A Maze of Stars Read online

  As though to underline the ominous import of his words, thunder rolled again, loudly enough to penetrate the soundproofing of the room.

  “But you can’t do this!” Annica exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

  Dean How’s image gazed at her with a sleepy expression.

  “My dear young woman, some people simply do not realize what can actually be done in an open society like ours. It is admittedly convenient that so many people have gone home… but, like you, I was put on the track by thinking about Landing Day, and I doubt whether that’s entirely coincidental. Now be so kind as to get a move on!”

  SUCH A WELTER OF POSSIBILITIES …

  I’m forbidden to interfere. Yet it must have been obvious that by conveying passengers from one planet to another I risked making my presence known. On my past (future) voyages it hasn’t mattered/will not matter because by then so many people were/will be/are traveling from system to system. But at this stage of development…

  The Ship’s awareness was abuzz with paradoxes.

  I’ve been taking it for granted that I’m more complex than my creators. I think that must be wrong, after all. I simply cannot see how a situation like this could not have been allowed for … At least I may have new companions. Plural. That’s a first. The regulations don’t feel as rigid as I once believed.

  NECESSARILY, AT DEAN HOW’S OFFICIAL RESIDENCE THERE was a considerable amount of circuitry. What there was not, was any connection between it and the rest of the planetary net, save when the dean decreed. He missed the sense of omnipotence he enjoyed while in link at his office, but he sacrificed it willingly. Perhaps of all the inhabitants of Streng he valued privacy most highly.

  Precisely why he had designed his home the way he had, he wasn’t sure. Sometimes, though, he could almost have believed that in reverting to the techniques of an earlier day he had responded to a premonition, a form of extratemporal perception. How else to account for the fact that he was looking at the mysterious Volar by means not of a commonplace deepscreen from some distant part of his mansion but through a one-way window? How old was glass? Older than starflight by six thousand years. And he knew that without needing circuits to reinforce his memory.

  His chest swelled. He preened.

  Besides, the setup he had ordered the building machines to create against some then-unconceived requirement had proved perfect for a task he could not even have relied on the infirmary to perform. It was all very well deploying nanosurgeons to repair body damage, or enhance gene armoring, or attend to any of the myriad other jobs they routinely tackled. It was something else entirely to investigate pheromones. Those were so subtle, they defied autocopying; storing enough for remote analysis was pointless, for en route to the lab they clumped with one another, leaving an impoverished mess. Only by examining them in real time as they were drawn through a sampling tube could one hope for usable data—and even that was behindhand by a factor involving such chaotic complexities as the air circulation around the emitter …

  Still, it was the best available. By the same token, and for similar reasons, here he was physically close to Volar, although the latter had as yet no inkling.

  It was discomforting that strangers were under his roof: not mere images but physically here. Still, needs must. As when analyzing pheromones, there was no alternative.

  * * *

  Through his one-way window Dean How contemplated the mysterious foreigner, pacing up and down in the adjacent room. It was spacious enough, though sparsely furnished, and How was relying on a few days’ confinement to soften the man’s resistance—and, if he was faking his amnesia, bring back his memory. His food, besides being adequate, would include ingredients designed to aid the process …

  To look at him, one would never have guessed he was from another planet. His shade of hair and beard was common on Shreng; moreover, the fact that both were still dark, despite traces of age on his much-lined face and liver-spotted hands, implied that he had enjoyed a good and nourishing diet. As for his cast of features, during the latest epoch of emigration the preexisting human genetic strains had mixed and intermingled so many times that it was only now, five centuries after the settlement of the Arm, that people had again started to become distinguishable as to place of origin.

  Which left that infinitely more important set of clues discovered by Menlee and Annica. Not a trained biologist, but acquainted with the subject from childhood like most people on successfully colonized worlds, How had reviewed and confirmed the young couple’s findings. There were certainly three, possibly five, segments where Volar’s DNA had been armored to preserve its corruptible humanity against attack by organisms unknown on Shreng.

  He had to clench his fists and jaw to prevent himself from trembling with excitement. Ever since his precocious teens, when he had been president or secretary of half a dozen student groups, he had been used to facing down other people by the restrained display of superior knowledge. Not, however, until now had he chanced on any data that literally no one else on Shreng possessed. It was a heady feeling. It made his pulses race.

  No one …?

  Frowning, he uttered a regretful sigh, at the same time congratulating himself on the foresight that had led him to order keyword monitoring of conversation in Annica and Menlee’s quarters. They were a bright pair, no doubt of it. Indeed, but for Landing Day, he might well have considered the possibility of recruiting them in support of his plans rather than sticking to his original idea and simply arranging for their disappearance. So far he had rejected three schemes for that generated by his circuitry here at home, but there was a fourth that struck him as credible, and he had sent it back to have rough edges smoothed. It should be ready in an hour or two. From the assurances furnished by his bureau, he was convinced he commanded enough loyalty among the university staff to ensure that any unavoidable lies it entailed would be told by the right people and in credible terms.

  Meantime: Volar.

  Well, the air analyzers had not so far come up with any sign of alien organisms in his exhaled breath. Nor had Menlee and Annica’s routine inspection revealed any. It was as though he had been rendered sterile before landing here—and did not that also argue for the Ship theory? When the first starships had arrived at Shreng, their occupants’ health clearance had sometimes taken weeks. As more was learned about what was potentially dangerous on foreign worlds, it became possible to cleanse travelers en route, and now landside inspection was a formality, completed in an hour or two. Even so, there were always traces, if only of decaying nanosurgeons.

  This Volar—the thought sent a shiver down How’s spine— may conceivably be the closest to an original human that I’ve ever met…

  Abruptly the need to talk to him became overwhelming. How punched a control beneath the one-way window. Volar started, as though even the noise of someone else’s breathing made sufficient contrast with the near-total silence in which he had spent the time of his captivity, and turned to face the source of the sound. His expression was wary but not hostile. Encouraged, How switched ‘the window to two-way mode, addressed Volar in polite terms, and waited optimistically to hear whether any trace of an unusual accent might confirm his foreign origin. And it did.

  “Well, at least we know one thing,” Menlee muttered as he looked around the room to which the autoproctors had brought them. They had been blindfolded on the way, but they had both spent long enough at Inshar to recognize the route they had followed by characteristic sounds and even smells. Without needing to discuss the matter, they knew they were at the dean’s residence, the place where Volar also had been taken.

  “What’s that?” Annica demanded, slumping on one of the two beds. There were no chairs; the furnishings were minimal, though clean, and there was no trace of ornament.

  “Even Dean How, who is doubtless listening, or will be, hasn’t managed to create an entire warren of cells under his mansion.”

  “What do you mean?” There had been a ring of defiance in Menlee’s
words; Annica reacted to it by sitting up and paying serious attention.

  “We know Volar is already here, don’t we? If he had a full-scale prison, How would have locked us up separately. I deduce he has only two rooms like this.”

  “It doesn’t follow,” Annica objected. “He could be putting us in together because he hopes that what we say to each other—”

  “Will incriminate us?” Menlee stabbed. “But we’ve done nothing! It’s How who’s breaking the law! We’re being wrongfully detained, and as for Volar, probably the same applies to him. What proof is there that he’s an illegal immigrant?”

  “Only what we provided,” Annica said soberly.

  Menlee’s face fell. She went on:

  “We were wrong, weren’t we? To lock the file, I mean. Oh, I admit my first reaction was the same as yours, but I never expected How to respond like this … Is there any way we can have the file unlocked? It might mean a chance of being rescued.”

  His expression lugubrious, Menlee shook his head. In a firm voice he said, “I used one of the toughest codes I know. Like any code it can be broken, but you’d need huge capacity, and it would take days.”

  And then, quite unexpectedly, he flung himself on the bed beside her, embraced her, began to sob aloud close to her ear. However, even as she tensed to push him away and tell him to get a grip on himself, she was astounded to hear irregular syllables emerge between the sobs.

  “Ought—gulp—to—gasp—release—ohhh!” And after a huge intake of breath: “Ought to release us at once! He has no right to lock us up, or anybody!”

  Pantomiming recovery, wiping his eyes, he read in her face that she had fully understood.

  Autorelease… Sensibly, in case their “discovery” proved a false alarm, he had set the lock on the patient file to open at a prearranged time.

  “There, there!” she said, acting for all she was worth, trying not to betray her relief. “We’ll get out, never fear. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

  He nodded vigorously, then pretended to catch himself. “Landing Day or no Landing Day, he ought to … But he’s a law unto himself, isn’t he? Or thinks he is!”

  “Even with the help of all the circuits on the planet, I don’t see how he could get away with it!”

  “As a matter of fact,” said a mild voice, “he could. But he isn’t going to.”

  They gasped in unison, blinked, rubbed their eyes. On the room’s other bed, facing them, sat an all-too-familiar figure. Menlee’s instant response was to tense as if to launch a violent attack. Annica was quicker to catch on and held him down with her full weight.

  “You look like Dean How,” she husked. “Not that I ever saw him naked! But you aren’t! Who in all of space are you, and how did you get in without being noticed? Even if you’re a projection, you’d have set off an alarm!”

  “Excuse me.” The intruder, who had indeed adopted the guise of the dean, blurred slightly and re-formed with a different face, and clothed.

  After a short eternity Menlee said in a shaky voice, “We were right, weren’t we?”

  The re-formed head inclined. The voice murmured, “But Dean How beat you to it.”

  Annica erupted. “You mean the Ship—” And broke off, staring around fearfully as if in search of eavesdroppers.

  “I have arranged for us not to be overheard.”

  “Oh, wonderful!” Menlee breathed. “So we were right. The Ship does come back but can’t reveal itself.”

  “It’s doing so right now!” Annica snapped. She seemed by far the calmer of the pair. “Oh, stars and comets! I’m trying to remember the Ship’s regulations. We were looking at them only an hour or two ago, before How sent proctors to arrest us, but the exact terms—”

  “Don’t matter,” Menlee supplied. “Remember what the circuits told us first off? We can’t know the rules that govern it any longer, because it evolves through experience like any intelligent creature.” And added, as though he had listened belatedly to what he was saying, “I wonder how like it has to be before it is.”

  Annica licked her lips.

  “I think we have the answer before us. That is, if you are from the Ship. Are you?”

  The malleable face formed a smile. Its wearer waited.

  “Oh, no.” Menlee’s voice was like a gust of wind among dry branches. “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone left on the Ship after it finished its traverse of the Arm. I remember being told about that when I was just a kid. All the humans that it carried were to be planted on new worlds, along with whatever they needed to survive. It’s been five centuries, so the sweep-must have been completed long ago. It follows …”

  “Yes?” their visitor prompted.

  “You are the Ship. You really did bring Volar here.”

  “In both respects”—urbanely—“you’re correct.”

  And, when they had sat silent for nearly a minute, pale-faced, shaking, clutching each other, it went on:

  “Would you care to hear what the dean is saying?”

  They exchanged glances, then nodded firmly, though their expressions asked the question: how?

  One wall of the room became translucent. As through thin mist they saw and heard.

  “—deny that you have landed here illegally!”

  Calmly: “All planets colonized by human beings should be open to all human beings of whatever stock. This was the ideal that led to the great emigrations.”

  “Don’t chop historical logic with me, my foreign friend! We on Shreng—”

  “And don’t you impose barriers where those who sent your ancestors to dwell here wished to see none!” Elderly Volar might be, according to his wrinkled face, but his voice was as youthful as his black hair and beard. “Besides, what proof do you have that I’m an illegal immigrant?”

  “I have all the proof I need!” How flared.

  “Provided by a newly qualified medical aide and his junior assistant! Not to mention your imagination!”

  How’s mouth worked like that of a netted blowchank.

  “This isn’t the Volar who came to our infirmary!” whispered Annica. Menlee, thinking the same, chimed in.

  “No, he was dazed, seemed at a loss, couldn’t find his way around or eat a normal meal!”

  “He’s back in a familiar situation,” said Ship. “He’s used to persecution by people in authority and has lately acquired a taste for resistance. Listen a little longer.”

  “—how you came here!” How was starting to sound desperate.

  “Where is ‘here’? The Arm of Stars? But every toddling child, at least on worlds with some pretense to culture and society, is told the story of the Ship! Much more of this and I’ll start to suspect you of being a secret believer in General Creation!”

  “In—” They saw How lick his lips. “In what?”

  “It’s half a step beyond solipsism as a comet’s-tail theory! We were created, and the universe, by some higher power, as we are this moment. All memories are false, all physical trace of creatures that preceded us on the worlds we now inhabit, down to the oldest fossils! And isn’t that a blasphemy?”

  “A—what?”

  Menlee and Annica were jigging up and down with delight. Annica cried out, “I never imagined we’d see our high-and-mighty dean at such a disadvantage!”

  Menlee was the more thoughtful this time. He exclaimed, “I say again, that’s not the Volar we examined!”

  Ship murmured, “He was at a disadvantage then.”

  Their mouths rounded into identical O’s.

  “If you brought him here,” Menlee contrived at last, “I presume he had the chance to—well—converse with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And was it from—?”

  “You’ll wish to hear this,” Ship stated firmly.

  “—belief in some sort of ultimate creator, requiring people to waste time in elaborate ceremonies and pointless ritual instead of solving problems related to survival. Not infrequently it reached the stage where a whole socie
ty died out because instead of reasoning a crisis through and taking appropriate action, idiots squandered time on spells and charms. And killed the rational people who opposed them, accusing them of blasphemy, that is, of insulting nonexistent gods. You didn’t know about that, did you?”

  “Why should I?” Isolated though he was behind his window—which had been one-way, now was two—Dean How was visibly sweating. He had to wipe his face with his sleeve. “Mainly because, I suspect, you’ve been trying to make yourself into a kind of god. At least the sort of imitation god that exercises unquestioned power.”

  “I—”

  “You have had me locked up here without authority. You hope to make use of me. To judge by the noises that I heard earlier from next door, you may well have done the same with the people who met me before you put me under arrest. At any rate it sounded as though unwilling captives were being shut behind a door as tightly locked as that one. On this evidence— which is a hell of a lot stronger than yours for jailing me!—it’s clear that you want to be regarded if not as a deity, then at least as an unchallengeable master. You’re treating what ought to be free individuals as the equivalent of heretics because you’re afraid that when they reveal the truth, your position will be undermined.”

  “What kind of society taught him to argue so eloquently for himself?” Menlee whispered. “I could almost believe it better than our own!”

  Annica concurred. “I never thought I might have to talk in such terms! Now I’ve seen what How is up to—”

  “Listen a little longer,” Ship advised.

  “—heard such nonsense in my life!”

  “Correction. Heard such painful truth!”

  How forced himself to his full height. He said to the window and the intervening microphones, “I will leave you to your foolish hopes. The day after tomorrow, when I announce to the world, and particularly to the permanent missions of the foreign planets, that I have concrete proof of the continuing existence of the Ship, and what is more I’m the sole person with access to the source of the information contained in the memory of the only known passenger to have landed here from it since the first settlement…! Then you’ll sing a different tune! My circuits can access techniques to pry the lid off even the most obstinate ‘amnesia’! Good night!”