The Rituals of Infinity

  'So your father founded the organisation and you carried it on, is that it?' Bowen asked from the darkness.

  'My father died in the Total Breakup of E-l6,' Faustaff said. 'The U.M.S. got out of control—and he didn't get off in time.'

  'You said the U.M.S. weren't natural—that somebody caused them. Who?'

  'We don't know. We call them the D-squad—the Demolition Squad. They make it their business to attack our stations as well as creating U.M. Situations. They've killed many people directly, not just indirectly.'

  T must say it's hard to believe that such a complicated organisation as yours can exist and do the work it does.'

  'It has built up over the years. Nothing strange about that. We manage.'

  'You talk all the time about alternate Earths—but what about the rest of the universe. I remember reading the theory of alternate universes some years ago.'

  'We're pretty sure that the only alternates are of Earth and the moon in some cases. It's a pity space-flight is not yet sufficiently sophisticated, otherwise we could put the theory to the test. My father reached this conclusion in 1985 when the second manned spaceship reached Mars and "disappeared". It was assumed it had gone off course into a meteor storm on its return flight. Actually it turned up on Earth 5—its crew dead due to the stresses of passing through subspace in a most unorthodox way. This seemed to prove that some distance beyond Earth there are no subspacial alternates. Whether this is a natural phenomenon or an artificial one, I don't know. There's a lot we don't understand.'

  'You think there is a force at work, apart from you?'

  T do. The D-squad speaks of that. But though we've done some extensive checking up, we haven't found a trace of where they come from—though it must be from somewhere on E-l. Why they should murder planets—and more specifically the inhabitants of those planets—the way they do, I cannot understand. It is inhuman.'

  'And what is your real reason for doing all this, professor, risking so much?'

  'To preserve human life,' said Faustaff.

  'That is all.'

  Faustaff smiled. 'That's all.'

  'So it's your organisation against the D-squad, basically.'

  'Yes.' Faustaff paused. 'There are also the people we call salvagers. They came from several different alternates—but

  primarily from E-l, E-2, E-3 and E -4. At different stages they have discovered our organisation and found out what it does. Either they have found us out of curiosity, as you did, or stumbled upon us by accident. Over the years they have formed themselves into bands who pass through the subspacial alternates looting what they can and selling it in worlds that need it—using E-l as their main base, as we do. They are pirates, free-booters using stolen equipment that was originally ours. They are no threat. Some people are irritated by them, that's all.'

  'There's no chance that they are connected with these D-squads.'

  'None. For one thing it wouldn't be in their interest to have a planet destroyed.' T guess not.'

  'Well, that's the basic set-up. Are you convinced?' 'Convinced and overwhelmed. There are a few details I'd like filled in.'

  'Perhaps Dr May can help you?' 'Yes.'

  'You want to join us?' 'Yes.'

  'Good. Dr May will tell you what you want to know, then put you in touch with someone here who'll show you the ropes. I'll leave you now, if you don't mind.'

  Faustaff said goodbye to Bowen and May and left the little lecture room.

  4

  The Salvagers

  Faustaff drove his Buick towards the centre of San Francisco where he had his private apartment. The sun was setting and the city looked romantic and peaceful. There wasn't much traffic on the roads and he made good speed.

  He parked the car and walked into the old apartment house that stood on a hill giving a good view of the bay.

  The decrepit elevator took him up to the top and he was about to let himself in when he realised he'd given his key to Nancy. He rang the bell. He was still wearing the beach shirt and shorts and sneakers he had been wearing the day before when he left Los Angeles. He wanted a shower and a change before anything.

  Nancy opened the door. 'So you made it,' she smiled. Ms the emergency over?'

  'The emergency—oh, yes. It's in hand. Forget about it.' He laughed and put his arms around her, lifting her up and kissing her.

  'I'm hungry,' he said. 'Is my icebox well stocked?' 'Very well-stocked,' she grinned.

  'Well, let's have something to eat and go to bed.' He had now forgotten about wanting a shower. 'That seems a good idea,' she said.

  Later that night the phone started ringing. Faustaff woke up instantly and picked it up. Nancy stirred and muttered but didn't wake. 'Faustaff.'

  'Mahon. Message from E-15. Things are bad. They've had another visit from the D-squad. They want help.' 'They want me, maybe?' 'Well, yes, I think that's about the size of it.' 'Are you at HQ.?' 'Yes.'

  'I'll be over.'

  Faustaff put the phone down and got up. Once again he was careful not to disturb Nancy who seemed a good sleeper. He put on a black T-shirt and a pair of dark pants and socks, then laced up his old sneakers.

  Soon he was driving the Buick towards Chinatown and not much later was in The Golden Gate, where Mahon and Hollom were waiting for him.

  Hollom was working on the tunneller, his face screwed up in impatience.

  Faustaff went behind the bar and reached under it, putting a bottle of bourbon and some glasses on the counter. 'Want a drink?'

  Hollom shook his head angrily.

  Mahon looked up from where he was intently watching Hollom. 'He's having trouble, professor. Can't seem to drive the tunnel deep enough. Can't reach E-15.'

  Faustaff nodded. 'That's sure proof that a big D-squad is working there. It happened that time on E-6, remember?' He poured himself a large drink and swallowed it down. He didn't interfere with Hollom who knew as much about lunnellers as anyone and would ask for help if he needed it. lie leant on the bar, pouring himself another drink and singing one of his favourite old numbers, remembered from when he was a youngster. 'Then take me disappearing

  (

  through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, the haunted, frightened tree, out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow ...' It was Dylan's Mr Tambourine Man. Faustaff preferred the old stuff, didn't care much for modern popular music which had become too pretentious for his taste.

  Hollom said tight-faced: 'D'you mind professor? I'm trying to concentrate.'

  'Sorry,' said Faustaff shutting up at once. He sighed, trying to remember how long it had taken them to break through to E-6 the last time there had been a heavy block.

  Hollom shouted wildly, suddenly: 'Quick—quick— quick—I won't hold it long.'

  The air in front of the tunneller began to become agitated. Faustaff put down his drink and hurried forward.

  Soon a tunnel had manifested itself. It shimmered more than usual and seemed very unstable. Faustaff knew that if it broke down he would be alone in the depths of sub-space, instantly killed. Though possessing very little fear of death Faustaff did have a strong love of life and didn't enjoy the prospect of having to give up living. In spite of this he stepped swiftly into the subspacial tunnel and was soon moving along past the grey shimmering walls. His journey was the longest he had ever made, taking over two minutes, then he was through.

  Peppiatt greeted him. Peppiatt was one of several volunteers who had gone with the replacement team to E-15. Peppiatt looked haggard.

  'Glad to see you, professor. Sorry we couldn't use the invoker—it's busted.' 'You are having trouble.'

  The invoker was a kind of subspacial 'grab', working on similar principles to the sister machines, that could be used primarily to pull agents out of U.M.S. trouble-spots, or get them through the dimensions without needing a tunnel. A

  i unnel was safer since the invoker worked on the principle of (orming a kind of shell ar
ound a man and propelling it through the layers in order to break them down. Sometimes they resisted and didn't break down. Then a man 'invoked' was lost for good.

  Faustaff looked around. He was in a large, natural cave. It was dark and the floor was damp, neon lighting sputtering on the walls, filling the cave with lurid light that danced like I i relight. Pieces of battered electronic equipment lay everywhere, much of it plainly useless. Two other men were by the far wall working at something that lay on a bench. Cables trailed across the floor. Several more men moved about. They carried laser rifles, their power-packs on their backs. The rifles had been stolen from the U.S. government on E-l and technicians in Haifa were trying to mass-produce them, but hadn't had much success as yet. Faustaffs men were not normally armed and Faustaff had given no order to light back at the D-squad. Evidently someone had decided it was necessary, Faustaff didn't like it, but he decided not to question the order now that it had been made. The one thing the professor ever seemed adamant about was the fact that like doctors their business was to save, not take, life. It was t he entire raison d'etre of the organisation, after all.

  Faustaff knew that his presence on E-15 wasn't likely to serve any particular practical purpose since the men working here were trained to cope with even the most desperate situation, but gathered that he was needed for the moral support the men might get from thinking about it. Faustaff was not a very introspective man on the whole. In all matters outside of his scientific life he acted more according to his instinct than his reason. 'Thinking causes trouble,' was a motto he had once expressed in a moment of feeling.

  'Where's everyone else?' he asked Peppiatt.

  'With the adjustor. Areas 33, 34, 41, 42, 49 and 50 were calmed down for a while, but the D-squad came back. Evidently those areas form the key-spot. We're still trying to

  get them under control. I'm just going back there, now.' 'I'll come along.'

  Faustaff grinned encouragingly at the men he passed on his way to the exit.

  Peppiatt shook his head wonderingly. Their spirit's better already. I don't know what you do, professor, but you certainly manage to make people feel good.'

  Faustaff nodded absently. Peppiatt operated a control beside a big steel door. The door began to slide back into the wall, revealing a bleak expanse of grey ash, a livid sky from which ash fell like rain. There was a stink of sulphur in the air. Faustaff was familiar with the conditions on E-15, where because of the volcanic upheavals almost everywhere on the planet, the people were forced to live in caves such as the one they'd just left. Their lives were fairly comfortable, however, thanks to Faustaffs cargoes brought from more fortunate worlds.

  A jeep, already covered by a coating of ash, stood by. Peppiatt got into it and Faustaff climbed into the back seat. Peppiatt started the engine and the jeep began to bounce away across the wasteland of ash. Apart from the sound of the jeep the world was silent. Ash fell and smoke rolled in the distance. Occasionally when the smoke cleared a little the outline of an erupting volcano could be seen.

  Faustaffs throat was clogged by the ash carried on the sulphurous air. It was a grey vision of some abandoned hell and infinitely depressing.

  Later a square building, half buried in the ash, came in sight.

  That's one of our relay stations, isn't it,' Faustaff pointed.

  'Yes. It's the nearest our 'copters can get to the main base without having a lot of fuel difficulties. There should be a 'copter waiting.'

  A few men stood about outside the relay station. They were dressed in protective suits, wearing oxygen masks and heavy, smoked goggles. Faustaff couldn't see a 'copter, just a

  small hovercraft, a useful vehicle for this type of terrain. But even as they drew up, an engine note could be heard in the air above and soon a helicopter began to come down nearby, its rotors thrumming as it settled in the dust.

  Two men ran from the station as the 'copter landed. They were carrying flapping suits, similar to those that all the men here wore. They ran up to the jeep.

  'We'll have to wear these, I'm afraid, professor,' Peppiatt said.

  Faustaff shrugged. 'Well, if we must.' He took the suit offered him and began to pull it over his bulk. It was tight. He hated feeling constricted. He slipped mask and goggles over his face. At least breathing and seeing were easier.

  Peppiatt led the way through the clogging, soft ash to the helicopter. They climbed in to the passenger seats. The pilot turned his head. 'They're coming out with fuel pellets now. Won't be long.'

  'How are things up at the U.M.S.?' Faustaff asked.

  'Pretty bad, I think. There are some salvagers here—we've seen them once—drifting around like buzzards.'

  'There can't be as much for them to salvage here.'

  'Only spare parts,' the pilot said.

  'Of course,' said Faustaff.

  Using stolen or salvaged equipment belonging to Faustaffs organisation, the salvagers needed to loot spare parts whenever possible. In the confusion following a major D-squad attack this could be done quite easily. Though they resented the salvagers, Faustaffs team had orders not to use violence against them. The salvagers were apparently prepared to use violence if necessary, thus the going was pretty easy for them.

  'Do you know which gang is here?' Faustaff asked as the 'copter was fuelled.

  Two gangs working together, I think. Gordon Ogg's and Cardinal Orelli's.'

  Faustaff nodded. He knew both. He had encountered

  them several times before. Cardinal Orelli was from E-4 and Gordon Ogg was from E-2. They were both men whose investigations had led them to discover Faustaffs organisation and had worked for it for a while before going'rogue'. Most of their gangs were comprised of similar men. Faustaff had a surprisingly few number of deserters and most of those were now salvagers.

  The helicopter began to lift into the ash-laden air.

  Within half-an-hour Faustaff could see signs of the U.M.S. ahead.

  The Unstable Matter Situation was confined in a rough radius of ten miles. Here there was no grey ash, but boiling colour and an ear-shattering, unearthly noise.

  Faustaff found it hard to adjust his eyes and ears to the U.M.S. He was familiar with the sight and sound of disrupted, unstable matter, but he never got used to it.

  Great spiralling gouts of stuff would twist hundreds of feet into the air and then fall back again. The sounds were almost indescribable, like the roar of a thousand tidal waves, the screech of vast sheets of metal being tortured and twisted, the tumble of gigantic landslides.

  Around the perimeter of this terrifying example of nature's death-throes there buzzed land-craft and helicopters. A big adjustor could be seen, trained on the U.M.S., the men and machines completely dwarfed by the swirling fury of the unstable elements.

  They were now forced to use the radios in their helmets to speak to one another, and even then words were difficult to make out through the crackles of interference.

  The helicopter landed and Faustaff got out, hurrying towards the adjustor.

  One of the men near the adjustor was standing watching the instruments, arms folded.

  Faustaff tapped him on the shoulder.

  'Yes,' came a distant voice through the crackle.

  'Faustaff—what's the situation like?' 'More or less static, professor. I'm Haldane.' 'From E-2 isn't it?' 'That's right.'

  'Where are the original E-15 team—or what's left of them?'

  'Shipped back to E-l. Thought it best.'

  'Good. I hear you had another D-squad attack.'

  'That's right—yesterday. Unusual intensity for them. As you know, they usually attack and run, never risk the chance of getting themselves hurt—but not this time. I'm afraid we killed one of them-—died instantly—sorry to have to do it.'

  Faustaff controlled himself. He hated the idea of dying, particularly of violent death. 'Anything I can do here?' he asked.

  'Your advice might be needed. Nothing to do at present. We're hoping to calm Area 50 down. We might d
o it. Ever seen something like this?'

  'Only once—on E-l6.'

  Haldane didn't comment, although the implication must have been clear. Another voice came in. It was an urgent voice.

  'Copter 36 to base—U.M.S. spreading from area 41. Shift adjustor round there—and hurry.'

  'We need another dozen adjustors,' Haldane shouted as he waved a hovering 'copter down to pick up the adjustor with its magnetic grab.

  'I know,' Faustaff shouted back. 'But we can't spare them.' He watched as the grab connected with the adjustor and began to lift it up and away towards Area 41. Adjustors were hard to build. It would be folly to take others from more subspacial Earths.

  The dilemma was insoluble. Faustaff had to hope that the one adjustor would finally succeed in checking and reversing the U.M.S.

  A distorted voice recognised as Peppiatt's voice said: 'What do you think, professor?'

  He shook his head. T don't know. Let's get back to that 'copter and go round the perimeter.'

  They stumbled back towards the 'copter and climbed in. Peppiatt told the pilot what to do. The 'copter rose into the air and began to circle the U.M.S. Looking it over carefully Faustaff could see that it was possible to get the U.M.S. under control. He could tell by the colours. While the whole spectrum was represented, as it was now, the elements were still in their natural state at least. When they began to transform the U.M.S. would take on a purple-blue colour. When that happened it would be impossible to do anything.

  Faustaff said: 'You'd better start getting the native population assembled in one place as soon as possible. We'll have to anticipate evacuation.'

  'We won't be able to evacuate everyone,' Peppiatt warned him.

  T know,' Faustaff said tiredly. 'We'll just have to do what we can. We'll have to work out the best place to ship them to, as well. Perhaps an uninhabited land area somewhere— where they won't come in contact with the natives of another world. This has never happened before—I'm not sure what a meeting between two different populations would produce and we don't want more trouble than we have.' A memory of Steifflomeis popped into,his mind. 'The Scandinavian Forests on E-3 might be okay.' Already, tacitly, he was accepting that E-15 was finished. He was half-aware of this but his mind was struggling against the defeatist attitude beginning to fill him.