A Maze Of Death Part 19

"Are you okay?" he asked her. She nodded. "Why did you kill Sue Smart?" he said. "Never mind," he said, seeing the strong, wild expression on her face. "I don't know why," he said, "but this one really bothered me. All the killing. We've never had so much of it before; it was dreadful. We should have been yanked out of this one by the psychocircuit-breaker as soon as the first murder took place."

"You heard what Frazer said," Mary said. "It was necessary; we were building too many tensions here on the s.h.i.+p."

Morley thought, I see now why the tench exploded. When we asked it, What does Persus 9 mean? No wonder it blew up ... and, with it, took the entire construct. Piece by piece.

The large, far-too-familiar cabin of the s.h.i.+p forced itself onto his attention. He felt a kind of dismal horror, seeing it again. To him the reality of the s.h.i.+p was far more unpleasant than-what had it been called?-Delmak-O, he recalled. That's right. We arranged random letters, provided us by the s.h.i.+p's computer ... we made it up and then we were stuck with what we made up. An exciting adventure turned into gross murder. Of all of us, by the time it had finished.

He examined his calendar wrist.w.a.tch. Twelve days had pa.s.sed. In real time, twelve whole, overly long days; in polyencephalic time, only a little over twenty-four hours. Unless he counted the "eight years" at Tekel Upharsin, which he could not really do: it had been a manufactured recall-datum, implanted in his mind during fusion, to add the semblance of authenticity in the polyencephalic venture.

What did we make up? he asked himself blearily. The entire theology, he realized. They had fed into the s.h.i.+p's computer all the data they had in their possession concerning advanced religions. Into T.E.N.C.H. 889B had gone elaborated information dealing with Judaism, Christianity, Mohammedanism, Zoroastrianism, Tibetan Buddhism ... a complex ma.s.s, out of which T.E.N.C.H. 889B was to distill a composite religion, a synthesis of every factor involved. We made it up We made it up, Seth Morley thought, bewildered; memory of Specktowsky's Book still filled his mind. The Intercessor, the Mentufacturer, the Walker-on-Earth-even the ferocity of the Form Destroyer. Distillate of man's total experience with G.o.d-a tremendous logical system, a comforting web deduced by the computer from the postulates given it-in particular the postulate that G.o.d existed.

And Specktowsky ... he shut his eyes, remembering.

Egon Specktowsky had been the original captain of the s.h.i.+p. He had died during the accident which had disabled them. A nice touch by T.E.N.C.H. 889B, to make their dear former captain the author of the galaxy-wide wors.h.i.+p which had acted as the base of this, their latest world. The awe and near-wors.h.i.+p which they all felt for Egon Specktowsky had been neatly carried over to their episode on Delmak-O because for them, in a sense, he was a G.o.d-functioned, in their lives, as a G.o.d would. This touch had given the created world a more plausible air; it fitted in perfectly with their preconceptions.

The polyencephalic mind, he thought. Originally an escape toy to amuse us during our twenty-year voyage. But the voyage had not lasted twenty years; it would continue until they died, one by one, in some indefinably remote epoch, which none of them could imagine. And for good reason: everything, especially the infinitude of the voyage, had become an endless nightmare to them.

We could have survived the twenty years, Seth Morley said to himself, Knowing it would end; Knowing it would end; that would have kept us sane and alive. But the accident had come and now they circled, forever, a dead star. Their transmitter, because of the accident, functioned no longer, and so an escape toy, typical of those generally used in long, interstellar flights, had become the support for their sanity. that would have kept us sane and alive. But the accident had come and now they circled, forever, a dead star. Their transmitter, because of the accident, functioned no longer, and so an escape toy, typical of those generally used in long, interstellar flights, had become the support for their sanity.

That's what really worries us, Morley realized. The dread that one by one we will slip into psychosis, leaving the others even more alone. More isolated from man and everything a.s.sociated with man.

G.o.d, he thought, how I wish we could go back to Alpha Centaurus. If only- But there was no use thinking about that.

Ben Tallchief, the s.h.i.+p's maintenance man, said, "I can't believe that we made up Specktowsky's theology by ourselves. It seemed so real. So-airtight."

Belsnor said, "The computer did most of it; of course it's airtight."

"But the basic idea was ours," Tony Dunkelwelt said. He had fixed his attention on Captain Belsnor. "You killed me in that one," he said.

"We hate one another," Belsnor said. "I hate you; you hate me. Or at least we did before the Delmak-O episode." Turning to Wade Frazer he said, "Maybe you're right; I don't feel so irritated now." Gloomily, he said, "But it'll come back, give or take a week or so."

"Do we really hate one another that much?" Sue Smart asked.

"Yes," Wade Frazer said.

Ignatz Thugg and Dr. Babble helped elderly Mrs. Rockingham to her feet. "Oh dear," she gasped, her withered and ancient face red, "that was just simply dreadful! What a terrible, terrible place; I hope we never go there again." Coming over, she plucked at Captain Belsnor's sleeve. "We won't have to live through that again, will we? I do think, in all honesty, that life aboard the s.h.i.+p is far preferable to that wicked, uncivilized little place."

"We won't be going back to Delmak-O," Belsnor said.

"Thank heavens," Mrs. Rockingham seated herself; again Thugg and Dr. Babble a.s.sisted her. "Thank you," she said to them. "How kind of you. Could I have some coffee, Mr. Morley?"

"'Coffee'?" he echoed and then he remembered; he was the s.h.i.+p's cook. All the precious food supplies, including coffee, tea and milk, were in his possession. "I'll start a pot going," he told them all.

In the kitchen he spooned heaping tablespoonfuls of good black ground coffee into the top of the pot. He noticed, then, as he had noticed many times before, that their store of coffee had begun to run low. In another few months, they would be out entirely.

But this is a time at which coffee is needed, he decided, and continued to spoon the coffee into the pot. We are all shaken up, he realized. As never before.

His wife Mary entered the galley. "What was the Building?"

"The Building." He filled the coffee pot with reprocessed water. "That was the Boeing plant on Proxima 10. Where the s.h.i.+p was built. Where we boarded it, remember? We were sixteen months at Boeing, getting trained, testing the s.h.i.+p, getting everything aboard and straightened out. Getting Persus 9 s.p.a.ceworthy."

Mary s.h.i.+vered and said, "Those men in black leather uniforms."

"I don't know," Seth Morley said.

Ned Russell, the s.h.i.+p's M.P., entered the galley. "I can tell you what they were. The black leather guards were indications of our attempt to break it up and start again-they were directed by the thoughts of those who had 'died.' "

"You would know," Mary said shortly.

"Easy," Seth Morley said, putting his arm around her shoulder. From the start, many of them had not gotten along well with Russell. Which, considering his job, could have been antic.i.p.ated.

"Someday, Russell," Mary said, "you're going to try to take over the s.h.i.+p ... take it away from Captain Belsnor."

"No," Russell said mildly. "All I'm interested in is keeping the peace. That's why I was sent here; that's what I intend to do. Whether anyone else wants me to or not."

"I wish to G.o.d," Seth Morley said, "that there was really an Intercessor." He still had trouble believing that they had made up Specktowsky's theology. "At Tekel Upharsin," he said, "when the Walker-on-Earth came to me, it was so real. Even now it seems real. I can't shake it off."

"That's why we created it," Russell pointed out. "Because we wanted it; because we didn't have it and needed to have it. Now we're back to reality, Morley; once again we have to face things as they are. It doesn't feel too good, does it?"

"No," Seth Morley said.

Russell said, "Do you wish you were back on Delmak-O?"

After a pause he said, "Yes."

"So do I," Mary said, at last.

"I'm afraid," Russell said, "that I have to agree with you. As bad as it was, as bad as we acted ... at least there was hope. And back here on the s.h.i.+p-" He made a convulsive, savage, slas.h.i.+ng motion. "No hope. Nothing! Until we grow old like Mrs. Rockingham and die."

"Mrs. Rockingham is lucky," Mary said bitterly.

"Very lucky," Russell said, and his face became swollen with impotence and bleak anger. And suffering.

16.

After dinner that "night" they gathered in the s.h.i.+p's control cabin. The time had come to plot out another polyencephalic world. To make it function it had to be a joint projection from all of them; otherwise, as in the final stages of the Delmak-O world, it would rapidly disintegrate.

In fifteen years they had become very skilled.

Especially Tony Dunkelwelt. Of his eighteen years, almost all had been spent aboard Persus 9. For him, the procession of polyencephalic worlds had become a normal way of life.

Captain Belsnor said, "We didn't do so bad, in a way; we got rid of almost two weeks."

"What about an aquatic world this time?" Maggie Walsh said. "We could be dolphin-like mammals living in warm seas."

"We did that," Russell said. "About eight months ago. Don't you remember it? Let's see ... yes; we called it Aquasoma 3 and we stayed there three months of real time. A very successful world, I would say, and one of the most durable. Of course, back then we were less hostile."

Seth Morley said, "Excuse me." He rose and walked from the s.h.i.+p's cabin into the narrow pa.s.sageway.

There he stood, alone, rubbing his shoulder. A purely psychosomatic pain remained in it, a memory of Delmak-O which he would probably carry for a week. And that's all, he thought, that we have left of that particular world. Just a pain, a rapidly-fading memory.

How about a world, he thought, in which we lie good and dead, buried in our coffins? That's what we really want. That's what we really want.

There had been no suicides aboard the s.h.i.+p for the last four years. Their population had become stabilized, at least temporarily.

Until Mrs. Rockingham dies, he said to himself.

I wish I could go with her, he thought. How long, really, can we keep on? Not much longer. Thugg's wits are scrambled; so are Frazer's and Babble's. And me, too, he thought. Maybe I'm gradually breaking down, too. Wade Frazer is right; the murders on Delmak-O show how much derangement and hostility exists in all of us.

In that case, he thought suddenly, each escape world will be more feral ... Russell is right. It is a pattern. It is a pattern.

He thought, We will miss Roberta Rockingham when she dies; of us, she is the most benign and stable.

Because, he realized, she knows she is soon going to die.

Our only comfort. Death.

I could open vents here and there, he realized, and our atmosphere would be gone. Sucked out into the void. And then, more or less painlessly, we could all die. In one single, brief instant.

He placed his hand on the emergency release-lock of a nearby hatch vent. All I have to do, he said to himself, is move this thing counterclockwise.

He stood there, holding onto the release-lock, but doing nothing. What he intended to do had made him frozen, as if time had stopped. And everything around him looked two-dimensional.

A figure, coming down the corridor from the rear of the s.h.i.+p, approached him. Bearded, with flowing, pale robes. A man, youthful and erect, with a pure, s.h.i.+ning face.

"Walker," Seth Morley said.

"No," the figure said. "I am not the Walker-on-Earth. I am the Intercessor."

"But we invented you! We and T.E.N.C.H. 889B."

The Intercessor said, "I am here to take you away. Where would you like to go, Seth Morley? What would you like to be?"

"An illusion, you mean?" he said. "Like our polyencephalic worlds?"

"No," the Intercessor said, "You will be free; you will die and be reborn. I will guide you to what you want, and to what is fitting and proper for you. Tell me what it is."

"You don't want me to kill the others," Seth Morley said, with abrupt comprehension. "By opening the vents."

The Intercessor inclined his head in a nod. "It is for each of them to decide. You may decide only for yourself."

"I'd like to be a desert plant," Seth Morley said. "That could see the sun all day. I want to be growing. Perhaps a cactus on some warm world. Where no one will bother me."

"Agreed."

"And sleep," Seth Morley said. "I want to be asleep but still aware of the sun and of myself."

"That is the way with plants," the Intercessor said. "They sleep. And yet they know themselves to exist. Very well." He held out his hand to Seth Morley. "Come along."

Reaching, Seth Morley touched the Intercessor's extended hand. Strong fingers closed around his own hand. He felt happy. He had never before been so glad.

"You will live and sleep for a thousand years," the Intercessor said, and guided him away from where he stood, into the stars.

Mary Morley, stricken, said to Captain Belsnor, "Captain, I can't find my husband." She felt wet slow tears make their way down her cheeks. "He's gone," she said, in a half-wail.

"You mean he isn't on the s.h.i.+p anymore?" Belsnor said. "How could he get out without opening one of the hatches? They're the only way out of here, and if he opened one of the hatches our internal atmosphere would cease; we'd all be dead."

"I know that," she said.

"Then he still must be on the s.h.i.+p. We can search for him after we have our next polyencephalic world plotted out."

"Now," she said fiercely. "Look for him now" now"

"I can't," Belsnor said.

Turning, she started away from him.

"Come back. You have to help."

"I'm not coming back," she said. She continued on, down the narrow corridor, into the galley. I think he was here last, she said to herself. I still sense him here, in the galley, where he spends so much of his time.

Huddled in the cramped little galley she heard their voices dim, gradually and slowly, into silence. They've gone into polyencephalic fusion again, she realized. Without me, this time. I hope they're happy now. This is the first time I haven't gone with them, she thought. I've missed out. What should I do? she asked herself. Where should I go?

Alone, she realized. Seth's gone; they're gone. And I can't make it by myself.

By degrees she crept back into the control cabin of the s.h.i.+p.

There they lay, in their individual cubicles, the many-wired cylinders covering their heads. All cylinders were in use except for hers ... and for Seth's. She stood there, trembling with hesitation. What did they feed into the computer this time? she wondered. What are the premises, and what has T.E.N.C.H. 889B deduced from that?

What is the next world going to be like?

She examined the faintly-humming computer ... but, of all of them, only Glen Belsnor really knew how to operate it. They had of course used it, but she could not decipher the settings. The coded output baffled her, too; she remained by the computer, holding the punched tape in her hands ... and then, with effort, made up her mind. It must must be a reasonably good place, she told herself. We've built up so much skill, so much experience; it's not like the nightmare worlds we found ourselves in at first. be a reasonably good place, she told herself. We've built up so much skill, so much experience; it's not like the nightmare worlds we found ourselves in at first.

True, the homicidal element, the hostility, had grown. But the killings were not real. They were as illusory as killings in a dream.

And how easily they had taken place. How easy it had been for her to kill Susie Smart.

She lay down on the cot which belonged to her, anch.o.r.ed within her own particular cubicle, plugged in the life-protek mechanism, and then, with relief, placed the cylinder over her head and shoulders. Its modulated hummm sounded faintly in her ears: a rea.s.suring noise and one which she had heard so many times in the past, over the long and weary years.

Darkness covered her; she breathed it into herself, accepting it, demanding it ... the darkness took over and, presently, she realized that it was night. She yearned, then, for daylight. For the world to be exposed-the new world which she could not yet see.

Who am I? she asked herself. Already it had become unclear in her mind. The Persus 9, the loss of Seth, their empty, trapped lives-all these faded from her like a burden released. She thought only of the daylight ahead; lifting her wrist to her face she tried to read her watch. But it was not running. And she could not see.