Malachi stopped the vehicle. They all came forward and looked out at the planet that was dying in the black desert of space. To simply drive out and see the suicide of humankind among bright stars, at a glance, was numbing.
“Can we raise one of the Lunar bases?” Ivan asked.
“We're in a crater,” Malachi said, “and I don't see a line-of-sight antenna relay. There may be a satellite overhead.”
“Look there,” Lena said, pointing. “Tread marks.”
Juan said, “They found this entrance, but there wasn't time to explore below. We've got to contact the bases and tell them what we know. Supplies may be short with nothing coming up from Earth.”
Malachi worked the communications gear on the panel. “If there's a relay overhead, we'll get a base on the UN-ERS channels.”
“If anyone's here,” Yerik said. “They might have left before the war started.”
“I'm getting the synchronous satellite, but nothing else. We'll follow the tracks.”
Dust floated around the vehicle as it sped across the crater floor.
“I'm surprised,” Ivan said, “that the com-satellite is still there.”
Lena pointed suddenly. “A deep crater ahead.”
Malachi halted the bus. “No—I think that's what's left of UN Lunar Base Two.” He took a deep breath and sat back.
Juan's voice broke as he said, “There's nothing we can do here. Better get back.”
* * *
Increased gravity tugged at Juan as he came out into the starship. He waited for the others to emerge, then let go of Lena's hand.
Dita gasped, looking startled. “Where's Ivan?” Malachi asked suddenly, casting his beam around the chamber.
“We must have left him behind,” Yerik said.
“No,” Malachi insisted. “I was last out and he was in front of me.”
“You were holding his hand?” Juan asked with dismay.
“Yes, but I came out holding Dita's. I'm certain.”
The Russian woman nodded. “He was just behind me—I know it.”
Juan cast his beam across the six frames, hoping that at any moment Ivan would appear.
“What happened to him?” Dita asked.
Malachi said, “Something subtracted him.”
“Broken symmetries,” Juan said softly. “Errors in the frame transfer.”
“What can we do?” Dita asked.
“Nothing, I'm afraid,” Magnus answered. “This may explain the variant effect. Leave a system unused for a long time and it will function regularly for a while. A faucet may drip uniformly—but as small bits of damage accumulate the drops will become more frequent, and finally, with the onset of chaos, the water will flow through freely. It took a long time for the systems we've seen to deteriorate. There was a problem with one of the doors in the ship's passage. Eventually the web may become subject to all kinds of unpredictable effects, and might not work at all.”
“Is it possible,” Isak asked, “that the variant effect was intended?”
“Seems it wasn't,” Magnus replied.
“How disappointing, to think that with all their ingenuity they could not have built in safeguards against such deterioration. But it's good evidence that the builders have not been around for quite some time.”
“It's possible,” Magnus continued, “that in coming back from the Moon we entered a variant which already had Ivan in it, so two of him could not be permitted to exist.”
Juan said, “Our alternates have always left by the time we returned. His way might have been blocked by a living Ivan somewhere in this variant.”
“I hope the Ivan we knew,” Dita said, “went home to the living.”
Isak sighed. “Then we must conclude that if Ivan was subtracted, then people are alive in this variant, him included?”
“It might be only small groups,” Juan said, not daring to hope for more.
* * *
Juan watched grimly as Isak and Yerik slipped through the glow and came silently down into the pit. He leaned back against his pack.
“Quite tiresome,” Malachi mumbled.
Dita was weeping softly. Magnus cleared his throat; his face sagged with despair.
Yerik gave his pack a kick and sat down on it. “It can't require an infinite number of tries.”
Malachi helped Dita to her feet. The same lost look was in his dark eyes and in her tilted ones. She slipped her arm through his as they went up to the exit. Juan gazed after them as they passed through the glow, then turned to Lena, suddenly wanting to embrace her.
“We should all get some sleep,” she murmured, giving him an apologetic glance.
He closed his eyes, calmed by the decisive tone of her voice, and fell into a dream of Ivan on the ruined Earth. Had he been dispersed, or simply diverted to balance an alternate's passage? His dreams worried the mysteries like prayer beads, running through endless combinations of images. Bits and pieces of his companions came through the frames at random. His own head went into a lonely darkness, while a universe away his arms and legs flailed helplessly, still somehow connected to his awareness. He woke up in a sweat, wondering who kept track of the symmetries and made sure they were obeyed.
* * *
After eating, they shouldered their packs and went down to the deep chamber to face the frames again.
“Ready?” Juan asked. He glanced behind him at the shorter chain, then took Lena's hand and went through to the Lunar complex, hoping that somehow Ivan would be there to greet them. Lena's hand tightened in his, then slipped away. He stumbled forward, turned, and saw that he was alone.
He waited a moment, rushed back through the frame, and cast his light around the chamber.
“Hello!” he shouted in the empty chamber. He went through the frame again. The Lunar chamber was empty.
This had happened to Ivan, he realized, fighting panic, and there was no way to undo it. Going back and forth through the frame might only send him further away in probability from Lena and the others.
He dropped his pack, sat down on it and tried to think. The Lena he knew was now lost with all his companions and the first Earth, in the quantum whirl of worlds locked around an axis of destruction. What else could he do except continue to use the frames? He should go out and check this variant. As he got up and put on his pack, he realized that he was thinking like a gambler who can't pass up one more try, convinced that the next one would win.
* * *
As he went up the winding passage, he saw himself drifting across the probabilities for the rest of his life, visiting an infinity of terminal Earths, wandering through the alien maze like a rat, living on the echoes of his provisions.
He came to within a few meters of the outer lock and stopped, afraid to face a ruined Earth alone. He stood there, a stranger to himself.
Suddenly the lock glowed, revealing two dark figures in the inner chamber, standing against the circle of daylight that showed through the open outer lock. They came in and pointed weapons at him.
“Who are you?” a male voice demanded.
He stepped forward and saw the UN-ERS markings on their military uniforms. “I'm Dr. Juan Obrion,” he said, suddenly too exhausted to feel relieved.
The two soldiers glanced at each other. “Come with us,” the woman said, sounding doubtful.
He stepped between them and they marched him out through the lock. He squinted as he came out into the bright sunlight, then saw that he was at the top of a long dirt ramp that wound down to the bottom of the hill. A large area of jungle had been burned away to make room for a cluster of white domes. The forest seemed poised around the wound, ready to return.
As they went down the right-handed incline, Juan breathed in the moist, dusty air. Take away the greenery and the Amazon's soil was a desert, in which only the forest knew how to thrive.
They reached bottom and started toward the domes. “Were you expecting me?” Juan asked as they came to the largest dome.
“You're to go in,”
the male soldier said, pressing his palm to the ID lock.
The outer door slid open. Juan entered the small chamber and took off his helmet. The outer door slid shut behind him and the inner door opened. He came out into a large circular room with a desk, two chairs, communications equipment, and a small bed. Titus Summet got up from the sofa to the right of the desk.
“Juan—finally! You're lucky I was here today. Strip off that stuff. You must be baking.”
Juan dropped his helmet, then his pack. “How long has all this been here?” He asked as he began removing his oversuit.
“Nearly a year. Let me give you a hand with that.”
Juan stepped out of his oversuit and staggered to the sofa. “A year?” he asked as he sat down.
Titus went over to a cooler and poured a cold drink. “We'd only begun to think about your group again about a month ago, after the war ended.”
Juan took the tall glass of iced tea from Titus's hand and sipped nervously.
“It was close,” the older man continued. “Only a dozen warheads. UN police beams stopped all but two. Then it was over.”
Juan took a long pull on his drink. “Where did they hit?”
“Only silos got it, but one of them was near Moscow. Very few dead, but it scared the life out of everyone in the world.”
“Was it an accident?”
Titus turned one of the chairs around and sat down. “Who knows—the Chinese say it was a mistake and so do we, officially. It was the last chance for anyone to try a first strike before the police beams came on line. From now on it'll take more missiles than anyone has to get through, which will discourage nuclear arsenals among the smaller nations. The rest of us won't want to replace the missiles that come up for maintenance. That'll take time, but I believe it'll sink in. With so many other problems to throw money at, politicians will be relieved not to have to increase their military spending.”
Juan took a deep breath. Somehow, he had escaped the dead zone. The next variant might even be an improvement on this one, with no nuclear exchange of any kind.
Titus said, “This may be the best vaccine we've ever had. Heads of state are in New York right now. Something new is in the works. Now tell me what happened to you.”
Juan told him of their encounter with the Soviet survivors, the ship's journey into the Sun, and the treatment of the injured. After describing his group's further exploration of the seemingly deserted web, he told Titus about the run of destroyed Earths.
Strain showed in Summet's face. “Who's with you in the ship?”
Juan clenched his teeth. “I was separated from the others as we came through a frame. We lost Ivan earlier in the same way.” A wild hope stabbed through him. “Are they here?”
“No,” Titus said. “You're the only one who's come back.” He rubbed his temples. “It's an unnerving story, Juan. I don't feel as hopeful or relieved as I have in the last few days.”
“But this variant is the first break I've seen in the run of doomed histories,” Juan replied.
Titus smiled and shook his head. “For now, perhaps. The causes of war live deeply. Whose progeny will inherit the future? As long as we're limited creatures who can't live forever and don't have much while we live, we'll use power as a consolation, if only to clinch our children's hold on futurity. It could be otherwise, I suppose, if we didn't fear death, if the afterlife were a certainty, or if we could live as long as we wished in fulfilling ways.”
“What do you think happened?” Juan asked.
“More than we'll ever dig out. A few military minds realized the truth—that energy weapons would create a stalemate, especially if the UN also had them. No more dreams of seizing the future from your enemy. This strike was the last chance to knock out the First World before the bolts of Zeus came on line. It could have been worse. It didn't escalate because cooler heads broke the orders at key points. We'll have peace while nuclear bombs become obsolete, but heaven help us if we develop new, precise weapons that can strike at vital areas without threatening the environment.”
“Why are you here now?”
“As you saw, we've excavated the ship. I want to put physical restraints on it, although keeping the lock open will probably be enough to prevent it from leaving. Then we'll study it as best we can. The Soviets are sending people here, since their ship is gone.”
“It may be in the Sun,” Juan said.
“How are you feeling?”
“I guess I'm okay.”
“We'll have you checked.”
Juan sat back, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. “I never expected to see a whole Earth again. It was stultifying to see human history so narrowed. The war seemed to hang on across an infinity of variants. The time I lost suggests that somehow I moved off that axis.” He opened his eyes and stared at Summet. “There was never a hint of better variants.”
Titus rubbed his chin and leaned forward. “Maybe Utopias belong to the future, not to contemporary variants.”
“I've told myself that,” Juan said, “but what's the future to be made from, if not from these presents, these pasts, this human nature?” He laughed suddenly. “It's just not possible, is it?”
“You need rest.”
“Why do people believe that rest will soften harsh judgments?” He shouted, “Rest can't change facts!”
“But you need it, nonetheless.”
The intercom buzzed. Summet got up, went around behind his desk, sat down and stared into a small screen. Juan could barely hear the other voice. “Yes, we'll pave the ramp,” Titus said. “Call the head engineer, not me. No, I don't know where he is. You can find his damn number yourself.” He hung up.
Juan closed his eyes again and feared that he had arrived just in time to see this variant destroy itself. He had to get back to the ship right away. He thought of his lost companions, then opened his eyes suddenly to see Titus leaning over him. “Don't you see?” Juan asked, sitting up. “I've lost my first world and countless others. Don't you realize what's happened to me?” He fell back.
Summet stood over him. “I understand and sympathize, Juan. But what can we do? All our pasts fade away as we grow and change. Our choices cut away one thing after another from our minds. Old joys can't be had again. We never feel as free as we did in childhood. Am I so different here?”
“You're the same,” Juan said sadly, realizing that Titus was trying to be decent to him.
“You seem pretty much the man I knew,” Titus continued with what seemed to be genuine concern. “I came here regularly and waited, because I believed you would return.”
“I'm the last one left,” Juan said, standing up, “who's seen variants. Titus, we've got to tell everyone about the ruined Earths! It may be the only thing that will do any good.” An infinity of variants spoke through his sorrow. He was at the crossroads of every decent impulse that his kind had ever had.
“I know, I know,” Titus muttered, helping him down to the sofa. “Lie down and sleep. Please, Juan.”
30. A STRANGE ATTRACTOR
“Juan—wake up!” Titus shouted. Stony fingers pushed against his chest. “Get up!” Juan opened his eyes and sat up on the sofa.
Titus said, “Come outside.”
“What is it?” His temples throbbed, his eyes wouldn't focus, and his throat was dry, but he struggled into his boots and staggered into the lock.
Stifling hot air hit him in the face as the outer door slid open and they stepped into the bright sunlight. Juan squinted toward the hill, where a line of people was descending the spiral dirt ramp from the ship. As his eyes adjusted, he recognized Kaliapin; Ivan was with him.
He stumbled forward and tried to shout a greeting, but his dry throat let out only a feeble croak. He kept going. “Ivan!” he rasped as he reached the bottom of the ramp. “Anatoli!” he added in a shrill voice.
He grasped their hands as the two men reached him. “My dear Dr. Obrion,” Kaliapin said. “How good it is to see you.” Ivan stood back from him, looki
ng puzzled.
“There are quarters for all!” Titus shouted as people came down past them.
Ivan asked, “What's happened here?”
“No war,” Juan replied hoarsely, realizing that this wasn't quite the man he had known.
* * *
Kaliapin sipped cold tea as he relaxed on Summet's sofa. “We left the Sun because it seemed that the ship would never stir again. Now we can at least go home, whatever the differences.” This Kaliapin had also been exploring the alien ship when the war broke out. His group had gone through what seemed to be the same sequence of events, which meant that their doubles in this variant, who had also been exploring the ship, were no longer here.
“And you will go home,” Summet said, “as soon as possible.”
Juan was still astonished that the Russians had hit upon a whole Earth in one try. There was an inner dynamic involved in passing through the frames, he realized. A system of space-like travel was deteriorating, making variants accessible as it drifted toward chaos. His loss of a year in this variant suggested that timelike drifts were also creeping into the system. This might even be the Kaliapin he had known, swept here by some similar current of probability, or so close to the same person that it would take extensive questioning to prove otherwise. Increasingly, he was beginning to think that the infinity of variants coexisted in one vast superposition, stacked like a series of clear overlays, varying very little from one to the next, but gradually shading into major differences.
He turned to Ivan. “What happened to you?”
The Russian shifted in his chair. “I stayed behind when you and the others left. What do you remember?”
Juan told him what had happened.
“And the others are still lost?” Ivan asked.
“Yes.”
Their tea glasses were empty. Summet made the rounds, filling them up again. Juan tried to think what kind of growing chaos turbulence might be affecting the frame links, and realized that both variant effect and time displacement reflected patterns governed by laws that he could only guess at. What strange attractors permitted passage between variants? Was this one a relatively stable region in the flux of histories, the variant that would survive and progress while an infinity of failures spiraled around it? He was reaching for a guarantee of hope, even though he suspected that the dynamic of each variant could offer only opportunities.
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