* * *
Tasarov's dome was filled with wounded and dying, but all the copied resources from the replicator could not make up for the lack of medical skills. Juan, Malachi, and Magnus administered emergency aid under Lena's direction. Juan put on antiseptics and bandages, injected painkillers and infection fighters. Sixteen men died and were buried near the alien tree. He dimly remembered Tasarov leading him to the bedding behind the partitions.
He sat up after what seemed endless sleep. The dome was quiet. Tasarov slouched in a chair, watching him. Lena and the others were asleep nearby.
“Thank you for helping,” Tasarov said softly. “The dying has stopped.”
“Why did you let them even try?” Juan asked.
“I couldn't prevent it. No one could. They were completely broken and crazed, my friend. The realization that they would spend the rest of their lives here was finally too much. Even visible guards might have helped, by providing some link with the outside. Guards can be mocked, even provoked. But this desert, these domes, and all the endlessly copied artifacts and foodstuffs from a lost home drove these people over the edge. Even more women would not have relieved the futility. They would be a constant reminder of a future that could not be, since no one would condemn children to this place.”
“Did you lose anyone?”
He nodded. “One of my lovers is dead, the other blinded.”
“I'm sorry,” Juan said.
“Could you have prevented it?”
“No.”
“Then don't be sorry. Why did you come this time?”
Gunfire sounded from the other side of the dome. “Stay as you are!” a voice shouted.
Juan struggled to his feet. Lena, Malachi, and Magnus stirred and sat up as Juan and Tasarov peered between the partitions.
“ERS troops,” the Russian whispered.
41. ESCAPE
Armed figures rushed in through the glowing portal. Two dozen soldiers formed a line and picked their way through the prostrate and wounded.
“We want the UN team!” the lieutenant shouted.
“A variant Titus sent them,” Juan whispered, “one who doesn't trust us.” They had entered a world, he realized, in which Summet was capable of actions his previous self would have rejected. He glanced at Tasarov. The Russian seemed resigned.
“Lay all your weapons on the floor!” the lieutenant cried.
Juan stood up. “We're over here. Leave the wounded alone.” He looked at Lena and the others and whispered, “Don't leave your packs.” She gave him a questioning look as he rolled up his own.
“Dr. Obrion?” the lieutenant called out.
“Yes,” Juan said, putting on his pack.
“Yevgeny Petrovich Tasarov?”
The Russian nodded as the officer motioned for him to come along.
“We're ready,” Juan said, and led the way toward the exit.
The lieutenant hurried to keep up. “Move out!” he shouted to his unit. The soldiers hurried through the exit, and were all gone as Juan reached it. He went through the glow—
—and faced a line of soldiers. Lena, Tasarov, and the others came out and stood next to him. The lieutenant emerged and went ahead. “Quick march!” he shouted, then fell back to escort his prisoners.
“What do you know about this?” Juan asked him as they followed the squad.
“Your group is under arrest, Dr. Obrion.”
“What's your name, Lieutenant?”
The soldier ignored his question.
“Has something happened back home?” Juan demanded apprehensively.
The lieutenant was silent as they passed the alien tree.
* * *
They were made to wait at the entrance to the deep chamber while the squad went through. Finally, only the lieutenant and his sergeant were left.
“Watch where you point those weapons,” Lena said.
The two men pulled back their automatic rifles, and let them hang in their harnesses. “I'll go first,” the lieutenant said. “Sergeant, bring up the rear. Everyone, turn on your helmet lights.” He waited until all lights were on, then stepped forward and disappeared into the portal's glow. Juan followed him through—
—into the dark chamber.
The others came in behind him. As they faced the frames, Juan reached into his thigh pocket, grasped the automatic, and brought it up near the lieutenant's face.
“Sorry to hurt your professional pride, but your body armor won't stop this from going right up your nose with no trouble at all.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malachi quickly put his weapon to the sergeant's forehead. Lena and Magnus stepped back.
“What will this get you?” the lieutenant said.
“A good question,” Tasarov added.
“Maybe we have to burn our bridges behind us,” Juan answered.
Malachi helped him disarm the two officers. Lena and Magnus took out utility cord from their packs. Tasarov collected the automatic rifles and slung them over his shoulder.
“When they find you,” Juan said, “the two of you won't know a thing.”
“Very neat,” the lieutenant said as Lena tightened his wrist cord. Magnus tied the sergeant, who cursed softly.
“Sit,” Juan said when their hands were bound. The two soldiers obeyed. “Tie their feet, and tie them to each other, so they can't turn their heads to see which frame we take.”
“Are you sure you have time?” the sergeant asked.
“Certainly,” Malachi said, squatting down.
Juan took off the sergeant's helmet and put it on Tasarov's head. “You may need the light.”
“Thanks.”
“Ready?” Juan asked. He pointed to the last frame on the right. Four, Five and Six were the unknowns. “Keep right behind me. Malachi, bring up the rear.”
He entered the black field. Lena was next to him as they hurried through. A red glow appeared ahead.
“Is that an exit?” she asked.
He stepped out into the red glow and looked around. The vast floor was the same as in other suncore stations. He turned and faced the exit. Frames curved off to his left and right. There might be a ship at the center of the circle, he thought, remembering the blue station where the frames connected with the string of sun shells.
Lena and Magnus emerged, followed by Malachi and Tasarov. “This is extraordinary!” the Russian said, startled by the openness of the station.
“We'll go through another frame immediately,” Juan said. “They might send a squad into all six frames.”
“Wondrous!” Tasarov exclaimed. “A variant we can never regain is looking for us.”
“They come in runs,” Juan answered, “so our escape may carry over. If we were to go back right now, only small details would differ. Therefore, we must expect to be followed, at least to this point.”
“What will this accomplish?” Tasarov asked.
“First let's lose our pursuers,” Malachi said. “Which frame? There must be hundreds here.”
“Where do they lead?” Tasarov asked.
“From a suncore station,” Juan said, “the frames probably lead out to various points throughout this solar system, if past experience is any guide.”
“You're unsure,” Tasarov said. “What if they lead out into a vacuum, or a poisonous atmosphere?”
“It's never happened,” Malachi replied.
Juan looked back anxiously at their exit frame.
“Mark it,” Lena said. “We may have to go back.”
Malachi took out a small medical sticker and slapped it down on the floor. Juan moved off to his left and stopped at the fifth frame. “This should be far enough. Ready?”
Lena came to his side, looking skeptical.
“Step in together,” Juan said.
“Shall we hold hands?” Tasarov asked.
“Wouldn't hurt,” Juan replied, “but I think stepping in as a close group should be enough to insure that we'll be the same people when we come out.”
&nb
sp; “Lead in,” Tasarov said.
“I hear shouting,” Lena said suddenly.
Commands echoed from inside the frame Malachi had marked. Juan took Lena's hand and went through, then hurried forward. In a moment he saw a green glow ahead.
They came out into a vast hollow ball. “Another starship dock,” Lena said, looking up at the small fleet of vessels hanging in the shell's great central space.
“This one's different,” Juan said as the others emerged and stood at his side. “The ships in the first such construction dock we visited were all globes, differing only in size. Here we have various shapes.” He gazed at the linked globes, long sluglike hulls, and egg shapes. One ship was a cylinder with globes at each end.
Tasarov looked back at the lone exit frame. “Can they find us here?”
“Even if they're at the suncore station now,” Malachi said, “they'll pick this connection only by chance.”
Tasarov laughed. “They'll get lost.”
“Look over there!” Lena shouted, pointing at a small globe that was sitting on the green incurving surface.
“Looks like our ship's shuttle,” Malachi said.
Juan started toward it. “I'll bet it's set to dock with one of those ships up there! If our pursuers get lucky, they'll find no one here, and with no shuttle they'll have to go back.”
They jogged across the inward curve of the shell, but the globe was more distant than it seemed. Juan felt a tightening in his chest as he tried to keep up. There would be no place to hide if the craft wouldn't let them in.
They reached the ball at last. Juan triggered the lock. It opened. They rushed inside and up through the winding passage to a small drum-shaped chamber. The overhead view-space came on as they dropped their packs into the control circle and sat down; it showed the docked ships in the center space.
“It might not move at all,” Juan said, fearful that troops were already rushing from the frame.
The starships pulled close suddenly. Tasarov cried out as the viewspace went dark.
“We've docked with one of the ships,” Juan said, getting up. “It wasn't a great distance.”
“But which ship?” Tasarov asked.
“We're out of Summet's reach.”
“Unless there's another shuttle on the inner surface,” Malachi said.
“Even if there is, it might not dock with our ship. They'll have as little control over where these shuttles go as we do.”
42. A WAY TO CHANGE
The shuttle lock was open when they came to it. Juan led the way out into a long, straight passageway. The black floor and overhead lights were the same as in the big ships, with oval portals spaced less frequently on each side. This was probably the cylindrical ship with globes at each end.
They came to the end of the passageway and peered through an open lock into a winding passage. Juan led the way up through two turns into a drum-shaped chamber, and stepped into the control circle as the others came in behind him. A forward viewspace lit up, revealing the inner surface of the shell through a magnified hemispheric display.
“There's the exit frame,” Malachi said.
“Look, there!” Tasarov shouted. Two dozen figures spilled out from the frame, looking like black ants on the green surface.
Juan turned around. “Quick—we've got to put something in the shuttle's lock. It might return!”
“I'll get it,” Malachi said, and sprinted away.
“We'll be trapped if they get up here,” Juan said.
“We're trapped anyway,” Tasarov answered. “Where can we go?”
Juan watched as the soldiers spread out on the inner surface, expecting at any moment to see the ball of the shuttle whisk toward them.
He heard footfalls in the passageway. Malachi came into the chamber and dropped his pack. “I put a spade across the lock.”
“But the shuttle might override it,” Tasarov objected.
“Look!” Lena shouted. The squad divided into groups of six and went off in four opposite directions.
“They're thorough,” Malachi said, stepping closer to the display, “but it won't help them. I don't see another shuttle.”
Magnus said, “If there are others, they're probably set for the other ships.”
“I think we're beyond their reach,” Malachi replied. Juan took off his pack and sat down on it. Lena and Magnus did the same.
“So what now?” Tasarov asked, carefully laying down the automatic rifles.
Lena stood up and said, “We'll explore this ship until our friends below tire and go away. I'm curious if there are duplicators in any of the chambers along the passage.”
Magnus got up. “I'll go with you.”
“Be careful,” Juan said.
Malachi sat down and looked at Juan. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?”
Juan nodded. “This group of ships may be linked through frames. More than one shuttle isn't needed. But our friends down there aren't likely to find those connections anytime soon, if they exist. We're safe as long as we see them moving around down there.”
As Lena and Magnus left the chamber, Tasarov sat down cross-legged on the floor. “My friends,” he said, “does this escape of ours have some purpose?”
“It does,” Juan replied.
“What do you want, my friend? What are we to do?”
“Explore the web,” Juan said, “learn enough to open a way for our kind into a better life.”
Tasarov took a deep breath and smiled. “Are you serious?”
Juan said, “If we grasped even a thread of what the builders knew to make all this, we'd be able to remake human life.”
“We've come to suspect,” Malachi said, “that the builders climbed to some great height and pulled the ladder after them. The old Indian rope trick, you know.”
“Intriguing,” Tasarov said, glancing at the viewspace, where the sprinkling of soldiers was now at the limits of the field. “I object to my own kind, and so do you, Juan, I think. So why do you want to put even greater power in their hands?”
The Russian's question was demoralizing, but Juan was determined to attempt an answer. “You're right, we're imprisoned by our humanity, despite the fact that we're freer than any creature on Earth. When I saw your prison, all my doubts were confirmed. I had never seen a prison before—”
“There never was a prison like that!” Tasarov cut in.
“—but what moved me was that even in this prison of fundamentally altered circumstances, in which the same old hunter-gatherer was given nothing to do, I saw reason striving to reform its human burden, with little more than custom and force. You'll forgive me, Yevgeny, but you were their holy man, the one who stood apart.”
Tasarov grunted. “Go on.”
“I sympathize with the impulse to set any plausible law above human failure.”
Malachi said, “'And in their minds I will write my commandments'—expresses the need to internalize law.”
“Exactly. Our reason has always known what is to be done, but not how.”
Tasarov recited, “'I know what I want, but I can't want what I want. The flesh decides that.' T.E. Lawrence's favorite conundrum, if memory serves. 'Man can do nothing unaided, but God can do as He will.'”
“The Bible, old chap?” Malachi asked.
“Why not? We're all pilgrims here.”
“The world is as we made it,” Malachi said. “How's that for guilt?”
“No,” Juan answered, “as we were made. All human efforts have dealt with the outwardness of things, with social structures. Education was the closest we ever came to changing our insides, which can't be altered because they're locked up in the body's codes.”
Malachi said, “'If the leopard were offered wings, he would be foolish to refuse them.'”
“Whose words?” Tasarov asked.
“Shaka Zulu, the African leader and warrior.”
“I've always admired him,” Tasarov said. “When his will found the walls or his world, his vision ke
pt going. He uttered prophecies even as he succumbed to his basest impulses.”
“Revolution has to be more than revolt,” Juan continued. “It must transform as it sweeps away, starting with our bodies. When we've removed the crippling legacy of evolution's survivalist strategy, then hatred and rage will storm more softly within us, perhaps even become a vital song, as we compose ourselves for thought, and shed the mystery of our waking and sleeping selves. Environments shaped our bodies, but we began to shape environments. Finally we must shape ourselves.” He paused and saw Lena standing in the entrance. Their eyes met and he felt as if he had been caught saying childish things.
“There are replicators in the first chamber on the left,” she said and came inside.
Magnus came in after her. “I counted fourteen chambers along the passage,” he said. “The first one on the right has three frames in it.”
Juan looked at the viewspace. The soldiers were milling around at the edge of the field.
“We should eat and get some rest,” Lena said as she sat down against her pack.
Tasarov said, “My friend, I'll grant you that all efforts at change have been from outside, which is why utopias fail. Count the false steps—Christianity's attempts to train the human will by exhortation while insisting that there is a unimpeachable pedigree for moral law; military and political power as the basis for law; eugenic and racial theories. Presumably, you would want to change my humanity more radically. How will you go about doing that? Clearly, the human world as we know it will never agree to it. Do you know a way that will not be subverted by our objectionable humanity?”
Juan said, “Before a larger group can see the virtue of an idea, a smaller group must first understand it.”
“Dangerous words, my friend. But where shall we begin? How will we reach into the core of ourselves, elevate our best impulses, and seize the organism?”
Juan looked at the big Russian and saw that he understood, and was not mocking. “We must begin,” he said, “however badly, no matter how hopeless it seems. Perhaps right here in this vessel, away from the treadmill of human history. In the web there is all the knowledge we might ever need to remake ourselves.”
“Into what?” Lena demanded.
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