Stranger Suns

by George Zebrowski

  He went slowly down the spiral, reacquainting himself with the oval entranceways on each side of the passage. As his eyes wandered over the geometric markings, raised figures, and depressions in the black surface, he was again struck by how new everything seemed, as if it had been built yesterday.

  He came to the large oval bulge in the passage, and approached the round opening in the floor. As always, the shaft was aglow with orange-yellow light. Oxygen-rich air came up from below. The quick drop would get him to the frame chamber quickly, but he decided to walk the rest of the way, wondering if he would step through the frame. Was it only an odd metaphysical technicality that worried him? Was the infinity of branching variants all somehow one? Scientific realism insisted that an identical twin was simplyanother of the same person. Duplication violated one feature of a unique identity—its singular location in space—and gave the double a chance to diverge from the original over time. The principle of the identity of indiscernibles stated that if two objects were exactly the same, including their location, then there was in reality only one object.

  There was very little reason for him to stay. Mal and Magnus had good reasons to pick up their lives here. It came down to Lena, and she didn't want him. Her variant might understand him better when he came back. He was also curious about Tasarov. What did the mathematician know, and why hadn't he bargained to avoid exile? Mathematicians were often blind to the engineering consequences of the formalisms with which they played. He would have had to be told about the variant effect to see the importance of his work.

  Juan stopped suddenly and listened. Footsteps echoed in the passage behind him, as if someone were hurrying after him. Titus had forgotten something, or had decided to go with him as far as the frame chamber.

  He turned around and saw a dark figure. “What is it?” he shouted, dropping his pack.

  “Juan,” Lena answered as she came forward. Her blond hair was longer, falling to her shoulders. She was thinner, making her high cheekbones even sharper; she seemed more fragile, and smaller than the stocky woman he had known. Her blue eyes searched his face. “When it came right down to it, I couldn't let you go.” Her Norwegian accent was more pronounced. “You knew I'd come—you had to know.” She dropped her pack and slipped into his arms.

  He kissed her, and the release of tension made him dizzy. Her eyes fluttered and her breath warmed his face. “I've missed you,” he whispered.

  34. THROUGH THE BLACK MIRROR

  She took his hand and led him toward the oval entrance. It glowed red and they slipped through—

  —into a white-lit room.

  As they undressed, the ceiling began to radiate a dull red. He removed the last of his clothes and faced her, his skin tingling from the overhead glow as he slipped his arms around her waist. Her palms pressed against his back. The ceiling warmed them into a sweat, then faded back to white. Oxygen-rich air flowed in and cooled them.

  She pulled him down beside her on the floor. He lay on his back and marveled at her smooth skin as she rose above him. She smiled, sat on his belly, and guided him into her. He matched her rhythm. She breathed deeply and leaned over to kiss him. He ran his fingers through her hair. She pulled back and tightened as he thrust upward. Her hips did a slow, searching dance. His own pleasure threatened, but her pace held him back. She cried out, fell forward, and kissed him. He grasped her hips and finished, then held her gently as the cool air washed them.

  She rolled aside and lay on her back. “Happy?”

  He turned on his side. “Yes,” he said.

  “You knew I would come.”

  “I wasn't sure.”

  She turned on her side and held up her head. “Would you have gone without telling me?”

  “You might have preferred my variant.”

  “What if you didn't come back at all? This is a dangerous place you're going to.”

  “It could be.”

  “I just can't let you go alone, Juan. Once you're through the frame, you'll be dead to me, and I'm sure that my variants will feel the same way.”

  “Titus told you why I'm going?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But you also have your own reasons.”

  He ran his hand along the curve of her hip, then gently touched her belly.

  “You want to see more of the alien tech,” she said. “Titus knows that, but he's willing to gamble on you. He's not all bad, Juan. Do you think this Tasarov knows anything?”

  “We'll find out.”

  They got up and dressed in silence. Lena looked at him with suspicion. “What are you hoping for, Juan?”

  “I'm not sure. It depends on what I'll find out on this trip. What about the way you felt when you left?”

  She zipped up her coverall. “When it came down to losing you, I decided your opinions were not enough to keep us apart. You want me, don't you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But you made me feel that I had some deep-seated disease.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking away. “You're so disappointed and hurt from being a human being that you might just do something constructive about it, and that appeals to me. I'm not unlike you.”

  “Titus made no effort to dissuade you?”

  “The cynical bastard wants to keep you happy, and you might need a medic where we're going.” She was silent for a moment. “I know I'm glossing things over, but I can't help it. Faced with this choice, it's all I can do. You were counting on it.”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Make the best of it, then.” She approached the door. It glowed and she went through. He confronted the oval. It glowed and he—

  —stepped out into the winding passage.

  Lena stood by their packs. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Listen!”

  Machine-gun fire echoed through the passage—short bursts, long ones, then silence.

  “I hear footsteps,” she said.

  They peered back along the passage. Two dark shapes came around the turn.

  “Raise your hands!” one of them shouted.

  Juan and Lena obeyed. The shapes came closer.

  “Oh, it's you, Dr. Obrion,” a familiar voice said. “Why are you still here?”

  “What's going on, Sergeant?” Juan asked. “We heard automatic fire.”

  The sergeant glanced at the corporal with him. They lowered their weapons. “Just an escapee, sir, trying to get back. They don't have a chance, coming through this passage, but they try.”

  “You mean it's happened before?” Lena asked.

  “Three times. There are a few guards at the planet's sun-core station, trusties, working in the hope of being let back one day. We think they're sending people back to get rid of them.”

  “Just as we do,” Juan said.

  “Why are you still here, Dr. Obrion?” the sergeant demanded again.

  “We're on our way, soldier,” Lena replied, putting on her pack.

  Juan did the same and followed her. He glanced back. The two soldiers stared after them.

  “Charming couple,” Lena said as they made the turn. She was silent as they marched deeper into the ship. “What are you after?” she asked without looking at him. “I mean besides finding out what Tasarov knows.”

  “I don't want to talk about it now,” he replied.

  She slowed her pace and took his hand. He looked at her. She smiled, and it seemed to him just then that Malachi had the right idea—find your place in a small community and live within narrow, human limits; don't expect more from the mill of history and you won't be disappointed. He had always wanted more than life could give, seeing it as an elaborate facade, a stage set designed to conceal its truth, tormenting those who yearned to know what was backstage. When he tried to explain, his words became confused and strange, even to his own ears.

  * * *

  They passed the entrance to the drum-shaped chamber, went down the straight section, and turned left to face the largest entrance in the ship.

  “Ready?” he asked
as he turned on his helmet light. Lena nodded and switched on hers. They stepped forward together. The giant entrance glowed and they passed—

  —into a dark, cavernous chamber. He cast his beam from left to right, revealing the six black frames standing at the perimeter, their mirrorlike blackness swallowing the light.

  “Which one?” Lena asked.

  “Second from the left will put us into Ship One, inside the white dwarf's suncore station, if this variant holds. The penal colony is on the planet where we buried our Magnus.”

  “They might have found a better place,” Lena said.

  “Only by sending people out to explore the web. Few wanted to try it once they learned it meant entering variants. And they knew we'd refuse to go searching for a suitable penal planet. Besides, I don't think they wanted a better place.”

  She took his hand. “I'm ready.”

  They stepped into the frame. Juan searched within himself for changes, but felt the same. The surviving self would not feel different if his exact pattern were destroyed and recreated, even in a long series of deaths and resurrections. There was something basically odd about personal identity. One's interior location seemed both clear and mysterious. There seemed to be no reason why personality should not be everywhere. Perhaps all selves were one large unconscious self, and only imagined themselves separate. He hoped that the frames simply brought distant points up against each other, making breakdown and reassembly of objects unnecessary.

  Lena's hand tightened in his as they stepped out into the identical cavernous chamber in Ship One. “If the ship is in the other suncore, where we left it,” he said, “then we won't be able to carry out Summet's mission. Our alternates will do that in another variant.”

  They moved toward the exit. It glowed, and they stepped—

  —out into an identical spiral passage.

  “Stop!” a voice shouted.

  Two men came toward them. Each was dressed in gray coveralls and carried a heavy truncheon. Juan reached into his pocket and grasped the small automatic.

  “Who are you?” the taller of the two demanded.

  “I'm Dr. Juan Obrion, and this is Dr. Lena Dravic. We're from UN-ERS.”

  The men looked at each other. “No one like you has come here before,” the tall one said. “What's your business?”

  “We want to talk to one of the inmates—Yevgeny Tasarov.”

  “The big Russky?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?” the shorter man asked.

  “Where can we find him?”

  There was a long silence. “Sure, we'll take you to Evi,” the tall man said. Juan took his hand out of his pocket. The two men went ahead.

  “They're trying to figure what good we might be to them,” Juan whispered as he and Lena followed. “They know we'll be going back, and that's a first for this place. These must be the trusties guarding the access route to the penal colony.”

  The tall man glanced back at them with suspicion.

  “So they live off the ship,” Lena said softly. “Do any of them here or down on the planet know about the variant effect?”

  “I don't see how even Tasarov could have found out. It might be present as an implication in his mathematics, but as far as we know he hasn't had a chance to experience anything to make him think about it.”

  Lena asked, “How do they get the new prisoners to obey after they come through the frame?”

  “They come shackled,” Juan replied. “Trusties march them to the shuttle and throw them a key as it starts its automatic run to the planet. I'd guess that if the sphere brings anyone back, they send him down again, or give him a clear run through the frame. We saw what happens after that. There may have been successful escapes already, into variants where the Brazilian ship hasn't been discovered.”

  The two men reached the entrance to the shuttle bay and waited. “I don't trust them,” Lena whispered.

  “Don't worry—they suspect I'm armed, but I don't want to confirm it for them.”

  “So am I. Is anyone on the planet armed?”

  “Not with anything advanced. Unless someone brought in firearms somehow and duplicated them. If that were the case, I think the trusties would be armed with more than clubs.”

  “Go on,” the tall man said. “This is as far as we go.”

  Juan nodded to Lena. She took his hand and they stepped through the glow—

  —into the bay. As usual, the sphere sat in its cradle, cut in half by the floor, towering some twenty-five meters into the vault. Juan found himself impressed again by this smaller version of the starship.

  “How do they live down on the planet?” Lena asked.

  “They may be dependent on the ship to duplicate their food and supplies.”

  “Unless they found a replicating facility on the planet itself.”

  “Yes—which means power belongs to those who control access to the suncore or to whatever facilities exist down there.”

  Lena said, “That would give them power of life and death over their fellows.”

  Juan was silent, then said, “Maybe they're more cooperative than that.”

  “Thanks, but I know you don't believe it.”

  “Do you?”

  “We'll see. Prison life isn't the best test of human nature.”

  They approached the open lock. Juan hesitated.

  “What's wrong?” she asked.

  “If they get the weapons away from us, they could duplicate them endlessly, enough to equip an army.”

  “But we can't go unarmed,” she said.

  He looked at her. “With any luck, we'll be gone in a few hours.”

  “How bad can it be down there?”

  “We're going to what's called an open prison. The only guards or police are what they themselves have set up, serving the most powerful faction, I expect. We have no choice but to go armed and bluff it out.”

  “How?”

  “With the suggestion, or even promises, that we might be able to do something for them when we get back. They'll know we can go back, and won't have much to lose by taking a chance on us. Do you want to go back right now?”

  “Is Tasarov worth it?”

  “Probably.”

  She went in and led the way through the right-handed turn to the small drum-shaped chamber. They dropped their packs. Juan stepped into the control circle and the amber light faded as the overhead viewspace lit up. They sat down on their packs and lifted their heads.

  The station appeared, shrinking in the gray otherspace. As they watched the exit close in the massive black globe, Juan thought again of the vast web that was fed by this and countless other suncore units. He tensed as otherspace winked out and revealed the white dwarf in normal space. The view changed as the ship oriented itself toward the rusty disk that was the dwarf's first planet, and gave chase along its orbit.

  Lena touched his arm. “Hear that?” she whispered.

  They both stood up. The steps were soft, shuffling. A face peered in from the right side of the exit.

  “I see you're comfortable,” the unshaven face said, smiling.

  “Who are you?” Lena demanded.

  The man who came in was of medium height, dressed in coveralls. His black hair was streaked with gray. “I go back and forth. Got on late today.” He came inside and sat down against the wall. “We've never had visitors.” He looked at Juan intently, then glanced at Lena. “A pretty woman, too.” He smiled to himself. “Why are you here?”

  “We're looking for someone,” Juan replied and sat down. Lena hesitated, then did the same.

  “Are you going to take him back?”

  “We want to talk to Yevgeny Tasarov. Do you know him?”

  “I know everybody.”

  “What's your name?” Lena asked.

  “What's yours?” The man smiled. “I had one a long time ago. Doesn't mean much here.”

  “You do use names, don't you?” Lena said.

  “Sometimes. Mostly not.”
<
br />   Juan asked, “You just go back and forth on this ship?”

  The man nodded. “I don't mind. I get to stay on the ship a lot.”

  Juan said, “You run the shuttle in the hope of going home one day, don't you?”

  “It's as close as I can get, isn't it?” He looked away. “Better than living down there.”

  “My names's Juan Obrion. This is Lena Dravic.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “How is it here with you?” Lena asked.

  The man stretched his shoulders and seemed to relax. “Anyone can try to go back—no guards. They never come back, the ones who try it. They're killed when they go through, aren't they?”

  Juan glanced up at the viewspace. The planet took up half the field now.

  “Can you take us to Tasarov?”

  “Will it get me out of here? If not, find him yourself.”

  “Is it very bad here?” Lena asked.

  The man shook his head. “They have everything they want in the way of food and supplies, but—well, you'll see.”

  “You say they—don't you include yourself?” Juan asked.

  “Just a way of speaking.” The man licked his lips, as if he were ashamed. Then he looked directly at Juan. “Look, mister, imagine a place where you don't want for anything but you have nothing. Nothing at all. Can you understand that?”

  “I see what you're getting at,” Juan replied.

  “Well, that's this place—that planet down there, the ship, the damned station around it. Nothing is ours, or human. You never find out anything, no matter how much you think and look.” He seemed on the verge of tears suddenly.

  “Why are you here?” Lena asked.

  “Robbery—a man died. He ran a jewelry store—a little place where he fixed watches and things. Knifed him more than twenty years ago, in New York City.”

  “Did you intend to kill him?”