by Nathan Dodge
“Yes. Of course. One surface, one boundary. Human version, you take a piece of paper, twist into a figure eight and tape it so it’s one continuous loop. If you put your finger on it and keep running it along the side, you can cover the whole thing without ever lifting your finger. It’s more interesting mathematically, but most of us get hung up on the fact that it feels somehow both one dimensional and three.”
“Exactly. Let’s say you’re a two-dimensional entity on that surface. You develop a clever way to jump around on the strip, point-to-point, instantly bridging two-dimensional distances, even jumping through the strip to the other side. Like a needle poking through the twisted strip of paper from one side to another.”
Benedict smiled. “What a clever two-dimensional person I am.”
“Yes. But one day, traveling around your strip, your traveling device malfunctions and you hop up, some millimeter or two above the strip’s surface. You have left your two-dimensional universe, violated the rules of two-dimensional travel. And yet, to a creature of three dimensions, what you have done is eminently reasonable.
“In a relational sense, we’re like that two-dimensional creature living on a perfect Mobius strip; a one-sided, one-edged surface that is infinitely thin. Only our universe has three spatial dimensions, and we can travel within them easily. Since a Mobius strip has effectively zero thickness in the third dimension, and since it is a closed surface, any place on it is relatively close to everywhere else.”
Benedict nodded. It made sense. “So even though we're traveling tens of billions of light years or so, we're still right next door to home.”
“At least in the sense of the upper dimensions. Our universe is neither open nor closed in a relational sense. More properly, its openness is theoretically unprovable, at least to-date. Up until now, there has been no way to measure openness or quantify it.”
Benedict frowned. “That still doesn't explain how we got here.”
“It provides the basis. After the last transition was complete, I noticed a much larger fuel usage than should have been utilized. Then our measurements indicated we were not within the spatial confines of the four-D universe anymore.”
Benedict pondered. “You mean we Jumped a lot farther than you intended?”
“Apparently.”
“How far?”
“Attempts at distance measurements so far have failed, but I can at least make an estimate.”
“How so?”
Camm hesitated. “Based on fuel consumption for a normal thirty-million-light-year Jump, I can estimate distance based on fuel consumption of the last Jump, which was quite large.”
Benedict sat forward in his chair. “And?”
“It appears that we moved nearly twenty billion light years.”
Benedict eased back in his chair with a whistle. After a moment of silence, he asked, “No way of knowing, I suppose, just how far we were from the edge, or boundary, or whatever the hell it is that constitutes the end of things, before your last Jump?”
Camm spoke up. “I detected objects as much as twelve billion light years distant, based on the red shift, when I took those last sightings. There was no indication of an edge; that is, any distinct distance past which there was no detectable radiation.”
“Of course, Camm wasn’t looking for a boundary,” Kogan pointed out. “We’re like Columbus, trusting a theory that the universe can be circumnavigated, at least in a four-dimensional sense.”
Benedict considered. “How in blazes do you ever figure to get home if you can’t get east by going west?”
Kogan bounced a finger up and down, starting left, then moving back right. “We try to hop backwards, same way we came. Since we save the coordinates for every past stop, we simply retrace our steps, that is, repeat the already-made Jumps in reverse order, and go home.”
Benedict nodded; that made sense. What didn’t was that nobody, including the most powerful computational processor ever devised, totally understood MV theory.
“What do you propose to do?”
Kogan shrugged. “Either we go home, or go on. Which brings up some corollary questions, like how far and which direction?”
“If we elect to go home, how sure are you that we can get back on track?”
Kogan referred the question. “Camm?”
“Even though we don't know exactly how far that last Jump carried us, we are still in multivector space. When I can determine our current position, I can program a compensating back Jump and return to the previous position. Once we are back within the original course scenario, we simply retrace our steps, as the captain explained a moment ago.” Camm sounded fairly confident, or maybe Benedict was reading too much into the voice from the speaker.
“What if you can’t determine our current position?”
Camm hesitated, either to consult data or choose his reply. “That might cause a problem, since the navigation coordinates for our last Jump were only for a normal thirty million light years Jump, despite the fact that we ended up where we are now.”
Kogan dismissed the subject. “We have that problem whichever way we go. The question is whether to go or not.”
His response was almost instantaneous. “I’ll support your decision, whichever it is.”
Kogan frowned. “You’re the government's representative. The thing is, I’d like a reasoned opinion from someone besides my staff.”
Benedict smiled. “I’m a big believer in charge, charge, charge—always move forward. But I have to say, in this case maybe it’s better to try to retrace our steps. Our charter is to explore our universe. At present, if Camm is correct, we’re not in our universe. We’re like that two-D explorer who jumped off the surface. Maybe he’d like to explore this new, unknown dimension, but he may not be physically equipped for that exploration. If we can’t sense our new surroundings, how can we explore them?”
Before Kogan could reply, Camm interrupted. “Sir, Admiral Stamson would like for you to look over the new measurements.”
Kogan turned to the terminal. “Condense it. I don't want a bunch of data tables and graphs.”
“Very well. There is no method available to determine the distance to the edge of the nearest mass. There is a broad spectrum of radiation, widely dispersed in and along the visible area of light which you see, but the source appears absolutely continuous. There are no discrete sources of radiation visible. Another thing: there appears to be a modulation on the incident radiation.”
“Modulation?”
“Yes. Perhaps I should say randomness. If I direct my scanners to a small, solid angle along the radiation source, there are occasional time discontinuities in the radiation.”
“You mean the radiation comes and goes sporadically.”
“Depending on the frequency. For instance, in the visible spectrum the more common spectral lines are virtually constant. There are nanosecond breaks in the radiation very infrequently. But for some of the rarer lines there are infrequent bursts of radiation followed by much longer periods of no radiation.”
“How long?”
“As much as seconds, separated by nanosecond events.”
For some reason that information seemed important. After a moment's consideration, Benedict tossed it away. After all, he wasn’t a relational physicist. “Any idea of the cause?”
“No.”
“Care to speculate?”
Camm paused again, and Benedict found himself wondering if it were programmed behavior, or learned through experience as a human attribute. “Not yet. Currently, I have no working hypothesis.”
Kogan drummed fingers along the edge of his desk. “Well, get back to us if you have a brainstorm.”
“Yes, sir.” Camm withdrew electronically to wherever he meditated.
Benedict shifted in his chair, preparatory to standing up. “I'd appreciate updates on your progress.” He paused. “Were you in favor of the expedition?”
Kogan shrugged. “I think it was too good for the president t
o pass up. First circumnavigation of the entire universe. Columbus in the twenty-second century. Like the first moon program back a hundred fifty years ago—hard to say anything against it. And there’s always the chance of finding that intelligent life.”
“Not at the rate we're traveling.”
“Sure, you and I know that. To you, me, the crew, the relational physicists, and the astronomers, this is a zip around the race track, to see if it's really possible to get back to the starting gate.
“But to the average guy, this is the trip where we see it all, then go back and put out the new Exxon guide to the universe, complete with maps and four-star restaurants. Everybody climbed on the bandwagon. It might have been prudent to let the technology, and our space fleet, mature a little further. But what the hell, someone would do it eventually. Why not let the U.S. be first in space again? It probably makes more sense than ninety-nine percent of the things our government does.”
Benedict got up to leave. As he started through the hatch, the ship staggered to his left in a drunken yaw, pitched slightly, and settled forward with a disconcerting lurch in the Paulson gravity field. He ricocheted off the doorjamb, ending up on the floor. Kogan leapt to his aid, helping him into the chair again. After assurance of Benedict's well-being, Kogan was back at his console.
“Quince? What the hell was that?”
Benedict brushed himself off and watched Kogan grow incrementally more fidgety with each passing second. Finally, an embarrassed voice said, “Sorry, sir. We had a mistake in the manual Jump sequencing. We were going step-by-step, as you ordered. I got out of sequence.”
Benedict had to stifle a laugh at Kogan’s appearance; at least Kogan's reply did not betray his frustration. “God's sake, Quince, be careful; you're my most experienced man.”
“Sorry, sir. We'll resume with your permission.”
Kogan okayed and signed off. He shrugged at his desk. “I suppose they’re all edgy. The crew knows something’s up by now. We haven’t even told Quince the complete story. Stamson’s people and we two are the only ones who have the whole picture, or what there is of it. That’s not like Quince, to goof on a simple setup. I should probably have let Camm do it as usual, but with that memory error, I told them to walk through it manually.”
Benedict got to his feet once more. “Bill, you have such supermen on this ship they're probably edgy because the trip has been so smooth this far.”
Kogan smiled at the last comment. “Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Benedict exited the cabin as carefully as possible, trying not to betray the tinge of vertigo that was playing with his frontal lobes. Once more he dodged fast-moving crewman in the narrow hallways. No one, he reflected, ever moved at less than a trot, and all looked busy and determined. If anyone was concerned or worried, you couldn’t prove it by their demeanor.
Their very youth and vigor was enough to trigger his own envy. Kogan, a vastly experienced captain, didn’t even come to half Benedict’s age. Stamson, by far the senior officer in terms of age, probably had just arrived at sixty. And as for the stream of young, fresh-faced crew members that constantly rushed to and fro, Benedict doubted if many had even seen the end of their third decade. Needing a bit of down time, he hurried to his cabin.
III. More Mistakes
Benedict spent the remaining time before noon over a belated breakfast snack with more coffee, adding the morning’s developments to his trip log. He added private notes and messages to Faye, a continuing letter she might someday read if and when he returned. Her reading it would have to wait—postal charges from his current location would be exorbitant.
At noon he lunched with the enlisted men. They called it the mess, just as Navy men had for hundreds of years, but to him it was simply a rather good cafeteria. He knew he was welcome at the captain’s table, but Stamson would doubtless be there and the man got on his nerves after a while.
Benedict kept to his cabin during the afternoon. Just before bedtime, Kogan called personally over his com unit. “I appreciated your input today. In case you want a status update, Camm can also send you data. Right, Camm?”
“Yes, sir,” Camm’s voice issued from the same speaker. “My resources are at your disposal, Mr. Benedict.”
Benedict voiced his appreciation, and Kogan disconnected. Feeling somewhat homesick, Benedict hauled out a print-out of a section from the morning news back home; Faye had printed it and trimmed it to fit between pages of a small scrapbook of their pictures that she had sent along in his luggage. Beneath a large headline (“Tour of the Universe Leaves tomorrow”) was a summary of the proposed mission.
The long awaited “neighborhood tour” of the universe begins tomorrow. At 5:00 AM EST, Captain William O. Kogan will give the word, and USS Columbia, America’s twenty-third and largest galactic exploration vehicle, will cast off from the John Glenn research station. With a crew of five hundred, the quarter-million-ton vessel will begin what is estimated to be a journey of over forty billion light years, to complete the circumnavigation of the known universe.
Collins and McCray accidentally discovered the relational effect forty years ago, during experimentation with high-intensity fields (related story here on page three). Their work led to multivector theory and development of Jump drive.
Interviewed yesterday on board Columbia, Captain Kogan expressed optimism for the success of his command. “Our ship can move thirty million light years using less energy than exploration vehicles used on the first manned Jupiter trip earlier in the century. If you compare risks, this is a far safer mission.”
There was more, including an interview with Stamson, an artist’s concept of the circumnavigation, and even a mention that Jordan W. (“Bick”) Benedict, retired congressman from Texas, would be on board as a representative of the president. Benedict refolded it and slipped it inside the flyleaf of his journal. Putting the volume in his desk drawer, he asked, “Camm, can you put that outside view on the display?”
The narrow band of light appeared unchanged, and Benedict gave it only a cursory examination. Instructing Camm to wake him if anything unusual occurred, he went to bed.
* * *
“Mr. Benedict.”
Déjà vu. The last time I woke up, someone was calling my name. Benedict struggled to open his eyes and propped himself up in bed on one elbow. The voice was different this time. He realized that Camm had spoken.
“Yes, Camm.” He glanced at the new display: 0435 AM showed in the corner, but otherwise the screen was blank.
“At 0352 we attempted another Jump, consuming a very large amount of power, and the light emission we had observed disappeared. We currently are totally isolated, with no observable matter or energy of any kind within sensor range.”
“As in nothing?”
“Yes. At the low-photon range my sensors are operating, self-emission is a problem, but to the limits of calibration I detect no energy or particle presence in any direction.”
“And we used a lot of energy. So we went somewhere.”
“Apparently.”
“Is the captain on the bridge?”
“He is going to the laboratory complex. There has been an emergency alert on that level. I believe there was an accident, but my sensors are inoperative in that area.”
Benedict had been out of bed on the word “alert.” He threw on trousers, shoes, and a loose sweater. “I think I'll go down. It sounds like all our bad luck is coming at once.”
“Please be careful. I’m blind and deaf in that area. I'll notify personnel at the nearest terminal that you’re coming.”
The lab was actually a series of laboratory rooms and office areas near the rear of the ship, adjacent to the fuel tanks and propulsion systems. He strode down empty corridors, hearing the sounds of the ship alert horns, warning lights at hall intersections blinking red. The alert signal was evidently not relayed to his quarters.
Near the labs, he encountered a crowd in the main hallway—crew in fire gear, first
aid personnel, several of the command team including McIntire, the exec, and ship security teams. They let him through since they knew him, but a marine sergeant in a security uniform stopped him at the third portal.
Benedict knew he could pull rank, and most of the crew knew that he was the president’s representative. But he also instinctively knew that he would only be in the way, so he waited impatiently for the captain to emerge. The sergeant was stationed too far away from the first lab facility hatch to see anything, but an odor of smoke permeated the air, and something else. At first it didn’t register, but Benedict eventually identified the scent of blood.
Finally, Kogan appeared, uniform smudged with ash and several splashes of brownish-red on his trousers.
Kogan looked surprised. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
“I was concerned. What happened?”
“I don't know exactly. We were going to conduct some experiments by releasing certain chemicals out of the ship in the morning. This crew was readying some of the materials. Most of them are not normally explosive, but apparently someone made a mistake in the measurements.”
Benedict shook his head. There was no adequate expression of sympathy. “Fatalities?”
“Several—and others in bad shape. Some may live.”
“I’ll get out of your hair.” Benedict left, cursing his age and stupidity all the way back to the quarters. Who do you think you are? Just because Kogan acknowledges you as the president’s emissary doesn’t mean you’re the new expert on everything. One Stamson is enough! Back in his cabin, he threw off his clothing, dove into his bunk, and waited impatiently for sleep.
After two restless hours, during which sleep eluded him completely, Benedict rose and shaved, the night’s events lying heavily on him. He doubted if he knew any of the crew who had died, but he grieved anyway. They—the crew—were young, eager, and full of a youth he had left behind eons ago. Now several were gone, lives blown away by a stupid mistake, which in retrospect seemed to be one in a geometrically increasing number.