Star Fall

by David Bischoff

  “Ort Eath,” whispered Todd, fascinated,

  “You bet. Ort Eath, along with his orgabox, which he claimed was the reason he could communicate so well with humans. He actually managed to get himself partially welcomed in that society. Before long, he had one hell of a lot of money—and relations between the Morapns and humans truly improved. Just as my father had visualized. But Ort Eath simply used them to accrue personal wealth.

  “In a different body—not this one—I investigated him. I was tempted to just go ahead and kill him—but I realized soon that his security was too good for that. And then, of course, that would have been stupid. Maybe the Morapns would have wiped out the humans on Raxes Three if I did that. So, I just checked things out.

  “In order to fully investigate Ort Earth. I would have to find some incriminating evidence. The explosion in my father’s lab had been officially dubbed an ‘accident,’ so that wouldn’t stick. So I investigated and explored the various operations that Ort Eath had set up in the two years since he emerged into the Terran business world. I went over his taxes detail by detail. I looked into his trading company. His mining operations. His computer manufacturing corporation. I scrutinized his entire network that, by then, was already bringing in billions of cred a year. He took special interest in the engineering designs that were revolutionizing the starways—and I looked into that. Perfectly legitimate. Clean as a sterilized whistle.

  “‘Leave the guy alone,’ said my superiors after about six standard months. ‘He’s okay. He’s improving things. He’s making money doing it. What more could you possibly want?’ They didn’t particularly like him, but were damned impressed with his money sense and the coins he indirectly put in their own coffers.

  “But on my own time I persisted, especially in the eight years he worked on what he called his magnum opus—the Star Fall. And the frustrating thing about it was everything seemed perfectly okay, all the way down the line. I mean, there was nothing ominous about anything. I thought, my God, maybe either this is really not Isaac—or he is indeed fulfilling the role in an odd way that my father created him for.

  “Until the accident.”

  “Accident?” said Amber. “Like your parents’ accident, I presume.”

  “Not quite. Again, it seemed a perfectly excusable accident, involving two quite brilliant science engineers that Ort Eath had hired. Total immolations of their bodies in a nuclear mishap. Everything pointed to an accident. Except I didn’t believe it. As you can imagine, it conjured up certain memories.”

  “Who were these scientists?” asked Todd.

  “That is part of the reason that the entire scene nudged me awake again after a couple of years of inactivity on the case. One was Vanderbilt Morgenstern, a specialist in the aesthetic design of geo-domes and biospheres. The other was Wolfgang Reither, the poet and composer, specializing in space-art Wagnerian productions.

  “This was about a year ago. It gave me the opportunity to again pester my superiors to put me on the case. It was to work this way. The assignment would stretch to include the actual maiden voyage, at my insistence. So—with a new identity, brain baffles, a spotless resume, I was to squirm my way into Ort Eath’s own security force ... as an agent actually sent from Galactic Central for the specific reason of routing out potential threats to the vessel’s well-being. A double agent. To back me up was to be my friend here”. She pointed at the fallen Blicia. “Done up in that body, with similar mind baffles so she could not be fully probed. She got on at the voyage’s start, along with me in this body.

  “It was very frustrating. Everything about Ort Eath’s operation was totally as promised. For the year before the journey, I could turn up absolutely nothing. Everything seemed above board, highly commendable. Peachy keen and all that.

  “I was actually beginning to believe that I was just a paranoid. I was really enjoying myself on the ship ... Ort Eath didn’t give me much to do, and I had a lot of leisure.

  “Blicia and I managed to have meetings once in a while thanks to a scrambling device I had which changed our conversation to anyone listening. I assigned her to check a certain mining ship, coming in while we orbited Deadrock.

  “The next time I saw her, she wasn’t Blicia.

  “I knew something was wrong. She’d stumbled on something. Been caught. But not successfully deep-probed. Otherwise, Ort Eath would have known about me—and he trusted me enough to detail me to you, Todd. But recently, I went to him with a report. Managed to pick a lock and get in to see him at his private lab. That’s when I noticed the antimatter set-up. Of course, I didn’t actually see it, but I know enough to recognize the magnetic suspension chamber Ort Eath was working on so intently and what the readings on the dials indicated. At first I thought I’d gotten away with it. But obviously, he didn’t want to take the chance. He sent me along to observe your activities, Todd. Just like these other two. Triple-teaming, don’t you think’? Good thing Cog here had everything under control all the time, or I’m sure we’d be buried down here in this tomb.” She shivered and slurped her cold tea. “There’s more, of course. But that’s essentially it. If Ort Eath intended any peaceful use of that antimatter, why would he want to get rid of us?”

  “But what does he intend to do?”

  “Blow up Earth, I suppose,” she said, shrugging.

  Todd dropped his cup.

  “What!?” said Amber. “But ... why? Some sort of frontal attack for a Morapn assault? I can see that the Star Fall is the perfect method for getting the stuff to Earth. But a bit of a long haul for what you say, and a kamikaze mission at that!”

  “No. The Morapns would never attack Terra or any of its colonies. Like I said, they just don’t care. Unless they’re provoked. So. Just suppose that a Morapn Trojan horse comes along through Terran space, straight to the home and spiritual heart of mankind. And, in a stated act of war, destroys that planet. What would the Terran Federation do?”

  “Throw everything at the Morapns!” said Todd, beginning to understand.

  “Exactly. And what then?”

  “The Morapns would crush us,” said Amber. “Essentially conquer us.”

  “Precisely. For their own safety, they’d think they’d have to.” She lit another nic-stick. “Thus, probably, for a time at least, kicking them from their apathy. Out of Gotterdammerung will rise a new order. The renewal of the Morapn empire!”

  “But you say that Ort Eath is part human,” pointed out Todd.

  “Ah, but remember. He hates humans. Obviously, during the years of his disappearance, he has become as Morapn as possible ... most likely he sees this action not merely as revenge… but as some sort of strange consolidation on his part. Become a full Morapn ... a savior of the race. We can only speculate as to why. But what we definitely have to do is to make sure it doesn’t happen,”

  “But how?” said Amber. “I mean, it’s just us against them. And them’s a hell of a lot. Even our own fellow human beings would see us as trying to mess up this operation.”

  “Something has to be done,” said Angharad. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but we’ve got to. And by ourselves.” She looked at them searchingly. “You realize that it may cost us our lives. I’m going back up, no matter what happens. But knowing all this, now, you both have to make your own decisions.”

  Amber’s eyes were alert, excited. Hope seemed to fill them ... hope of redemption, perhaps. “I’d like to see you stop me.”

  Angharad swung her head. “And you, Todd? I know I’ve not been straight with you, but I hope you understand now why. So far, you’ve done nothing of your own volition to get yourself involved with what is going on aboard the Star Fall. You’ve got a life to live. You’ve had precious little of it so far. So it’s your decision. Will you come back up with us?”

  Todd was staring at the mounds thoughtfully, intently searching the shifting, fuzzy glow of the one which sup
ported his leg. He chuckled. Laughed at the absurdity,

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll go. I’ll do what I can. Sometimes I guess you have to be willing to die to really live.” He pointed toward the dais. “But we haven’t heard Cog out. I mean, the principle mystery of this whole thing is his part in it. Cog, it’s your turn to explain now.”

  “Indeed I will, Todd,” answered Cog. “But I will not explain. I will show. All of you touch me. I have much to show you. It was to contact such as you that I left this place.”

  The walls throbbed and pulsed with light spectrums and the three of them—Todd, Angharad, and Amber—stepped upon the dais as though in a trance and placed their hands, overlapping, upon the rounded lump of stuff that was—and wasn’t—the being they knew as Cog.

  And were swept away into ineffable epiphany.

  AS IT OFTEN does, time passed.

  The shipboard weeks phased one into another, the Star Fall drawing nearer, ever nearer to its final stop. Earth. Terra. Telluria.

  Ort Eath was satisfied that everything was secure. All was ready for the final step of his plan. Once the Star Fall was within a hundred kilometers of earth, in orbit, there was nothing that could stop him.

  Nothing.

  The ship stopped briefly at several planets to pick up more passengers, to allow its present passengers to visit these new shores.

  Ort Eath merely collected information on them all. It was business as usual, if planning to destroy the planet Earth could ever be considered such.

  Ort Eath was a dreamer, even now. Like a small boy too dreamy to win the friendship of others his age, he planned their eventual destruction. He really truly wanted to beat them up, to teach them a lesson hard to forget. And Ort Eath had grown very powerful. More than man—more than Morapn. Biologically, intellectually, by every criterion on which a thinking being is judged Ort Eath was a giant—yet still a child. Who held Earth’s fate like a toy.

  The destruction of Earth was a vital part of a Plan. The Plan that was now virtually foolproof. Born of his genius, dedication, and daring, it was perfect.

  Nothing could stop this fate, nothing. He felt like lifting a fist to the darkness in defiance ... Single-handedly, he would defeat it, and life would flower as he saw it necessary.

  Pride filled him with a consummate feeling of nobility.

  It was a brave and lonely thing he was doing.

  A brave and lonely calling to be a god.

  Calmed by the assurance that everything was well, that there were no threats posed upon the Star Fall, Ort Eath walked across his compartment and stood expectantly before the food unit.

  In a moment the order was complete. It stood in the little compartment, pink, frosty, pretty.

  Ort Eath took the strawberry ice cream soda to his lounge chair and drank it very slowly, looking up at the darkness above.

  * * *

  In three standard days, the Star Fall was scheduled to erupt from Underspace on the verge of the Sol system.

  There would be a welcoming flotilla of ships from Terra, out past the orbit of Pluto, to escort the successful space-liner through the elliptic paths of the planets, past the variably cool and frozen heavenly bodies named for Roman deities, past shiny Luna, into a parking orbit ringing Earth itself, home of all mankind, tarnished gem of the galaxy.

  Then the Star Fall would blow up, very close to Earth and, in the fiery blast, Earth itself would be consumed.

  Unleashed antimatter was that powerful.

  On the early “morning” of Death-Day minus three, Todd Spigot, clutching a large satchel, entered the adventure engineering rooms of the Star Fall.

  He was not immediately observed.

  There had been a party the night before,

  The scene that met Todd’s eye was pure chaotic detritus—the debris of bacchanalia. Snoring men and women lay sprawled about in various attitudes of unconscious abandon.

  The stale scent of the night before lingered with smells of exhaled alcohol, smoke of a dozen varieties, and unperfumed body odor. Murmurs, groans, and snores assailed this atmosphere with a spirit of uneasy peace,

  Todd stepped over an outstretched arm, a flung-out leg draped inartistically over the arm of a terminal chair and squared with the long computer file. He tried to remember his instructions. Which was the one that opened?

  He saw it down near the end. He sidled down the row past a woman with a pair of jockey shorts draped over her head. Shortly, he reached his destination.

  He set down his satchel. He took out his magnetic lock scrambler and applied it to the console access. A plasteel panel gave way. Light seeped into darkness, illuminating wiggles and squiggles of boards and more boards of microminiaturized chip circuits and a small hollowed-out portion, the back of which was riddled with red and yellow miniwire. So far, so good. Todd leaned over to unwrap the satchel.

  A yelp ripped raucously nearby, Todd was so startled he jerked his head up, colliding with the overhang of the console. Extracting himself, he peered up, half-expecting Security Forces to be leering down.

  A man, slouched in the adjacent control chair, blinking rapidly at the ceiling.

  Suddenly, he swung his eyes down to align with Todd’s. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. The eyes seemed unfocused, at half mast. They, fortunately, seemed incapable of focusing on Todd’s activities. Quickly he stood to divert the man’s attention.

  “Heard there was a party here,” he said.

  The man wiped a spray of curling, tousled hair with a shaking hand, squinting at the new arrival. “That’s right. There was.” He surveyed the room, just to make sure. “Tried some weird stuff last night.” He ignited a dope-stick, then stuck it in his mouth and puffed hungrily, “You know all this equipment and medicine and stuff they got these days to get you off habits are well and good. Like, somewhere around here are pills that will stop me killing my lungs, like that ...” He tried to snap his fingers, limply. “Do I take ‘em? Uh uh. Am I going to take an anti-hangover pill?” He winked slowly and then reached down for a bottle of whiskey. “You bet.” He drank. “Couple of hours, and the guys and I will be as right as rain. But we gotta have our pain first. Nourishes the creative soul. We flog ourselves to create. What do you think about that, Mr. ...?”

  “Everly Mann,” Todd said, thinking it best to lie.

  “Mine’s Russell Dennison.” He made a sweeping gesture. “I run this place. I put the passengers through their fictional paces and get paid bunches of creds for the use of my imaginative prowess. I’m sorry you missed the-party.” Though woozy, he sounded sincere. An air of nervous vulnerability clung to him. “We look like a bunch of crazies, don’t we?”

  “No,” said Todd. “I wouldn’t say that. I daresay you’ve been under a lot of pressure these months. Very demanding passengers.” If he kept the man talking for another few minutes, everything would be okay. Just keep his attention away from that particular section of the computer. “You do a really good job. I do the real-fics quite often. I really admire you guys ... and I sort of wanted to meet you.”

  “Well, the rest of the writers are indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid ... so you’ll have to make do with me.”

  “You know, they really ought to have some sort of credit list on the real-fics, like they do on 3-D shows,” ventured Todd.

  The statement seemed to please Dennison. He smiled slightly. “Yeah. But, really, it’s the computer that does most of the work ... Sure, we make up the stories and the basics of characters and character interplay—but it’s the computer interface that gives the depth, the delusion of actually being’ involved with real events. And it helps that we’ve got some nice sets and props to pace people through, some nice light effects. This and that. Works out real nice,” He paused a moment reflectively. “I wish it were better, though. Trouble is, we gotta feed the passengers what they want: mostly drivel. This stuff
—it’s fabricated life, sure. But without the responsibility.”

  In normal circumstances, Todd might have impatiently brushed the man aside. But it was buying him time, and a little more time was all he needed. The guy was obviously pretty whacked out, but otherwise okay.

  ”I guess you’re right.”

  Russell’s fingers jerked almost convulsively. Ashes drifted to the floor. “Let me ask you this—you’re a passenger, right?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Todd inched a little farther to his left so that, in order to address him directly, Dennison had to turn his back on the open panel and the bag.

  Within the satchel, something stirred.

  “So I guess one of the principle reasons you came on this trip—aside from its historic importance and to see the universe or whatever—was to use the real-fics. How come?”

  “Escape… I suppose. I haven’t had a very happy life. But I’ve always enjoyed fictional experience. The better they are, the less vicarious they seem.”

  “Exactly,” said Dennison. “Live out your fantasies. But, the way I figure it, fiction should instruct as well. It should add to your life in ways that nothing else can. And so should the real-fics—the logical extension of written and performed fiction. You should come away from them not merely diverted and entertained, but different somehow. Better. This is possibly the ultimate art form. We’re using it wrong here.”

  “Buy why would Ort Eath bother with all of this? Just as an added feature to the array of entertainment?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know. I thought at first that he meant to keep the passengers amused. Fantasies are, after all, a prime diversion. But you know,” he continued, looking away absently toward his unconscious colleagues. “Not only does he pay little attention to what goes on with the real-fics, unless he wants to use them to his own purposes, Ort Eath sometimes acts as though he hates them! You notice that none of the Morapns on board will go near any of the real-fic areas. They mostly just stay in their own compartment, doing their own things.”