Mozy was trying hard to understand. (I've heard of particles being likened to waveforms,) she said. (Is that what you're talking about?)
(Indeed—) (—reality—) (—in all of its forms—) (—consists of wave structures.) (Many realities coexist—) (—within the same matrix of—) (—wave patterns.)
Mozy answered slowly, (You're saying that my reality is just one of many—in this madhouse? This zoo?)
(As you know it—) (—the space-time—) (—you are accustomed to perceiving—) (—is one coded pattern amid this—) (—chaos—) (—complexity—) (—richness—)
(But how—?)
(Imagine filters—)
Something flickered across the image, changing not only the pattern, but also the tonal quality of the accompanying sound. Certain elements had been subtracted from the patterns visible in the image, rendering it different from, but not necessarily less than, the original. Again, something slid across the view, and then again—layers of visual "filters" imposing themselves over the image. Each time another filter appeared, the pattern changed, diminishing in complexity if not in contrast and boldness. Finally only a single pattern remained, a spiraling expansion of a cone in three dimensions.
(Does that represent our reality?) she asked.
(It might—) (—or this might.) The filters shifted, and now another pattern appeared by itself, a saw-toothed zigzag. (Or this.) There was another shift, and this time two or three patterns were superimposed—patterns that had been present in the full display. In this combination, though, prominent interference fringes appeared, dark bars and radiating spokes, which had not before been visible. Another filter appeared, and now only the interference patterns were visible, and not the waveforms themselves at all. The spokes moved, like slowly turning wheels.
(This might be your reality.)
(Not bad,) she said. (As realities go.)
(But there is a point—) (—to this—) (—a point—) (—to be understood—) There was a feeling of focus, of intense concentration. (Suppose—) said the Talenki, (—that the movements of the patterns—) (—represent—) (—gravitation—) (—or force—) (—and acceleration.)
She hesitated. (Okay.)
The focus sharpened. (To alter the movement—) (—with physical force—) (—requires considerable—) (—transition—) (—of energy.)
(But that's how we move, isn't it? Humans, at least—in physical form?)
(Just so—) (—and we, as well—) (—at times—) (—but see how much easier—) Suddenly the spoke-shaped patterns began rotating faster, and the wheels themselves began to revolve in circular orbits about one another.
Mozy stared. (How did you do that?)
(See again—) (—the individual waveforms.) The filters shifted in succession, allowing a glimpse of each of the individual wave patterns that together produced the spinning, spoke-shaped interference bars. The last one remained visible a moment longer. (Watch.) A tiny point of deflection appeared in that pattern, and that point altered the wave movements in ripples that reverberated through the entire frame of view. The filters changed again, and again the interference patterns were visible, and she observed the spokes moving at first slowly, and suddenly much faster, and in more complex patterns. The Talenki explained: (Small changes—) (—in any of the patterns—) (—which underlie the sum-code—) (—of physical being—) (—can result in large changes—) (—in structure or movement—) (—in the complex space-time—) (—which you know—) (—as physical reality.)
Mozy mulled that over for a long moment, thinking of how the Talenki moved, or seemed to move, through walls as easily as through air. There was much here to be considered.
(These images—) the Talenki continued, (—are metaphorical illustrations—) (—only—) (—but to truly understand—) (—requires perceptions—) (—that to you may seem unnatural.)
(But you have the power to influence other realities?) Mozy asked. (You reach across the boundaries between—)
(—levels of reality—) (—that are coexistent one—) (—with another—) (—yes.)
Mozy hesitated, trying to put it all together. (How . . . then . . . do you actually travel . . . and move this entire world?)
(Difficult to explain—) (—in words clearly—) (—but—) (—you could say that we—) (—change our focus—) (—change the coding—) (—make minute changes in other levels—) (—in lifeless levels—) (—of reality—) (—producing changes of location here—) (—in your space-time—)
(Then that's what you mean by "rippling through space"?) Mozy said slowly.
In reply, the image was changed for her: the Talenki asteroid, a sculpted ball, shimmering and flickering, rippling as it moved through the void. She remembered the confusion she and Kadin had experienced as they'd tracked the asteroid by light and radar, and she recalled Kadin's comment that the phenomenon seemed not to fit their Earth-derived paradigm, and that perhaps in fact what they needed was a new paradigm.
She understood some little part, now, of the paradigm that she and Kadin had been lacking, and she felt a quiet surge of pride in that tiny fragment of knowledge. Kadin's laughter came back to her in memory, and she suddenly laughed, herself, thinking of Earth and Humanity, and the wonderful incompleteness of Humanity's knowledge.
Her laughter shimmered through the Talenki union, stirring the beginnings of a new song, somewhere in a corner of the Talenki world. She searched for N'rrril, and found him leading the song. Feeling his welcome, feeling a sudden rush of affection not only for N'rrril, but for all of the Talenki, she joined the song and guided it, made it her own, a ballad of Earth and Talenki, and of a woman homeward bound, a mother to her people.
Chapter 64
The tracking data from GEO-Four persisted in its puzzling pattern. Major Ellis examined the latest figures and swore. They still didn't add up; they never added up.
Commander Kouralt peered over his shoulder. "Problem?"
Ellis snapped the clipboard. "How the hell can they expect us to make rendezvous if they can't track the damn thing?"
"You just have to be smarter than they are," Kouralt said, slapping him on the shoulder.
Ellis grunted. They'd expected the problem, of course; but that didn't make it any easier. Aquarius could not yet track the object with her own instruments, and was dependent on HQ's tracking network. But the Doppler-ranging figures refused to show a comprehensible trajectory for the target. It would have been one thing if there were a consistent variation from the expected track, but there wasn't, at least not that anyone could find; and the course projections were becoming worse as accuracy was becoming more critical. Ellis sometimes worried that the Talenki would have come and gone before HQ managed to get their trajectory pinned down.
Aquarius's flight plan allowed relatively little room for error. Accelerating at top boost to intercept the alien craft at maximum distance, they were pushing their return fuel limit, and minimizing their maneuvering capacity—not just for matching courses, but also for tactical maneuvering. They hoped to avoid a fighting situation, naturally; but their orders clearly specified that protection of Earth was the mission's highest priority.
Of course, this was a diplomatic encounter, as well. They were to establish contact, and to take no provocative action without authorization. However, they were expected to respond to the situation as it evolved. If peaceful rendezvous and contact failed, Aquarius was Earth's first line of defense against unfriendly action. "Use of force is authorized in the event of unprovoked attack or willful disruption by the other of command communication," stated Mission/Op order 123-A4, subparagraph II-7. Among the implements of force at their command were eight quarter-megaton missiles, to be used only on direct order of HQ and the President . . . or in the event of command disruption through enemy attack.
The thought gave Ellis chills. He was prepared to do as duty required, but he had no desire to be the first to push the button. Though the Talenki were an unknown and potentially threatening entity, Ellis was fully
aware of the importance of this first encounter. And yet, special training notwithstanding, his strongest preparation was in military encounter tactics, as was Kouralt's. They were prepared for the worst; but were they prepared, he wondered, for the best?
News had come yesterday of the departure of yet another spaceship from Earth orbit—a Russian ship, following three days after the departure of the Eastern Alliance's Indira Gandhi. It was unclear whether the two were tracking the alien vessel or simply keeping tabs on the Americans. Either way, their presence could complicate an already difficult situation.
At least, Ellis reflected, they had a good lead, and some time left—to study the aliens' trajectory, and perhaps to discover some clues to their intentions.
He worked the latest batch of figures through the navcom and put the results up on the screen. Scratching his stubbly beard, he took a long look, and whistled. The target was well inside Neptune's orbit now, coming faster even than HQ's last predictions. Ellis shook his head. There might be time for reflection, yet, but it was dwindling fast.
* * *
"God damn it, Leonard—if that's not evidence, what is?" Horst demanded.
Hathorne cleared his throat. He had never seen Horst so angry. "Well, it's obviously suggestive," he said to the holo-image. "But I'm just not sure that it's strong enough to take action on." Hathorne hesitated. Damn the man, getting himself killed before he'd proved the matter one way or the other. It would be impossible now to get evidence, with Armstead alerted.
"Maybe they can't prove he was killed," Horst said, "but the day before he went out, he sat in my office worrying about his personal safety. I, like a fool, told him, They're not going to murder you." Horst shook his head. "Jesus!"
"What was he doing in a damn storage shed, anyway?" Hathorne asked.
"I don't know. He was supposed to be going to the weapons area. That was the last thing he told me."
Hathorne tapped his pen against the table top.
"And that's what I'm most concerned about. It's bad enough that they killed him, which I'm certain they did. What really scares me is why they killed him," Horst said.
Hathorne nodded.
"Well, then—if there are nuclear weapons on that ship, what is the Committee going to do about it?"
"At the moment, there's not much we can do," Hathorne said mildly.
"Dammit, it's a direct violation of the Committee's orders! The ship was to carry minimum defensive weapons only!"
"Yes. I know. But the ship is gone now, and we can't very well recall it," Hathorne answered, displaying a calmness that belied his actual feelings. In truth, he was as angry as Horst, though for somewhat different reasons. "I don't believe Armstead could have done this without the President's knowledge," he said. "And that's what we have to deal with." Which meant that the President had thrown his weight behind Armstead and the military, at the Committee's expense. But it was possible that he could be persuaded to reconsider. The multinational character of the Oversight Committee was taken very seriously by the participating allies, and the undercutting of its authority would not go down easily. The President might yet be brought back to a less militant position.
Horst remained agitated. "Never mind the politics—I just want to know, how could someone even think of doing this? Our first contact, and they send a ship out armed to the teeth—"
"Just between you and me, I'm not sure that it's a totally bad idea," Hathorne said.
"I am," Horst said indignantly.
"I appreciate that. But self-protection is not an insignificant issue. Still, it shouldn't have been done without the Committee's approval, and a clear system of decision and control." Hathorne's mind was whirring as he spoke. It was just possible that this issue, properly handled, could be the lever he needed to shift the balance of power in the Committee; but he would have to time his move carefully. And that meant persuading Horst to sit on his outrage for a while.
Both of them would have to sit on their outrage. Until the moment was right.
* * *
The receptionist had a message for Payne when he arrived at the studio. A Ms. Denine Morgan had been trying to reach him.
Teri's eyebrows flicked upward once. Payne said nothing, and followed her into the office. Finding an empty alcove and desk, he punched in his home number. It took a minute for Denine to answer.
"I tried to call you at your hotel," she said. "You weren't there last night, and you weren't there this morning." She stared at him accusingly.
Payne squirmed a little. "I know, Dee—um—I'm sorry. Things got kind of hectic here. Is something up?"
She stared at him with an unreadable expression. "A call for you—from Stanley Gerschak—that astronomer."
Payne blinked in surprise. "Gerschak? Does this have anything to do with Donny?"
Denine nodded. She stared at him silently, brow furrowed—and finally her anger came out. "Joe, where were you last night? I tried three times to call you."
Payne cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Denine. I know. Jeez. It got so late, I just stayed at Teri's place. I would have called to let you know, but it was late, and I didn't think—" He shrugged and held his breath, hoping she would accept that, at least for the moment. "What . . . did Gerschak say?"
"That you should call. He got some sort of letter from Donny, but didn't say what it was." Denine started to say something more, then hesitated.
A letter—
"Joe . . ." Denine said, her scowl softening into a slightly abashed look. "I guess shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I know the last few days have been hard for you—"
"That's . . . all right," he mumbled.
"No, I shouldn't be questioning your every move." She managed a conciliatory half-smile. "Look, maybe you'd better call him. It could be important."
"Yah," he said. Oh lord, he breathed, I hope so.
After signing off, he rocked back for a moment, thinking. A letter from Donny. Why to Gerschak? Teri walked by, and he told her about the call.
She touched his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" He looked up, and knew at once that he didn't have to tell her about the rest of the exchange with Denine; she read it on his face. She punched him gently on the arm and walked away.
He pulled himself forward and tapped out Gerschak's number.
* * *
A narrow pathway was cleared through the snow to Gerschak's house. Payne paused a moment, watching his breath condense out of the clear air, feeling a curious sense of déjà vu, though he'd not actually been to Gerschak's home before. The astronomer had refused to discuss Donny's letter over the phone, saying only that it was "explosive." He had been quietly dismayed, but not shocked, when Payne told him of Alvarest's fate.
Payne strode to the door. The astronomer lived in a small wood-frame house, white with red trim, with a flagstone walk framed by snow-laden trees. Payne rang the doorbell.
A woman, short, with braided black hair, came to the door. Payne stared at her for a moment, before remembering where he'd seen her: at the Theater of the Sea, last fall, with Gerschak. "Yes?" she said.
He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Gerschak?"
"No. My name's Ronnie Vale."
"Oh, sorry. Is Stanley Gerschak here?"
She frowned. "He's busy in his study. Can I help you?"
"He's expecting me. Joseph Payne."
Her eyebrows went up. "Oh. Come on in." She held the door open, and he squeezed past her into the front room. She closed the door securely against the cold and turned. "Just a minute, I'll get him." Padding down a hallway, she called, "Stanlee!"
Payne unzipped his coat and glanced around the living room. It was cramped and not very tidy looking, with several straight-backed chairs and a short sofa cluttered with books and odds and ends. Knitting needles, yarn, and fabric lay in a heap beneath a table lamp in one corner. A large tiger cat was testing its nails on the top of the couch.
"Go on in," Ronnie said, returning. She shooed the cat before picking up her knitt
ing. "Down the hall, second door on the left," she said when he looked at her inquiringly. Payne nodded and found his way.
Gerschak was peering at a computer printout. He gestured to a chair stacked with more printouts. Payne lifted the stack carefully and set it on the floor. "Trying to get an optical fix on the tachyon source," Gerschak said. "No luck yet. But you want to know what was so urgent, and why I couldn't talk about it over the phone."
Payne nodded.
"An old-fashioned letter." Gerschak dug under the printouts and pulled out an envelope. He slapped it against his palm a few times, reflectively. Then he handed it to Payne. "He says in there to pass it on to you. I guess he figured if he wrote you directly, it might have been intercepted."
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