"Can I get up now?" she asked him.
"Sure."
She put her feet on the floor, sat upright, and stood cautiously, not quite knowing what to expect. Nothing changed. Everything felt normal.
"So, what happened?" she asked uncertainly. "Technical hitch?"
"You think so, eh?"
"You mean it worked?"
"Thurien engineering works. That's one thing you never have to worry about."
"But . . . we're still in the ship. I thought we were supposed to be going to Jevlen."
"No. You're falling into the illusion already.
Virtual
travel, remember? You knew you weren't
really
going anywhere."
Gina put a hand to her brow and shook her head. "Okay. Let's not start getting picky about words. You know what I mean. I thought that sensory information from Jevlen was supposed to be coming to me."
"visar, give us a preview," Hunt instructed.
At once, Gina and Hunt were standing in a wide, circular space like a gallery, overlooking a central area below. There were figures walking this way and that, some human, some Ganymean. As Gina stared, a small group consisting of two Ganymeans surrounded by a half-dozen or more humans gesticulating and seemingly talking all at once passed close by. Although the conversation was presumably being conducted in an alien tongue, the snatches that came through were transformed into English.
". . . thousands of them, with nothing to do. They must be entertained. You have to arrange something."
"Why can't they learn to entertain themselves?" one of the Ganymeans asked, sounding harassed.
"They have always been entertained. It is their
right
!"
Gina looked at Hunt disbelievingly. He grinned back at her, clearly enjoying himself. "Let's take a walk," he suggested, and led the way across to the rail at the gallery's edge. Gina's mind was in too much turmoil for her to do anything but follow mechanically.
They looked down over a concourse of various levels and partly enclosed spaces, where more figures were standing or sitting, walking, and going about their business. The concourse appeared to connect to other spaces beyond, and had pedestrian avenues entering from several directions. The architecture was unusual, with generous use of curvature and asymmetrical divisions of space that blended strange notions of aesthetics and ornamentation with what was clearly a functional purpose. Gina's first thought as she began to recover her reeling senses was of a Moorishly inspired airport terminal. It was all definitely very futuristic, and unquestionably alien . . . but it did keep itself tidily to definite planes, without assaulting the eye with anything resembling the geometric chaos of the Thurien spacecraft.
But as she continued looking, a puzzling aspect of it all registered itself. For what was supposed to be a glimpse of an advanced, technologically adept culture, it was all rather shabby. The finishing on the elaborately styled shapes and surfaces was drab and unimaginative, with a general air of wear and neglect and tiredness. There were lights that weren't working, panels missing from one of the walls, and on the far side a whole, partly dismantled section closed off by barriers, with machines that looked like maintenance robots standing idle.
Hunt indicated a direction with his hand, and they began walking around the gallery toward a series of low arches on its outer edge. The figures around them passed by unheeding. Gina had to remind herself that she was merely perceiving what was taking place at a distant location; the people who were actually there had no knowledge of her "presence."
Beyond the arches was a semicircular, windowed space, an eating lounge of some kind, with seats and tables on several tiered levels. Again, the surroundings were plain and utilitarian. The figures, human and Ganymean, took no notice as Hunt and Gina descended a stepped aisle to a clear area along the window wall, which turned out to be a continuous expanse of glass. That was when Gina realized that the sky was not blue, but light green, with strange, curling, sheetlike clouds of streaky orange.
The city beneath the pale green sky extended away and below them in waves of interconnected towers, terraces, and heaps of architecture that at first defied comprehension. But then Gina noticed that one of the bridges nearby was missing two of its central spans; a tower beyond it was showing daylight through its windows and seemed to be a derelict shell; below them, a terraced roof had had several sections removed and was open to the elements.
Finally she looked back at Hunt.
"Believe it now?" He waved a hand casually. "Shiban, one of Jevlen's principal metropolises."
Gina moved forward to take in more of the view and saw, through a gap between two of the structures, a tall, streamlined shape standing upright in what appeared to be an open space, possibly beyond the edge of the city proper. Although the bottom part of it was obscured, she had seen enough pictures to recognize it. "Isn't that the
Shapieron
?" she asked, indicating with a motion of her head. It was the Ganymean spacecraft from ancient Minerva. If anything, the nose was still some way below the level they were looking out from—and the
Shapieron
stood almost half a mile high.
"Shiban is where the
Shapieron
is currently berthed," Hunt replied. "It's at a place called Geerbaine, just to the west of the city. The place we're in is Garuth's Planetary Administration Center. It used to be the governing center for this region of Jevlen. We can't go any farther without resorting to simulation, because this is the only part that the Thuriens adapted for visar—Jevlen was managed by jevex, which had slightly different sensor wiring. But anyhow, welcome to another world. What do you think?"
Gina stared outside again. She rubbed her brow with a knuckle and shook her head, then looked back at Hunt. "No . . . this still doesn't make any sense. How can I be seeing Jevlen through visar, if I'm not coupled into visar?"
The strange smile, which had never quite left Hunt's face, broadened. "Aren't you?"
"Well, no . . . I got up out of the chair and talked to you. I—oh, Vic, stop looking at me like that. Tell me what's going on."
And then, just as abruptly as before, she was standing inside the cubicle in the Thurien starship again, with Hunt facing her from the doorway, just as they had been before the transition.
"It's simple," Hunt told her. "If visar can make us think we're walking around on Jevlen, it can just as easily make us think we're standing here in the ship."
It took a few seconds for the meaning of what he was saying to sink in. "You're kidding!" Gina breathed incredulously. Hunt shook his head. She ran a finger experimentally down the edge of the doorframe. It felt cool and hard and solid. There was even a burr at one place, where something had scratched it.
"Hold out your hand," Gina said. Hunt obliged. She ran a finger along one of his and traced it over the palm. It felt warm and fleshy, with each line and wrinkle in the skin clearly discernible. "It's uncanny," she whispered.
"Not bad," Hunt agreed. "What you saw a moment ago is what's happening in a part of Shiban at this moment. Those people are really there. visar is very good at realism." Hunt pointed at a spot on her arm. "You've even got the stain on your sleeve, where you rubbed your elbow in some ash that had fallen on the table when we were in the cafeteria."
Gina looked at the sleeve of the green sweater she was wearing, and flicked at the gray patch with her other hand. Sure enough, most of it brushed away, leaving a faint smudge, just as real ash on a real sleeve would have done.
Hunt laughed. "There's an easier way. In this world, you can do anything you want. visar, clean the sleeve." The remaining discoloration vanished, leaving no trace. "Or change the whole thing if you don't like it. visar, how about a red sweater?" Gina's sweater promptly changed to a rich ruby red.
She gasped. "It's true! This is all happening inside my head? I'm not really standing here? So aren't you here, either?"
"Of course not. I'm inside your head, too. So I must be hooked in through another coupler, just as you still are."
Gina struggled to come to terms with the meaning of it, but in the end faltered and shook her head decisively. "It's no good. I can't believe this. Prove it."
"I can't. Ask visar to."
"visar. Prove it."
And instantaneously she was back in the recliner, at ease and comfortable, as if she had never gotten up from it.
"Voilà," visar announced, managing to sound quite proud of itself.
As Gina's confusion subsided, she reminded herself that she never
had
gotten up. She had been here all the time . . . or had she? Was she really here now, or was this yet another construct in the maze of mirages that Hunt had led her into? She sat up with a strange feeling of déjà vu—only this time, Hunt wasn't standing watching from the doorway, and the door was closed. Her sweater was green again; the smudge of gray was back on her elbow. It was all as the real thing should have been, but there was no way of telling. If this was another illusion, she could see no purpose in it. Anyway, it seemed she had no option but to go along. She moistened her handkerchief and cleared the smudge from her sleeve.
"Where's Vic?" she asked aloud.
"Next door, to the right."
Gina got up and moved to the door. She opened it, let herself out into the corridor, and peered into the next cubicle. Hunt was in repose in the recliner there, motionless with his eyes closed.
"Happy now?" visar asked her.
Okay, it was good enough for her. "Convinced, anyhow," she conceded.
"Never say I don't give you your money's worth."
Hunt opened his eyes and sat up. "Neat, eh?" he said to Gina. "Just think, you could go anywhere in the Thurien world-system right now if you wanted to. Imagine what that saves them in a year on bus fares."
"Right now, you only need to worry about getting back to the lounge area," visar said. "The others are there, and they're asking where you are."
"Tell them we're on our way," Hunt answered.
Twelve hours after leaving Earth, the
Vishnu
was five hundred million miles past the mean orbit of Uranus.
By the internal clocks of most of the passengers it was the small hours of the morning, and the mess area of the Terran section was quieter than it had been earlier. Gina and the four from UNSA were still up, occupying a couple of tables pulled together, where they had been joined by the schoolteacher from Florida, whose name was Bob, and two of the Disney World marketing executives, Alan and Keith.
"Wasn't there something about an ancestor of modern horses?" Duncan Watt was saying to Danchekker. "It had stripes, suggesting that striping could be an inherited potential of all horse types. So there really isn't any such group as zebras at all? They could all be more closely related to the horse lines than to each other." They were talking about the investigations that Danchekker had conducted on specimens of early mammals from Earth's late Oligocene period, which had been discovered in the wrecked Ganymean ship found on Ganymede, before the
Shapieron
's appearance.
"Mesohippus," Danchekker supplied. "Yes, indeed—which makes it not as complex a characteristic as one might imagine. Several separate lineages could then have acquired stripes independently, which would make the zebras simply realizations of a developmental path common to all members of genus
Equus.
It becomes even more interesting when one considers the chromosome counts, where a distinct correlation is seen to occur between . . ."
Duncan nodded as he sat with his arms wedged across his chest. He looked a little glazed and seemed content to let Danchekker carry on doing the talking.
Across the other table, Bob, the teacher, and the two Disney World executives were into politics.
"Maybe Ganymeans are instinctively what socialist idealists try to turn humans into," Bob said. "But since it comes naturally to Ganymeans, nobody has to try and
make
them anything they're not. So it works."
"He's got a point," Al declared, turning to Keith. "We're a competitive species—a competitive economic system fits our nature. Whether you like the thought of it or not, we work for what
we
are gonna get out of it, not the other guy. That's the way humans are. The only way you can try to change them is through force. And people don't like that. That's why all these fancy ideas about molding human nature don't work. They
can't
work."
Sandy pushed herself back in her seat and yawned. "I've just had three hectic days that I think have caught up with me," she announced. "Sorry, but I'm going to be the first one to break up the party. So I'll see you people tomorrow, wherever. The other side of Pluto, I guess."
"Yes, get some rest," Danchekker said. "I should, too, for that matter. You've certainly been busy. We didn't give you much notice."
"Don't forget that chip you wanted me to borrow," Gina reminded her as she stood up.
"If you want to stop by my room, I'll let you have it now," Sandy said.
"What chip's that?" Hunt asked, turning from the conversation between Danchekker and Duncan.
"Some tracks of Jevlenese music that I collected together," Sandy said. "Some of it's really wild stuff."
"Vic likes music," Gina said as she rose. "I don't know if what you're talking about would be his style, though. That was a Beethoven score that you had pinned up on the wall at your place, wasn't it, Vic?"
"Observant," Hunt complimented. He took a sip of his drink. "Did you know that his dog had a wooden leg?"
Gina looked uncertain. "Whose?"
"Beethoven's. That was where he got his inspiration—when it walked across the room." He raised a hand to conduct an imaginary orchestra. "Dah-dah-dah-
dah
. . . Dah-dah-dah-
dah.
See?"
Gina shook her head, smiling hopelessly. "Are all the English insane? Or did you take a class in it?"
"Come on, let's go," Sandy murmured. "They're all past the crazy hour."
"No, but you have to work at it," Hunt said. He waved a hand at them both and grinned. "We'll see you two at breakfast, then." The rest of the group added a chorus of goodnights.