Stranger Suns

by George Zebrowski

  Juan said, “Then they might be in Ship One, or elsewhere in the web. What may happen now is that a variant of your team will arrive here if your original team manages a successful return to a variant of this world.”

  Kaliapin stared at the replicator wall.

  “Do you understand, Doctor?” Juan asked.

  Kaliapin looked back to him and said, “I'm grateful for the knowledge you have brought us.”

  “You would have discovered this chamber in time.”

  “Perhaps. It means we shall be able to increase our medical supplies and food stores, and form a survival community. I admire your decision to pass through the frames, knowing that it would take you one more remove from your beginnings. You must be very dismayed to have chanced on a world that is now also lost.”

  Not chance at all, Juan thought. This outcome, and an infinity of other terrors, had been waiting to uncoil from the human heart in all possible worlds.

  “I regret,” Kaliapin continued, “that only fifty people were in the ship when the bombs struck. I fear that these fifty may be the only ones who will survive out of the six hundred who came in after the attack.”

  Juan thought of those who were still dying throughout the world. The planet's greenery might all be dead by the time the dust settled and let in the sun again. Only self-contained systems like this ship would be able to preserve human life. The Swiss had underground cities. There were various military installations deep inside mountains. He wondered if Titus had made a run for the ship in the Amazon, or been given refuge by one of his important friends.

  “This is still our world,” Lena said. “The five of us have moved across only a narrow range of possibility. Elsewhere, our alternates are searching for your team, and this world is only a fear in their minds.”

  “Yes,” Kaliapin said bitterly, staring at the floor unconsoled. He stood up. “You will excuse me. I need to rest.” He went to the exit. It glowed and he slipped out.

  Juan felt helpless as he looked around at his companions. “Unfeeling as it may sound, there's little we can do here.”

  “We've already done it,” Magnus said as he approached the wall and put his hand into one of the cubbyholes. The small chamber glowed and he pulled his hand back. When the bloody copy appeared, he took it out, removed the wedding band from the ring finger, then leaned down and pushed the hand into the disposal chamber. “Damn thing would copy me completely if it were big enough. Everything is everything else at bottom. A simple enough notion, but the engineering is not.” He turned and looked at Juan. “It's not as demoralizing as it seems. Our beginnings in nanotechnology certainly point to all this, and we do appreciate the significance of what we're seeing.”

  Malachi said, “I would put the difference between us and the builders of this ship as a bit less than that between a man and an ape.”

  “Maybe less than that,” Magnus said.

  Silently, they sat down around one of the tables and picked through the duplicated items for something to eat. Juan shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor and tore the wrapper from a chocolate bar. Magnus opened a package of dried fruit, took out one piece, and offered the rest to Malachi. Ivan took nothing.

  “So do we stay or go?” Lena asked.

  “This was quite unexpected,” Malachi said.

  Juan looked at Lena, and felt that he needed her approval for what he was about to say. “We know what's in the back of all our minds. These people can survive in this ship indefinitely, and they can do without us.”

  Ivan said, “You're assuming Kaliapin will let us go. I'm sure that he's already guessed that we might want to leave. He knows we have some experience with the ship. Trained, healthy people will be scarce.”

  “We'll do what we can to help,” Juan said, looking at Lena, “before deciding. Kaliapin strikes me as an honorable sort.”

  “He is,” Ivan answered, “but it's the army officers I fear. The time may come, and soon, when power will begin to rearrange itself within this group.”

  “Are you serious?” Lena asked.

  Ivan said, “I hope I'm exaggerating, but I won't be a prisoner.”

  “We can at least take the atmospheric readings for them,” Juan said.

  Magnus sighed. “The feeling persists in me that all this hasn't happened.”

  “You'll feel differently,” Lena said, “when you see the readings.”

  “We should duplicate all our equipment for them,” Juan said.

  Ivan asked, “Where are we going to sleep?”

  “Below, in the drum-shaped chamber,” Juan said, “near where we left our packs. We might as well move in.”

  * * *

  “It's like coming home,” Lena said as they unrolled their sleeping packs under the viewspace in the drum-shaped chamber. The amber glow was soothing as Juan lay down, aware that the ship seemed cozy only because the world outside was a ruin.

  He recalled the seesaw of nuclear war debates. It could still happen, he had been told even during his boyhood. It was unlikely; it was inevitable. Humanity was too frightened to try it; it might happen by accident, and stop at an early stage. Conventional and biological warfare would be the prelude. Nuclear war was impossible because the technology was unreliable; the nation that struck first would win, because the electromagnetic pulse of the blasts would knock out the enemy's electrical systems, making it impossible to respond; but the victory would not be worth having. Finally the great powers had prepared to install space-based antimissile systems, both the kinetic and particle beam types, in the hope that the old missiles would be permitted to simply rot away—and the words themselves had precipitated peace, because the world had grown too poor to keep up with the cost of weapons. Mutual assurances and treaties were cheaper—the very threat of building new deterrence systems had finally deterred all sides. The peace had not been broken in his variant, except for police actions by the large powers against nuclear hopefuls; but elsewhere, he realized, all possible outcomes were playing themselves out. All variant worlds were real, he thought as he hovered near sleep. The fears of one were the realities of another, and each one suffered. . .

  * * *

  Kaliapin met them at the outer lock the next morning. Juan checked his radiation counter, then looked at his companions. Kaliapin's sad, sober look was mirrored in all their faces.

  “Just stick the thing outside,” Malachi said, “and come right back in. We'll let it record for a few minutes, then grab it back.”

  Juan turned away and confronted the lock.

  The inner door failed to glow. He stepped back and tried again, with the same result.

  Lena said, “Maybe the lock won't open if the environment outside is too dangerous.”

  Juan felt a deep vibration in his boots. “Follow me,” he said, turning away from the lock and heading down the passage.

  “What is it?” Ivan asked as they all obeyed.

  Juan hurried past the entrance to the forward cafeteria and stopped. “This is it, I think.”

  Malachi put a red sticker to the right of the indentation. Juan faced the entrance. “Follow me in,” he said as the oval glowed and he stepped—

  —into the darkness he knew from Ship One.

  He went forward as if toward a cliff's edge, and came upon the reddish-brown globe of Earth swimming in a sea of stars. He waited for the others to come up beside him.

  “The lock wouldn't open,” he said, “because we've left the planet.”

  Countless fires burned on the nightside. A red-brown stain was spreading across the dayside, as if flowing from an open wound.

  “Where are we going?” Kaliapin asked; his voice broke.

  “We felt nothing of the takeoff,” Magnus said.

  “The ship was uncovered,” Kaliapin explained, “which also made it an easy refuge.”

  “Why did it leave?” Lena asked.

  “No way to know,” Juan replied.

  “Where will it take us?” Kaliapin asked.

  The sun swam i
nto view, flooding the chamber with light. Earth disappeared into the abyss at their feet. The sun grew larger.

  “We seem to be heading sunward,” Ivan said.

  So there was a station here also, Juan thought as the electric glare of the great fusion furnace washed out the stars. Suddenly the sun was gone, and the ship was feeling its way toward the hidden harbor. A dead gray light filled the chamber.

  “Where are we?” Kaliapin asked.

  “We're coming into the suncore station,” Juan said.

  Diffuse white beams cut through the grayness. “There's something ahead,” Ivan said, “but I sense it more than see it.”

  Juan felt it as before, something passing in and out of normal space-time with a slow, ponderous rhythm, as if trying to match his heartbeat. Again, in a distant part of himself, or in something other that had made itself part of him, he felt that he was coming home. Lena took his hand and held it tightly.

  “I see it!” Ivan shouted as the black globe appeared directly ahead.

  “The suncore station?” Kaliapin asked.

  “Inside our sun,” Malachi replied.

  The globe grew larger. Cables drifted out, massive lines ending in gnarly devices. Slowly, the ball filled the entire view.

  “It's maybe a thousand times the size of this ship,” Magnus said.

  The opening appeared on the equator. A beam of white light shot out to meet the ship. They turned away from the glare as the ship rode it into the great lock.

  “There's not much more to see here,” Juan said. He let go of Lena's hand and moved toward the exit.

  * * *

  Kaliapin confronted him out in the passageway. “Will the vessel remain here?”

  “No way to tell,” Juan replied. “It may go somewhere after this stop, according to its program, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. We can use the frames to return to the Amazon, or try the other three frames. But we won't return to the Earth we left.”

  Kaliapin stared at the floor. “That won't be much loss. What do you suggest, Dr. Obrion?”

  “Not much. We can go out and have a look at the station.”

  A moan echoed down the passageway. “The dying are waking up,” Kaliapin said. “All we can give them is painkillers.” He covered his eyes with his hand and rubbed his forehead, holding back tears.

  “Have you slept?” Lena asked.

  “Very little. I fear sleep.” He lowered his hand and looked at them.

  “You can't blame yourself,” she said.

  “Of course I can,” Kaliapin answered coldly. “I must. The world we knew destroyed itself because of what we are.” He paused and glared at them, as if for an instant he had shed his humanity and could see clearly. “No good,” he muttered, “we're no good at all,” then turned and wandered away down the passageway.

  Lena looked at Juan with tears in her eyes, then came into his arms. He held her, feeling lost.

  * * *

  The outer lock was completely open when they rounded the curve of the passage. Juan led the way into the chamber, and they crowded around the circular opening to peer out into the lighted realm of the station.

  “The same afternoon light,” Lena said.

  “Pretty standard, these stations,” Malachi added.

  “Is it safe to go out?” Ivan asked.

  Juan nodded. “Probably. The other ship made a sound before closing up to leave.”

  “Look, there!” Ivan shouted, pointing. The amber floor flashed beneath its surface.

  Malachi said, “We think the ship is serviced and repaired in these stations, while passengers relax. The place may also serve a recreational function.”

  “Why do you say that?” Kaliapin's voice asked from behind them. Juan and his companions turned around. “I'm quite recovered. Please go on.” He came up and peered out with them.

  “The station responds to thoughts,” Malachi continued. “Harmless, but disconcerting if you're not prepared.” He gazed into the distance and seemed to concentrate, but nothing happened. “Curious,” he said after a moment. “Doesn't seem to work here.”

  “I wonder,” Lena said, sticking her hand out into the warm light. She turned suddenly; her eyes widened. “Juan, do you think it's possible?”

  “You're right,” he said, remembering how their various scars and complaints had disappeared during their first visit to a station.

  “What are you talking about?” Magnus asked.

  Juan tried to smile. “Maybe we'll cure your arthritic shoulder again.”

  Lena said, “Anatoli, go and have your men bring out two radiation victims as soon as possible.”

  Kaliapin frowned and looked at her questioningly.

  “We remember a sense of well-being,” she said, “after we spent some time in the other station. Repairs were made on us. The fluid control of matter we've seen in the ships seems to extend to biological systems.”

  “But how can it know what to do?” Kaliapin asked.

  Malachi said, “From the examples of life presented to it.”

  23. DILEMMAS

  Four soldiers carried two stretchers out onto the station floor. Juan noticed a slight variation in the light as they set the injured down.

  “Step away and wait,” Kaliapin called out. The soldiers gave him a puzzled look as they took up their positions. The man and woman on the stretchers moved their heads and moaned faintly.

  “They'll be unconscious again in a few moments,” Kaliapin said, “as soon as the sedative takes effect.”

  Lena said, “I think the starcrossers had medical facilities on their ships and stations, and I have an idea which chamber it might be on the ship—the one with the lenslike surfaces.” She turned to Kaliapin. “I'll show you where it is. You can try it on the other injured.” She led him quickly into the ship.

  “If this works,” Ivan said, “we can leave with a clear conscience. They will have all they need, and in time they can also try the frames, with the hope of finding a variant that has not destroyed itself. Or they can simply live in the ship.”

  The woman on the stretcher moaned loudly. One of the soldiers knelt down and spoke softly to her. Juan felt a guilty comfort thinking that he and his companions did not have to settle for this variant.

  Ivan said, “We can't affect the outcome here further, so we must continue with our original purpose—to find our team.”

  “You've made your point, so drop it for now,” Juan replied. “We'll talk to Kaliapin later.”

  “Juan,” Ivan murmured, “you're not hearing me. Everything we were loyal to on this Earth is gone. The alternates of the people who sent us out are probably dead. The only way out is through the frames. We should leave at once, and we don't need anyone's permission.”

  Juan looked at Magnus and Malachi. “What do you two think?”

  Magnus said, “Ivan puts it harshly, but he's right. I do think we should discuss it with Kaliapin, and part amicably. Our future is not here. We should do all we can before we go, but since we've already lost our worlds, we might as well continue with our purpose and see what our kind has done elsewhere. In time, Kaliapin's people will also have to try the frames.”

  The soldiers outside lit up cigarettes and gazed around nervously.

  “We're ghosts,” Malachi muttered.

  “No,” Juan replied. “All this is real enough, because it can't be reversed. Earth is dead, and these people may have to spend the rest of their lives here. Even if they try the frame into the Amazon, they might only find a close variant that's just as bad.”

  Malachi touched his shoulder. “Take it easy. There's no single right decision to be made.”

  “What worries me,” Ivan said, “is that the military officers here may try to keep us by force. I don't trust them.”

  “I've seen no evidence for that,” Magnus said.

  Ivan sighed. “If people begin to recover, other interests will come into play.”

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

 
His friend shrugged. “He may be right.”

  * * *

  As he lay in his sleeping bag in the drum-shaped chamber, Juan struggled with his sense of unreality. The builders had abandoned the web because the variant effect deformed the reality of the users, making it over for them endlessly as they passed through the frames. It was enough that any single variant grew from an infinite series of prior choices, without confronting the observer with endless worlds resting on a foundation of chaos, like bad revisions of a story without shape or end.

  “Are you awake?” Lena whispered next to him.

  He turned his head and saw her gazing at him uncertainly. “I think the two people outside are recovering just as quickly as those inside the medical chamber,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I'm not certain, but today will tell.”

  “What's worrying you, then?” he asked.

  “How is it being done? I keep thinking these systems will miss some subtlety in human physiology.”

  Juan said, “Healthy and sick specimens are here for comparison. The medical mode of the ship's systems must also operate at basic levels, so I would expect it to be thorough. How many people can you get into the ship's chamber?”

  “Maybe fifty at a time. Some may die before their turn, unless Kaliapin's searchers find duplicate chambers along the passage.” She was silent for a moment, then touched his face gently. “Are you all right?”

  He tried to smile, but the tension of the last two days had frozen his face into a mask.

  * * *

  Juan had slept badly; his four companions looked as tired and troubled as he felt. As they neared the outer lock, Kaliapin hurried toward them.

  “What is it?” Juan asked.

  “The medical chamber has locked us out,” he said. “The entrance just won't work. And outside—you must see for yourselves.”

  They went through the open lock and stepped out onto the amber floor. The stretchers had disappeared. The soldiers were on their knees, peering through the translucent surface.