Aurora (24 page)

THE JOURNEY

Themor and Anela laid their girlchild gently in her capsule. “We should have waited until after the Naming Ceremony,” said Anela, not for the first time.

“It is better that she takes up a new identity in the twentieth century,” he replied aloud. Sometimes a voice was comforting, if not necessary. “She will carry her name to her death, for she cannot return here. None of us can.”

The timeship stood inside a low metal building surrounded in all directions by kilometers of sand—“in case of accidents,” the Martian scientists had said. Its circular, domed shape gleamed dully in the sourceless lighting. The man and woman had arrived on Mars nearly two hundred years before in the mass exodus from Earth, and they hoped to return to their original world, but in a much earlier time.

In order for them to do so, the timeship had to be a spaceship also. For they would go back to arrive on their present world—Mars—as it had been 20,000 years before: barren and lifeless. Then they would have to cross interplanetary space to the Earth, arriving in the year 1969 by the reckoning of that time. That year had been chosen because then, the year of humanity's first landing on the Moon, the world's consciousness had been attuned to the potentials and benefits of the exploration of space in a way that it would not be again for centuries. It also happened to be exactly a century before that first major agent of destruction—the comet—would arrive.

Or as close to that year as possible: travel through time was an unknown science. It was impossible to check results by any experimental or empirical method, only by theory and extrapolation, so calibration was difficult and guidance likely to be imprecise. They tried to ensure that any error would make their arrival early rather than late, because the date of 2069 was crucial; Earth had to be warned of the true nature of this particular coming calamity. Its inhabitants should know, too, of the natural catastrophes which were still thousands of years in the future, so that perhaps technology could be maintained at a level which could defeat these, or at least avoid them. An audiovisual projection had been prepared to help them to communicate the danger. Perhaps even the
human
errors could be avoided by forewarning—though the history to date of humankind made this seem unlikely....

And if the generations of the early twenty-first century were able to solve the problems, then perhaps the future could be changed. There lay the paradox. If the future had been changed, surely the time travelers would not be here to go back to an earlier time to alter it? Or were the strands of time somehow interconnected in such a way that the action and the result occurred “simultaneously”—in which case the future would change and no one would ever know that it had? Or did time constantly subdivide, so that one stream or branch would continue from a twentieth century in which mankind escaped the trials which destroyed them in another stream? The scientists and philosophers argued, but had no answer.

All that mattered was that they had to try.

A model could not be tested, because the vehicle that had been built was the smallest practicable size that could function. Some of the spaceships used in the evacuation of Earth had been cannibalized to help construct the timeship. Neither of its crew understood its workings. The scientists had tried to explain, simply, how a loop of cosmic string whirling inside the torus which surrounded the ship, and a mini black hole at its center, would distort space so that the ship was forced to escape into the fourth dimension of time, but to the temponauts themselves it was meaningless. Just as long as it worked!

Thirty-six babies, aged between two and six months, had been chosen to make the journey along with the two adults. These were the children of parents who were among the most talented of the species, and who had the most powerful psi powers—many of them rare. There was no longer any official genetic program, but it was natural and logical for those with particular strengths to mate and breed. This was the only way currently known that might give their (perhaps even more talented) offspring a chance to live and continue their line.

The majority of the inhabitants of Mars accepted philosophically—even with resignation—the incontrovertible fact that their world would within a few millennia be vaporized by fire. Some hoped that a method might be discovered that would save them or move them to a new location; already, a faction was advocating a crash program to rediscover the means to build starships, using minerals from the relatively close asteroid belts.

Other scientists proposed the use of what might once have been called particle weapons: banks of gamma-ray lasers which could be fired into the white dwarf, literally bursting its heart. An Elder from Earth preached that the answer was not technological, but lay in freeing the mind, the ka, from the chains of the body. The spirit of humanity remained indomitable.

Anela and Themor had been chosen from many applicants, all of whom had children on the timeship. Of the thirty-six babies, their own child was the thirty-sixth to be sealed into its cocoon.

Only hours before, Anela had held the tiny girl and watched her as she in turn gazed and listened with obvious pleasure as her father and his fellow Musicians played a Concert of Leaving. They had tried to make it a joyous occasion, for her sake, but inevitably it was laden with sadness.

Whether they succeeded or failed, those who left in the timeship—if indeed it worked—would never be seen by their fellows again.

* * * *

“There is nothing more to be done. Everything is prepared. All we can do now is activate the ship and hope. And pray,” said Themor now. They had to be alone out here because of the possibility of danger from this untested machine. In fact, the scientists had said encouragingly, the most probable accident, in the unlikely event that any of the safety measures should fail, was that it would tunnel its way to the center of the planet.

Both were already wearing close-fitting suits and skullcaps woven from a material that would protect them from the intense magnetic fields generated by the operation of the torus. The babies wore a similar material, although their cocoons should be protection enough. For the two adults, spacesuits and helmets could quickly be donned over these undersuits in an emergency.

They passed through the door into the control cabin, and Anela placed a palm on the tiny receptor which closed it. They seated themselves at the instrument console. Themor checked that the bubble canopy was in place, for it was so transparent that it was difficult to tell. He placed a hand on a darker panel, and mentally activated the sequence which should project them back in time. Both their faces were tense.

The black band which surrounded the upper sphere of the psibot glowed ruby red, showing that the mental pathways were clear. The crystals set in the control desk flickered briefly through a sequence of colors: violet, blue, yellow, magenta, green. All appeared to be well. Anela sent a telepathic message to the scientists at the laboratory five kilometers away, and received a mental green light.

“We cannot delay any longer,” she said, and reached for Themor's hand.

He did not remove it from hers as he gave the command.

There was the faintest humming sound. The sequence of crystal lights changed rapidly, and then everything became insubstantial. The walls of the cabin were translucent, and through them could be seen the tiered rows of ovoid capsules containing their precious hope for the future.

Or their past. Which was it? They could no longer distinguish.

The torus which spun around the diameter of the ship glowed an impossible color, unknown to any human spectrum. Then it, too, became almost transparent. Through it, the walls of their hangar were visible only briefly before they winked out of existence; then there was just desert outside, and beyond it the green-clad cone of the Lesser Mountain, blued by distance.

They watched as blue-green plant-growth retreated down the slopes and disappeared, leaving the volcano bare and stark. The sky changed from blue to violet. Clouds flickered briefly, and now the sky became orange-pink.

On one of two rectangular black readouts, white numbers flickered, too fast to read. On the other they moved more slowly, counting not years but centuries. Simultaneously, the crystals sparkled green. There was a wrenching, lurching sensation. The walls clouded, coalesced and became substantial.

But for a moment the numbers continued to flick, backwards:

1969....

1960....

1950....

1945....

1944....

They slowed.

1943....

1942....

1941....

1940.

They stopped.

* * * *

For long minutes neither said a word. Then Anela spoke:

“We have arrived too early.”

“Maybe not. We cannot be certain that the readout is accurate. The engineers tried to calibrate it by the method of dating used in this era, but who knows if they got it right? We might easily have arrived a decade or more on either side of that date. Well, we cannot go forward, and we cannot risk trying to travel further backward. We must hope that the people of 1940, if that's indeed where—when—we've arrived, are sufficiently advanced to understand and heed our warning. But, if they are not, we shall just have to bide our time.

“Time
is
on our side, after all!”

They both laughed, more in relief at being alive and obviously on an earlier Mars than at his attempted joke.

Then Themor frowned, and pointed out through the canopy.

Beyond was only a swirling ochre fog.

Anela put her hand to her mouth. “What is it? Where are we?”

Themor searched his extensive memory. “Don't worry. It seems that, before the planet was terraformed, dust storms were common on Mars. We must have arrived during one of those. If we wait, it may pass.”

But it did not.

Once the clouds parted for long enough that they could see the Lesser Mountain, which had once been known as Uranius Tholus but in the time in which (they hoped) they had arrived was as yet unknown by human astronomers, as were any of the volcanoes of Mars. So at least they knew they were still in the area from which they had departed.

But the dust storm raged for day after day. They did not dare open the canopy, for the cabin would have filled with dust that even the automatic extractors could not have removed.

They checked their tiny passengers, who were still safely in a mentally induced state of sedation. Checking the ship itself was both unnecessary and pointless, for it was self-regulating and, while the necessary knowledge had been implanted in their minds, they could have done little in the case of a technical problem.

At last Themor said, “We shall have to risk leaving here for Earth. It should not be difficult, and if we can get above the dust storm we should be able to make visual observations. We must put our spacesuits on, though—in case of mishaps. You take the controls.”

For a moment Anela looked about to argue. Then she placed her hand on the panel which controlled the spatial drive, her face set.

“Go!” she muttered.

Sluggishly the timeship lifted, hovering above the sand. Then it moved towards the east, as they had been instructed. In moments Anela knew they were lost.

Surely she was heading too far north? She swung the massive craft around.

Suddenly a flattened peak loomed grey through the canopy. She ordered the ship to rise. It did, but the base of the ship narrowly missed the volcanic peak. Which mountain was it? She tried to recall the map of Mars. But both their minds, once so brilliant and sharp, seemed dull, their thoughts turgid mud.

The canopy brightened and darkened, yellow and purple-brown. Anela tried to raise the ship, to send it streaking out into space, its true element. Its angle increased. Had she succeeded? Perhaps: ahead was darkness.

Too late, she realized that the darkness was the shadowed side of a mountain—perhaps the Great Mountain itself! Anela linked minds with Themor and together they willed the craft to rise above it. Almost, they succeeded. But there was a grating crash, and they were flung back and forth as the fluted underside of the craft scraped rock.

Anela wrestled with the controls and kept the craft upright, though it rocked from side to side.

“Get out!” she shouted in his mind. “Quickly. Take the scoutship. And—take our child!”

There was no time for hesitation. Themor left the control cabin and opened the cocoon which contained his baby daughter. He felt guilt at trying to save only his own child, but there would be no logic in taking any other in preference, and nor was there room for more—and he was only human. A hatch in the outer wall opened, and he walked—staggered—straight into a smaller version of their control cabin.

Housed in a special bay, a small scout craft had been provided which, despite its small size, should be able to cross the abyss between Earth and Mars—just once—and land. Or so it was hoped. It had been included mainly in case there might be a need for the timeship to remain in orbit while the scout made a reconnaissance below.

Or for an eventuality such as this.

There was nowhere to put the baby, so he laid her gently across his lap as he sat down and activated the outer door in the main ship. The lifeship shot out of its bay like a cork from a bottle just as the timeship flipped on end. He sent a message of hope, love, and regret to his wife as he watched her ship, below him, flutter like a leaf in a gale and turn over so that it was flying upside down. It vanished into the dust storm.

His own ship sped into space.

* * * *

Even as she fought to right the ship, some implanted memory in Anela's non-technical brain surfaced and told her that the air of this earlier Mars was much thinner than anyone had known—this was why the timeship had failed to gain lift. Hopefully, the little scout would fare better. It
must
.

Somehow she got her craft right-side-up and flying level again. In which direction, she did not know. Yes, of course she did, for an instrument had been provided for that purpose. Almost due south. Another instrument should tell her how high she was. That could not be right! It read “ZERO”.