James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World

He opens the door into Kirk’s back, generating a flurry of false apologies. The place is still a mess and Margaret is not there. But the tall grey-haired civilian is, apparently taking leave of Noah.

“Dan, I want you to meet Major Drew Fearing.” Noah waves, beaming. “Major, Doctor Daniel Dann is in charge of our psychobiological correlations. That is, the neural and physical changes that characterize successful transfer. Dan, Major Fearing is here from the Department of Defense. Do help me convince him that we can’t start tests without proper instrumentation. It would be a dreadful error, half the value would be lost. Really—”

Under Noah’s barrage Dann and Major Fearing have been looking each other over, or rather, Dann has received the impression of having been instantly and completely recorded on some device behind the veiled grey eyes. The eyes at once drift away, leaving him to examine Fearing’s exterior. Major Fearing—if that’s his real name, Dann recalls Costakis’ lesson—does not look military. Or Naval. Or foreign service. In fact, Dann has seldom met a less classifiable man. His former impression of Waspish aquilinity tinged with some exotic flavor is confirmed: Fearing’s lips and nostrils have a thin, baroque curve. His formal half-smile was gentlemanly and transient. Beyond that he conveys nothing except an intensely neutral quality.

Dann has been trying to sort his neurones into a orderly argument, but it proves unnecessary.

“Quite all right, Doctor Catledge,” Fearing says at Noah’s first pause. “Lieutenant Kirk will see that you have your equipment. We will signal the ship to delay the first test until, say, noon tomorrow?”

The voice is rather charming and conveys a new element: absolute authority.

“Right, sir.” Kirk is all doggy eagerness. No, thinks Dann, the Labrador is much more dignified.

“Fine, Major, fine,” says Noah. “But the equipment must be here.”

Kirk looks shocked. Dann is pleased by the little gnome’s spunk, and then wonders why. Why the hell not? Who is this Fearing character supposed to be?

Whoever he is, he has silently gone. Kirk has to trot to catch up. The sedan driver closes them in, lets the Labrador into the front, and they’re away. From the back of the barracks Dann can hear Costakis and the Cubans struggling with another door.

“Who is he, Noah?”

“Represents D.O.D., I believe. Some intelligence body interested in our effort. I never saw him before. Well, now we don’t have to worry.”

Dann turns to leave, turns back. “Noah… If I might suggest something. I’d keep that fellow as far out of sight as possible.”

Noah gives him an unexpectedly alert look and bobs his head.

Now why the devil did I do that, Dann asks himself, going out into the pleasant afternoon. And why do I feel traitorous; it was only good sense. The man upsets them. But something inside him acknowledges his real reason. Let nothing wake me up. Let this whole ridiculous business just go on being ridiculous, unreal, cool.

Just as he nears the pool it happens.

Dann has never had a “psychic” experience. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s having one now. Suddenly, the lawn, woods, barracks are invaded—transformed by a great wave of soundless motion, as if a hurricane was somehow blowing in place. He glimpses an immense landscape of wind-torn clouds while a light unlike anything he knows sweeps round him, roaring silently—

—And is gone.

He staggers in place, grasping something which turns out to be the back of a metal chair. Has he had a vascular-cerebral accident?

Dazed, he stares around, automatically checking limb and facial function. Everything nominal except his heart rate, which is about one-twenty.

As his gaze focusses he realizes that the women by the pool are in an agitated huddle. Ted Yost and Rick are running toward them.

“Doctor Dann! Doctor Dann!”

He walks to them, his heart slowing. What in God’s name was it?

“Doctor Dann!” Winona cries. “Did you feel it too?”

“Yes, I felt… something. I have no idea what in the world it was.”

“It wasn’t in this world.” Val rubs her eyes.

“That was the sea,” Ted Yost tells them. “It was a great storm at sea, we picked it out of somebody’s mind.”

“I tell you this is a shitty place,” Frodo says murderously.

“I don’t know…” Winona looks around puzzledly. “Was it bad? I felt something like Hello. Didn’t you get it?”

Rick says nothing. His eyes are sullen again. Not sullen, Dann corrects himself, pained. Has Rick woken up? Don’t be idiotic.

“The wind that blows between the worlds cut through him like a knife,” Dann finds himself saying unexpectedly. “Kipling. You wouldn’t know it,” he grins at Frodo, getting some of his own back.

Beside them the door of the women’s barracks opens and Margaret Omali steps out.

“Margaret, did you feel that too?” Winona calls up at her.

“Feel what?” She has a magazine in her hand, Dann sees.

“Like a big wind, in our heads,” Valerie says.

“That’s your department, not mine,” Margaret says without expression. She walks down the steps and heads for the test barracks, as if she had intended to do that all along.

“I felt that, what you call it.” Costakis bustles up to them. “So did the fellas. They’re taking off.”

In fact, the two Cuban workmen are hustling out to their truck, followed by Noah’s remonstrations. As they get in the truck one of them makes a hand sign at the group by the pool.

“They’re giving us the evil eye!” Frodo laughs.

“I tell you,” mutters Costakis obscurely. The truck accelerates away.

Winona giggles. “Say, do you think everybody in this camp felt it? Maybe they think we did it to them! Wouldn’t that be funny?”

Costakis looks up at her. “That could be just exactly right,” he says in his pinched voice. “Only you’re wrong, Missus. It wouldn’t be funny. It wouldn’t be funny at all. Not here.”

DARK AND ENORMOUS, THE SOLITARY ONE HAS FOUND DEADLY DIVERSION IN THE VOID.

IT HAS BEEN TURNING A PORTION OF ITS PAIN-RIDDEN ATTENTION TO SOME EMANATIONS WHICH TRACE TO A CLOT OF MATTER IN THE TRAIN OF A SMALL BLUE STAR. AS USUAL, THE WEAKNESS OF THE RECEPTION IRRITATES. WHY WILL THIS NOT COME STRONGER AND MORE CLEAR?

A MISTY IDEA CONDENSES INTO IMPULSE: WHAT IF I EXPERIMENT? WHAT IF I USE MY TIME-POWERS— ALONE?

THE THOUGHT IS HORRIFYING, SUPREMELY PROHIBITED. AGITATED, THE VAST ENTITY SWIRLS AWAY, A NOISY VACUUM SWEEPING OUT CHAOS.

BUT THE WICKED THOUGHT RECURS. AND WITH IT COMES ANOTHER: HOW CAN ILLEGALITY HAVE MEANING NOW? AM I NOT MYSELF THE ULTIMATE ILLEGALITY? WHY SHOULD I NOT EXECUTE-ANY-THING?

WHY NOT?

ANOTHER OF THE EMANATING SPECKS IS NEAR IT NOW, COUPLED TO TWIN YELLOW SUNS WHOSE ORBITS ARE A FRACTION OF ITS OWN LENGTH. THEY WILL SERVE. WITH A SLOW SHUDDER OF THE WHOLE HUGE BEING, TIME-POWER IS MARSHALED AND FOCUSSED ON THE FIERY LITTLE ORBS. OFTEN THIS MANEUVER HAS BEEN PERFORMED IN CONCERT OF THE PLAN: NEVER BEFORE ALONE. SO BE IT.

THE TARGETS GO THROUGH THEIR FAMILIAR CHANGES, BRIGHTENING, THEN REDDENING SUDDENLY AS THEY EXPAND TO DISRUPTION. AT THE SAME TIME, THE TINY OUTPUT FROM THE MATTER IN THE SYSTEM AMPLIFIES SATISFYINGLY. LOUDER, CLEARER—IT RISES TO PAROXYSMAL STRENGTH, TREMBLING ON THE BRINKOFSOMECOMPREHENSI-BILITY. JUST AS—SOMETHING—CAN ALMOST BE RECOGNIZED, THEY SUDDENLY CEASE.

TRY AGAIN. ANOTHER SIMILAR SMALL SINGLE SYSTEM IS EMITTING NEARBY. THE TIME-THRUST IS FOCUSSED, ENERGIZED. THIS PRIMARY DOES NOT COMPLETELY DISSIPATE: IT GOES TO A COLLAPSED, POINTLIKE EXISTENCE. BUT AGAIN THE TINY OUTPUT RISES TANTALIZINGLY TOWARD RECOGNITION BEFORE IT TOO ABRUPTLY CUTS OUT.