Oz was always the final enigma. Understand Oz, he thought, and we understand the whole puzzle.
Clockwork.
Whatever it is, it happens every eight thousand years. Had there been an event on Beta Pac III in 13,000 B.C.? And on Nok around 8000 B.C.? Yes, he thought, knowing Henry would not have approved this sort of logical leap. But it seemed likely.
What kind of mechanism could produce such an effect?
After a while, he slept again, but not well. He woke to find that daylight had returned. Hutch and Janet were talking, and he got the impression from the way their voices dropped that he had been the topic. 'How are you doing?' Hutch asked solicitously.
'I'm fine.'
Janet pushed her left leg out from under the sheet and flexed it. Tit's coming back,' she said.
Carson felt better, but was content to lie still.
'Hutch was saying,' said Janet, 'that there's a memorial service this evening.'
He nodded, and felt a fresh twinge of grief. He knew Hutch had gone back to the surface, and he asked about the trip. She described it briefly, in general terms. Maggie had died in the fall. No predator had got at her afterward. Thank God for that. 'It must have been pretty quick,' she added. 'Sill was all business. He wishes we'd go away, and he blames us for Jake's death. He hasn't said it, but it's obvious.' She stopped suddenly, and he realized she was sorry she'd said that.
He changed the subject. 'Here's something you might be interested in.' He fumbled around in the bed, found his lightpad, and passed it over.
Hutch's eyebrows went up. Then she held it so Janet could see. 'We've got the eight-thousand-year factor again. I'd say the coincidence is getting pretty long.'
Carson agreed. 'I can't even begin to formulate an explanation. Could there be something in the wiring of intelligent creatures that breaks out every eight thousand years? Like Toynbee's notions about the cycles of civilizations? Does that make any sense at all?'
'I don't think so,' said Janet.
Hutch was still looking at the pad. 'All three places,' she said, 'have strange artifacts. The artifacts are obviously related, and they tie things together. Something has to be happening. And we have it by the tail.'
'Tail,' said Janet. 'It's a cosmic horgon that shows up periodically and blows everything away.' She was propped up against three pillows, rapping her fingertips against the tray table that stood by the side of her bed.
'Can I get you,' she asked Hutch, 'to do a diagram?'
'Sure.' Hutch picked up the remote and opened the wall to reveal a display. 'What do we want?'
'Let's get a look at the relative positions of Beta Pac, Quraqua, and Nok.'
Hutch put them up. Beta Pac floated directly on the edge of the Void. Quraqua lay more inshore, fifty-five light-years away, in the general direction of Earth. Nok was lower on the arm, a hundred fifteen light years distant.
'Okay,' said Janet. 'Let's add the dates of the discontinuities.'
Carson understood what Janet was looking for: a connection between dates and distances. But he couldn't see anything. If their guesswork was correct, the earliest known event had happened on Beta Pac III around 21,000 B.C. But there was no discernible order to what happened after that. A second event on Nok five thousand years later. And a third on Quraqua seven thousand years after that. It was chaos.
On a whim, Hutch plotted Earth's position. It was far out of the picture. They all looked at it, and it seemed to Carson they were missing something.
Janet was already gone from the medical facility when Carson, with some help, dressed and prepared to return to his quarters. They gave him a motorized wheelchair, and he was testing it (and grumbling) when an attendant informed him the captain wanted to see him.
The attendant led Carson to a small examining room. It was furnished with two chairs, a gurney, a basin, and a supply cabinet. 'He'll be right with you,' he said, withdrawing.
It required little to bring Carson's dislike for Morris to the surface. The symbolic gesture of forcing him to wait, of demonstrating that Carson's time was of less value than the captain's, irritated him. He wondered whether there was any reason he should tolerate this, and was about to leave when the captain strode in, told him pontifically to 'be at ease,' dropped his hat on the gurney, and pulled up a chair with the air of a man who had important business waiting elsewhere. 'Well, Carson,' he said, 'I guess we really stuck our ass in it this time.'
'I guess we did, Captain.' Carson's blood pressure started to rise.
Morris' gaze had a waxy quality. It slid off Carson's shoulder. 'I wanted to say that I'm sorry about the loss of your colleagues.'
'Thank you. I appreciate that. And I'm sorry about Jake.'
The captain nodded. 'He'll be missed.' He looked straight ahead, at nothing in particular. Carson's impression was that he was striving for an appearance of stricken contemplation. 'You know I was against all this from the beginning. If I'd had my way, none of this would have happened.'
/ wish you'd been more forceful, Carson thought, but said nothing.
'Tell me, did you learn anything of significance down there?'
Carson was surprised by the question. 'Yes,' he said. 'I think we did.'
'Thank God for that, Doctor. With three people dead, we can at least be grateful the mission had a point.' He slightly underscored Carson's title, as if it were something that needed to be stepped on.
'It had a point.' Carson felt old. 'That's not the same as saying it was worth the cost.'
'I understand.' Morris had a slight wheeze. 'I would have you know that the loss of a crewman and two passengers is no small matter. There is paperwork to be done, explanations to be made. And regardless of the fact that the command of this ship is in no way culpable, the incident will nevertheless reflect poorly on me. You have certainly made your presence felt, sir.'
'I regret that we have been a problem.'
'No doubt. Unfortunately, prudence sometimes comes late. Well, no matter now. There's a memorial service this evening at 1900 on the shuttle deck.'
Carson smiled. 'Of course.' He shifted his weight, uncomfortable at feeling helpless before this man. 'Is there anything else?'
'No.' Morris' eyes found him again. This time they did not waver. 'I'm sorry for you, Doctor.'
There was no question that the crew of the Perth had liked Jake Dickenson.
Oversized photos of Jake, George, and Maggie dominated the walls. Jake sat in his cockpit; George had been photographed against a rocky shore, hatless and thoughtful; and Maggie, a head shot only, intense eyes, dark hair falling over one shoulder.
Approximately ninety people gathered for the ceremony. The crew wore uniforms with black arm patches; the passengers eschewed the colorful clothing which was the fashion of the time.
It was mercifully short. Jake's friends and shipmates described good times shared, the man's kindness, favors done but never before revealed. Some also recalled brief moments spent with Maggie or George.
Carson was pleased that no one seemed to be blaming him. We are in it together, they said, in several different ways.
The captain presided, clad in formal dark blue. He noted this was the first time the Catherine Perth had lost anyone. He would miss Jake, and although he hadn't really had the opportunity to get to know the deceased members of the Academy team, he was assured they were fine people, and he regretted their loss. Here he paused and his gaze swung slowly around the walls, lingering on each photo, coming finally to rest on the needle-nose prow of the shuttle.
'We can take our consolation,' he said somberly, 'in knowing they died advancing the cause of human knowledge.' His eyes were half-closed. 'They understood the risks, but they never hesitated.' To Carson, it sounded as if he were already planning his defense before the commission that would surely investigate the accident. 'We can offer no higher praise for Jake, Maggie, and George.' He glanced toward Carson, and requested the consideration of the Almighty on the assemblage. Carson thought that his friends deserved a better send-off than this hackneyed, dogeared ramble. But Morris rolled on.
When at last he finished, Carson wheeled forward.
