The Ring of Ritornel

by Charles L. Harness

Kedrys dominated the demonstration pit. He was clearly at home here. Andrek could see no trace of adolescent uncertainty in his bearing.

  The kentaur held up his hand for silence, then addressed Oberon. “Magister, the demonstration itself is going to take only a few seconds. It will involve these two quartz chambers, and it will rattle the floor a little. In this first chamber there will be a flash of blue light, but that’s about all you’ll really notice. The important thing is something that doesn’t happen at all, in the second chamber, here, and I’d like to explore the implications of this thing in considerable detail. So I’m going to defer the bang and the blue flash until the very end of the lecture.”

  Oberon nodded, and Kedrys continued, “The procedure is divided into two parts. In the first part, I will convert about one hundred molecules of normal hydrogen into antimatter hydrogen. Half of this antimatter will be analyzed to prove that it is actually antimatter; that is, that the ‘protons’ of the atomic nucleus are negatively charged and that the shell ‘electrons’ are positively charged. This analysis involves permitting the antimatter to react with an equal number of normal hydrogen molecules to give a tiny cosmic explosion, which we see as a flash of blue light. This radiation is then analyzed spectrophotometrically. The other half of the antimatter hydrogen will be discharged into a special chamber, also containing normal hydrogen, but containing in addition several ursecta. This portion—”

  Oberon broke in, “Ursecta? You mean, those insects at the Node?”

  “The same, sire. A very strange form of life—very small. The ursecta exist normally only at the Node. There, they feed on raw energy produced by strains in our expanding universe, somewhat in the same way the myriad diatoms of our oceans feed with the help of photosynthesis. Actually, we understand very little about the vital processes of the ursecta, but we do know their final metabolic product, just as we know the metabolic product of the diatom. For the diatom, this is mainly carbon dioxide; for the ursecta, it is the proton, or hydrogen. And this is the basis for our demonstration this evening.”

  “Excuse the interruption,” said Oberon. “Please continue.”

  Kedrys bowed. “As I was saying, the other half of our antimatter hydrogen will be discharged into a special chamber, also containing normal hydrogen, but containing in addition several ursecta. In that chamber, the antimatter molecules will likewise react with the normal hydrogen, but in this case there will be no explosion: the ursecta will instantly—eat—if you will, the energy as it is created, and will transform that energy into protons, just as they do at the Node.” He paused and looked up at the intent faces. “We have already carried out this experiment with numerous forms of atomic energy, including several nuclear fusion processes, and generally on a larger scale. Here, we demonstrate with antimatter for two reasons. Firstly, the experiment can be done in miniature, with complete safety; and secondly, an antimatter explosion is the most powerful source of energy known—whether for peace or war. It will show, as can no other means, the capabilities of these strange little creatures, when they are scientifically controlled.”

  His eyes sought out Oberon. “The implications, sire, are tremendous. If we are able to develop this means of defending the planets of the Home Galaxy against nuclear attack before the other eleven galaxies discover it…” He shrugged.

  Andrek sucked in his breath. The century-old stalemate that had followed the War with Terror would be broken. The whole theory of reprisal, that great unanswerable deterrent to nuclear warfare, would collapse. This would be the Total Defense; its possessor would dominate the Twelve Galaxies.

  “We understand the implications, Kedrys,” said Oberon quietly. “Go ahead.”

  The kentaur bowed again. “We feed a very small amount of normal hydrogen into a very high vacuum reservoir.” He indicated with a wave of his hand. “From this reservoir we further meter about one hundred molecules into the strain-plasma: this Möbius-Klein circlet.”

  “Möbius…?” asked Lyysdon.

  “Möbius-Klein. The term is inexact; yet it must serve. I’m sure all of you know the operation of a Möbius strip—a band with one end rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, then fastened to the other end. If we slide an object along the strip, it returns to the starting position upside down. A system known as the ‘Klein bottle’ is a three-dimensional analog of the Möbius strip. For example, passing a ring through a Klein bottle will turn the ring inside out. So our strain-plasma circuit is like a Möbius-Klein circuit, except that we add one more dimension. And since our strain-plasma operates in four dimensions, it turns an object upside down, and inside out, and simultaneously does one more thing: it reverses the electrical charge of the subatomic particles. It puts a negative charge on the nuclear protons, and a positive charge in the electrons of the surrounding shell. In a word, it converts normal matter to antimatter. And this is what will happen to our hydrogen molecules. Under the force of tremendous energy, accumulated for days and then released over an interval of a few milliseconds, we send our hydrogen atoms around the Möbius-Klein circlet and get them back with their polarity reversed. The proton comes back negatively charged, and the electron of course becomes a positron. They have become antimatter hydrogen. But before they can touch the walls of the apparatus, the stream spurts on and is split, half into the chamber of normal hydrogen and half into the chamber containing normal hydrogen and ursecta.”

  He looked around him. “Gentlemen, I must warn you that the release of these rather large energies into the circuit will cause a slight jar to the floor, and in fact to the foundations of the Great House. In effect, we will be making a small space quake. But there is no cause for alarm.” He stopped and surveyed his audience. “Are there any questions?”

  Andrek looked about him hesitantly, then asked, “Is this why our spaceships cannot use their nuclear drive in the Node area?”

  “Just so, Don Andrek,” replied Kedrys. “The ursecta drain off every erg of power the instant it is developed. For the same reason, a biem-gun will not fire at the Node.”

  “Isn’t there something that will drive the ursecta away? Something—they are afraid of?” Andrek finished nervously, aware that Oberon and Lyysdon were frowning at him.

  “Yes,” said Kedrys. But he did not offer to elaborate.

  “Could this equipment be scaled up for the manufacture of sizable amounts of antimatter?” asked Oberon. “If it could be controlled, I should think we could find valuable uses for production quantities. How, exactly, would it behave?”

  Lyysdon shook his head. “It would annihilate.”

  “Possibly,” said Kedrys. “But quite aside from the question of annihilation, an antimatter body of any considerable mass, say of the order of a gram, would be expected to create immense distortions in the normal space-time continuum within a radius of many meters. We bear in mind here that the electrostatic and electromagnetic fields of antimatter cannot even be described as opposite those created by the electrical profiles of ordinary matter. The precise relationship can be described only in mathematical terms, which I cannot go into, here and now. As a wretched oversimplification, I can only say that the electrical properties of antimatter as against normal matter would probably be perpendicular to each other. This geometry can occur only by means of one or more added dimensions.”

  “Do you mean that electromagnetic radiation from antimatter would occur in the fourth dimension?” asked Lyysdon.

  “At least in what we would call a fourth dimension,” agreed Kedrys. “And more likely also a fifth, and possibly even a sixth. Let me demonstrate.” He picked up a copper rod from a nearby experiment table. “Consider the simplest case. Assume that electrons are flowing downward in this conductor, which is of normal matter. The induced magnetic field will then be circular around the conductor, and a compass needle held in the field will point counterclockwise. Now, if the rod were antimatter, with positrons flowing down the conductor, could we hypothesize that the compass needle would point in the opposite directio
n? Indeed not! In this sense, we’re not even sure what ‘opposite’ means. Certainly, however, it does not mean opposite in a three-dimensional geometry. It is conceivable, of course, that an antimatter compass needle might behave in just this way in an antimatter world, with an antimatter conductor. We have no experimental way to verify it. But our question is, what is the behavior of antimatter in a normal matter world. With a current flowing in an antimatter conductor in a normal matter environment, how then does the needle point? The answer is, that the question makes no sense. It’s like asking for the temperature of a pellet of ice in a pot of molten lead.”

  “Well,” said Oberon, “if the mass didn’t annihilate, and its effects are dissipated in some other dimension, I don’t see how it could bother anyone.”

  Kedrys laughed. “It’s not that easy. If the antimatter body were capable of control, it could be used, as I have said, to dominate all normal matter and normal energy in its area. It can warp normal space so that mass or energy moving into that space must be deflected out again. Thus it can act as a force field, or shield. Concomitantly, it could be used as an attraction force, continuously forcing normal space to close behind an object, pushing it forward. And this barely scratches the surface. This ability to displace matter might even permit the transfer of matter into other dimensions.”

  “Do you mean to say that with a little antimatter you could toss me into the fourth dimension?” demanded Oberon.

  “Yes,” said Kedrys gravely. He looked up, not at the Magister, but straight at Andrek. “With enough antimatter, properly controlled, it could easily be done.”

  Oberon was greatly amused. “Cast into the Deep from the middle of the Great House—with weapons and guards in every corridor? Really, Kedrys!”

  Kedrys turned his great enigmatic eyes on the last of the Delfieri, and the muscles across his flank rippled as though saying in motion what he could not say in words. Finally, he replied quietly. “I think you are safe, for the time being, at least. The amount of antimatter required for such a feat does not exist on Goris-Kard. Several dozen kilos would be necessary. It would have to come from the depths of the Deep, and it would have to emerge under complete control. For some months, now, I have been working on a homing beacon, which can be beamed into the Deep. It may be functional in a few days. If it works, it may bring—something—in from the Deep. And then … we shall see.”

  Oberon smiled indulgently. “That should be interesting. But keep it out of the Great House.”

  The other observers smiled with him.

  “Kedrys,” said Lyysdon, “what is the Deep?”

  “I don’t know,” said the kentaur frankly. “It’s like explaining time and space. It’s a lot easier to explain what they are not, than what they are. Consider the strangeness of space. It pours into our local Node at a tremendous rate, especially with the great quakes. We know it comes from the Deep. But this doesn’t explain either space or the Deep. We know that space is more like a metal than a gas. It is like a metal, because it transmits transverse waves, but not longitudinal; and because it bends in a gravitational field. But we know it is neither metal, nor gas. We know what space is not, but not what it is. And the same is true for the Deep.”

  Oberon broke the brief silence. “We must proceed with the demonstration,” he said curtly. “I have much to do tonight.”

  “Yes, sire.” Kedrys turned to Phaera. “Sister, you may release the hydrogen molecules.”

  The priestess turned to the apparatus, adjusted the dials, and pressed the button. Instantly, the floor shook, and there was a flash of blue light in the first quartz chamber. In the second chamber, the one with the ursecta, there was nothing. The vessel just sat there, motionless, gray-shadowed, and silent.

  Kedrys shrugged. “You see, that’s all there is to it.”

  And the biggest noise, thought Andrek, rising with the others, was the one that they all refused to hear: Horror again in flood through the Twelve Galaxies; Omega.

  After the demonstration, Oberon led Andrek into a small office adjoining the laboratories.

  They sat down. Andrek studied the face of the Magister. It was devoid of expression. It told him nothing.

  “For the last eighteen years,” said Oberon, “we have maintained a sizable staff at the Node Station, in cooperation with the other eleven galaxies. You know the various functions. You’ve probably seen the reports from time to time. Temblor expectancies. Proton density. Storm patterns. Astrogation beacon data. Dull reading, most of them. At least, the published material. But not everything is published. We have one very secret project. You saw it demonstrated tonight.”

  Andrek waited.

  “A complete report has been prepared for you.” Oberon pushed a sealed case across the desk to the advocate. “Read it on the ship. Both Kedrys and Lyysdon believe the ursecta can be trapped and transported to planetary atmospheres in large numbers. There they would consume a nuclear explosion, either fusion or fission. In fact, for the old type of nuclear process, their action is so rapid the charge cannot even reach critical mass.” He paused and looked hard at Andrek. “You appreciate the possibilities?”

  “Yes. If we have this, and the other eleven galaxies don’t, we can attack without fear of reprisals. The stalemate will end.”

  “But you see the questions?”

  “I think so. Does it really work. And do any of the other eleven have it?”

  “You will go to the Node, and there you will try to find out.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  There was a pause. Oberon continued. “You are probably wondering why I picked you.”

  Andrek waited in silence. Do I really wonder, he thought. You are sending me to the Node to die. Why … why?

  Oberon noted the silence. His jaw muscles knotted, and he continued in curt, clipped tones. “I have selected you because you can go without arousing suspicion. In three days the arbiters of the Twelve Galaxies will convene at the Node Station to review and approve the demolition of the planet Terror. You will proceed there in your official capacity as Advocate-Liaison for the Delfieri.”

  “Sire, isn’t the sitting of the arbiters largely a formality? They will certainly approve our demolition recommendations without a formal hearing.”

  Oberon frowned. “True. Nevertheless, Terror is a special case. That planet is the original source of the Horror, the disease spot of our entire Home Galaxy, and we must make sure she does not live to do this again. You will go to the Node, then, for the purpose of formally confirming our petition for the destruction of Terror, and to rebut any arguments to the contrary. The Terror matter will give you a legitimate reason for making the trip. You will find our complete file in this dossier.” He handed Andrek a big envelope. “Xerol is waiting. Amatar will show you out.” He did not offer his hand.

  “With the Magister’s permission, I would like to mention a matter involving your daughter, Amatar.”

  Oberon looked at him sharply. “Permission not granted.”

  “But I love Amatar,” blurted Andrek. “And she—”

  “You will leave immediately,” said Oberon tautly.

  And now I know, thought Andrek. He picked up the envelope, bowed in silence, and left.

  9. JUDGMENT: DEATH

  I dream of darkness and the Deep.

  No moon shall set, no sun shall rise.

  What matter that I have no eyes?

  Since I am dead, I need not weep!

  —A Song of the Rimor.

  After dismissing Andrek, Oberon returned to the music room with Kedrys and Vang. The room was empty, save for Amatar, who was seated at the harp, plucking the strings slowly and singing in soft mournful harmony with the Rimor, who accompanied her in a funereal baritone.

  “If I had wings, like Noah’s dove,

  I’d fly up the river to the one I love.

  Fare thee well, oh my darling, fare thee well…”

  Oberon listened, frowning, then cleared his throat and coughed. “The song makes me u
ncomfortable. Cease, Rimor!”

  The great console grew silent; Amatar’s hands drooped from the harp.

  Oberon sighed, “What is the song about?”

  “It’s called ‘Dink’s Song,’” said Amatar, without looking up. “It’s about a peasant woman named Dink, who lived long ago. She is lonely for her man, who is working on something called a railroad, in Texas.”

  “Texas?” said Oberon.

  “Texas was a real place. On Terror, I think,” said the Rimor, “even though some of your psycho-archaeologists insist it was a state of mind. But too many songs of Texas have survived to deny—”

  “Never mind.” Oberon dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. He turned to Amatar. “The spider.”

  She looked up at him, alert, unafraid. “What about the spider?”

  “Why did you give Andrek the spider?”

  She answered coolly. “It seemed appropriate, considering what waits him on Xerol. What should I have given him? A blossom from the tree? With a pretty speech?” She stood up suddenly and whirled gaily, her skirt billowing out around her. “James, Don Andrek, who would marry me, and who must therefore die by treachery and guile far from home, take this lovely gift in remembrance of the illustrious House of the Delfieri!” She curtseyed low and handed Oberon an imaginary bouquet.

  The man’s nostrils were pale, pinched. “Alea deliver us! You understand nothing!”

  “I understand that you are going to kill a man.”

  “I am. And I must. The life of one man means nothing to me. Nor ten men. Nor a nation. And probably not even a planet, if the House of the Delfieri is thereby preserved. In this galaxy there are nearly one million hominid planets, each with an average population of ten billion people. And you wonder that I shall slay one man.”

  “Strange that this one man is the man I love.”

  “It is not strange. The Aleans have determined it. It is his life or mine.” He continued vehemently. “Who is this man, this Andrek? No one and nothing! A pipsqueak advocate, a civil servant of the house staff, hired directly from the university. Until he became involved with you, I had never heard of him. And now he must leave. He must certainly leave. He cannot be your husband. It is preposterous. I shall select your husband for you, when you are of age, and when the time is at hand. Your marriage shall be determined by the needs of the state.” The scar across his face glowed red. Amatar shrank back imperceptibly.