A Sense of Infinity

by Howard L. Myers

  "No question to ask. You see, Mark, my curiosity about males is strictly physical."

  "Oh? And how do you express your curiosity?"

  "Very skillfully. Otherwise, I wouldn't be on Avalon. Let's go eat."

  What annoyed Keaflyn was that the data he was getting on Avalon was subjective, anecdotal stuff, not at all the hard, measurable observations he needed for his investigation. This was doubly irksome because his mind was temporarily free of Neg and pleasure-impress, and he felt he could do some excellent work if he had the opportunity.

  He could only hope the Kelkontar, operating without his guidance, was doing better than he. He had, of course, instructed the ship to observe and record all possible data while he was away. But he had a hunch he would leave Avalon with no more solid information than had those pioneer spacemen who had stumbled across this planet and made a legend of it.

  He frowned at the thought. Those earlier visitors, he was sure, hadn't found Avalon in orbit around Lumon's Star, although this was certainly the logical place for such a planet. As a stability, it would need a stable sun. But the legends suggested Avalon could hop about freely through the galaxy . . . or perhaps projections of it could. That thought made him wonder how real his present experiences were.

  Maybe his ship could tell him. An urgent desire to find out kept his stay on Avalon from becoming lengthy. Despite his realization that he did not belong and as an outsider would never be able to understand the activities that went on here, he was loving every minute of his sojourn. And he knew somehow, without being told, that the moment he returned to the ship his visit would be over.

  But return he did. After cycling himself through the lock he paused, looking inward. No, the act of entering the ship hadn't turned on the giggle and the Neg. The only change he could sense in himself was one of a return to reality from . . . from whatever Avalon was. There was a feeling of loss in that, but it was not overwhelming.

  "Kelly, have you been observing and recording?" he asked.

  "Yes, Mark. It's all on tape. Lift-off instructions?"

  "No lift-off," Keaflyn snapped. "We're going to stay right here while I study your findings. Tell me in general what you have while you run off the summaries."

  "Okay. The data indicates this to be an undeveloped Earth-type planet, Mark."

  "I know that's what it looks like. But what did you detect that didn't support that appearance?"

  "Nothing, Mark."

  "Nothing?" Keaflyn pondered this. "What about processes of geologic change? You were here long enough to note their absence."

  "They were not absent, Mark. The nearby brook is carrying a normal load of dissolved minerals and fine silt. Also, a two-decimeter segment of its bank caved in and washed away while I was recording."

  Keaflyn giggled. "Then this planet must be so stable that it can afford to appear unstable."

  "We are no longer on the planet, Mark," the ship reported.

  Keaflyn realized that his giggle should have made him suspect as much. "But I told you no lift-off!" he griped.

  "I did not lift off," the Kelkontar replied. "The planet is no longer here."

  "Let me look."

  The viewscreen lit up to survey the heavens. Lumon's Star was a glowing sun, just where it should be against the stellar background. But there was no planet. Keaflyn recalled that the spacemen who had claimed visits to Avalon in the past had never been able to find it for a second visit.

  He stared at the screen and chuckled. A dream? No, it couldn't have been that, not with all the data the ship had recorded. Also, it didn't have the feel of an ended dream. It was as if he had just finished reading an absorbing, fantastic tale and had closed the book. Avalon was real, all right, but was not of his reality. Perhaps it was better than his own—more solid in its way, more stable, more senior than the universe he knew. He had coexisted with it for a little while . . . and that was all he had any right to expect. Sojourns in magic lands were of necessity brief.

  "Well, back to the mundane, Kelly," he laughed painfully. "Set warp for Bensor."

  Chapter 7

  There was no point in advertising his return to Bensor, he decided. A call on his parents in his afflicted condition would give them no pleasure and do him no good. And while the Sect Dualers had no special reason to expect him to show up on his home planet at this time, they could probably be alert to that possibility . . . if they were still out to finish him and his Neg.

  Thus, Keaflyn did not notify the city directory of Bensor-on-Bensor of his arrival. Instead, he put the Kelkontar down at a small ship-park on the outskirts—one patronized mostly by in-system traffic—where he could live aboard during his stay rather than take an apartment. That would keep records of his presence to a minimum. The Neg, only mildly troublesome during the flight from Lumon's Star, turned on the pain within minutes after his arrival. His grin became a grimace that he was self-conscious about displaying in public—normal people just didn't wear such expressions. But he had to move about the city; his business here was of a kind that almost had to be handled in person.

  Attempts to concentrate on keeping a blank face were only partially successful. He could do it only for as long as he did concentrate. And a blank face wouldn't solve the problem, anyway—there were so damned many distress-sensitives about. Not full telepaths, of course; Keaflyn wasn't sure a full telepath existed. But many people, such as Tinker and Alo Felston, could catch the peculiar radiations of a sorely troubled mind. Such radiations could not be picked out clearly from any distance in a well-populated city, the way Felston had located him in the isolation of the Sonora Desert. Still, any sensitive he got close to might become troublesomely helpful and inquisitive.

  The only thing to do was finish his business as quickly as possible and get back into space.

  He debarked from his ship and hailed a robocar.

  "Where to, sir?" the car asked as he climbed in.

  "Donflannis Instras Corporation, by way of Central Boulevard," he instructed, settling back.

  "Yes, sir. A verification message, sir?"

  Keaflyn considered the idea. If he arrived at Donflannis Instras without advance notice, he might encounter delaying red tape that would bring him into close contact with several people before he reached John Donflannis. There would be some chance of that at best, since he had made no advance appointment.

  "Yes," he said. "Message John Donflannis the Jumblejunk Kid will arrive in (blank) minutes." He giggled over the nickname John Donflannis had stuck on him—a result of the numerous one-of-a-kind devices the corporation had fabricated on Keaflyn's order.

  "Nine minutes, sir," responded the robocar, filling in the blank.

  "Thank you."

  Keaflyn tried to keep himself exteriorized and his distress down by watching the scenery along Central Boulevard. The one-hundred-meter-wide thoroughfare had an urban look almost antiquarian in atmosphere. Massive durastone buildings soared into the clean, sunny air on both sides, interspersed with frequent cross-streets. There was a fair flow of robocar traffic, and Keaflyn could see a number of strolling pedestrians on the walkways.

  Unlike most cities, Bensor-on-Bensor was not mobile. It had grown up around the Resistant Globe, at the spot where the Globe had been discovered by the first explorers from Earth. For many years, that gleaming, immovable stability had been the city's prime reason for being, as visitors flocked in to study or merely marvel at the giant mirror-bright object. But the city had long since outgrown its tourist-trap status to become the planetary capital and industrial center.

  Being permanently placed was an inconvenience in some respects. The weather was atrocious at times, and no effort was made to control it, since humanity had long ago decided that planetary ecologies were far too easily wrecked by environmental regulation. And unlike such cities as Splendiss-on-Terra, the Bensor capital could not escape winters or drought by following the more pleasant seasons.

  Moreover, since the city did not move, neither did the buildi
ngs shift about relative to each other; thus the city's heavy, large buildings, many of them no longer ideally suited for their purposes or for their locations with respect to surrounding structures and activities. Many persons remarked that Bensor-on-Bensor was downright backtracky, but Keaflyn considered that an exaggeration. True, an occasional building, too outmoded to meet a present need, stood dark and deserted amid the bustle of midtown activity. And now and then, such a structure would be demolished on the site, to make way for something more useful. But there was no real decay and certainly nothing resembling a slum.

  At the most, Keaflyn mused with a chuckle, the city was no more than four centuries backtracky, and you had to go back twice that far for the really grim filth and fester.

  Central Boulevard ran tangent to Globe Circus, and he got a quick glimpse of the stability in passing. The sight brought a question to his mind: When he reached the stage of his studies where he needed to run tests on the Globe, how was he going to manage it in his afflicted condition? Concerned sensitives would be sure to pester him. And what about the Sect Dualers? He could hardly set up his instruments on Globe Circus without attracting entirely too much attention.

  Well, that was a problem to think about, but he had more immediate concerns. Still, he didn't want to leave the city without paying the Resistant Globe his respects with more than a passing glance. Perhaps he could come back by and stop for a while at a time of day when few people were around.

  John Donflannis stepped into the reception court of Donflannis Instras just as the robocar drove in. He was grinning as Keaflyn got out.

  "Well, well!" he barked, moving lankily forward to pump Keaflyn's arm. "What kind of no-profit gadget are you going to bug me with this time, Jumblejunk?" Then he took a closer look at his visitor and the grin evaporated. "What's wrong with you, Mark?" he asked with concern.

  "Nothing to fret about, John," Keaflyn managed to say without laughing. "A problem I can't blow, but a couple of friends of mine are working on it."

  "Come on into my office," said Donflannis.

  Keaflyn followed him in, was seated, and accepted a drink. "John, do you have any Sect Dualers working for you?" he asked.

  "Sect Dualers?" Donflannis echoed blankly. "Who? Oh, yes! I remember who they are now. The contralife bunch. No, none of them in the shop that I know of. Why do you ask?"

  Keaflyn told him briefly about the impinging Neg and the drastic actions to counter it taken by the Sect Dualer Arnod Smath on Earth. After Donflannis finished exploding with rage, Keaflyn added:

  "I'm sure the Neg is really riding me, John, but not the way the Dualists seem to think. All it can do is make me feel lousy, and its aim seems to be to keep me from my work by doing just that. Needless to say, I don't want to run into any more characters like Arnod Smath. I'm trying to keep my presence on Bensor quiet and want to get away as soon as possible. Also"—Keaflyn paused and pulled a sheaf of drawings out of his jacket—"here are the designs for a special Lumon probe I'd like you to build for me. I want it this lifetime, because I understand this may be my last as a capable human. I have to hurry."

  "Okay," said Donflannis, glancing rapidly through the drawings. "You said someone was working on this mental problem you have . . . "

  "Yes. You remember my talking about Tinker? She's an ego-field therapist and is going to research this pleasure-impress thing. A man named Alo Felston, who's sensitive to lower animals, is working with her. Tinker may be ordering some psionic equipment from you; I gave her your name."

  "Sounds like another no-profit job," Donflannis grumbled. "Thanks a lot." He was still examining the drawings.

  "I'd say from these plans that you think there's a spacewarp inside Lumon's Star. Right?"

  Keaflyn laughed. "More like one times ten to the umpteenth power warps, atom-sized. Quantums of warp. Warpicles. Here, you'd better read my prelim on Lumon's Star so you'll know what the new probe will be dealing with." He brought a tape spool out of his pocket and handed it across the desk.

  "Oh, a report all ready for publication," remarked Donflannis, after running the first few frames through his desk viewer.

  "Yeah," said Keaflyn, suddenly struck by an idea. "Say, John, the rest of my business on Bensor is to nurse that report through the mill at Science Reporting Service. If I had someone who understood its contents to act as my agent, I could scram right away."

  Donflannis gave him a wry look. "Meaning me?"

  Keaflyn grinned and nodded.

  In a mock-syrupy voice Donflannis said, "What's an old friend for, Mark, except to be imposed upon? Sure, I'll see this into print for you. But let's make sure I know what it's all about first."

  "Okay, and many thanks, John."

  After a marathon work session that lasted well into the evening, Keaflyn and Donflannis parted, both of them well satisfied that Donflannis had a clear understanding of the probe his company was to make and of the report he was to handle. Keaflyn declined an invitation to the Donflannis home, feeling that his affliction could make him a rather jarring visitor in a household that included two small children.

  He stepped out into the semigloom of the company's reception court and discovered it was drizzling rain. At that moment a cruising robocar rolled into the turnaround, and he hailed it, pleased with this minor stroke of luck.

  "Where to, sir?" the car asked as he ducked inside. The late hour and the drizzle, it occurred to him, could make this an ideal opportunity to observe the Resistant Globe without a lot of people around. "Globe Circus," he instructed.

  "Yes, sir."

  The car pulled out into the street. Keaflyn leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to relax. The day with Donflannis had been one of fruitful accomplishment, but his constant effort to conceal the worst of his physical distress while also keeping his hysteria buttoned up had made it a day of strain.

  He grimaced. The last few hours had been a minor trauma, he mused unhappily. Something had to be done about his ache . . . but what? Previous bouts with it had been brief, but now it had been on full-power all day. If only the Arlan Siblings and the Calcutta's delightful pool were handy, to make the Neg beat a retreat . . . but the Calcutta was probably a week away, in the vicinity of Vega. What else would be pleasurable and was available? Not a thing that seemed impressive at the moment. What about some old-fashioned medication? It had been centuries since he had taken a painkiller, but it was worth a try. The ship probably had information on how to synthesize aspirin. He decided to ask when he returned to the Kelkontar.

  Meanwhile, closed eyes were keeping him too interiorized, making him more aware of the pain. He opened them and looked out at the rain. "Aren't we there yet?" he asked irritably.

  "We'll arrive shortly, sir," the car responded.

  "Why aren't we on Central Boulevard?"

  "We are following the computed route, sir." Keaflyn stared at the nearby buildings, trying to determine his location. When he did, he decided the routing computer was definitely out of order. He was nowhere near Globe Circus. Or maybe the car had misunderstood him.

  "I want to go to Globe Circus," he said. "Did you get that right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Keaflyn grunted in disgust. There was no point in arguing with an out-of-whack computer. "Stop here," he ordered. "I'll get off here."

  "We'll arrive shortly, sir."

  "Never mind that! Stop!"

  "Well arrive shortly, sir."

  "Oh, damn!" Keaflyn yanked at the door handle, planning to leave the car on the move. The handle would not budge.

  Only then did it dawn on him that he was being kidnapped. This robocar had obviously been rigged and had been waiting especially for him when he left the Donflannis building. The Sect Dualers!, he realized with a feeling of panic. But who had tipped them off he was there?

  Coldly, he pushed down the fear that was making him giggle explosively. If the Sect Dualers were determined enough to grab him, they would have needed no tipoff. They would have had the Donflannis shop—a p
lace Keaflyn was known to visit frequently when on Bensor—under constant surveillance.

  Was there no way out of this damned robocar?

  He was searching wildly for some possibility when the car pulled into a building and stopped. A door clanged shut behind it and lights came on. When the car door opened, Keaflyn found himself gazing at two men armed with pistols.

  "Get out, please, Mr. Keaflyn," one of them said.

  He felt too tired to move. "Why should I bother?" he chuckled. "You guys have some goofy ideas, but you're no more capable of murder than I am. Go ahead and shoot, if you can."

  Several seconds passed in silence. Then one of the men shoved his pistol under his belt and motioned his companion to do the same. Then they leaped forward quickly, grabbed Keaflyn by the arms and lifted him bodily from the car.

  "This way, Mr. Keaflyn," one said as they hustled him along. He got his feet under him and let them guide him into the depths of the building, realizing that the feeling of overwhelming tiredness had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

  Keaflyn now perceived, for the first time and with precision, exactly what the Neg was trying to do to him! He laughed loudly and boisterously.

  The men led him into a dimly lit room where two more men were seated. One was Arnod Smath.

  "Well, we meet again, doctor," laughed Keaflyn. Smath regarded him gravely.

  "Regrettably, Mark," he replied, after a moment. "I should have dealt more adequately with the problem the first time. You realize we don't enjoy this?"

  "I imagine not," Keaflyn chortled. "I've been told the guilt of the destroyer is as traumatic as the damage to the destroyed. But I'm not inclined to offer my sympathy." The other seated man spoke up. "We understand you've been aboard the Calcutta since Dr. Smath saw you."

  Keaflyn grinned at him in silence.

  "Why did the Arlans turn you loose?" the man asked.

  "Because they know a damn sight more than you guys and are far less sure they know everything," Keaflyn snapped.

  "Meaning what?"