The Rediscovery of Man

by Cordwainer Smith

  The doctor was friendly but firm.

  “You actually got touched by that Dragon. That’s as close a shave as I’ve ever seen. It’s all so quick that it’ll be a long time before we know what happened scientifically, but I suppose you’d be ready for the insane asylum now if the contact had lasted several tenths of a millisecond longer. What kind of cat did you have out in front of you?”

  Underhill felt the words coming out of him slowly. Words were such a lot of trouble compared with the speed and the joy of thinking, fast and sharp and clear, mind to mind! But words were all that could reach ordinary people like this doctor.

  His mouth moved heavily as he articulated words.

  “Don’t call our Partners cats. The right thing to call them is Partners. They fight for us in a team. You ought to know we call them Partners, not cats. How is mine?”

  “I don’t know,” said the doctor contritely.

  “We’ll find out for you. Meanwhile, old man, you take it easy. There’s nothing but rest that can help you. Can you make yourself sleep, or would you like us to give you some kind of sedative?”

  “I can sleep,” said Underhill.

  “I just want to know about the Lady May.”

  The nurse joined in. She was a little antagonistic.

  “Don’t you want to know about the other people?”

  “They’re okay,” said Underhill.

  “I knew that before I came in here.” He stretched his arms and sighed and grinned at them. He could see they were relaxing and were beginning to treat him as a person instead of a patient.

  “I’m all right,” he said.

  “Just let me know when I can go see my Partner.”

  A new thought struck him. He looked wildly at the doctor.

  “They didn’t send her off with the ship, did they?”

  “I’ll find out right away,” said the doctor. He gave Underhill a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and left the room.

  The nurse took a napkin off a goblet of chilled fruit juice.

  Underhill tried to smile at her. There seemed to be something wrong with the girl. He wished she would go away. First she had started to be friendly and now she was distant again. It’s a nuisance being telepathic, he thought. You keep trying to reach even when you are not making contact.

  Suddenly she swung around on him.

  “You pin lighters You and your damn cats!”

  Just as she stamped out, he burst into her mind. He saw himself a radiant hero, clad in his smooth suede uniform, the pin set crown shining like ancient royal jewels around his head. He saw his own face, handsome and masculine, shining out of her mind. He saw himself very far away and he saw himself as she hated him.

  She hated him in the secrecy of her own mind. She hated him because he was she thought proud and strange and rich, better and more beautiful than people like her.

  He cut off the sight of her mind and, as he buried his face in the pillow, he caught an image of the Lady May.

  “She is a cat,” he thought.

  “That’s all she is a cat!” But that was not how his mind saw her quick beyond all dreams of speed, sharp, clever, unbelievably graceful, beautiful, wordless, and undemanding.

  Where would he ever find a woman who could compare with her?

  The Burning of the Brain

  I. Dolores

  Oh I tell you, it is sad, it is more than sad, it is fearful for it is a dreadful thing to go into the Up-and-Out, to fly without flying, to move between the stars as a moth may drift among the leaves on a summer night.

  Of all the men who took the great ships into plano form none was braver, none stronger, than Captain Magno Taliano.

  Scanners had been gone for centuries and the jonasoidal effect had become so simple, so manageable, that the traversing of light years was no more difficult to most of the passengers of the great ships than to go from one room to the other.

  Passengers moved easily.

  Not the crew.

  Least of all the captain.

  The captain of a jonasoidal ship which had embarked on an interstellar journey was a man subject to rare and overwhelming strains. The art of getting past all the complications of space was far more like the piloting of turbulent waters in ancient days than like the smooth seas which legendary men once traversed with sails alone.

  Go-Captain on the Wu-Feinstein, finest ship of its class, was Magno Taliano.

  Of him it was said, “He could sail through hell with the muscles of his left eye alone. He could plow space with his living brain if the instruments failed . . .”

  Wife to the Go-Captain was Dolores Oh. The name was Japonical, from some nation of the ancient days. Dolores Oh had been once beautiful, so beautiful that she took men’s breath away, made wise men into fools, made young men into nightmares of lust and yearning. Wherever she went men had quarreled and fought over her.

  But Dolores Oh was proud beyond all common limits of pride.

  She refused to go through the ordinary rejuvenescence. A terrible yearning a of Man hundred or so years back must have come over her. Perhaps she said to herself, before that hope and terror which a mirror in a quiet room becomes to anyone: “Surely I am me. There must be a me more than the beauty of my face, there must be a something other than the delicacy of skin and the accidental lines of my jaw and my cheekbone."

  “What have men loved if it wasn’t me? Can I ever find out who I am or what I am if I don’t let beauty perish and live on in whatever flesh age gives me?”

  She had met the Go-Captain and had married him in a romance that left forty planets talking and half the ship lines stunned.

  Magno Taliano was at the very beginning of his genius.

  Space, we can tell you, is rough rough like the wildest of storm driven waters, filled with perils which only the most sensitive, the quickest, the most daring of men can surmount.

  Best of them all, class for class, age for age, out of class, beating the best of his seniors, was Magno Taliano.

  For him to marry the most beautiful beauty of forty worlds was a wedding like Heloise and Abelard’s or like the unforgettable romance of Helen America and Mr. Grey-no-more.

  The ships of the Go-Captain Magno Taliano became more beautiful year by year, century by century.

  As ships became better he always obtained the best. He maintained his lead over the other Go-Captains so overwhelmingly that it was unthinkable for the finest ship of mankind to sail out amid the roughnesses and uncertainties of two-dimensional space without himself at the helm.

  Stop-Captains were proud to sail space beside him. (Though the Stop-Captains had nothing more to do than to check the maintenance of the ship, its loading and unloading when it was in normal space, they were still more than ordinary men in their own kind of world, a world far below the more majestic and adventurous universe of the Go-Captains.) Magno Taliano had a niece who in the modern style used a place instead of a name: she was called “Dita from the Great South House.”

  When Dita came aboard the Wu-Feinstein she had heard much of Dolores Oh, her aunt by marriage who had once captivated the men in many worlds. Dita was wholly unprepared for what she found.

  Dolores greeted her civilly enough, but the civility was a sucking pump of hideous anxiety, the friendliness was the driest of mockeries, the greeting itself an attack.

  What’s the matter with the woman? thought Dita.

  As if to answer her thought, Dolores said aloud and in words: “It’s nice to meet a woman who’s not trying to take Taliano from me. I love him. Can you believe that? Can you?”

  “Of course,” said Dita. She looked at the ruined face of Dolores Oh, at the dreaming terror in Dolores’s eyes, and she realized that Dolores had passed all limits of nightmare and had become a veritable demon of regret, a possessive ghost who sucked the vitality from her husband, who dreaded companionship, hated friendship, rejected even the most casual of acquaintances, because she feared forever and without limit that there was really nothing t
o herself, and feared that without Magno Taliano she would be more lost than the blackest of whirlpools in the nothing between the stars.

  Magno Taliano came in.

  He saw his wife and niece together.

  He must have been used to Dolores Oh. In Dita’s eyes Dolores was more frightening than a mud-caked reptile raising its wounded and venomous head with blind hunger and blind rage.

  To Magno Taliano the ghastly woman who stood like a witch beside him was somehow the beautiful girl he had wooed and had married one-hundred-sixty-four years before.

  He kissed the withered cheek, he stroked the dried and stringy hair, he looked into the greedy, terror-haunted eyes as though they were the eyes of a child he loved. He said, lightly and gently, “Be good to Dita, my dear.”

  He went on through the lobby of the ship to the inner sanctum of the plano forming room.

  The Stop-Captain waited for him. Outside on the world of Sherman the scented breezes of that pleasant planet blew in through the open windows of the ship.

  Wu-Feinstein, finest ship of its class, had no need for metal walls. It was built to resemble an ancient, prehistoric estate named Mount Vernon, and when it sailed between the stars it was encased in its own rigid and self-renewing field of force.

  The passengers went through a few pleasant hours of strolling on the grass, enjoying the spacious rooms, chatting beneath a marvelous simulacrum of an atmosphere-filled sky.

  Only in the plano forming room did the Go-Captain know what happened. The Go-Captain, his pin lighters sitting beside him, took the ship from one compression to another, leaping hotly and frantically through space, sometimes one light-year, sometimes a hundred light-years, jump, jump, jump, jump until the ship, the light touches of the captain’s mind guiding it, passed the perils of millions upon millions of worlds, came out at its appointed destination, and settled as lightly as one feather resting upon others, settled into an embroidered and decorated countryside where the passengers could move as easily away from their journey as if they had done nothing more than to pass an afternoon in a pleasant old house by the side of a river.

  II. The Lost Locksheet

  Magno Taliano nodded to his pin lighters The Stop-Captain bowed obsequiously from the doorway of the plano forming room.

  Taliano looked at him sternly, but with robust friendliness. With formal and austere courtesy he asked, “Sir and Colleague, is everything ready for the jonasoidal effect?”

  The Stop-Captain bowed even more formally.

  “Truly ready.

  Sir and Master.”

  “The lock sheets in place?”

  “Truly in place, Sir and Master.”

  “The passengers secure?”

  “The passengers are secure, numbered, happy and ready, Sir and Master.”

  Then came the last and the most serious of questions.

  “Are my pin lighters warmed with their pin-sets and ready for combat?”

  “Ready for combat, Sir and Master.” With these words the Stop-Captain withdrew. Magno Taliano smiled to his pin lighters

  Through the minds of all of them there passed the same thought.

  How could a man that pleasant stay married all those years to a hag like Dolores Oh? How could that witch, that horror, have ever been a beauty? How could that beast have ever been a woman, particularly the divine and glamorous Dolores Oh whose image we still see in four-di every now and then?

  Yet pleasant he was, though long he may have been married to Dolores Oh. Her loneliness and greed might suck at him like a nightmare, but his strength was more than enough strength for two.

  Was he not the captain of the greatest ship to sail between the stars?

  Even as the pin lighters smiled their greetings back to him, his right hand depressed the golden ceremonial lever of the ship. This instrument alone was mechanical. All other controls in the ship had long since been formed telepathically or electronically.

  Within the plano forming room the black skies became visible and the tissue of space shot up around them like boiling water at the base of a waterfall. Outside that one room the passengers still walked sedately on scented lawns.

  From the wall facing him, as he sat rigid in his Go-Captain’s chair, Magno Taliano sensed the forming of a pattern which in three or four hundred milliseconds would tell him where he was and would give him the next clue as to how to move.

  He moved the ship with the impulses of his own brain, to which the wall was a superlative complement.

  The wall was a living brickwork of lock sheets laminated charts, one-hundred-thousand charts to the inch, the wall preselected and preassembled for all imaginable contingencies of the journey which, each time afresh, took the ship across half unknown immensities of time and space. The ship leapt, as it had before.

  The new star focused.

  Magno Taliano waited for the wall to show him where he was, expecting (in partnership with the wall) to flick the ship back into the pattern of stellar space, moving it by immense skips from source to destination.

  This time nothing happened.

  Nothing?

  For the first time in a hundred years his mind knew panic.

  It couldn’t be nothing. Not nothing. Something had to focus.

  The lock sheets always focused.

  His mind reached into the lock sheets and he realized with a devastation beyond all limits of ordinary human grief that they were lost as no ship had ever been lost before. By some error never before committed in the history of mankind, the entire wall was made of duplicates of the same lock sheet

  Worst of all, the Emergency Return sheet was lost. They were amid stars none of them had ever seen before, perhaps as near as five-hundred-million miles, perhaps as far as forty parsecs.

  And the lock sheet was lost.

  And they would die.

  As the ship’s power failed coldness and blackness and death would crush in on them in a few hours at the most. That then would be all, all of the Wu-Feinstein, all of Dolores Oh.

  III. The Secret of the Old Dark Brain

  Outside of the plano forming room of the Wu-Feinstein the passengers had no reason to understand that they were marooned in the nothing-at-all.

  Dolores Oh rocked back and forth in an ancient rocking chair.

  Her haggard face looked without pleasure at the imaginary river that ran past the edge of the lawn. Dita from the Great South House sat on a hassock by her aunt’s knees.

  Dolores was talking about a trip she had made when she was young of Man and vibrant with beauty, a beauty which brought trouble and hate wherever it went.

  “… so the guardsman killed the captain and then came to my cabin and said to me, “You’ve got to marry me now. I’ve given up everything for your sake,” and I said to him, “I never said that I loved you. It was sweet of you to get into a fight, and in a way I suppose it is a compliment to my beauty, but it doesn’t mean that I belong to you the rest of my life. What do you think I am, anyhow?”

  Dolores Oh sighed a dry, ugly sigh, like the crackling of subzero winds through frozen twigs.

  “So you see, Dita, being beautiful the way you are is no answer to anything. A woman has got to be herself before she finds out what she is. I know that my lord and husband, the Go-Captain, loves me because my beauty is gone, and with my beauty gone there is nothing but me to love, is there?”

  An odd figure came out on the verandah. It was a pin lighter in full fighting costume. Pinlighters were never supposed to leave the plano forming room, and it was most extraordinary for one of them to appear among the passengers.

  He bowed to the two ladies and said with the utmost courtesy, “Ladies, will you please come into the plano forming room?

  We have need that you should see the Go-Captain now.”

  Dolores’s hand leapt to her mouth. Her gesture of grief was as automatic as the striking of a snake. Dita sensed that her aunt had been waiting a hundred years and more for disaster, that her aunt had craved ruin for her husband th
e way that some people crave love and others crave death.

  Dita said nothing. Neither did Dolores, apparently at second thought, utter a word.

  They followed the pin lighter silently into the plano forming room.

  The heavy door closed behind them.

  Magno Taliano was still rigid in his Captain’s chair.

  He spoke very slowly, his voice sounding like a record played too slowly on an ancient parlophone.

  “We are lost in space, my dear,” said the frigid, ghostly voice of the Captain, still in his Go-Captain’s trance.

  “We are lost in space and I thought that perhaps if your mind aided mine we might think of a way back.”

  Dita started to speak.

  A pin lighter told her: “Go ahead and speak, my dear. Do you have any suggestion?”

  “Why don’t we just go back? It would be humiliating, wouldn’t it? Still it would be better than dying. Let’s use the Emergency Return Locksheet and go on right back. The world will forgive Magno Taliano for a single failure after thousands of brilliant and successful trips.”

  The pin lighter a pleasant enough young man, was as friendly and calm as a doctor informing someone of a death or of a mutilation.

  “The impossible has happened, Dita from the Great South House. All the lock sheets are wrong. They are all the same one. And not one of them is good for emergency return.”

  With that the two women knew where they were. They knew that space would tear into them like threads being pulled out of a fiber so that they would either die bit by bit as the hours passed and as the material of their bodies faded away a few molecules here and a few there. Or, alternatively, they could die all at once in a flash if the Go-Captain chose to kill himself and the ship rather than to wait for a slow death. Or, if they believed in religion, they could pray.

  The pin lighter said to the rigid Go-Captain, “We think we see a familiar pattern at the edge of your own brain. May we look in?”

  Taliano nodded very slowly, very gravely.

  The pin lighter stood still.

  The two women watched. Nothing visible happened, but they knew that beyond the limits of vision and yet before their eyes a great drama was being played out. The minds of the pin lighters probed deep into the mind of the frozen Go-Captain, searching amid the synapses for the secret of the faintest clue to their possible rescue.