Dimension of Miracles

by Robert Sheckley

‘With all modesty, I must point out that you have me,’ Carmody said. ‘I have come to you from the exterior. I have a problem; indeed, I have several problems. For me, these problems are insoluble. For you – I do not know. But I suspect that they will tax your powers to the utmost.’

  Melichrone thought about it for a very long time. Carmody’s nose began to itch, but he resisted the desire to scratch it. He waited, and the entire planet also waited while Melichrone made up his mind.

  At last Melichrone raised his jet-black head and said, ‘I really think you have something there!’

  ‘It’s good of you to say that,’ Carmody said.

  ‘But I mean it, I really do!’ Melichrone said. ‘Your solution seems to me both inevitable and elegant. And, by extension, it seems to me that Fate, which rules men, Gods and planets, must have destined this to happen: that I, a creator, was created with no problem to solve; and that you, a created, became the creator of a problem that only a God could solve. And that you have lived out your lifetime waiting for me to solve your problem, while I have waited here for half of eternity for you to bring me your problem to solve!’

  ‘I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,’ Carmody said. ‘Would you like to know what my problem is?’

  ‘I have already deduced,’ Melichrone said. ‘In fact, due to my superior intellect and experience, I know much more about it than you do. Superficially, your problem is how to get home.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘No, that’s not it. I do not use words lightly. Superficially, you need to know Where, When and Which your planet is; and you need a way of getting there, and you need to arrive in much the same condition you are presently in. If that were all, it would still be difficult enough.’

  ‘What else is there?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Why, there is also the death which is pursuing you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Carmody said. He suddenly felt weak in the knees, and Melichrone graciously created an easy chair for him, and a Havana cigar, a Rum Collins, a pair of sheep-lined slippers, and a buffalo-hide lap robe.

  ‘Comfortable?’ Melichrone asked.

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Good. Pay close attention now. I will proceed to explain your situation briefly but succinctly, utilizing only a fraction of my intellect for that task while I use the rest of me for the considerable job of finding a feasible solution._But you will have to listen carefully and try to understand everything the first time I say it because we have very little time.’

  ‘I thought you stretched my ten seconds into twenty-five years,’ Carmody said.

  ‘I did. But time is a tricky sort of variable, even for me. Eighteen of your twenty-five years are already used up, and the rest of them are going with extreme rapidity. Pay attention, now! Your life depends on it.’

  ‘All right,’ Carmody said. He sat forward and puffed on his cigar. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘The first thing you must understand,’ Melichrone said, ‘is the nature of the implacable death that is hunting you.’

  Carmody controlled a shudder and bent forward to listen.

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘The most fundamental fact in the Universe,’ said Melichrone, ‘is that species eat other species. It may not be pretty, but there it is. Eating is basic, and the acquisition of foodstuffs underlies all other phenomena. This concept involves the Law of Predation, which can be stated as follows: any given species, no matter how high or how low, feeds upon one or more species and is fed upon by one or more species.

  ‘That sets forth a universal situation, which can be aggravated or ameliorated by a variety of circumstances. For example, a species resident in its own habitat can usually maintain itself in a state of Equilibrium, and thus live out its normal lifetime despite the depredations of predators. This Equilibrium is usually stated as the Victor-Vanquished equation, or VV. When a species or a species member moves to an alien and exotic habitat, the VV values necessarily change. Occasionally, there is temporary improvement in the species’s Eat-Eaten Situation (Vv=Ee plus 1). More typically, there is a deterioration (Vv=Ee minus 1).

  ‘That is what has happened to you, Carmody. You have left your normal habitat, which also means that you have left your normal predators. No automobiles can stalk you here, no virus can creep into your bloodstream, no policeman can shoot you down by mistake. You are separated from the dangers of Earth, and immune to the dangers of other galactic species.

  ‘But the amelioration (Vv=Ee plus 1) is sadly temporary. The ironclad rule of Equilibrium has already begun to assert itself. You cannot refuse to hunt, and you cannot escape being hunted. Predation is Necessity itself.

  ‘Having left Earth, you are a unique creature; therefore your predator is unique.

  ‘Your predator was born out of a personification and solidification of universal law. This predator can feed exclusively and solely on you. The creature is shaped as a respondent and complement to your characteristics. Even without seeing it, we can know that its jaws are shaped to bite Carmodys, its limbs are articulated to seize and grasp Carmodys, its stomach has the peculiar and unique ability to digest Carmodys, and its personality is designed to take advantage of the Carmodic personality.

  ‘Your situation has rendered you unique, Carmody; therefore your predator is unique. It is your death that pursues you, Carmody, and it does so with a desperation equal to your own. You and it are bound together. If it seizes you, you die; if you escape to the normal menaces of your own world, your predator dies for lack of Carmodic sustenance.

  ‘There is no more I can say that will help you to evade it. I cannot predict the tricks and disguises it will attempt, no more than I can predict yours. I can only warn you that the probabilities always favour the Hunter, though escapes are not entirely unheard-of.

  ‘That is the situation, Carmody. Have you understood me?’

  Carmody started like a man awakened from a deep sleep.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand everything you said. But I do understand the important parts.’

  ‘Good,’ Melichrone said. ‘For we have no time left. You must leave this planet at once. Not even I on my own planet can arrest the universal Law of Predation.’

  ‘Can you get me back to Earth?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Given sufficient time, I probably could,’ Melichrone said. ‘But of course, given sufficient time, I could do anything at all. It is difficult, Carmody. To begin with, the three W variables must be solved each in terms of the other. I would have to determine exactly Where in space- time your planet is at the present moment; then I would have to discover Which of the alternate-probability Earths is yours. Then I would have to find the temporal sequence you were born into in order to determine When. Then there is the skorish effect and the doubling factor, both of which must be allowed for. With all of that done, I could, with a little luck, slip you back into your own Particularity (a surprisingly delicate operation) without wrecking the whole works.’

  ‘Can you do this for me?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘No. There is no time left. But I can send you to Maudsley, a friend of mine, who should be able to help you.’

  ‘A friend of yours?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not exactly a friend,’ Melichrone said. ‘More of an acquaintance, really. Though even that may be overstating the relationship. You see, once, quite some time ago, I almost left my planet for a sightseeing trip; and had I done so, I would have met Maudsley. But I didn’t leave for various reasons, and therefore never actually met Maudsley. Still, we both know that if I had gone on my trip, we would have met, and would have exchanged views and outlooks, had an argument or two, cracked a few jokes, and ended with a mild fondness for each other.’

  ‘It seems a kind of feeble relationship to presume upon,’ Carmody said. ‘Isn’t there anyone else you could send me to?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Melichrone said. ‘Maudsley is my only friend. Probabilities define affinities just as well as actualities, you know. I’m sure Maudsley will take good care o
f you.’

  ‘Well –’ Carmody began to say. But then he noticed that something large and dark and menacing was beginning to take shape just behind his left shoulder, and he knew that he had used up all of his time.

  ‘I’ll go!’ he said. ‘And thanks for everything!’

  ‘No need to thank me,’ Melichrone said. ‘My duty in the Universe is to serve strangers. Good luck, Carmody!’

  The large menacing form was beginning to solidify; but before it could finish, Carmody had disappeared.

  CHAPTER 10

  Carmody found himself on a green meadow. It must have been noon, for a gleaming orange sun was directly overhead. Some distance away, a small herd of spotted cows grazed slowly over tall grass. Beyond them, Carmody could see a dark fringe of forest.

  He turned around slowly. Meadowland extended on all sides of him, but the forest ended in dense underbrush. He heard a dog bark. There were mountains on the other side, a long, jagged range with snow-capped tops. Grey clouds clung to the upper slopes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red. He turned; it seemed to be a fox. It looked at him curiously, then bounded away towards the forest.

  ‘It’s like Earth,’ Carmody remarked. Then he remembered the Prize, which had last been a hibernating green snake. He felt around his neck, but the Prize was no longer there.

  ‘Here I am,’ the Prize said.

  Carmody looked around and saw a small copper cauldron.

  ‘Is this you?’ Carmody asked, picking the cauldron up.

  ‘Of course it’s me,’ the Prize said. ‘Can’t you even recognize your own Prize?’

  ‘Well … you’ve changed quite a lot.’

  ‘I am quite aware of that,’ the Prize said. ‘But my essence – the true me – never changes. What’s the matter?’

  Carmody had peered into the cauldron and had nearly dropped it. Inside, he had seen the skinned and half-consumed body of some small animal – perhaps a kitten.

  ‘What’s that inside you?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘It’s my lunch, if you must know,’ the Prize said. ‘I was grabbing a quick bite during transit.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Even Prizes need occasional nourishment,’ the Prize added sarcastically. ‘And, I might add, we also need rest, mild exercise, sexual congress, intermittent intoxication and an occasional bowel movement; none of which you have made provision for since I was awarded to you.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t had any of those things either,’ Carmody answered.

  ‘Do you really require them?’ the Prize said in an astonished voice. ‘Yes, of course, I suppose you do. It’s strange, but I guess I had thought of you as a sort of bustling elemental figure without creature requirements.’

  ‘Exactly the way I had thought of you!’ Carmody said.

  ‘It’s inevitable, I suppose,’ the Prize said. ‘One tends to think of an alien as – as solid all through and bowelless, somehow. And of course, some aliens are.’

  ‘I’ll take care of your requirements,’ Carmody said, feeling a sudden affection for his Prize. ‘I’ll do it as soon as this damned emergency is over.’

  ‘Of course, old man. Forgive my fit of pique. D’ye mind if I finish my bite of lunch?’

  ‘Go right ahead,’ Carmody said. He was curious to see how a metal cauldron would devour a skinned animal; but when it came down to it, he was too squeamish to watch.

  ‘Ah, that was damned good,’ the Prize said. ‘I’ve saved a bit for you, if you’d care for some.’

  ‘I’m not too hungry just now,’ Carmody said. ‘What are you eating?’

  ‘We call them orithi,’ the Prize said. ‘You would consider them a type of giant mushroom. Delicious raw or lightly poached in their own juices. The mottled white kind is better than the green.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Carmody said, ‘in case I ever run across one. Do you think an Earthman could eat one?’

  ‘I think so,’ the Prize said. ‘By the way, if you ever do get the chance, be sure to have it recite a poem before you eat it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the orithi are very good poets.’

  Carmody swallowed hard. That was the trouble with exotic life-forms; just when you thought you understood something, you found that you didn’t understand at all. And conversely, when you thought you were completely mystified, they suddenly threw you off balance by acting in a completely comprehensible manner. In fact, Carmody decided, what made aliens so thoroughly alien was the fact that they weren’t completely alien. It was amusing at first; but after a while it got on your nerves.

  ‘Urp,’ said the Prize.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I belched,’ the Prize said. ‘Excuse me. Anyhow, I think you must admit that I handled it all rather cleverly.’

  ‘Handled all what?’

  ‘The interview with Melichrone, of course,’ said the Prize.

  ‘You handled it? Why, damn it all, you were hibernating! I talked us out of that spot!’

  ‘I don’t want to contradict you,’ the Prize said, ‘but I fear that you are labouring under a misapprehension. I went into hibernation solely in order to bring all of my powers to bear on the problem of Melichrone.’

  ‘You’re crazy! You’re out of your mind!’ Carmody shouted.

  ‘I am saying no more than the truth,’ the Prize said. ‘Consider that long, closely reasoned argument that you gave, in which you established Melichrone’s place and function in the scheme of things by irrefutable logic.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, have you ever reasoned that way before in your life? Are you a philosopher or a logician?’

  ‘I was a philosophy major in college,’ Carmody said.

  ‘Big deal,’ the Prize sneered. ‘No, Carmody, you simply don’t have the background or the intellect to handle an argument like that. Face it: it was completely out of character.’

  ‘It was not out of character! I’m perfectly capable of extraordinary logic!’

  ‘“Extraordinary” would be a good word for it,’ the Prize said.

  ‘But I did do it! I thought those thoughts!’

  ‘Just as you wish,’ the Prize said. ‘I hadn’t realized it meant so much to you, and I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. Tell me, have you ever been subject to fainting spells, or to inexplicable fits of laughter or tears?’

  ‘No, I have not,’ Carmody said, getting a grip on himself. ‘Have you ever had recurrent dreams of flying, or sensations of saintliness?’

  ‘I most certainly have not!’ the Prize said.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Sure, I’m sure!’

  ‘Then we needn’t discuss the matter any further,’ Carmody said, feeling absurdly triumphant. ‘But I’d like to know something else.’

  ‘What is that?’the Prize said warily.

  ‘What was Melichrone’s disability that I was not supposed to mention? And what was his one limitation?’

  ‘I thought that both were painfully obvious,’ the Prize said.

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘A few hours’ reflection would bring them to your mind at once.’

  ‘To hell with that,’ Carmody said. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Very well,’ the Prize said. ‘Melichrone’s one disability is that he is lame. It is a congenital defect; it has been present since his early origins. It persists throughout all his changes in analogous form.’

  ‘And his one limitation?’

  ‘He can never know about his own lameness. As a God, he is denied comparative knowledge. His creations are in his own image; which, in Melichrone’s case, means that they are all lame. And his contacts with exterior reality are so few that he believes that lameness is the norm, and that unlame creatures are curiously flawed. Comparative knowledge is one of the few deficiencies of Godhead, by the way. Thus, the primary definition of a God is in terms of his self-sufficiency, which, no matter what its scope, is always interior. Perfect control of the controllable and perfect k
nowledge of the knowable are the first steps towards becoming a God, by the way, in case you ever wish to try the project.’

  ‘Me? Try to be a God?’

  ‘Why not?’ the Prize asked him. ‘It’s an occupation like any other, despite its grand-sounding title. It’s not easy, I’ll grant you; but it’s no harder than becoming a first-class poet or engineer.’

  ‘I think you must be out of your mind,’ Carmody said, feeling the quick shuddering shock of religious horror which so bedevils the atheistic.

  ‘Not at all. I am merely better informed than you. But now you had better prepare yourself.’

  Carmody looked around quickly and saw three small figures walking slowly across the meadow. Following them at a respectful distance were ten other figures.

  ‘The one in the middle is Maudsley,’ the Prize said. ‘He’s always very busy, but he may have time for a few words with you.’

  ‘Does he have any limitations or defects?’ Carmody said sarcastically.

  ‘If he does, they are not of significance,’ the Prize said. ‘One deals with Maudsley in quite different terms, and faces entirely different problems.’

  ‘He looks like a human,’ Carmody said as the group came nearer.

  ‘He is shaped like one,’ the Prize admitted. ‘But of course, the humanoid shape is common in this part of the galaxy.’

  ‘What terms am I supposed to deal with him in?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘I can’t really describe them,’ the Prize said. ‘Maudsley is too alien for me to understand or predict. But there is one piece of advice I can give you: be sure you get his attention and impress him with your humanity.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ Carmody said.

  ‘It’s not so simple as it sounds. Maudsley is an extremely busy being with a great deal on his mind. He is a highly gifted engineer, you know, and a dedicated one. But he tends to be absentminded, especially when he is trying out a new process.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t sound too serious.’

  ‘It’s not – for Maudsley. It could be considered no more than an amusing foible, if it were not for the fact that he absentmindedly tends to view everything as raw material for his processes. An acquaintance of mine, Dewer Harding, came to him some time ago with an invitation to a party. Poor Dewer failed to capture his attention.’