin Delasquez. "I order you to shoot him," he said.
Martin glanced quizzically at Dannerman, then shifted his weapon as well to cover Dopey. "No," he said. "Do what Dannerman says."
Dopey was wringing his little hands again. "But what- But the Horch machines-"
Dannerman said, "It's simple. If you can get things from Starlab, you can send things to Starlab. Like us."
"That is true, yes," Dopey said, uncomprehending but reasonable. "However-"
"So do it. Tell that thing to transmit us, right away."
"No, no!" Dopey cried in panic. "We must fight them here
! The Beloved Leaders would wish that!"
Rosaleen had been listening intently; now she took a hand. "Dopey," she said soothingly, "you just haven't thought it through. If we fight the machines here we might lose, don't you see? What Dan means, if we go to Starlab we'll be safe. There's only one terminal there; we can guard it day and night, until your Beloved Leaders get around to reestablishing the communication channel there. That's what you had in mind, isn't it, Dan? Wouldn't that work?"
Dannerman didn't bother to answer. Dopey looked bewildered. Then, pettishly, he said, "Yes, I suppose so, perhaps. But I absolutely forbid it. I-"
Dannerman put his fingers in the loops of the weapon. "Don't forbid," he said, the gun squarely pointing at Dopey. "You'll do it our way or you'll have failed your assignment because you're dead... and then what will you tell your bosses when your eschaton comes around?"
It wasn't that easy. Dopey hadn't stopped arguing. In fact, he never did stop his frantic arguing- or pleading-even after he had given in and allowed the Doc to start the transmissions. Dannerman had to singe a corner of the alien's plume with the weapon before he would go that far.
But it was happening.
They were going home! Patrice stared in wonder and unbelief as the first batch entered the chamber-Rosaleen and the two other Pats-and the door closed behind them. To take them home! Which meant that in a moment Patrice herself could go home! She could hardly believe it, could not take in the sudden change in her outlook-first a dreary and interminable existence in the ruins, then, in the blink of an eye, the sudden prospect of return to Starlab-to Earth-to her life! And it was all happening] The terminal door opened again and it was empty. "Now you!" Dannerman ordered, pointing to Jimmy Lin. "And take Dopey with you, but keep an eye on-"
He stopped, listening. Dopey squealed in terror, and then Patrice heard it, too: a heavy, rapid thudding, and the distant buzzing sound like a hive of bees. The Doc that had started the generator was running ponderously toward them-
And behind it, rapidly catching up, one of the spider-legged machines.
This time Patrice was ready. She had her gun in both hands, aiming it carefully. Whether she hit the thing or not she couldn't tell-both Martin and Jimmy Lin were firing at the same time, and she saw the pale beam from Dannerman's Beloved Leaders weapon wavering toward the thing as well. Someone did. The machine spun around crazily and burst into flame, just as the other had.
Dannerman didn't wait. "Do it, Lin!" he ordered. "You too, Dopey; there'll be more."
But Dopey was complaining, wringing his little hands. "I cannot function without the bearers!"
"Then take them, damn it! All but the one running the transmitter!" And as the alien started to object, simply picked him up and threw him inside. The two Docs followed stolidly, making a tight fit; but then the door closed and they were gone. As the door opened again, Dannerman looked around and saw Patrice standing there. "Now you," he ordered. "Martin, too. I'll hold them off-"
Patrice obeyed....
But not Martin. He grunted, "Who elected you hero?"... and shoved Dannerman bodily inside, as the door closed.
All Patrice saw was a pale lavender flash that went right through her closed eyelids, and a sickening jolt. And then the door opened and they all fell in a heap out into the weightlessness of Starlab. "That son of a bitch Martin," Dannerman groaned. "We'll wait. Maybe he'll make it...."
They did wait. For long minutes. But Martin didn't come.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Patrice
Never had the stale air of Starlab smelled so much like home. Never had the queasiness of microgravity felt so dear. Patrice couldn't stop grinning-nor either of the other Pats, nor Jimmy Lin, nor even Rosaleen, arms crossed over her belly to hold in some unannounced pain. Only Dopey and Dannerman seemed immune. Dopey, held in the arms of one of the Docs, was babbling: "Please, you must keep a weapon drawn and pointed at the terminal, in case one of the Horch machines follows. Why are you not listening to me? But it is urgent!"
And, though Dannerman had his gun in his hand-his own gun, not one of the now useless energy weapons-he was indeed not listening. He was looking around the Starlab corridor as though trying to get his bearings. "Jimmy," he snapped. "Do you think you can find the astronaut return capsule? Go check it out. I want to know if it's still workable... and if you think you can fly it."
"Sure," Lin said, "if that's what you want. But wouldn't it be easier to radio for a rescue ship?"
"Do you want to hang around here? Just do it. Go." And as Lin went off Dopey was frantically demanding to know what was happening.
"But you can't just leave the terminal unguarded, Agent Dannerman! Have you not heard me? If one of those machines follows-"
"It won't," Dannerman said grimly. "Stand back." He took aim at the closed door of the terminal and fired the whole clip.
"Now, that was foolish of you, Dan," Rosaleen said gravely. "How did you know they wouldn't ricochet around and kill us all?"
"I didn't," Dannerman admitted. "I guess I didn't think. But it looks like it worked." The high-speed loads had gone right through the door, and from inside there was a crackling and a smell of something electrical burning. "But let's make sure," he said. "Where's that bar you conked Jimmy with?"
Dopey gazed in horror as Dannerman methodically began to smash at the portal. "No!" he screamed over the crash of metal. "You mustn't! We'll be cut off from the Beloved Leaders until they send another drone, perhaps for many, many years!"
"So I hope," Dannerman agreed. "In fact I'm counting on it. The longer the better. If it's long enough, just maybe-the next time you guys come around to visit us-we'll know how to handle you."
AFTER
Later... much later, and a very long distance away...
Dan Dannerman saw the pale lavender flash; the door of thetachyon terminal opened and he leaped triumphantly out, eager to join the others in the safety of Starlab.
Startlingly, the others weren't there.
Still more Startlingly, he wasn't even in Starlab. He was in a place he'd never seen. A pair of the wheel-footed Horch machines were standing there, but they weren't shooting at him. Nor could he have fired back if they had; he had no gun in his hand. Behind him he heard the door cycle shut behind him, then open again. The disheveled figure of Dopey spilled out, catapulting into him. The little creature glared at him. Then, as he saw the quietly buzzing machines observing them, Dopey's plume turned woeful gray and he began to sob.
"What's happened?" Dannerman demanded. And, clutching at straws, "Did we die? Is this your damn eschaton?"
Dopey stared at him mournfully: "Eschaton? Oh, you are a great fool, Agent Dannerman! Of course we have not yet reached the eschaton. We simply have been copied once more... and now we are in the hands of the Horch."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
One of the questions that confront a science-fiction reader is to decide how much of the "science" in a story is real-i.e., is at the time of writing consensually agreed by a significant number of actual scientists-and how much is made up by the author. I don't personally make up much in my writing. I do, however, quite often make use of scientific ideas that have been put forth by some actual scientist but fall a long way short of being consensual. For example, I did not make up the faster-than-light "tachyons" I have used in this story (and in others) in order to provide a mechanism for getting my characters around this very large universe in reasonable travel times. They were originally proposed by Dr. Gerry Feinberg and others thirty or more years ago. Tachyons may or may not exist. There is no direct evidence that they do, Feinberg was able to show that they are not excluded by relativity theory; but they have never been detected. So the question remains open for scientists-but, in my view, such concepts are perfectly legitimate for writers like myself to borrow.
Which, I think, is also true of the concept which provides the central thesis of this story, the "Omega Point" or eschaton at which every person who has ever lived will, it is said, live aga
in, and then go on doing so forever.
Much of what I know about the stranger scientific ideas that are floating around comes from the kindness of friends, who know what sort of thing interests me and are often good enough to send me copies of obscure papers from unlikely sources. The stimulus which led to the present story came from a paper by Dr. Frank Tipler, sent to me some years ago by Dr. Hans Moravec of the Robotics Institute at Carnegie-Mellon University. Tipler's paper, originally published in a journal devoted to religious questions, was quite tentative in tone. However, it appears that, having started thinking on the subject, Tipler began to feel that he was onto something really important. So in 1994 he published a book, The Physics of Immortality, expanding on the original notion and buttressing it with what he says are formal, scientific proofs that it is true. There are some differences between the arguments in the original paper and those in the book, however, and I should mention that in this novel I have preferred to follow those of the original paper.
Tipler's claimed scientific proofs take the form of quite abstruse arguments that are dense with equations and occupy 223 pages in his book. I am not qualified to pass judgment on the accuracy of his science, and the reviews of the book that I have seen in various scientific publications have been, to put it as impartially as possible, pretty uniformly unconvinced. Still, Tipler is a heavyweight scientist in his own right, and we all know that the history of science is full of pioneers who were at first scorned-but were ultimately shown to be correct.
So the question remains: Are we indeed all going to be reborn at some remote time eons in the future?
I don't know. If I had to bet, I must confess that I would be inclined to bet quite heavily against it... but it is certainly pretty to think so.
FREDERIK POHL
Palatine, Illinois March 1995
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A multiple Hugo and Nebula Award-winning author, FREDERIK POHL has done just about everything one can do in the science-fiction field. His most famous work is undoubtedly the novel Gateway, which won the Hugo, Nebula, and John W. Campbell Memorial awards for Best SF novel. Man Plus won the Nebula Award. His mature work is marked by a serious intellectual agenda and strongly held sociopolitical beliefs, without sacrificing narrative drive. In addition to his successful solo fiction, Pohl has collaborated successfully with a variety of writers, including C. M. Kornbluth and Jack Williamson. The Pohl/Kornbluth collaboration, The Space Merchants, is a longtime classic of satiric science fiction. The Starchild Trilogy with Williamson is one of the more notable collaborations in the field. Pohl has been a magazine editor in the field since he was very young, piloting Worlds of If to three successive Hugos for Best Magazine. He also has edited original-story anthologies, including the early and notable Star series of the early 1950s. He has at various times been a literary agent, an editor of lines of science-fiction books, and a president of the Science Fiction Writers of America. For a number of years he has been active in the World SF movement. He and his wife, Elizabeth Anne Hull, a prominent academic active in the Science Fiction Research Association, live outside Chicago, Illinois.
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