Nemesis (42 page)

“Well, what happened?”

“Chao-Li Wu had the answer. He had it all along. He told me. I remember him telling me. Months ago. Maybe a year ago. I dismissed it. I didn’t even listen, really.” She paused to catch her breath. Her excitement had completely disoriented the natural rhythm of her speech.

She said, “The trouble was that I thought of myself as the world authority on superluminal flight, and was convinced that no one could possibly tell me anything I didn’t know or hadn’t thought of. And if someone did suggest something that seemed strange to me, the idea
was simply wrong, and, presumably, idiotic. Do you know what I mean?”

Fisher said grimly, “I’ve met people like that.”

“Everyone’s like that, now and then,” said Wendel, “given certain conditions. I suppose aging scientists are particularly like that. That’s why the daring young revolutionaries of science become old fossils after a few decades. Their imaginations harden with encrusted self-love and that’s their end. It is now my end.… But enough of that. It took us over a day to really work it out, to adjust the equations, to program the computer and set up the necessary simulations, to go down blind alleys and catch ourselves. It should have taken a week, but we were all driving each other like maniacs.”

Wendel paused here, as if to catch her breath. Fisher waited for her to continue, nodding encouragement as he reached out to grasp her hand.

“This is complex,” she continued. “Let me try to explain. Look— We go from one point in space through hyperspace to another point in space in zero time. But there’s a path we take to do that, and it’s a different path each time, depending on the starting and ending points. We don’t observe the path, we don’t experience it, we don’t actually follow it in space-time fashion. It exists in a rather incomprehensible way. It’s what we call a Virtual path.’ I worked out that concept myself.”

“If you don’t observe it, and don’t experience it, how do you know it’s there?”

“Because it can be calculated by the equations we use to describe the motion through hyperspace. The equations give us the path.”

“How can you possibly know that the equations are describing anything that has actual reality? If could be just—mathematics.”

“It could be. I thought it was. I ignored it. It was Wu who suggested it might have significance—maybe a year ago—and like a full-grown idiot, I dismissed it. A virtual path, I said, had merely virtual existence. If it couldn’t be measured, it was outside the realm of science. I was so shortsighted. I can’t endure myself when I think of it.”

“All right. Suppose the virtual path has some sort of existence. What then?”

“In that case, if the virtual path is drawn near a sizable
body, the ship experiences gravitational effects. That was the first breathtakingly true and useful new concept—that gravitation can make itself felt along the virtual path.” Wendel shook her fist angrily. “I saw that myself, in a way, but I reasoned that since a ship would be moving at many times the speed of light, gravitation would have insufficient time to make itself felt to any measurable extent. Travel would therefore be, by my assumption, in a Euclidean straight line.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“Obviously not. And Wu explained it. Imagine that the speed of light is a zero point. All speeds less than that of light would have negative magnitude, and all speeds greater than that of light would have positive magnitude. In the ordinary Universe we live in, therefore, all speeds would be negative, by that mathematical convention, and, in fact,
must
be negative.

“Now, the Universe is built on principles of symmetry. If something as fundamental as speed of movement is always negative, then something else, just as fundamental, ought to be always positive, and Wu suggested that that something else was gravitation. In the ordinary Universe, it is always an attraction. Every object with mass attracts every other object with mass.

“However, if something goes at a superluminal speed—that is, faster than light—then its speed is positive and the other something that was positive has to become negative. At superluminal speed, in other words, gravitation is a repulsive force. Every object with mass repels every other object with mass. Wu suggested that to me a long time ago and I wouldn’t listen. His words just bounced off my eardrums.”

Crile said, “But what’s the difference, Tessa? When we’re going at enormous superluminal speeds, and gravitational attraction doesn’t have time to affect our motion, neither would gravitational repulsion.”

“Ah, that’s not so, Crile. That’s the beauty of it. That reverses, too. In the ordinary Universe of negative speeds, the faster the speed relative to an attractive body, the less gravitational attraction affects the direction of movement. In the Universe of positive speeds, hyperspace, the faster we go relative to a repulsive body,
the
more
gravitational repulsion affects the direction of movement. That makes no sense to us, since we’re used to the situation as it exists in the ordinary Universe, but once you are forced to change signs from plus to minus and vice versa, you find these things falling into place.”

“Mathematically. But how much can you trust the equations?”

“You match your calculations against the facts. Gravitational attraction is the weakest of all the forces and so is the gravitational repulsion along the virtual paths. Within the ship and within us, every particle repels all other particles while we are in hyperspace, but that repulsion can do nothing against the other forces that hold it together and have
not
changed signs. However, our virtual path from Station Four to here carried us close to Jupiter. Its repulsion along the virtual hyperspatial path was just as intense as its attraction would have been along a nonvirtual spatial path.

“We calculated how Jupiter’s gravitational repulsion would affect our path through hyperspace, and that path curved exactly as it had been observed to do. In other words, Wu’s modification of my equations not only simplifies them, but it makes them
work
.”

Fisher said, “And did you break Wu’s neck, Tessa, as you promised you would?”

Wendel laughed, remembering her threat. “No, I didn’t. Actually, I kissed him.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Of course, it’s more important now than ever that we get back safely, Crile. This advance in superluminal flight must be reported, and Wu must be properly honored. He built on my work, I admit, but he went on to do what I might never have thought to do. I mean, consider the consequences.”

“I can see them,” said Fisher.

“No, you can’t,” said Wendel sharply. “Now, listen to me. Rotor had no problems with gravitation because they merely skimmed the speed of light—a little below it at some times, a little above it at others—so that gravitational effects, whether positive or negative, attractive or repulsive, had immeasurably small effects on them. It was our own true superluminal flights at many times the
speed of light that makes it imperative to take gravitational repulsion into account. My own equations are useless. They will get ships through hyperspace, but not in the right direction. And that’s not all.

“I have always thought that there was a certain unavoidable danger in emerging from hyperspace—the second half of the transition. What if you merge into an already existing object? There would be a fantastic explosion that would destroy the ship and everything in it in a trillionth of a trillionth of a second.

“Naturally, we’re not going to end up inside a star because we know where the stars are located and can avoid them. In time, we might even know where a star’s planets are and avoid them, too. But there are asteroids by the tens of thousands and comets by the tens of billions in the neighborhood of every star. If we end up overlapping one of those, that would still be deadly.

“The only thing that would save us, in the situation as I had thought it to be before today, is the laws of chance. Space is so huge that the chance of striking any object larger than an atom or, at most, a grain of dust is extraordinarily small. Still, given enough trips through hyperspace, the overlapping of matter is a catastrophe just waiting to happen.

“But under conditions as we now know them to be, the chances are zero. Our ship and any sizable object would repel each other and tend to move apart. We are not likely to run afoul of anything deadly. They would all automatically move out of our path.”

Fisher scratched at his forehead. “Wouldn’t we move out of our path, too? Won’t that upset our course unexpectedly?”

“Yes, but the small objects we are likely to encounter will alter our path in very limited fashion and we could easily make it up—a small price to pay for safety.”

Wendel took a deep breath and stretched luxuriantly. “I feel great. What a sensation all this will make when we get back to Earth.”

Fisher chuckled. “You know, Tessa, before you came in, I was building a morbid picture in my head of our being irretrievably lost; of our ship wandering forever, with five dead bodies aboard; of its being found someday
by intelligent beings who would mourn the obvious space tragedy—”

“Well, it won’t happen, you can count on that, my dear,” said Wendel, smiling, and they embraced.

Eugenia Insigna looked woebegone. “Have you really decided to go out again, Marlene?”

“Mother,” said Marlene with weary patience, “you make it sound as though I’ve come to this decision five minutes ago after a long period of uncertainty. I’ve been sure for a very long time that out there on Erythro is where I intend to be. I haven’t changed my mind, and I won’t change it.”

“I know you’re convinced that you’re safe and I admit that nothing has happened to you so far, but—”

Marlene said, “I feel safe on Erythro. I’m
drawn
to it. Uncle Siever understands.”

Eugenia looked at her daughter, as if to object once again, but shook her head instead. Marlene’s mind was made up, and she was not to be stopped.

It’s warmer on Erythro this time, Marlene thought, just warm enough to make the breeze welcome. The grayish clouds were scudding across the sky a bit more rapidly, and they seemed thicker.

Rain was predicted for the next day, and Marlene thought it might be nice to be out in the rain and watch what happened. It should splash in the little creek and make the rocks wet and turn any soil muddy and mushy.

She had come up to a flat rock near the creek. She brushed it with her hand, and sat down on it carefully, staring at the flowing water curling around the rocks that studded it, and thinking that the rain would feel like taking a shower.

It would be like a shower coming down from the whole sky, so that you couldn’t step out of it. A thought occurred to her: Will there be trouble breathing?

No, that couldn’t be. It rained on Earth all time—frequently, anyway—and she didn’t hear that people drowned in it. No, it would be like a shower. You could breathe in a shower.

The rain wouldn’t be hot, though, and she liked hot showers. She thought about it lazily. It was very quiet out here, and very peaceful, and she could rest and there was no one to see her, to watch her, no one whom she had to interpret. It was great not to have to interpret.

What temperature would it be? The rain, that is. Why shouldn’t it be the same comfortable temperature as Nemesis itself? Of course, she would get wet, and it was always cold when you stepped out of a shower all wet. And the rain would wet her clothes, too.

But it would be silly to wear clothes in the rain. You didn’t wear clothes in the shower. If it rained, you would take off your clothes. That would be the only thing that made sense.

Only—where did you put the clothes? When you showered, you put your clothes in the cleaner. Here on Erythro, maybe you could put them under a rock, or have a little house built, in which you could leave your clothes on a rainy day. After all, why wear clothes at all if it were raining?

Or if it were sunny?

You’d want to wear them if it were cold, of course. But on warm days—

But then, why did people wear clothes on Rotor, where it was always warm and clean? They didn’t at swimming pools—which reminded Marlene that the young people with slim bodies and good shapes were the first ones off with their clothes—and the last ones to put them on again.

And people like Marlene just didn’t take their clothes off in public. Maybe that’s why people wore clothes. To hide their bodies.

Why didn’t minds have shapes you could show off? Except that they did, and then people didn’t like it. People liked to look at shapely bodies and turned up their noses at shapely minds. Why?

But here in Erythro with no people, she could take her clothes off whenever it was mild and be free of them. There’d be no one to point fingers or laugh at her.

In fact, she could do whatever she wanted because she had a whole comfortable world, an empty world, an all-alone world, to surround her and envelop her like a huge soft blanket enclosing her and—just silence.

She could feel herself letting go. Just silence. Her mind whispered it, so that even that would interfere as little as possible.

Silence.

And she sat upright. Silence?

But she had come out to hear the voice again. And not scream this time. Not be afraid. Where was the voice?

As though she had called it, as though she had whistled it up—

“Marlene!”

Her heart gave a little jump.

She held herself firm. She mustn’t make any sign of fright or disturbance. She simply looked around, and then said, very calmly, “Where are you, please?”

“It is not—necery—necessary to vi—vibrate the air—talk.”

The voice was Aurinel’s, but it didn’t speak like Aurinel at all. It sounded as though talking were difficult, but as though it would get better.

“It will get better,” said the voice.

Marlene had not said anything. She did not say anything now. She merely thought the words— “I don’t have to talk. I only need to think.”

“You only need to adjust the pattern. You’re doing it.”

“But I hear you talk.”