Perhaps a teclad after the discovery of the other planet, Stringer found Alhane, as usual, at his cluttered desk.
It’s no use,
the Time Keeper said as Stringer
walked in after a long shift on his sailplane.
What’s no use?
You say that I must observe the planets and chart
their courses to figure out gravity. How can I chart the course of a planet
if the sky changes so slowly? My star has disappeared, and who knows how
long it will be before it returns—if it ever does?
Stringer was still sweating from his run up from the old storeroom and was
anxious to return there, but he sat down, anyway. Alhane, Time Keeper, I see that you want to do
everything yourself, discover the whole Universe. But that is too much for
any one man, even you. At the rate that Patra-Bannk moves—
Patra-Bannk doesn’t move!
At the rate the stars move, I’m sure that it would
take you many Patras to piece together the entire sky, if you could do it
at all. That, Time Keeper Who Is Impatient, is a life’s work for any
man.
Then what can be done?
Either you make that your life’s work or you use
the work of another.
Who?
You come from a long line of Time Keepers. I
realize that the Patras are deep and no one goes out except in an
emergency, but I find it hard to believe that you are the first to observe
stars. Man’s curiosity is deeper than the Patra. Didn’t a Time Keeper of
the past leave anything?
Alhane started, sighed deeply, and nodded. You’re
right. My father must have. I just realized.
What do you mean, you just realized?
My father died after I had nine Bannks and ten
Patras. I was there. The last thing he said to me was,
I hope you can
understand the stars.
And just now you get around to it?
Stringer
cried.
Alhane laughed slowly. I didn’t remember it until
now.
Stringer scowled. I don’t believe you could forget
a thing like that.
First of all, I didn’t understand what he was
talking about—
Still, with your curiosity—
You don’t understand, Stringer. I think I hated my
father. I must have intentionally ignored the advice for Patra-Bannks until
I truly did forget about it. I am sure you have done the same at times.
Perhaps. But hated your father? Then how did you
become a Time Keeper at all?
It isn’t a matter of choice. I was brought up to
it. By the time I had eleven Bannks and ten Patras, or maybe a little
older, when I was old enough to choose, it was too late. I hated my parents
for it—that is, until I discovered how to love the work for itself and
divorce it from my mother and father. Some prospective Time Keepers do that
and end up like me—for better or for worse. Others don’t, like my younger
brother, and don’t become Time Keepers.
You know, I think you are the first person in
Ta-tjenen whom I’ve heard admit to really hating somebody.
It could well be. A disease which seems peculiar to
Time Keepers, unfortunately.
Alhane rose. I
think it is time to check my father’s data.
He walked into the other room, where old binders were piled from floor to ceiling. Oddly enough—or perhaps not—his father’s notebooks were on the bottom of the pile. Alhane yanked out the bottommost and the whole pile scattered over the floor. Alhane fell along with them and Stringer slapped his thighs in laughter. Then they got to work examining the notes.
Listen to this!
Alhane exclaimed after the third
book was opened. Contained
in these books are two dozen Patra-Bannks’ worth of data that I have
collected pertaining to the motion of the stars, in particular the one I
call the Runaway. I have observed the stars with painstaking care long
enough so that I am convinced that they repeat their positions in the
manner shown herein. Assuming this repeatability at constant intervals, it
follows that we should be able to use the positions of the stars to set our
clocks, and indeed, I have done this for the last several Patra-Bannks,
finding that I can predict sunrise with great accuracy without having to
make many excursions Above immediately before the dawn. This should benefit
all future timekeeping.
Unbelievable!
Alhane cried with a squeak. The stars repeat their
positions! What an amazing idea! To use the stars as clocks instead of
clocking them! I thank you, Father! Look, he continues:
I ardently hope that these
heavenly motions, which seem to me most intervolved and beyond
comprehension, may, in a future Patra, point the way to some understanding
of Patra-Bannk’s place in the Universe. I say this because repeated failure
on my part to deduce the orbit of the Runaway around Patra-Bannk from these
data may indicate that Patra-Bannk is not the Center of our cosmos. When my
son is a little older, I will speak to him about carrying on the work,
although at his present age he seems rather disinclined to the
profession. Signed, Annel, Time Keeper after Arpen.
Well, how about that? Thank you, Annel. Tell me
truthfully, Stringer, did you know this was here?
No, it was a reasonable guess, that’s all.
Well, I will have to check his data. I hope it is
useful. Of course, he must be wrong about displacing Patra-Bannk from the
Center.
Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.
Why not?
Stringer smiled a cockeyed smile. Once somebody
told me—when I was much younger—
You couldn’t have been much younger or you would
have been a baby.
Merely a child. He told me that the Universe is
collapsing on itself, that once everything was expanding and now it is
collapsing, and that sooner or later everything will get very hot and we
will all be crushed together in the center.
Do you mean all those stars are falling on
Patra-Bannk?
Yes. And since that is going to happen and
everyone will be killed, I don’t see much point in worrying about things
like that, because the worry will never amount to anything in the end.
Alhane wrinkled his nose. You don’t strike me as the
philosophical type, Stringer—if you strike me as anything at all. Tell me,
does this bother you?
No, but I thought it might bother you; that’s why
I brought it up.
Hmm. Yes, you’re right. Is there anything that can
be done about it?
Stopping the Universe from ending? Who could do
that?
Indeed, who could do that? Well, if everything is
going to be destroyed, I’d say we’d better move all the faster for it.
Right. And we do have a sailplane that wants
finishing.
Yes, yes, I’ll be with you shortly.
Stringer knew what that meant and thought he’d better get to work himself.
And this, My Stringer, is how we are going to get
south?
Taljen surveyed the sailplane whose fuselage was now almost
solid and whose long, slender wings were taking final shape on the bench
next to it.
Stringer ducked under a wing tip and flexed the new joint to test its strength. Before the Going Under, Stringer had cannibalized what remained of Number One’s left wing in order to use it as a model for the cross section of the wings for his glider. Now he fervently hoped the transfer would be successful.
He turned to a nearby stove which Alhane had installed and lit the fire, placing on it a pot of hard resin refined from the pod-trees. After it had melted and filled the room with stink, he took a brush and started painting the hot liquid on the body of the sailplane. The resin was hard and strong when cooled and would make a good substitute for the plastic normally used to make sailplanes.
And what is that for?
Polish to make the glider smooth. A rough surface
will mean a disturbed airflow and kilometers lost. That isn’t allowed.
Stringer lapsed into silence and continued brushing on the first layer of
the outer shell of the plane.
Taljen tossed back her hair. Can I help?
Stringer smiled. Yes. Paint this on as smoothly as
possible. Don’t let it drip.
He handed her the bucket and got to work
filing down a protruding nailhead. The grating annoyed Taljen’s ears, the
same ears that were at home with a thirty-one-tone musical scale.
Won’t you stop that?
Sorry, it’s necessary. More kilometers.
They continued to work together for a few beclads until Taljen put her
brush into the bucket and watched it sink beneath the surface of the
resin. Did you ever figure out your gravity?
Stringer remained silent for so long a time that Taljen gave up hoping he
would reply. Unexpectedly he spoke. Do you think a
planet could be formed hollow? Sort of have a big cavity on the inside?
Taljen shrugged. I suppose so. The sky is hollow, so
why not a planet?
Why not? Stringer repeated to himself. Why not?
The Patra drifted onward with the stars. The wait seemed endless to Stringer, but he knew it could not last forever. All the light tanks had flickered out long ago, their dynamos either frozen or broken by the winds or both. Now the halls were lined with ducted torches. Alhane was seen less and less as he became more and more absorbed with the problems of timekeeping and astronomy. All his life he had considered the two activities separately. The sun kept time—when, during the Bannk, its shadow could be seen through clouds or haze; stars were a rarely seen curiosity, so rarely seen as to be ignored. After studying his father’s data, it was clear to Alhane that timekeeping and astronomy were one and the same. And now he might really have the opportunity to live up to his title of Time Keeper.
Taljen and Stringer continued to work on the sailplane. Stringer scavenged the Junk for controls; used viewport material from the old Polkraitz ships to fashion a good canopy for the cockpit that was smooth and had wide visibility. He trusted his intuition. Pike had trained him well, and now the training was going to pay off. It had to.
He tried to put gravity out of his mind and concentrate on the work he was doing. But occasionally, disturbing thoughts of hollow planets invaded his mind. When that happened, he did not sleep well. And he was not sleeping well now, even though, as always, he was sleeping in Taljen’s arms. His tossing and rolling kept her awake, too, so she rose and went to the nearest communal room. Well, she had been sleeping too much lately, anyway, with this Alien around.
The room was practically empty because most of the people in this section of town slept at approximately the same time. So she went to another and sat there for a while, watching the lively dancing and games. Some telclads went by without Taljen’s having the urge to join in the fun. She was getting bored and was considering leaving when Kenken Wer sat down next to her.
Taljen stood up.
Sit down with me, Tall Taljen,
Kenken Wer
said with genuine politeness. Taljen obliged and sat down again in her
usual cross-legged fashion, her hands on her knees. I am told you are going south with the Alien.
Words cannot be kept boxed up in Ta-tjenen, that is
certain.
Why are you going?
Taljen’s voice lowered slightly in pitch, enough so that another Tjenen
would certainly notice it. I’m not sure, Kenken Wer,
but it is clearly time to go.
The old woman leaned back against the wall and listened to the strong beat
of the music for a moment. You’ve changed much,
Taljen, much, I think, since the Alien came. It has been a long time since
I have seen you dance. I have never seen anyone spend so much time with one
nesta before. You used to mingle; everyone was so close to you.
Is that unusual? Who is not close to anyone
here?
Kenken Wer shook her head sadly. You are not
happy because of the Alien. We can get another nesta for you if you
wish. Staying with the Alien is perverse. Do you realize he committed the
first murder here since the revolt? How can you wish to stay with such a…an
Alien?
How can I wish to be with anyone? One is as good as
another here, all good, all bad, even Stringer. He will do for now, as all
nesta.
How will a murderer and a Polkraitz do?
Kenken Wer shouted. Why do you want to pollute
yourself with his presence?
Taljen stabilized her voice. Because I think he may
know something about the world that Ta-tjenen may not know.
What can he know that is not self-evident?
He says that Patra-Bannk is round, like a ball, that
he understands how gravity works—
What nonsense! Do you believe him, Taljen?
Not yet, but Alhane does.
Alhane! Half the cause of all this! Do you
believe him, that old Time Keeper?
She never has,
Alhane said as he walked into the
room, but she will go and see.
Taljen nodded mutely.
See what?
Kenken Wer demanded, rising to her
feet. Do you want to see her swallowed up by the
collector of winds? Or falling off the Edge of the World?
There is no Edge of the World, I am convinced. My
experiments, I thank them, show—
Your experiments! Have we not picked enough
holes in them? Look around you, Alhane! Is it not clear that the world is
flat? Where do the winds go if not collected when they get south?
I don’t know,
Alhane replied honestly. A new mechanism will have to be devised.
It is unlikely, Alhane, old Teacher,
Taljen
said. You will have to explain many things,
including Stringer’s gravity.
If it is right, mind you.
It is better than yours, and the discrepancy with
what we feel is easily explained if the world is flat.
Kenken Wer nodded in approval.
Alhane stammered, But—but my data indicates that the
world is round and that new mechanisms will have to be devised—
Your data again. Next you will be telling us,
Time Keeper, that Ta-tjenen is not the Center.
If that is the case, then I will say that—
Taljen shook her head slowly. Alhane, that is very
hard to believe.
Kenken Wer did not relent. I have seen your data
when you presented it to the nestrexam. Do you think us unintelligent
fools? You and your minute shadows. What can they say? Look around you. All
is flat; Ta-tjenen is all there is in the world, other than Glintz and
Godrhan. You look north, south, east, or west, and but for the hills, the
distance looks the same. It follows that we are central. And has anyone
ever sailed around? No. But if the world was as you say, one could sail
around—
But—
Your problem is simple, Time Keeper Alhane: you
do not know how to see with your eyes.
Alhane spun around, glaring at Kenken Wer’s wrinkles. And your problem, Kenken Wer Who Stands at the Center,
is that you do not know how to see with your imagination!
Kenken Wer recovered quickly. I should hope
not. Imagination is for your dreams, Alhane; we are talking about
reality.
Reality is not determined by referendum—
—nor by wishful thinking on the part of one
man. I won’t let you send Taljen off with that Alien to be swallowed up
with the winds or fall off the Edge of the World.
I will go,
Taljen said softly.
Then you believe Alhane?
Kenken Wer asked,
startled. She had assumed she had won the argument.
No, I hope he is wrong.
Then you want to die past Godrhan, disappearing
off the face of the world?
No, whoever heard of anyone wanting to die?
Then why are you going?
Because things aren’t the same any more, because I
must find out.
Taljen walked quickly away from the old woman, leaving
her alone amid the music and dance that had continued uninterrupted by the
argument. Alhane walked off also, in another direction, not remembering why
he had entered in the first place.
Stringer was sitting up on the mat when Taljen returned, crying. He sat shivering, staring at the walls with eyes widened and jaw hanging. Taljen forgot her tears.
Stringer—
Stringer jumped up, glanced sharply at Taljen, then turned quickly
away. Taljen knelt beside him and steadied his shaking body with her
own. Stringer, I’ve never seen you like this. What
is it?
Stringer stood up and poured himself a glass of water, thus exceeding his ration. He drank the water in one gulp, then poured himself another.
What is it?
Taljen repeated.
Stringer shook his head. I was having trouble
sleeping. The gravity was bothering me. I don’t know…I was having
nightmares.
Can you tell me what it was?
I can’t really remember. It was horrifying. Almost
like someone deep inside my brain trying to tell me something. Sometimes my
dreams are so real, it is almost as if someone else were trying to talk to
me.…
Taljen sat down in front of Stringer, facing him. Does this happen often?
Stringer hesitated for a long time. deciding whether he wanted to
answer. He began to speak slowly. Off and on, for
as long as I can remember. When something is bothering me, I can never
sleep. Sometimes, like now, it is horrible because…because I don’t have
control. Do you understand?
Taljen shook her head.
Again Stringer hesitated, holding his fists clenched, this time trying to
find a way to explain. Put a kalan in my hand
and…and suddenly I have an almost conscious control over my entire
self. Put me to sleep and I am knocked around in my dreams as if I am their
puppet: torn, murdered, ripped in half, put back together again. I hate to
sleep; there is no control. But there is something in sleep. I am sure that
I do most of my thinking in dreams. Often, when I awake, I have the
solution to what’s been bothering me. Not this time. If only I could use
dreams the way I use my kalan…
Stringer sighed in puzzlement. He left the room to work on the sailplane. He had to be south at Bannk’s beginning. If that wasn’t clear before, it was clear now. Because the answers would be there with Pike and his magic city.