Wovers of memory v1 0, p.23
Wovers of Memory (v1.0), page 23
That isn’t completely true. You take things if you want them badly enough. BEN-AVIR, Shai, and TULEMBWELU, Nneka, were married against TECTs wishes, weren’t they?**
“You know about that?”
**COURANE, Sandor:
You are still a fool. And now she’s pregnant and you’re concerned about the baby. Well, there’s nothing TECT can do for you or her or the baby. But maybe you’ll think of something that can be done, something that even TECT with all its resources is unable to bring about**
“Not likely. All I want now is for you to give the leadership job to somebody else. Shai would be a good choice. Either that, or give me some genuine authority. I don’t want power. I just want to ease a little pain or give a little happiness.”
**COURANE, Sandor:
A marvelous wish, COURANE, Sandor, very generous of you and a fine example of the kind of warmhearted humanity impossible to a mere computer. Hear now. You are COURANE, Sandor, official leader, eparch, sheriff of the colony, and TECTs vicar on Planet D. Know all by these presents, and so forth. Would you like your tect to have that printed out on certificates to show everybody?**
“Go to hell.”
**COURANE, Sandor:
Ha ha, COURANE, Sandor, you are some kidder**
Courane turned off the machine. He knew, he was absolutely certain that the machine was manipulating him to some end. Its cruelty and viciousness were not arbitrary, as everyone else thought. It was pushing him in some direction, to force him to make some decision TECT wanted made. Whatever it was, he was ready to accept it. He was ready for anything TECT might ask, because he had lost his will to resist. He knew he couldn’t make plans of his own. If TECT had something in mind, it was better than anything Courane could create on his own. His destiny still seemed to him as black and empty of promise as the silent house at midnight.
A man Courane didn’t recognize sat next to him at the table. “Shai told me that you’re trying to save us all somehow,” said the man.
“That’s right,” said Courane. He felt very comfortable, as if his heart and mind and all his other parts were wrapped in warm flannel. He wished that the man would go away.
“How are you going to do that?”
“Do what?” asked Courane.
“Save us.”
Courane stared at a wall, watching the shadows of branches gesture in a rectangle of brightness. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I want to know how you think you can save us,” said the man.
“I don’t know,” said Courane.
“Let him alone,” said a woman.
“Rachel?” asked Courane.
“No,” said the woman, “she’s gone, Sandy.”
“That’s right,” said Courane.
“Look at the shape he’s in. He’s ready to fall over dead himself, and he’s talking about beating the machine. The disease has won,- Courane. It always has and it always will.”
Courane looked from the man to the woman. “I don’t follow what you’re saying.”
The man grinned. “You’re proving my point for me.”
“Let him alone, Kee,” said the woman. “He’s been through enough.”
“I just didn’t want him dying with the thought in his head that we owed him anything. We don’t owe him anything. In fact, he’s made everything worse for us.”
“Is that true?” asked Courane.
“No, it isn’t,” said the woman. “Don’t pay any attention to him. I’m grateful—we’re all grateful for what you tried to do. I don’t understand, really, but Shai says you took a big chance.”
“And he lost,” said the man. “He gambled away our future.”
“I’m not finished yet,” said Courane. His mind was clearing a little. He looked at the woman, trying to remember her name. “But thanks. We’ll beat it, one way or another, and then we’ll go home.”
“In a box, we’ll go home,” said the man, grinning again. “We’ll go home, sure enough, and right into the ground. If you can call that winning.”
“He’s tired, Kee,” said the woman. “Let him rest.”
“I just wanted him to be sure,” said the man. “I wanted him to be sure that he hadn’t fooled all of us.”
“You’ve made yourself very clear,” said the woman. She put a hand on Courane’s arm. She looked very sad. He felt good.
The steady rain beat at Courane’s face. It pummeled his body, an endless volley of stinging missiles. He sat with his eyes closed beneath a drooping tree. He could hear the spatting and tapping and dripping of the storm. He could hear the urgent rushing of the river nearby, and now and then the strident call of a bird, but he was aware of little else. The air was damp and cold. The fact that he was drenched made him think about going into the house. He decided that as long as he was enjoying himself, he should stay where he was. He couldn’t get any wetter.
He looked at the river. Beneath the torrent of rain, its surface looked like crumpled silk the color of a fawn’s skin. Splashes of white marked boulders or eddies or even lunging fish. Small branches bearing maroon leaves fell from the trees and into the river. Courane pictured worried mother birds huddling over their nests, protecting their chicks from the pelting shower. Actually, the chicks had all left their nests months ago, but Courane was drifting away in the simplicity of his illness and he wasn’t concerned with the rigors of natural science. The father birds were watching stoically from nearby branches. Their courage made Courane glad.
Both boats were drawn up beside him on the narrow stony bank, and tied in place to prevent them from being washed away down the river. Courane thought about how dependent the colonists were on the boats. He wondered what they had done before the boats were built. How did they get across the river? He thought for a minute or two, but he couldn’t see any way to get from one side to the other without the boats. He doubted that anyone could swim the distance in that current.
Perhaps there was a narrow place or a natural bridge somewhere, up or downstream. Maybe he ought to explore in both directions when the weather got warm again. Surely the people of previous generations had crossed the river for one reason or another. It was a mystery to him now, but he didn’t have the stamina to wrestle with it very long. He stood up, still puzzled, and walked back toward the house. He had forgotten it was raining; his discomfort was not enough to remind him.
In the house again, he went to his room and changed clothes, then knocked on Arthur’s door. He waited for a moment; there was no sound from within. Arthur may have been sleeping, or he may have been elsewhere, working or having some mild form of fun. Courane was disappointed. He wanted to ask Arthur about his bridge. It was possible that their predecessors on Planet D had built a bridge across the river: that would explain the absence of ancient boats. It wouldn’t explain the absence of the ancient bridge, but Courane planned to work on the enigmas one at a time.
He went downstairs to the tect room. He seated himself at the console and logged on.
**COURANE, Sandor:
Hello, COURANE, Sandor, my old friend. Come to talk with TECT again?**
“Yes,” said Courane. “Sometimes I think it’s just you and me. Sometimes I think we’re all alone. Like there’s no one else in the world.”
**COURANE, Sandor:
That’s closer to the truth than you might realize. But never mind that. It’s depressing. Is this just a social call, or do you have a question?**
“I think that’s crazy, about making a social call to a machine.”
**COURANE, Sandor:
?**
“You’re right; I’m sorry. I wanted to find out how I could go about measuring the river.”
**COURANE; Sandor:
Haven’t you learned anything? Has everything been for nothing? What has TECT been yelling itself hoarse for? TECT sure picked the wrong one again, all right. Well, it’s a good thing that BEN-AVIR, Shai, is warming up in the wings**
“I don’t follow you. What’s wrong?”
**COURANE, Sandor:
Nothing. Oh, nothing. People are living under the lash here, you know. Billions of people cursing their lives, billions of people robbed of their self-respect, human beings reduced to begging for a crust of bread from a cold steel construct, children bom into a world that will never know a place for them, complete and utter dissolution of everything that was fine and noble in the human race, all because one ignorant savage on a far-flung world would rather play in the mud and size up rivers than attend to his destiny. And he has the nerve—no! the affrontery to ask, “What’s wrong?” Ha ha, COURANE, Sandor. Who knows how happy and free the world could be today if you could pass the ball and had a decent shot from the top of the key. Then you’d be playing basketball for the Knicks and someone else would have been given the great gift of heroic immortality. But it’s too late, too late **
Courane stared at the unusual outpouring from TECT. “What?” he said.
**COURANE, Sandor:
“What?” Indeed. Now, what did you want to know?**
“I want to know how to measure the width of the river. We’re thinking of building a bridge to the other side.”
**COURANE; Sandor:
A mighty step forward, COURANE, Sandor. A bridge to the other side. There was some fear that you meant to build the bridge down the river lengthwise.
**COURANE’, Sandor:
You must use math and science. There are two methods, one simple, one more complex, depending on what kind of instruments you have**
We don’t have much in the way of instruments. What do we need for the two methods?”
**COURANE, Sandor:
First, most simply, you could have a reference book where you look up the answer in a table or something **
“Don’t have that.”
**COURANE, Sandor:
A real shame. Well, in that case, you need a surveyor’s transit. You stand by the river at point A and you sight across at some rock or something. You call that point B. Then you turn the transit to the left or right a full ninety degrees. You mark off a line in that direction of a hundred feet. That gives you a right triangle (see illustration). Then you walk down to point C, a hundred feet from point A. You set up the transit, look down at point A, then turn it to sight on point B across the river. That way you can measure the angle.
* * * *
**COURANE, Sandor:
AB / AC = tan b AB = AC tan b
For instance, if you find that angle b is 42.1 degrees, you look up the tangent of that angle in the book. It happens to be .9036. Therefore the width of the river is represented by the equation: AB = (100 feet)(.9036) or 90.36 feet**
“We can’t look anything up in the book. I told you that. We don’t have a book.”
**COURANE, Sandor:
No problem. Ask TECT, then. TECT will tell you anything you want to know. You always make such a production out of everything. Why would TECT want to give you a hard time?**
“Thank you,” said Courane. He switched off the tect and let out a deep breath. When he turned around, he saw that Arthur had been observing him.
“I’m glad to see that someone took me seriously,” said Arthur. “But you were going to steal my idea, weren’t you?”
“Arthur—”
“Never mind, I’m sorry. I know that sounded crazy. Sometimes when you’re afraid of suffering, that becomes your real suffering. When you’re so afraid of hurting that you hurt. Do you know what I mean?”
Courane chewed his lip for a moment. “When you’re so afraid of failing that you fail?” he asked.
Arthur smiled gratefully. “Yes,” he said.
Courane nodded. “Perseverance,” he said. “That’s what they always told me was the answer. But I don’t think that works, either.” They left the tect room together. Courane never gave the bridge another thought again.
There was a good evening ahead of them before they could justify saying good night and good-bye. In the morning, Courane would leave for the teletrans gate, but until then he and his parents would have to find things to say to each other.
“It isn’t so bad, I suppose,” said Courane’s mother.
“My God, Marie,” said her husband, “he’s being shipped off who knows where. When are we ever going to see him again?”
“Sandy,” she said mournfully.
“You’ll have each other,” said Courane. “It won’t be any different from when I was living in Pilessio or New York or Tokyo. You’ll have each other for company. You’ll take care of each other. I’ll just be far away. You can pretend I’m in, oh, Tierra del Fuego or somewhere.”
His father looked upset. “Sandy, the point is that if you were on Earth anywhere, no matter how far away, you could get home to see us whenever you wanted. But now—”
“It will be just like you died,” said Mrs. Courane, sniffling. “What if something happens to you out there? We may never see you again.”
“What if something happened to me in Tierra del Fuego?”
“Sandy,” said his father sternly. “Marie, listen to your son.”
Courane wasn’t happy with the way things were going. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “Look at me. Don’t cry. Just take care of Dad and I’ll see you as soon as my sentence is up. It can’t be long. I didn’t kill anybody or rob anybody or anything. Dad, try to make her understand.”
“I don’t know if I understand myself, Sandy.”
They looked at each other for a moment. “I’m tired,” said Courane. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
“But you only just had dinner,” said his mother.
Courane clenched his jaws. “You’re forgetting the time difference again,” he said. It was a happy inspiration.
The desert almost beat him. He stumbled on and on through the heat of the day, through the stinging cold of the night. He slept in short naps that blurred reality and dream even more. He saw few animals moving through the landscape: a lizard every now and then, a circling bird high overhead, but nothing cheerful. Nothing that indicated that life in the desert was more than a shortterm accident. There were gnarled black trees here and there through the low basin, but little else to see. Few boulders disturbed the flat wasteland, no wind-carved stone spires, no dry river beds, no paths traced by years of thirsty animals.
When he first saw the body, it was a dot on the horizon, something that didn’t belong in the vista. He walked toward it, partly out of curiosity and partly because he had no other goal. As he came nearer, his mind slipped in and out of full consciousness. For a moment he realized what he was looking at—the end of his search. He was overjoyed and then, suddenly, he forgot what he was doing and where he was. He walked closer. When he stood over the corpse, he stared down at it uncomprehendingly. Might fell slowly about him, but he did not move. The contorted figure on the stony ground had captured him. He waited for clarity.
Just at moonrise, he understood. “It’s you,” he said. His voice was a hoarse croak. “Rachel. You’re dead.” He had thought all along that he would find her this way, yet when he admitted the truth to himself, he hated it. He was sorry he had come looking for her. If he had stayed in the house, he could have believed forever that she was still alive somewhere, wandering farther and farther away. But now the fact was inescapable. He lay down beside her and slept until morning.
When he awoke, he didn’t recall where he was. He looked around, startled to see desert, emptiness, desolation. The corpse confused him, too. “Look at your mother, boy,” he said to himself. “This is what you’ve done to her. This is what you’ve made her suffer, because of your stupidity. Lying in the dirt, her fingers stiff and clutching and cold. Your own mother. Now what are you going to do?” He began to cry, softly and painfully. His tears washed away some of his grief, and his forgetfulness took care of the rest. After a few minutes, he stood up and looked down at her body. “I have to get her back to the house,” he thought. “I owe it to her. I owe it, and I promised them.” He took his map out of his pocket and studied it, sketching the desert and the place where he had discovered Rachel’s body. Then he looked back the way he would have to travel. I d better make a note to myself,” he said With the pencil, he wrote on the back Of the map:
Her name is Alohilani
You and she were very much in love. You must take her back to the house.
Keep walking east until you get to the river. Follow the river downstream to the house.
East is the direction of the rising sun. They will help you when you get there.
Fletcher had trouble believing what Courane told him. “You’re trying to say that my penpal isn’t real,” said Fletcher. “That Dawna isn’t real?”
“That’s right. Why do you have such a problem with that? You’ve seen the other things TECT has done.” “Yes, but—”
Courane raised a hand. “I did just what you said; you were there. I asked for a penpal, and TECT gave me Else Wisswede. I talked with Else a few times and everything seemed very nice. But then somehow Else knew things that only someone here would know, or TECT itself. There’s only one explanation.”
