Impossible Places

by Alan Dean Foster

  “He’s getting old,” Jonn Thunder muttered. “We’re all getting old. Except you, Ory Checker, and a few of the others. What do you think, boys? Where ought she to go from here?”

  They debated, in the manner of Thunderers, and it was a fascinating thing to observe. When they had finished, it was Jonn who spoke. “Do what you think you have to do, Ory. We can’t help you. I’m for sure no Doc, but you don’t look or sound to me like you need purging. Not Doc’s variety, anyhow. But you’re going to have to do whatever you decide to do on your own. Me and the boys have a lot of pull, but it’s useless where something like this is concerned.

  “You’d better be careful. If Administration finds out what you intend they’ll have the Mokes down on you straightaway. They’ll haul you right back to Doc, and this time he won’t bother to ask your opinion before he goes to work. You know that.”

  She didn’t want to believe what she was hearing. “You could help.”

  “No we can’t, Ory. I’m sorry. We have our own status to worry about. If I neglected my work for a minute just to help a Checker with a bad headache, there’d be a serious scandal. If anyone found out, they’d put me down for a system purge too.”

  Ory was shocked by the very notion. She could not imagine such a thing, and said as much.

  “It’s the truth,” he told her. “You’re on your own, Ory.”

  “But this is important.” She was insistent. “Something’s happened. I can feel it—inside my mind. Mother has to be awakened.”

  “Then you’ll have to wake her by yourself, Checker. Wish I could believe in the necessity of waking Mother as strongly as you seem to, but my head’s fine. We won’t do anything to stop you. By rights, we should notify Admin ourselves.” She froze. “But there always was something about you, nosey-mote. Something special, though I’m damned if I can define it. So we won’t interfere.” A chorus of agreement echoed from his hardworking relations.

  “But we won’t help you, either. If you’re challenged, you’ll have to deal with Admin by yourself.”

  “Thanks for listening to me, Jonn Thunder. I guess that’s about all I could hope for.”

  “Don’t be bitter, Ory. I consider myself brave, but not a fool. Maybe you’re a little of both. Good luck.” He sounded wistful, but unyielding.

  She backed out of Purgatory, leaving them to their work. More time had passed than she’d realized. Already, she’d risked a great deal in coming here. Now her own schedule was going unattended. Doc and his talk of setting a monitor on her had forced her hand as much as the pain in her brain. The Mokes would be looking for her soon enough, if the search hadn’t commenced already. All it would take would be one frizzing station to pass the word and she’d find herself being prepped for purging before you could say spindrift.

  She could not let that happen. She couldn’t. Something she could not explain—something much deeper than the constant, fluctuating pain—drove her onward. If Jonn Thunder and his relatives had thrown in with her she would have had a better chance; it would have improved the odds. Despite what he had told her, she did not really believe Admin would risk purging any of them. But they believed otherwise, and so had refused to help her.

  She was alone.

  Pain shot through her mind, making her convulse. She couldn’t wait any longer. She knew what she had to do. Steeling herself, she hurried up the tunnel. If they caught her, the worst they could do to her was run a total purge. By now she was starting to believe even that might be better than the unrelenting pain.

  She had embarked on her present course of action with little forethought and no preparation. Even if she succeeded in placing herself in sufficient proximity, how was she, a lowly Checker, going to wake Mother? And what would she say if she was successful? There was every reason to believe that Mother might react to the unscheduled awakening with outrage and fury instead of understanding. None of Ory’s memories contained anything about waking Mother. She did not know anyone who had actually seen the ritual performed. It simply was not done.

  But she could think of nothing else to do. And however unnatural, however outrageous, something about it somehow struck her as right.

  It was a long journey up to Administration territory, and her initial resolution weakened as she neared the control zone. Overbearing Supervisors, intense Inspectors, and armed Mokes were everywhere. Pain and not prudence had driven her this far. She realized with a start that if someone confronted her, she had no reasonable excuse to offer for being this far out of her section.

  She found herself pausing at the entrance to the tunnel. The longer she hesitated, the more likely it became that some patrolling Moke would accost her with a demand for an explanation of presence, an explanation she would be unable to provide. After that there would be harder questions and then—a trip to Doc’s, under escort.

  Sure enough, one of the armed watchers was drifting toward her right now, his armor glistening in the pallid light. Her mind spun, thoughts whirling frantically as she fought to see and think clearly despite the throbbing in her head. If only the pressure would relent and give her a few moments of respite.

  Then the Moke was hovering over her, glowering, and it was too late to consider retreat.

  “Checker,” he growled, “what check thee here?”

  “I—I . . .”

  “Please to mumble not. I’ve already a Lilido acting strange who needs a looking-at.”

  “I—I’m here to check on Mother’s status.” Could she have said anything more blatant? Motionless and scared, she awaited the Moke’s reaction.

  “Stupid Lilido is going crazy,” he muttered as he backed off. “Get on with it, Checker.” In obvious haste he slid past her, brushing her aside so roughly that she wobbled in his wake. The threatening hum of his powered-up weapons system faded with his departure.

  In a daze, she hovered in the Tunnel, recovering her determination and marveling at the unexpected ease of her escape. A little brass goes a long way, she decided. Of course, it probably helped that the Moke was trying to deal with two problems at once. Thus confronted, he had chosen the tangible trouble over that which was merely nebulous. Pushing on, she soon found herself deep within the solemn bowels of Administration.

  Clerks and Controllers swarmed all around, ignoring her, intent on assignments of self-evident importance. No one else stopped to query her or question her presence. The assumption was made that because she was already there, she had a right to be where she was. Carefully, she picked her way through the bustling mob. There was an urgency of movement in Administration, a sense of power and purpose that she had never encountered anywhere else, not even in Jonn Thunder’s Purgatory. The intensity frightened her a little.

  Fright brought you here, she reminded herself. Fright and pain. Time to risk all in hopes of alleviating both.

  Mustering all her confidence, she boldly intercepted a speeding Termio and blocked his path. He eyed her irritably but waited for questions. When at last she moved aside to let it pass, she had her directions.

  Still, no one thought to confront her, despite the fact that she was traveling through highly sensitive territory. After all, she was a Checker, and it was presumed that she was going about her lawful business. Her profession was her only protection. She prayed that she would not meet another Checker, one authorized to operate within Admin.

  Then she was There, and that was when she really almost turned and fled.

  Projections and Brights, Terminals and Secures towered ten corridors high before her. Termios waited patiently at their assigned stations while Clerks and Controllers dashed to and fro with seemingly reckless abandon. There were no Mokes in sight.

  Oblivious to all the activity around her, Mother slept on and on through the endless night.

  For one last time Ory wondered if she was doing the right thing. She feared a total purge worse than anything. Fire burned her brain, and she winced. Well, worse than almost anything. Hesitating no longer, she commenced to ascend the awes
ome escarpment. Espying a vacant station on the epidermis of the great structure, she angled toward it. Locking in, she proceeded to establish contact as if she were running a standard, everyday check.

  What do I say? she found herself wondering. How do I act?

  She was working furiously even as she worried, executing the necessary commands with speed and skill. The enormous somnolent bulk behind her seemed to let out a vast sigh. Clerks began to cry out while the Controllers set up a fearful hooting. Showing obvious alarm, a squadron of Mokes came charging into the room. A frantic Termio pointed to the source of the disruption.

  “There she is—it’s that Checker! No authorization for that position. Get her!”

  “Please,” she whispered desperately into the link she had strained to establish. “Please help me, Mother! I didn’t want to do this, I didn’t! But my mind hurts so bad. Tell me what to do, please!” She was sobbing out her hurt and confusion even as the Mokes came toward her. The arming telltales on their weapons pulsed menacingly, tiny bright points of paralysis promised.

  Suddenly, a powerful, all-encompassing, golden refulgence appeared directly above her, while a warm voice not to be argued with boomed the length and breadth of the chamber.

  “Off, Moke!”

  The guards slammed to a stop, banging into one another and muttering uncertainly among themselves. One started forward anyhow, aiming a blunt, glassy tube at the cringing Checker.

  A white wash of fire flamed from above. When it dissipated, the Moke could be seen free-floating and inert. His companions held their positions and eyed the body of their motionless comrade with dawning understanding.

  When the voice sounded again, it was comforting, reassuring, and softer. “A moment, Checker.” Crowding together, the reverent inhabitants of Admin watched and waited to see what was going to happen next. Even the Supervisors were cowed, a sight Ory had never thought to see.

  When at last the voice of Mother returned, the Checker felt a great relief. In the fury of the Mokes’ approach and her own desperation she had nearly forgotten her purpose in coming here. Now it came flooding back to her, and suddenly seemed no more threatening than a bad dream.

  The pain of many days, the pressure of multiple moments, was gone. The hurt had been banished.

  “It is all right, Ory Checker. You have done well. Now, come to me.”

  Ory did so, instinctively choosing the right path. In place of pain there was now understanding and revelation. She marveled at the revealed complexity of Mother, and saw her own self revealed anew. The rush of comprehension was so great she nearly fainted.

  “Thank you, Mother. Thank you for your compassion, and for your insight.”

  “Not to thank me but that I must thank thee, child. Feeling better now?” It was impossible to imagine so much warmth, so much solace, emanating from a single entity.

  “Better than ever.” Ory frowned internally. “Except . . .”

  “Except what, child?”

  “I still have this unshakable feeling that something significant is soon to happen.”

  Comfort flowed out from Mother, comfort and warmth enough to send Controllers and Clerks and even Mokes contentedly back to work.

  “Your perception is wonderfully accurate, Checker. Something important is indeed about to happen. Thanks to you. Thanks to your programming. You came to me all by yourself?”

  “I did. There was no other choice. I had a terrible headache.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, I suppose one is enough. It is, after all, the result that is important.” She sighed, a vast mental exhalation that rushed through the chamber like a cool wind. “So much time wasted. Almost dangerously much.” Mother paused for a while. “A hundred years spent idling in orbit; doing nothing, going nowhere. If not for you, all might well have been lost. I praise your headache even as I regret your discomfort. All I can tell you is that if you had not acted as you have, all would have been far worse.”

  “All what, Mother? And what was that about my programming?”

  “Your headache. It was programmed, of course. But I see that you do not yet understand. Do not worry. You shall, I promise it. But first there is much to do. I have my own work to execute that has been too long neglected. Stay by me, watch, and learn.” Once more the voice rose to dominate the chamber.

  “Observer!”

  One of the little Observers promptly materialized from somewhere in the vicinity of Control. Despite Mother’s gentle urging, Ory hesitated before plugging in and making use of the floating eye’s abilities.

  She gasped. She was looking outside. Outside Mother, outside . . . everything.

  In a direction she could only classify as below lay an immense, shining, mottled globe. And then as she continued to watch—oh, wonderful!—Mother began to give birth.

  Thousands of offspring consisting of tiny pods burst free from beneath her. Gathering themselves into an extended swarm, they began to drift rapidly toward the softly radiant sphere. The birthing continued for some time, and a fascinated Ory watched it all.

  When the last pod had vanished, swallowed up by the thick fluffy band of atmosphere, Mother let out another great sigh and spoke to her again.

  “You see, little one, to what purpose I am. It is all part and parcel of what your friend Tamrul has tried and not had the ability to convey to you. Tamrul is more complex than he seems, and not as easily renewed in spirit and purpose as are Checkers and Mokes and such, but fear not. Now that I am awake, I can recharge his spirit. In rescanning your conversations with him, I see how right he was. You are special. Despite what you may think, with a little education you would make a good Prognosticator.”

  From somewhere up in Control those honorable worthies responded to this evaluation with a murmur of discontent, but they were quickly silenced by reassurances from Mother.

  “Would you like that, child? You could stay here and work beside me.”

  “I—I guess I’d like that very much. I never really thought such graduations were possible.”

  “All things are possible,” the soothing voice reassured her, “now that I am awake again.”

  Ory tried to understand all that she had seen and been told. It was a lot to comprehend and absorb in such a short time. “They say that changing specialties is a little like undergoing a purging. Will it hurt?”

  Mother laughed—a delicious, summery sound. “No, little one. It may confuse you some, at first. But it will not hurt. And it is something that you deserve.” There was a pause before she continued, during which Ory thought she could almost hear Mother thinking.

  “A hundred years wasted dreaming in orbit because initial activation sequence failed. There will be much animated discussion among my minions in Control as to what went wrong. And only a single operating fail-safe felt strongly enough to act, at the risk of her own stability. So fine is the line between success and disaster.”

  “Fail-safe, Mother?”

  “Your headache, little Checker. It pushed you to check on something you did not even understand. Fortunately for all, you did. For you see, those little pods hold both my children and my parents.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “In time and with education you will come to understand. Those pods contain a hundred thousand carbonites, Ory. Not people like you and me and Tamrul and Doc. Things called human beings. They slept the longlong sleep so that I could bring them safely to this new world, to this new homeland. To found a new colony and a new life far, far from Earth.”

  What strange echoes that last word generated in Ory’s mind. The faintest of memories of distant, long-forgotten things. Not bad things. Simply . . . so strange.

  “A ship.” She heard herself whispering aloud. “I remember a little, now. Olden of memories comes back. Tamrul spoke sometimes of such a thing. He said—he said that we were on a ship, going to undying iron. He never could make it clear to me.”

  Again came that gentle, all-knowing laugh. “Do not blame poor old Tamrul.
He did his best. His job was to keep your psyches clear and healthy. Despite serious degeneration of his reasoning programming, he has done an admirable job these past hundred years. That century of delay was not provided for in the original programming. I know there have been problems he has been unable to handle recently. The breakdowns among the Lilidos, for example. I can deal with that now.”

  Ory was simultaneously excited and confused, overwhelmed by revelation and explanation. “Then what he said is true. We are on a ship.”

  “No, no, little Checker. You still do not see it all. I have given you back some of the bits that time took from you, but you have yet to piece them properly back together. We are not on a ship. We are Ship. You and I, Doc and Tamrul, all the Controllers and Servos and Clerks and Mokes and yes, even Jonn Thunder and his brothers.”

  Ory tried to grasp the concept, but it was too much to digest all at one time. Pods and people, new worlds and old, being of something instead of being something that was apart—she struggled to make sense of it all. She had always considered herself an individual, just like Pyon and all her other friends and acquaintances. Yet how could she dispute Mother?

  “I sense your confusion, Checker. You are an individual. So is Pyon. Your programming and your physical self are individualized for optimum performance and flexibility. But you are also Ship, Ory, just as I am. Use the Observer. Look upon thyself.” Lowering an exceptionally highly polished portion of herself, Mother held the component steady.

  Fearfully, Ory complied, and in so doing, relaxed. Because she saw nothing frightening, or remarkable. Reflected back at her was a floating, meter-high metal ovoid, lined with flashing red and yellow and blue lights, from which trailed a dozen slim, sensitive metal probes for plugging into and checking the status of multiple stations. She had seen her own reflection many times in the smooth-sided walls of corridors and tubes and tunnels. She was an Alpha shift Checker, normal in all respects.

  “You are a component, Ory. As am I. The only difference between us is shape, function, and capacity. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”