Vectors Page 6

  Carl flushed. "If they are all part of Nature, they must be consistent with each other, mustn't they?"

  Nielsen smiled. "They are consistent, and fit God's great scheme. But there is no reason why you should be able to apply results from one to the other, as you seem to be trying to do." He settled back in his seat, then spoke again in kinder tones. "You see, Carl, truths may be distinct and absolute, standing in their own right. You must go and think about these things in more depth, until the relationship of our knowledge to the world we live in becomes more clear to you."

  After Carl had left the room, dejected and thoroughly confused, Mr. Nielsen reached into his desk and took out the Church Manual. It was as he had thought. The situation called for a full report, in person. He put on boots, a heavy coat, scarf, gloves and hat, and prepared to slog uphill through the snow to the bleak Mission, outlined above against the gun-metal sky.

  * * *

  "Sound and video on. Mr. Nielsen, please give us your report."

  The speaker was heavy-set and black-bearded, clad in the white uniform of the priesthood. He and his companion, a slight, fair-haired man, listened to the report, then asked detailed questions. Nielsen, his fingers too cold to unbutton his coat, and shivering in the unheated, stone-floored room, answered with chattering teeth. At last he was allowed to go, back into the harsh, gathering darkness of the late afternoon.

  As he left, the fair-haired priest locked the door and rubbed his hands together. "Damn cold today, Jason. Get the infra-red on in here, before I freeze. Let's hope Nielsen doesn't get frostbite on the way back to the school."

  His companion threw a wall switch and the radiant heaters concealed in the roof beams came on at once. "Don't worry about him," he replied. "Get me some coffee, and let's have some brandy in it. Though I must admit it would be a nuisance to have to replace Nielsen, he's so perfect for the job he does. He's convinced he's doing the most important job in the world. Anyway, Luis, what did you think of his report?"

  The fair-haired Luis turned from the wall cupboards, holding two steaming mugs in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Denning's coming on fast, Jason. Too fast, if you ask me. We'll have to recruit him a year early, by the look of it. He's beginning to get a smell of relativistic effects, and we don't want him spreading any of those ideas around the town." He poured hefty shots of brandy into the two mugs. "He won't accept Nielsen's views for much longer."

  Jason took one of the mugs and sipped it thoughtfully. "Pity, really. I'd like to have Denning finish this course before we take him—it's an awkward time to have to begin training him at the Center." He rubbed at his black beard with a powerful, square hand. "How about if we make sure he sees a burning?—that should keep him quiet for a while."

  "None scheduled here for a few months. Hold on a minute, Jason." Luis went to the wall computer and keyed the event data service. "There's one two weeks from now in Lukon. That should be near enough–it's not more than forty miles north. We'll need to fix up a reason for Denning to be up there."

  "Easy enough. We'll have him visit the science museum there and arrange for him to get stranded." He placed his mug back on the wall table. "Your turn to make the arrangements. And I'll bet you one thing, Luis. I bet we have to do something more about Denning before the year is over, burning or no burning. I've seen him, and I think he's moving fast enough to reject all the usual answers long before that. We'd better face it, Luis, Denning's a good deal smarter than either of us."

  Luis scowled. "He's not eighteen yet. I'll take that bet. I don't think he's all that unusual."

  As he spoke, the two men entered the elevator that carried them below ground level to the electronic heart of the Mission. They didn't give a second thought to Nielsen, still struggling back downhill to the school. Outside, the temperature was dropping steadily, already well below freezing and heading down for thirty below. The night was clear, with an ice halo circling the full moon. The radio messages from the Mission went out to the northern mountains, where Vega burned blue-white above the Lukon Pass, and on to the Processing Center beyond.

  * * *

  "Gone back to Briarsford? Already? But I was told to be here at five o'clock, for a five-thirty return." Carl held out the paper he was carrying.

  The uniformed attendant shook his head. "Showing me the paper won't help. Four-thirty, the hovercraft leaves, every other day. There's no other way of getting there while the snow lasts. You're stuck here in Lukon until Monday, and that's something I can't change."

  "But I've got no money, and nowhere to stay. I'll freeze to death, or starve."

  The older man laughed. "We're not quite that barbaric here, you know. In Redman's name, what do you take us for? Mr. Nielsen asked me to keep an eye out for you, and you're to stay at the Church Hostel. It's about a mile from here, on the road past the big square. And here's a food voucher for you, compliments of Lukon. If I were you, I'd spend my time worrying about what they'll be saying to you when you get back there. Mr. Nielsen says it's the first time they've lost a boy in fifty visits to the Science Museum. How come you got separated from the rest?"

  "I'm doing a special report on hydroelectric power for a school project. They left me off in the power section when the rest of them went on to the biology exhibits." Carl took the food voucher and slipped it into a pocket of his greatcoat. "That report was Mr. Nielsen's idea, anyway."

  The attendant shrugged. "Mix-up somewhere, that's for sure. You'd better get over to the Hostel now, while it's not too cold. There's supposed to be a thaw tonight, but I don't feel any signs of it yet. Here, I'll point you the way."

  Carl walked over the crackling, blackened ice that formed a mottled crust on the main street of Lukon. Old ice, proof of the long freeze. On either side the houses were stone-built and small, crouching back from the road and closed against the night. As he approached the main square he saw the first signs of activity. A crowd of men had gathered on the central, stone-flagged forum, where two priests of Redman stood by a dark, glistening heap. A white-haired man in a heavy robe was standing, head bowed, between them.

  Carl's way to the Hostel was blocked, and he was curious to find out what was going on. He approached the edge of the crowd and moved beside a short, hooded figure who was a little to the rear of the rest of the group.

  "What are they doing there?" he asked. "Has there been an accident?"

  The cowled figure turned to him. It was a woman in her mid-twenties, with dark, straight hair cut low across her forehead. There was not enough light for him to make out the color of her eyes in the depths of her hood. She smiled at him bitterly.

  "You must be even younger than you look. Haven't you ever seen a burning before?"

  He looked at the priests and the frail figure between them. His face mirrored his confusion. "No, I've never heard of such a thing. You don't mean they are going to burn the old man?"

  The woman put her head back and laughed, this time with genuine amusement. "We haven't come quite to that, yet, even here. It's a book burning—see the heap there, covered in kerosene? Those are books, forbidden texts that the Church of Redman has banned. The old man's 'crime' was keeping them in his library." Her tone was scornful and reckless. "Listen to that crowd of mindless fools."

  Carl only half-heard the jeers and taunts of the crowd as the priest placed a torch in the hand of the old man and led him forward, white head shaking, to ignite the soaked pile. He took the woman by the sleeve of her robe.

  "What are these forbidden books about? Why are they forbidden?"

  "Science. The forbidden sciences." The woman looked at Carl again, noted his intensity, and swiftly looked around her. "This is no place to talk about it, though. I've already said too much. This crowd will be full of Church observers, watching for people talking as we are." Her eyes took on a flickering, reddish-brown reflection as the flames in the square blazed higher. "Look, if you really want to talk more about this, meet me tomorrow at noon, in the Artisans' restaurant. No more talk now. G
et out of here—it's not safe to be at a burning unless you are willing to mock men like Wilhelm the librarian there."

  She turned quickly and pushed through the thin edge of the crowd. Carl looked after her, then turned again to the scene by the fire. The old man was being led away, tears running down his grimy face. The remaining priest turned to the crowd and seemed to be looking straight at Carl.

  "Learn the lesson. Disregard the teachings of Redman at your own risk. There must be no breaking of the Divine Law, and you must cast from your minds and thoughts all ideas of the Old Religion or the forbidden sciences. Now, go to your homes."

  The crowd began to disperse. Carl took a last look at the smoldering heap, then turned to continue up the hill to the Church Hostel. The priest watched him go, then whispered into the cowl of his robe as though in prayer.

  "Worked exactly according to plan. I think I've won my bet, Jason. Denning shouldn't give us any trouble now—he's as easily impressed as the rest of these simpletons here. By the way, call up Headquarters and tell them we've got an unexpected prize from this burning. Pauli's 1921 review article on General Relativity—in mint condition.

  "One other thing." His tone was casual. "The old librarian whose books we confiscated is having some kind of breakdown. We'll have to keep an eye on him for a few weeks. A nuisance, but it can't be helped."

  The priest walked slowly to the Lukon Mission, his robe a little bulky. He arrived there just as Carl was settling into his hard bed at the Hostel, his mind busy with the events of the day. The Science Museum, with its endless arrays of exhibits—certain omissions there resonated in his mind, adding to other facts and inconsistencies that he had noticed in the past two years. Then the burning of the books, with the tantalizing references to the 'forbidden sciences', and the mysterious words of the dark-haired woman. They all spun furiously together in his head, until sleep at last removed them.

  * * *

  The long-awaited thaw had begun during the night. Carl had gone to sleep to the soft rustle of powdery ice flakes against the window-pane. He awoke to a leaden grey sky and a harsh sleet. In a standard issue raincoat and plastic cape he walked gingerly down the hill on the slick, melting surface of the packed snow, past the long line of evergreens, white and bowed down by their glittering burden of ice, until he came to the Artisans' restaurant.

  Inside, he looked around at each table. The building was dimly-lit, with ornate examples of wood carving, stone work and metal castings—samples of the artisans' work—in every available nook and corner. He wandered about among the decorations, but although it was already noon there was no sign of the woman. He was turning to look in the street again when a hand took his elbow and a voice behind him said, "The table in the corner. Don't turn round, go to it."

  She was wearing the same hooded robe. When she sat across the table from Carl, smiled at him and threw back the cowl, he could get a good look at her for the first time. Her black hair was cut short all round, and her eyes, shielded from view last night, were a clear, dark grey. Her nose was straight and a bit too big, giving her face a decisive, determined look.

  "I waited to make sure you were alone." She held out her hand. "I'm Sarah Henderson."

  Carl took her hand uncertainly. The school gave no training in the social graces. "I'm Carl Denning. I'm from Briarsford, south of here, and I'm just visiting Lukon for a few days."

  She nodded. "I knew you were a stranger to the city. Do you have a food voucher? Let me have it for a minute."

  She took out her own meal book, left her coat on the wooden bench and slipped away. A few minutes later she was back, carrying two large earthenware bowls of pea soup and a stack of sandwiches.

  "Somebody's looking after you well. They gave you an unlimited food voucher. I took advantage of it to get us a bit more than the usual lunch here."

  She was very easy to talk to. As they ate Carl found himself explaining how he came to be in Lukon, about his science training, about his feelings that there were some vital facts being withheld. He began to explain until she stopped him with a shake of her dark head.

  "You're wasting your time, Carl. I don't know much about science. They decided years ago that I was best suited to be a language specialist, and that's been my job since then. I'm not teaching now, because they closed the schools until the weather improves. I teach language, and I specialize in poetry and literature."

  "But you seemed to know all about the science books that were burned last night. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

  "I know about books, because a lot of my friends work in libraries. Wilhelm last night is one of them. He doesn't know anything about science, either, but he loves books, and he can't stand the idea of destroying any. I feel the same way."

  "But so do I, Sarah. We use books about science all the time, and none of us would think of destroying them. Why do you do it here in Lukon?"

  Sarah hesitated, biting her lower lip. "It's not just here, Carl," she said at last. "It's everywhere. You just haven't met it yet. You will. Books about science, from a certain period of time, are banned."

  "Only about science?"

  "That's all I know about. From about 1880 until the rise of the Church of Redman, in 2030, a lot of books were written that are on the forbidden list. They must be surrendered to the Church."

  "What happened in 1880? All the basic laws of science that we are taught were known then, anyway."

  "I can't tell you that, Carl. You're the science expert." Her voice dropped. "I was given a copy of a book that's on the Forbidden Index, two years ago. I kept it because it's a rarity—very old, printed on woodpulp paper, and with text set by hand instead of computer. It was written a hundred and fifty years ago, but it's in good condition. Would you like to see it?"

  Carl nodded and half-rose from his chair. Sarah held out a restraining hand. "Steady now—I don't have it here with me. It's at my house, a mile north of here. Finish your food and then we'll go. Try not to attract more attention—there are people in Lukon who disapprove of my opinions already. I don't want to add to that."

  Outside, the sleet was turning to a relentless, hissing rain, driving down hard. The sky was so dark that evening seemed well-advanced, although it was still early afternoon. They trudged, heads down, through the slippery, empty streets. Carl thought again that Lukon was a town without colors, all washed-out greys and somber browns. The rain was so heavy that it seemed to get in everywhere. Their clothing could not keep it out and they were both soaked to the skin before they had walked half a mile. Carl felt an icy trickle working its way inside his collar and down his left shoulder. He shivered, and tried to pull his cape more tightly about him.

  They reached Sarah's house with great relief, squelching up the sodden driveway, with its darkening cover of pitted snow, and Sarah unlocked the front door of the low, two-roomed stone house. She went across to the big fireplace and opened the dampers as far as they would go. Water dripped from her clothes, sizzling on the hearth and staining the big fur rug in front of the fire with dark spots.

  "Here, we've got to get some dry things on, Carl," she said. "We'll begin to steam in a few minutes and I've had enough colds already this winter. I don't have anything long enough in the arms and legs for you, but I can at least get you a dry robe if you don't mind looking a bit strange."

  She went into the bedroom, and rummaged in a big, carved chest there, while Carl squelched backwards and forwards in front of the fire, looking about him with interest. The house was built of heavy limestone, thick-walled and solid. The mixture of old, hand-made furniture with official Church equipment was strange to him, used to the strict modern style of the Briarsford school.

  "Can't you see what worries me, Sarah?" he called through the open bedroom door. "Look, even here in your own house. Look at that." He pointed at her television set. "How does it work?"

  "The on-off switch is on the left," said Sarah. "Volume is on the right."

  "I don't mean that!" Carl was exaspera
ted. "I mean, how can it work, with the science we are taught. Where do the signals come from, and how do they make a picture? Most people don't seem to care, but I want to understand how."

  Sarah came back into the living-room. "Well, you're asking the wrong person." She had changed into a soft green woolen sweater and knee-length fawn skirt, her legs bare except for soft leather slippers. Carl looked at her pale knees and smooth, shapely calves, still holding the faint ghost of a summer tan, then turned his eyes away in confusion. She handed him a great armful of assorted clothing.

  "Here, go into the bedroom and try your luck with these. I don't have any shoes for you, but here's a pair of oversocks that should keep you warm enough." She threw more logs on the fire. "I don't know how to answer your questions. Have you looked in the library at the school for your answers?"

  Carl's grunt of disgust sounded from the bedroom. "I've been through the whole library, and I've asked all the teachers. They're useless. Even on basic things. Look, even in your arts courses you must have covered evolution. How long did they tell you it took to go from mud to man?"

  "I don't know. Billions of years, I think they said."

  "All right. That means the sun must have been shining, more or less the way it is now, for all that time. Where does it get the energy? I've calculated how much heat it must give out in a year, and there's no way it could keep that up for a billion years with anything we've been taught. Burning won't do it, gravitational contraction won't do it, nothing can do it."

  She was startled by the conviction in his voice. He came back into the living-room, a gawky stork-like figure in a robe ten sizes too small for him. Sarah suppressed a smile.

  "Mechanics and physics sound all right, Sarah," he went on, oblivious of his appearance. "A perfect logical structure—until you take a close look, and try and synthesize. Look at electricity. We have it, but where does it come from?"