Stranger Suns

by George Zebrowski

  “I told them that,” Dovzhenko said. “The question now is can we catch up with this ship? Is it linked with the ship in the Amazon?” He poured himself another shot and gulped it down. “We'll all be exploring the alien system sooner or later, so why not start right now?”

  “You're thinking of this as a rescue mission,” Lena said, sipping her drink. “Aren't you underestimating your team?”

  A stern look came into Dovzhenko's face. “Shouldn't we do what we can, rather than hope for the best?”

  “Titus, may I have a word with you in private?” Juan asked.

  Dovzhenko poured himself another shot, downed it, and got up. “I'll be out in the hall.”

  “You didn't have to insult him,” Summet said as the door slid shut. “My job is to involve everyone in ERS matters. It keeps the peace.”

  “Civilizes the brutes,” Malachi quipped, lighting a cigarette.

  “There's too much suspicion and secrecy in this already,” Summet said.

  Juan glanced at Magnus, Lena, and Malachi. “Titus, we may not be able to go after the Russians.”

  Summet focused on him. “So now you'll tell me what you've held back.”

  “Yes,” Juan said. “The frames are unstable.”

  “You mean they can't be used?”

  “They can, but they're a kind of Schrödinger's Door, leading into variants of our world line.”

  Summet stood up. “What?”

  “The security chaps were quite correct,” Malachi said. “We're not quite the group that left here. Our Magnus Rassmussen died out there, for one thing. Juan's father is alive here, and there are the differences of eye color and fingerprints.”

  Magnus said, “I gave them a shock when I turned up in Miami.”

  Summet sat down and was silent.

  “So you see why we have to think twice about going after the Russians,” Juan said, watching Summet closely. The ERS chief nodded grimly. “Should we tell Dovzhenko?”

  Summet looked up at him. “We'll tell him, but will he or anyone else believe it? I'm not sure I believe it. I have only your word.”

  “It's true, Titus,” Juan said.

  Summet looked reproachfully at Rassmussen. “What do you think?”

  “The variant effect may limit the web's usefulness to us,” Magnus said. “If these people go out again, they'll move even further into probability. They're already at one remove from the world they remember as their starting point. They would return here, and be in most respects the people we knew, but they will not be the three people who left, let's say, World Prime. These three people will move on, even though a group will return here to fulfill the symmetry.”

  “Will the variant effect always occur?” Summet asked.

  “We can't know,” Magnus replied. “All we have is the experience of the group from what I call World Prime. I would like to believe that the effect works along natural lines of probability, by which I mean along breaks that are plausible, not gratuitous.”

  The door buzzed. “Yes?” Summet said.

  It slid open, revealing Dovzhenko.

  “Come in,” Summet said, pointing to his chair.

  The Russian came forward unsteadily and sat down. “Thank you,” he said, as if all heaven had just given him his due.

  Summet looked at Juan. “Bring him up to date.”

  * * *

  “What do you think, Magnus?” Summet asked when Juan was finished.

  Rassmussen began to pace. “There may be a profound psychological component which we don't understand. Variant worlds may in fact be one world presenting itself to an observer in a skewed fashion.”

  “I don't understand,” Lena said. “Are you telling me you're an illusion?”

  “Not at all,” Magnus replied. “It's all real enough. Passage through the frames has made a normal process of choice more visible, by moving observers through more than one set of outcomes. The psychological component may be the possibility of observers being drawn to one set of outcomes rather than another.” Juan felt uneasy as Magnus looked at him.

  “So all the variants are real,” Summet said.

  Rassmussen shrugged. “In a practical sense it may be useful to regard the variants as having a separate existence, but there may be times when it might help us to think it's all one world. We may never be able to prove anything. I'll put my money on one world that is branching infinitely—but the psychological component may be beyond us.”

  “What do you mean?” Dovzhenko asked.

  “Despite the variant personalities, they are in a sense all the same person.”

  Dovzhenko shook his head in disagreement. “Separate,” he announced. “They must be separate. We know these people differ from the ones we have in our records.”

  “True,” Lena said, “but I also feel that this is still our world. I think that's what Magnus is getting at.”

  The same unfortunate world, Juan thought bitterly, nothing better.

  Summet said, “As I see it, travelers through the frames will return to variants of their world, but those who greet them in each variant will see only minor differences, if they see any at all. Outwardly, Juan Obrion will remain continuous—except for his memories.”

  Juan smiled. “You're such a behaviorist, Titus.”

  “Well, from the viewpoint of nontravelers the changes are likely to be minor.”

  “So far,” Juan said, wondering if there were radically advanced forms of humanity tucked away somewhere in the probabilities. A happier Earth might exist, ruled by an improved human nature. He imagined an infinity of his doubles, all seeking a better world across the endless variations. It seemed unlikely that his kind's failings could hold all chance in chains.

  Summet asked, “Is it possible to return to the same variant? Or to a world where the differences are so minor you'd never notice them?”

  “We could only find out by trying,” Juan answered, “but I wouldn't rule it out. I suspect travelers would always return to probabilities that are clustered around the one from which they started, which suggests they might even return to their original one.” He looked at Lena. She bit her lower lip and Juan knew what Summet was about to propose.

  “What's one more shift?” Summet asked, looking directly at him. “You should have no objection to taking another assignment, since you've already lost your prime world. You might even regain it.”

  “You have the sensitivity of a toilet seat,” Lena said.

  Summet nodded. “Well, I do assume you would all go together. What do you expect? I have problems to solve, so I reach for the means at hand. You can understand that, can't you? After all, you thought it best to keep this from me, even though you claim to be against secrecy.”

  “We don't have to go,” Juan said. “The Russian team will learn the same things we did and get back on their own.”

  “If they survive,” Dovzhenko said. “You might find them before they encounter complications. They are your colleagues, after all.”

  “Juan,” Summet said, “do you think there is a frame connection into the Russian ship?”

  Juan nodded. “Very likely, since the other two ships are linked. They might have come as a trio to set up frame stations in this solar system.”

  “What about you, Mal?”

  “It's a good bet Juan is right. There may even be a station in our sun.”

  “You mean their web is tapping our sun?” Dovzhenko asked.

  “Very possibly,” Malachi replied.

  Juan heard the chirp of the phone from his bedroom. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up.

  The sound became insistent as the door slid aside. He went in and hurried to the desk. His mother's face appeared as he opened the line.

  “Juan,” she said, her face drawn and tearful, lips trembling.

  I know, he thought, I know.

  * * *

  He sat on the bed as if it were the edge of the world, with his feet dangling into infinity. A wind stirred in the far dark, whirling the gal
axies away like milkweeds.

  “Juan?” Lena said as she came into the room. “What is it?” She sat down next to him.

  “My father's dead. Massive cerebral hemorrhage while he was driving. He managed to pull off the road. No chance of doing anything by the time they found him.”

  She touched his hand. “Juan, I'm so sorry.”

  “He was mine only by courtesy. I guess I'm upset because we embraced when I left, and he looked as if he was a bit sorry to see me go.”

  She put her arm around him. Fathers, he thought. We have them because deep structures make us yearn for inherited identity. Another adaptive evolution might have given different social meanings to genetic origins.

  He turned to Lena and said in a trembling voice, “We're alone, the three of us. You and Mal are the only ones I have left from our world.”

  “We've a new friend in Magnus,” she replied.

  “Ivan is right,” he said. “The variants are separate places, no matter how familiar they might seem.”

  “But they are all variants of our world,” Lena insisted, moving closer to him.

  He looked at her. “We'll go and find the Russians. It's the only thing that makes sense to me now. We can't count on them having all the luck we did. Think of what we might learn. You want that, don't you?”

  She nodded and was silent for a few moments. “Titus is right,” she said finally. “We've already cut loose from our world. There's not much more we can lose.”

  “Except each other,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  “We'll all be together.”

  A chill went through him as he recalled how the expansion of humanity into space had once beckoned to him like a liberation. The new reality that science and technology, together with a great new age of exploration, might one day deposit in the human heart, now seemed even more remote. The opening of the alien web might let loose the inner beasts of human nature onto an unprecendented scale of action. Explorers would go out for reasons of humanity, or from a passionate love of knowledge, but the power brokers, operating from the deepest mazes of human motivation, would pursue their own satisfactions.

  “I know what you're thinking,” Lena said. “We've all thought about it, even Titus. He's got to make certain things happen, even if they don't come out as they should. But we have to do what we think is right without expecting a guarantee of success.”

  She was right; he had always wanted the world to reform itself by next Tuesday. In reality, human development lurched along a tortured path toward holocaust or heaven, without ever reaching either. Few revolutionary acts had succeeded, yet there seemed to be net progress in the flow of history. Hope shaped development, despite the demoralization of individuals. Perhaps there were variant histories where most aspirations were not crushed, and he was being given the chance to go find them.

  Lena got up and went to the door. “Dovzhenko's being very demanding,” she whispered.

  Juan stood up. “Don't say anything about my father.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I will be.”

  * * *

  Dovzhenko was sitting on one of the bar stools drinking coffee when Juan and Lena came out of the bedroom. “Dr. Obrion,” he asked, “can there be some mistake about all this?”

  “I don't think so,” Juan replied, sitting down in the straight chair.

  “We must consider,” Summet said, “who should know about the probability effect.”

  The Russian smiled. “I take it your inclination is to tell as few people as possible?”

  Summet glanced at Juan. “I'm not sure.”

  Rassmussen sat back on the sofa and asked, “Is it going to be a secret or not?”

  Lena went over and sat down next to him. “The three of us who came back,” she said, “have deep misgivings. Perhaps the variant effect will make the web unusable.”

  “I doubt that,” Dovzhenko answered. “It will be used, if only by a corps of professionals like yourselves.”

  Summet grimaced at Juan. “Life was much simpler only a few hours ago.”

  “Not simpler,” Dovzhenko said, pouring himself more coffee. “Different. Believe me, I know all about variant histories. Our Russian archives are full of the ones we've repudiated.”

  “So what do we do?” Summet asked.

  Dovzhenko downed his coffee. “My answer is to simply let the circle of those who know grow according to necessity.”

  “Juan, what do you think?” Summet asked.

  Juan shrugged. “Sounds reasonable.”

  “And you, Magnus?”

  “Leave well enough alone for now.”

  “Lena?”

  “As long as there's no absolute policy of secrecy. But we should tell a few people right away. What if something happens to Titus while we're gone?”

  Summet nodded. “Juan, make a full report. I'll sign it and put it in a safe place. Malachi?”

  The Kenyan smiled, sat back on the sofa, and clasped his hands behind his head. “We see ourselves as a small elite, making decisions on behalf of humanity's better impulses. In this case, I think we're justified in being cautious—but we should be cautious of our caution also.”

  Summet nodded. “Juan, I'll want your report as soon as possible. Ivan, you'll get the help you wanted.”

  Juan said, “Titus, I'd like you to find a man—Yevgeny Petrovich Tasarov—a mathematician whose work may help us understand variants. I want to talk with him before we go after Ivan's people.”

  Summet nodded. “Ivan, do you know of him?”

  The Russian shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

  Summet looked at Juan. “I'll find him. What do you think he knows?”

  “I won't know until I talk to him.”

  * * *

  The phone buzzed in the darkness. Juan felt Lena's comforting shape stir next to him. “It might be important,” she said.

  He reached over to the glowing panel, resentful of being pulled back into his waking identity; for an instant it seemed incredible that he was himself.

  “Yes?” he said as he opened the audio.

  “Juan? Summet. Dovzhenko will be going with you. Any objections? I have to know right now.”

  “Does he want to?”

  “He was promoted and ordered to go. I think you'll be able to handle him.”

  “Remember, he's not quite the person we knew, and we didn't know him very well.”

  “Well, they do have a right,” Summet said. “Sorry to disturb you, but I tried to find Tasarov, and no one knows how to contact him, anywhere. It's the damnedest thing. Do you want me to keep trying?”

  “Yes,” Juan said.

  The phone's glow died. He lay back. Lena nestled against him, then kissed his shoulder. “Get some sleep,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes and waited for oblivion. “Are you sorry we did this?” he asked, completely awake.

  “No,” she murmured.

  21. DEEP SKY

  The Amazonian sky blazed blue and gold above the green canopy. Juan peered around at the jungle through protective lenses. It crowded in around the hill, as if reluctant to give up the alien it had buried so long ago.

  Titus had allowed him a couple of days to attend the funeral. He had sat through another requiem mass, said for his father by a different priest, and had comforted his sobbing mother just as he had her younger variant years ago. Once again, the door to the mausoleum slot had squeaked as his father's remains were locked away.

  “Astounding growth,” Malachi said as he adjusted his sun helmet and started to dig. “And scarcely a month since we were here.”

  Juan snapped open his spade and began to dig with him, then glanced up at the ocean of sky and wondered if the alien web penetrated all of space-time. Sometimes he still felt that he already knew enough to solve the mystery of the builders, but nothing came; the suspicion was an illusion.

  “Hello,” Malachi said suddenly, “here we go.” Dirt was running down into the sinkhole.
>
  Juan undipped the handset from his belt and said, “Ivan, Lena, we've dug through.”

  “I'll call in the supply drop,” she replied from the highway cruiser.

  “Lock up,” he added.

  “Leaving in five minutes.”

  “Take your time and follow the trail,” he said, watching Malachi peer into the opening.

  * * *

  As they sat on the hillside, Lena asked, “Ivan, are you leaving anyone behind?”

  He shook his head in denial and leaned forward to hug his knees.

  “There it is,” Malachi said, lowering his binoculars.

  Juan stood up and saw the copter coming in from the east, low over the jungle. Give nature a billion years, he thought, and it evolves a new kind of insect to skim over the forest. “You should see us,” he said into the handset.

  “Got you,” a voice crackled.

  The copter beat its way toward them and landed on the hilltop, throwing dirt and greenery in all directions. As Juan led the way up, a tall figure climbed out under the slowing blades and staggered down toward them.

  “Magnus!” Juan shouted, rushing up to him.

  “I'm coming with you,” he said as they shook hands. “Direct order from Titus—but I do want to go. Medics gave me a clean bill of health, so don't look so worried.”

  Juan smiled at him. Lena gave him a hug. “Glad you're here,” Malachi said. Ivan shook the older man's hand.

  “Where do you want this stuff?” a man shouted from the copter's cargo bay.

  “Right here!” Juan answered.

  Plastic containers were handed out to them.

  “You found the opening?” Magnus asked as they stacked the supplies.

  “It's right there,” Juan said, pointing to the narrow opening. “There's a sinkhole just below, then our tunnel goes down at forty-five degrees, right into the lock.”

  * * *

  Under a sky aglow with stars, the jungle cradled the hill, filling the night with insect sounds and animal cries. Juan shivered in the penetrating humidity as he sipped his hot tea. They had pulleyed their supplies down into the open lock, but none of them had wanted to stay overnight in the ship.

  Ivan said, “The forest is mother and father, dreaming up creatures and gobbling them up.”