Part 3 (2/2)

”Something's wrong,” he said. He went through the sequence again, watching his fingers move fleetingly over the keys-and saw his error. He had missed the 2 b.u.t.ton for Memory Two and hit the TIMES b.u.t.ton instead. ”Can't put it in TIMES MEMORY!” he said. ”That would mean I'd have to punch MEMORY TIMES RECALL to get it out, and the poor machine would think I'd gone crazy and have to flash overload lights at me to jog me out of it.” As he spoke, he punched the foolish sequence he had named. The readout showed 11.023113.

Brother Paul stared at that. Then he erased the sequence and went through it all again, carefully punching the erroneous TIMES MEMORY, which was not supposed to exist. The same thing happened: he got the number back. ”But that means this thing has a third memory-and it's only built for two,” he said.

So he tested it methodically, for there was nothing so intriguing to him as a good mystery or paradox. He punched the number 111 into Memory One, 222 into Memory Two, and 333 into MEMORY TIMES. Then he punched out each in turn. Up they came, like the chosen cards of a sleight-of-hand magician: 111- 222-0.

”Zero!” he exclaimed. ”So it isn't true!” But just to be certain, he repeated the process, this time checking TIMES MEMORY first-and the 333 appeared. He checked for the 222 and found it, and then the 111-and it was there too. No doubt about it; he now had three memories. But the third one was intermittent, following some law of its own, as though it were half wild.

”Half wild...” he repeated aloud, thinking of something else. But if he got off on that, he would not solve the present mystery. He glanced at his watch. He had really gobbled up time with his calculations! Ten minutes, forty-two seconds, give or take a second, since he had set the counter. How long would they dawdle about mattermitting this capsule?

He cleared the readout and punched MEMORY TIMES again. The 333 reappeared. ”A ghost in the machine,” he said. ”A secret memory, unknown to-”

”So you found me,” a voice responded. ”Yet I was always here, to be evoked.”

Brother Paul's eyes flicked from the calculator to his watch-ten minutes, forty-nine seconds-then lifted slowly. A man stood before him, on the far side of the sewing machine. He was young, but with receding hair and chin, as though he had been subjected to early stress. No, that was a false characterization; physical appearance had little to do with personality. ”Sorry. I did not see you arrive,” Brother Paul said. ”Are you traveling to Planet Tarot too?”

The man smiled, but there was something strange about the way his mouth moved.

”Perhaps-if you so choose.”

”I am Brother Paul of the Holy Order of Vision.” He put forth his hand.

”I am Antares,” the man said, but made no motion to accept the hand.

”Well, Mr. Antares-or is it Brother Antares? Are you another investigator?”

”It is only Antares. s.e.xual designations have little meaning to my kind, and you would not understand my personal designation. Do you not know me?”

Brother Paul looked at him again, more carefully this time. This was just an ordinary man, wearing a dark tunic. ”I regret that the only Antares I know of is a bright red star.”

”Exactly.”

”You a.s.sociate with the star Antares?” Brother Paul asked, perplexed.

”I am the emissary from Sphere Antares, yes,” the man affirmed.

”I was not aware that our colonies extended so far. Isn't Antares many hundreds of light-years distant from Sol?”

”About five hundred of your light-years, yes, in your constellation Scorpio. We are not a colony, but a separate Sphere. There are many sapient Spheres in the galaxy, and in other galaxies, each highly advanced in the center and fading in technology and competence at the fringe, owing to the phenomenon of spherical regression. Thus each empire has certain natural limits, depending on-”

”Scorpio,” Brother Paul said musingly, grasping that portion of the alien's discussion to which he could relate. ”The constellation.”

”The scorpion that slew Orion, in your mythology,” the man said agreeably. ”Of course, in real history, the constellation you call Orion's Belt is the center of Sphere Mintaka, perhaps the largest and most influential Sphere in this sector of galactic s.p.a.ce, with the possible exception of Sphere Sador. A giant, certainly, but never slain by anything in our rather more modest Sphere!

Actually, war between the Spheres is virtually unknown, because of the problems of communication and transport.”

Brother Paul was still belatedly a.s.similating the implications. ”Perhaps I misunderstand. It almost seems that you imply you are a man from a-a regime centered in the region of the s.p.a.ce known as-”

”Not a man, Solarian Brother Paul. I am an Antarean, a sapient creature quite alien to your type, except in intellect.”

”An alien creature!” Was this a joke? Brother Paul looked at his watch. The counter indicated ten minutes, forty-nine seconds. Well, he would test Antares statement. ”I regret that I have not encountered many alien creatures. Your form appears human-or is that a mirage?”

”This is my Solarian host. My aura was transferred to this host so that I could present to your species the technology of matter transmission. In exchange you gave us controlled hydrogen fusion.”

Matter transmission! ”You brought us that breakthrough technology?”

”True. It would otherwise have been some time before your Sphere developed it.

The principles are foreign to the main thrust of your technology, just as the principles of hydrofusion are foreign to ours. In fact, historically, our experts believed it was theoretically impossible to accomplish such a process artificially. Our Theory of Absolutivity-”

This was a strange joke! ”Antares, I would like to see you in your alien form.

Would you mind materializing in that?” If this were a prank, that would expose it!

The person before him faded. In his place appeared a large amoebalike ma.s.s. On its top, it erected a pattern of spongy k.n.o.bs that flexed up and down like the keys of a player piano. Then it flung out a pseudopod, a glob of gelatinous substance that landed a meter to the side connected to the main ma.s.s by a dwindling tendril. Fluid pulsed along this tendril, distending it, collecting at the end, swelling the glob until it approached the size of the main body. The process continued, making the glob even larger until at last it was the original body that was a glob, while the glob had expanded to the size of the original ma.s.s. Then the trailing tendril was sucked in. The creature now stood one meter to the side of where it had stood before. It had taken one step.

It faded, and the man reappeared. ”We Antareans may be slow, but there are few places we cannot go,” he said. ”I have returned to the form of my human host so that I may converse with you; I doubt that you are facile in my native language.”

”Uh, thank you,” Brother Paul said. ”That was an impressive demonstration. May I touch you?”

”I regret you cannot,” the alien said. ”Both my forms are insubstantial. You perceive only an animation shaped by my aura, and this is possible only while we endure in the process of transmission. You may pa.s.s your appendage through the image, but you will feel nothing.”

”So you are a ghost,” Brother Paul said. ”An apparition without substance.

Nevertheless, I am inclined to make the attempt.” He reached forward slowly, over the sewing machine.

Antares did not retreat the way a joker might. He stood still, waiting for the touch.

There was no touch. Brother Paul felt a slight tingling, as of an electrical charge that gave him an odd thrill but no physical contact. This was, indeed, a ghost.

”Your aura! Amazing!” Antares exclaimed. ”Never have I felt the like!”

This was strange, and far beyond the parameters of a practical joke. ”My aura?”

”Solarian Brother Paul, now I know I have never touched you before, for there can be no other aura in your Sphere like yours. Or in my own Sphere. Perhaps not in the Spheres of Spica, Canopus, Polaris. or even huge Sador. I suspect there is none of greater intensity in all the galaxy, for only once in a thousand of your years is there a statistical probability of-why did you not come to me sooner?”

Brother Paul withdrew his hand, perplexed. ”I do not know what you mean by 'aura.' I have never met you before-or any other ghost-and had no notion that you were to accompany me on this mission. Are you really a creature from another region of s.p.a.ce?”

”I really am,” Antares said. ”More correctly, was. I faded out some time ago, and remain only as the captive aura of this process. As you so aptly put it, the ghost in the machine.”

”I was speaking of the ghostly third memory in this little calculator,” Brother Paul said. ”It was designed to have only two memories, yet-”

”Allow me to examine it,” Antares said.

Brother Paul held it out, and the alien pa.s.sed his immaterial hand through it ”Ah, yes. That is a memory, but not precisely of the other type. It is what you call the constant: the figure retained for multiple operations. Because every element of this keyboard is dual-function, in certain cases that duality permits a direct readout of the normally hidden constant.”

”The constant!” Brother Paul exclaimed. ”Of course! No ghost at all, merely a misunderstood function. Like an autonomic function of the body, not ordinarily evoked consciously.”

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