“I'm flattered that you feel the need to explain.”
“You're a good man, Juan, but you often want the impossible. I'll bet that's been your problem with me in every variant. Consider the advantages of getting rid of criminals in this way. We ship them through the web, to a world from which they can never return. End of prison problem, however often we fill them again. We're saying to these people, start over somewhere else, and we can keep saying it for as long as we produce new criminals. People can't bemade good or law-abiding. They have to want it. We're giving these people a stake in a new life, where they'll have to control themselves. It won't be perfect, but it makes sense. We're also shipping our nuclear and chemical wastes through the web. As time goes on we'll understand the frames better and find even more uses for them.”
“You seem to think that governments have to hold people by the throat, however gently, and tighten when they get out of hand.”
Titus smiled. “It's more humane to exile people than to kill or imprison them. It also gets them away from their victims. One problem is solved, even though another is created—for the criminals. They can make their lives somewhere else, where I'm sure they'll soon have to deal with their own criminals.”
“Does all this include political criminals?” Juan asked.
Titus sighed. “Yes, unfortunately. So-called political prisoners are included. It's up to judges to classify people.”
“Come off it, Titus. All prison populations include some political prisoners. A good case can be made that all criminals are unconsciously revolutionary, because they know the hypocrisy of the society that put them inside, even if they don't know what can be done about it. Violence and illegal acts for profit seem to them an appropriate response. Enough succeed well enough to serve as role models. Society to them is just another gang trying to impose its will.”
“I won't argue with you. Sure, most crooks aren't basically different from us, but with our laws, however misused, we're relatively better. But all this is beside the point of why I brought you here. I admit that I'm involved in all this, but I don't see it as outside my job as ERS security chief. It's just another way to develop the resources of the alien transport web for human use, as far as I'm concerned. We have a chance to put humankind onto a dozen or more worlds, even if some of the exiles won't deserve it. If they succeed, we'll hear from them someday, and the reasons for the original exile won't count for much, whether they're murderers, thieves, terrorists, or distinguished minority leaders who would throw whole nations into civil war to get what's theirs. I'm saying all this to you because I know you need explanations in order to work well.”
“Get to the rest of it, Titus.”
“I've found out what happened to Yevgeny Petrovich Tasarov, the man you asked me to find, and more about the kind of work he was doing. The Russians exiled him recently. You were right about his possible importance. His work could lead to some control over which variants might be entered through the frames. We may learn why a system designed for crossing interstellar distances sends travelers into variant worlds. We might even be able to build our own frames. For starters we could make every key point on Earth and throughout the solar system accessible, even if we couldn't eliminate the variant effect. I want you to go and bring him back—or at least find out what he knows.”
“But why did they do it? Didn't they know his importance?”
“He's self-taught, no academic credentials, an amateur by their lights. He made enemies, engaged in some shady enterprises, and was sentenced quite legally. No one had any reason until the discovery of the web to think that his work had anything but theoretical value, but sooner or later it will be noticed, and I want that to be UN-ERS rather than a national power. I'm sure you agree.”
“I guess I do,” Juan said, “unless we view the UN as just another multinational, hungry to consolidate its power through ERS.”
Titus smiled. “You're more cynical than you accuse me of being.”
“Under the UN every nation has a say, but ERS is in a perfect position to abuse the UN.” Juan paused. “Remember, you won't be sure who'll come back.”
“I don't care,” Titus replied, “which variant of you returns, as long as you bring back either the knowledge or Tasarov himself.”
“Where is he?”
“You've been there—the desert world where your Rassmussen died.”
“Ship One is there?” Juan asked.
“Yes,” Summet said. “We've been going back and forth for some time. Why?”
“I guess the variant hasn't carried over. The last time we were there, the ship took us to another suncore.”
Summet looked at him severely, as if about to demand why this had not been reported. “The connection seems stable enough for you to get in and back without major confusion.”
Back to what? Juan asked himself. A variant of him would return here, while he went on across the probabilities. He would never again speak tothis Titus Summet, yet they would continue to know each other when they met.
“You seem to regard all probabilities as somehow being one,” Juan said, “and you may be right.”
Titus shrugged. “Whatever we do is carried through in all variant worlds, in some fashion or other. They are all ours.”
“Monotonously so,” Juan added.
“As long as Juan Obrion comes back to me with what we need,” Titus continued, “I won't look too closely at the small details. I didn't see any great differences in you or the others. You've seen differences because you're comparing to the world from which you started, yet you still seem to be at home, judging by your caring contentiousness.”
“When do you want us to start?” Juan asked.
“Right away, if possible. Couldn't you go alone?”
“We may want to keep our original group together.”
Titus grimaced. “Moede is still with the Russian woman.”
“He'll come.” Lena had visited them in London after leaving him. She and Dita had kept in touch as much as possible, and her last call to him had suggested that the couple were having troubles. Isak and Yerik had gone home. Lena had hinted that Dita might follow her two colleagues.
“Perhaps you and Lena would prefer variants of each other at this point.” Titus leaned forward. “What's wrong between you two?”
“I won't discuss it.”
“Will she go with you?”
“Probably.”
“Then I can count on you?”
Juan nodded, knowing that in the infinity of his deciding doubles, half would go and half would stay, to preserve the aesthetic of symmetry. Another Juan Obrion would return to this office, while he reported to a variant Summet. The alien labyrinth drew him, promising knowledge and strangeness. He felt addicted. The mystery of the missing builders was still to be solved, but there was much more. The web, with its physical and biological technologies, offered escape for his kind. The promise of a genuine progress waited for human history, although he had only vague ideas of how it might happen. Half-articulate inner needs had met external challenges when he had first explored the web. Since his last return, the pressure had been building within him anew. It had to be the same with Lena, Malachi, and Magnus. How could any of them settle down to their lives while the star-spanning alien artifact beckoned?
“I'll contact the others,” Titus said. “My aide will show you to your quarters.”
Juan nodded, feeling defeated and apprehensive, but grateful for the new chance.
33. ACROSS IMMENSITIES
The mission would give him access to the web again, as well as time with Lena, Malachi, and Magnus, to plan how they might influence the web's use. If Lena went, he hoped that it might show that she wasn't ready to let him go over their differences, that she feared to lose this variant of him.
“I'm tired of your rantings against humanity,” she had said to him three months ago. “It's self-hatred, Juan. Don't you see that?”
“Of course I do,” he had replied, “but th
ere are merits to my arguments.”
“That we're no good as a species? Is that what you want to live by?”
“I want to do something about what we are.”
“So does every thoughtful person, but you never let up.”
“Then youdo understand what I mean.”
“What of it?” she had said. “It means you and I can't accept each other as we are. Or will you make exceptions for us?”
“I didn't say there aren't any good people, Lena.”
She had walked out finally, taking nothing. He had been a hermit since then, hiding out in the old house, having food sent in while he made a fresh traversal of the sciences, of history, searching again through the great philosophies, the literatures and poetries of his kind, hoping to be convinced once more that the record of human failure was not evidence of total damnation. But in the end it seemed to him that the great human exceptions of caring intellect only demonstrated how deep was the pit out of which they had climbed. The human spirit could soar for limited stretches; but its great achievement, civilization, had to be put like chains onto each generation. The progress of one age—even of one decade—was often undone in the next. Hope lived in the changes; but how to make of progress more than a struggling increment? How to make a norm out of the exceptional?
The summons to Brazil had come as a relief from staring into the mirrors of human truth. In the quarters assigned to him by Summet, as he looked around from his bed at the antiseptic perfection of the circular room's design, Juan imagined a madhouse Earth where the frames were used for merely global transportation, with routine travel across variants, ignoring subtle differences in hair color, daily news, or even the numbers of relatives that would come and go. History and current events would change like weather for such a humanity—but it would make no difference, because there would be no inner changes in the species.
He closed his eyes and saw the alien port, where starships hung in the great space of the hollow sphere, left over from the great age of construction, when ships had gone out to distant stars to establish the suncore stations. The logical, awesome beauty of the web was an unceasing amazement to him, equaled only by the mystery of what had happened to the builders and why the frames also functioned as gates between variants.
He opened his eyes. Titus stood over him. “You've slept ten hours.”
He had been happy in his sleep, he realized, because the web waited for him again.
“I contacted Moede and Rassmussen,” Titus said as Juan sat up on the edge of his bed. “They won't come. Seems they don't feel as you do about staying together.”
“And Lena?”
“Couldn't reach her. She isn't at her apartment in Oslo. I left messages for her to call you here today.”
Juan looked up at Titus. “I'll go alone.” Even though he had never found anything to prove that she wasn't the Lena he had started with, they had grown apart, so it wouldn't matter to which Lena he might return.
The director nodded. “It might be easier for one person to get in and out. Can you be ready tomorrow?”
Juan looked up at him. “That soon?”
“If possible.”
Juan nodded. “All right.”
“I'll send in your clothes and gear. Here's a briefing report. Read it carefully.”
* * *
The phone buzzed. Juan jumped up from his supper and bolted across the room. Lena, he thought. She was coming, or at least she would tell him she could not.
Malachi's dark face appeared on the screen, forcing a smile. “I say,” he murmured. “Thought you deserved a call.”
“Mal.”
His smile faded. “Have to tell you that I can't come with you.”
“Dita?” Juan asked.
“She flew out of Heathrow this morning.” The Kenyan lifted his head. “Went home. Titus couldn't conceal his relief when I told him. I had to point out to him that if I went with you, that would cut me off from Dita for good. It would make it final between us.”
“Then she's coming back,” Juan said.
Malachi looked away from the screen for a moment. “I really can't say. Mother Russia is quite a rival for one's affections, you know, but I have hope. Even Titus has no idea of what her superiors want from her. She was quite homesick.” He laughed. “Maybe if I go with you, I'll come back and find a Dita who wants me after all. A cosmic casino for lovers.” He leaned back from the screen, looking tired. “I have to play out the chance that she'll come back. If I go with you, there'll be none. I've been thinking that if she comes back we'll both slip our leashes and make a quiet life for ourselves in the English countryside.” He was silent for a long time. “Would like to come along with you—would be interesting, but—”
Juan said, “I understand.”
“Just think—when your variant returns here, Dita and I may entertain you in our country cottage, even if you won't be yourself. Is Lena going with you?”
Juan shook his head.
“Sorry—thought she would. She does care about you. When she was here, I could see that her heart wasn't in her complaints about you.”
“You two must have gotten an earful.”
“Nothing I didn't know.”
“Maybe,” Juan said hoarsely, “she'll do better with my variant.”
“I guess this is good-bye, even though we'll meet again.” Juan tried to smile. “Maybe we won't even notice a difference.” He stared at his friend as the screen winked out, and suddenly it seemed impossible that he had agreed to Titus's mission without Mal and Lena; yet he knew that he would go.
* * *
A breakfast cart, clothing, and backpack were waiting for him when he came out of the shower. He ate first, surprised by his sudden appetite; then he dressed in two layers of clothing—an insulated under-coverall with various supports and protective layers, and an outer coverall, with seal pockets for various items. The backpack was stocked with food and supplies for a week.
He looked up as the door slid open and Titus walked in. “You'll need this also.” Juan stood up and took the hand weapon from him.
“It shoots small needles silently,” the director said, “and is compact enough to tuck inside one of your pockets.”
“And you want me to kill Tasarov if I can't bring him out.”
“Don't be stupid. It's for your protection. We want him alive.”
Juan slipped the gun into his right thigh pocket.
“I'll come with you as far as the lock,” Titus said, grabbing the pack and slinging it over his shoulder. “Save your energy. You'll need it.”
The door slid open as he led the way out. Juan followed him down the corridor, wondering if he would actually go through when he faced the frame.
“No word from Lena?” Titus asked.
“You know there wasn't,” Juan said as he came up next to him.
“Can you do this alone,” Titus asked, “even if it means losing the last two people you know from Earth Prime? How do you feel about Magnus?”
“I don't know how I feel about anyone.”
Titus nodded. “Before you get wound up, let me say a few things to you, even if you don't want to hear them. I do the best I can. That means keeping up UN Authority's power base to the point where I can be effective. We've got a tough century ahead, even without the immunity diseases. The greenhouse effect will be reversed, but we'll still have flooded coastlines, decreased oxygen levels, droughts, and countless other ecoeffects. We have peace, at least in this probability—just barely. I want the alien tech to work for us in the decades ahead. You've told us to expect major advances in engineering and biotechnologies. We've seen them, even though we don't understand how they work. I want you to start working with me again, from the inside, rather than acting as if you were a condescending gift-giver. Getting to Tasarov is only a beginning.”
Juan restrained a bitter smile. “You're convincing when you want to be. I'll try, but don't ask me to believe.”
“Meet me halfway.”
“Give it a rest, Juan.”
“It's already happening! You're using the web to get rid of people, and lie to yourself about the good that will come of it. You bring in privileged characters to use the ship's medical chambers, and you want Tasarov to enhance ERS power.”
“All of which can make better things possible.”
“I do hope you know what you're doing, Titus,” Juan said, startled by the conviction in Summet's voice.
They went down the corridor to the lock. The inner door slid open. They stepped inside; it whispered shut behind them. The outer door opened, and they walked out into bright morning sunlight toward a waiting jeep. The humid air was hot and dusty here in the cleared area. They got into the back of the jeep. The sergeant who had brought Juan from the heliblock was at the wheel.
“To the entrance,” Titus said, tapping the man on the shoulder.
As they drove off down the road, Juan looked around at the white domes. Each structure could house hundreds of human beings, but the alien ship, rising nearly two kilometers into the sky, dwarfed the domes. It blotted out the sky as the jeep climbed the long curving ramp, went around once, and finally jolted to a stop before the open lock.
Juan felt apprehensive, remembering when he, Lena, Malachi, and Magnus had explored the winding corridor as the ship fled across the universe.
“Ready?” Titus asked.
Juan felt a moment of sympathy for him. The man could not give up the power he wielded for fear of undoing his meager accomplishments. “We'll see,” Juan said as Titus offered him his hand. “I'll do my best.”
“You always have. That's what pisses me off about you.”
A hot wind blew a cloud of dust across the lock entrance as they got out of the jeep. Titus helped him on with his pack and handed him his helmet. Juan tested the light on the helmet as he put it on, gazed out over the city of domes, then turned and went into the alien ship.
The inner lock was closed, as usual, because the intruding ramp held the outer one open. Juan went inside the blue chamber as the ramp slid back and the outer lock glowed shut. He confronted the inner door. It glowed open and he stepped into the winding corridor, feeling as if he were coming home. Overhead, the familiar yellow-orange squares of light curved away to the right, leaving a streak in the hard black floor. He looked back and saw the lock glow shut.
Stranger Suns Page 24