Race Against Time (13 page)

Actually, it made sense. It would have made the zoo-keeping chore terrifically complicated if every bit player of every enclave had to learn a foreign language and speak it without accent. And how were the zoo specimens to know the difference? He
thought
he spoke English, and Meilan probably thought she spoke Chinese, and so on.

But the Newton library of books—had they all been written just for him? That seemed overly complicated, too. Some of them were very old books, with special bindings—hard to forge in a hurry. Yet they matched his language. The phonic rules, the haphazard spelling that defied all logic—that had to be the product of linguistic evolution, not a modern invention. So the Standards
did
have a written language. Or did the Standards actually speak English? That would account for the books matching. But then how about Meilan's written language? Chinese symbols were nothing like the Western alphabet.

Well, he would find out, for his escape plan depended on the written word. Whatever language the Standards spoke, most of them were probably illiterate. Few people ever learned more than they had to.

"So you don't have a typewriter," he said to the communicator, feigning disappointment. "Then how about a keyboard with letters and numbers, set up the same way? It could be plugged into your main circuit, and you could transcribe it for me. Know what I mean?"

"This is possible, if you do not wish to dictate verbally in the normal fashion."

"I
don't
wish. I need my typing practice, and now's an excellent time to get it, instead of twiddling my thumbs. Someday I may get my real typewriter back."

Did that imply that the things of the enclave were more real than those of the outside world? He'd have to watch that sort of thinking!

A few minutes later there was a
thunk!
in the supply room. A keyboard unit was there. It looked like an adding machine, since it had no roller or paper or internal keys, but it would do. John lifted it out and carried it to the table. Meilan was sitting with hands folded, unmoving. "Why don't you lie down if you're tired?" he asked her, knowing she would deny being tired.

"I am not resting. I am contemplating I Ching."

"Who?"

"I Ching. This is a—a philosophy. You would think of it as a book."

"Written in Chinese?"

"In the word-symbols of the Middle Kingdom. But I do not need to read it, for I know the hexagrams."

Distracted for the moment, John questioned her further. "If you know what's in it, why are you worrying about it?"

"There are many intriguing riddles within the hexagrams and many illuminating interpretations."

"That's neat, I'm sure. But what's it
about?"

"About life. It offers sage advice for every situation. It is a very satisfying manuscript."

That sounded like religion, and he decided to steer clear of that subject for the time being. "Why don't you order a game or something, to pass the time?" he asked her. "We don't know how long we'll be here, and anything we want we have to order now or wait for the next cycle. Come to think of it, I should get a bone for Canute."

"I doubt they have Wei-ki," she said.

"Your philosophy book? I meant, well, like a paper-and-pencil game." And to the communicator: "One rawhide bone, please."

"Wei-ki, not I Ching," she said, smiling.

"Please define," the communicator said at the same time.

"It's a bone-shaped object formed from a section of rawhide for a dog to chew on. It's very stiff and tastes of—well, rawhide. Animal skin."

"It is forbidden to take animal life unnecessarily," the communicator said.

"Oh." He'd forgotten that aspect of Standard society. "Well, an imitation, then. Just so it's tasty and chewy."

"One moment, please."

In that moment he returned to Meilan. "Then what is Wei-ki? A map of Pei's city?"

She smiled again. "It is the game of enclosing. Very old, very good. But I would need a board eighteen squares on a side and two hundred pips of each color...."

"Couldn't you make your own board with paper and pencil?"

"Pencil?"

"You don't know what a
pencil
is?" he asked, amazed. "To write with, to draw."

"Ah. A brush."

"And makeshift pieces. There must be
something."

She looked at him, a tiny furrow between her eyes. "As you say."

There was another
thunk!
as Canute's delicacy arrived. It was a simulated bone formed from simulated rawhide, but the dog was well satisfied. He busied himself in an obtuse corner, chewing and chewing.

Meilan began explaining to the communicator what supplies she needed to make a Wei-ki set. John doodled on the typing board. THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE LAZY DOG, he typed.

He didn't need to see it on paper—in fact, didn't want to. Then: COMMUNICATOR: PLEASE PRINT THE FOREGOING MESSAGE.

A slip of paper emerged from a slot in the wall. He pulled it free. He was afraid it would not be intelligible, but it was neatly and correctly printed exactly as he had typed it. Good enough.

He paused to watch Meilan lifting out her supplies. "Here—I'll set up a table for you," he said. He shoved it against the wall by the paper slot and drew the chair up so that it faced away from him. As she took her place, directing another perplexed glance at him, he ambled back to his typer and sat down for more practice.

COMMUNICATOR: PLEASE PRINT THE FOREGOING MESSAGE IN MIDDLE KINGDOM SYMBOLS. Then: IGNORE THE FOLLOWING UNTIL I ADDRESS YOU SPECIFICALLY AGAIN. And he proceeded to type random sentences.

"I have set up the game," Meilan said after a time, "but I have no one with whom to play."

Had she received his devious message? "Is it complicated?"

"For the novice, very. Far easier for a fox to leap over a sleeping hound."

Yes!
"Then I'd be no good. I can't even win at checkers." And he typed: COMMUNICATOR: PLEASE PRINT THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE IN MIDDLE KINGDOM SYMBOLS.

"Checkers?"

"An American game. Like chess only less so."

MEILAN, WE HAVE TO KEEP THE STANDARDS DISTRACTED. THEY CAN SURELY SEE AND HEAR US, BUT I DON'T THINK THEY REALIZE WHAT WE'RE REALLY DOING. PLAY A MOCK GAME.

"I'll try to play it by myself, then," she said.

"Sorry I couldn't help." THEY MAY THINK THEY'RE OUTSMARTING US, BUT THEY WON'T LEAVE US TOGETHER FOREVER. MY GUESS IS WE'LL BE HELD UNTIL THEY CAPTURE BETSY AND PEI AND MAKE SURE HUMÉ AND ALA ARE CONFINED. THEN THEY'LL SEE TO IT THAT WE NEVER ESCAPE AGAIN. I THINK WE'D BETTER GET OUT WHILE WE CAN. IF WE CAN. WE CAN MAKE PLANS THIS WAY.

"I don't know whether this will work," she said. "It is not a good game when I know what the other side plans."

"It's the same with checkers." I FIGURED OUT HOW WE COULD TALK. CAN YOU FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET OUT OF HERE? LET ME KNOW SOMEHOW.

John stopped, stretched his fingers, stood up, and walked away from the typer as though bored with his practice. He was afraid to overdo it; too much typing would make the watchers suspicious, and a little suspicion was a most dangerous thing.

"Those coordinate figures—have you discovered their basis?" Meilan inquired, not looking up.

"Coordinates? No. We didn't need to know their framework once we found the taxi could follow them directly." Why had she brought
that
up?

"I like intellectual puzzles. My tutor used to give me difficult riddles to solve. I would like to attempt something like that."

"Oh. Sure." It certainly was no secret now about those figures, since they had used them to spot the enclaves. John took a spare sheet of her paper (it was pseudo-paper, too; the feel was subtly different) and borrowed her brush to write them out:

"Each number we tried took us to a separate place on the globe," he said. "We couldn't have given the taxi any other information, because we didn't have any to give. But they can't be the kind of coordinates
I
know, because they are single numbers, not pairs. You need meridians of longitude and latitude, so you can count off north or south and east or west. But since these obviously work, it must be a pretty good system."

He wasn't certain she understood much of this, since she had been educated in the fashion of eighth-century China, but she seemed interested. "What is distinctive about these numbers?" she asked musingly.

"Distinctive? Far as I know, they're just numbers."

"Few numbers are 'just numbers,' " she said, licking her lips as though tasting something intriguing. "Every number is unique, and every set of numbers, too. We must discover in what ways these are special."

John began to react impatiently, since this type of discussion would hardly enable them to escape. Then he thought of two things: first, that if they did escape, they would need to know how to find their way to the rendezvous without benefit of taxis or other Standard devices, which meant they had to understand the coordinate system in detail. Second, this discussion could be Meilan's cover for some more direct notions on escape methods. The two of them had to seem occupied so that the Standards would be lulled.

"Well, they're all ten digits. So I suppose it means that any spot on the planet can be identified by a number just this large—zero to nine billion. For what that's worth."

"Yes. And they are maintained at ten digits even when they must be filled in with initial zeroes, so their uniformity is no coincidence. So we have one factor—but there must be others."

"You sound like a math teacher! I didn't know the Chinese even used the decimal system!"

She smiled. "Perhaps the original T'ang Jen did not."

"T'ang Jen?"

"Men of T'ang—our description of ourselves. Just as you call yourselves American."

"Oh." Was she gently reminding him that his use of the words "China" and "Chinese" was objectionable? Better watch that.

He studied the numbers. Now that they had been written out, he saw another thing. "They run to repetition. The last two do, anyway. Four sevens in a row, four zeroes in a row. Is that significant?"

"Perhaps. Is there anything else?"

"That's about it. There isn't anything more to fasten on. If we had ten numbers or a hundred...."

"Your comment about the differing systems," she said thoughtfully. "You and I appear to understand the numbers the same way—but can we be sure the Standards do? Suppose their digits have different meaning?"

"Brother! If their five means our three, we'll never get it straight!"

"I was thinking of differing sets. Have you noticed that there is no digit higher than seven?"

Startled, he looked again. "You're right! Betsy noticed that, too, in the taxi. Every number from one to seven, but no eight or nine. Out of thirty numbers, you'd expect at least one of those. That could be coincidence or...."

"Or an octal system."

"Octal?"

"Based on eight numerals, not ten. Zero through seven. That may be the significance of the bunching of zeroes and sevens, for they would be at the extremes. You are not familiar with this?"

"Never heard of it," he said sheepishly. "My barbarian education is showing its seams."

She laughed. "It was not my education that spoke. I noticed that the Standard apartments are octagonal. Possibly, then, their numbers are, too."

She had phrased it delicately, but it struck him that Meilan was uncommonly sharp. "But how do you write eight, nine, or ten? In octal?"

"The same as in decimal. Eight becomes one zero; nine is one one; ten is one two. When you add a zero, you are multiplying by eight instead of ten. One hundred in octal would be sixty-four in decimal—eight squared instead often squared. And so on."

"I'll be darned," he said, "You men of T'ang do too know what you're doing. Uh, girls of T'ang, I mean."

"If it
is
octal," she said, absorbed in the problem, "the row of sevens would be very close to the row of zeroes."

"Say, yes! 7777 would be just one digit below 10000. Except that there's a three starting off that second figure and no one leading off the other. So it must be just below 40000 instead."

"That is what interests me. It is as though these numbers ought to be very close, but are not, because of their beginnings and the remainder of the digits. It really is not close at all, and we may be mistaken."

"I'm not so sure." John studied the three long numbers, his head almost touching hers. "Look—the lead-off digits are all low—under four—while the end ones are all higher. Do you think that means anything?" Then before she could reply, he had another flash. "We've forgotten that these are
coordinates!
They have to be double numbers—to show vertical and horizontal. Easting and northing, latitude and longitude, or whatever. Why not two numbers of five each!" His words tumbled over themselves as they almost raced ahead of his thoughts. "Four is the middle of the octal system, isn't it, just as five is the middle of the decimal. So four might be the dividing point. All the longitudes could be numbered below four and all the latitudes above it. And zero could be both your starting point and your finishing point, because we are dealing with a globe...."

Meilan's enthusiasm was more restrained. "Why keep the longitudes low and the latitudes high? There is no need—"

"To tell them apart! These numbers are all jumbled together. If one digit were left out accidentally, the whole thing could be fouled up. But if you
know
the low ones have to be—"

She waved her hand as though shooing flies away. "All right. It is a mighty leap from a thin observation, but let's consider it. We now have three pairs of five-digit numbers." She wrote them out:

"See!" he exclaimed, pointing. "37777 and 00001—just one digit either side of the base line. Those points are close together!"

"Not according to the other coordinates in each pair," she protested. Her brush doodled on another scrap of paper.

"And they
are
close, because we thought we were coming down in Humé's enclave, and instead we hit Ala's!" Then her objection registered. "Oh-oh."