Dimension of Miracles (16 page)

‘Isn’t there anything you can do about the predator?’ Carmody asked.

‘Nothing. Nor would I if I could. Predation is a necessary circumstance. Even the Gods are eventually eaten by Fate. You will not be an exception to the universal rule.’

‘I thought you’d say something like that,’ Carmody said. ‘But can you give me any help at all? Any hints on how the worlds you send me to will differ from the worlds of the predator?’

‘To me the differences are obvious,’ Seethwright said. ‘But you and I do not share the same perceptions. You could not make use of my insights, Carmody; nor I of yours. Still, you have managed to elude the predator so far.’

‘I’ve been lucky.’

‘There you are! I have a great deal of skill, but no luck whatsoever. Who can tell which quality will be most needed in the trials ahead? Not I, sir, and certainly not you! Therefore be of stout heart, Mr Carmody. Faint heart ne’er won fair planet, eh? Look over the worlds I send you to, be extremely cautious of the predator’s scenes of delusion, get out while the getting’s good; but do not be unmanned by fear into passing up your true and rightful world.’

‘What happens if I do pass it by inadvertently?’ Carmody asked.

‘Then your search can never end,’ Seethwright told him. ‘Only you can tell us where you belong. If, for one reason or another, you do not locate your world among the most likely, then we must continue our search among the merely likely, and then the less likely, and finally the least likely. The number of probability-worlds of Earth is not infinite, of course; but from your viewpoint, it might as well be; you simply do not have enough inherent duration to search through them all and then begin again.’

‘All right,’ Carmody said doubtfully. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any other way.’

‘There’s no other way I can help you,’ Seethwright said. ‘And I doubt if there is any way at all that would not involve your active participation. But if you wish, I can make inquiries into alternative galactic location techniques. It would take a while –’

‘I don’t think I have a while,’ Carmody said. ‘I think my predator is not far behind me. Mr Seethwright, please send me to the probability-earths, and also accept my gratitude for your patience and interest.’

‘Thank you,’ Seethwright said, obviously pleased. ‘Let us hope that the very first world will be the one you are seeking.’

Seethwright pressed a button on his desk. Nothing happened until Carmody blinked. Then things happened very quickly indeed, for Carmody unblinked and saw that he was smack dab on Earth. Or on a reasonable facsimile thereof.

PART FOUR

Which is Earth?

CHAPTER 22

Carmody was standing on a neatly trimmed plain, beneath a blue sky, with a golden-yellow sun overhead. He looked around slowly. Half a mile ahead of him he saw a small city. This city was not constructed in the common manner of an American city – with outliers of gas stations, tentacles of hot-dog stands, fringe of motels, and a protective shell of junkyards; but rather, as some Italian hill towns are fashioned, and some Swiss villages as well, suddenly rising and brusquely ending, without physical preamble or explanation, the main body of the town presenting itself all at once and without amelioration.

Despite its foreign look, Carmody felt sure that he was looking at an American city. So he advanced upon it, slowly and with heightened senses, prepared to flee if anything was amiss.

All seemed in order, however. The city had a warm and open look; its streets were laid out generously, and there was a frankness about the wide bay windows of its store fronts. As he penetrated deeper, Carmody found other delights, for just within the city he entered a piazza, just like a Roman piazza, although much smaller; and in the middle of the piazza there was a fountain, and standing in the fountain was the marble representation of a boy with a dolphin, and from the dolphin’s mouth a stream of clear water issued.

‘I do hope you like it,’ a voice said from behind Carmody’s left shoulder.

Carmody did not jump with alarm. He did not even whirl around. He had become accustomed to voices speaking from behind his back. Sometimes it seemed to him that a great many things in the galaxy liked to approach him that way.

‘It’s very nice,’ Carmody said.

‘I constructed it and put it there myself,’ the voice said. ‘It seemed to me that a fountain, despite the antiquity of the concept, is aesthetically functional. And this piazza, with its benches and shady chestnut trees, is copied from a Bolognese model. Again, I did not inhibit myself with the fear of being old-fashioned. The true artist, it seems to me, uses what he finds necessary, be it a thousand years old or one second new.’

‘I applaud your sentiment,’ Carmody said. ‘Permit me to introduce myself. I am Thomas Carmody.’ He turned, smiling, his hand outstretched. But there was no one behind his left shoulder, or behind his right shoulder, either. There was no one in the piazza, nobody at all in sight.

‘Forgive me,’ the voice said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you knew.’.

‘Knew what?’ Carmody asked.

‘Knew about me.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ Carmody said. ‘Who are you and where are you speaking from?’

‘I am the voice of the city,’ the voice said. ‘Or to put it another way, I am the, city itself, the veritable city, speaking to you.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Carmody said sardonically. ‘Yes,’ he answered himself, ‘I suppose it is a fact. So all right, you’re a city. Big deal!’

The fact was, Carmody was annoyed. He had encountered too many entities of great magnitude and miraculous power. He had been one-upped from one end of the galaxy to the other. Forces, creations and personifications had jumped out at him without cessation, causing him time and time again to lose his cool. Carmody was a reasonable man; he knew there was an interstellar pecking order, and that humans did not rate very high on it. But he was also a proud man. He believed that a man stood for something, if only for himself. A man couldn‘t very well go around all the time saying ‘Oh!’ and ‘Ah!’ and ‘Bless my soul!’ to the various inhuman entities that surrounded him; he couldn‘t do that and keep any self-respect. Carmody cared more than a little for his self-respect. It was, at this point, one of the few things he still possessed.

Therefore, Carmody turned away from the fountain and strolled across the piazza like a man who conversed with cities every day of his life, and who was slightly bored with the whole thing. He walked down various streets and up certain avenues. He glanced into store windows and noted the size of houses. He paused in front of statuary, but only briefly.

‘Well?’ the city said after a while.

‘Well what?’ Carmody answered instantly.

‘What do you think of me?’

‘You’re OK,’ Carmody said.

‘Only OK?’

‘Look,’ Carmody said, ‘a city is a city. When you’ve seen one, you’ve pretty much seen them all.’

‘That’s untrue!’ the city said, with some show of pique. ‘I am distinctly different from other cities. I am unique.’

‘Are you indeed?’ Carmody said scornfully. ‘To me you look like a conglomeration of badly assembled parts. You’ve got an Italian piazza, a couple Greek-type statues, a row of Tudor houses, an old-style New York tenement, a California hot-dog stand shaped like a tugboat, and God knows what else. What’s so unique about that?’

‘The combination of those forms into a meaningful entity is unique,’ the city said. ‘I present variety within a framework of inner consistency. These older forms are not anachronisms, you understand; they are representative styles of living and as such are appropriate in a well-wrought machine for living.’

‘That’s
your
opinion,’ Carmody said. ‘Do you have a name, by the way?’

‘Of course,’ the city said. ‘My name is Bellwether. I am an incorporated township in the State of New Jersey. Would you care to have some coffee and perhaps a sandwich or some fresh fruit?’

‘The coffee sounds good,’ Carmody said. He allowed the voice of Bellwether to guide him around the corner to an open-air café. The café was called ‘O You Kid’ and was a replica of a Gay Nineties saloon, right down to the Tiffany lamps and the cut-glass chandelier and the player piano. Like everything else that Carmody had seen in the city, it was spotlessly clean, but without people.

‘Nice atmosphere, don’t you think?’ Bellwether asked.

‘Campy,’ Carmody pronounced. ‘OK if you like that sort of thing.’ A foaming mug of cappuccino was lowered to his table on a stainless-steel tray. ‘But at least the service is good,’ Carmody added. He sipped the coffee.

‘Good?’ Bellwether asked.

‘Yes, very good.’

‘I rather pride myself on my coffee,’ Bellwether said quietly. ‘And on my cooking. Wouldn’t you like a little something? An omelette, perhaps, or a soufflé?’

‘Nothing,’ Carmody said firmly. He leaned back in his chair and said, ‘So you’re a model city, huh?’

‘Yes, that is what I have the honour to be,’ Bellwether said. ‘I am the most recent of all model cities and, I believe, the most satisfactory. I was conceived by a joint study group from Yale and the University of Chicago, who were working on a Rockefeller fellowship. Most of my practical details were devised by MIT, although some special sections of me came from Princeton and from the RAND Corporation. My actual construction was a General Electric project, and the money was procured by grants from the Ford Foundation, as well as several other institutions I am not at liberty to mention.’

‘Interesting sort of history,’ Carmody said, with unbearable nonchalance. ‘That’s a Gothic cathedral across the street, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, completely Gothic,’ said Bellwether. ‘Also, interdenominational and open to all faiths, with a designed seating capacity for three hundred people.’

‘That doesn’t seem like much for a building that size.’

‘It’s not, of course. But my idea was to combine awesomeness with cosiness. Many people liked it.’

‘Where are the people, by the way?’ Carmody asked. ‘I haven’t seen any.’

‘They have left,’ Bellwether said mournfully. ‘They have all departed.’

‘Why?’ Carmody asked.

Bellwether was silent for a while, then said, ‘There was a breakdown in city-community relations. A misunderstanding, really; or perhaps I should say, an unfortunate series of misunderstandings. I suspect that rabble-rousers, played a part in the exodus.’

‘But what
happened
, precisely?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bellwether said. ‘I really don’t know. One day they simply all left. Just like that! But I’m sure they’ll be back.’

‘I wonder,’ Carmody said.

‘I am convinced of it,’ Bellwether said. ‘But for the nonce, why don’t you stay here, Mr Carmody?’

‘Me? I really don’t think –’

‘You appear to be travel-weary,’ Bellwether said. ‘I’m sure the rest would do you good.’

‘I have been on the move a lot recently,’ Carmody admitted.

‘Who knows, you might find that you liked it here,’ Bellwether said. ‘And in any event, you would have the unique experience of having the most modern, up-to-date city in the world at your service.’

‘That does sound interesting,’ Carmody said. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

He was intrigued by the city of Bellwether. But he was also apprehensive. He wished he knew exactly what had happened to the city’s occupants.

CHAPTER 23

At Bellwether’s insistence, Carmody went to sleep that night in the sumptuous bridal suite of the King George V Hotel. He awoke in the morning refreshed and grateful. He had been in great need of a cessation of consciousness.

Bellwether served him breakfast on the terrace and played a brisk Haydn quartet while Carmody ate. The air was delicious; if Bellwether hadn’t told him, Carmody would never have guessed it was filtered. The temperature and humidity were also exquisitely satisfactory. In front of the terrace was a splendid view of Bellwether’s western quarter – a pleasing jumble of Chinese pagodas, Venetian footbridges, Japanese canals, a green hill, a Corinthian temple, a parking lot, a Norman tower, and much else besides.

‘You have a splendid view,’ he told the city.

‘I’m so glad you appreciate it,’ Bellwether replied. ‘Style was a problem that was argued from various positions from the day of my inception. One group held for consistency: a harmonious group of shapes blending into a harmonious whole. But that had been tried before. Quite a few model cities are like that. They are uniformly dull, artificial entities created by one man or one committee, unlike real cities.’

‘You’re sort of artificial yourself, aren’t you?’ Carmody asked.

‘Of course! But I do not pretend to be anything else. I am not a fake “city of the future” or a mock-Florentine bastard. I am a conglomerate entity. I am supposed to be interesting and stimulating, as well as being functional and practical.’

‘Bellwether, to me you look OK,’ Carmody said. ‘Do all model cities talk like you?’