Science Is Magic Spelled Backwards and Other Stories

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  But the third! It also was mostly numbers, but even Yost could see that it was a list of co-ordinates for ten planets and longitude and latitude listings for nineteen different sites on those planets!

  Using the excitement that discovery generated, he composed their report. He made it completely detailed and scrupulously accurate and, when he’d finished, he took several days to polish it.

  Finally, he affixed his signature to the completed document and then called Kolitt.

  It took several tries, and when Kolitt finally answered, he was groggy.

  ::Friend-of-two-parts, you want me to read and sign the report?::

  ::Yes. At least that gets the formalities out of our hair.::

  There was a long pause as if the symbiont were laboring to think clearly, then he said, ::I’m afraid my signature would be quite meaningless at this point. I trust you....::

  ::Meaningless? Why?::

  ::I’m...::—another long, labored pause, then sharply—::Ray, go lie down on the bed.::

  ::What? I just got up! It’s almost time to eat.::

  The Ballatine’s reply was faint and, Yost thought, a bit ragged. ::Don’t argue! Go! I haven’t got....:: Yost felt Kolitt’s mental gasp. Something was very wrong!

  Yost climbed to his feet and moved gingerly to the sleeping compartment as if afraid that a sudden jar would dislodge a delicately poised disaster.

  He lay down on his back and said. ::There. Is that better, Kolitt?::

  ::Look at the Tapestry.::

  Turning his head, Yost examined the hanging. At Kolitt’s request, he’d hung it in front of a glow panel so that something of the Gallery’s backlighting effect helped bring out the sandalwood and eucalyptus aura. The glistening beadwork was all swirling color and sparkling fire. The shades were dark, mostly reds and browns, but with black and gray patches worked into an optical illusion of three dimensions. Almost. Yost could see why Kolitt liked it. It did remind one strongly of Kolitt’s Vesting Chamber. Then, Yost felt the familiar soothing relaxation taking hold. He shook himself and blinked hard at the ceiling.

  ::No! Friend-of-two-parts, look at the Tapestry!::

  ::I can’t. It’s too good. It can even trigger my hypnotic conditioning.::

  ::I know. That’s why we brought it along. Ray, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.::

  Suddenly suspicious, Yost said, ::Make what harder?::

  Kolitt said in throbbing sadness overlaid with determination, ::I must...leave you, Ray. You’ve been a good partner, and I dare not risk staying with you longer.::

  ::No! Kolitt, what’s the matter? I thought you had another two weeks at least?::

  ::I’m not sure, Friend-of-two-parts. My judgment is slipping badly. I almost caused an injury to your brain just now. It was only luck that saved you. I’m becoming clumsy, awkward, and dangerous. I sense already the beginnings of disintegration. I can’t tell if there are hours or days yet remaining, but I can’t risk damaging you. Now, will you look at the Tapestry and try to let yourself relax? It will all be over very quickly.::

  ::No! Kolitt, look. You estimated four weeks ago that you had six, maybe seven weeks. We’ve been eating pretty well lately. Maybe you don’t feel well, but you said yourself you can’t trust your judgment. Why not trust your original estimate? We’ll be home in a few days with a whole week to spare. Hang on a little longer. Take it one day at a time. I’m sure you can make it.::

  Kolitt lectured tightly, ::Now that food is plentiful, the starvation-stimulated growth is accelerating. I cannot tell by exactly how much, nor can I predict the exact moment when I must leave you before I lose the power to do so. Divestiture is not simple, Friend-of-two-parts. My purpose would not be served if you were to die as a result of my clumsiness.::

  ::Kolitt, we’ve beaten the odds fantastically so far. We’re riding a streak of luck. I know it won’t run out on us now. How terribly final and irrevocable is death.::

  Very quietly, the Ballatine said, ::That is also true for you, Ray. You’ve told me how much you fear that ultimate end. I can’t ask you to face that...or worse, life imprisoned in a useless body.::

  ::It won’t come to that.::

  ::Which of us is in the better position to judge?::

  ::You just admitted that your judgment is faulty right now. But mine is the same as ever. And I say, don’t panic. Wait. Life is a treasure that cannot be replaced. Fight for it!::

  ::Your fear of death renders your judgment faulty, Friend-of-two-parts. You fear it so much you’re unable to believe that it can happen to you. That is a typical human trait, I understand. It allows you to take illogical risks in the face of danger. You demonstrated that you have that blindness in full measure when you stayed to open the Mixie’s safe.::

  Yost suppressed a thrill of triumph. He’d succeeded in drawing the Ballatine into conversation. Argument was the Ballatine racial weakness! ::I was right, wasn’t I? I did get the thing open, and the tape was of the Rotsuc deposits and we did get away.::

  ::That, Friend-of-two-parts, is utterly irrelevant. The probability of success was unacceptably low.::

  ::I can see you’re no gambler!::

  ::Very true. And I do not propose to gamble with your life.::

  Damn! Yost thought hard, then he said, ::But it’s my life, and my right to gamble with it. What have you got to lose? Maybe you don’t fear death, but some ways of dying are preferable to others.::

  ::Also true. But you do fear death....::

  ::But death is the inevitable destiny of all life. I must face it one day. Haven’t I the right to choose my own way of dying? Would you rob me of the right to find the circumstances which would give my death meaning and give me the courage to face that ultimate fear?::

  ::You surprise me, Friend-of-two-parts. I had no idea the average human could plumb such depths of the Ethic.::

  Yost didn’t object to being called “average.” He knew the Ballatine was comparing him to the great human philosophers from the Sirian Totarch clear back to Aristotle. He said, ::But that doesn’t answer my question. Do you have the right to rob me of choice?::

  Very slowly, as if deliberating each word, Kolitt said, ::It is not who robs you of right. In this case, you are assuming a right which the Ethic does not grant you.::

  ::But I’m human. I don’t live by the Ethic.::

  ::You have labeled yourself an agnostic and you speak like a philosopher, yet you claim not to subscribe to the Ethic. Then, from what do you derive your morals? Have you considered what would happen if it were known that a Ballatine had caused the death or injury of a friend-of-two-parts? On what grounds do you claim the right to take that risk?::

  Yost had to admit that Kolitt had him there. If the ship parked itself in orbit over Central and his body were discovered, a thorough autopsy would be mandatory. They’d certainly discover the cause of death. The Ballatines’ relationship with every other intelligent species was based on absolute trust. One incident, no matter how voluntary, would destroy their usefulness as partners and put a serious dent in Central’s resources. It might even destroy the stability of the Confluence. Being so huge and diverse, the Confluence was a rickety political structure at best. Deprived of partners, could Central’s Agents hold it together at all? Yost didn’t know.

  But, somehow, deep inside, he knew that if something were right for society, but wrong for the individual, it could not possibly be the correct course. And wasn’t that a moral judgment?

  He started talking, not quite sure what he was going to say. ::You subscribe to a system called the Ethic which focuses on relating the individual to society. The good of society is the ultimate goal, and all actions and beliefs of the individual must be structured to that goal. Ballatine society bases its morals on the Ethic.

  ::Such systems were not unknown to human philosophers. I think most humans consider such ideas as lofty goals full of praiseworthy idealism. They consider the Ethic a standard of excellence. But I don’t know any humans who actu
ally live by such principles, and I don’t know anyone who loses any sleep over their failings.

  ::The people I’ve grown up with gave me my morals. You see, Ballatines derive their morals from the Ethic. But humans seem to do it, at least in practice, the other way around. We derive our ethics from our morals.

  ::But where did our morals come from? The segment of human society from which I come has a moral system based on an ancient, monotheistic religion.

  ::I’ve never considered myself a member of any religion. But I’ve accepted the morals of the religions most prevalent in my environment. All those religions are basically designed to help man deal with the racial fear of death. We all have a great emotional need to know what lies on the other side of the black curtain. You’re right, Kolitt, we can’t really conceive of personal...dissolution. I suppose that looks pathologically egotistical to you. And maybe it is. But so is our morals system. Our religion is focused on the relation of a man to himself and to God...not to society. We’re more interested in guiding the individual to ‘right’ action so that, ultimately, he can stand in front of his maker with pride.

  ::I think, Kolitt, that I’m intellectually an agnostic, but emotionally, where it really counts, when it comes to actually making a moral judgment, I do believe in a Creator. And I can’t believe that the Creator would want a man to do wrong just to continue a social order. I don’t know where that belief comes from. It may be irrational, illogical, and un-Ethical, but nevertheless it is my firm conviction and I can’t go against it.

  ::I suppose, if there is no Creator...no God...then the whole fabric of morals by which I’ve lived simply disintegrates. But I don’t know...I have no way of knowing...if God exists or is merely the figment of our imagination. I don’t have the intellectual faith of a religious person to sustain me, therefore I have the right to face death in whatever way seems meaningful to me. I choose to risk my life to save a life. Such risks are considered morally ‘right’ among humans. Can you convince me that God does not exist? That our moral system is completely wrong?::

  There was a long pause, but Yost didn’t sense the total withdrawal he’d expected. Finally, Kolitt said, ::Does your morals system give you the right to impose your values on another who does not subscribe to the same system?::

  Without hesitating, Yost said, ::Yes, I’m afraid it does, Kolitt. I told you our morals were based on religion...and it’s a proselytizing religion. Most humans would deny it these days, but when the chips are down, we really believe we have the one and only ‘right.’ But in a way, you really do share our values. You don’t want to die...like this. I’m not trying to ‘save’ you from the proper death you seek. The only way you could convince me that I’m wrong is to prove to my emotions that God doesn’t exist.::

  The long silence showed that he’d made the Ballatine really think. Eventually Kolitt said, ::You refuse to co-operate with Divestiture unless I can prove God doesn’t exist?::

  ::I believe I said that.::

  ::If I attempt to leave without cooperation, your sanity would certainly be forfeit. I think that if I insist, you will co-operate.::

  ::Does the Ethic allow you to take that risk?::

  ::No. But neither does it allow me to remain with you.::

  ::So, we’re both reduced to a choice between evils. A very sticky moral choice. Shall we adjourn to the galley while you think about it?::

  ::You’ve made up your mind?::

  ::Yes. Apparently, I have.::

  ::I fear that no Ballatine will ever understand human psychology. You realize, of course, that if I leave without your co-operation, and you are rendered insane, it’s the same as if I didn’t leave and you die.::

  ::Yes. I have you over a barrel.::

  ::A very colorful image but somewhat inaccurate.::

  When Kolitt’s silence lengthened, Yost got up and went in search of a meal. What he was doing scared him more than all his imagined tortures at the hands of the Mixie. He hadn’t planned on it. It had just happened. It was another one of those things a man just had to do, scared or not.

  Again, the days began to pass, but ever more slowly. Yost spent many hours alternately arguing with and encouraging the Ballatine. He used ever trick of Ballatine psychology he’d ever heard of and even invented a few new ones. He knew that if Kolitt hadn’t been suffering from disorganization he’d never have held off even six hours, but six days later, the planetfall alarm went off.

  Yost was resting at the time and the Ballatine was in a long period of total withdrawal. Yost clambered up to the control room and threw himself into the pilot’s couch. ::Kolitt!! Wake up, partner, we’re home!::

  ::What?::

  ::Home. Where the devil did they hide the radio...? We can’t sit up here in orbit and wait for the tugs!::

  ::Ohhh...:: Yost felt that groan as if Kolitt was pulling himself out of a feverish slumber by main force of will. ::Let me.::

  ::You all right?::

  ::No!:: the Ballatine snapped, ::I’m not all right, and haven’t been for days! I only hope I can still pilot this thing. Let me!::

  ::All yours.::

  Yost watched his hands fly as Kolitt worked the radio, got Ballatine Central, and rattled off a command in his own language, ignoring the painful stretching of Yost’s throat. The speaker snapped a crisp reply as Kolitt guided the ship down into the emergency berth near the gleaming, gold Ballatine dome nestled among the towers of the sprawling CC complex.

  As soon as they had touched down, Kolitt threw the lock seals to “open” and relinquished control of their body with a sluggishness that scared Yost. ::Friend-of-two-parts, go down to the lock...someone will meet you. Do as he says. Hurry.::

  Yost moved. As he approached the lock, a friend-of-one-part, undoubtedly guided by a Ballatine, beckoned him urgently to follow. They descended three levels and then hit a large, main corridor lined with plush hangings vague in the dim, red light. The three-foot-tall anthropoid friend-of-one-part sped along, never looking back. Yost stumbled and nearly fell as a strange sensation twisted his guts. Kolitt said, ::Hurry, Ray. It has begun. There are at most only minutes left before I can no longer accept...::

  Suddenly, they came to a large, ornate door that flew open at the Ballatine’s touch and they were on the main floor of the Vesting Chamber. His guide scampered between the room-sized cubicles and finally opened one of the doors.

  Beckoning Yost on, the Ballatine disappeared into the dim interior. Yost entered and stood surveying the fission chamber, wondering what to do. It was well upholstered and richly hung with soft velveteen and was very dim even by Ballatine standards. In the center of the carpeted floor was a pool of crystalline fluid lit from below by a dim, red light. Yost could see the silhouette of a very large, amorphous Ballatine writhing strangely in the fluid nutrient. He’d never seen a Ballatine undulate like that.

  “Hurry!” said the guide, “Lie down beside the pool...here.”

  Confused, Yost stood dumbly, unable to relate to the scene before him. The friend-of-one-part took his arm and guided him gently into place, draping his arm deep into the warm, syrupy liquid where it was promptly engulfed by the gooey softness of flaccid, Ballatine flesh.

  Within him, a crawling, creeping, seeping withdrawal made him choke on a scream. He struggled to rise, but the Ballatine friend-of-one-part was holding him down.

  Then he knew what was wrong. The unusual entryway hadn’t triggered his conditioning! No velvet mystery, no velour hangings, no incense! He said, “My....” He couldn’t control his throat.

  He tried again, “I....” He gagged!

  The friend-of-one-part placed a hot, calloused hand on Yost’s forehead, fingers gentle but firm. “Easy, Mr. Yost, Kolitt doesn’t have much time. Relax. Fix your eyes on the ceiling and relax.” The Ballatine’s voice droned on, a deep crooning that blended with his hypnotherapist’s tones. Gradually, he found himself letting go, falling into the limbo of complete trust. But it was different. He didn’t go completely under. He
could still feel the weird symphony of sensations, but it no longer sent him into a panic.

  The crawling continued for an eternity. He heard himself whimper as he lost visual and auditory contact. And then, gradually, his senses cleared and there was only one thread of contact left. Dizzy, he almost surrendered consciousness before he heard Kolitt say, ::Thank you, Friend-of-two-parts, and good-bye. There is no way to disprove that which is. God does exist.::

  Yost succumbed to oblivion. And when he swam up to consciousness again, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard that last. Had he imagined it? But, if not, what did it mean?

  He propped himself up on one elbow and looked into the pool. Four red- and black-veined Ballatine floated quietly in the crystal fluid. Two were smaller than the other pair, but they seemed alive and well.

  Yost said, wiping a tear off the corner of his eye, ::Thank you, Friend-of-two-parts.::

  SCIENCE IS MAGIC SPELLED BACKWARDS

  “Mavrana,” said my mother impatiently, “just give me one good reason why you won’t join the coven!”

  “Mama, are you trying to tell me I got my doctorate in nuclear plant management just because your—your—your coven performed certain, stupid rituals?!”

  “You don’t suppose the good citizens of this town would have allowed that plant to be built here—just so you could have a job near home—without a little encouragement from us?!”

  I jibbered and stuttered to a pressed silence. Her idea of scientific evidence had pushed my temper to the flash point and I had to get out of there before my brain melted down.

  I stood and dumped my napkin into my soup bowl. “Mama, we’re just talking past each other. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Quickly, I whirled out of the kitchen, picking up my suitcase from where I had left it by the front door, and made for my car. Blinking away tears, I drove off without considering a destination. Homecoming, after eight years of university hopping, had not turned out as I’d dreamed it would. What to do now?

  I had to report for work tomorrow morning, bright and cheerful and ready to take over the responsibility for the safety systems computer at the Sterling Bridge Nuclear Cycle Plant. It was a big chance for a new Ph.D. I knew I’d earned it. I knew I was ready. But I couldn’t do it if I reported in with a crying jag hangover.