The Wizard from Earth (5 page)

In his state of quasi-sleep, Matt mused that being pushed by a proton beam was such a strange way to travel between stars.  But then, he reflected, it was not that much different than having water-floating ships pushed by wind against sails, and humans had traveled that way for millennia.  The only difference now was that they were providing their own 'wind.' 

Oh, another difference
, he thought.  Sails used to be a few square meters of woven fabric, while his sail was square kilometers of ultrathin carbonoflex conductive composite bearing a repulsive electrical charge.  But other than that, same thing.  Except for . . . Matt lost interest in enumerating the few other things. 

Sails.  Wind. Beams. Seas. Space. The thoughts dissolved into images.  Matt's last clear thought as he drifted into years of dreams was that his mother had asked that he wave as he passed Pluto.  But that too had only been a joke, as Pluto was in an entirely different direction from his course.  Nonetheless, he tried to raise his arm.  Then he forgot why.  Then he slipped into oblivion.

Relativistic time dilation at .1c is negligible to human senses.  The compression of time that Matt experienced was entirely due instead to the subjective, quasi-hallucinatory effects of the biogel upon his nervous system.  Ivan of course was immune and kept track of the time exactly, even adjusting for the all-but-insignificant relativistic effect, while Matt drifted in and out of dreams across the empty light years. 

The primary purpose of biogel nanotechnology was to keep Matt's body suspended from the effects of time, and so even his dreaming was sparse.  

His most vivid dream was that he arrived on Tian.  He dreamed there was a banquet to celebrate his arrival and his father and mother and elephants were there.  He played checkers with Random, levitating mountains as game pieces.  Synethesia, silvery and trailing broken wires, floated from the sky and laughed as she spray painted Matt's body with spots of blue, red, and yellow.  And Ivan was there too, telling him to wake up.

"Matt, please wake up.  Matt, please wake up!  MATT, PLEASE WAKE UP!"

“Huh . . . what . . . uh . . . are we there yet?”

"We are within the Centauri Oort Cloud at this time.  However, a meteoroid impact has destroyed sixty-eight point nine percent of the magsail.  Therefore we cannot magnetically brake sufficiently for capture into the Alpha Centauri system."

Matt gazed semi-consciously at the situational schematic that Ivan was projecting in the center of his field of vision.  There was the pod, there was the sail.  The navigation inset showed that they were inside the Centauri Oort Cloud, which cosmically speaking was part of the  Centauri System.

Oh
, he thought groggily. 
So it's forty years later.  That was fast. 

“So, uh, why are you telling me this?” 
Please
, he thought,
just let me sleep a little more . . . .

“Matt, I do not think you are fully grasping the seriousness of the situation.  Please review the graphic that I have provided.”

Matt had no choice, as Ivan made the graphic visible even with eyes shut.  So he looked, and details seeped through his brain. 
Okay.  Okay.
  The sail was damaged, perforated by passage through a cloud of cosmic dust so fine that it apparently, improbable as it seemed, had not been mapped by astrographers in either Sol or Alpha Systems. 

The sail was still capable of deceleration, but the velocity profile indicated the pod would not brake sufficiently for retrieval by the robot tugs in the Alpha Centauri System.

“So we can't get to Tian now,” he said.

“Yes,” Ivan replied. 

It almost seemed a relief.  Now he could go back to sleep and not be interrupted again. 
But no
, he drowsily thought. 
Should try to stay alive.  Do something . . . but what?

Struggling against the biogel-induced stupor, Matt remembered this same scenario from one of his Colonization classes. 
Yeah
, the instructor told the class,
now and then sails and pods get damaged by micrometeorite impact.  It's a risk.  Star travel is relatively safe, but we have lost people.

Now I'm one of them
, Matt thought. 

Amassing fragments of consciousness, Matt swam deeper into his memories of that same classroom lecture to discern what would happen next.  Something the instructor said, about passing through the AC System, then through the other side of the Centauri Oort, then into the almost pure vacuum of interstellar space, and then hurling through the depths of interstellar space forever.  The class instructor had tried to be positive about that. 

In the unlikely event that this should happen to you
,
we'll do all we can to rescue you.  Maybe someday we'll send a robot probe to catch up with you and bring you back.  Maybe someday we'll be able to violate the laws of physics and travel faster than light and catch up with you that way.  Maybe you'll pass by a star inhabited by intelligent extraterrestrials with a star-faring civilization of their own, and we'll let them know you're coming and they'll catch you and toss you back . . . or keep you as a pet . . . or something.

Matt remembered the whole class breaking into laughter.  Not so funny now.

“So,” he said.  “Is there something we can do?”

“I'm sorry, you're slurring your subvocalization too much.  Could you please repeat?”

“Is.  Something.  We.  Can. Do?”

“We can wait for rescue.  I have no other options.  I revived you in the hopes that you would.”

“Would what?”

“Have other options.”

“Oh.”

Think
, Matt told himself.  I
van woke you because you're the human, you're the creative one who is supposed to come up with crazy ideas that just might work.  Because that's what humans do.
 

Matt remembered his lessons from Creativity Class.  First Step to Creative Idea: gather information.

“How . . . bad . . . is sail . . . damaged?”

“Damage is at sixty-eight point nine percent.”

“I mean . . . what does that mean?”

“We cannot decelerate fast enough before leaving Alpha Centauri System behind.”

“Okay, but so . . . sail is still okay to decelerate.”

Ivan paused.  “I perceive the direction of your inquiry.  You wish to know whether it would be possible to deflect our course to an alternate star system and utilize the Oort Cloud at that destination to decelerate completely.”

Matt wasn't sure that was what he had been getting at, but said, “Okay.”

Ivan paused.  “There are several thousand star systems with potentially habitable planets that are targetable for such a maneuver.”

“Okay.  Let's choose one.”

“The nearest one is Delta Pavonis.”

“Okay.  Go there.”

Many years later, Matt would review Ivan's recording of their conversation and marvel at how quickly he had made such a fateful decision.  But at the time he wasn't thinking clearly, and there wasn't anything to think about anyway.  There really had been no choice. 

Ivan promptly replied,  “Understood.  Interfacing with pod AI, requesting navigation change . . . approved.  Matt, I should inform you that telescopic and probe surveys indicate that there is no life in the Delta Pavonis System.  It is highly unlikely that our pod will be retrieved upon arrival.  It is also unlikely that it will ever be retrieved.”

Matt was as far from lucidity as a conscious mind could be when he retorted, “We'll see.”

And then, dreamlessly, forty years became four hundred, and more.

5.

The guards at the main gate of the imperial palace had seen Archimedes before, and his paperwork stating that he was there at the invitation of the emperor was in order, but still they insisted on patting his robes and examining his walking staff.  Archimedes went along placidly until a guard contemplated the old man's long white beard.

Archimedes knew better than to make sarcastic remarks to swords even when sheathed, so he said flatly, "I don't have a dagger in there.  And so help me if you yank even a single hair, I shall inform the Emperor of your discourtesy."

The guard handed back the walking staff, disturbed neither by its triggers nor scent of gunpowder. 

The captain of the guard recited the millennia-old mantra,  "Just doing our job."

Archimedes had a good idea that such harassment wasn't in their job description and an even better idea who had put them up to it.  But he only sighed.

A pair of guards escorted him through the garden, past statues, fountains, hedges, ponds, bridges, and shrines.  For several minutes they ascended marble stairs and wandered through tapestried corridors.  Finally, Archimedes pointed.  "It's that way."

"How would you know?" the guard demanded.

"I designed the damned place."

The guard glared, but Archimedes glared back, and ultimately it was the guard who backed down, apparently gaining an inkling that his charge was not just another client groveling for the Emperor's favor.

At the top of a staircase, yet another set of guards inspected the seal on the sheaf of imperial documents that Archimedes bore.  Alone, Archimedes was allowed entry onto the veranda overlooking a southern exposure of city and sea.  Amid ivy columns, wearing plain but purple robes, Niku Hadron, the balding Emperor of Rome, sat on a couch before a small table and peeled an orange with fumbling fingers.

At the sight of his oldest friend, the Emperor's scowl of concentration gave way to a broad smile.  He arose and shook hands.  "Ah, Archie.  Thanks for coming on short notice."

"I made haste under the assumption you'll give me a free breakfast."

"On the menu is your favorite, the blandest porridge in all the empire."  Hadron rang a small bell. 

It was a fine morning as they sat and the sun of Ne'arth shone brightly upon the palace and its gardens and orchards, the hillside cityscape of the marbled mansions of the best families in Rome, and to the west the Bay of Rome dotted with sailing ships for commerce and galleys for war. 

The gleam of sunlight from the metalwork of the shore battlements reminded Archimedes,  "I need to inspect those catapults this month."

"Bah, forget that.  Rome hasn't an enemy with even a fifth our naval strength.  Want this?"

Archimedes eyed the orange slice clutched in the Emperor's dripping fingers and shuddered.  "Did you wash your hands?"

Hadron laughed.  "Ah, I forgot your superstition.  Invisibly tiny demons crawling over every piece of food."

"Not all food, just food that is unwashed or is handled by unwashed hands.  And they're not demons, they're called germs and they're more like tiny animals.  And it's not a superstition.  It's science."

"Archaic Science, you mean.  Gleaned from ancient scrolls heavily sprinkled with fantastical nonsense about gods who live in the heavenly realm of Aereoth.  Didn't you yourself teach me that true science is based on observation and not tradition?" 

"I've seen germs with the aid of the microscope I have built based on the ancient texts.  If you'd like me to demonstrate sometime – "

Hadron laughed again.  "Another day, friend.  I have another matter I wish you to address."  His expression sobered as he set down the orange.  "What do you know about the strange comet that our sailors report has been spotted in the southern seas?"

"Well, I saw it myself when I voyaged past the equator last year just to view it.  It's a natural phenomenon, and a rather disappointing one at that.  It was also my understanding that it hasn't been visible recently for months."

"And how do you define a comet?"

Archimedes shifted in his seat.  Yes, the comet had looked different than any comet he had seen before, lacking any significant tail.  But it had the orbital trajectory of a comet and had the right head size for a comet, so it had to have been one.

"Heavens, Niku, didn't you learn anything for all that money your father paid me to tutor you?  I explained thoroughly that a comet is just a mountain of rock and ice adrift in space."

"I understand, Archie.  But haven't comets been associated in the past with portents?"

"You mean such as the comet that filled the sky when Emperor Malevian died?"

"Yes.  That sort of thing."

"There was also a comet thirty-three years later that was even brighter, but nothing happened then, so everyone forgets that it ever was.  See here, Haddie.  You've never been superstitious before."

"I'm not now, either, but – "

A servant girl arrived.  She placed a wooden spoon and steaming bowl of porridge before Archimedes, bowed and departed from sight.  Archimedes made a show of stirring the porridge, all the while sniffing. 

Hadron tilted his head toward the rail.  "What do you see there in the city below, Archie?"

"Too much facade and not enough foundation.  Why, what am I supposed to see?"

"I see people, thousands of people, and I try to see into their minds as well, and that's why I rule over them.  Now, this is what I observe about their minds.  The people of Rome pride themselves as the most factual and practical in the world, but pry deeper and you find the ancient myths still hold sway.  Such as the one about the Star Child who rides a chariot upon a comet."

"Am I hearing correctly?  You belittle the ancient texts, yet hold to folk tales?"

"We're not discoursing on what I believe, but on what the people believe.  And there is talk now among them about the fulfillment of prophecy."

Archimedes stopped stirring.  "Now that you mention it, the sailors on that ship said that the exact date of the comet had been foretold in their annals.  I assumed that if that were true, then perhaps some ancient astronomer of the south had viewed its prior coming and had calculated its period and time of return, and somehow scientific prediction had taken on the aura of religious prophecy.  And that's probably all it is."

"You've heard the street rumors of last night?  The dancing of faeries about Moonstar?"

Archimedes sniffed, chewed, and said, "This is good porridge."

Actually, it was all but tasteless, but that was all to the better, because there was no flavor to mask the slightest whiff of poison.  Another way to avoid poison was not to eat at the Emperor's table, but to decline the Emperor's hospitality could be almost as fatal as poison. 

"The whole city is babbling," Hadron said.  "I know this, because I have informants in the marketplace who listen – "

"Eavesdrop," Archimedes said with a mouthful. 

" – so that I may know the hearts and minds of the People, so that I can rule more wisely."

"And, more securely."

"I have enemies, Archie."  Hadron's forehead reddened and pulsed.  "You have no idea."

"I have quite a few ideas on just that subject.  General Valarion and his consort-witch, to start."

"Not that again.  Look, I need this apparition investigated scientifically, before the public panics."

"Investigate what apparition?  Generals cavorting with witches?  I too would like that investigated."

"I meant, the celestial apparition that occurred last night, of the dancing of faeries about Moonstar."

"You have no idea how absurd that phrase sounds upon the tongue of the most powerful man in Rome.”

“I'm the most powerful man in the world, and still I'm saying it, and as ridiculous as you find it, I want an investigation.”

“Well, I'm trying to envision how people can see faeries as far as Moonstar.  Faeries are supposed to be small, are they not?  Yet Moonstar is hundreds of kilometers above our heads."

"They don't actually see faeries, they just see lights moving about randomly and in their imaginations the lights become faeries engaged in dance.  So you see how these things get conflated.  Likewise, there was nothing in the prophecy about the comet that mentioned any activity having to do with Moonstar, but as the two events occur together in time, they must be related – so lesser minds think.  Confusion of Concurrence with Causality, as you used to say."

"And still do."

"And I agree, yours is the right way to think.  But the people are coming to believe that the comet and the lights herald the coming of the Star Child – the Mak or Map or whatever he is supposed to be called.  And then there are the insurrectionists who will seize upon any old myth as a pretext for divine approval of their aims.  For example, what have you heard of the rebellion of Queen Boudica in Britan?"

"I thought Valarion was supposed to be handling that."

"And so he is.  But that is an example of what I mean.  In that case a mentor fable of Aereoth which is applied as prophecy for political ends.  And so here at home, before someone takes political advantage of it, I need you to handle the superstition of the Roman people.  I need you to convince them that this recent apparition about Moonstar is merely a scientific phenomenon and not the end of the world as we know it."

"Have you forgotten, my Emperor?  You appointed me Chief Scientist of Rome, which means now no one ever listens to me anymore.  So how am I to convince anyone of anything?"

"Don't tell them, show them.  Let them plainly see with their own eyes that comets are not 'sky chariots' and moons are not 'space stations.'  And so that brings us to the point of this meeting.  Now, I do too listen to you, Archimedes.  And in fact, I recall you once formally requested funding to build a great lens-work to catalog the skies."

The spoon plopped into the porridge.

"The – the big telescope, you mean.  Are you saying that you would be willing to fund it now?"

"If it can be used to deflate public hysteria before an insurrectionist induces panic.  You spoke of a public observatory.  Build one here in the city, and I will pay for it."

For a moment, Archimedes was lost in rapturous daydream.  Imagine, being able to survey the surfaces of the Moon and planets as never before!  To see stars by the million –

"It – it should be erected in the mountains.  To avoid the glare of the lights of the streets and buildings."

"Build it here in the city, and fast, and I will pay any amount." 

Hadron lifted and opened a small nondescript chest, and took out a stylus and embossed certificate of treasury, which he pushed across the table to Archimedes.

"Write any amount," the Emperor of the Roman Empire decreed.

Archimedes met Hadron's stare, but then looked away and smiled impishly.  He scribbled a ridiculous number.  His smirk faded when, with only a brief glance, Hadron calmly pressed the imperial seal.