N-Space Part 11

It was noon of a hot blue day. The park was lively with raised voices and bright clothing, children and adults and the geriatrics generation, of which I have the honor to be a member. I had come early enough to claim a bench, and was old and feeble enough to hold it.

I had brought a sandwich lunch in a Baggy. I ate slowly, saving out an orange and a second sac of beer for later. The populace danced before me, never dreaming that I was watching.

The afternoon sun burned warm on my scalp. A lizardlike torpor stole over me, so that the sound of adult voices and children's screaming-for-the-h.e.l.l-of-it dimmed and faded.

But I heard the footsteps. They jarred the earth.

I opened my eyes and saw the rammer.

He was six feet tall and ma.s.sively built. He wore a scarf and a pair of blue balloon pants, not too far out of style, but they didn't match. What they exposed of his skin was loose on him, as if he had shrunk within it. Indeed, he looked like a giraffe wearing an elephant's skin.

He walked without springs. His feet slapped hard into the gravel with all his weight behind them. Small wonder I had heard him coming. By now everyone in sight was either looking at him, or turning to see what everyone was looking at. Except the children, who had already lost interest.

To me he was irresistible.

There are the casual peoplewatchers who watch their neighbors in restaurants or monorail stations when they have nothing else to do. They develop their own amateurish technique, and they don't know what to look for, and they usually get caught. But I'm not that kind of peoplewatcher.

There are the fanatics, the dedicated ones, who learn their technique in a closed-circuit 3V cla.s.s. They hold lifetime subscriptions to Face In The Crowd Face In The Crowd and and Eyes Of The City Eyes Of The City, the hobby magazines. They write letters to the editor telling how they spotted Secretary-General Haruman in a drug store and he looked unhappy.

That's me.

And here I was not twenty yards from a rammer, a man from the stars.

He had to be that. His taste in clothing was odd, and his carelessly draped skin was alien. His legs had not yet learned to cus.h.i.+on his weight against Earth's heavier gravity. He projected an indefinable combination of discomfort and self-consciousness and interest and surprise and pleasure, that silently shouted: Tourist! Tourist!

His eyes, looking out from behind the ill-fitting mask of his face, were bright and blue and happy. Our staring rudeness was noticed, but did not affect his almost religious joy. Nor did his feet, though they must have hurt. His smile was dreamy and very strange. Lift the corners of a spaniel's mouth with your forefingers, and you'd see such a smile.

He drew in life from the sky and the gra.s.s and the voices and the growing things. I watched his face and tried to read it. Was he the priest of some new Earth-wors.h.i.+pping religion? No. Probably he was seeing Earth for the first time: tuning his bio-rhythms to Earth for the first time, feeling Earthweight settle over and into his bones, watching suns rise twenty-four hours apart, until his very genes told him he was home.

It made his day when he saw the boy.

The boy was around ten, a handsome child, naked and tanned all over. (When I was growing up, even the infants wore clothing in public.) I had not noticed him until now, and he in turn had not noticed the rammer. He knelt on the path that pa.s.sed my bench, his back toward me. I could not see what he was doing; but he was very intent and serious about it.

By now most of the pa.s.serby had turned away, from disinterest or an overdose of good manners. I watched the rammer watching the boy. I watched through half-closed eyes, practicing my famous imitation of an old man asleep in the sun. The Heisenberg Principle implies that no peoplewatcher should allow himself to be caught at it.

The boy stooped suddenly, then rose with his hands cupped. Moving with exaggerated care, he turned from the gravel path and crossed the gra.s.s toward a dark old oak.

The rammer's eyes went big and round. All his pleasure gave way to horror, and then the horror drained away and left nothing. The star man's eyes turned up in his head, his slack face went even slacker, and his knees began to buckle.

Stiff as I am these days, I reached him. I slid an admittedly bony shoulder under his armpit before he could fall. All the ma.s.s of him came gratefully down on me.

I should have folded like an accordion. Somehow, I got the rammer to the bench before I had to let go of him. To an astonished matron I wheezed, "Get a doctor!"

She nodded briskly and waddled away. I turned back to the rammer. Sick eyes looked up at me from under straight black bangs. The rammer's face was oddly tanned: dark where the sun could reach, white as milk where folded skin cast shadows. His chest and arms were like that too. Where the skin was pale it had paled further with shock. "No need for doctor," he whispered. "Not sick. Something I saw."

"Sure. Put your head between your legs. It'll keep you from fainting." I opened my remaining beer sac.

"I will be all right in a moment," he said from between his knees. He spoke the tongue oddly, and his weakness slurred it further. "It was the shock of what I saw."

"Here?"

"Yes. No. Not completely. . ." He stopped to s.h.i.+ft mental gears, and I handed him the beer. He looked at it as if wondering which end to suck on, found the nipple, raised the sac and half-drained it in one desperate draught.

"What was it you saw?" I asked.

He had to finish swallowing. "I saw an alien s.p.a.cecraft. Without the s.p.a.cecraft it would have meant nothing."

"What kind of s.h.i.+p? Smithpeople? Monks?" These are the only known s.p.a.cegoing races, aside from ourselves. I'd never seen one of their s.h.i.+ps; but they sometimes docked in the Leshy worlds.

The rammer's eyes narrowed in his quilted face. "I see. You think I speak of some registered alien s.h.i.+p in a human s.p.a.ceport." His voice was no longer slurred; he picked his words with apparent care. "I was halfway between the Horvendile and Koschei systems, s.h.i.+pwrecked at the edge of lightspeed, waiting to die. And I saw a golden giant walking among the stars."

"A humanoid? Not a s.h.i.+p?"

"I . . . thought it was a s.h.i.+p. I can't prove it."

"Mmm."

"Let me tell you. I was a year and a half out from Horvendile, bound for Koschei. It would have been my first trip home in thirty-one years. . .

Flying a rams.h.i.+p under sail is like flying a spiderweb.

Even with the web retracted, a rams.h.i.+p is a flimsy beast. Cargo holds, external cargo netting and hooks, pilot cabin and life support system, and the insystem fusion motor are all contained in a rigid pod just three hundred feet long. All else is balloons and webbing.

At takeoff the balloons are filled with hydrogen fuel for the insystem fusion motor. By the time the s.h.i.+p reaches ramscoop speed the fuel is half gone, replaced by low-pressure gas. The balloons are retained as meteor s.h.i.+elding.

The ramscoop web is superconducting wire, thin as spiderweb, tens of thousands of miles of it. Coiled for takeoff, it forms a roll no bigger than the main pod. Put a uniform negative charge on it and it spreads to form a hoop two hundred miles across. It ripples at first under the differentiating fields. .

Interstellar hydrogen, thin as nothing, enters the mouth of the ramscoop web. An atom to a cubic centimeter. Differentiating fields compress it along the axis, compress it until it undergoes fusion. It burns in a narrow blue flame, yellow-tinged at the edges. The electromagnetic fields in the fusion flame begin to support the ramscoop web. Mighty forces add, making web and flame and incoming hydrogen one interlocking whole.

A rigid pod, invisibly small, rides the flank of a wispy cylinder of webbing two hundred miles across. A tiny spider on an enormous web.

Time slows down, distances compress at the higher velocities. Hydrogen flows faster through the web; the ramscoop fields increase in power, the web becomes more rigid, more stable.

A s.h.i.+p should not need supervision as it approaches the midpoint turnover.

"I was halfway to Koschei," said the rammer, "carrying the usual cargo: genetically altered seeds, machine prototypes, spices, and three corpsicles: pa.s.sengers frozen for storage. We carry anything that cannot be sent by message laser.

"I still don't know what went wrong. I was asleep. I had been asleep for months, with a current pulsing through my brain. Perhaps a piece of meteoric iron entered the ramscoop. Perhaps the hydrogen grew thin for an hour, then thickened too fast. Perhaps we entered a sharply bounded OH + region. In any case, something twisted the ramscoop field, and the web collapsed.

"I was wakened too late. The web had roman-candled, and was trailing the s.h.i.+p like a parachute that will not open. Wires must have touched, for much of the web was vaporized.

"It was my death," said the rammer. "Without the ramscoop web I was falling helplessly. I would enter the system of Koschei months too early, moving at nearly lightspeed, a dangerous missile. For my honor I must inform Koschei by laser, that I might be shot down before I arrive."

"Take it easy," I soothed him. His jaw had clenched, and the muscles that tightened in his face patterned the skin like a jigsaw puzzle. "Relax. It's all over. Smell the gra.s.s; you're on Earth now."

"I wept helplessly at first, though we consider weeping unmanly. . ." The rammer looked around him as if coming awake. "You are right. If I took off my shoes, would the law take offense?"

''No."

He took his shoes off and wiggled his toes in the gra.s.s. His feet were too small for him, and his toes were long and agile, almost prehensile.

No doctor had appeared yet. Probably the matronly woman had simply walked away to avoid being involved. In any case, the rammer's strength had returned.

He said, "On Koschei we tend to large girth. Gravity pulls less heavily at the meat of us. To qualify as a rammer I sweated away half my body weight, so that the unneeded two hundred earthweight pounds of me could be replaced by payload cargo."

"You must have wanted the stars badly."

"Yes. I was simultaneously learning disciplines whose very names most people can neither p.r.o.nounce nor spell." The rammer pulled at his chin. The quilted skin stretched incredibly, and did not snap back immediately when he let go. "I cut my weight by half, yet my feet hurt when I walk the Earth. My skin has not yet shrunk to fit my smaller ma.s.s. Perhaps you noticed."

"What did you do about Koschei?"

"I sent the message. It would precede me to Koschei by just two s.h.i.+p's months."

"Then?"

"I thought to wait it out, to use what time was left to me. My taped library was adequate . . . but even in the face of death, I grew bored."

"After all, I had seen the stars before. Ahead they were blue-white and thickly cl.u.s.tered. To the side they were orange and red and somewhat spa.r.s.e. Behind was black s.p.a.ce, empty but for a handful of dying embers. Doppler s.h.i.+ft made my velocity more than obvious. But there was no sense of motion motion, of going going somewhere." somewhere."

"A month and a half of this, and I was ready to go back to sleep."

"When the collision alarm went off, I tried to ignore it. My death was already certain. But the noise bothered me, and I went to the control room to shut it off. I saw then that a respectable ma.s.s was approaching, aimed dangerously, from behind."

"From behind! It was moving faster than my own s.h.i.+p! I searched among the spa.r.s.e crimson dots with my scope at top magnification. Presently I found a golden man walking toward me."

"My first thought was that I had gone mad. My second was that my G.o.d had come for me. Then, as the intruder grew in the scope screen, I saw that it was not quite human."

"Somehow that made it better. A golden man walking between the stars was impossible. A golden alien was a lesser impossibility. At least I could examine it sanely."

"I found the alien larger than I had thought, much larger than human."

"It was a biped, definitely humanoid, with two arms and legs and a well-defined head. Its skin glowed like molten gold, all over, for it was hairless and without scales. Between its legs was nothing but smooth skin. Its feet were strange, without toes, and the knee and elbow joints were bulbous and k.n.o.bby-"

"Were you really thinking in big expansive words like that?"

"I really was. I wanted to forget that I was terrified."

''Oh.''

"The intruder was nearing fast. Three times I lowered the magnification. Each time I saw him more clearly. His hands were three-fingered, with a long middle finger and two thumbs. The knees and elbows were too far down the limbs, but seemed quite flexible. The eyes-"

"Flexible? You saw them move?"

The rammer became agitated. He stuttered; he had to stop to gain control of himself. When he spoke again he seemed to force the words through his throat.

"I . . . decided that the intruder was not actually walking. But as it approached my s.h.i.+p, it seemed to be walking on empty s.p.a.ce."

"Like a robot?"

"Like a not-quite-man. Like a Monk, perhaps, if we could see beneath the garment worn by Monk amba.s.sadors."

''But-''

"Think of a man-sized humanoid." The rammer would not let me interrupt. "Think of him as belonging to a civilization advanced beyond our own. If his civilization had the power, and if he had the power within his civilization, and if he were very egotistical, then perhaps," said the rammer, "perhaps he might command that a s.p.a.cecraft be built in his own image."

"That is the way I thought of the intruder, in the ten minutes it took the intruder to reach me. I could not believe that a humanoid with smooth, molten gold skin would evolve in vacuum, nor that he could walk on emptiness. The humanoid shape is for gravity, for planets."

"Where does engineering become art? Once our ground-bound automobiles looked like s.p.a.cecraft. An advanced s.p.a.cecraft might be made to look like a given man, and move like him, yet still have the capabilities of a s.p.a.cecraft. The man himself would ride inside. If a king or millionaire could cause this to be done, why, then he would stride like a G.o.d across the stars.''

"I wonder if you don't think of yourself in just that way."

The rammer was astonished. "Me? Nonsense. I am a simple rammer. But I find man-shaped s.p.a.cecraft easier to believe in than golden giants walking on emptiness."

"More comforting, too."

"Yes." The rammer shuddered. "It came up very fast, so that I must damp the magnification to keep him in view. His middle finger was two joints longer than ours, and the thumbs were of different sizes. His eyes were set freakishly far apart, and too low in the head. They glowed red with their own light. His mouth was a wide, lipless horizontal line."

"Not once did I think to avoid the intruder. We could not have reached a collision course by accident. I a.s.sumed that he had altered course to follow me, and would alter course again to protect us."

"He was on me before I knew it. I had flipped the magnification down another notch, and when I looked the setting was at zero. I looked up at the spa.r.s.e red stars, and found a golden dot as it exploded into a golden man."

"I blinked, of course. When my eyes opened he was reaching for me."

"For you?"

The rammer nodded convulsively. "For the pod of my s.h.i.+p. He was much larger than the pod, or rather, his s.h.i.+p was."

"You still thought it was a s.h.i.+p?" I would not have asked; but he kept changing the p.r.o.noun.

"I was looking for windows in the forehead and the chest. I did not find them. He moved like a very large man."

"I hate to suggest it," I said, "not knowing your religion. Could there be G.o.ds?"

He jumped as if stung. "Nonsense."

"How about superior beings? If we've evolved beyond the chimpanzees, couldn't-"

"No. Absolutely not," said the rammer. "You don't understand modern xenology. Do you not know that we and the Monks and the Smithpeople are all of equal intelligence? The Smithpeople are not remotely humanoid in shape, yet it makes no difference. When a species begins to use tools, evolution stops."

"I've heard that argument, but-"

"When a species begins to use tools, environment no longer shapes that species. The species shapes its environment to suit itself. Beyond this the species does not develop. It even begins to take care of its feebleminded and its genetically deficient.

"No, he could have better tools than mine, this intruder, but he could not be my intellectual superior. He was certainly nothing to wors.h.i.+p."