Women in Deep Time (15 page)

“He,” the bear said quickly.

I touched the bulkhead above the door and ran my finger along a familiar, slightly crooked seam. Had the disruption kept me in my own universe—against incalculable odds—or exchanged me to some other? Was either of us in a universe we could call our own?

“Is it safe to look around?”

The bear hummed. “Cognize—know not. Last I saw, others had not reached a state of organizing.”

It was best to start from the beginning. I looked down at the creature and rubbed a bruise on my forehead. “Wh where are you from?”

“Same as you, possible,” he said. “Earth. Was mascot to captain, for cuddle and advice.”

That sounded bizarre enough. I walked to the hatchway and peered down the corridor. It was plain and utilitarian, but neither the right color nor configuration. The hatch at the end was round and had a manual sealing system, six black throw-bolts that no human engineer would ever have put on a spaceship. “What’s your name?”

“Have got no official name. Mascot name known only to captain.”

I was scared, so my brusque nature surfaced and I asked him sharply if his captain was in sight, or any other aspect of the world he’d known.

“Cognize not,” he answered. “Call me Sonok.”

“I’m Geneva,” I said. “Francis Geneva.”

“We are friends?”

“I don’t see why not. I hope we’re not the only ones who can be friendly. Is English difficult for you?”

“Mind not. I learn fast. Practice make perfection.”

“Because I can speak some Russian, if you want.”

“Good as I with Anglo?” Sonok asked. I detected a sense of humor—and self esteem-in the bear.

“No, probably not. English it is. If you need to know anything, don’t be embarrassed to ask.”

“Sonok hardly embarrassed by anything. Was mascot.”

The banter was providing a solid framework for my sanity to grab on to. I had an irrational desire to take the bear and hug him, just for want of something warm. His attraction was undeniable tailored, I guessed, for that very purpose. But tailored from what? The color suggested panda; the shape did not.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked, sitting on my bunk.

“Sonok not known for quick decisions,” he said, squatting on the floor in front of me. He was stubby limbed but far from clumsy.

“Nor am I,” I said. “I’m a software and machinery language expert. I wasn’t combat trained.”

“Not cognize ‘software,’” Sonok said.

“Programming materials,” I explained. The bear nodded and got up to peer around the door. He pulled back and scrabbled to the rear of the cabin.

“They’re here!” he said. “Can port shut?”

“I wouldn’t begin to know how—” But I retreated just as quickly and clung to my bunk. A stream of serpents flowed by the hatchway, metallic green and yellow, with spade-shaped heads and red ovals running dorsally.

The stream passed without even a hint of intent to molest, and Sonok climbed down the bas relief pattern. “What the hell are they doing here?” I asked.

“They are a crew member, I think,” Sonok said.

“What—who else is out there?”

The bear straightened and looked at me steadily. “Have none other than to seek,” he said solemnly. “Elsewise, we possess no rights to ask. No?” The bear walked to the hatch, stepped over the bottom seal, and stood in the corridor. “Come?”

I got up and followed.

A woman’s mind is a strange pool to slip into at birth. It is set within parameters by the first few months of listening and seeing. Her infant mind is a vast blank template that absorbs all and stores it away. In those first few months come role acceptance, a beginning to attitude, and a hint of future achievement. Listening to adults and observing their actions build a storehouse of preconceptions and warnings:
Do not see those ghosts on bedroom walls—they aren’t there! None of the rest of us can see your imaginary companions, darling…. It’s something you have to understand.

And so, from some dim beginning, not
ex nihilo
but out of totality, the woman begins to pare her infinite self down. She whittles away at this unwanted piece, that undesired trait. She forgets in time that she was once part of all and turns to the simple tune of life, rather than to the endless and symphonic
before.
She forgets those companions who danced on the ceiling above her bed and called to her from the dark. Some of them were friendly; others, even in the dim time, were not pleasant. But they were all
she.
For the rest of her life, the woman seeks some echo of that preternatural menagerie; in the men she chooses to love, in the tasks she chooses to perform, in the way she tries to be. After thirty years of cutting, she becomes Francis Geneva.

When love dies, another piece is pared away, another universe is sheared off, and the split can never join again. With each winter and spring, spent on or off worlds with or without seasons, the woman’s life grows more solid, and smaller.

But now the parts are coming together again, the companions out of the dark above the child’s bed. Beware of them. They’re all the things you once lost or let go, and now they walk on their own, out of your control; reborn, as it were, and indecipherable.

“Do you have understanding?”‘ the bear asked. I shook my head to break my
steady stare at the six bolted hatch.

“Understand what?” I asked.

“Of how we are here.”

“Disrupted. By Aighors, I presume.”

“Yes, they are the ones for us, too. But how?”

“I don’t know,” I said. No one did. We could only observe the results. When the remains of disrupted ships could be found, they always resembled floating garbage heaps—plucked from our universe, rearranged in some cosmic grab bag, and returned. What came back was of the same mass, made up of the same basic materials, and recombined with a tendency toward order and viability. But in deep space, even ninety percent viability was tantamount to none at all. If the ship’s separate elements didn’t integrate perfectly—a one in a hundred thousand chance there were no survivors. But oh, how interested we were in the corpses! Most were kept behind the Paper Curtain of secrecy, but word leaked out even so—word of ostriches with large heads, blobs with bits of crystalline seawater still adhering to them…and now my own additions, a living Teddy bear and a herd of parti colored snakes. All had been snatched out of terrestrial ships from a maze of different universes.

Word also leaked out that of five thousand such incidents, not once had a human body been returned to our continuum.

“Some things still work,” Sonok said. ‘We are heavy the same.”

The gravitation was unchanged I hadn’t paid attention to that. ‘We can still breathe, for that matter,” I said. ‘We’re all from one world. There’s no reason to think the basics will change.” And that meant there had to be standards for communication, no matter how diverse the forms. Communication was part of my expertise, but thinking about it made me shiver. A ship runs on computers, or their equivalent. How were at least ten different computer systems communicating? Had they integrated with working interfaces? If they hadn’t, our time was limited. Soon all hell would join us, darkness and cold, and vacuum.

I released the six throw bolts and opened the hatch slowly.

“Say, Geneva,” Sonok mused as we looked into the corridor beyond. “How did the snakes get through here?”

I shook my head. There were more important problems. “I want to find something like a ship’s bridge, or at least a computer terminal. Did you see something before you found my cabin?”

Sonok nodded. “Other way in corridor. But there were…things there. Didn’t enjoy the looks, so came this way.”

“What were they?” I asked.

“One like trash can,” he said. “With breasts.”

“We’ll keep looking this way,” I said by way of agreement.

The next bulkhead was a dead end. A few round displays studded the wall, filled like bull’s eyes with concentric circles of varying thickness. A lot of information could be carried in such patterns, given a precise optical scanner to read them—which suggested a machine more than an organism, though not necessarily. The bear paced back and forth in front of the wall.

I reached out with one hand to touch the displays. Then I got down on my knees to feel the bulkhead, looking for a seam. “Can’t see it, but I feel something here—like a
ridge in the material.”

The bulkhead, displays and all, peeled away like a heart’s triplet valve, and a rush of air shoved us into darkness. I instinctively rolled into a fetal curl. The bear bumped against me and grabbed my arm. Some throbbing force flung us this way and that, knocking us against squeaking wet things. I forced my eyes open and unfurled my arms and legs, trying to find a grip. One hand rapped against metal or hard plastic, and the other caught what felt like rope. With some fumbling, I gripped the rope and braced myself against the hard surface. Then I had time to sort out what I was seeing. The chamber seemed to be open to space, but we were breathing, so obviously a transparent membrane was keeping in the atmosphere. I could see the outer surface of the ship, and it appeared a hell of a lot larger than I’d allowed. Clinging to the membrane in a curve, as though queued on the inside of a bubble, were five or six round nebulosities that glowed dull orange like dying suns. I was hanging on to something resembling a ship’s mast, a metal pylon that reached from one side of the valve to the center of the bubble. Ropes were rigged from the pylon to stanchions that seemed suspended in midair, though they had to be secured against the membrane. The ropes and pylon supported clusters of head sized spheres covered with hairlike plastic tubing. They clucked like brood hens as they slid away from us. “Góspodi!” Sonok screeched.

The valve that had given us access was still open, pushing its flaps in and out. I kicked away from the pylon. The bear’s grip was fierce. The flaps loomed, slapped against us, and closed with a final sucking throb. We were on the other side, lying on the floor. The bulkhead again was impassively blank.

The bear rolled away from my arm and stood up. “Best to try the other way!” he suggested. “More easily faced, I cognize.”

I unshipped the six bolted hatch, and we crawled through. We doubled back and went past my cabin. The corridor, now that I thought of it, was strangely naked. In any similar region on my ship there would have been pipes, access panels, printed instructions and at least ten cabin doors.

The corridor curved a few yards past my cabin, and the scenery became more diverse. We found several small cubbyholes, all empty, and Sonok walked cautiously ahead. “Here,” he said. “Can was here.”

“Gone now,” I observed. We stepped through another six bolt hatch into a chamber that had the vague appearance of a command center. In large details it resembled the bridge of my own ship, and I rejoiced for that small sense of security.

“Can you talk to it?” Sonok asked.

“I can try. But where’s a terminal?”

The bear pointed to a curved bench in front of a square, flat surface, devoid of keyboard, speaker, or knobs. It didn’t look much like a terminal—though the flat surface resembled a visual display screen but I wasn’t ashamed to try speaking to it. Nor was I abashed when it didn’t answer. “No go. Something else.”

We looked around the chamber for several minutes but found nothing more promising. “It’s like a bridge,” I said, “but nothing matches specifically. Maybe we’re looking for the wrong thing.”

“Machines run themselves, perhaps,” Sonok suggested.

I sat on the bench, resting an elbow on the edge of the “screen.” Nonhuman technologies frequently use other senses for information exchange than we do. Where we
generally limit machine human interactions to sight, sound, and sometimes touch, the Crocerians use odor, and the Aighors control their machines on occasion with microwave radiation from their nervous systems. I laid my hand across the screen. It was warm to the touch, but I couldn’t detect any variation in the warmth. Infrared was an inefficient carrier of information for creatures with visual orientation. Snakes use infrared to seek their prey

“Snakes,” I said. “The screen is warm. Is this part of the snake ship?”

Sonok shrugged. I looked around the cabin to find other smooth surfaces. They were few. Most were crisscrossed with raised grills. Some were warm to the touch. There were any number of possibilities—but I doubted if I would hit on the right one very quickly. The best I could hope for was the survival of some other portion of my ship.

“Sonok, is there another way out of this room?”

“Several. One is around the gray pillar,” he said. “Another hatch with six dogs.”

“What?”

“Six…” He made a grabbing motion with one hand. “Like the others.”

“Throw bolts,” I said.

“I thought my Anglo was improving,” he muttered sulkily.

“It is. But it’s bound to be different from mine, so we both have to adapt.” We opened the hatch and looked into the next chamber. The lights flickered feebly, and wrecked equipment gave off acrid smells. A haze of cloying smoke drifted out and immediately set ventilators to work. The bear held his nose and jumped over the seal for a quick walk through the room.

“Is something dead in here,” he said when he returned. “Not like human, but not far. It is shot in head.” He nodded for me to go with him, and I reluctantly followed. The body was pinned between two bolted seats. The head was a mess, and there was ample evidence that it used red blood. The body was covered by gray overalls and, though twisted into an awkward position, was obviously more canine than human. The bear was correct in one respect: it was closer to me than whiskered balls or rainbow snakes. The smoke was almost clear when I stepped back from the corpse.

“Sonok, any possibility this could be another mascot?”

The bear shook his head and walked away, nose wrinkled. I wondered if I’d insulted him.

“I see nothing like terminal here,” he said. “Looks like nothing work now, anyway. Go on?”

We returned to the bridgelike chamber, and Sonok picked out another corridor. By the changing floor curvature, I guessed that all my previous estimates as to ship size were appreciably off. There was no way of telling either the shape or the size of this collage of vessels. What I’d seen from the bubble had appeared endless, but that might have been optical distortion.