be saved from struggling with a more detailed explanation. And maybe the
old man did understand some of it. He was no fool in his own subject,
certainly. Sather Karf pondered for a moment, and then nodded with
apparent satisfaction. "Your world was more advanced in understanding
than I had thought. This computer is a fine scientific instrument,
obeying natural law well. We have applied the same methods, though less
elaborately. But the basic magical principle of similarity is the
foundation of true science."
Dave started to protest, and then stopped, frowning. In a way, what the
other had said was true. Maybe there was some relation between science
and magic, after all; there might even be a meeting ground between the
laws of the two worlds he knew. Computers set up similar conditions,
with the idea that the results would apply to the original. Magic used
some symbolic part of a thing in manipulations that were to be effective
for the real thing. The essential difference was that science was
predictive and magic was effective--though the end results were often
the same. On Dave's world, the cardinal rule of logic was that the
symbol was not the thing--and work done on symbols had to be translated
by hard work into reality. Maybe things were really more logical here
where the symbol was the thing, and all the steps in between thought and
result were saved.
"So we are all at fault," Sather Karf said finally. "We should have
studied you more deeply and you should have been more honest with us.
Then we could have obtained a computer for you and you could have
simulated our sky as it should be within your computer and forced it to
be repaired long ago. But there's no time for regrets now. We cannot
help you, so you must help yourself. Build a computer, Dave Hanson!"
"It's impossible."
Sudden rage burned on the old man's face, and he came to his feet. His
arm jerked back and snapped forward. Nothing happened. He grimaced at
the ruined sky. "Dave Hanson," he cried sharply, "by the unfailing power
of your name which is all of you, I hold you in my mind and your throat
is in my hand--"
The old hands squeezed suddenly, and Hanson felt a vise clamp down
around his throat. He tried to break free, but there was no escape. The
old man mumbled, and the vise was gone, but something clawed at Hanson's
liver. Something else rasped across his sciatic nerve. His kidneys
seemed to be wrenched out of him.
"You will build a computer," Sather Karf ordered. "And you _will_ save
our world!"
Hanson staggered from the shock of the pain, but he was no longer unused
to agony. He had spent too many hours under the baking of the sun, the
agony of the snetha-knife and the lash of an overseer's whip. The agony
could not be stopped, but he'd learned it could be endured. His
fantastic body could heal itself against whatever they did to him, and
his mind refused to accept the torture supinely. He took a step toward
Sather Karf, and another. His hands came up as he moved forward.
Bork laughed suddenly. "Let up, Sather Karf, or you'll regret it. By the
laws, you're dealing with a _man_ this time. Let up, or I'll free him to
meet you fairly."
The old man's eyes blazed hotly. Then he sighed and relaxed. The
clutching hands and the pain were gone from Hanson as the Sather Karf
slumped back wearily to his seat.
"Fix our sky," the old man said woodenly.
Hanson staggered back, panting from his efforts. But he nodded. "All
right," he agreed. "Like Bork, I think a man has to fight against his
fate, no matter how little chance he has. I'll do what I can. I'll build
the damned computer. But when I'm finished, I'll wait for _your_ true
name!"
Suddenly Sather Karf laughed. "Well said, Dave Hanson. You'll have my
name when the time comes. And whatever else you desire. Also what poor
help we can give you now. Ser Perth, bring food for Dave Hanson!"
Ser Perth shook his head sadly. "There is none. None at all. We hoped
that the remaining planets would find a favorable conjunction, but--"
Dave Hanson studied his helpers with more bitterness. "Oh, hell!" he
said at last. He snapped his fingers. "Abracadabra!"
His skill must be improving, since he got exactly what he had wished
for. A full side of beef materialized against his palm, almost breaking
his arm before he could snap it out of the way. The others swarmed
hungrily toward it. At their expressions of wonder, Hanson felt more
confidence returning to him. He concentrated and went through the little
ritual again. This time loaves of bread rained down--fresh bread, and
even of the brand he had wished for. Maybe he was becoming a magician
himself, with a new magic that might still accomplish something.
Sather Karf smiled approvingly. "The theory of resonance, I see.
Unreliable generally. More of an art than a science. But you show
promise of remarkable natural ability to apply it."
"You know about it?" Dave had assumed that it was completely outside
their experience and procedures.
"We _knew_ it. But when more advanced techniques took over, most of us
forgot it. The syllables resonate in a sound pattern with your world, to
which you also still resonate. It won't work for you with anything from
this world, nor will anything work thus for us from yours. We had
different syllables, of course, for use here." Sather Karf considered
it. "But if you can control it and bring in one of your computers or the
parts for one--"
Sixteen tries later, Dave was cursing as he stared at a pile of useless
items. He'd gotten transistors at first. Then he lost control with too
much tension or fatigue and began getting a bunch of assorted junk, such
as old 201-A tubes, a transit, a crystal vase and resistors. But the
chief trouble was that he couldn't secure working batteries. He had
managed a few, but all were dead.
"Like the soul, electrical charges will not transfer," Sather Karf
agreed sadly. "I should have told you that."
There was no electricity here with which to power anything, and their
spells could not be made to work now. Even if he could build a computer
out of what was obtainable, there would be no way to power it.
Overhead, the sky shattered with a roar, and another piece fell, tearing
downwards toward the city. Sersa Garm stared upwards in horror.
"Mars!" he croaked. "Mars has fallen. Now can there be no conjunction
ever!"
He tautened and his body rose slowly from the ground. A scream ripped
from his lips and faded away as he began rushing upwards with increasing
speed. He passed but of their sight, straight toward the new hole in the
sky.
IX
In the hours that followed, Dave's vague plans changed a dozen times as
he found each idea unworkable. His emotional balance was also
erratic--though that was natural, since the stars were completely
berserk in what was left of the sky. He seemed to fluctuate between
bitter sureness of doom and a stupidly optimistic belief that something
could be done to avert that doom. But whatever his mood, he went on
working and scheming furiously. Maybe it was the desperate need to keep
himself occupied that drove him, or perhaps it was the pleading he saw
in the eyes around him. In the end, determination conquered his
pessimism.
Somewhere in the combination of the science he had learned in his own
world and the technique of magic that applied here there had to be an
answer--or a means to hold back the end of the world until an answer
could be found.
The biggest problem was the number of factors with which he had to deal.
There were seven planets and the sun, and three thousand fixed stars.
All had to be ordered in their courses, and the sky had to be complete
in his calculations.
He had learned his trade where the answer was always to add one more
circuit in increasing complexity. Now he had to think of the simplest
possible similarity computer. Electronics was out, obviously. He tried
to design a set of cams, like the tide machine, to make multiple
tracings on paper similar to a continuous horoscope, but finally gave
it up. They couldn't build the parts, even if there had been time.
He had to depend on what was available, since magic couldn't produce any
needed device and since the people here had depended on magic too long
to develop the other necessary skills. When only the broadest powers of
magic remained, they were hopeless. Names were still potent, resonance
worked within its limits, and the general principles of similarity still
applied; but those were not enough for them. They depended too heavily
on the second great principle of contagion, and that seemed to be
wrapped up with some kind of association through the signs and houses
and the courses of the planets.
He found himself thinking in circles of worry and pulled himself back to
his problem. Normally, a computer was designed for flexibility and to
handle varying conditions. This one could be designed to handle only one
set of factors. It had to duplicate the courses of the objects in their
sky and simulate the general behavior of the dome. It was not necessary
to allow for all theoretical courses, but only for the normal orbits.
And finally he realized that he was thinking of a model--the one thing
which is functionally the perfect analogue.
It brought him back to magic again. Make a doll like a man and stick
pins in it--and the man dies. Make a model of the universe within the
sky, and any changes in that should change reality. The symbol was the
thing, and a model was obviously a symbol.
He began trying to plan a model with three thousand stars in their
orbits, trying to find some simple way of moving them. The others
watched in fascination. They apparently felt that the diagrams he was
drawing were some kind of scientific spell. Ser Perth was closer than
the others, studying the marks he made. The man suddenly pointed to his
computations.
"Over and over I find the figure seven and the figure three thousand. I
assume that the seven represents the planets. But what is the other
figure?"
"The stars," Hanson told him impatiently.
Ser Perth shook his head. "That is wrong. There were only two thousand
seven hundred and eighty-one before the beginnings of our trouble."
"And I suppose you've got the exact orbits of every one?" Hanson asked.
He couldn't see that the difference was going to help much.
"Naturally. They are fixed stars, which means they move with the sky.
Otherwise, why call them fixed stars? Only the sun and the planets move
through the sky. The stars move with the sky over the world as a unity."
Dave grunted at his own stupidity. That really simplified things, since
it meant only one control for all of them and the sky itself. But
designing a machine to handle the planets and the sun, while a lot
simpler, was still a complex problem. With time, it would have been easy
enough, but there was no time for trial and error.
He ripped up his plans and began a new set. He'd need a glass sphere
with dots on it for the stars, and some kind of levers to move the
planets and sun. It would be something like the orreries he'd seen used
for demonstrations of planetary movement.
Ser Perth came over again, staring down at the sketch. He drowned in
doubt. "Why waste time drawing such engines? If you want a model to
determine how the orbits should be, we have the finest orrery ever built
here in the camp. We brought it with us when we moved, since it would be
needed to determine how the sky should be repaired and to bring the time
and the positions into congruence. Wait!"
He dashed off, calling two of the mandrakes after him. In a few minutes,
they staggered back under a bulky affair in a protective plastic case.
Ser Perth stripped off the case to reveal the orrery to Hanson.
It was a beautiful piece of workmanship. There was an enormous sphere of
thin crystal to represent the sky. Precious gems showed the stars,
affixed to the dome. The whole was nearly eight feet in diameter. Inside
the crystal, Hanson could see a model of the world on jeweled-bearing
supports. The planets and the sun were set on tracks around the outside,
with a clockwork drive mechanism that moved them by means of stranded
spiderweb cords. Power came from weights, like those used on an
old-fashioned clock. It was obviously all hand work, which must make it
a thing of tremendous value here.
"Sather Fareth spent his life designing this," Ser Perth said proudly.
"It is so well designed that it can show the position of all things for
a thousand centuries in the past or future by turning these cranks on
the control, or it will hold the proper present positions for years from
its own engine."
"It's beautiful workmanship," Hanson told him. "As good as the best done
on my world."
Ser Perth went away, temporarily pleased with himself, and Hanson stood
staring at the model. It was as good as he'd said it was--and completely
damning to all of his theories and hopes. No model he could make would
equal it. But in spite of it and all its precise analogy to the universe
around him, the sky was still falling in shattered bits!
Sather Karf and Bork had come over to join Hanson. They waited
expectantly, but Hanson could think of nothing to do. It had already
been done--and had failed. The old man dropped a hand on his shoulder.
There was the weight of all his centuries on the Sather, yet a curious
toughness showed through his weariness. "What is wrong with the orrery?"
he asked.
"Nothing--nothing at all, damn it!" Hanson told him. "You wanted a
computer--and you've got it. You can feed in data as to the hour, day,
month and year, turn the cranks, and the planets there will turn to
their proper position exactly as the real planets should run. You don't
need to read the results off graph paper. What more could any analogue
computer do? But it doesn't influence the sky."
"It was never meant to," the old man said, surprise in his voice. "Such
power--"
Then he stopped, staring at Hanson while something almost like awe
spread over his face. "Yet ... the prophecy and the monument were right!
You have unlocked the impossible! Yet you seem to know nothing of the
laws of similarity or of magic, Dave Hanson. Is that crystal similar to
the sky, by association, by contagion, or by true symbolism? A part may
be a symbol for the whole--or so may any designated symbol, which may
influence the thing it is. If I have a hair from your head, I can model
you with power over you. But not with the hair of a pig! That is no true
symbol!"
"Suppose we substituted bits of the real thing for these
representations?" Hanson asked.
Bork nodded. "It might work. I've heard you found the sky material could
be melted, and we've got enough of that where it struck the camp. Any
one of us who has studied elementary alchemy could blow a globe of it to
the right size for the sky dome. And there are a few stars from which we
can chip pieces enough. We can polish them and put them into the sphere
where they belong. And it will be risky, but we may even be able to
shape a bit of the sun stuff to represent the great orb in the sky."
"What about the planets?" Hanson was beginning to feel the depression
lift. "You might get a little of Mars, since it fell near here, but that
still leaves the other six."
"That long associated with a thing achieves the nature of the thing,"
Sather Karf intoned, as if giving a lesson to a kindergarten student.
"With the right colors, metals and bits of jewels--as well as more
secret symbols--we can simulate the planets. Yet they cannot be
suspended above the dome, as in this orrery--they must be within the
sky, as in nature."
"How about putting some iron in each and using a magnet on the control
tracks to move the planets?" Hanson suggested. "Or does cold iron ruin
your conjuring here?"
Sather Karf snorted in obvious disgust, but Bork only grinned. "Why
should it? You must have heard peasant superstitions. Still, you'd have
a problem if two tracks met, as they do. The magnets would then affect
both planets alike. Better make two identical planets for each--and two
suns--and put one on your track controls. Then one must follow the
other, though the one remain within the sky."
Hanson nodded. He'd have to shield the cord from the sun stuff, but that
could be done. He wondered idly whether the real universe was going to
wind up with tracks beyond the sky on which little duplicate planets
ran--just how much similarity would there be between model and reality
when this was done, if it worked at all? It probably didn't matter, and
it could hardly be worse than whatever the risers had run into beyond
the hole in the present sky. Metaphysics was a subject with which he
wasn't yet fully prepared to cope.
The model of the world inside the orrery must have been made from
earthly materials already, and it was colored to depict land and sea
areas. It could probably be used. At their agreement, he nodded with
some satisfaction. That should save some time, at least. He stared
doubtfully at the rods and bearings that supported the model world in
the center of the orrery.
"What about those things? How do we hold the globe in the center of
everything?"
Bork shrugged. "It seems simple enough. We'll fashion supports of more
of the sky material."
"And have real rods sticking up from the poles in the real universe?"
Hanson asked sarcastically.
"Why not?" Bork seemed surprised at Hanson's tone. "There have always
been such columns connecting the world and the sky. What else would keep
us from falling?"
Hanson swore. He might have guessed it! The only wonder was that simple
rods were used instead of elephants and turtles. And the doubly-damned
fools had let Menes drive millions of slaves to death to build a pyramid
to the sky when there were already natural columns that could have been
used!
"There remains only one step," Sather Karf decided after a moment more.
"To make symbol and thing congruent, all must be invoked with the true
and secret name of the universe."
Hanson suddenly remembered legends of the tetragrammaton and the tales
of magic he'd read in which there was always one element lacking. "And I
suppose nobody knows that or dares to use it?"
There was hurt pride of the aged face and the ring of vast authority in
his voice. "Then you suppose wrong, Dave Hanson! Since this world first
came out of Duality, a Sather Karf has known that mystery! Make your
device and I shall not fail in the invocation!"
For the first time, Hanson discovered that the warlocks could work when
they had to, however much they disliked it. And at their own
specialties, they were superb technicians. Under the orders of Sather
Karf, the camp sprang into frenzied but orderly activity.
They lost a few mandrakes in prying loose some of the sun material, and
more in getting a small sphere of it shaped. But the remainder gave them
the heat to melt the sky stuff. When it came to glass blowing, Hanson
had to admit they were experts; it should have come as no surprise,
after the elaborate alchemical apparatus he'd seen. Once the crystal
shell was cracked out of the orrery, a fat-faced Ser came in with a long
tube and began working the molten sky material, getting the feel of it.
He did things Hanson knew were nearly impossible, and he did them with
the calm assurance of an expert. Even when another rift in the sky
appeared with a crackling of thunder, there was no faltering on his
part. The sky shell and world supports were blown into shape around the
world model inside the outer tracks in one continuous operation. The Ser
then clipped the stuff from his tube and sealed the tiny opening
smoothly with a bit of sun material on the end of a long metal wand.
"Interesting material," he commented, as if only the technical nature of
the stuff had offered any problem to him.
Tiny, carefully polished chips from the stars were ready, and men began
placing them delicately on the shell. They sank into it at once and
began twinkling. The planets had also been prepared, and they also went
into the shell, while a mate to each was attached to the tracking
mechanism. The tiny sun came last. Hanson fretted as he saw it sink into
the shell, sure it would begin to melt the sky material. It seemed to
have no effect, however; apparently the sun was not supposed to melt the
sky when it was in place--so the little sun didn't melt the shell. Once
he was sure of that, he used a scrap of the sky to insulate the second
little sun that would control the first sympathetically from the track.
He moved the control delicately by hand, and the little sun followed
dutifully.
The weights on the control mechanism were in place, Hanson noted.
Someone would probably have to keep them wound from now on, unless they
could devise a foolproof motor. But that was for the future. He bent to
the hand cranks. Sather Karf was being called to give the exact settings
for this moment, but Hanson had a rough idea of where the planets should
be. He began turning the crank, just as the Sather came up.
There was a slight movement. Then the crank stuck, and there was a
whirring of slipping gears! The fools who had moved the orrery must have
been so careless that they'd sprung the mechanism. He bent down to study
the tiny little jeweled gears. A whole gear train was out of place!
Sather Karf was also inspecting it, and the words he cried didn't sound
like an invocation, though they were strange enough. He straightened,
still cursing. "Fix it!"
"I'll try," Hanson agreed doubtfully. "But you'd better get the man who
made this. He'll know better than I--"
"He was killed in the first cracking of the sky when a piece hit him.
Fix it, Dave Hanson. You claimed to be a repairman for such devices."
Hanson bent to study it again, using a diamond lens one of the warlocks
handed him. It was a useful device, having about a hundred times
magnification without the need for exact focusing. He stared at the
jumble of fine gears, then glanced out through the open front: of the
building toward the sky. There was even less of it showing than he had
remembered. Most of the great dome was empty. And now there were
suggestions of ... shadows ... in the empty spots. He looked away
hastily, shaken.
"I'll need some fine tools," he said.
"They were lost in moving this," Ser Perth told him. "This is the best
we can do."
The jumble of tools had obviously been salvaged from the kits on the
tractors in the camp. There was one fairly small pair of pliers, a small
pick and assorted useless junk. He shook his head hopelessly.
"Fix it!" Sather Karf ordered again. The old man's eyes were also on the
sky. "You have ten minutes, perhaps--no more."
Hanson's fingers steadied as he found bits of wire and began improvising
tools to manipulate the tiny gears. The mechanism was a piece of superb
craftsmanship that should have lasted for a million years, but it had
never been meant to withstand the heavy shock of being dropped, as it
must have been. And there was very little space inside. It should have
been disassembled and put back piece by piece, but there was no time for
that.
Another thunder of falling sky sounded, and the ground heaved.
"Earthquakes!" Sather Karf whispered. "The end is near!"
Then a shout went up, and Hanson jerked his eyes from the gears to focus
on a group of rocs that were landing at the far end of the camp. Men
were springing from their backs before they stopped running--men in
dull robes with elaborate masks over their faces. At the front was
Malok, leader of the Sons of the Egg, brandishing his knife.
His voice carried clearly. "The egg hatches! To the orrery and smash it!
That was the shadow in the pool. Destroy it before Dave Hanson can
complete his magic!"
The men behind him yelled. Around Hanson, the magicians cried out in
shocked fear. Then old Sather Karf was dashing out from under the cover
of the building, brandishing a pole on which a drop of the sun-stuff was
glowing. His voice rose into a command that rang out over the cries of
the others.
Dave reached for a heavy hammer, meaning to follow. The old Sather
seemed to sense it without looking back. "Fix the engine, Dave Hanson,"
he called.
It made sense. The others could do the fighting, but only he had
training with such mechanisms. He turned back to his work, just as the
warlocks began rallying behind Sather Karf, grabbing up what weapons
they could find. There was no magic in this fight. Sticks, stones,
hammers and knives were all that remained workable.
Dave Hanson bent over the gears, cursing. Now there was another rumble
of thunder from the falling sky. The half-light from the reflected
sunlight dimmed, and the ground shook violently. Another set of gears
broke from the housing. Hanson caught up a bit of sun-stuff on the sharp
point of the awl and brought it closer, until it burned his hands. But
he had seen enough. The mechanism was ruined beyond his chance to repair
it in time.