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left one out. Look here." And with a vast gesture Ramachandra seemed to
scatter machines and hired scientist out of his way and draw Sorokin into a
close conference above the surface of a small table. "You and I are yearmates
here, so one of us can go exactly where the other goes, as far as veils are
concerned. Just coincidence? At this stage in my life I doubt if such a thing
exists in a pure form, where human beings are concerned at any rate. Two
people going will have a better chance than one of overcoming unforeseen
obstacles. Besides&
there is another reason why I don't want to go alone."
"Will I come with you? Why, it seems insane, but yes."
Ever since the chance of leaving Azlaroc had acquired some reality, however
tenuous, Sorokin had had the feeling that his own life was passing through a
singularity, a condition wherein the old laws failed to hold, into a new stage
in which nothing was quite the same as it had been.
Now he saw with bitter clarity that a man who spent his time roaming deserts
and trying to be an adventurer had made a grave mistake to settle on
all-but-changeless
Azlaroc.
He wanted to be an adventurer, but did he really want adventures? Already he
perceived the difference. Later the perception would be much more forcible.
He had surprised Ramachandra with his answer, stalled the locomotive for the
moment. "Fine," was all that
Ramachandra said, and then reached out to shake his hand.
Walking out of the city on one of the old surface ways, Chang Timmins kept on
looking, with a sense of increasing urgency, for someone with whom he could
communicate. He had almost reached his tractor when his hopes were briefly
raised by the appearance of some man or woman of a much later group-maybe it
was even a visitor, in diver's gear-who was perhaps aware of
Timmins, even trying to talk to him. Striving to prolong contact, to keep the
other person in focus as much as possible, Timmins jumped and danced about,
alternately squatting and stretching to get the best angle of vision, while he
several times yelled out his warning for the tourists. But there were far too
many veils between them, and Timmins' efforts were in vain. In spite of all he
could do, the other disappeared before his eyes, vanished completely into the
landscape. There was nothing for the explorer to do but give up and climb into
his vehicle.
Before leaving the area of the city, he checked the supplies in his tractor.
All his stores seemed adequate. The crawler was powered by a hydrogen fusion
lamp, so there was no need to load fuel; a little atmospheric moisture,
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collected as needed, served well enough.
Then, driving east-by-southeast on a heading that would bring him to the area
where Wurtman had long ago built his first communications relay station,
Timmins keyed in his radio. Using a power that should reach the entire
habitable surface of the world, he sent out a broadcast convoking a general
session of the Council of Yeargroup
One. Such a call placed all yeargroup members hearing it under a social
obligation to physically attend the Council if it were at all possible for
them to do so. This might mean trouble and inconvenience for some, but if he
did not put the summons to help in such strong terms he was sure many would
disregard it. Also, the personal computers of those group members who missed
his broadcast would record this message and play it back insistently. Timmins
thought that trying to save the tourists was worth causing his peers some
inconvenience. If it were finally decided in
Council that he was wrong, let the group censure him.
His radio message included the warning he was trying to disseminate, and an
appeal to all who heard it to begin at once trying to pass it through the
veils toward the people of '430. There was a chance that someone from a later
yeargroup than Timmins' might be able to pick up his broadcast, moving the
warning forward at once from their own year. This was only a slight chance,
though, Timmins knew. Radio waves were as thoroughly garbled by the veils as
were the frequencies of sound or light.
Once the broadcast had gone out, he set his transmitter to repeat it
automatically at intervals. This accomplished, he checked his course-he had
crossed West Ridge and was heading into desert- put on the autopilot, and
tried to relax, leaning back in his conformal chair and swiveling it a
quarter-turn to let him cross his legs. He selected some music and turned it
on. His tractor was more than transportation, a self-contained living unit in
which two or three people could reside in comfort. It was more his home than
any tent or other unwheeled dwelling that he had ever tried on Azlaroc. A
majority of his yeargroup shared with him this preference for a semi-nomadic
lifestyle.
Leaning back in his chair with closed eyes, he tried to
think of some other means of speeding his warning message up through the
years. But no good ideas came.
Telepathy? Some people, including himself, had occasional success
communicating with plants and sometimes higher lifeforms. But Timmins had
never seen any convincing evidence mat telepathy could be made to work
reliably between one human and another.
What else? The most respected scientists of the Galaxy had maintained for
centuries that it was in principle impossible to find any means of passing
information directly through more than about fifty veils at the most.
True, sometimes chance opened a temporary contact through a much greater
number, as when Timmins had met the modern man or woman at the city's edge.
But there was no depending upon chance.
Simply flashing a bright light on and off, making dots and dashes in some
simple code, was more effective than most other ways of trying to communicate
through many veils. This method was basically not much different from that
used by the coral in hurling out their quantum-spores to carry genetic
information futureward and maintain a foothold for the species in the present.
But a code used between people required prearrangement, some line of
communication already open.
The past and future have nothing to say to each other, Wurtman had asserted.
The tractor was carrying him into the desert at about two hundred kilometers
per standard hour, its top cruising speed. Even so, he was in for a long ride.
Other folk of
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Yeargroup One had long ago provided themselves with faster vehicles, and he
might have done the same. No one's chasing me, he'd always said. And nothing
and no one that
I'm going after is likely to run away.
After a while, with no ideas coming, he switched the
music to something brighter and got up and stretched.
Then he walked back into the roomy interior of the vehicle, flipping foldable
seats out of his way as he passed.
Control room, living room, galley, bath, bedchamber, workshop-the space could
be divided to form any two or three at once. Tana had always preferred a tent, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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