The Black Hole (16 page)

Reinhardt stared angrily at the readout. He touched several controls and was not pleased with the results they provided him. "Get that communication re-established at once."

Maximillian extended a limb and plugged himself into a console. Man and machine studied the flat expanse of the control center's main screen. Alive with the death of plasma and other matter, the black hole filled the screen. The projected hues colored Reinhardt's face like a watercolor wash. His attention shifted from screen to instrumentation, switching rapidly from one to another. Both hands danced over controls, causing figures and complex word-trains to appear on multiple gauges. He would note these perfunctorily, adjust other instruments accordingly.

Maximillian hovered nearby, a sentient extension of the ship's instruments. Physically he became a part of the
Cygnus
. Spiritually he remained plugged into Reinhardt.

Durant and McCrae strolled over to watch. Their attention was divided between the image of the roiling black hole and the intense, rapid work of Reinhardt—both awesome forces of nature.

"Fascinating . . ." Durant's reverent appraisal left some doubt as to whether he was referring to the vision of the collapsar or to its nearby human dissector.

"Only from a distance," McCrae commented with equal ambivalence.

Reinhardt finished his immediate work, turned to face them. "Are you interested in black holes, Dr. Durant?"

Durant smiled. "That's like asking a sculptor if he'd be challenged by attempting to chisel a portrait from the face of the Moon. How could anyone, scientist or layman, not be fascinated by the deadliest force in the Universe?

"I've studied collapsars all my life, Doctor. The most amazing thing about them is how little we've actually been able to learn about them since their discovery in the late twentieth century. Of course, the problem is the same now as it was then. How do you study something that swallows up your instrument probes as soon as they get near enough to learn anything new? It's like trying to study a man who's invisible and can destroy anything that comes within a light-year of him. Under such conditions, study is impossible and all attempts at scientific analysis are reduced to guesswork."

"The long, dark tunnel to nowhere," said McCrae dispassionately. "That's what they are."

"Or to somewhere." Reinhardt spoke casually. "Those are the possibilities yet to be explored. Here Dr. Durant has just admirably elucidated why our knowledge of such stellar phenomena is so slim, and nonetheless you proceed to offer a conclusion on the basis of imagination rather than fact. Not a very professional judgment, Dr. McCrae. I would expect better of you."

"I was being poetic, not analytical."

Durant spoke before Reinhardt could reply. By this time the younger man's admiration knew no limits. "Yet you've defied the power of that black hole with your null-
g
field, sir. A stunning achievement."

Reinhardt acknowledged the compliment. "Your praise is excessive, Doctor."

Durant went on. "Your discoveries must have compensated you for the loneliness you've endured these past years. I can't believe you haven't experienced loneliness, despite the company of robot associates."

"What can a man know of loneliness when he has the whole Universe to keep him company? I have had suns for neighbors. I have spent hundreds of happy hours conversing with the mysterious signals that churn the ether. I've spoken with wonders and listened to the hiss and crackle of worlds being born. Heavenly choirs of quasars sing to me from distances unimaginable with inconceivable power. I am suffused with the gossip of the cosmos. So I am not lonely, no.

"Besides, someone once said, 'It is only alone a man can achieve his full potential for greatness.' " He paused. They were all silent for a long moment, though for different reasons.

"I have made peace with myself and the Universe," Reinhardt finally went on. "I am kept alive as well as sane by my hunger to learn, by my thirst to root out the jealously guarded secrets of nature from their hidden places." He turned, waved toward the enormous, glowing screen.

"This massive collapsar, for example. Nature's most secure, most inviolate hiding place. Who knows what discoveries it shields?" He stared hard at Durant, yet at the same time seemed almost to be pleading.

"I think, Dr. Durant, that you are a man who longs for a sense of his own greatness but has not yet found his true direction. Such personal discoveries come rarely at best, and never for most men."

Now McCrae's attention was concentrated on her companion and not on Reinhardt.

"Perhaps," Durant murmured, smiling hopefully back at the elder scientist, "I'd find that here, if you're in no rush for us to leave. There are still so many things I'd like to ask you."

"And many things I'd like to tell you." Reinhardt sounded pleased. "Isn't that what I said my purpose in life was? To be the one who answers the questions?

"But I suggest we discuss that matter over dinner. Your friends should have the opportunity to hear also. Meanwhile, there is still a great deal I can show you here, if you're not yet bored."

"I'm honored by your generosity, sir."

"And I'm gratified by your persistent curiosity and your willingness to listen uncritically to what I have to say. The hallmarks of a true man of science."

Reinhardt led him off toward a far bank of instruments. McCrae moved to follow them, then hesitated. Her gaze traveled back to the vast expanse of the viewscreen, lingered on the seething hell of the black hole as she struggled to subdue the storm in her own mind . . .

Mesons and muons, meteors and more, vanished down the gravity well of the black hole. As they were torn apart by immense gravitational forces, they gave up energy in the form of radiation. Some of it was at once exquisite and visible, like a cruising white shark or a dark tornado. Some of it was still more deadly, though detectable only with instruments far more sensitive than the human eye. None of it made sense in the way human-generated radiation such as radio waves did. The collapsar was nature gone mad. Yet at the same time it possessed balance and beauty.

It is sometimes that way with certain men.

Holland, Pizer and Vincent, having received Reinhardt's invitation to dinner, were walking down another of the
Cygnus
's seemingly endless corridors.

Holland was casually memorizing everything distinctive. A marking on a door, the number of lights overhead; anything that would enable them, if necessary, to find their own way back through the maze of passageways to the corridor leading to the reception area outside the
Palomino
.

Pizer's attention was periodically distracted by the regular appearance of groups of sentry robots, the same variety whose attention and efficiency he had earlier experienced. Vincent drifted alongside the two men. In his fashion the robot was nervous, apprehensive and decidedly upset that his colleagues had accepted Reinhardt's invitation.

"There wasn't anything else we could do, Vincent," Holland was telling him. "Except for our initial reception, he hasn't made a single hostile gesture toward us. We'd have been asking for a confrontation if we'd refused his invitation without reason. I wouldn't be surprised if something that slight could set him off. You've noted how volatile he is."

"I still don't like it."

Holland regarded the robot with exasperation. "It's only dinner. What could possibly be dangerous about accepting an invitation to dinner?"

"Said the spider to the fly." Vincent was not being flippant. "I should be with you."

"What for?" asked Pizer. "To wipe the soup from my chin?"

"Better than wiping your face off the floor," the machine snapped back. "If you will continue to refuse to take care of yourselves, I don't see why you keep me from doing so for you."

"We'll be safer without you and Max trying to knock heads." Pizer eyed a nearby sentry with distaste. "I watched Reinhardt when we were first in the command center and you and his toy squared off. He was enjoying the spectacle. Next time he might not interfere. Not that I care whether Max melts you into a puddle of alloy, you understand, but it could escalate into something
really
dangerous."

"Your concern touches me," Vincent said sarcastically, "but it is misplaced. It is
your
skin you should be worrying about." He assumed a lofty attitude, rose half a meter higher above the deck.

"As would be expected of a mere human, you are impressed by the size and overabundance of heavy metals in the construction of that clumsy mechanism. Its circuitry is twenty years out of date and its higher facilities pitifully inadequate. I would put it on a par with basic-programmed, heavy-materials loaders, certainly nowhere near in mental ability to my own class."

"It's not Max's mental faculties that concern me," Pizer replied.

"You are afraid of simple mechanical force?"

"Yeah, I am. You bet your metallic backside! And you should be, too, for your own sake."

"I can handle that thing."

"Far be it from you to admit there isn't anything you can't handle." Semantically outflanked, Pizer was ready to give in. "Far be it from you to admit that subtle debate and refined discussion won't cause it to fall apart at the seams, battered to scrap by your stentorian oratory before it can make sheet metal out of you."

"Mr. Pizer, there are three basic types of machines as well as men: the wills, the won'ts and the can'ts. The wills accomplish everything. The won'ts oppose everything. The can'ts won't will themselves to try."

"Very Socratic," said Holland, finally injecting himself into the discussion. "But I doubt that Maximillian would respond as intended. Do us all a favor and try to be a
can't
, at least where the monster is concerned. I've got enough to worry about without you and him playing another robotic version of chicken. We need you, Vincent. Not another corkscrew."

"But I—"

"That's an order, Vincent."

"Acknowledged, sir." The robot fell into an electronic sulk, unhappy with the situation but powerless to alter it.

Privately he was considering options, creating scenarios and preparing himself for the worst. He was not angry at the two humans, however. They were prisoners of themselves. Captain Holland and First Officer Pizer were delightful companions, pleasant shipmates. But in his entire existence Vincent had encountered perhaps half a dozen humans who he felt could actually think straight.

Unexpected sounds, clicking and whirring and staccato buzzes, reached them as they rounded another turn in the corridor. Underlying them was something that might have been electronic music.

Puzzled, they slowed, hunted for the source. Vincent led them to a wide doorway down a side corridor. As they reached the doorway the sounds seemed to jump out at them. None of the scattered sentry robots moved to restrain or intercept them.

The room beyond was filled with light and less visible varieties of illumination. Holland blinked, had to squint. Some of the visual effects inside were disorienting, even painful. He was not startled by the sight, only surprised to see such an area on board the
Cygnus
. He had encountered such places before—a recreation area for mechanicals.

Long ago, the idea of such facilities was criticized as wasteful, if not downright bizarre. The proponents of such facilities were branded as loco and were classed with the very addled machines they sought to soothe. But as the mental circuitry and design of mankind's mechanical servants became increasingly sophisticated, odd forms of behavior that could not be explained as purely engineering errors became more and more frequent. Machines believed completely dependable suddenly went berserk at their posts. Delicate circuits visible only through high-powered microscopes showed inexplicable shifts in electron flow for no known reason.

The robot psychologist came into being. Initial laughter died when the unexplained incidents dropped off in the areas where such men and their attendant machinery started to work.

It was determined that the tremendously fragile mind machinery with which the new robots were endowed required exercise and use other than that programmed for it—much as did man's. The first tentative prototypes of the room Holland and the others were now staring into were constructed. Eventually the machines themselves took a metal hand in designing the recreation facilities for factories and ships and service industries.

Some of the games and sights they chose were variations or direct adaptations of human forms of recreation. Others seemed nothing but random light and noise to men. Man felt at a loss knowing there were certain types of entertainment that his metal offspring could enjoy and appreciate, while he, restricted to his organic brain and body, never could.

The longer they stood motionless before the room, the more vulnerable they became to awkward questioning. Several of the nearby sentry robots were already eying Vincent uncertainly. He was one of them, but not with them.

"Hey, Vincent, you'll have the time of your life in there," Pizer said enthusiastically. "Better than hovering outside just waiting for us to finish eating."

The robot replied cautiously. "I don't mean to sound superior, but I hate the company of robots. And these are all ancient models. I don't know if we can even converse, certainly not to my edification."

"Twenty years does not ancient make, Vincent." Holland was staring with interest at a machine generating three-dimensional abstract patterns between two robots. "It'll take your mind off worrying so much. Relax, have fun. Remember what they say about all work and no play."

Vincent generated an electronic sigh. It would be better to agree than to be ordered. This way, if he went inside voluntarily, he would have no compunctions about slipping out later if he felt the need.

"All sunshine makes a desert, so the Arabs said . . . before the advent of cheap solar power. You'll alert me if you have any trouble, Captain? If there's even a hint of trouble? I will enjoy myself more if I know you remain cognizant of my usefulness."