Neverness (19 page)

   Even Katharine, who had seen enough of the future not to be excited, was excited. Long after midnight on fiftieth night, after a night of slow, intense coupling (she seemed always to want to devour time slowly, sensuously, as a snake swallows its prey), she surprised me with her excitement. She lay naked in front of the stone fireplace, flickers of orange and red playing across her sweating, white skin. She smelled of perfume and woodsmoke and sex. With her arms stretched back behind her head, her heavy breasts were spread like perfect discs against her chest. Eyeless, as she was, she had no body shame, nor any appreciation of her beauty. At my leisure I stared at the dark thick triangle of hair below her rounded belly, the long, crossed legs and deeply arched feet. She stared upward at the stars, scrying. That is, she
would
have stared at the stars if she had had eyes, and if the skylight between the ceiling beams hadn't been covered with snow. Who knows what she saw gazing down the dark tunnels to the future? And if she had suddenly been able to see again, I wondered, could the sparkle of the milky, midwinter stars ever have pleased her as much as her own interior visions?

   "Oh, Mallory!" she said. "What a thing I've ... I
must
come with you to your Alaloi, do you see?"

   I smiled but she could not see my smile. I sat cross-legged by her side, a fur thrown over my shoulders. With my fingers, I combed her long, black hair away from her eyepits and said, "If only Bardo had your enthusiasm."

   "Don't be too hard on Bardo. In the end, he'll come, too."

   "Come too? Come where?" I wasn't sure which disturbed me more: her descrying the future or her insistence I take her with me to the Alaloi. "What have you seen?"

   "Bardo, in the cave with his big ... he's so very
funny
!"

   "You can't come with me," I said. "I'm sorry."

   "But I
must
come with you! I will come because I have ... Oh, Mallory?"

   Of course, it was impossible for her to come with me. I told her it was impossible. I said, "The Alaloi leave their crippled and blind out on the ice when it blizzards. They kill them." I had no idea, really, if this were true.

   She turned toward me and smiled. "You're not a very good liar," she said.

   "No, I'm not, am I? But I don't understand why you would want to come with me."

   "It's hard to explain."

   "Tell me."

   "I'm sorry, Mallory, but I can't tell you."

   "Because of your vows?"

   "Of course, but ... but more because the words don't exist to describe the future."

   "I thought you scryers had invented a special vocabulary."

   "I wish I could find the words to tell you what I've seen."

   "Try," I said.

   "I want to grow eyes again so I can see the faces of your ... it's there, on the ice in deep winter you'll find your ... Oh, what should I call it, this thing I see, this
image
, the image of man? I'll break my vows, and I'll grow eyes to see it again for a while before I ... before I
see
."

   Silently I rubbed the bridge of my nose while I sat sweating in front of the crackling fire. Grow eyes indeed! It was a shocking thing for a scryer to say.

   "There," she sighed. "You see, I've said it so badly."

   "Why can't you just say which events will occur and which will not?"

   "Sweet Mallory, suppose I had seen the only event which really matters. If I told you that you must die at a certain time, every moment of your life would be agony because ... you see, you'd always dwell on the moment of ... it would rob every other moment of your life of happiness. If you
knew
."

   I kissed her mouth and said, "There's another possibility. If I knew I had a hundred years before I died, I'd never be afraid of anything my whole life. I could enjoy every instant of living."

   "Of course, that's true," she said.

   "But that's a paradox."

   She laughed for a while before admitting, "We scryers are known for our paradoxes, aren't we?"

   "Do you see
the
future? Or do you see possible futures? That's something I've always wanted to know."

   Indeed, most pilots - and everyone else in our Order - were curious to know the secrets of the scryers.

   "And seeing the future," I said, "why not change it if you wish?"

   She laughed again. At times, such as when she was relaxed in front of the fire, she had a beautiful laugh. "Oh, you've just stated the first paradox, did you know? Seeing the future of ... if we then act to change it, and
do
change it ... if it's changeable, then we haven't really
seen
the future, have we?"

   "And you would refuse to act, then, merely to preserve this vision of what you'd seen?"

   She took my hand and stroked my palm. "You don't understand."

   I said, "In some fundamental sense, I've never really believed you scryers could see anything but possibilities."

   She dragged her fingernail down my lifeline. "Of course ...
possibilities
."

   Because I was frustrated, I laughed and said, "I think it's easier to understand a mechanic than a scryer. At least their beliefs are quantifiable."

   "Some mechanics," she said, "believe that each quantum event occurring in the universe changes the ... They've quantified the possibilities. With each event a different future. Spacetime divides and redivides, like the branches of one of your infinite trees. An infinity of futures, these parallel futures, they call them, all occurring simultaneously. And so, an infinity of parallel
nows
, don't you see? But the mechanics are wrong. Nowness is ... there is a unity of immanence ... oh, Mallory, only one future can ever
be
."

   "The future is unchangeable, then?"

   "We have a saying," she told me. "'We don't change the future; we
choose
the future.'"

   "Scryer talk."

   She reached up to me. She ran her fingers through my chest hair and made a sudden, tight fist above my heart, pulling at me as she said, "I will have gone to a cutter named ... He'll grow me new eyes. I want to see your face when you ...
one
time, just the one time, is that okay?"

   "Would you really do that?" I wondered aloud. "Break your vows? Why?"

   "Because I love ..." she said. "I love you, do you see?"

   During the next few days I could think of little else except this strange conversation, As a returning pilot I was required to teach, so I agreed to tutor two novices in the arts of hallning. I must admit I did not perform my teaching duties with as much attention as I should have. Early one morning in the classroom of my chalet, as I was supposedly demonstrating simple geometric transformations to little Rafi and Geord, I found myself thinking back to my journey to the Entity, remembering how the imago of Katharine had grown eyes and looked at me. I wondered: Had She known what Katharine would one day say to me? I was mulling over the implications of this while I showed the novices how it is impossible to rotate a paper, two-dimensional tracing of a right-handed glove to match and fit the tracing of a left-handed glove, if the motion was restricted to rotations within a plane. I failed to notice they were bored. I picked up one of the glove tracings from the wooden floor, flipped it over and placed it on top of the other tracing. I said, "But if we lift it off the plane like so and rotate it through space, it's trivial to match the two tracings. Similarly -"

   And here the gangly, impatient Rafi interrupted me, calling out, "Similarly, it's impossible to rotate a three-dimensional left glove into a right handed glove. But if we rotate the glove through four-space, it's simple to superimpose the two gloves. We know that, Pilot. Are we done now? You promised to tell us about your journey to the Alaloi - remember? Are you really going to drive dogsleds across the ice and eat living meat?"

   My distractions, I saw to my dismay, had apparently infected even the novices. I was a little annoyed at Rafi, who was too quick for his own good. I said, "True, the gloves can be superimposed, but can you
visualize
the rotation through four-space? No? I didn't think so."

   Two days later I took them to a cutter who modified their lungs, and then down to the Rose Womb Cloisters. I put them into the hexagonal attitude chamber, which occupied most of the rose-tiled tank room. There they floated and breathed the super-oxygenated water while performing the day's exercises. With their sense of right and left, and up and down, dissolved by the dark, warm, salty water, they visualized four-space; they rotated the image of their own bodies around the imaginary plane cutting through their noses, navels and spines. They were trying to rotate themselves into their own mirror images. Even though it is really a simple exercise, akin to reversing the line diagram of a cube by staring at until it "pops," I should have paid them close attention. But again, I let my mind wander. I was wondering if Katharine would be able to find a cutter to make her new eyes when I happened to look through the wine dark water at the novices. Rafi, I noticed, had his arms wrapped around his knees, and his eyes were tightly closed as he breathed water. How long had I left him like this? If I left him too long in the fetal attitude, he would build a dependency on sightlessness and closure. I reminded myself that he was to be a pilot, not a scryer, so I removed him from the tank.

   "The exercise was ... too easy," Rafi said. He stood there naked, beads of water dripping off him. Due to his altered lungs, he was having trouble breathing. "Once one sees one transformation, the other's are easy."

   "That's true with geometric transformations," I said. "But the topological transformations are harder. I remember when Lionel Killirand made me reverse the tube of my body, inside out. Now
that
was a horrible exercise. Since you've found today's exercise so easy, perhaps you'd like to play with the topological transformations, then?"

   He smiled a haughty smile and said, "I rather play at a
real
transformation, like you, Pilot. Are you really going to sculpt yourself? Is that as severe a transformation as altering one's lungs? Would you take a novice with you, to the Alaloi? Could I come?"

   "No," I said, "you're just a boy. Now, shall we practice motions through five-space? I don't think you'll be able to visualize five-space so easily."

   The excitement that my proposed journey provoked throughout the Order was not wholly surprising. Man is man, and even civilized man - especially civilized women and men - will sometimes long for simplicity. In each of us, there is the lure of the primitive, an atavistic desire to experience life in its rawest form; there is a need to be tested, to prove our worth as natural (and ferocious) animals in a natural world. Some said the Alaloi led a truer, more purely human life than could any modern man. Too, the story of Goshevan and his marrow-sick son, Shanidar, had fired the imagination of an entire generation. To return to nature as strong, powerful, natural men - what would be more romantic than that? No day passed that some semanticist didn't offer advice as to the complexities of the Alaloi language or a fabulist recite the epic of Goshevan's doomed journey to live among the cavemen; no night ended without one pilot or another drugging himself with toalache and begging to accompany me to the Alaloi.

   Toward the end of that brilliant, happy season of romance and deep snows and plans, I was elevated to my mastership. Strangely enough, although I was by far the youngest pilot ever to become a master, I no longer took pride in my relative youth. Having aged five years intime on my journey, I suddenly felt ageless, or rather, old - as old as the glazed ledges of the Hall of Ancient Pilots where the master pilots welcomed me@ to their college. I remember waiting for their decision at the far side of the Hall, near the dais where Bardo and I had received our rings. I tapped my boot against the cold floor, listening to the sound vanish into the arched vault above me. I examined the conclave room's long, black doors, which were made of shatterwood and carved in bas-relief with the faces of Rollo Gallivare and Tisander the Wary, the Tycho and Yoshi, all three hundred and eighty-five of our Lord Pilots since the founding of our Order. Near the center of the left door, I found Soli's hard profile, with the long, broad nose, the hard chin and the combed hair bound in its silver chain. I wondered if my own profile would ever be carved in the old, brittle wood, and if it were, I wondered if anyone would be able to distinguish it from Soli's. Then the doors opened, and the ancient Salmalin, who was the oldest pilot next to Soli, pulled his white beard and invited me into the circular conclave room, and I no longer felt very old. I sat on a stool at the center of a huge, ringlike table. Around the table sat Tomoth, Pilar Gaprindashavilli, the dour Stephen Caraghar, as well as Lionel and Justine and the other master pilots. When Salmalin stood up to welcome me to the master's college, all the pilots stood and removed the gloves from their right hands. In that simplest and most touching of all our Order's ceremonies, I went around the table shaking hands. When I took Justine's long, elegant hand in my own, she said, "If only Soli had been here to see this, I'm sure he would have been as proud as I am."

   I did not remind her that if Soli had been present, he would probably have vetoed my elevation.

   After she and Lionel (and others) congratulated me, my mother met me outside the conclave room. We walked through the almost deserted Hall together. "You're a master now," she said. "The Timekeeper will have to pay more attention to your petition. And if he approves it, we'll sculpt our bodies. And go to the Alaloi where there will be fame and glory. No matter what we find or don't."

   I thought it was funny that even my mother had been infected with the general excitement. I bit my lip, then said, "You can't seriously think of coming with me, Mother."

   "Can't I? I'm your mother. Together we're a family. The Alaloi would regard us as a family - what could be more natural?"