by Terry Carr
Jamie leaned forward, wanting to reach out and touch her, knowing that was out of place in her office. He said, “Well, you’re certainly beautiful enough for the job, then.”
“Don’t be patronizing,” she said. “Any woman can be beautiful—so can any man. But what do I do? The most dramatic thing that’s happened since I became Guardian is this growth of life in the Abyss, and we’ll kill that off with a few tons of chemicals.”
She rose from her seat, came around her desk and hugged Jamie—a quick squeeze, preoccupied. She began to pace nervously, Jamie noticed that there was a worn path in the moonweb rug.
“Do you really think your poisons are going to kill all those things down in the Abyss?” he asked her.
“Of course they will. You said so yourself.”
He shook his head. “I only said they’d make a difference. Oh, they’ll kill a lot of the life down there, certainly. But what about the things they don’t kill?”
“They’ll kill everything,” she said. But she paused in her pacing to look at him, and her expression was unsure.
“How many square kilometers of life do you suppose there are at the floor of the Abyss?” he asked. “Plus whatever’s been growing up the sides of the walls. Do you think you won’t miss anything at all?”
She nodded. “All right, we won’t get it all. But we’ll kill most of it, and what’s left won’t be important.” Her eyes held his. “Or do you think it will?”
He remembered the darkness, the white shapes, the sense of evil that had filled him. And he knew that she hadn’t accepted that feeling, that vision. “I think those things will try to climb out of the Abyss as long as there’s a single one of them alive,” he said.
She sighed and sat down again in the large hide-covered chair behind her desk; she ran her fingers back and forth along the matted hair on its arms. “Let them try to get out, then. We’ll keep on killing them.”
“Is it that simple?”
“Yes. The Council is behind me, and the temples are behind it. Do you know what happened when we circulated copies of this morning’s holos to the temples? Every one of them, without exception,—voted to destroy those creatures. I’ve never seen the temples agree so totally. You’d think the Pro-Lifers or even the Universalists would argue that those things were sacred—they’re life forms, no matter how monstrous they are.”
Jamie remembered the priestess’s broadcast vision. “They think it’s the Beast. They all have some concept of ultimate evil, even if they don’t agree on what’s good.”
She laughed shortly. “Jamie, you try so hard to be a cynic. But even you got caught in that broadcast.”
“I know.” He felt uncomfortable; something deep within him was shaken to discover how vulnerable he was. Jamie thought of himself as a reasonable person.
“Well, if even you had that reaction, you can imagine the pressure we’re getting from the temples,” Gloriana said. “Even if I wanted to stop the poisoning, they wouldn’t let me.” She began to beat a fist on the arm of her chair, softly, regularly. “You see? The temples tell the Council what they want, the Council tells me, and it’s up to me to see that it’s done. That’s all. I’m just supposed to do what they tell me.”
Her expression had become dark and angry again; Jamie didn’t want to get into that same discussion. “Who was the priestess who had the vision?” he asked.
Gloriana leafed through papers on her desk. “Here it is: the Cathedral of the Five Elements. It’s near the Final Cataract—one of the old, established temples.” Gloriana studied the paper she’d picked up. “She’s taken the name Salamander. Real name: Mary Bert Doyle. Married twice, once singly, once in a multiple—not married now.” She glanced up at Jamie. “Evidently marriage didn’t give her much sense of purpose.”
“Don’t compare yourself to some religious fanatic,” he said, annoyed. His shoulder was throbbing. At least the Guard doctor had said that it wasn’t broken.
“Who knows what makes religious fanatics?” Gloriana said. “But whatever she was after in life, she didn’t find it in marriage, so she went into temple life.”
“Evidently she chose her temple more carefully than her marriage partners,” Jamie said, keeping his voice level. “You said she was priestess of one of the important ones.”
Gloriana smiled faintly as she placed the paper neatly on top of a sheaf of documents on her desk. “Her temple is likely to become even more important soon. By coincidence, she’s holding open services tonight, and she’s even brought in a sculptor to do the fire. There’ve been notices tacked up all over the city for days. And after her broadcast this morning …”
“What time is the service?” Jamie asked. He was surprised that he had asked that; it had been only a thought passing through his mind. But he wanted to stop Gloriana’s talking; when she was in such a dark mood her energy was enough to drag him down with her. And now particularly, after their experience in the Abyss, he felt too shaken to deal with her mood.
“The notices say that things will start at sundown,” Gloriana said. She looked at him quizzically. “Surely you aren’t thinking of going.”
“Why not?” Jamie’s head had begun to ache; the pain seemed to travel from his bruised shoulder right up the back of his neck. He wanted to get out of this office, away from Gloriana. “I think I will go. I’d like to see what kind of woman would have a vision as bad as the one I picked up.”
Gloriana’s gaze was noncommittal. “You just said she was a religious fanatic. You were right; that’s what she is. Since when are you interested in fanatics, Jamie?”
She was implying something, he knew. She thought that because he had been badly frightened by this priestess’s vision he was now ripe for conversion. Damn her. He stood up.
“I’ve been thinking about my future—you’re not the only one who thinks, you know. And maybe it would be a good idea for me to start meeting new people.”
She shook her head, eyes still on his. “Don’t be a fool, Jamie. You don’t know anything about religion, and you think you do. You have no idea how many people like you become religious fanatics overnight,”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said.
She shrugged. “You’ll be among a crowd in a dark cathedral, chanting in front of a fire. Everyone around you will be a believer, and the crowd feeling will get to you. Especially if this priestess has charisma, presence. That’s how they make converts, you know—no one will argue with you; nobody will try to convince you of anything. You’ll do it yourself.”
Jamie smiled tightly. “Thanks for the warning. And for the faith you have in me.” He went to the door, opened it and turned to look at her. He wanted to say something devastating, something that would show that he was as contemptuous of her as she obviously was of him.
“I don’t know why I bother,” she said as she picked up a sheaf of papers and began to glance through them.
Jamie left without another word. At the last moment he managed to keep himself from slamming the door.
There is coherence in time.
River Fundament flows: its unity is change.
Does this seem paradoxical?
There are no paradoxes in reality, only in minds
that fail to see how moments connect.
—The Book of Causes
WIND blew in Nikki’s face as the gravity boat gathered speed on the river; her long hair lifted from her shoulders and pulled at her temples. The boat rode smoothly in the water, stabilized by its gravity motors.
“Perfect!” she shouted into the cool air. “This is really going to be something; you wait and see!”
The millipede watched the passing banks with its great dark eyes, blinking furred eyelids in the wind. Cold water splashed out from the boat as it cut through the current, riding high. Robin sat with her hands gripping the seat, staring straight ahead. Nikki saw her taut expression and laughed loudly.
“Nothing to be afraid of!” she told the girl. “It’s a smooth ride from here
to the Abyss!”
“I can’t swim,” Robin said. “Can you?” She looked at Nikki as though the question were a challenge.
“Me? How could I sink? Don’t you know fat floats?” Nikki laughed uproariously, bouncing in her seat.
The millipede said, “There will be no need for swimming.”
“Hey!” said Nikki, turning to the foreigner. “Do millipedes swim? Do you have lakes of ammonia or mercury or something on your world? Do you do the hundred-legged crawl stroke?”
“We are never in liquid,” the millipede said. “What is that building ahead?” It pointed with one of its forefeet. The creature’s body seemed awkward as it rested on its back in the seat, held in by the gravity harness. Muscles in its body moved continually, rippling its fur.
Nikki peered ahead and saw where the millipede was pointing. “That’s a windmill,” she told it. “When the wind blows, it moves those big vanes there, and they’re attached to generators inside. They provide power for stuff like—well, come on, Robin, you’re a student; you tell us!”
Robin, still staring straight ahead, said, “Factories, lights, heaters, elevators—”
“You’ll see the taller buildings later,” Nikki said. “In the Apprentice Quarters. That’s where I live—on the fourteenth floor of a building that goes up to twenty stories.”
The millipede said, “Earth’s technology is a great tradition. The human worlds of the inner galaxy use other forms of energy, however.”
“Stellar inertia,” Robin said, still facing straight ahead but looking at the millipede from the corners of her eyes. “They use that there, don’t they?”
“Only humans use it,” said the millipede.
“You have to empty out a planet to put in all that machinery, don’t you?” the girl said, turning in her seat to face the foreigner. “They won’t let us do it here. They say we have to keep Earth the way it used to be, like a historic landmark. I think it’s dumb.”
The millipede regarded her silently for a moment. The fur of its head and back ruffled in the wind of the boat’s passage. “Use of the stars’ inertia is controversial,” it said. “Ultimately it will threaten the balance of gravitational forces in the galaxy. It is difficult for humans to accept this:”
“I bet,” said Robin. She looked doubtfully at the millipede, as though she suspected it was trying to play some joke on her. Then she turned to Nikki. “You didn’t think I knew about stellar inertia, did you?”
Nikki had never heard of stellar inertia, but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to a child. Nor to a foreigner. “If using stella inertia was going to mess up the galaxy,” she said to the millipede, “I’m sure people would realize it. Humans aren’t stupid, you know.”
The millipede waved several of its forefeet, apparently at random. “Humanity is a brilliant race; every being in the galaxy is grateful to humanity for many technical advances. It is no fault of humans that you have no temporal vision.”
Temporal vision? Nikki had never heard of that either. She glanced at Robin, wondering if she knew what the foreigner was talking about. But Robin was staring in open perplexity at the creature.
“What’s temporal vision?” she asked.
“The ability to see in time as well as in space,” said the millipede immediately, as though it had expected the question. “Members of my species and of some others can see the future and the past as readily as they see the present.” The creature paused. Seeing that Robin continued to stare uncomprehendingly, it said, “it is difficult to describe.”
“You told us earlier that you could see the future—I don’t believe you,” said Robin flatly.
“Tell us about it,” Nikki said. “See if you can convince us you’re not making it up.”
The millipede bobbed its head. “Yes. It is simply the ability to see what will happen to us at any time in our lives, not only in the moment through which our consciousness is passing. We see the past not only in our memory, but as an actuality, as events that pass before our eyes. We see the future in the same way.”
“Oh boy,” said Robin. “You must really think we’re dumb, telling us stuff like that.”
“Not at all. It is only foreign to your minds; it is not impossible for you to understand. Even though you feel it is the dumbest thing you ever heard—”
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard!” Robin said vehemently. Then she stopped, staring at the millipede.
“That’s just a trick!” said Robin and the millipede simultaneously.
Nikki thought for a moment she had imagined it, the sound of their voices blending—some trick of the wind. But the look on Robin’s face was one of shock, while the millipede merely smiled its thin little smile.
So it was true; the millipede had known what she was going to say before she had said it. Well, so what? “You’re a telepath, aren’t you?” Nikki said. It was obvious; there were quite a few telepaths in Cirque. You didn’t have to be some kind of foreign freak to do what the millipede had done.
“I cannot read the minds of humans,” said the foreigner. “I cannot even hear the broadcasts of your monitor. I see and hear only what happens in my presence.”
Nikki and Robin both stared at the creature now. Nikki hoped she didn’t look as ridiculous as Robin did. “Listen,” she said angrily, “if that’s true, then—” She flailed about mentally, searching for an objection. Something was fishy about what the millipede had said.
“What was all that stuff about how bad it is to use stellar inertia?” Robin said. “You said after a while it would mess up the balance of galactic gravity or something, is that right?”
The millipede, still smiling, said, “But how could I know that, since it will probably be thousands of years before anybody notices anything funny in all that gravity stuff—”
“—all that gravity stuff,” said Robin, talking loudly to drown out the millipede. “And how would you know that if you can only see what happens to you?”
Robin stopped talking and waited triumphantly for the millipede to answer. She was obviously sure she had such a good point that the foreigner would have to admit it was lying. But Nikki saw the girl’s face become uncertain as moments passed and the creature only smiled at her.
Nikki shivered and wished she hadn’t left her shawl at the Winter Gate; it was chilly out here on the river. She huddled into her arms, rubbing her shoulders.
“You will believe me soon,” the millipede said. “I am sorry you feel as you do. To answer your question, I have met people who will live much longer than I—beings from the edge of our galaxy. They will be alive for many thousands of years, and they too have temporal vision; they know what will happen that far in the future. They have told me, as they have told scientists of my people. And of your people too—human scientists. It is difficult for humans to believe us, however.”
Robin glared at the millipede. “Well, why don’t you—”
“Your scientists will stop using stellar inertia before too much time has passed,” said the creature.
“—why don’t you stop those people from using stellar inertia, if you know it’s dangerous?”
“Soon we shall be able to explain what makes it dangerous,” the millipede said.
The three of them looked at one another silently then, the millipede calmly blinking furred eyelids, Nikki and Robin belatedly putting together the order of the conversation that had just happened.
Nikki suddenly laughed, seeing Robin’s frustration. “We told Jordan you’d learn a lot by coming along, didn’t we? I guess you’re getting more than you bargained for.”
Robin shot a glance of pure hatred at Nikki. “You’re sure not helping,” she said. “Do you believe this stuff?”
“Oh, I don’t care,” Nikki said, waving a hand. The noise of the river had become much louder, so that they nearly had to shout to make themselves heard. There was a roaring ahead—the First Cataract. The river seemed to flow more and more quickly as they approached it. On t
he banks, the houses were taller now, several stories; each house had balconies facing the river. Nikki saw clothing hung out to dry on several of the balconies.
Robin had subsided into a disgusted silence, arms folded across her chest. The millipede sat forward, writhing its body upward in the grip of its gravity harness and peering intently ahead. A few hundred meters downstream, the river abruptly disappeared where it fell into the gorge of the First Cataract; mist rose from below, obscuring their view.
The roar of the falls grew louder; it seemed to thunder in Nikki’s head. The mist drifted upriver at water level, quickly drenching the boat and its passengers as thoroughly as if they were in a rainstorm. Nikki huddled down in her seat and brushed her hair back with cold fingers to keep water out of her eyes. She hated this; if they’d told her before she’d gotten into the boat that she’d have to take a shower with her clothes on, she wouldn’t have come. You’d think they could—
The roaring kept getting louder, and now it went up in pitch. It became a loud whine, a siren wail; Nikki’s head felt as though it would explode. She moaned, gasping for breath in the mist-drenched air. She felt her stomach rise as the boat slapped through the current.
She glanced at Robin and the millipede and was surprised to see that they didn’t seem bothered by any of this. Robin was grinning foolishly; the millipede was still sitting forward in its seat, looking as calm as if nothing at all were happening. But the crashing! The scream of the falls! Why was she the only one who felt it?
Then she knew. Four. It’s you, isn’t it? Trying to get out, trying to catch me by surprise!
Waves of excitement swept over her; she seemed to be falling. The noise in her head, incredibly, got louder. No! You can’t! But there was nothing for her to hold, and darkness closed in.
I’ll miss going over the Cataract, she thought with dim resentment; but then the blackness became complete. It filled her mind and held it, and when gradually it began to fade, to lighten both in weight and color, she thought: How wonderful.