Men had thought for thousands of years that the unconscious mind recorded every detail of every sensation fed into the brain. For the entire lifetime of man that vast storehouse of sensation, memory, knowledge had offered challenge, and no man had ever discovered how to unlock it completely, but in that frozen continuum Dean Richards went back to beyond birth and experienced the sensations of being in his mother's womb. The possibilities were endless. He had lived a full life, and each minute sensation was there to be relived. When he finished with that, when he tired of that, there were books, entire books, every word, every page recorded there in his memory. The Bible alone would offer him entertainment for a few years, because he'd elected to study Old English while in the Academy and had fallen in love with the roll and thunder of it. Then there was Shakespeare. No, he would not go mad. Not for a long, long time. Chapter Three «Pete,» Jan said, «are we having our first fight?» The Stranden 47 had been searching the direct line between blink beacons NE794 and NE793 for over seventy-two hours. Jan had watched Pete grow gradually tireder and tireder as he insisted on pulling eight-hour shifts to her four hours. So she simply did not wake him up. She pulled eight hours and then had to shake him hard to awaken him from a deep sleep. Pete felt amazingly rested. As she walked back to the control room with him he grinned at her and said, «You see, I told you it was just a matter of learning how to sleep fast. I feel as rested after four hours' sleep as I would have after eight.» «That's good, dear,» Jan said. Then he saw the clock and said, «Now why did you go and do that? I told you how it was going to be.» «You needed some rest,» she said. «I'm not a baby. I can work eight hours.» «I don't want you working eight hours,» he yelled. «I'm the captain of this ship, and when I say wake me in four hours that's exactly what I mean.» And then, «No, dammit, we are not having our first fight. I'm just telling you—» He stopped yelling, grinned at her. She came to him and inserted herself into his arms with a contented little sigh. «Thanks, honey,» he said. «I miss you,» she whispered. «Me too.» Twice during his eight hours he went to the bedroom just to look at her and to count his blessings. It was a slow and tedious process. The ship would blink to the limit of its detection equipment's range, Pete would activate the detection units, see quickly that there was nothing within range, not a stray stone, not a ship the size of Rimfire, and then he'd blink again and go through the same thing over again. Days of it, weeks of it, months of it lay ahead of him. One lost an appreciation of the vast distances involved in blink travel until one had to cover the same space in diddly-bopping little hops. During that search of the space between the two beacons Pete got an idea of what life would have been like on an X&A ship assigned to laying down new blink ranges. He told Jan that maybe it was lucky he had a hole in his head so that he wasn't spending his life making short hops, checking detection instruments, waiting for the generator to build. He made no objection when, on her next watch, Jan pulled eight hours. He awakened naturally after a good, solid seven hours of sleep and came into control with a pot of fresh coffee and some of those excellent sweetmeats from Good Haven, a small planet back in the main body of the U.P. whose soil produced the most fantastic fruits and cereals in the entire known galaxy. «Hi,» he said. «Little taste of something?» «Ummm,» she said, reaching for a sweet. It was deliciously gooey and sticky, and she licked her fingers after eating it. He leaned over and kissed her. «You taste good,» he said. «You, too. Sweet.» «I'm always sweet. No action?» He punched the computer and got a quick read of the past seven hours. He wasn't checking up on her. She'd demonstrated that she'd learned well. It was just good policy to double-check. She did the same when she relieved him. «As you see,» she said. «More coffee?» «You're a doll,» she said, holding out her mug. «Ever consider how little important things change?» he mused. «This stuff. Coffee. It goes back into the dim, distant history of man. Back when there was only good, old Earth and it looked as if the race was intent on destroying itself with endless wars. Guys on duty on watercraft drank this stuff from wooden cups, or whatever they had then. I'll bet it tasted just as good then as it does now.» «My friendly philosopher,» Jan said. «Pete—» He looked up at her, lifting his eyes from the cream-whitened coffee. «I was playing around with that tape. The one from NE794?» «Yeah?» «I want you to hear something,» she said. She punched buttons. The brief, ghostly signal came into his ears, and then repeated itself several more times. «You've stretched it out just slightly,» he said. He'd noted the elapsed time on the meter of the communications bank. The original signal, microseconds long, had lasted twice as long. «No,» she said. «What do you mean, no?» «I mean it's not stretched. What you're hearing is the entire signal. Remember that little area which we thought might have been just a manufacturer's defect in the coating, or maybe an emission of some sort of energy which the tape was not designed to record? Well, I was fiddling with things. Frequency-distortion correction and things like that.» «Lord, you didn't mess up the original tape,» he said. «No. I used a duplicate to play with.» «So what did you do?» «I don't know, really. I was just playing with the machine to pass the time while the generator was building charge and I noticed that I could change the characteristic of the sound by making certain adjustments.» He nodded. «Honey, it doesn't mean anything. Actually, the sound we hear on that signal bears no direct relationship to the signal itself. A pre-blink signal is a kind of emission which is unique, and when it was first discovered there were no machines to convert it into something which our senses could detect. It's not sound, of course, nor light, nor anything but what it is. So they just arbitrarily chose to make the signal activate a sound-generating unit so that there'd be some way, other than looking at a sensitive meter, to know that a pre-blink signal was there.» She nibbled at another sweetmeat. «So all I did was just alter the tone of the sound?» «I'm afraid so.» «But that small area on the tape isn't like a regular blink signal. How did it get transcribed into sound waves?» He thought about it and it seemed to go around and around in his head. His fingers went up to toy with the dent in his skull over his ear. Jan was immediately sorry. She hadn't intended to pose a problem which would touch him in what he thought was his weak area. «Well, never mind,» she said. «Look, the generator's been drained. I used all of it in small jumps and now she's building.» She wiped her hands on a napkin, licked her lips, lifted herself from her chair to sit on his lap. «We have at least twenty minutes. Can you think of some way to spend it?» He could. He did. He left her sleeping peacefully and went to the control room. There he checked charge, decided to let the generator continue to build, punched up the tape she'd been playing with. He used the computer to analyze, and there was no difference between the first half of the signal, that ghostly beginning of a pre-blink emission, and the second half, which had been nothing more than a disturbed area on the coating of the tape. He rubbed his dent and tried to reason it out. He ran the problem through the computer and found that the odds against Jan's hitting the exact tone of that sound, starting with what was, in effect, nothing, were astronomical. The generator was on full charge. He started working, making the small leaps until he had the big beast drained down, finding nothing, then it was charge time again and he was back at the console, playing with Jan's tape.
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