Journey Beyond Tomorrow

by Robert Sheckley

  to put me here, now, with this crucial coded document in my hand."

  Our spy feels exalted. But then he asks himself, "Am I not being dogmatic in insisting, at the very start of my investigation, that this document is a true ciphered map and no other thing? Experience has taught me the painful lesson that men are capable of devious thinking. I myself am the living proof of that, for my cunning ways of thinking and acting have enabled me to remain hidden in the midst of my enemies, and to discover many of their secrets. Remembering that, don't I do them an injustice not to allow them the possibility of similar cunning?

  "Very well," the spy says. "Even though reason and instinct tell me that the map is true in every respect, and misleading only because I do not have the key to the cipher, I must admit the possibility of it being false in part, and therefore true only in part. There are good reasons one could give for this assumption. Suppose the true part of the map is the only part that was needed by the official I stole it from. He, armed with a prior knowledge I do not have, would follow only the part that is true and pertinent to his work. Being the dull civil servant he is, and above all being uninterested in maps and ciphers, he would simply follow the true part to his office, and would ignore the false part. The map itself, with its false section joined so cleverly to the true, would not bother him. And why should it? His work has nothing to do with maps. He has no more interest in the truth or falseness of the map than I have in the details of his petty job. Like me, he has no time to worry about complicated matters that do not concern him. He can use the map without doing violence to his feelings."

  The spy is amused and saddened when he thinks of this man, using the map but having no interest in it. How strange people are! How odd that the official merely made use of the map, but never questioned its mysterious nature; while the spy knows that the only important matter is a complete understanding of the map and what it represents. From this understanding all other things will flow, and the secrets of the entire building will be accessible. This seems so obvious to him that he can't understand the official's lack of concern with the map. The spy's own interest seems to him so natural, so necessary, so universal, that he is al-

  most led to believe that the official is not human, but is rather a member of some other species.

  "But no," he tells himself. "It may feel that way, but the real difference between the official and me probably lies in heredity, or in environmental influences, or something like that. I must not let it disturb me. I have always known how strange and unknowable human beings are. Even spies, the most easily understood people in the world, have different methods and hold different attitudes. Yes, it is a strange world, and I have very little knowledge of it. What do I know of history, psychology, music, art, or literature? Oh, I could hold a sensible conversation on those subjects, but deep in my heart I know that I know nothing about them."

  The spy is unhappy about this. But then he thinks, "Luckily, there is one thing I do understand. That is spying. No man can do everything, and I have done very well to become the expert I am in my own field. In that expertness lies my hope and my salvation. In that very narrowness lies my true depth, and my yardstick with which to test the world. After all, I know a great deal about the history and psychology of spying, and I have read most of the literature of spying. I have looked at the famous paintings of spies, and have frequently heard the well-known opera about spies. Thus, my depth gives me breadth. My deep knowledge of this one thing gives me a firm base in the world. I can stand upon that base and look at other matters with a certain perspective.

  "Of course," the spy reminds himself, "I must never make the error of thinking that all things can be reduced to a matter of spying and its techniques. Even if this appears to be the case, it is the sort of simplification an intelligent man must avoid. No, spying is not everything! It is merely the key to everything."

  Having established that, the spy goes on to say, "Spying is not everything; but luckily for me, this matter of the map does concern spying. Maps are the very heart of spying, and when I hold a map in my hand and know that the government made it, then I am dealing with a problem for which I have a special competency. A map in cipher is of particular concern to spying, as is a map that is partially false. Even a map that was wholly false would necessarily concern spying."

  Now the spy is ready to analyze the map. He tells him-

  self, "There are three possibilities. First, the map is true, and in cipher. In that case, I must decode it, using all my patience and skill.

  "Second, the map is only partially true, and in cipher. In that case I will determine which is the true part, and then decode it. That might seem difficult to a person who knows nothing about the work; but to the expert it is the sort of difficulty that can be overcome. And as soon as I have decoded the tiniest fraction of the map's true portion, all the rest will open for me. That would leave the false portion, which someone else might throw away. But I would not. I would treat the false portion exactly as I would treat the entire map if it were false, which is possibility number three.

  "Third, if the entire map is false, I must see what kind of information I can extract from that falseness. Granted that the idea of a false government map is absurd, let's say that is the case. Or rather, let's say that falseness was the in-tention of the makers of the map. In such a case I would have to ask, how does one draw a false map?

  "It is no easy matter, that I know. If the mapmaker works in this building, moves up and down its corridors, steps into and out of its offices, then he knows the building as no other person could. If this man tries to draw a false map, how can he avoid inadvertently drawing some portion of the true building?

  "He can't, really. The truth in which he is steeped would render his quest for absolute falseness impossible. And if by accident he drew any portion of the true map, I could infallibly find that true part, and all of the building's jealously guarded security would be as nothing.

  "But let's assume that the high officials are aware of all this and have given careful study to the problem of constructing a false map. Let's give them the benefit of every doubt within the necessities of the situation. They know that the map, in order to serve its purpose, must be drawn by a skilled mapmaker who will make it conform to the logical rules for maps and for buildings; and that the map must be false, and not true even inadvertently.

  "To solve the problem, let us say that the high officials find a civilian mapmaker who has no knowledge of the building. He is brought to the place blindfolded, given a carefully guarded office, and told to draw a map of an

  imaginary building. He does so; but the problem of inadvertent truth still remains. Therefore, a government map-maker who does know the truth must check the map. The government mapmaker checks (and no person but a map-maker would be competent to judge), and he says that this map is excellent since it is entirely false.

  "In that ultimate case, the map is still nothing but a cipher! It has been drawn by a skilled civilian mapmaker, and thus conforms to the general principles that govern the drawing of maps. It is of a building, and conforms to the rules for drawing buildings. It has been judged false; but it has been judged so by an official mapmaker who knew the truth, and was able to decide about every detail of the map on the basis of his knowledge of the true building. The so-called false map, then, is merely a sort of reversed or distorted image of the truth known by the official mapmaker; and the relationship between the true building and the false map has been established through his judgment, since he knew both true and false and judged their dissimilarity. His necessarily intermediary judgment demonstrates the nature of the false map—which, being a logical distortion that conceals the truth, may be called a cipher!

  "And since this cipher follows the accepted rules for maps and buildings, it is susceptible to cipher analysis!"

  This completes the spy's analysis of the three possibilities of the map, all of which can now be reduced to one: that the map is true, and in cipher.


  Dazed by this discovery, the spy says, "They thought they could trick me, but it cannot be done in my chosen field. In my search for truth, I have lived all my life by falsehood and deceit; but I have always known my own reality. Because of myself and my search, I above air* men know that there is no such thing as falsehood, and that everything is either the truth or a cipher. If it is the truth, I follow it; and if it is a cipher, I solve it A cipher, after all, is merely a concealed truth!"

  At last the spy is happy. He has moved through the deepest perplexities, and has had the courage to face the most terrible possibilities. His reward is now before him.

  For now, paying strict attention to the map, and holding that well-made creation with loving care, the spy begins the task that is the culmination of his life, and which

  eternity would not give him time enough to complete. He begins his attempt to decipher the false map.

  THE MAPMAKER'S EXPLANATION

  When the colonel had finished, he and Joenes stood silent for a while. Then Joenes said, "I can't help feeling sorry for that spy."

  "It was a sad story," the colonel said. "But then, all men's stories are sad."

  "If the spy is caught, what will his punishment be?"

  "He has already imposed it on himself," the colonel replied. "His punishment is to decipher the map."

  Joenes could think of no worse fate. He asked, "Do you catch many spies here in the Octagon?"

  "To date," the colonel said, "not a single spy has succeeded in passing our outer security measures and penetrating into the building proper."

  The colonel must have noticed a look of disappointment on Joenes's face, for he added quickly, "That, however, does not invalidate my story. If a spy did get in here in spite of all security, he would behave just as I told you. And believe me, spies are caught every week in the network of outer defenses."

  "I didn't notice any defenses," Joenes said.

  "Of course not. For one thing, you aren't a spy. For another, security knows its work well enough not to reveal its presence, but only to act when necessary. That is how matters stand at present. For the future, when more cunning spies are born, we in Cartography have our false maps."

  Joenes nodded. He was eager now to continue his own job, but unsure how to go about it. Deciding on indirection, he asked the colonel, "Are you convinced that I am not a spy?"

  "Everyone is a spy to some extent," the colonel said. "But in regard to the special meaning you imply, yes, I am quite convinced that you are not a spy."

  "Well then," Joenes said, "I must tell you that I am under special orders to go to a certain office here."

  "May I see those orders?" the colonel asked. Joenes handed them over. The colonel studied the orders and gave them back.

  "They seem official," the colonel said. "You should certainly go to that office at once."

  "That is my problem," Joenes said. "The truth is, I'm lost. I tried to follow one of your excellent false maps, and naturally enough I found nothing at all. Since you know I'm not a spy, and also know that I'm on official business, I would appreciate any assistance you could give me."

  Joenes had made this request in a careful and roundabout way, which he thought would be most suitable to the colonel's mentality. But the colonel looked away with a look of embarrassment on his dignified features.

  "I'm very much afraid I can't help you," the colonel said. "I do not have the faintest idea where your office is, and I don't even know what direction to recommend."

  "But that's impossible!" Joenes cried. "You are a cartographer, an official mapmaker of this building. And even though you draw false maps, I'm sure you also draw true ones, since that must be in your nature."

  "All that you say is correct," the colonel said. "Especially that last about my nature. Anyone can deduce the nature of a cartographer, since his nature resides in his work. That work is to draw maps of the most exacting accuracy, maps so precise and lucid that the dullest of men could follow them. My function has been perverted by necessities beyond my control, so I must spend much of my time drawing false maps that give the appearance of truth. But as you have guessed, nothing can stop a genuine mapmaker from drawing genuine maps. I would do it even if it were forbidden. And luckily, it is not forbidden. It is expressly commanded."

  "By whom?" Joenes asked.

  "By the high officials of this building," the colonel said. "They control security, and they use the true maps to aid them in disposing their forces. But of course, the true maps are a mere convenience for them, a bit of paper they refer to as casually as you would glance at your watch to see whether it was three-thirty or three-forty. If necessary they could do without the maps entirely, relying on their knowledge and power. They might find it an annoyance, but not a serious one."

  "If you draw true maps for them," Joenes said, "surely you can tell me where to go now."

  "I can't," the colonel said. "Only the high officials know 114

  the building well enough to go where they want to."

  The colonel saw Joenes's look of disbelief. He said, "I know how unreasonable all this must sound to you. But you see, I draw only one section of the building at a time; no other method would work since the building is so vast and so complex. I draw my section and send it to a high official by messenger, and later I draw another section, and so on. Perhaps you think I could combine my knowledge of the various parts and know the whole? I tell you at once that I cannot. For one thing, there are other cartographers who draw parts of the building that I never have time to see. But even if I mapped the entire structure by myself, piece by piece, I could never combine all those pieces into an understandable unity. Any one portion of the building seems comprehensible to me, and I represent it with great accuracy on paper. But when it comes to understanding all the countless sections I have mapped, then I become confused, I can't tell one part from the other. And if I think about it for very long my sleep and appetite are affected, I smoke too much, I find solace in drink, and my work suffers. Sometimes, when these bad spells are on me, I make inaccuracies, and I do not perceive my errors until the officials send that portion of the map back for revision. This shakes my faith in my own proven abilities; I determine to end my bad habits and stick to my task of skillful portrayal of one section at a time, not bothering my head about the whole."

  The colonel paused and rubbed his eyes. "As you may expect," he went on, "my good resolves don't last for long, especially when I am in the company of my fellow cartographers. At those times we sometimes discuss the building and try to determine among us what it really is. Usually we cartographers are shy men; like spies, we prefer to do our work in solitude and not to discuss it with each other. But the solitude we love can become overwhelming; and then we overcome the limits of our nature and talk about the building, each of us adding his increment of knowledge eagerly and without jealousy, all of us bent upon understanding the whole building. But those are the times that prove the most discouraging."

  "Why is that?" Joenes asked.

  "As I told you," the colonel said, "our map sections are sometimes sent back for revision, and we assume that we

  have made mistakes even though there is never any official comment. But when we mapmakers talk together, we occasionally rind that two of us have mapped the same section, each remembering and drawing it differently. That sort of human error is to be expected, of course. But what is disconcerting is when the high officials accept both versions. You can imagine a mapmaker's sensations when he learns something like that!"

  "Do you have any explanation for it?" Joenes asked.

  "Well, for one thing, mapmakers have their individual styles and idiosyncrasies, and that might account for the discrepancy. For another, even the best of memories is untrustworthy, so we might not have mapped the same section. But to my way of thinking these explanations are not sufficient, and only one thing makes sense."

  "What's that?" Joenes asked.

  "I believe that workmen, under orders from the high offici
als, are continually changing portions of the building. It is the only explanation that satisfies me. I have even caught glimpses of what could only be workmen. But even if I hadn't seen them, I would still believe it. Just consider. The high officials are concerned with security, and the finest security possible would be to keep the building in a constant state of change. Next, if the building were static, a single mapmaking survey would be sufficient, instead of the continual drawing and revising we are called upon to do. Finally, the high officials are trying to control a complex and ever-changing world; therefore as the world changes, so must the building. More offices must be built, and old ones have to be altered for new tenants; a row of cubicles must be removed and an auditorium put in its place; whole corridors must be closed down to allow the installation of new wiring and plumbing. And so forth. Some of these changes are extremely evident. Any man can see them, not only a mapmaker. But other changes are made apparently in secrecy, or in parts of the building I do not visit until the work is completed. Then the new looks baffiingly like the old, although I can still sense a difference. It is for those reasons that I believe the building is continually being changed, thus rendering a complete knowledge of it impossible."

  "If this place is as unknowable as you say it is," Joenes

  said, "then how do you find your way back to your own office?"

  "There, I am ashamed to say, my mapmaking still does not help me. I find my office just as everyone else here finds his office—by something that resembles instinct. The other workers don't know this; they think they find their way by some process of the intelligence, some kind of a turn-right turn-left system. Like the spy, they believe they could learn anything about the building if they wanted to. It would make you laugh or cry to hear the statements these people make about the building, even though they have never ventured beyond the corridor that leads to their office. But I, a mapmaker, wander all over the building in my work. Sometimes great changes occur in territory I have already passed, rendering it unrecognizable. Then something that is not knowledge guides me back to my office, exactly as it guides the office workers."