by John Grant
Strider walked heavily over to stand between them.
"Well, it's different," she remarked lamely. At least the succession of little pinching sensations seemed to have cut out as the acceleration cut back in.
Now there was a background of angry red flames behind the schemes of color, and traceries of hot yellow and white sparks were flitting rapidly through them.
"Do you think we've ended up in somebody's bonfire?" said Nelson drily.
"Seems as likely as anywhere," said Strider. She glanced away from the display of brilliances at the screens in front of the two officers. They were still dead. That meant the Main Computer was still out. She'd suspected as much: Pinocchio hadn't recovered consciousness. She was much more worried about losing the Main Computer than about where the Santa Maria might be taking them: even if they found themselves back in the Solar System—or back on course for Tau Ceti II—without the Computer they were dead. Pinocchio was able to keep the most basic systems running, but there was no way he could tackle the complex problems of astrogation the Main Computer was designed in part to solve. And who knew how long he could keep even those basic systems functioning?
Her eyes were dragged up to the window again.
There were quite a few electronic brains aboard the Santa Maria, of course. She speculated about the possibilities of trying to hook them all up together—or, rather, getting Pinocchio to do it—but she realized even as the thought was passing through her head that it would be impossible. The medbots and most of the others were really hardly more than drones served out of the Main Computer. Aside from that there were the rudimentary bots used for entertainment. Personal puters were limited in their scope, and affected by the speed with which their human operators could act. In fact, speed was another reason why her half-formed crazy scheme could never work: astrogation required a machine that could think fast, not just in working out the problems but in coordinating all the various minor rocketry that would alter the Santa Maria's configuration in space.
Once more she turned to look at Pinocchio. Still his face was lifeless.
The blaze of colors ahead of them was changing in nature yet again. The illusion of oiliness had returned, but it was now as if the oil were, against a sullen black sheet of water, congealing into droplets, each made up of myriad iridescent shades. They were darting around all over the field of view as if in some hyperactive Brownian motion, their velocity and their constant changes of direction making the eye try to follow individual balls of light, but always unsuccessfully. Strider again felt, despite the insistent tug of the gees on her, that she was dropping from a great height and at fantastic speed. Not for the first time during these past few subjective hours, her gorge began to rise.
"Run a check on casualties, Leander," she said, keeping her voice controlled.
"Yes, Captain," said the officer. She spoke into her throat-mike, but clearly received no answer. Of course, Strider could see Leander realizing, the throat-mikes were linked through the Main Computer; it was hard to remember that the things you'd taken for granted most of your life didn't work any more. Leander prepared to repeat the message through her commline.
"I meant physically go and find out," said Strider.
Leander pushed herself up from her chair and made leadenly for the door. With a sense of relief—standing still for any length of time was the most difficult thing of all to do in the accelerative gees—Strider slid herself down to take Leander's place.
She ran her fingers across the keyboard, looking resentfully at the still-blank screen. They'd switched off the banks of sensor screens around the walls of the deck—all except the clock and the one through which Pinocchio had rigged himself, of course—some while back, so that they wouldn't be driven mad by the senseless audio and visual static. In a moment, after she'd rested briefly, she'd try them again. But the static had been as nothing compared to the breathtaking theater of light that was playing all around them now.
#
And then it was over, and they were looking out on a starfield.
The figures on the clock began to move again, but neither Strider nor Nelson realized it at first.
"Well," said Nelson after a while, running a palm nervously across his broad forehead, "it looks like we've got someplace at last."
Strider stared at the dead screen in front of her, feeling betrayed. Somehow she'd expected that merely emerging into normal space would reactivate the Main Computer.
"The big question now is," Nelson continued, "where we've actually got to."
Without the Computer there was no way of telling. Even just two years out from Jupiter many of the familiar constellation shapes had become strangely distorted. Now it was obvious that they were a lot further from home than that: there was nothing remotely recognizable out there at all. Moreover, the starfield seemed unnaturally rich. It wasn't something you noticed at first; instead, it slowly dawned on both of them that there were rather too many stars around. And that more of them were red than they should be.
"Do you think we've ended up somewhere near the Hub?" said Strider.
"No, sweet light of my life," said Nelson slowly, a look of both horror and wonder spreading across his big face. "I don't think we're anywhere near the Hub."
She turned in her seat to follow his line of sight.
Visible through the stars, not quite edge-on to them, stretching over maybe thirty degrees of her field of vision, was something she'd thought she'd never see except through telescopes and in holos.
A spiral galaxy.
#
Neither of them spoke for several minutes as they took in the implications. The sight was beautiful: that was what Strider registered first. It was impossible not to feel awe. Although the galaxy was not the brightest object in the Santa Maria's sky, it possessed sheer beauty and massiveness that made it the most impressive thing she had ever seen. And it had a reality that even the holos produced by Hubble XVII could never hope to emulate. What stunned the senses most were the colors of it—little by way of structure could be seen from here. The colors of galaxies in holos always seemed artificial—and often enough they in fact were, having been deliberately enhanced for one reason or another. But the colors of the galaxy she was looking at were true ones. They seemed almost alive, even though they were motionless. Patches of blue and white and yellow predominated closer to where the Santa Maria seemed to hang; beyond, the hues shaded towards both red and a brighter blue, where the hub was. The hub itself was bigger than she'd expected: she'd always known that spiral galaxies were basically flat with a slight bulge in the center, but from this angle you could get a full appreciation of how large the bulge really was.
The second thing that she took in was the remoteness of the galaxy. The sheer distance chilled.
Finally she said: "I think we must have ended up in a globular cluster. That's our old friend the Milky Way over there."
"I think not," said Nelson quietly. "Globular clusters are almost all high above the galactic plane, and we're looking at this baby almost from the side. That's not the Milky Way at all, I reckon. I can try to find out."
She looked quickly at him.
He gestured towards his thighputer. "I have data on the Milky Way in here. I can get a screen view of what it should be like from this kind of location."
She turned back to look at the spiral. Even if the personnel of the Santa Maria died here, as far as she was concerned it would probably be worth it. This was the kind of sight that she had come into the SSIA for—knowing that it was something she'd never be able to see for herself, but at the same time getting part of the thrill that her distant descendants would experience when finally humanity advanced that far. Now she was doing the impossible—achieving her dream.
"Have you got information on the Andromeda spiral in that device as well?" she asked suddenly.
"It's the very next thing I'm going to check out, but I want to run these specs on the Milky Way first, just in case I'm wrong. You've got where I was
thinking, huh?"
"Yeah. We're in an elliptical."
The Milky Way has two small, seemingly young satellite galaxies, both of them irregularly shaped: the Greater and Smaller Magellanic clouds. The Andromeda Galaxy has at least two satellite galaxies as well, but these are seemingly far further evolved than the Magellanic clouds: they have formed into tightly packed ellipsoids of closely clustered, redder, older stars. From the lesser of these two ellipticals it might just be possible that one could see the view that was confronting Strider right now.
"I can confirm it's not the Milky Way," said Nelson behind her.
"Thanks," she said absently.
A little while later he added: "And it's not the Andromeda spiral either. I've got the puter to do a search of all the galaxies it has on file to see if there are any that remotely match the parameters of this one."
"But you're not hopeful," she said.
"Who knows?" She could hear his jumpsuit rustle as he shrugged.
"Snap," she said.
#
"We encountered two fatalities between cabins one and twenty-two," said Strauss-Giolitto to Leander. "Lan Yi is currently resting in cabin twenty-seven. They had some painkiller there, and I was able to splint up his arm." What she didn't say was that the painkiller in question was marijuana. All forms of drugs—including alcohol, tobacco and, the one most argued about of all, ziprite—had been banned from the mission. They weren't in fact necessary. You could get a much higher high out of your stim socket than through a shot of ziprite, with the great advantage that you could snap out of your high at a moment's notice if necessary. The disadvantage was that stim dreaming was if anything more addictive. But someone had clearly smuggled aboard some dope seeds, and there must be a covert little plantation on one of the fields. Strauss-Giolitto felt it was her responsibility to report the matter to Leander, so she didn't. The Santa Maria's officers would know about it soon enough anyway: the switch into free fall and then back to 2g had deposited large sections of agriculture at the rear of the vessel. In the meantime, Strauss-Giolitto had partaken of a bite of hash cookie herself: she wasn't about to report the people who had very kindly given it to her. "He'll be all right," she said.
"Can you turn off that noise while I check out the rest?" said Leander, gesturing towards Lan Yi's cabin.
"I can try," said Strauss-Giolitto. "But I think Lan Yi's musibot has been specially programmed." This was a flat lie, and probably Leander knew it. If Lan Yi wanted to listen to distant Telemann as he suffered on his borrowed bed, Strauss-Giolitto was prepared to let him do so. He had probably saved several lives during the period of free fall: he deserved to be allowed to hear whatever racket he chose.
He deserved to be allowed to get as high as a kite without some petty demagogue like Leander butting in.
"Have you checked out the remaining cabins?" Leander was asking.
"Not yet. I was concerned about Lan Yi. Can you get the medbots moving yet?"
"Yeah, I guess so," said Leander. "They won't be able to do much, but . . ."
"We weren't able to do much either. We did our best. I want to be with the old guy. If it hadn't been for him . . ."
"I know," said Leander, holding up a hand. "You do that. Give him my love. I'll take over from here."
#
After a long time Nelson spoke.
"As far as this puter can tell," he said lazily, "we could have gone right to the other end of the Universe. I think we're in real trouble, sweet little lady from the old country."
"I knew we were in shit right from the beginning," said Strider. "Even if that had been the Milky Way, we've got no way of getting to it." She pushed back her spread fingers through her short hair; she was trying to cure herself of the habit, but without success. "We're stuck, Umbel. Fancy a spot of cannibalism?"
Their laughter was artificial.
WELCOME TO THE WONDERVALE, said a voice in both of their heads.
The Images had arrived.
Part Three: Strider's Galaxy
1
The Images
Nelson and Strider looked at each other sharply. Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
"Did you just hear what I just heard?" It was Strider who finally broke the silence.
"Something about 'The Wondervale'?" said Nelson.
"Yeah." She touched her forehead. "Well, at least if we're going nuts we're doing it together."
"'The Wondervale' does sound like the name of some kind of mental institution," drawled Nelson.
YOU ARE WELCOME, said the cool, silent voice, BUT WE DO NOT KNOW WHO YOU ARE. It seemed like a concatenation of voices speaking almost perfectly in unison, like several sopranos who had practiced together long and hard. It was filled with complex, interacting music, and yet it had a purity no single human voice could have attained.
Feeling foolish, Strider spoke towards the view-window. "We are employees of the Solar System Interstellar Agency." She hoped that whoever-it-was could get something of the meanings of her thoughts, rather than just her words. "We were conducting the Solar System's first interstellar investigative mission, voyaging towards Tau Ceti II, when we . . . got lost."
THERE IS NO NEED TO SPEAK WORDS, UNLESS YOU SO DESIRE, reassured the voice. WE ARE INDEED UNDERSTANDING THE MEANINGS OF YOUR THOUGHTS. YOU CAME THROUGH A WORMHOLE FROM YOUR GALAXY INTO OURS, WHICH IS CALLED THE WONDERVALE. YOURS IS CALLED THE MILKY WAY. It paused, as if seeking to find a way of not sounding patronizing. TERMS LIKE "SOLAR SYSTEM" AND "TAU CETI II" ARE MEANINGLESS TO US. MOST BEINGS NAME THEIR HOME SYSTEM BY A THOUGHT WHICH MEANS "SOLAR SYSTEM."
"I'll carry on speaking out loud, if you don't mind," said Strider. "You may be able to read my thoughts, but my friend here can't. I want him to know what's going on in this conversation."
We could try to link your minds, if you like.
She shook her head. "Later, maybe. Right now we've got enough to think about without trying to think each other's thoughts as well. If you know what I mean," she added.
It is understood.
She looked around the command deck, trying to work out where the voice was coming from. "Where are you?" she said. "Can't you show yourselves to us?"
We cannot. We are only fractionally a part of this Universe. You may be able sometimes to detect our presence visually or tactually. Insofar as we are in your reality at all, we are on your command deck with you.
"Who are you, then? Can you help us?"
May we read the entirety of your minds?
"Go ahead." In a way this seemed militarily an unwise choice, because for all she knew these creatures—if they were indeed creatures—might turn out to be humanity's deadliest enemies. On the other hand, she was reassured by the fact that they had asked permission of her: almost certainly they could have scanned her thoughts through and through without her being any the wiser. She grinned suddenly, wryly, remembering how in the old legends you'd been safe enough inside your home, but if you invited the vampire to come indoors . . .
She relaxed her body, straining to feel some mental sensation to betray what was going on.
There was this time quite a long pause. When the voice returned it sounded almost rueful. THERE IS NO CONCEPT WITHIN YOUR CULTURAL BACKGROUND THAT IN ANY SENSE MATCHES WHAT WE CALL OURSELVES. AS TO THE NATURE OF OUR BEINGS, THAT IS SOMETHING BEST LEFT UNTIL LATER. BUT WE CAN HELP YOU. WE ENJOY HELPING PRIMITIVE CULTURES AS MUCH AS WE DO ADVANCED ONES.
Strider instinctively bridled at the "primitive" tag, but immediately untensed again. Humanity had been making its first attempt to reach the stars, having messed up its home patch. To creatures like these, who were clearly able to move through the interstellar tracts and even the dimensions with ease—how else could they have pinpointed the Santa Maria with such swiftness?—Strider and her kind must look as if they'd only just discovered how to make fire.
QUITE, said the voice. There was not a hint of condescension.
"How can you help us?" said Nelson. His voice sound
ed a little punch-drunk.
The sense that the focus had shifted briefly from herself eased Strider's concentration momentarily, and she caught out of the corner of her eye a flicker of something that was very like light but was somehow different. She sat up straight in her chair.
CONGRATULATIONS, CAPTAIN LEONIE STRIDER, said the voice ironically.
She waved a hand casually as if to say "Hi there." In fact, she was just beginning to feel terrified of these mental intruders. That flash of almost-light had brought home to her, even more than had her first sight of the majesty of the spiral galaxy through the view-window, that the situation she and the rest of the personnel of the Santa Maria had exploded into was truly alien. They were a long way from home.
WE CAN HELP YOU IN A NUMBER OF WAYS, said the soundless voice mildly. WE WISH TO, ALTHOUGH OF COURSE WE WOULD NOT DO SO WITHOUT YOUR STATED ASSENT. WE CAN PUT OURSELVES IN THE PLACE OF YOUR DEFUNCT CONTROLLING COMPUTER—OR WE COULD TRY TO REPAIR IT, ALTHOUGH IT SEEMS TO US THAT ITS MENTAL DETERIORATION IS SO PROFOUND THAT REPAIRS COULD BE ONLY PARTIAL. BESIDES, IT IS A FAR LESS SOPHISTICATED ENTITY THAN THE ONE WE CAN FORM FROM OURSELVES.
"You wanna be a computer?" Nelson expostulated.
NO. WITH A SMALL PORTION OF OURSELVES WE CAN PERFORM ALL THE FUNCTIONS OF YOUR DEAD COMPUTER: THAT IS A QUITE DIFFERENT MATTER. IT WOULD REQUIRE NO MORE OF OUR ATTENTION THAN YOU HAVE TO EXPEND ON KEEPING YOUR HEART BEATING. This time the voice did sound genuinely bored, as if it were having difficulty crossing the culture gap.
Strider wasn't certain if she liked the idea of her ship being run entirely by unknown, unseen aliens. "Do you think you could, you know, sort of try to repair the Main Computer first?"
We could try.
The statement was so swift and so bald that she realized this was the last thing the creatures wanted her to ask of them.
"I think you're not being entirely honest with us," she said.