Dimension of Miracles

by Robert Sheckley

  ‘Your race is doing every bit as well as could be expected,’ Carmody replied, feeling positively Pythian and rather sneaky.

  ‘Good! I thought it would be like that!’ Borg said. ‘We’re a tough race, you know, and most of us have will power and common sense. Do men and reptiles have much trouble co-existing?’

  ‘No, not much trouble,’ Carmody said.

  ‘Glad to hear it. I was afraid the dinosaurs might have become high-handed on account of their size.’

  ‘No, no,’ Carmody said. ‘Speaking for the mammals of the future, I think I can safely say that everybody likes a dinosaur.’

  ‘It’s very decent of you to say that,’ Borg said.

  Carmody mumbled something. He suddenly felt very ashamed of himself.

  ‘The future holds no great anxiety for a dinosaur,’ Borg said, falling into the rotund tones of an after-dinner speaker. ‘But it was not always that way. Our extinct ancestor, the allosaurus, seems to have been a bad-tempered brute and a gluttonous feeder. His ancestor, the ceratosaurus, was a dwarf carnosaur. To judge from the size of his braincase, he must have been incredibly stupid. There were other dawn-age carnosaurs, of course; and before them there must have been a missing link – a remote ancestor from which both the quadruped and the bipedal dinosaurs sprang.’

  ‘The bipedal dinosaurs are dominant, of course?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Of course. The triceratops is a dull-witted creature with a savage disposition. We keep small herds of them. Their flesh rounds out a meal of brontosaurus steak quite nicely. There are various other species, of course. You might have noticed some hadrosaurs as you came into the city.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Carmody said. ‘They were singing.’

  ‘Those fellows are always singing,’ Borg said sternly.

  ‘Do you eat them?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! Hadrosaurs are intelligent! They are the only other intelligent species on the planet, aside from tyrannosaurs.’

  ‘Your son said they were a real problem.’

  ‘Well, they are,’ Borg said, a little too defiantly.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They’re lazy. Also sullen and surly. I know what I’m talking about; I’ve employed hadrosaurs as servants. They have no ambition, no drive, no stick-to-it-iveness. Half the time they don’t know who hatched them, and they don’t seem to care. They don’t look you forthrightly in the eye when they speak to you.’

  ‘They sing well, though,’ Carmody said.

  ‘Oh, yes, they sing well. Some of our best entertainers are hadrosaurs. They also do well at heavy construction, if given supervision. Their appearance works against them, of course, that duckbilled look … But they can’t help that. Has the hadrosaur problem been solved in the future?’

  ‘It has,’ Carmody said. ‘The race is extinct.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s best that way,’ Borg said. ‘Yes, I really think it’s best.’

  Carmody and Borg conversed for several hours. Carmody learned about the problems of urban reptilian life. The forest-cities were becoming increasingly crowded as more and more tyrannosaurs and hadrosaurs left the countryside for the pleasures of civilization. A traffic problem of some severity had sprung up in the last fifty years. Giant saurischians like to travel fast and are proud of their quick reflexes. But when several thousand of them are rushing through a forest at the same time, accidents are bound to happen. The accidents were often severe: when two reptiles, each weighing forty tons, meet head-on at thirty miles an hour, broken necks are the most likely result.

  These were not the only problems, of course. The overcrowded cities were a symptom of an exploding birthrate. Saurischians in various parts of the world lived on the edge of starvation. Disease and warfare tended to thin their numbers, but not enough.

  ‘We have these and many other problems,’ Borg said. ‘Some of our finest minds have given way to despair. But I am more sanguine. We reptiles have seen difficult times before and have won through. We shall solve these problems just as we have solved all others. To my way of thinking, there is an innate nobility about our race, a spark of conscious, unquenchable life. I cannot believe that this will be extinguished.’

  Carmody nodded and said, ‘Your people will endure.’ There really was nothing for him to do but lie like a gentleman.

  ‘I know it,’ Borg said. ‘It is always good, however, to receive confirmation. Thank you for that. And now I suppose you would like to speak with your friends.’

  ‘What friends?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘I refer to the mammal standing directly behind you,’ Borg said.

  Carmody turned quickly and saw a short, fat, bespectacled man in a dark business suit, with a briefcase and an umbrella under his left arm. ‘Mr Carmody?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m Carmody,’ Carmody said.

  ‘I am Mr Surtees from the Bureau of Internal Revenue. You have given us quite a chase, Mr Carmody, but the IRS always gets its man.’

  Borg said, ‘This is none of my concern.’ He exited, making very, little noise for so large a tyrannosaurus.

  ‘You have some unusual friends,’ Mr Surtees said, gazing at the departing Borg. ‘But that is no concern of mine, though it may be of some interest to the FBI. I am here solely in regard to your 1965 and 1966 tax returns. I have in my briefcase an extradition order, which I think you will find in order. My time machine is parked just outside of this tree. I suggest that you come along quietly.’

  ‘No,’ said Carmody.

  ‘I beg you to reconsider,’ said Surtees. ‘The case against you can be settled to the mutual satisfaction of all concerned. But it must be settled at once The government of the United States does not like to be kept waiting. Refusal to obey an order of the Supreme Court –’

  ‘I told you, no!’ Carmody said. ‘You might as well go away. I know who you are.’

  For this was the predator beyond any doubt. Its mimicry of an Internal Revenue man had been unbelievably clumsy. Both the briefcase and the umbrella were jointed to the left hand. The features were fair, but an ear had been forgotten. And, worst of all, the knees were hinged backwards.

  Carmody turned and walked away. The predator stood there, not following, presumably unable to follow. It gave a single cry of hunger and rage. Then it disappeared.

  Carmody had little time for self-congratulation, however, for a moment later, he disappeared.

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘Well, come in, come in.’

  Carmody blinked. He was no longer exchanging views with a dinosaur in the Cretaceous age. Now he was somewhere else. He was in a small, dingy room. The floor was of stone, chilly to his feet. The windows were covered with soot. Tall candles trembled uneasily in the draught.

  A man was seated behind a high rolltop desk. The man had a long nose jutting out of a long, bony face. His eyes were cavernous. There was a brown mole in the middle of his left cheek. His lips were thin and bloodless.

  The man said, ‘I am the Honourable Clyde Beedle Seethwright. And you are Mr Carmody, of course, whom Mr Maudsley so kindly referred to us. Do take that chair, sir. I trust that your trip from Mr Maudsley’s planet was a pleasant one?’

  ‘It was fine,’ Carmody said, sitting down. He knew he was being ungracious, but the abrupt transitions were beginning to get him down.

  ‘And Mr Maudsley is well?’ Seethwright said, beaming.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Carmody said. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Didn’t the clerk tell you on your way in?’

  ‘I didn’t see any clerk. I didn’t even see myself come in.’

  ‘My, my,’ Seethwright said, and clucked mildly. ‘The reception room must have gone out of phase again. I’ve had it fixed a dozen times, but it keeps on desynchronizing. It is vexing for my clients, and even worse for my poor clerk, who goes out of phase with it and sometimes can’t get back to his family for a week or more.’

  ‘That is a real tough break,’ Carmody said, and found himself near hysteria. ‘If you don’t mind
,’ he said, keeping a tight control on his voice, ‘just tell me what this place is and how I’m supposed to get home from here.’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ Mr Seethwright said. ‘Perhaps a cup of tea? No? This “place,” as you refer to it, is The Galactic Placement Bureau. Our articles of incorporation are on the wall, if you would care to read them.’

  ‘How did I get here?’ Carmody asked.

  Mr Seethwright smiled and pressed his fingertips together. ‘Very simply, sir. When I received Mr Maudsley’s letter, I had a search made. The clerk found you on Earth B3444123C22. This was obviously the wrong place for you. I mean to say, Mr Maudsley had done his best, but he is not in the placement service. Therefore, I took the liberty of transporting you here. But if you wish to return to that aforementioned Earth –’

  ‘No, no,’ Carmody said. ‘I was just wondering how … I mean, you said that this is a Galactic Placement Service, right?’

  ‘The Galactic Placement Service,’ Seethwright corrected gently.

  ‘OK. So I’m not on Earth.’

  ‘No indeed. Or, to put it more rigorously, you are not on any of the possible, probable, potential or temporal worlds of the Earth configuration.’

  ‘OK, fine,’ Carmody said. He was breathing heavily. ‘Now, Mr Seethwright, have you ever been to any of those Earths?’

  ‘I’m afraid I have never had the pleasure. My work keeps me pretty well tied to the office, you see, and I spend holidays at my family’s cottage at –’

  ‘Right!’ Carmody thundered abruptly. ‘You’ve never been to Earth, or so you claim! In that case, why in God’s name are you sitting in a goddamned room like out of Dickens with candles yet and wearing a stove-pipe hat? Hey? Just let’s hear you answer that one, because I already know the damned answer, which is that some son of a bitch must have drugged me and I dreamed this whole damned cockomamie thing including you, you grinning hatchet-faced bastard!’

  Carmody collapsed in the chair, breathing like a steam engine and glaring triumphantly at Seethwright. He waited for everything to dissolve, for funny shapes to come and go, and for himself to wake up in his own bed in his own apartment, or maybe in a friend’s bed or even in a hospital bed.

  Nothing happened. Carmody’s sense of triumph trickled away. He felt utterly confused, but he was suddenly too tired to care.

  ‘Are you quite over your outburst?’ Mr Seethwright asked frigidly.

  ‘Yes, I’m over it,’ Carmody said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t fret,’ Seethwright said quietly. ‘You have been under a strain; one appreciates that. But I can do nothing for you unless you keep control of yourself. Intelligence may lead you home; wild emotional outbursts will get you nowhere.’

  ‘I really am sorry,’ Carmody said.

  ‘As for this room, which seems to have startled you so, I had it decorated especially for you. The period is only approximate – the best I could do on short notice. It was done to make you feel at home.’

  ‘That was thoughtful of you,’ Carmody said. ‘I suppose that your appearance –’

  ‘Yes, precisely,’ Mr Seethwright said, smiling. ‘I had myself decorated as well as the room. It was no trouble, really. It is the sort of little touch which so many of our clients appreciate.’

  ‘I do appreciate it, as a matter of fact,’ Carmody said. ‘Now that I’m getting used to it, it’s sort of restful.’

  ‘I hoped you would find it soothing,’ Seethwright said. ‘As for your proposition that all of this is happening to you in a dream – well, it has some merit.’

  ‘It has?’

  Mr Seethwright nodded vigorously. ‘It has definite merit as a proposition, but it has no validity as a statement of your circumstances.’

  ‘Oh,’ Carmody said, and sat back in the chair.

  ‘Strictly speaking,’ Seethwright went on, ‘there is no important difference between imaginary and real events. The opposition you create between them is entirely verbal. You are not dreaming any of this, Mr Carmody; but I mention that only as a point of incidental information. Even if you were dreaming it all, you would have to pursue the same course of action.’

  ‘I don’t understand all that,’ Carmody said. ‘But I’ll take your word that this is real.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘But the thing I really don’t understand – why is all of this like this? I mean, the Galactic Centre looked a little like Radio City, and Borg the dinosaur didn’t talk like any dinosaur, even a talking dinosaur, ought to talk, and –’

  ‘Please, don’t excite yourself,’ Mr Seethwright said.

  ‘Sorry,’ Carmody said.

  ‘You want me to tell you why reality is the way it is,’ Seethwright said. ‘But there is no explanation for that. You must simply learn to fit your preconceptions to what you find. You must not expect reality to adapt itself to you, except very infrequently. It can’t be helped if things are strange; and it also can’t be helped if things are familiar. Am I getting through?’

  ‘I think so,’ Carmody said.

  ‘Splendid! You’re sure you won’t have some tea?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Then we must see about getting you home,’ Seethwright said. ‘Nothing like the dear old place to pick up one’s spirits, eh?’

  ‘Nothing at all!’ Carmody said. ‘Will it be very difficult, Mr Seethwright?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I would characterize it as difficult,’ Seethwright said. ‘It will be complicated, of course, and rigorous, and even somewhat risky. But I do not consider any of those things to be difficult.’

  ‘What do you consider truly difficult?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Solving quadratic equations,’ Seethwright answered at once. ‘I simply cannot do them, even though I’ve tried a million or more times. That, sir, is a difficulty! Now let us proceed to your case.’

  ‘Do you know where Earth is?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘“Where” poses no problem,’ Seethwright said. ‘You have already been to Where, though it didn’t do you much good, since When was so far off the mark. But now I think we can pin down your particular When without undue travail. It’s the Which which gets tricky.’

  ‘Is that likely to stop us?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Seethwright said. ‘We must simply sort through and find which Which you belong in. The process is perfectly straightforward; like shooting fish in a barrel, as your people would say.’

  ‘I’ve never tried that,’ Carmody said. ‘Is it really easy?’

  ‘That depends upon the size of the fish and the size of the barrel,’ Seethwright told him. ‘It is, for example, nearly effortless to pot a shark in a bathtub; whereas it is a considerable, undertaking to bring down a minnow in a hogshead. Scale is everything. But whichever project is before you, I think you can appreciate its essential straightforwardness and simplicity.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Carmody said. ‘But it occurs to me that my search for Which Earth may be straightforward and simple, but may also be impossible to complete due to the interminability of the series of selections.’

  ‘That’s not quite true but it’s very nicely said,’ Seethwright said, beaming. ‘Complication is often very useful, you know. It helps to specify and identify the problem.’

  ‘Well … What happens now?’

  ‘Now we go to work,’ Seethwright said, rubbing his hands together briskly. ‘My staff and I have put together a selection of Which-worlds. We confidently expect that your world will be one of them. But of course, only you can determine the right one.’

  ‘So I look them over and decide?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Something like that,’ Seethwright said. ‘Actually, you must live them over. Then, as soon as you are sure, signify to us whether we’ve hit your probability-world or a variant. If it’s your world, that’s the end of it. If it’s a variant, then we move you on to the next Which-world.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable enough,’ Carmody said. ‘Are there a lot of these probability-worlds?’

  ‘An intermi
nable number, as you suspected earlier. But we have every hope of early success. Unless –’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless your predator gets to you first.’

  ‘My predator!’

  ‘He is still on your trail,’ Mr Seethwright said. ‘And as you know by now, he is reasonably adept at setting snares. These snares take the form of scenes culled from your own memories. “Terraform scenes,” I suppose we could call them, designed to lull and deceive you, to convince you to walk unsuspecting into his mouth.’

  ‘Will he interfere with your worlds?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Of course he will,’ Seethwright said. ‘There’s no sanctuary in the searching process. On the contrary – the better and more informed the search, the more fraught it is with dangers. You had asked me earlier about dreams and reality. Well, here is your answer. Everything that helps you does so openly. Everything that seeks to harm you does so covertly, by the use of delusions, disguises, and dreams.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything you can do about the predator?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘Nothing. Nor would I if I could. Predation is a necessary circumstance. Even the Gods are eventually eaten by Fate. You will not be an exception to the universal rule.’

  ‘I thought you’d say something like that,’ Carmody said. ‘But can you give me any help at all? Any hints on how the worlds you send me to will differ from the worlds of the predator?’

  ‘To me the differences are obvious,’ Seethwright said. ‘But you and I do not share the same perceptions. You could not make use of my insights, Carmody; nor I of yours. Still, you have managed to elude the predator so far.’

  ‘I’ve been lucky.’

  ‘There you are! I have a great deal of skill, but no luck whatsoever. Who can tell which quality will be most needed in the trials ahead? Not I, sir, and certainly not you! Therefore be of stout heart, Mr Carmody. Faint heart ne’er won fair planet, eh? Look over the worlds I send you to, be extremely cautious of the predator’s scenes of delusion, get out while the getting’s good; but do not be unmanned by fear into passing up your true and rightful world.’