"Naturally. We Bems grasped it long before Man did."
"Then you know that when a spaceman takes off from Earth and accelerates to a significant fraction of the velocity of light, he experiences the phenomenon of time dilation. For him and his ship, time seems to slow, so that at the end of a trip of perhaps a month, he returns from the far reaches of the galaxy to discover that the folk back on Earth have aged maybe centuries and all his friends are gone."
"Shore, any fool knows that!" Dursten put in. "Happens all the time. That's why a true spaceman's got to love 'em and leave 'em; they're old hags when he makes port again."
"Continue," the Bemme said.
"But a prime tenet of special relativity is that everything is relevant; there is no absolute standard of rest. So, while from Earth the spaceman seems to be traveling at nearly light-speed and suffering time dilation, the effect is opposite from the spaceman's view. To him. Earth is traveling at nearly light-speed and suffering the time dilation. So when he rejoins Earth, he should discover that the folk on Earth have aged only a fraction as much as he has. How do you resolve this paradox?"
"There is no paradox," the Bemme said. "Though for a while each party perceives the other as functioning more slowly than itself, this is largely a matter of perspective."
"Perspective? They can't both be right!"
"Perspective," she repeated firmly. "If you are on one spaceship, and I am on another, and our ships drift apart in space, to each of us the other's ship will appear smaller than his own, together with the people in it. The instruments of each will measure that diminution of size in the other. Each viewer is correct—but this is perspective, not paradox."
"Say, I never thought of it that way!" Norton exclaimed.
"Me neither," Dursten said.
"The human species does tend to cogitate shallowly," the Bemme agreed politely.
"Hey, watch it with them dirty words!" the spaceman said.
"But does this mean," Norton asked, wrestling with the paradox of perspective, "that when the spaceman returns to Earth, there will be no difference in their time frames? Once the distortion of perspective is eliminated?"
"No, there will indeed be a difference, though not as great as perspective made it seem. The spaceman will have aged less than the folk on Earth."
"But then the principle of relativity—the apparent slowing of the Earth, from the spaceman's viewpoint—"
"Perspective does not change reality," the Bemme said patiently. "Despite your planet's apparent slowing, from the spaceman's perspective, there is a distinction. He ages less."
"Now I can't accept that just on your say-so! What dis—"
"The distinction of acceleration. The spaceman experiences it; Earth does not. To each party, the other is retreating at increasing velocity, but only the spaceman feels the extra gees. This distinguishes his condition from that of Earth or the rest of the universe; his time is slowed."
"Acceleration? Why should that—?"
"Besides," Dursten put in, "he decelerates when he comes home, so it cancels out." He seemed to have forgotten which side of the issue he was on.
"There is no such thing as deceleration," the Bemme said. "There is only negative acceleration, which is to say, acceleration in the opposite direction. The spaceman accelerates twice—when he is departing from Earth and when he returns to it."
"Very well," Norton said. "So he accelerates twice. What has that to do with time?"
"Everything. It is easier to understand in the frame of general relativity, which relates to gravity. Gravity slows time, literally—and the effects of gravity are indistinguishable from those of acceleration. So when the spaceman accelerates, or as Dursten so quaintly puts it, decelerates, his time slows—regardless of the temporary effects of perspective."
"Gravity slows time?" Norton asked dully.
"Certainly. The effect reaches its extreme at the so called event horizon of a so-called black hole, which is a stellar object of such density and mass that gravity increases to the point at which light itself can not escape, and time slows to eternity. Thus the spaceman bold enough to travel there would become truly timeless."
"But nothing escapes from a black hole!" Norton protested. "How can we ever know what goes on there?"
"Three ways. First, we have worked it out theoretically, in the form of the general theory of relativity. Second, we have tested it by experimenting with lesser levels of acceleration and gravity; it has been verified that the intensity of gravity does affect a clock. Third, we have explored black holes magically and recorded the effects there. In this manner, magic, far from opposing science, facilitates it."
"So there is no clock paradox?" Norton asked weakly.
"Correct," the Bemme agreed. "And, I might add, your other questions were somewhat deficient in aptness. You confused the theoretical work of Galileo with that of Newton and misstated their conclusions; and as for the infinite mass of anything traveling at light-speed, you failed to take cognizance of the fact that an infinite series can have a finite total. Mass and energy are merely different aspects of the same reality; mass is merely solidified energy. So when an object accelerates toward C, or light-speed, the energy required to—"
"Enough!" Norton cried, his mind spinning. The Bemme obviously knew more than he did, and was teaching him things he had never grasped before and could not now dismiss as nonsense. This was the mind he had been seeking. "I will accept your advice."
"An excellent decision," the Bemme said, stepping out of the alcove. "What is your problem?"
"I'm stuck in this frame and I need to get back to Earth. How do I return?"
"You never left Earth," she told him. "That should have been obvious to you the moment you remembered that magic is limited to planetary scale; you can not tour the universe by magic."
"You mean I am in a dream? Then how do I wake?"
"You are not in a dream. You are in an illusion fostered by the Father of Illusion. You must find a way to perceive reality with certainty; that will vanquish the illusion."
"An illusion?" Norton asked, still reeling. "Are you an—?"
"No. I am what I seem—a creature alien to your planet. I needed a job, and your Figure of Evil hired me for this role."
Norton looked at the others. "And they—?"
"They, too, are role players—but they don't know it. For them, the roles have become reality. This is perhaps just as well, for it prevents them from realizing they are damned."
"And you are not?"
"I am not of your socio-political-religious frame. I have no attachment to your Incarnative figures of Good or Evil. I deal with them on a purely practical basis. Your damnation does not relate to me. When I tire of this job, I will seek some other."
"How do I perceive reality, then?"
"That I can not tell you. I can describe reality to you in superlatively accurate detail, but only you can perceive it. As with any natural function, you must do it yourself."
Surely true! "But if I am on Earth, why do I perceive the make-believe world of the Magic-Lantern Cloud? I mean, now that I know—"
"I have some difficulty grasping the irrationalities of your species," the Bemme confessed. "I presume you find some private satisfaction in the perceptions you maintain, and the Lord of Buzzbugs caters to this innate propensity."
"Buzzbugs?"
"I think you call them flies. Small creatures with pretty eyes. On my planet we call them buzzbugs, because their tentacles buzz as they levitate."
The Bemme was a real font of information! Perhaps almost too much information. "Um, Sning—do you know how I can break out?"
Squeeze.
"But I have to figure out how, so you can confirm it?"
Squeeze.
Norton sighed. He had made significant progress, but it seemed he had a long way to go yet.
He pondered a moment. "Would getting the null-psi amulet the Genius wants help me?"
"No," the Bemme said, while Sning squeezed on
ce.
Oops—opposite signals! Which one should he trust? Well, he would ask. "Sning says the amulet would help me, but you say it wouldn't. How can I tell which of you is right?"
"We're both right," the Bemme said, and Sning Squeezed once.
"But you can't be! Your answers are opposite!"
"I shall explain, since you seem to have some difficulty grasping selective aspects of truth. If you get the amulet and take it to the Genius, he will use psi to transport you back to the real world. In that sense the amulet will help you. But that process will take so long, because of the hurdles you must pass to reach and win the amulet, that by the time you return to reality, Satan will have completed his designs and your effort to balk him will be wasted. In addition, he will still be able to send you back into this illusion at will, forcing you to obtain the amulet again to get out, playing by his rules. Therefore the amulet will not help you in the way you need; it will merely give you the illusion of help. Sning is less sophisticated than I am and lacks the superior objectivity of being alien, so could only provide you with the limited immediate truth. When you ask an inadequate question, he is at a disadvantage."
Squeeze!
Norton winced; that had been a sharp constriction! He realized that he had been giving Sning trouble all along, asking wrong questions, so that the little snake had had to give hesitant yeses or noes, or throw up his nonexistent hands with triple squeezes.
"Then how can I return to reality fast enough to balk Satan?" he asked after a pause.
"Here I have the disadvantage of being alien," the Bemme said, though she did not seem perturbed about it. "I have no problem perceiving reality, but, of course, I have better eyes than you do. I can not reach into your mind and change your perception. Because I am immune to psi, I have none myself. All I can do is give you my intelligent advice when you ask for it."
"Do you know how I can return, Sning?"
Squeeze.
There it was again; the one who could speak could not give him the answer, while the one who had the answer could not speak. Satan, if he happened to be watching this, probably found the irony delicious. If the occasion ever came for Chronos to torment Satan the way Satan had tormented him...
"Well, maybe the others can help," Norton said without much hope. He turned to the group, who had been ignoring this dialogue. "Have any of you any notion how I can return to, uh. Earth quickly?"
"Why, shore, pardner," Dursten said. "Just put that there squeeze dingus on the Bemme and let 'em talk in overdrive. They're both a heap smarter'n we are."
Norton gaped. So obvious a solution! "Okay, Sning?"
Squeeze.
Norton held out his hand, and the Bemme held out a tentacle. Sning uncurled, crawled across, and curled around her appendage.
There followed a wait, while the Bemme and Sning communicated. Then she held out her tentacle, and the little snake returned to Norton.
"We must proceed to the third chamber," the Bemme said, and Sning squeezed.
"But that's the route for finding the amulet!" Norton cried. "You just told me the amulet wouldn't—"
"It looks as if we're searching for the amulet," the Bemme explained. "That will keep the Eviler Sorceress off our tentacles until we accomplish our purpose."
Good notion! "Very well—let's go to the third chamber."
"A precaution will be necessary," the Bemme said. "You must be deprived of your senses."
"What?" Norton demanded, partly outraged, partly nervous.
"In your culture there is the narrative of your historical figure Odysseus," she said. "He wished to see and listen to the sirens, but to do so was death, for he would then throw himself into the savage sea and drown or wreck his ship with all aboard, trying to reach them. So his crewmen tied him to the mast, while they blocked their own hearing. In that fashion he heard the sirens and survived. Human beings are very foolish."
"You mean I will see and hear things that will madden me?"
"And smell, taste, and feel them," the Bemme added. "The Eviler Sorceress has saved her worst for last."
"But we're outside her formal maze! Between the walls! There shouldn't be any—"
"We are merely in another aspect of it. We never left this maze."
"Oh. But this business about—"
"Temporary. I will cover your head, shielding you from the blandishments, allowing only oxygen to pass in. You will don Bat Dursten's space gauntlets. That will protect you from the worst of it. You will ride the Alicorn, and Dursten and Excelsia will guard your flanks. That should get you through, if you heed Sning's warnings."
"But if it's that dangerous, what about the rest of you?"
"We are all role players, here to facilitate your diversion. You are the target; the effects will not affect us."
"This is the way it has to be, Sning?"
Squeeze.
Sning and the Bemme had certainly worked it out in that brief interval of private dialogue!
The Bemme assumed the form of a hood, which Norton put over his head. He was afraid it would feel suffocating, but she was true to her word: there was pure, sweet oxygen inside.
He donned the gauntlets, which were designed to protect hands from interstellar vacuum, and mounted the Alicorn with a boost from someone. He felt like a condemned criminal being hauled to the gallows.
The Alicorn moved. For a few paces everything was routine. Norton was aware only of motion, for no sound, light, or smell penetrated the living hood. Then the atmosphere changed.
First, something seemed to touch his gauntleted hands. It was the merest hint, filtered through the impermeable material, yet it suggested the sleek body of a beautiful and vibrant woman or the controls of a finely machined, high-performance racing car. He wanted to get a better feel, so he started to draw off one gauntlet.
Squeeze, squeeze!
Oh. The temptation of Odysseus was upon him! For the first time in his life Norton experienced some sympathy for the ancient Greek warrior. But he left the gloves alone.
Then something brushed about his head. It was a hint of perfumed music, ineffably sweet, as of a lovely garden glade with flowers blooming and a damsel with a dulcimer—the kind of place he longed to enter and remain in. But he could not perceive it clearly through the hood. So he reached up to pull it off—
Squeeze! SQUEEZE!
Damn! He had to desist, but he was furious at what he was giving up. That garden of delights—
The beast moved on—and somehow Norton felt the presence of a book or wise man or computer terminal containing the answers to all the most perplexing and fascinating riddles of the universe. All the myriad little mysteries that had nagged at him, from the punch line to a joke others had found uproarious and he had not quite heard, to the nature of Ultimate Reality. He had to see that book! He—
Squeeze! SQUEEZE!
"The hell with you!" he snapped, wrenching at the hood.
Something fettered his arms, so he could not pull, and the hood clenched itself stiflingly close about his head. He heaved off the encumbrances and grabbed the hood with both hands. It stretched like taffy, but did not come off. He clawed at it in a frenzy, but his gauntlets made him clumsy. Feverishly he tore them off.
The Alicorn leaped, almost dislodging him. He had to grab for the mane for support. That delayed his attack on the hood, and in a moment the desire waned.
Now the hood relaxed. It slid away from his face, coursed down to the ground, and re-formed into the Bemme.
"We made it!" Dursten said. "But you shore fought that there hood, Nort, like you was suffocating!"
Norton's head cleared. "If that was the filtered siren song, I never would have made it through the unfutered one! Even now, I'd like to go back and—"
Squeeze, squeeze.
"Shux, Nort, it's just quicksand and maggots there," Dursten said. "You'd just sink in over your head."
"I can't believe that! That beautiful music—"
"Here, I'll show you. Bemme, make
like a danged floodlight."
The Bemme convoluted into a floodlight mounted on a stand. The spaceman flicked the switch to ON and the beam of light speared out, striking a distant wall. Dursten swiveled the beam down to the ground where the tracks of the Alicorn showed.
A hundred feet back, those traces disappeared into a monstrous roiling bog. Tiny highlights of white showed, wriggling in and out of the muck—the maggots.
"We had to walk right through that. Ugh!" Excelsia said, wrinkling her nose. "Fortunately, the Alicorn was able to pick the shallowest point to cross. He couldn't fly, because we had to stay close enough to stop you from taking off the hood. One misstep, and we all would have been drowned in it."
Now Norton saw the caked, maggoty mud on their legs and shoes. They had done it, all right. Excelsia and the Alicorn especially had made a sacrifice, for otherwise they could have flown over the muck. "Thank you, friends!" he said humbly.
"We're not really your friends," the Bemme murmured. "We are simply playing our assigned roles."
"Maybe you are," Norton replied. "But they don't realize they are playing roles, you said. So they're as good friends as any other kind, aren't they?"
"I stand corrected," the alien agreed. "It is a human nuance of interpretation."
Norton turned to face the other way. There was the third chamber; a door in a wall was marked: 3-D CHAMBER. "Well, let's go in."
"This you must do alone," the Bemme said, returning to her natural bug-eyed state. She had spoken before from a speaker grille in the floodlight. "Our perceptions are not precisely yours. Even Sning's are not yours, though he understands what you perceive. You must align your perception of reality yourself by your own effort; only then will you be in control. We wish you well."
"Shore do," Dursten said.
"If you succeed," Excelsia said, "promise you will return at least to say good-bye." There was a delicate tear in her eye.
"I will," Norton agreed. He put his hand on the knob and turned it. The round door opened in the old-fashioned way, swiveling out on hinges. Beyond the circular port that was revealed was only blackness.