Into the Sea of Stars (12 page)

He watched the bolt climb in a curving path—at least it appeared that way. As it reached toward the relative
apogee in the center, the bolt slowed, then with ever-increasing speed it started the long sloping glide back
down.

"Pretty good accuracy," Shelley said, "considering the
physics of shooting an arrow inside a turning cylinder."

Ian watched with admiration as the bolt streaked in
and landed near the bull's-eyelike target created by the
dissenters' campfire. There was a mild scurrying and he
half imagined that he could see several people look up
and shake their fists.

"You missed me"
came
the taunting cry from the other side.

"The forms these people are going to fill out will be
fascinating," Ellen whispered.

Gates and his two assistants shook their fists at the
other side, and calling it quits, they went into the nearest
building to catch up on their sleep.

Ian looked around the cylinder, at least able to get a
good chance to observe his environment without the pressure of looking for Shelley. Its scale was truly astounding,
but what amazed Ian even more was the realization that
this was a small unit of early design. There were colonial cylinders of the same general design that were fifty times as big in volume. He looked up again at the lovely sweep
of green overgrowth that covered nearly everything. He
wondered how the unit managed to allow so much of its
carbon and nitrogen to be fixed in such a profusion of plants, but then from his own rough estimate the popu
lation here must only be a few percentile points of the bearing capacity. So that great percentage no longer in existence must be a fair part of the liquid and other ma
terials tied up in the unit. The thought suddenly struck
him with chilling force. Back on Earth one could not easily
grasp the total cyclic nature of life. He once had a
prof
who pointed out that, statistically speaking, the next glass
of water you drank would be carrying in it a molecule
from Caesar's body—and from Cleopatra's urine, one of
his classmates had rudely interjected.

But here the system was closer. These people, Gates,
Ileia
, a good part of their very bodies were made up of
the component chemicals that had formed their grandsires
before the coming of the Holocaust.

As a historian the thought awed him. But there was a more overriding concern at the moment. He was simply
exhausted.

"I'm heading back to the ship. If you people stay, I
would suggest that you do so as a group. I'll send Richard
down to take a look at these people."

"I take it we're staying for a while?" Shelley asked.

"Well, I guess that's what we've come sixty light-years
for. We'll stay a week or so to gather the necessary data,
document this place, then we'll push on."

"I want to get my surveys out," Ellen said excitedly.
"This is going to be fascinating. I should get at least two
or three publications out of this one."

"And I think I'll get something, as well,"
Stasz
said
eagerly, as he edged off to one side of the group and then
turned to plunge into the overgrowth.

"I'm going back to sleep aboard ship. I don't want any of these people allowed aboard the vessel," Ian com
manded. "If both sides met there, we would be the ones
to suffer. So they stay out. I would suggest that we get
Stasz
to rig up a simple security surveillance system on
the approaches to the air lock."

"I'll let him know when he gets back," Shelley said.

Ian turned and started back up the path. He gave a
quick scan up, looking for incoming. Their catapult was
visible but it was unattended.

"Get some rest, Dr.
Lacklin
," Shelley called. "You've
had a hard night."

He looked back at Shelley. She had that straight, of
ficial look about her, all professional.

"Ah, yeah, thanks, Shelley." He searched awkwardly
for words, "Yes. You did a good job."

"I doubt if you did." Ellen sniffed.

"Ah, shut up," Ian grumbled, and he pushed off back
to the ship.

"All secured for undocking,"
Stasz's
voice crackled
over the intercom.

Ian felt the gentle nudge of the ship as the maneuvering
thrusters pushed them free and away.

He watched on the aft monitor as the bulk of the cyl
inder dropped astern.

"I still think they're the craziest assholes I've ever laid
eyes on," Richard said, resuming their conversation.

"Don't say assholes, Richard," Ellen replied, "I've heard that word shouted at least ten thousand times in the last two weeks."

"Okay, bastards."

"Richard!"

"I'm throttling up,"
Stasz
said. A faint pulsing rumble
echoed through the ship and the slight tug of gravity increased. Funny, he barely noticed the gravity changes
anymore, and his stomach couldn't be in better shape.

"That's one group I'm glad to be rid of," Richard mut
tered as he uncapped a beaker of gin and offered it around.
Even Ellen took a quick snort and smiled her gratitude.

"So damned self-righteous, both of them," Shelley re
plied. "I still can't figure out what split them up." She
looked to Ellen, their sociologist who was always ready with a theory.

"I don't
know,
some doctrinal point about their wor
ship service. I think the break
came
nearly a millennium
ago. Fascinating how they ritualized their war. They never
engaged in direct killing close up, they clearly defined
their boundaries and observed them, and I found at least
one record in their computer that indicated they had co
operated when the vessel was holed. They even coop
erated in their birth reductions and contraceptives to
maintain the low population. But Lord, did they get into symbolic warfare."

"It sure as hell didn't look symbolic to me," Richard
replied. "Thank heavens those crazies didn't have a cou
ple of small
thermonukes
; they'd have wiped each other
out long ago. What do you think, Ian? Ian?"

Ian sat off to one side, his expression pale as he fumbled with his pockets. But the others barely noticed as Shelley jumped back into the conversation.

"But it was symbolic. It was their catharsis; they could vent their feelings and only occasionally would some un
wary person get slammed."

"I still think they were damn fools," Richard muttered,
and Shelley nodded her agreement. Ian noticed how she
stared at him, and felt a sudden flush of embarrassment.

"I think I'll go forward and watch jump from
Stasz's
Co seat."

He fumbled through his pockets one more time, but
he already knew that what he was looking for was somewhere back on the colony, most likely having fallen from his pocket while he had been "playing" with
Ileia
. He had
mislaid the
Thermomine
Manual and chances were the
inhabitants were already pouring through it. He could
only hope the symbolic warfare would stay symbolic. He cursed himself soundly; here was yet another thing to feel
guilt over, but there was no way he could tell his comrades
about this screw up—Ellen would be all over him in a
flash.

As Ian closed the door, Ellen was waxing enthusiastic over the data she had collected about controlled primitive
societies and ritualized warfare. She had been so enthusiastic that Ian had half expected her to request that she
could stay behind, and only a promise of a return visit on
their way back home had finally convinced her to leave.

He was half tempted to stay there, as well;
Ileia
haunted
his thoughts. But in a way he was glad that they had
decided to pull out. At forty-two he just couldn't keep up
with the demands of a healthy eighteen-year-old, no mat
ter how much he would fantasize about her later.

The decision to leave had come as a mild surprise to
everyone. They had settled in nicely, learned to dodge
the spears, and in fact were even starting to view the war as a great game—as they freely drifted between the two
sides, taking notes and observing. Gates had hooked him
into the computer log. The records of their initial depar
ture over a millennium ago were still intact—a historical
find
that would keep dozens of graduate assistants busy
for years. There were even fragments of a library and Ian found hundreds of volumes and documents thought to be long lost.

Ian had holed up in there for a week, taking all meals,
sleeping only when exhaustion had set in, and pushing
off
Ileia's
advances. And he discovered two disturbing
facts.

The first, that a large exile colony had been established
for political refugees. He already knew that, and knew as
well that it had been the final domain of Dr. Franklin
Smith, a noted political dissident in the years just before the Holocaust. He had assumed that Smith's colony had
been destroyed when the war started, since the records
back home indicated for some vague reason that the unit
had died.

It had not.

The records in
Unit 27's
main library indicated a sight
ing of it some forty years after departure, but their trajectory was faster and Smith's unit had passed them
without direct contact.

But it was the second fact that had caused Ian to pull
up stakes and leave the peace movement colony behind.
Ian had discovered the name of Smith's ship.
Alpha/
Omega.
A strange compulsion was forming in
lan's
mind.
Even as the compulsion formed it frightened him, for it
implied a danger he would rather not face. But for some reason beyond his understanding, he wanted to discover
why a colony started by a hero out of the distant past
would now engage in wholesale murder. What was it that the poet from
Unit 181
was warning him against? To the
surprise of everyone else, Ian had talked them back to
the Discovery and then immediate departure.

He couldn't understand his own compulsion and tried
to make believe that it was a simple intellectual exercise. Even as he pondered this fact, Ian reached the front cabin
and swung into the seat alongside of
Stasz
.

"Proper trajectory set and locked in,"
Stasz
said.

"We're ready."

"Remember those odds, Ian my friend. This jump could
be the disintegration act."

Ian didn't reply. Logically they should head back to
Earth, report their findings, and let someone else go out and look. But the way the bureaucracy ran, that could
take years. And besides, he was starting to find the whole adventure compelling. Challenge was here.
And mystery.
His mind wandered around that thought even as
Stasz
pushed them through jump and the wave of distortion
washed over him, plunging him into darkness.

Colonial Unit 287

First Completion Date:
 
2052

Primary Function:
Experimental Longevity Unit. Com
bined Russo/American effort with cybernetic implants
designed to continue life beyond the then 130-year
maximum. Such research had been banned on Earth
in 2041 by the United Nations as a response to Third
World pressures concerning the question of population control. Anyone already using artificial organ implants
was exiled to space in 2050, with most moving to the
280-model units.

Evacuation Date:
 
December 2085.

Overall Design:
Bernal Sphere.
Lower rotation rate with
.3 G standard gravity.
Extensive living area in the zero-
G regions.

Propulsion:
Matter/Antimatter mix.

Course:
Galactic Core.

Political/Social Orientation:
Corporate model managed by
ruling board. This unit was a nonpolitical interface be
tween the Americans and the Soviets, and yet another
example of their expanding cooperation in the middle
twenty-first century.

"
Discovery
, you are cleared for final approach and
docking."

Stasz
had them lined up on the long axis of the slowly
rotating sphere, and with gentle nudges of the thruster
controls he guided
Discovery
toward the main external
docking bay. They had been invited to enter via the main
interior bay, but Ian insisted on an outside dock so they
could leave whenever they desired and, if need be, with
out hindrance or permission.

As the massive bulk of the two-kilometer-diameter
sphere filled their forward
viewscreen
, Ian was finally torn from his observations by Shelley's insistent nudge.

"Here's a brief review of the records in your file, I thought you'd like to take them with us. I've provided
copies to Richard and Ellen, as well."

"Thanks, shall we join them?"

Shelley nodded her agreement and together they floated
down the corridor to the docking bay.

Damn, she's simply too efficient at times, Ian thought.
He always felt uncomfortable around efficient
people,
they
made him feel foolish and somewhat guilty. He knew his
dallying with
Ileia
bothered her, but Shelley was only his
graduate assistant. Richard had commented time and again
over the last ten days 'Remember that virginal graduate
assistant of yours is only three years older than your redheaded Amazon.'

Naw
, there can't be anything in it. Shelley's a gawky
grad-ass with a mild dose of hero worship for her brilliant
professor
...
He pushed the thought aside; they came through the airlock and joined the other two.

"You've had a chance to scan my notes?" Ian asked.

"Looks fascinating," Ellen replied. "What've they dis
covered if their experiments have been continued since
their departure?"

"We'll soon know," Richard murmured expectantly as
a faint jolt ran through the ship. The docking adapter
hooked on to the colony's exterior airlock and quickly formed a pressurized seal.

"All clear,"
Stasz
called from the control room.

Ian reached out and pushed the door release. It slid
back noiselessly. Even as their hatch opened, the colony's
hatch parted, as well, to reveal the usual double-entry
system

Ian and the others pushed off, and as the last of them
cleared the second doorway, it slid shut behind them.

"Dr.
Lacklin
," said the voice of the colony's approach control, "as I mentioned earlier, we do request disinfec
tion."

"I doubt if that is necessary," Richard replied.

"Use our disinfection facilities or leave us, Dr.
Lack
lin
."

Ian looked at the others, shrugged. They put on safety
glasses as requested and were dosed with an ultraviolet
bath, followed by a disinfectant spray. Finally they were
required to don robes, surgical masks, and gloves.

Richard looked professional in the robes, but Ellen
snickered at the sight of the old M.D. as he flapped around
in zero G wrapped in a green hospital gown.

"We're ready," Ian called. The second doorway opened.
The slight inrush of air carried the scent of disinfectant
and alcohol, mixed with a slightly unpleasant something
that made all of them feel uneasy.

They exited into the main corridor, where a slender
man floated in free-fall. Ian had wondered what he would
look like. He had expected a bent form, aged beyond
imagining,
dried
out, his desiccated flesh fit only for the grave. But this one was different. He was old, extremely
old. If anything gave the age away, it was the eyes that
betrayed a soul that had seen too much. The man was
totally bald; the skin of his head wrinkled and yellow like
old parchment. But he moved with an easy grace as he
floated closer, his robes rustling lightly and giving off a
scent of cleanness and starch.

"I am Joshua
Morisson
," the man said with a crisp
voice that was almost too precise and clear, "and you
must be Drs.
Lacklin
, Croce, and Redding." He nodded
to each in turn.

He stared at Shelley for a moment and smiled softly.
"And you are their young assistant Shelley."

His smile flickered and then died. "You have much to
tell me, all of you. I want to hear again of Earth."

Ian looked at him closely, almost afraid to ask.

"I want to hear again of my home," Joshua whispered,
"for you see, Dr.
Lacklin
, I am over sixty-score years of
age. And I wish again to hear of the world where I was young."

The others were gone, off on a tour of the colony, led
by an assistant who looked even older than Joshua. But
Ian had not wanted to leave the man. Here was the dream
of a lifetime fulfilled at last. He stood face to face with a
life that had spanned a millennium, a life that had seen
that distant time of so long ago when the world was young—and the greatest of adventures was just begin
ning.

So he had answered with patience the old man's ques
tions and watched with fascination as his host explored
the corridors of long-forgotten memories. Occasionally
the old man softly cried, as if each of the memories was
a sharpened point driven into his psyche, reopening long-
forgotten wounds.

"So, it is all gone—Washington, London, Moscow, the
great museums, the lovely churches, the soaring monu
ments—all gone, as lost now as Troy and Carthage."

"Not really," Ian replied. "There is a New
Mosca
and
Nova Washington. I participated at a dig for the old Cap
itol building when I was a graduate student."

Joshua nodded sadly. "You see, young Ian. You see.
You participated in a 'dig,' as you call it, for something
that is still alive in my mind. You were digging for relics
where I walked when I was a boy. I remember"—and his
voice grew softer—"I remember seeing a President buried
out of that Capitol when I was seven."

"Who?"
lan's
curiosity was screaming at him. Here
was the link.
The living memory that could touch back into a long-lost world.
It was the ultimate
dream come
true. This man had been there, had seen, had experienced
it all—ten thousand questions begged to be answered.

"Who?
Who? Why I'm not sure," Joshua said softly.
"I can see him, I can remember his voice carrying clear
and high on a cold January day, and then he was dead. But who
was he
, you ask." His voice drifted away.

Ian waited patiently, hoping that the layers of memory
would be stirred, but nothing came, just a slight shaking
of the head and then a half-bemused smile of sadness.

"It is so long ago that I have not thought of it in a
hundred, maybe two hundred years. I am old, Ian, my
comrades and I. Old as if we were like Adam, bent under
the weight of endless centuries since the loss of Paradise."

Ian leaned forward and touched Joshua on the hand. He felt a sense of awe that he was touching something alive from the distant age he had dreamed about since childhood. He realized, as well, that underneath this
"specimen" that he wished to probe and record, there was
a man like himself. "How does it feel?" Ian whispered.
"I somehow can't imagine it—how does it feel to have
lived so long?"

Joshua smiled, as if he had waited and prepared for
that question. "I can remember when I was a child. There
was a thing called movies, do you have them still?"

Ian nodded.

"I can remember a day when I wanted to go to a movie
and my mother said she would take me that afternoon
into the city. How I wanted to see it, how I had waited
for weeks for that film to arrive. It was early in the morn
ing, and so I settled down to
wait
for my mother to take
me. And the seconds dragged by as if each fragment was
a frozen entity slowly melting, to be replaced by yet another slow melting fragment. I waited for an eternity..."
His voice trailed off for a moment, so that Ian thought he
had fallen asleep, but suddenly he stirred.

"Do you remember the eternity of time when you were
a child? That morning will be forever frozen in my mind.
I believe that only a child can truly see time in its passage.
As we grow older time slips through our fingers without
our ever grasping it. And now you ask what my eternity
is like.

"I will tell you, Ian
Lacklin
, that
the centuries of this endless journey have seemed like but a moment to me,
when compared to that morning of a millennium ago. For
all of time is an illusion. I drift now through eternity and
no longer feel its passage. There is no awe, there is nothing
to excite,
there
is only eternity."

He knew the question was foolish but he had to ask.

"What was the,
ahh
, movie, I think you called it?"

Joshua smiled again, as if he knew that this question
would be asked, as well. "I can't recall now, it was some
thing about the future and our distant past. It was about
space and a man who traveled far, but I can't recall. All
I remember is that in the end, we didn't go. My mother
forgot her promise to me and left with some friends, and
so I didn't go. And across the centuries all I can now
remember is the pain."

"How have you managed this?" Ian asked. "How have
you lived so long?"

"
Ahh
, how have I kept the spirit trapped in this vessel?
I believe you are the historian, Ian, you must know of
our grand design?"

"All I have are the few records that survived the Ho
locaust."

"So that is what you call it now. I remember we used
that word for something else, as well. But I guess that it
is fitting, a burnt offering, yes, that is fitting.

"But you wish to know how, rather than simply to hear
the ramblings of an old man."

"They're not ramblings," Ian said softly. "If need be
I'll stay here as long as you will allow me, for I am far
more interested than you can imagine. Joshua, you are
my dream, you lived then, while I can only dream of that
time. You saw it with those eyes, and through you I want
to see it, as well."

"These eyes, you say." Joshua chuckled softly. "Yes,
these eyes. But let me return to your original question as
to how."

Ian pointed to his wrist to ask if he could record the
conversation. It took Joshua several seconds to realize
the nature of the small device on
lan's
wrist, but he nod
ded his approval even as he started to talk.

"I was a genetic engineer, a researcher on the edge of our bold new frontier. And through our
research,
and in many other realms as well, we felt at last that we could
even stare death in the face and turn him back. Our strat
egies were many, just as a general will employ many dif
ferent weapons, each appropriate to its task, to win his
war.
For this indeed was war—we were fighting the great
est tyrant of all.