Alternate Realities

Table of Contents

 

 

 

PORT ETERNITY

“A thoughtful work by an intelligent writer.”

 

 

VOYAGER IN NIGHT

 

“Well-written, intelligent space adventure ... an intriguing
psychological novel ... thoughtful and original
characterizations of both humans and aliens,
excellent world building.”

 

“Fascinating ... testifies to Cherryh’s boldness and
flexibility as a novelist.”
—Locus

 

 

WAVE WITHOUT A SHORE

 

“This is a thoughtful, engrossing novel.”

 

“Proof that you can be prolific and good ... a gem.”

DOWNBELOW STATION

 

THE PRIDE OF CHANUR

CHANUR’S VENTURE

THE KIF STRIKE BACK

CHANUR’S HOMECOMING

CHANUR’S LEGACY

 

ANGEL WITH THE SWORD

 

BROTHERS OF EARTH

HUNTER OF WORLDS

SERPENT’S REACH

FORTY THOUSAND IN GEHENNA

MERCHANTER’S LUCK

 

THE FADED SUN TRILOGY OMNIBUS

 

CUCKOO’S EGG

VOYAGER IN NIGHT

PORT ETERNITY

 

 

 

 

THE MORGAINE CYCLE
THE MORGAINE SAGA
EXILE’S GATE

 

EALDWOOD
THE DREAMING TREE

 

FOREIGNER

INVADER

INHERITOR

PRECURSOR

DEFENDER
¹

EXPLORER
¹

PORT ETERNITY

Copyright © 1982 by C.J. Cherryh

 

VOYAGER IN NIGHT

Copyright © 1984 by C.J. Cherryh

 

WAVE WITHOUT A SHORE

Copyright © 1981 by C.J. Cherryh

 

ALTERNATE REALITIES

Copyright © 2000 by C.J. Cherryh

 

All Rights Reserved.

 

 

DAW Book Collectors No. 1171.

 

DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Putnam Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

 

 

First Paperback Printing, December 2000

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-49561-2

A fast forward from the author. ...

These books are special ... and thanks to Betsy Wollheim for carrying on the tradition of a kind of science fiction publishing that’s not a spinoff, not a copy of a TV show—in fact, not “just like” much else you’ll meet. In her decision to put these books out in a modern format she’s guaranteed they’re findable. Trust me: colored lights and sfx aren’t the “real stuff ” of science fiction, that branch of writing we fondly called “the literature of ideas” long before NASA flew. No, the “real stuff ” is extrapolation—that twelve-letter word for taking a concept and running with it as far and as fast as a lively mind can follow, be it into whimsy or down a scary slip on thin ice. Extrapolative tales require a rarer kind of reader, a mind that enjoys hopping from ice floe to ice floe to get to ... well, you just can’t predict, and that’s the point, isn’t it?

It’s very certain you don’t get rich writing or publishing what Betsy Wollheim and I call the “magic cookie books,” but there’s the special reward of putting these hard-to-place books out where the right readers can find them.

I was lucky in my first publisher and lucky in the era in which I wrote my earliest books; Donald Wollheim of DAW Books, owning his own publishing house, gave me free rein to experiment, and to write the outrageous, and to exercise a set of muscles a writer ideally needs. Ever seen a butterfly come out of the chrysalis? The wings are small and shriveled. But the wings begin to beat, and to expand, and they stretch out and show their patterns as life flows into them. The relationship of a writer to someone who gives them the chance to do that imagination-stretch is precious.

My original title for this was Involutions, because it spirals in upon itself. Reality starts down a whirlpool ride into dream and into fiction, and the fictional world becomes more real than surrounding space, at least for a time ...

Or isn’t it, after all, that all fiction is the backyard of the house we live in, our release from the four-walled constraint of daily chores we do just to eat and have a place to sleep? And while we’re there ... it’s real.

Stories are what we all work to have. Oh, how destitute are those who don’t have access to stories at all, or who don’t realize that stories are the prize in the box, and that daily life without them is so much less!

Stories aren’t escape. They’re the living of an active mind. Making money and acquiring things can scratch a few itches, too, but give me a man who loves the companionship of human beings and animals, who appreciates good stories and good food at his fireside, and who’ll bestir himself considerably to get them around him.

Well, Don and I discussed the book, but Don said it was science fiction, not a philosophy text, and I needed a better title. So he came up with
Port Eternity
, and so it is.

And where did this particular idea come from? Well, I’ve loved the Arthurian legends since I played at castles and knights, and I think they’ll have immediacy so long as the English culture survives in any of its farflung children.

That’s the other thing stories teach us: that we extend farther than our own lifespan, and that there’s unsuspected greatness in the least of us.

When we believe that for a starting fact, everything we do, we do in a different light.

S
he was a beautiful ship, the
Maid of Astolat
, beautiful in the way ships can be when cost means nothing, and money certainly meant nothing except the comfort and the pleasure of my lady Dela Kirn. I had seen the
Maid
from the outside, but her crew had not, at least not since the day they boarded her. She was beautiful outside and in, sleek, with raking lines to her vanes which meant nothing at all in space, but pleased the eye and let everyone know that this was no merchanter, no; and inside, inside she was luxury and comfort, which I appreciated too, more than I appreciated the engineering. Where lady Dela went, I went, along with the other servants lady Dela had for her personal comfort; but the
Maid
was the best of the places Dela Kirn lived, and I was happiest when she gave the order that packed up the household for the winter season and took us up to station, for whatever destination pleased her.

Usually this move coincided with some new lover, and some of these were good and some were not—more disagreeable than pleasant, truth be told; but we managed, usually, to enjoy ourselves by avoiding them at their worst. Often enough the
Maid
had no really binding course, more duration than destination. She just set out and toured this station and another, and because Dela loved to travel, and grew bored with this and that climate, we were a great deal on the move. Dela Kirn, be it understood, was one of the Founders of Brahman, not that she herself had founded a world, but her predecessors had, so Dela Kirn inherited money and power and in short, whatever she had ever fancied to have or do.

My name is Elaine, which amused my lady Dela, who gave the name to me. I have a number on my right hand, very tiny and tasteful, in blue; and the same number on my shoulder, 68767-876-998, which I
am
, if anyone asked, and not Elaine.
Elaine
was Dela Kirn’s amusement. I was
made
68767-876-998.
Born
isn’t the right word, being what I am, which is a distinction I don’t fully understand, only that my beginning was in a way different than birth, and that I was planned. I’ve never had any other name than Elaine, I think, because before Dela I have no clear memory where I was, except that it was nowhere—one of the farms. On the farms they lock you up and you spend a lot of time doing repeat work and a lot of time exercising and a lot of time under deepteach or just blanked, and none of it is pleasant to think back on. When I have nightmares they tend to be of that, of being locked up alone, with just my own mind for company.