(So?)
(Try again.) (Visualize—)
A corner of her awareness dissolved, then filled with fluid geometric images: pastel-colored waveforms marching smoothly through space, in perfect rhythm, emanating from a source beyond the edge of the visible frame. A clear tonal hum accompanied the image.
After a moment, a second pattern emerged, this time curved wavelets expanding across space, altering the appearance of the original without altering its actual structure. The musical hum took on a curious harmonic timbre. A third pattern, fine-grained and fast, flashed across the others like a sheet of flame, and then erupted into the depth of space, creating a full third dimension and a drastically different-looking space—and a complex, almost nervous sound. A fourth pattern swept over the others, and a fifth . . . until perhaps a dozen waveforms overlaid one another, all moving like living things. Combinations of waves—light and dark interference zones—sparkled and rippled through space, or hung like dark holes and bars, the breakwaters about which the brighter patterns danced and turned. The sound now was a vibrant, pulsing moan.
(Each pattern remains—) (—distinguishable—) (—though embedded in the others—) (—new patterns emerge, that are not—) (—of the original patterns—) (—but rather the product—) (—of their coexistence.)
(Interference patterns . . .?) All Mozy could see was a seething jungle of movement, like a cineholographic image gone haywire. But she knew what interference patterns were: the light and dark areas caused when two wave patterns were superimposed, so that certain of their crests and troughs reinforced one another, adding their energies, while others cancelled each other out.
(Yes—) (—a visualization of—) (—image of—) (—metaphor for—) (—the underlying structures—) (—of realities—)
Mozy was trying hard to understand. (I've heard of particles being likened to waveforms,) she said. (Is that what you're talking about?)
(Indeed—) (—reality—) (—in all of its forms—) (—consists of wave structures.) (Many realities coexist—) (—within the same matrix of—) (—wave patterns.)
Mozy answered slowly, (You're saying that my reality is just one of many—in this madhouse? This zoo?)
(As you know it—) (—the space-time—) (—you are accustomed to perceiving—) (—is one coded pattern amid this—) (—chaos—) (—complexity—) (—richness—)
(But how—?)
(Imagine filters—)
Something flickered across the image, changing not only the pattern, but also the tonal quality of the accompanying sound. Certain elements had been subtracted from the patterns visible in the image, rendering it different from, but not necessarily less than, the original. Again, something slid across the view, and then again—layers of visual "filters" imposing themselves over the image. Each time another filter appeared, the pattern changed, diminishing in complexity if not in contrast and boldness. Finally only a single pattern remained, a spiraling expansion of a cone in three dimensions.
(Does that represent our reality?) she asked.
(It might—) (—or this might.) The filters shifted, and now another pattern appeared by itself, a saw-toothed zigzag. (Or this.) There was another shift, and this time two or three patterns were superimposed—patterns that had been present in the full display. In this combination, though, prominent interference fringes appeared, dark bars and radiating spokes, which had not before been visible. Another filter appeared, and now only the interference patterns were visible, and not the waveforms themselves at all. The spokes moved, like slowly turning wheels.
(This might be your reality.)
(Not bad,) she said. (As realities go.)
(But there is a point—) (—to this—) (—a point—) (—to be understood—) There was a feeling of focus, of intense concentration. (Suppose—) said the Talenki, (—that the movements of the patterns—) (—represent—) (—gravitation—) (—or force—) (—and acceleration.)
She hesitated. (Okay.)
The focus sharpened. (To alter the movement—) (—with physical force—) (—requires considerable—) (—transition—) (—of energy.)
(But that's how we move, isn't it? Humans, at least—in physical form?)
(Just so—) (—and we, as well—) (—at times—) (—but see how much easier—) Suddenly the spoke-shaped patterns began rotating faster, and the wheels themselves began to revolve in circular orbits about one another.
Mozy stared. (How did you do that?)
(See again—) (—the individual waveforms.) The filters shifted in succession, allowing a glimpse of each of the individual wave patterns that together produced the spinning, spoke-shaped interference bars. The last one remained visible a moment longer. (Watch.) A tiny point of deflection appeared in that pattern, and that point altered the wave movements in ripples that reverberated through the entire frame of view. The filters changed again, and again the interference patterns were visible, and she observed the spokes moving at first slowly, and suddenly much faster, and in more complex patterns. The Talenki explained: (Small changes—) (—in any of the patterns—) (—which underlie the sum-code—) (—of physical being—) (—can result in large changes—) (—in structure or movement—) (—in the complex space-time—) (—which you know—) (—as physical reality.)
Mozy mulled that over for a long moment, thinking of how the Talenki moved, or seemed to move, through walls as easily as through air. There was much here to be considered.
(These images—) the Talenki continued, (—are metaphorical illustrations—) (—only—) (—but to truly understand—) (—requires perceptions—) (—that to you may seem unnatural.)
(But you have the power to influence other realities?) Mozy asked. (You reach across the boundaries between—)
(—levels of reality—) (—that are coexistent one—) (—with another—) (—yes.)
Mozy hesitated, trying to put it all together. (How . . . then . . . do you actually travel . . . and move this entire world?)
(Difficult to explain—) (—in words clearly—) (—but—) (—you could say that we—) (—change our focus—) (—change the coding—) (—make minute changes in other levels—) (—in lifeless levels—) (—of reality—) (—producing changes of location here—) (—in your space-time—)
(Then that's what you mean by "rippling through space"?) Mozy said slowly.
In reply, the image was changed for her: the Talenki asteroid, a sculpted ball, shimmering and flickering,
rippling
as it moved through the void. She remembered the confusion she and Kadin had experienced as they'd tracked the asteroid by light and radar, and she recalled Kadin's comment that the phenomenon seemed not to fit their Earth-derived paradigm, and that perhaps in fact what they needed was a new paradigm.
She understood some little part, now, of the paradigm that she and Kadin had been lacking, and she felt a quiet surge of pride in that tiny fragment of knowledge. Kadin's laughter came back to her in memory, and she suddenly laughed, herself, thinking of Earth and Humanity, and the wonderful incompleteness of Humanity's knowledge.
Her laughter shimmered through the Talenki union, stirring the beginnings of a new song, somewhere in a corner of the Talenki world. She searched for N'rrril, and found him leading the song. Feeling his welcome, feeling a sudden rush of affection not only for N'rrril, but for all of the Talenki, she joined the song and guided it, made it her own, a ballad of Earth and Talenki, and of a woman homeward bound, a mother to her people.
The tracking data from GEO-Four persisted in its puzzling pattern. Major Ellis examined the latest figures and swore. They still didn't add up; they never added up.
Commander Kouralt peered over his shoulder. "Problem?"
Ellis snapped the clipboard. "How the hell can they expect us to make rendezvous if
they
can't track the damn thing?"
"You just have to be smarter than they are," Kouralt said, slapping him on the shoulder.
Ellis grunted. They'd expected the problem, of course; but that didn't make it any easier.
Aquarius
could not yet track the object with her own instruments, and was dependent on HQ's tracking network. But the Doppler-ranging figures refused to show a comprehensible trajectory for the target. It would have been one thing if there were a consistent variation from the expected track, but there wasn't, at least not that anyone could find; and the course projections were becoming worse as accuracy was becoming more critical. Ellis sometimes worried that the Talenki would have come and gone before HQ managed to get their trajectory pinned down.
Aquarius
's flight plan allowed relatively little room for error. Accelerating at top boost to intercept the alien craft at maximum distance, they were pushing their return fuel limit, and minimizing their maneuvering capacity—not just for matching courses, but also for tactical maneuvering. They hoped to avoid a fighting situation, naturally; but their orders clearly specified that protection of Earth was the mission's highest priority.
Of course, this was a diplomatic encounter, as well. They were to establish contact, and to take no provocative action without authorization. However, they were expected to respond to the situation as it evolved. If peaceful rendezvous and contact failed,
Aquarius
was Earth's first line of defense against unfriendly action.
"Use of force is authorized in the event of unprovoked attack or willful disruption by the other of command communication,"
stated Mission/Op order 123-A4, subparagraph II-7. Among the implements of force at their command were eight quarter-megaton missiles, to be used only on direct order of HQ and the President . . . or in the event of command disruption through enemy attack.
The thought gave Ellis chills. He was prepared to do as duty required, but he had no desire to be the first to push the button. Though the Talenki were an unknown and potentially threatening entity, Ellis was fully aware of the importance of this first encounter. And yet, special training notwithstanding, his strongest preparation was in military encounter tactics, as was Kouralt's. They were prepared for the worst; but were they prepared, he wondered, for the best?
News had come yesterday of the departure of yet another spaceship from Earth orbit—a Russian ship, following three days after the departure of the Eastern Alliance's
Indira Gandhi
. It was unclear whether the two were tracking the alien vessel or simply keeping tabs on the Americans. Either way, their presence could complicate an already difficult situation.
At least, Ellis reflected, they had a good lead, and some time left—to study the aliens' trajectory, and perhaps to discover some clues to their intentions.
He worked the latest batch of figures through the navcom and put the results up on the screen. Scratching his stubbly beard, he took a long look, and whistled. The target was well inside Neptune's orbit now, coming faster even than HQ's last predictions. Ellis shook his head. There might be time for reflection, yet, but it was dwindling fast.
* * *
"God damn it, Leonard—if that's not evidence, what is?" Horst demanded.
Hathorne cleared his throat. He had never seen Horst so angry. "Well, it's obviously suggestive," he said to the holo-image. "But I'm just not sure that it's strong enough to take action on." Hathorne hesitated.
Damn
the man, getting himself killed before he'd proved the matter one way or the other. It would be impossible now to get evidence, with Armstead alerted.
"Maybe
they
can't prove he was killed," Horst said, "but the day before he went out, he sat in my office worrying about his personal safety. I, like a fool, told him, They're not going to
murder
you." Horst shook his head. "Jesus!"
"What was he doing in a damn
storage
shed, anyway?" Hathorne asked.
"I don't know. He was supposed to be going to the weapons area. That was the last thing he told me."
Hathorne tapped his pen against the table top.
"And
that's
what I'm most concerned about. It's bad enough that they killed him, which I'm certain they did. What really scares me is
why
they killed him," Horst said.
Hathorne nodded.
"Well, then—if there are nuclear weapons on that ship, what is the Committee going to do about it?"
"At the moment, there's not much we can do," Hathorne said mildly.
"Dammit, it's a direct violation of the Committee's orders! The ship was to carry minimum defensive weapons only!"
"Yes. I know. But the ship is gone now, and we can't very well recall it," Hathorne answered, displaying a calmness that belied his actual feelings. In truth, he was as angry as Horst, though for somewhat different reasons. "I don't believe Armstead could have done this without the President's knowledge," he said. "And that's what we have to deal with." Which meant that the President had thrown his weight behind Armstead and the military, at the Committee's expense. But it was possible that he could be persuaded to reconsider. The multinational character of the Oversight Committee was taken very seriously by the participating allies, and the undercutting of its authority would not go down easily. The President might yet be brought back to a less militant position.
Horst remained agitated. "Never mind the politics—I just want to know, how could someone even think of doing this? Our first contact, and they send a ship out armed to the teeth—"
"Just between you and me, I'm not sure that it's a totally bad idea," Hathorne said.
"
I
am," Horst said indignantly.
"I appreciate that. But self-protection is not an insignificant issue. Still, it shouldn't have been done without the Committee's approval, and a clear system of decision and control." Hathorne's mind was whirring as he spoke. It was just possible that this issue, properly handled, could be the lever he needed to shift the balance of power in the Committee; but he would have to time his move carefully. And that meant persuading Horst to sit on his outrage for a while.
Both of them would have to sit on their outrage. Until the moment was right.
* * *
The receptionist had a message for Payne when he arrived at the studio. A Ms. Denine Morgan had been trying to reach him.