Starfarers (36 page)

Nansen felt a chill in his flesh. “(Did you find out why?)”

“(We believe we did. Communication with such alien mentalities was slow and difficult. Your resemblance to us, however tenuous, is greater by orders of magnitude. They are communal creatures, descendants—we theorize—of animals that dwelt together in burrows, in large numbers, with just a few breeders of the young-bearing sex.)”

That experience might account for the Tahirians’ eventual grasp of the roles of men and women, Nansen reflected. He also noted that Peter had not used the symbol for “female.” Doubtless the analogy was not exact.

“(Their whole culture, identity itself, resides in the kin group,)” Peter went on. “(It is remarkable that they finally
achieved a global civilization. We think electronic data processing and communications made it possible.

“(Over time, starship crews and even colonies proved insufficient to maintain it. Numbers were too few for mental health, contact with other nests too weak and sporadic for social ties. Madness(?) ensued, cultures twisted, destructive, evil(?). Some went extinct, through internecine conflicts that destroyed their basis of existence. One lashed out across interstellar space, and a continent was laid in radioactive ruin. Finally the sane core of the race succeeded in quelling the mad and recalling the survivors. Slowly they settled down into the peace that still prevailed when our last expedition visited them.)”

Peter blanked the view, as though the sight was too painful, and stood motionless. Nansen sank back in his chair, shaken. Thunder rolled closer.

“Trágico,”
the man muttered, for Cambiante had not yet found an utterance for that concept and perhaps Tahirians had never had it. He turned to his parleur. “(They were unfit for starfaring.)”

Peter’s mane bristled more than was needful to convey ens feelings. “(In a sense, every race is. We have seen several other, more distant signs of it fading. A new one has sprung up in the past three thousand years, but we expect it will likewise prove mortal.)”

“(Why?)”

“(Probably always the cost becomes too great for the gain. The nature of the highest, least bearable cost may well vary from race to race, but in the end, either necessity or wisdom will call a halt, and starfaring will have been no more than an episode in the history of a planet’s life.)”

Nansen’s grip tightened on his parleur. “(Ours will not.)”

“(It should, on moral(?) grounds alone. What we have learned of your past, the cruelty(?) and slaughter, fills us with horror. Best for you as well as for the cosmos that you retire and study how to live with yourselves.)”

Nansen bit his lip but responded with the calm that this mode of discourse usually enforced. “(Are you afraid of us?
We would never threaten you. How could we, across the gap between? Why should we?)”

“(You are already a threat. By your very existence.)”

“(I do not understand.)”

“(You have made some among us eager to travel anew, regardless of the infinite danger. The sane wish you would go away.)”

Nansen hesitated before asking outright, “(You cannot simply kill us, can you?)”

Peter flinched. A rank smell, like acid on iron, blew from en. “(That you can imagine that exemplifies the horror.)”

“(Have you and those who think like you absolutely never even considered it?)”

Peter seemed to draw on some inner source of composure. “(It would be counterproductive, an act almost as destabilizing as your presence.)”

So Tahirian society isn’t as perfectly balanced as it seemed
, Nansen thought.

“(Only go away,)” Peter said. “(We ask it of you, who have not treated you ill.)”

The plea touched Nansen and eased him a little. “(We plan to leave in another three (Tahirian) years, you know.)”

“(Will you? And what of those who may come afterward? What of your whole ruthless(?), willful race?)”

“(We few cannot speak for all.)”
All who are to live after us.

“(Yes, that is part of what makes you terrible.)”

Resolution rose. Peter’s torso drew erect. The middle eyes speared Nansen’s. “(It is well, it is like providence(?), that wherever starfaring has begun, in a cosmically short time it has died,)” en said. “(The causes are surely many; but through them, does reality preserve itself?

“(I cannot now say more. You would not believe me. I am not versed in the subject. First, under proper tutelage, you must learn how to read the mathematical proof. You shall. Then your voyage here will have been not for harm but for good. You will bring a message back to your people and make them, too, call their ships home forever.)”

Optical amplifiers
turned the stars into a sphere of dazzlement, bright ones become beacons, thousands upon thousands more leaping into visibility, the Milky Way a river of frozen fire, the Andromeda galaxy a glowing maelstrom. Only the pinpoint neutron star was dulled, lest it sear eyes that strayed in its direction. Ten kilometers distant, the boat
Herald
gleamed like a splinter off a sword.

Dayan and Brent gave the splendor no heed. Their attention was on the bulky nexus of a metal spiderweb, five kilometers wide, slowly spinning, its concavity always facing the pulsar. Spacesuited, they floated before the mass, touching a gripsole to the extended lattice whenever they needed to correct a recoil-drift, plying tools and meters with hands that power joints and tactile contractors made as deft as if bare. Nonetheless it was a demanding task. Each heard the breath of the other loud through radio earplugs, and recycling did not fan away all smell of sweat.

Finally Brent nodded. “Yep, what I suspected. Imbalance in the main data reducer. That program’s gone abobble. Not much, but enough. No wonder the input you were getting stopped making sense.”

“At first I thought we might have stumbled on some wild new phenomenon—” Dayan laughed. “No, this is better. We’ve more mysteries pouring in on us already than we can handle.” Her mirth thinned out into the light-years around. “How soon can we have this unit working right? The gravity waves from the starquakes—what they have to tell about the interior—”

“We can replace the whole module right now. The robots keep spares of everything, don’t they? The question is, will
we get the same problem again soon? What mutated the program?”

“I’ve been thinking about that since you first suggested the possibility.” Dayan started plucking her implements from the lattice where they clung and securing them to her harness. It was a near-automatic task; her gaze went afar, her voice meditative. “We did record a partial reflection of the southern pulsar beam off something—seemed to be a drifting molecular cloud, maybe a remnant of the eruption—and it may well have happened to strike the reducer here. That’d probably be plenty to scramble a few electronic configurations. A weird accident, sheer bad luck, but we have to expect weirdness. …”

His look dwelt on her. The spacesuit muffled the curves of the small body, but clear within the helmet stood large eyes, curved nose, full lips, fair skin; the amplification gave just a hint of colors, but he knew the bound hair was flame red and could fall loosely down over her shoulders.

“So the stupid robots couldn’t figure out what the trouble was, and hollered for us,” he said.

“They’re only as good as their programs, Al, and the programs are only as good as our knowledge and foresight.”

“Yeah. Well, let’s get this fixed and head home for
Envoy.
”

Every array that the expedition deployed had its machine attendants, to monitor and maintain. Brent snapped an order.

Waiting, there alongside the great web, among the stars, Dayan regarded him for a silent while. “I’m sorry if this has inconvenienced you, Al,” she said.

“Huh?” She had not before seen him taken quite so off balance. “Inconvenience? Why, no, no. I thought you were impatient to get back. Me, I’m, uh, happy to do anything useful. That’s what I came along for.”

“And to shorten the time for yourself till we go home, not so? Nothing wrong with that. We all miss Earth.”

“Well, but—” He cleared his throat. “Hanny, working like this, together with you, it’s special. I’m almost sorry we’ll soon be done. Anytime you want—”

A blackness crossed the Milky Way. “Here comes the repair robot.” Dayan sounded more relieved than the event called for.

The shape—octopuslike, starfishlike, machine—approached on thin, invisible jets. The humans saw a flash of its optics. It passed within meters, seemed to wobble for a second or two, and moved on, shrinking into the heavens.

“What the fuck?” Brent shouted. “Come back, you bastard!”

“Something’s wrong,” Dayan said fast. “Its program’s deranged, too. Same cause?” She grabbed a radar gun, aimed, squinted at the reading, put it aside and took an iono-scope. “It cut jets off as it came near. Safety doctrine. But then it didn’t maneuver to dock. It just stayed on trajectory. It’s falling free, bound for infinity.”

“And it’s got the module. I’ll go after it.” Brent took hold of the lattice and swung himself around.

“No!” Dayan said. “Not safe. Too much momentum there for your suit drive to handle”

“I’ll match vectors, lock on, decelerate—”

“No, I say. You’re not outfitted for any such operation.”

“Damn it, Hanny, we don’t have a proper replacement for that robot, and the module it’s carrying—Don’t you want this rig fixed?”

“Not if it risks a life.”

Kilbirnie had been listening throughout. Her voice purred on the radio. “Dinna fash yersel’s. I’ll fetch yon runagate.”

“What?” Dayan cried. “No, Jean, the parameters—too high, too uncertain—you could end with the boat stove in.”

Kilbirnie’s tone jubilated. “Aye, ’twould be nice to have one of those slippy-slidey Tahirian hookers, but I’ll barge guid auld
Herald
around handily enough. Guaranteed.”

“No! I forbid—”

“Hanny, aboard
Envoy
you’re acting captain, but piloting my craft I am in command of her. You shall have your module back, to plug in by yourself, and your robot back to fix, and may Clerk Maxwell bless your science. Colin,” they
heard Kilbirnie say to the Tahirian who had most avidly accompanied them, “pay attention, now, for the day may come when you take this helm.” Probably en caught her gist. They had become rather close.

A fire streak, faint even when amplified—the plasma drive was efficient—shot
Herald
across the star throngs. She drew nearer, swelled in sight, a barracuda hunting. Fire; rotate along three precise axes; fire; at the end, quantumlike delicacy of pounce and drift. A cargo hatch opened. The robot glided in as if borne on a springtime breeze. The hatch closed. “We’ve got our fish,” Kilbirnie called.

“W-w-well done,” Dayan perforce said.

“Och, ’twas nowt. I hope it showed what I can do. And now I ask for my reward, Hanny, that I may take Tim down onto the planet for his own work.”

Autumn did
not flame as in remembered lands on Earth. Colors went wan, sometimes gray, oftener dun or fallow. Some leaves held fast, some died and blew away on the wind. Yet skies pulsed with migratory wings, forests rustled with migratory feet, cries resounded, and in the country where Terralina lay the rapidly shortening days were mostly brilliant and the chill tingled in human blood.

Nansen and Yu strode to and fro across the meadow. He had received her in his cottage, which doubled as his office, but the hoped-for report she brought had immediately made them unable to sit still. Though they were not far from the settlement, it appeared small against its backdrop of woods, beneath scudding clouds whose shadows raced over the ground. Wind whistled, rumpled their hair, laved their cheeks like a glacial river.

“Yes,” Yu said through the noise, “it is quite clear. Ajit has determined the meanings beyond any further doubt.”

Nansen smiled down at her. “He didn’t do that entirely by himself.”

“Oh, I handled the physics, of course. But the interpretation
of—of what goes beyond any physics we know—that was his. There is definitely life at the black hole. Intelligent life.”

“How?”

“Emil and his friends still haven’t been able to convey any explanation. We are not sure whether the Tahirians themselves have more than … an educated guess. They don’t think in the same fashion as us. They express their science in different ways. For example, do you remember the dimensions they use?”

“In what sense of ‘dimensions’?”

“The basic quantities of their dynamics are not mass, length, and time, but energy, electric charge, and space-time interval.”

“Oh, yes. That.”

“It was one reason the texts they prepared for us were so incomprehensible, until Hanny deduced what the situation must be. And that example is almost trivial. If she were here, we’d make faster progress. I can only gnaw my way ahead.”

He laughed. “I’d call you a very effective little rodent. You’ve found out enough about the field drive that you can build one for us—”

“No, no, please. I have explained that we can’t retrofit
Envoy
or her boats. They are too integrated with their existing systems. I do think we can add a unit that will make us more comfortable under acceleration, but any real shipbuilding must await our return to Earth.”

“Where they may already long have had such craft.” Nansen glanced at her again. “Didn’t I understand you to say you have also something new about the zero-zero drive?”

She nodded. “It is not the happiest discovery. The Tahirians found, long ago, that there is a random possibility of quantum gate malfunction. The Bose-Einstein condensate goes unstable and the energy from the substrate is not returned through it in full. The differential is slight, but apparently ample to cause destruction. They believe such accidents account for a number of disappearances in their
starfaring days, ships that set forth and were never heard from again.”

Nansen scowled.
“¡Ay!”

“Oh, the probability is minute, and decreases with quantum gate capacity. Given our gamma of five thousand, the danger to us is negligible. Even lesser ships are far more at risk from the ordinary hazards of space.”