Vectors (11 page)

"You found out all about them at the Processing Center?"

"Enough. It all goes back a long way. Up to the end of the nineteenth century, people believed that the world was really knowable—not simple, but at least capable of being fully understood. All science seemed to be completely definite. So people came to think of things that way, and it looked as though science offered certainty. That was the view of the average man, though he never got around to expressing it."

He smiled ruefully, still looking deep into the fire. "That's the way things used to seem to me when I was in school in Briarsford. I didn't know when I was well off."

Sarah was holding his hands in hers, and looking both happy and perplexed. "Are you saying science isn't definite, Carl? We always learned it that way."

"Oh, it's definite in its own way. You see, at the end of the nineteenth century some mysterious things were discovered. Radioactivity—atoms breaking up of their own accord, into smaller particles—was discovered, and there seemed to be no way to tell which atom would be the one to disintegrate. It seemed to happen at random. Then early in the twentieth century things got worse. The basic description of the world was through something called quantum theory, and that was all based on
probabilities,
not certainties. The uncertainty principle showed that the probabilities were fundamental, and couldn't be removed from the theory. Finally, a few years later a mathematician called Gödel knocked the final nail in. He proved that whole classes of theorems in mathematics are neither provable, nor disprovable—they are
undecidable
."

He looked at Sarah, who appeared dubious and sceptical. "Do you understand me, Sarah?"

"I understand what you're saying, Carl. I just don't see what it has to do with Redmanism. It doesn't sound like a disaster if things seemed less definite."

"That's what people thought, before Redman. But it takes a long time for ideas that are very abstract to get down to the average man. Maybe three or four generations. By the time they did, the precise way the uncertainty is involved had been lost. People had come to think that nothing was knowable and nothing was really provable. So by the end of the twentieth century, everything was doubted. Not only that, civilization seemed to be coming apart at the seams. Redman proved—mathematically—that it was all cause and effect. He realized that the only solution was to
re-introduce certainty
into the average man's view of the world. And he set out to do just that."

"Are you saying that the Church of Redman isn't really a church at all?" interrupted Sarah. "I can't believe that. It's the strongest religion in the world, and it's driven the other religions underground."

"It's organized as a religion, Sarah. Redman did it that way to get action on his ideas. He decided that the only way he could operate, without getting involved in revolution or politics, was through a religion. It could spread openly or secretly, across language and geographic barriers."

"And the Priests of Redman—they are really scientists, controlling which science should be taught?"

"That's right. Books dealing with uncertainty and undecidability are banned, and you can only find them inside the Church itself. That's where the real science is done."

"And who controls the scientists themselves?"

Carl was puzzled by the question. "The scientists are the guardians of everyone, Sarah. What other guardians are needed?"

She was shaking her head vehemently. "Carl, I know what you're saying. But there's an old saying that the Church of Redman may have forgotten: power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. Are you going to become one of the scientists, yourself?"

"As soon as I've been trained."

"Then you're going to become part of a bad system. Maybe Redman meant well when he set up the Church, but you can never create a good society based on deception. It's been tried before, and it always fails. The trouble is, people won't learn from history. Suppose Redman was just plain
wrong.
God knows, people have been wrong often enough in the past. Suppose the Dark Ages were some sort of natural event, a natural way of controlling the population?"

Carl shook his head wearily. The reunion with Sarah was so different from what he had hoped. "I've seen Redman's analysis. Too many others have checked it for it to be wrong."

"Even so, didn't you tell me that science doesn't accept the idea of absolute theories—that any theory is in time replaced by a more general one? Maybe there could be other cures."

"It would be a terrible risk, Sarah. You would endanger the whole world."

"Perhaps. Maybe we have to risk a wound and a scar or two sometimes. One thing worries me more than anything. The people who should be looking for other answers are the ones who know Redmanism the best—the scientists. Do you honestly believe they are doing that? They are an elite now, the chosen few. The rest of us are outside the club. Would they want to change to a system where science might not be the top of the line?"

Carl was silent, uncomfortable. Sarah's last words had scored a hit. The feeling of absolute self-confidence that Carl had sensed from the scientists of Redman could be seen, all too easily, as arrogance. The work was fascinating, but the people lacked something he could feel in Sarah.

She easily read his discomfort, and reached to pull his head close to hers. "You are going to be taken by science, Carl. I can see it in your eyes when you speak about it. Science is your true mistress, your only lasting beloved. But I hope you won't forget me, or the rest of us here. When 'first love's impassioned blindness' has faded, look for another answer. Make sure the Priests of Redman share the hardships, and don't have an easier life than the rest of us—otherwise, there will be no search for a different solution."

She put her hand over his mouth before he could reply. "No, love, no debate. If I've got you for just one night, that's short enough without losing any more time."

* * *

When she awoke the next morning he had already gone, slipping quietly away before dawn. On the table where they had shared their first evening meal she found a book, one that Carl had slipped into his pocket before they had started out for their trek over the Lukon Pass. She opened it and read the note tucked inside.

"Dearest Sarah, Thanks for the loan of your book. After you fell asleep last night I did a lot of thinking, and I'm beginning to see what you are saying about the Church of Redman. You probably realize that you have shown me another side of the world—the side you see and live in, different from the scientist's life. I don't know if I could ever live fully in your world, or you in mine. But we can try.

"Did you know that from early childhood I've dreamed of being an astronomer, working with the remote worlds of space? A year ago, that was my whole ambition. It is still my strongest wish, but now I know it is not everything. You brought me to Earth, and I am both glad and sorry to be here.

"I want to say that in another way. The past two months have been busy. I've taken a trip off Earth, around the Moon, up to the big space stations. I can't describe the feeling, hanging there where the sun shines all the time, looking back at Earth and knowing that somewhere on that little ball there was night, Lukon, this house and you.

"Here is one result of the time I did have. Don't judge it too harshly.

Sirius, ice-bound furnace of the winter sky,
Andromeda, remotely giant, spun of silver mist,
Rich realms of light to lure the mind and eye
Away from Earth, to wander. In the abyss
Has intellect, too often, been betrayed
Hiding reflection in reflection's field,
Each glow-worm light a loftier shrine than shade.
No price too high for one clear mote revealed.
Dare I in that retreat scorn Cupid's hold,
Expect his power one world alone to govern?
Rash fool. After the dart, in vain I would
Still blind unknowing, tell the stars of Heaven.
Out of eternal light I hurtle sick to Earth,
New-falling Satan, tasting life and death."

Sarah read the sonnet, then ran her fingers slowly down the first letters, picking out her name.
Sarah Henderson. Carl was right. It would never have worked out as Sarah Denning. But he understands, that's the important thing. It's the first crack in the wall, the beginning of a new look at the Church. Two years. What will he have become in two years, what will I be when he returns? He has come more than half-way to my world in two short months. Can I go the other half and meet him in his?

Sarah read Carl's note again. Then she folded it and replaced it in the book. She went to the window, and threw it open. The morning air was mild, and the west wind, warm and moisture-laden, carried in to her the eternal promise of the coming spring.

 
Afterword.

I had trouble writing this story. The basic premise was sound enough: modern life is so complicated that most of us have trouble knowing who we are or where we're going. Converting that abstract idea to a story was another matter.

Then there was the sonnet. It's not difficult to write an acrostic sonnet, particularly if you're allowed to take liberties with the form (if you look back, you'll find that I purposely chose to use hexameters in the first two lines, instead of pentameters). I wrote it, then I fiddled with it endlessly. It had to be the sort of thing that an eighteen-year-old male would write after some exposure to Dryden, Herrick and Samuel Butler.

Well, just to prove that I don't usually have that much trouble, here is an acrostic sonnet that I wrote last month, very quickly, to respond to Isaac Asimov's request for acrostic sonnets on science fiction themes:

THE TIME MACHINE.

This lever sets the pace. It lets me say
How fast the years must run their backward flight.
Each blink of light, a speeding night or day,
Takes me to worlds long vanished from our sight.
I have a choice. One path that I can take
Makes present future, calls from ages gone
Each vanished dawn. The other branch will make
My children's children old as I look on
And tell me how the human race must die.
Could I endure those sights? Such heavy fears
Have bad effects on me. I guess I'll fly
Into the quiet past, back eighty years.
Now I can make my test, and with one blow
End Grandpa's span. Good Lord! Where did I go?

KILLING VECTOR

Everyone on the Control Stage found a reason to be working aft when Yifter came on board. There was maximum security, of course, so no one could get really close without a good reason. Even so, we all took the best look we could manage—after all, you don't often have a chance to see a man who has killed a billion people.

Bryson, from the Planetary Coordinators' office, was at Yifter's elbow. The two men weren't shackled together, or anything melodramatic like that. Past a certain level of notoriety, criminals are treated with some deference and even respect. Bryson and Yifter were talking together in a friendly way, although they were in the middle of a group of top rank security men, all heavily armed and watchful. They were taking safety to extremes. When I stepped forward to greet Bryson and his prisoner, two guards carefully frisked me before I could get within hand-kill range, and they stood close behind me when the introductions were made. I haven't been on Earth for a long time, and they must have known that I have no close relatives there; but they were taking no chances. Yifter was a prime target for personal revenge. A billion people leave a lot of friends and relatives.

From a distance of one meter, Yifter's appearance did not match his reputation. He was of medium height, slightly built, with bushy, prematurely white hair and mild, sad eyes. He smiled at me in a tired, tolerant way as Bryson introduced us.

"I am sorry, Captain Roker," he said. "Your ship will be filled with strangers on this trip. I'll do my best to keep out of your way and let you do your job."

I hoped he could live up to his words. Since I took over the runs to Titan, I've carried most things in the connected set of cargo spheres that make up the Assembly. Apart from the kernels, and we carry a few of those on the outbound leg of every trip, we've had livestock, mega-crystals, the gravity simulator, and the circus. That's right, the circus. They must have had a terrible agent, that's all I can say. I took them both ways, to Titan and back to L-5. Even with all that, Yifter was still a novelty item. After he had been caught and the rest of the Lucies had gone underground, nobody had known quite what to do with him. He was Earth's hottest property, the natural target for a billion guns and knives. Until they decided how and when he would come to trial, they wanted him a long way from Earth. It was my job to deliver him to the Titan penal colony, and return him when they got themselves sorted out on Earth.

"I'll arrange for you and your guards to travel in a separate part of the Assembly," I said. "I assume that you will prefer privacy."

Yifter nodded agreeably, but Bryson wasn't having any.

"Captain Roker," he said. "Let me remind you that Mr. Yifter has not been found guilty on any charge. On this journey, and until his trial, he will be treated with proper courtesy. I expect you to house both of us here in the Control Stage, and I expect that you will invite us to take our meals here with you."

In principle, I could have told him to go and take a walk outside. As captain, I said who would travel in the Control Stage, and who would eat with me—and innocent people were not usually sent to the Titan penal colony, even before their trial. On the other hand, Bryson was from the Planetary Coordinators' office, and even off-Earth that carried weight.

I suppressed my first reaction and said quietly, "What about the guards?"

"They can travel in the Second Section, right behind the Control Stage," replied Bryson.

I shrugged. If he wanted to make nonsense of Earth's security efforts, that was his choice. Nothing had ever happened on any of my two-month runs from Earth to Titan, and Bryson was probably quite right; nothing would happen this time. On the other hand, it seemed like a damned silly charade, to ship twenty-five guards to keep an eye on Yifter, then house them in a separate part of the Assembly.