Eon (Eon, 2)

  "I don't see how I can help," Patricia said.

  Korzenowski's partials, when assembled, almost equal the original," Ser Oyu said. "We lack only the final impressed shape, the Mystery, to have him back with us. In his way, we hope to repay him for what he gave us. We hope to let him see his success."

  Patricia glanced at Olmy to Oyu, and then to Yates.

  "And what will you give us?" she asked.

  "Your colleagues will have their choice of returning to Earth or proceeding down the Way with the Geshels. You, on the other hand, will be given the means to play out your dream."

  "My dream?"

  Ry Oyu walked to a smooth black cabinet under the center of the shimmering cupola. He opened the cabinet and brought out a small pearl-white box. Returning, he held the box to Patricia and instructed her to open it.

  She lifted the lid. Within, lying in a hollow of green velvet, was a miniature version of the clavicle that depended from the scaffold. Yates looked upon it with her and sighed.

  "We're offering you an exchange, a trade in which you lose nothing," Ry Oyu said. "You let us copy your Mystery, to complete the Engineer's personality record, and we will let you search for your home."

  "You're saying that my soul, and Korzenowski's, are identical?" Patricia asked.

  "'Soul' is an imprecise term," the gate opener said. "'Mystery' at least has the advantage of a more precise application. When everything in a personality—memory, thought patterns, skills—has been abstracted out, the sum of their parts is still not the whole. There is a super-pattern which colors the entire psyche, and which can be lost when even the great majority of fragments are reassembled. This is called the 'Mystery.' We have never been able to synthesize it. It is ineffable, and it can only be transferred by an imposition of all the patterns of one person on the assembled personality fragments of another. What is already present in the other is rejected; what is not present, the Mystery, is retained. That is the gift you could give to us—to Korzenowski."

  She took hold of Lanier's hand, suddenly afraid. This was not in the same league with the things that had gone before; it seemed abruptly mystical and unconvincing. For a time, she had thought that nothing could remain unknown to these descendants, and yet here it was, primary and basic; elaborated upon, manipulated, but not solved.

  "You could take it from me by force," she said. "Why try to convince me?"

  "Force is not useful in these circumstances," Ry Oyu said. "Either you give voluntarily or you do not give at all."

  "Why do you want him back? Hasn't he served his purpose?"

  "It's a matter of honor." Olmy smiled. "If the Knights of the Round Table could have brought King Arthur back, don't you think they would have? The Engineer must see that his plan has come to fruition."

  "But not as he expected."

  "No," Olmy admitted.

  Patricia looked down at her clasped hands. "Do I lose anything?"

  "No," the gate opener said patiently.

  "And in exchange, I get to use this. . . .” She pointed to the miniature clavicle. "Why is it so small?"

  "It has been deactivated," Yates said.

  "It's yours?"

  He nodded.

  "Yates will transfer its power to you, and you will learn how to use it during the ceremony," Ry Oyu said. "You will stand by my side."

  "Is Korzenowski here—I mean, his fragments?"

  "He is within me," Olmy said, pointing to his head.

  Patricia looked at Lanier, her expression that of a little girl uncertain whether she was being told wonderful lies, or incredible truths. She shifted her gaze to Olmy. "He's in your implant?"

  Olmy nodded. "I carry additional implants in my body, sufficient to contain him."

  "Something big is going on in your city, isn't it?" Patricia asked.

  "Very big. Your companions back on the Thistledown should know more about it by now."

  "That's why the President couldn't stay with us?"

  "Yes."

  "We have to rest," Lanier interrupted. "We haven't slept or eaten for hours—"

  "You're going to push the Axis City into orbit around the Earth? Destroy Thistledown?"

  "Not precisely," Ry Oyu said. "But enough for now. Mr. Lanier is right. After you've rested, we'll resume. Talk shop, I believe you call it."

  Patricia narrowed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "I don't know what you people would want to talk with me about. I have to be a complete amateur, a primitive, compared with you. . . .”

  "If we haven't convinced you of your value, and your influence, then we are not being sufficiently clear," Olmy said. "You are the source of Korzenowski's work on the Way. You laid the theoretical foundations. That is why we believe you can share the Mystery with him. He was your greatest student.

  "You were the teacher, Patricia."

  Mirsky hunted through the crowd of Russians for Pogodin, Annenkovsky or Garabedian, keeping an eye on the crosses passing overhead. The soldiers that had once been under his command eyed him sullenly, moving out of his path with fated indifference. He lifted up on his toes, trying to scan the sea of heads, and spotted Pletnev's red face and fuzzy short-cut crown of hair. Maneuvering in that direction, he came up behind the former heavy-lifter commander and laid a hand on his shoulder. Pletnev turned quickly and brushed the hand away, then cocked his head to one side on seeing Mirsky.

  "Where are the others?" Mirsky asked.

  "Who? The other assassins? You left us with a hellish mess, Comrade General." Pletnev's voice was thick, his words mushy, frightened and angry at once.

  "Pogodin, Garabedian. Annenkovsky," Mirsky prompted.

  "I haven't seen them since this. . . whatever it is," Pletnev said. "Now leave me alone."

  "You were with them," Mirsky persisted. "What happened?"

  "What do you mean, what happened?"

  "To Vielgorsky, and the other political officers."

  Pletnev surveyed the sky suspiciously, looking for crosses. "They're dead, Comrade General. I wasn't there, but Garabedian told me. They were shot." He turned away from Mirsky, murmuring, "I hope to God these hounds of heaven don't know."

  More crosses flew overhead, causing heads to turn like a sea of wheat in a wind. Mirsky walked away, hands in pockets, bumping shoulders and ploughing his way through the men, face creased in concentration.

  This must have been what it was like for the Stoners when the last holdouts were evacuated, Hoffman thought. Shuttle after shuttle of blunt-nosed craft flying back and forth to the bore hole and the huge tuberider Berenson said was waiting there, loading in groups of twenty from each chamber. She was glad Wallace and Polk were in her group; she had grown to rely on them. Ann was not; she was apparently still in the first chamber, or aboard already.

  The woman in black, left behind by Santiago, tended her group of four hundred with all the mastery of a shepherd over a flock. Her dogs were the chromium crosses, which gently and insistently brooked no dissent, at least not dissent in terms of wandering away. Hoffman wondered vaguely if mood-altering devices were being used on them; she felt calm, not at all apprehensive, and clearheaded, even rested. Better in fact than she had felt in weeks.

  About half in her group were Russians. By a kind of mutual consent, the Russians divided from the Americans, though the craft had brought them in mixed. Mirsky, as far as she saw, was not among them; nor were the officers who had taken command in his place.

  Hoffman's time came. The woman asked them to step forward, pointing to each in turn, until twenty had been separated from the larger group. The blunt-arrowhead craft had landed as they were being chosen.

  She took a deep breath when her turn came. In a way, this was a relief. All responsibility was gone now. This was a schism with all that had happened before. She found it surprisingly easy to let go.

  Sheep-like, she boarded the craft with the others.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Patricia and Lanier were given their privacy in a small cubicle at the
south end of the terminal, to sleep and have time for Patricia to think. A pictor provided some semblance of familiar surroundings, using the same basic decor as Patricia's quarters in the Axis City, but Lanier was scarcely comforted; he was angry and confused.

  "You don't have any idea what they're talking about," he told her as they sat on opposite ends of the "couch." "For all we know, they're out to steal your soul. . . . And I don't care what they say, it does sound suspiciously like that, doesn't it?"

  Patricia stared steadily at the illusart window opposite, with its view of pine trees and bright blue sky beyond. "I suppose they could do that if they wanted," she said.

  "Damned right they could. We don't know anything about them—they've manipulated our view of them ever since we arrived."

  "They've tried to educate us. We know a lot more then we did then. What Olmy and Ram Kikura have been saying makes sense."

  Lanier shook his head vigorously. He was having none of that; anger was a slow, smoking coal inside, and he could not damp it. "They aren't really giving you a choice—"

  "Yes, they are," Patricia insisted. "They won't take anything from me I won't volunteer."

  "Bullshit," Lanier exploded. He stood and felt wildly for the boundaries of the cubicle, which he knew was no more than three meters on a side. He could not feel them. The illusion was complete, even to the distance between them as he walked across the room. "Everything's a sham here. For all we know, nothing we've seen is real since we arrived. That would make sense. Why show us more than they have to?"

  "They're not. . .” She tried to find the right word. "Not bad people."

  "You accept that crap about your being the teacher, the precursor?"

  "Why not?" Patricia turned to him and held out her hand. He walked back to the couch and took it. "I've seen some of the papers I will write. . . .” She scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head, putting her other hand to her cheek. "I probably will never write them. . . but someone else who is me will, or has written them. And they really do point to all this. It's what's been in my head, unformed, for years now. I've known for almost as long that I was the only one, in our time, our world, thinking seriously about such things. So, ego aside, I don't disbelieve that." She smiled up at him. "Judith Hoffman thought I was the only one. You accepted that."

  "You love being a cultural hero? Is that it?" Coming down on her too hard, he thought. Ease up. And why are you angry?

  "No," she said softly. "I don't care, actually. There's not much I do care about now."

  Lanier let go of her hand and backed around the table, rubbing his chin, glancing at her repeatedly from the corners of his eyes. "You just want to go home."

  She nodded.

  "You can't go home again."

  "I can."

  "How?"

  "You know the basics, Garry."

  "I want specifics. How can you find your home?"

  "If they teach me how to use a clavicle, I'll return to the blank section of the corridor we passed through, and I'll search through a geometry stack. For them, geometry stacks have been garbage areas—useless, or worse then useless. But that's where I'll find a way home."

  "Not very detailed plans, Patricia."

  "They'll teach me," she said, regarding him with her large black eyes, not square at all now, not feline, but round and calm.

  "And what will they take?"

  "Nothing!" She leaned her head back on the couch. "They'll copy, not take."

  "How can you trust them?"

  She didn't answer.

  "You really didn't need time to think, did you?"

  "No," she admitted.

  "Christ."

  She stood and hugged him firmly, touching her cheek to his shoulder. "I don't know what we are to each other, but I have to thank you."

  He cradled her head with one hand and stared away at the juncture of wall and ceiling, blinking, lips drawn down at the corners. "I don't know either."

  "I was beginning to think I wasn't human."

  "You. . .” He didn't finish.

  "What I've been thinking. . . in some ways, that makes me more like them than like you. Do you understand that?"

  "No."

  "I suppose it also makes my Mystery appropriate for Korzenowski. He thought similar thoughts, and he had similar goals. He wanted to take his people home."

  Lanier shook his head, rejecting everything.

  "They're not going to hurt me. They're going to teach me. I have to say yes."

  "They're blackmailing you."

  She raised her head suddenly, frowning. "They aren't," she said abstractedly. "No more than I'm blackmailing them. Garry, I just thought of something. . . and why didn't I think of it before? Why are they opening another gate?"

  "I don't know," Lanier said quickly. Her question seemed completely irrelevant.

  "I'll ask them."

  He laughed. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  "That's why we were brought here, to witness the ceremony. . . . Well, that's obviously not the main reason, but it was part of the package."

  He thought for a moment, still holding her. Despite, everything, despite his doubts and fears and suspicions, he had to admit. . .

  That was something he would like to see.

  "I think we should sleep," Patricia said.

  It was not incidental that they made love, but Lanier realized the act was not necessary to Patricia. She was in sight of her goal; everything else, like the decor and the very bed they lay on, was window dressing.

  That made him feel insignificant. And it made him wonder what Patricia had become since her arrival on the Stone.

  "Am I human?" she asked as they lay together.

  "Probably," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, and not completely succeeding.

  By the time van Hamphuis's flawship arrived at the position formerly occupied by the Axis City, all gates up and down the Way had been closed and the lanes between them cleared. The situation was unprecedented in the history of the Way.

  The Axis City had moved on. Under Corprep Rosen Gardner's direction, the city's flaw power stations had been seized from the last holdouts. Those who had been killed had had their implants carefully retrieved—some 183 citizens so far. The toll disturbed Gardner, but their deaths were not permanent. With the flaw shaft under his control, he had accelerated the Axis City, moving south toward the Thistledown. The journey had taken sixteen hours; van Hamphuis's flawship had followed, but there was little the President could do.

  In the Thistledown's sixth chamber, four members of Gardner's Korzenowski faction had committed the ultimate crime—they had tampered with the Way machinery. The tampering was minor, but the penalty for even minor offenses was discorporation and complete wiping of all personality records. At this point, Gardner knew, there was no turning back.

  The flaw did not need to extend beyond the actual northern boundary of the seventh chamber; its present extension, near the chamber's bore hole, had been purely for convenience during the final stages of the Thistledown's evacuation and the construction of the Axis City. The machinery was now adjusted to reduce the flaw's length by twenty kilometers.

  Four teams of three citizens apiece then exited to the exterior of the asteroid, riding elevator shafts undiscovered by the recently arrived visitors. These shafts opened directly onto buried Beckmann drive units.

  Using these drives, the rotation of the asteroid was slowed, and then reduced to zero. The result at first was fairly minor in all chambers but the fourth, where wave action in the broad expanses of water forced huge globules into the air. There wasn't time to damp the effects. Gardner was working on a tight schedule.

  Radical Geshels, and the moderates who had never actually committed themselves, were given the opportunity to join Gardner's factioners. For many, there was no choice—Gardner's plans had little room for radical neomorphs. Populations were shuffled between the various precincts as quickly as possible, and City Memory was rearranged and sectioned, all in p
reparation for the next step of Gardner's plan.

  The Axis City was partially unstrung from the flaw, the section containing Axis Nader and Central City first. It was Gardner's plan to reverse the city, leaving these precincts for the Geshels who wished to travel down the Way at near light-speed and force out the Jarts. What he needed to complete his plans were the two rotating cylinders of Axes Thoreau and Euclid.

  The re-tuning of the gravity gradient between the Thistledown and the Way was extraordinarily delicate. The engineers within the sixth chamber had their hands full, especially when the large mass of Central City and Axis Nader was shunted to one side within the seventh chamber, allowing the remaining precincts to be unstrung.

  The entire procedure took five hours. By the time it was done, Axis Nader and Central City had reversed position on the flaw with Axes Thoreau and Euclid. The two pairs of precincts and their related structures were separated by a kilometer, and the pair reserved for the Geshels—Central City and Axis Nader—moved slowly north along the flaw.

  The visitors had been informed of their choice. Of the roughly two thousand captives, only four decided not to cast their lot with the group planning a return to Earth.

  Among them were Joseph Rimskaya and Beryl Wallace. The other two were Russians: Corporal Rodzhensky and Lieutenant General Pavel Mirsky.

  The asteroid was then set into rotation again. Within all the chambers, some damage was unavoidable, but in the fourth chamber, the results were catastrophic. The water globules slowly broke over the basins and land, billions of gallons snapping trees, scouring the forests and forming new rivers as the centrifugal force returned.

  The plasma tubes within all chambers were suddenly extinguished. The atmosphere barrier fields remained in force, but the chambers were plunged into abyssal night for the first time in twelve centuries.