Stranger Suns

by George Zebrowski

  Malachi smiled and poured himself another cup of tea from the pot on the warmer.

  “The forest is elegant,” Ivan continued, “clean and free of sentiment or regrets.” He smiled at Malachi. “You find that bleak, don't you?”

  Malachi sipped. “I wouldn't want to offend you or the forest.”

  “Tell me, Ivan,” Lena said, sitting up on her pack, “did you know any of the people who went into the other ship?”

  “Never met them. They all have good reputations, according to their files.”

  Juan recalled what he had read in the ERS profiles Titus had provided. Dita Kirilovna Karenina was a Czech-born biologist, the daughter of a Russian diplomat. Isak Alexandrovich Bilenkin was an astrophysicist—Juan had read a few of his papers in scientific journals—and Yerik Mahmoudovich Khasan was an electronics expert from the Central Asian city of Chimkent. There was no mention of marriages or children. Another bunch of loners, he had thought; few would worry about them if something went wrong. They would adjust more easily to the variant effect.

  “Names are a hobby of mine,” Lena said. “Dita means rich gift. Isak means an identical point—it's a name used to invoke the powers of God. And Yerik is the appointed of God.”

  Ivan scowled and said, “A rich gift and the appointed of God might be able to call on His help in their situation. But given the variant effect, the identical point might have some trouble remaining one.” He laughed.

  “Very clever,” Malachi said.

  The Russian grimaced, then looked toward the dark opening in the hillside.

  “Get some rest,” Juan said, and climbed into his sleeping bag. Lena touched his hand as she settled into hers next to him.

  “Good night, chaps,” Malachi said.

  Juan gazed up at the bright stars and wondered about the alien giants who had stepped through the constellations, then closed his eyes and drifted into the deep sky.

  * * *

  “We'll have to clear the lock,” Juan said as the three of them waited for Ivan to crawl down.

  The Russian's head emerged from the tunnel. Juan and Malachi pulled him through into the blue-lit chamber. “But will not that risk the ship taking off?” Ivan asked as they helped him to his feet.

  “Yes,” Juan said, “but the outer lock must close before the inner one will let us in. We have no choice.”

  “It's not certain it will take off,” Malachi added. “This ship seemed less active. I don't believe that simply letting the lock close will make the ship stir. If it wanted to take off, that lock would get a command to become a solid barrier whatever the obstruction.”

  Juan picked up the two spades lying across the opening. “Step back.”

  They retreated. The lock glowed and became solid.

  “Now watch this,” Juan said as he turned and stepped forward. The inner lock glowed, revealing the black floor of the winding corridor, reflecting the receding squares of yellow-orange ceiling lights.

  “Still works,” Malachi said.

  Ivan and Magnus stepped through and peered into the winding passage.

  “Listen,” Magnus said.

  Juan heard the familiar distant whisper.

  “Ventilation?” Magnus asked.

  Juan nodded, imagining a draft pulling between the worlds, rushing through frames as they opened and closed deep within the ship.

  “Or someone forgot to close a door,” Ivan said.

  Magnus took a deep breath. “Tastes richer in oxygen.”

  They listened to the soft sighing of the ship. “It's as if something knows we're here,” Ivan said.

  Juan turned away. “We'd better get into our oversuits and decide what we'll take with us from these supplies.”

  * * *

  Juan counted the doorlike indentations as he led the way down the winding passage.

  “What are all these chambers for?” Ivan asked.

  Juan stopped and faced an oval on his right. “Watch this.” He stepped forward. The oval glowed and he stepped through—

  —into the white room with cubbyholes. He turned at once, triggered the glow and slipped out—

  —into the passage. “This is it,” he said, noticing the look of wonder on Ivan's face. “Didn't you see this in Antarctica?”

  “No—I only arrived in time to see the ship break from the ice.”

  “Follow me through,” Juan said as he turned, triggered the glow again, and passed—

  —into the brightness of the chamber.

  The others came through as he took off his pack and laid it down on one of the tables. “What is this place?” Ivan asked.

  “Give me a chocolate bar, old chap,” Malachi said.

  Lena got one out first and handed it to him. He went up to the wall of square cubbyholes and placed the bar inside one of the openings, waited a moment, then removed the bar. The small chamber glowed and a duplicate bar appeared. Malachi took it out and tossed it to Ivan.

  Ivan tore off the wrapper, took a cautious bite, and said, “Very fine fruit and nut. My favorite.”

  Juan said, “We'll leave an assortment of provisions here, in case we have to make more. This bit of magic saved our lives when we were running out of water in the other ship.”

  Magnus was staring at the wall. “Of course—this replicator, the lock, the doorways—all basic manipulations of matter at the smallest scale. It's delightful.”

  Juan smiled. “You said something like that here before.”

  Lena said, “There's another chamber like this deeper in the ship.”

  “Those larger cubbyholes,” Juan said, pointing to the base of the wall, “are waste recyclers.”

  “We could feed the world from these automats!” Ivan exclaimed.

  “It would mean the end of business and currency,” Juan said, “for starters.”

  Ivan shrugged. “What does that matter? Another kind of economy would form, of course, based on the control of these replicators, but at least no one would ever starve again.”

  Juan said, “Let's decide what we're going to leave here.”

  They marked the door with a red sticker and resumed their downward march.

  “Here's the gravitic well,” Malachi said as they came to the drop tube and looked down. “I fell in. Wasn't very dangerous, I'm afraid. That's what it's for.”

  “Summet came after us into the ship,” Lena explained, “and startled us. You were with him, Ivan.”

  The Russian looked startled. “I'm very sorry.” He shook his head. “But of course that was another Ivan.”

  “Clumsy of me,” Malachi said.

  Juan said, “Come on—we may be needed.”

  22. CROSSWORLDS

  Juan halted in the passageway and pointed left. “That's the entrance to the drum-shaped chamber we camped in after our ship took off.”

  Ivan asked, “Are the ships truly identical?”

  “I've seen no differences yet,” Juan said. Magnus approached the entrance at an angle and marked it with a red sticker.

  “What's in there?” Ivan asked.

  “I think it's a kind of command area and stellar chart room—even though the ship seems to run itself.”

  “Is there no way to set its course?” Ivan asked.

  “If there is,” Juan said, “we haven't the slightest idea of how to go about it.”

  “How big is the ship?” Ivan asked.

  “I estimate it's a ball some two kilometers in diameter. This wide corkscrew passage is much longer, of course, I suspect it runs down to the center of the ship, maybe all the way down to its south pole. My pedometer says we've come over three kilometers now. There may be nearly ten kilometers of winding passage in this sphere.”

  Ivan laughed. “I feel like a worm in an apple.”

  The Russian's cheerful outbursts irritated Juan, but he preferred this Ivan to the previous close-lipped official. That humorless man had been more dedicated to his job; this one appeared anxious to distance himself from his superiors.

  Iva
n gestured as they moved deeper into the ship. “Look how clean. No dust anywhere. It looks as if it were built yesterday.”

  Juan said, “We're almost at the entrance to the shuttle bay.” He led them around the wide bend, where the passage suddenly ran straight, and stopped at the left turn. “It seems to end there,” he said, pointing to the large entrance.

  Malachi said, “It's about ten times larger than any oval we've seen.”

  “Turn on your helmet lights,” Juan said, moving forward.

  The other followed him up to the entrance; he looked around at his companions.

  “Ready,” Ivan said.

  Juan stepped forward. The portal glowed and he passed—

  —into the dark chamber. He went forward and faced the six frames as his companions came through behind him.

  “They're large,” Ivan said. “Which one did you come back through?”

  “Second from the left,” Malachi said, “connects with Ship One, which as far as we know is still sitting in a suncore millions of parsecs away. I tried the first frame from the left. It leads into a branching corridor somewhere.”

  Ivan asked, “But the second frame leads into an identical chamber in Ship One?”

  “Yes,” Juan said.

  “Then it's possible that the third frame from the left may lead into Ship Three?”

  “It's possible,” Malachi replied. “We'll try it next, to be systematic.”

  “Mal,” Magnus said, “did you say you went through the first frame alone?”

  “Yes. I know what you're thinking, but I came back immediately, and have seen no shift in details.”

  “Come to think of it, I also went through alone,” Juan said, “into a double of this chamber, and came back immediately. The air was warm.” He felt uneasy as he stepped up to the third frame. “Link hands,” he said, “so we'll pass through as one body. For what it's worth, we'll know that we're exactly the same people when we come out.” Even though he might no longer be the same person this Lena had known, he told himself. Mal and he probably had that much in common with Magnus now.

  They linked hands. He pulled through into an identical chamber of frames, then glanced back and saw the others emerging like a chain of cutouts.

  “Air's good,” he said.

  He let go of Lena's hand and faced the exit. It glowed coal red and he stepped—

  —out into an identical winding passage.

  He moved aside and watched his companions slip out through the glow, then motioned for them to be silent. “I hear voices,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Ivan said excitedly. “Russian.”

  He listened, and also heard a distant crying, like that of children.

  “They're coming toward us,” Ivan said as the footfalls grew louder. “Hallo!” he shouted.

  Two dark figures made the turn and came forward rapidly. Juan saw two Soviet soldiers. Ivan raised a hand, called out in Russian, and went forward to meet them.

  “Stop!” one of the soldiers cried as they both pointed their automatic rifles at him.

  Ivan halted and raised his arms. The soldiers approached him warily. He spoke to them in Russian. They stopped in front of him and lowered their weapons. He conversed with them quietly for a few moments, then raised his voice, as if startled by something. One of the men turned and marched away. Ivan turned and came back. The remaining soldier kept his eyes on them.

  “What's up?” Malachi asked.

  Ivan looked pale. “We're in the Soviet Union, and there's been a nuclear war. Apparently we've entered a variant in which Ship Three did not take off.” He drew a deep breath. “The ship has become a refuge for survivors of the nuclear exchange, which seems to have ended a few days ago.” He dropped his pack behind him and sat down on it.

  Stunned, they all looked at one another. Juan wanted to take Lena by the hand and hurry back through the frame, to consign this variant to the unreality from which it had sprung. Ivan looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. The soldier watching them seemed puzzled and sad.

  Shouts echoed in the passageway; heavy footfalls grew louder. Two soldiers and a civilian came around the turn and stopped. The remaining soldier went to them.

  Ivan got to his feet. “Who are they?” Juan asked him.

  “The civilian is the senior division scientist of our propulsion section. He died two years ago.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Not very well, but he'll know me.”

  The civilian left the three soldiers and approached. “My name is Anatoli Kaliapin,” he said. “I've been expecting you, Dr. Obrion. And these must be Drs. Dravic and Rassmussen, and engineer Moede. I already know Mr. Dovzhenko.”

  “How bad is it outside?” Lena asked.

  Kaliapin swallowed. “As bad as it can be. Did our team come through safely in Brazil?”

  “What do you mean?” Juan asked.

  “They did not arrive?”

  Juan hesitated, then said, “By the time we left, no one had arrived.”

  Kaliapin took a deep breath. “If they went through the wrong frame, they will come back, if they're not in Brazil by now.”

  Lena asked, “Was it an all-out nuclear exchange?”

  Kaliapin nodded. “The readings we took outside yesterday are high, and we haven't been able to reach anyone by radio.”

  “Who else is here with you?” Juan asked.

  “A few military units. We're taking in anyone who finds his way to the lock.”

  Juan felt a slight vibration in his boots, but it died away. “Did you feel that?”

  Kaliapin nodded. “Several times in the last few hours.” He scratched his thinning brown hair. “You had no news before you left the ship in Brazil?”

  “Nothing,” Ivan answered. “What happened?”

  “The Chinese crisis worsened. They would not accept restrictions on their oil and coal-burning plants, claiming that the Soviet Union, Europe, and the United States were determined to crush their modernization. But surely you—”

  Juan decided not to try to explain. “Have you explored any of the chambers along this passage?”

  “A few, briefly. We've had our hands full.”

  “There are a few things you should know,” Juan said.

  Kaliapin asked, “Would you come with me? You can leave your packs here for now.”

  They left their gear and followed him and the soldiers up the passage. Juan saw the dismay in Lena's face as they walked. In their world, nuclear war had become unlikely; at least that was how it had seemed for most of his life.

  He began to hear the sounds of human pain, and realized that he was not ready for what he was about to see. Lena slowed her pace and took his hand. Behind him, Malachi's step sounded hesitant. Ivan and Magnus stopped for a moment, then went on.

  “Prepare yourselves,” Kaliapin said in a breaking voice.

  They followed him around the wide turn and saw the bandaged bodies of mothers and children, young men and women and old people, lying on stretchers and makeshift cots all the way to the next turn. Two medics were working their way down one row.

  Kaliapin said, “There's little we can do for those we took in after the blasts except administer painkillers.”

  Juan heard Ivan curse in Russian. “Are we near a town?” Lena asked.

  Kaliapin nodded. “There was a military base nearby. The ship was found during the building of missile emplacements.”

  “Do you have enough medical supplies?” Lena asked.

  “No—but what we have is useless, except for the painkillers.”

  Something laughed monstrously in Juan's mind, and for a moment he believed that he would hate his own kind irrevocably. He looked at his companions. Malachi's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. Magnus was very pale. Ivan dropped to his knees and listened to a victim's whispers, as if he were a priest receiving a last confession. Juan felt himself begin to shake; Lena took his hand and held it firmly. No Utopias, he thought, unable to laugh or cry. Passage throug
h the frames would only reveal his kind's true face, with infinite variations.

  “Come up toward the lock,” Kaliapin said.

  Ivan rose up and said something to him in Russian. His voice was soft, then demanding, then soft again, and it seemed to Juan that all the repetitious extremes of human history were contained in that sound.

  * * *

  Three soldiers and two civilians sat near the outer lock; they stood up as the group approached. Juan noticed that one of the young soldiers, a lieutenant, was staring at him with suspicion.

  Kaliapin spoke to them in Russian, then presented the two civilians. “These men are the mayor and police chief of the local community. I've told them that you were part of the ERS team exploring the lower hemisphere of the ship and were due out today.”

  Juan imagined with horror what it was like outside, as the debris raised by the bombs darkened the planet into nuclear winter. A woman's voice cried out as Kaliapin spoke the names of the mayor and police chief. A child screamed. An old man's moans echoed up the passage.

  “We've had no radio contact for three days now,” Kaliapin was saying.

  “You opened the lock?” Lena asked.

  “Briefly, to use the radio.”

  Juan pulled himself together. “We have protective suits and radiation counters. But before we do anything, there are things you should know about this ship.”

  * * *

  After they demonstrated the replicator, and explained the variant effect of the frames, Kaliapin sat down on one of the tables in the forward cafeteria and seemed about to burst into tears. “It's like a fairy tale,” he said, shaking his head. “All this, and we had to destroy ourselves!” He stared past them for a few moments, then said, “Let me understand correctly. In the variant from which you have come, our Soviet team was in the ship that took off—the alternate of this very ship.”

  “That's right,” Juan replied, “while here they simply left through one of the frames in the deep chamber.”

  “So they must be in the vessel that is presumably still in the Amazon?”

  Juan nodded. “If they went through the third frame from the left. Were you there?”

  “No,” Kaliapin said. “Titus Summet had sent word that the third frame might join with the Brazilian ship, but we weren't certain. Our team might have decided to test one frame after another, from left or right.”