There was George, frantic in the graveyard, staring at the tombstone of his brother. Clarence was explaining that the reason his brother died was because George hadn't been there to save him from drowning when they were kids. And because George hadn't saved his brother, his brother wasn't alive to save the troopship filled with soldiers, and all those men had died as well.
Little pebbles, big ripples, Rob thought morosely. He glanced around his living room, trying to find comfort in his familiar things, wondering how long he--or any of them--would be here at StarBridge.
His suite consisted of four rooms, living room, den (where he was now), bedroom, and bathroom. It was his refuge, a place where he could get away from everything and everyone, and just be himself--alone.
Well, almost alone. The small black cat curled beside him slept soundly, purring softly, her rumbles of content vibrating through his body. But even stroking Bast didn't cheer him. Rob looked from her to the pictures of her mother, Isis, daughter of Sekhmet. They'd been good companions to him over the years.
His eyes moved to the left of the screen where a simple feather and grass weaving hung. He'd once had an original Peter Max hanging there, but had replaced it when this arrived. The Max had taken up residence in the bathroom, and he'd programmed the walls to match its bright psychedelic colors.
The white weaving was about a meter square, and simple in design. Over it hung an ultraviolet light, so its hidden design
would glow. The design showed the stylized images of two huge cranelike avians, with a human between them. Near them was a
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avian, a baby. The style was reminiscent of the Anasazi, he thought, yet different. Beneath it, on a piece of paper-thin beige bark was written, "From Taller, the tallest of the White Wind People, this gift presented to the See-Through Man, given through his partner, Good Eyes." At the bottom of the inked message was a large, three-toed footprint--Taller's signature.
Rob had only spoken once to the avian leader, but knew that his
hologrammic projection had unnerved the proud, nontechnological alien. He was glad that he had Tesa, known to the Grus as Good Eyes, to handle future communications between them. Staring at the beautiful weaving, he thought about pebbles and ripples. Tesa was certainly a big ripple. If he hadn't given her the chance to go to Trinity, and she hadn't decided to accept that assignment, what would everything be like now?
He knew that some of those gray hairs Ssoriszs and Jeff had noticed probably resulted from Tesa's first year on Trinity. For months they'd all thought she'd been killed. What a terrible time that had been! But in the end it had all worked out, better than anyone had hoped. Tesa's work with the Grus and the Aquila had qualified Earth for full membership in the CLS.
Because he'd been there to do his job, she'd done hers. And everyone benefited.
On the screen, George Bailey screamed at Clarence, demanding to know where his wife Mary was. Clarence, pummeled and terrified, finally confessed the information, only to be tossed aside in the snow. The poor angel-in-the-making lamented, moaning that there had to be an easier way to earn his wings. Rob chuckled ruefully. You're right, Clarence. There must be an easier way!
If they really closed the school down, really ended it--would he ever earn his wings? He closed his eyes, fighting the depression that wanted to engulf him, and the tiny voice that whispered that a drink would make him feel better. It wouldn't, and he knew it, just as well as he knew that that voice might never completely die.
He thought about the early years of trying to get StarBridge growing, make his and Ssoriszs' dream a reality. Going from city to city to drum up support on Earth, then from planet to planet,] begging for money, for cooperation.
Wondering, doubting, every day--would it be for nothing? All the time alone, seeing the woman he loved only on holo-vid news broadcasts, rarely in person. They'd been together a few weeks here, six months there, two years after Claire had been born ...
And then the demands of work had pulled them apart again-- m Mahree to her troubleshooting role as Ambassador-at-Large for the
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CLS and, at one point, her two terms as Secretary-General, Rob to begin supervising the birth of the Academy.
Why, he wondered bleakly, was it so damned hard to wage peace?
Opening his eyes, Rob blinked fiercely, determined to shake off the mood.
He glanced at the coffee table, at mementos scattered there. One was the kareen, an Elpind music box that Mark Kenner and Eerin had sent him. The hypnotic musical notes of the Mortenwol ran through his head. Another near disaster that had turned out for the best. Another small pebble, another big ripple.
If they shut the place down tomorrow, Gable, no one can say you didn't do your part. You've made a lasting difference in the universe. How many people get to say that?
Yeah, but at what cost? He sat up, then gently resettled the cat. She complained halfheartedly. Rob sighed. Sometimes he wished he'd just gone with Mahree, followed her as she worked, stayed with her... loved her. That should've been enough. He glanced up. George had had his fill of the evil Bedford Falls. He was back on the bridge, begging for a second chance, pleading for Clarence's help. He began to sob. It started to snow. The only snow on StarBridge was in the simulation chambers. Snap out of it, Gable!
he ordered, mentally shaking himself. This movie is supposed to pick you up! You've changed the lives of millions of people, altered the fate of entire planets, all for the 'better! And that feels to you like nothing today? God, what an ego! What is this, midlife crisis number thirty-eight? With a sudden spark of hope, he remembered that Andreiovitch was supposed to arrive soon. Surely such an eminent authority would be able to figure out a strategy to stop the radonium-2 from breeding! With him advising, and Jeff Morrow's engineering expertise, they'd be bound to lick this thing! Cheer up, Gable, he reminded himself. There's no Mr. Potter in this Bedford Falls. ...
A second later, though, a sudden image of Andrea Lynch made hi m frown.
Or is there? Then he castigated himself for suspecting th e woman of wrongdoing simply because of her abrasive personality.
George was running through town, the real Bedford Falls, hysterically happy, yelling, cheering, not caring that he was risking ruin, possible imprisonment.
Rob watched, feeling the old catch in his throat. Soon, they'd be there, all his friends to bail him out, with what little they could give, but all those little contributions
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would add up to a lot. Rob felt himself smiling. He struggled to swallow the catch. Damn, it's working! I thought maybe this time it wouldn't, but it is!
His intercom beeped and he jumped guiltily, hoping it wasn't Janet. If she found out he was watching It's a Wonderful Life again, she'd give him hell for letting all that schmaltz get to him. For an otherwise intelligent woman, Jimmy Stewart's charms were lost on her.
He leaned over the coffee table, hit the keypad. Kkintha's familiar, furry face coalesced on the table's small screen. He gazed, surprised. The
Administrator appeared completely frazzled, her normally impeccable fur raked up in tufts, her ears twitching, whiskers quivering anxiously, her tiny, pawlike hands washing each other over and over.
"Kkintha, what's wrong?"
"Oh, Rob! It's so terrible! I can't. .. I" Her voice was reduced to a nearly incomprehensible chitter. She heard it herself, and stopped, took a deep breath, ceased the compulsive handwashing.
Rob braced himself. 'Tell me."
"I can barely stand to say it," the Chhhh-kk-tu quavered. "It's the Night Storm-- Andreiovitch's vessel. Something went wrong. I don't know what, no one does. Maybe the guidance beams."
"What happened?"
"It crashed into the station. The ship exploded, all hands lost Bodies flung into space. Oh, so terrible, terrible!" She scrubbed her round cheeks rapidly with her tiny hands, looking, for just that instant, so much like a giant hamster, Rob had to blink to destroy the image. . "No ..." he whispered, stu
nned into disbelief.
"They're holding all other ships out in space until they get to the bottom of it,"
Kkintha said as soon as she'd stopped scrubbing her face. "No traffic can leave here either. They suspect sabotage, because someone called in a warning or something .. . I'm not] sure exactly what happened. A woman with red hair broke in, saying the guidance beam was malfunctioning. The computer systems both here and at the station are apparently to blame, but no one knows just how."
"At the station and here, too? How could that be?"
"There's so much interaction between the two, so many interactions, and the organic brains are from the same Mizari source like twins, really. I don't really understand the technical jargon < it. But, Rob, there's more .. ."
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His eyes widened and suddenly, like a flash of insight, he remembered.
Serge and Hing had gone to meet that ship. "The kids . .." he began, feeling his heart turn over. "Oh, my God!"
Kkintha blinked as though holding back tears, even though Rob knew her species didn't cry. "We don't know where they are. One report said they were alive, but trapped in an airlock, but that hasn't been confirmed officially. They could be dead. It could be hours before they can account for everyone! Oh, Rob, those beautiful young people, the experts who traveled so far to help us ... I feel so sick, so desolate."
"Do you want me to come wait with you," he said, "until we know for sure?"
He didn't know whether he was offering a friend's support, or a
psychologist's counseling--maybe some mixture of the two.
'Thank you, Rob, but no ... that is ... maybe later. When we find out. If... it's bad... then yes, I'd like to be with you. It would comfort me, to have a chaka-shin here."
He knew the word, knew it meant that Kkintha was referring to him as though he were a member of her intimate family group. It touched him greatly. "You know where to reach me, Kkintha," he said gently. "I'll be there whenever you say the word."
"As soon as I know anything more, I'll call you." She signed off.
Rob shook his head. And I thought things were bad before! The film credits were rolling. He moved to turn it off, before the cassette could restart the film over again from the beginning. He leaned over the table to stop it, call up the news from the station instead, thinking there might be reports about the crash and the rescue operations.
Between one instant and the next, something powerful struck his mind, a thought so strong, so overwhelming, that he pitched forward, slid off the couch onto his knees, grabbing his head as if to keep it from exploding.
The telepathic demand struck him like a sledgehammer between th e eyes.
He'd never felt anything like it. It was tinged with anxi ety, fear, terrible urgency. Rob felt a sickening, disembodied urge |to flee his apartment, race toward the source of the cry.
Doctor Blanket, is that you? Pain throbbed behind his eyes. He didn't bother putting his discomfort into words, just felt it, knew the telepath would quickly realize what was happening.
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The psychologist tried to imagine what had upset the Avernian so much that seloz would use such force in communicating.
Is it the crash at the station, Doctor Blanket? Rob asked, trying to project his thoughts calmly, in spite of the agonizing headache that still pounded with every beat of his heart. Did you "hear" it?
Rob was shocked at the alarm radiating from the normally placid being's thoughts. He'd never "heard" Blanket like this. What call for help? Whose?
Where is it coming from?
No. Let me think. It's coming from ... the Mind.>
Rob blinked, shook his head, instantly regretted it. Whose mind?i
"What is a who?" he muttered ungrammatically,] "Who is what?" The Mind That Is Not A Mind? What could that possibly--
Oh, shit! Rob's mouth went dry as it finally clicked. You mean the computer, Blanket? The artificial intelligence that runs the environment here at the school, and stores all of our data? That Mind??
There was a momentary hesitation. Doctor Blanket always had trouble with technological concepts. The Avernians had no tools; none at all. Hell, they didn't even have anything to grasp a tool with. When they'd first brought the fungus being to the school, the alien had complained about having to learn to "tune out" the AI's "mind," as it "thought."
Rob could tell Blanket was getting impatient with his thickheadedness. That was something in itself. In all the years they'd
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been friends, he'd never known the alien to show impatience about anything.
Blanket apologized.
Try again to tell me. You know I'll do anything I can to help, Rob vowed.
Rob nearly passed out from the intensity of that shared fear. But now he knew--he'd recognized who it was. Heather, oh, my God, it's Heather! Where is she, what's happened to her?
She hadn't gone to the station, had she? Could she be trapped in that airlock? His mind spun, teetered. He felt Blanket's serenity wash over him like a cooling breeze.
|She is trapped within the Mind!>
It finally meshed. He understood. But that was impossible... wasn't it? In the computer? In the AI? Heather's inside the AI?
Understanding clicked into place like dominoes. The Simiu's toilet. The computer games back on Earth. Her smugness about her skills as a hacker.
Because she could do something that no one else ever had--Heather could telepathically link with the computer.
The Avernian's command was more like a compulsion, and Rob
leaped to his feet, fighting a rush of vertigo. He stopped at his door realizing he had no idea where he was going, where Heather was, physically.
Rob nodded dumbly, one part of him realizing the movie had started over, that he should shut it off before he left.
His intercom buzzed. He blinked at it.
"Rob!" a familiar voice called out to him, cutting through his privacy codes.
"It's Janet! I know you're there!"
||Not now!> Blanket ordered.
¦Janet, I can't!" he yelled at the table.
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. "Rob," she shouted back at his disembodied voice, "there's something wrong with the school's computers! Someone's put something like
a virus program into them! We've got a real crisis!"
"I know! I know! I'm getting Doctor Blanket. Meet me!"
"Rob, wait]" he heard her call, but he was already racing barefoot down the hall, just as George Bailey selected a piece of luggage he would never take anywhere.
Minutes later he was stumbling around in the darkness of Doctor Blanket's quarters, searching through the blackened cupboards, looking for the light-damper. For the life of him he couldn't remember where they normally kept it, and without that safety device, the Avernian couldn't leave seloz's quarters.
White light could burn seloz's flattened, cilia-covered body, because Doctor Blanket was from a world circling a red dwarf sun.
The million-year-old fungus being stood with part of seloz's body on end in the corner of the room, cilia rippling. The Avernian glowed like a phosphorescent baby blanket.
Rob racked his brain, trying to recall where he'd last seen the light-damper, but the Avernian's anxiety was like a fog in his mind, making it hard to think.
He banged his shin on a corner and cursed. The pain spurred him to action, and he methodically yanked open drawers and dumped the scanty contents until the little instrument tumbled out.
Gotcha! Rob thought triumphantly, snagging the small Mizari device.
Clipping it to the right shoulder of his beat-up tee, he turned it on and checked its power. It reported that it was working fine--not that he could tell in this darkened room. Okay, let's go, he said, kneeling before the alien. The being slid into his open arms and undulated over his shoulders until seloz covered his back like a glowing cape. To an onlooker, Rob would appear to be a figure walking in a shroud of darkness, surrounded by a bizarre, phosphorescent glow. ¦
The computer beeped at them. "Rob, are you there?" Janet's voice called out.
"I'm leaving here, Jan, no time to explain!"
"Don't you dare! I'm in your quarters. I'm trying to catch up to you!"
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