Nemesis (39 page)

Wendel looked up at Fisher with a sudden smile. “You’ve never asked anything like this before? Why do you ask it now?”

“I’ve never actually been on a hyperspatial flight before. The question presents itself to me with greater urgency under these conditions, you see.”

“This and many other such questions have presented themselves to me with the greatest possible urgency for years. Welcome to the club.”

“But answer me.”

“Gladly. In the first place, there are devices that measure
overall gravitational intensity, in both scalar and tensor aspects, at any point in space, whether you know the neighborhood or not. The result is not quite as accurate as it would be if you painstakingly measured each gravitational source and added them together, but it is close enough—if time is precious. And if time is still more precious and you have to push the hyperspatial button, so to speak, and trust to good fortune that gravitation is not very significant and should happen to be slightly wrong, then the transition would be accompanied by something roughly equivalent to a jar—like crossing a threshold and catching the toe of your shoe on the sill. If we can avoid that, fine, but if we don’t it’s not necessarily fatal. Naturally, in the first transition point, we would like it to be as smooth as possible for our psychological peace of mind—if nothing else.”

“What if you’re in a hurry, feel that gravitation is negligible, and it isn’t?”

“You have to hope that that doesn’t happen.”

“You talked about strains during transition. That means our very first transition might be fatal, even if gravity is allowed for.”

“
Might
be, but the odds against a fatal accident at any given transmission are enormous.”

“Even if it isn’t fatal, might it not be unpleasant?”

“That’s harder to say because it requires a subjective judgment. Understand that there’s no acceleration involved. In hyper-assistance, a ship has to work its way up to light speed, and even a little beyond at intervals, by use of a low-energy hyperspatial field. Efficiency is low, speeds are high, risks are great, and, frankly, I don’t know what the discomforts may, or may not, be.

“In our kind of superluminal flight, using a high-energy hyperspatial field, we make the transition at normal speeds. We may be at a speed of a thousand kilometers per second at one instant, and at the next we are going a thousand million kilometers per second without acceleration. And since there is no acceleration, we don’t feel it.”

“How can there be no acceleration when you increase the speed a millionfold in an instant?”

“Because the transition is the mathematical equivalent
of acceleration. However, whereas your body responds to acceleration, it does not to transition.”

“But how can you tell?”

“By sending animals through hyperspace from one point to another. They are in hyperspace for only a brief fraction of a microsecond, but it’s the transition between space and hyperspace that we worry about, and there is one in either direction in even the briefest possible passage through hyperspace.”

“And animals were sent?”

“Of course. Once they had reached the reception point, they couldn’t very well tell us how things were, but there they were, totally unhurt and calm. It was clear they hadn’t been harmed in any way. We tried it on dozens of animals of all kinds. We even tried it on monkeys, all of which survived perfectly—except in one case.”

“Ah. And what happened in that one case?”

“The animal was dead, grotesquely mutilated, but that was caused by a mistake in the programming. It wasn’t the transition at all. And something like that can happen to us. It’s not likely, but it can. It would be equivalent to stepping over a threshold, catching the toe of your shoe on the sill, tripping, falling forward, and breaking your neck. Such things have, indeed, happened, but we don’t expect it to happen every time we cross a threshold. All right?”

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” said Fisher grimly. “All right.”

Two hours and twenty-seven minutes later, the ship crossed safely into hyperspace, with no sensation whatever for anyone on board, and the first superluminal flight at speeds far beyond that of light took place.

The transition, by Earth Standard time, was at 9:20
P.M.
, January 15, 2237.

Silence!

Marlene reveled in it—all the more so because she could break it if she wished. She stooped to pick up a pebble and tossed it against a rock. It made a small thunk, then fell to the ground and was still.

Having left the Dome with no more clothes than she would have worn on Rotor, she felt perfectly free.

She had walked straight away from the Dome toward the creek, without even watching to check the landmarks.

Her mother’s last words had been a rather weak plea. “Please, Marlene, remember you said you would stay in sight of the Dome.”

She had smiled briefly, but had paid no attention. She might stay in sight, but perhaps not. She did not intend to be hemmed in, regardless of what promises she had been forced to make to keep the peace. After all, she was carrying a wave-emitter. At any time, she could be located. She herself could use the receiving end of it to sense the direction of the Dome’s emitter.

If she had an accident of some sort—if she fell or was somehow hurt—they could come get her.

If a meteor struck her—well, she’d be dead. There would be nothing anyone could do about that, even if she were in sight of the Dome. Even allowing for the disturbing thought of meteors, it was all so peaceful and wonderful on Erythro. On Rotor it was always noisy. Wherever you went, the air quivered and shook and battered your tired ears with sound waves. It must be even worse on Earth, with its eight billion people, and trillions of animals, and its thunderstorms and wild
surges of water from the sea and sky. She had once tried to listen to a recording entitled “Noises of Earth,” had winced at it, and had quickly had enough.

But here on Erythro, there was a wonderful silence.

Marlene came to the creek, and the water moved past her with a soft bubbly sound. She picked up a jagged pebble and tossed it into the water and there was a small splash. Sounds were not forbidden on Erythro; they were merely doled out as occasional adornments that served to make the surrounding silence more precious.

She stamped her foot on the soft clay at the creek’s edge. She heard a small dull thump, and there was the vague impression of a footprint. She bent down, cupped some water in her hand, and tossed it over the soil in front of her. It moistened and darkened in spots, crimson showing against pink. She added more water and finally placed her right shoe on the dark spot, pressing down. When she lifted her shoe, there was a deeper footprint there.

There were occasional rocks in the creek bed and she used them as stepping-stones to cross the water.

Marlene kept on, walking vigorously, swinging her arms, taking in deep breaths of air. She knew very well that the oxygen percentage was somewhat lower than it was on Rotor. If she ran, she would quickly grow tired, but she lacked the impulse to run. If she ran, she would use up her world more rapidly.

She wanted to look at everything!

She looked back and the mound of the Dome was visible, especially the bubble that housed the astronomical instruments. That irritated her. She wanted to be far enough away so that she could turn around and see the horizon as a perfect—if irregular—circle, with no intrusion of any sign of humanity (except herself) anywhere.

(Should she call the Dome? Should she tell her mother she would be out of sight for a little while? No, they would just argue. They could receive her carrier wave. They would be able to tell that she was alive, well, and moving around. If they called her, she decided, she would ignore them. Really! They must leave her to herself.)

Her eyes were adjusting to the pinkness of Nemesis and of the land around her in every direction. It was not
merely pink; it was all in darks and lights, in purples and oranges, almost yellows in some places. It time, it would become a whole new palette of colors to her heightened senses, as variegated as Rotor, but more soothing.

What would happen if someday people settled on Erythro, introduced life, built cities? Would they spoil it? Or would they have learned from Earth and would they go about it in a different way, taking this new untouched world and making it into something close to their heart’s desire?

Whose heart’s desire?

That was the problem. Different people would have different ideas, and they would quarrel with each other and pursue irreconcilable ends. Would it be better to leave Erythro empty?

Would that be right when people might enjoy it so? Marlene knew well that
she
didn’t want to leave it. It warmed her, being on this world. She didn’t know quite why, but it felt more like home than Rotor ever had.

Was it some dim atavistic memory of Earth? Was there a feeling for a huge endless world in her genes; a longing that a small, artificial, turning city-in-space could not fulfill? How could that be? Earth was surely different from Erythro in every possible way but the similarity of size. And if Earth were in her genes, why wouldn’t it be in the genes of every human being?

But there must be
some
explanation. Marlene shook her head as though to clear it and whirled around and around as if she were in the midst of endless space. Strange that Erythro didn’t seem barren. On Rotor, you could see acres of grain and orchards of fruit trees, and a haze of green and amber, and the straight-line irregularity of human structures. Here on Erythro, however, you saw only the rolling ground, interspersed with rocks of all sizes, as though strewn carelessly by some giant hand—strange, brooding silent shapes, with rivulets of water, here and there, flowing around and among them. And no life at all if you didn’t count the myriads of tiny germlike cells that kept the atmosphere full of oxygen, thanks to the energy supply of Nemesis’ red light.

And Nemesis, like any red dwarf, would continue to pour out its careful supply of energy for a couple of hundred billion years, hoarding its energy and seeing to it
that Erythro and its tiny prokaryotes were warm and comfortable through all that time. Long after Earth’s Sun had died and other bright stars, born still later, had also died, Nemesis would shine on unchanged, and Erythro would roll about Megas unchanged, and the prokaryotes would live and die, also essentially unchanged.

Surely human beings would have no right to come to this unchanging world and change it. Yet if she were alone on Erythro, she would need food—and companionship.

She might return to the Dome now and then for supplies, or to refresh a need to see other people, but she could still spend most of her time alone with Erythro. But would not others follow? How could she prevent them? And with others, no matter how few, would not Eden inevitably be ruined? Wasn’t it being ruined because she herself had entered Eden—only
she?

“No!” She shouted it. She shouted it loudly in a sudden eager experiment to see if she could make the alien atmosphere tremble and force it to carry words to her ears.

She heard her own voice, but in the flat terrain there were no echoes. Her shout was gone as soon as it sounded.

She whirled again. The Dome was just a thin shadow on the horizon. It could almost be ignored, but not quite. She wished it was not visible at all. She wanted nothing in view but herself and Erythro.

She heard the faint sigh of the wind, and knew it had picked up speed. It was not strong enough to feel, and the temperature hadn’t dropped, nor was it unpleasant.

It was just a faint “Ah-h-h-h.”

She imitated it cheerfully: “Ah-h-h-h-h.”

Marlene stared up at the sky curiously. The weather forecasters had said it would be clear that day. Was it possible for storms to blow up suddenly and unpredictably on Erythro? Would the wind rise and become uncomfortable? Would clouds whip across the sky and rain begin to fall before she could get back to the Dome?

That was silly, as silly as the meteors. Of course it rained on Erythro, but right now there were only a few wispy pink clouds above. They moved lazily against the dark and unobstructed sky. There didn’t seem to be any sign of a storm.

“Ah-h-h-h-h,” whispered the wind. “Ah-h-h-h-h ay-y-y-y.”

It was a double sound, and Marlene frowned. What could be making that sound? Surely the wind could not make the sound by itself. It would have to pass some obstruction and whistle as it did so. But there was nothing of the sort within sight.

“Ah-h-h-h-h ay-y-y-y-y uh-h-h-h-h.”

It was a triple sound now, with the stress on the second sound.

Marlene looked around, wondering. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from. To make the sound, something had to be vibrating, but she saw nothing, felt nothing.

Erythro
looked
empty and silent. It could make no sound.

“Ah-h-h-h ay-y-y-y uh-h-h-h.”

Again. Clearer than before. It was as though it were in her own head, and, at that thought, her heart seemed to contract and she shivered. She felt the gooseflesh rise on her arms; she didn’t have to look.

Nothing could be wrong with her head. Nothing!

She was waiting to hear it again, and it came. Louder. Still clearer. Suddenly there was a ring of authority to it, as though it were practicing and growing better.

Practicing? Practicing what?

And unwillingly, entirely unwillingly, she thought: It’s as though someone who can’t sound consonants is trying to say my name.

As though that were a signal, or her thought had released another spasm of power, or had perhaps sharpened her imagination, she heard—

“Mah-h-h lay-y-y nuh-h-h.”

Automatically, without knowing she was doing it, she lifted her hands and covered her ears.

Marlene, she thought—soundlessly.

And then came the sound, mimicking, “Mahr-lay-nuh.”

It came again, almost easily, almost naturally. “Marlene.”

She shuddered, and recognized the voice. It was Aurinel, Aurinel of Rotor, whom she hadn’t seen since the day on Rotor when she told him that the Earth would
be destroyed. She had thought of him hardly at all since then—but always achingly, when she did.