View from Another Shore : European Science Fiction Read online

  ‘No, it won’t do’, he says.

  Karen resumes her normal size.

  ‘We aren’t really living at all’, he says. ‘You’re just as unreal as all

  your doubles.’

  ‘What kind of nonsense is that? Anyhow, we have a good time.

  Any one of my doubles is just as good at satisfying you as I am.’

  She leaves him in a huff. He is about to run after her but, un-

  accustomed as he is to walking, he stumbles over some of her clothes.

  As he falls the ring scrapes against the floor. It begins to grow larger.

  *

  *

  *

  *

  *

  Stig is sitting on the ground. They have seated themselves in a circle—

  many, many of them. All have their eyes closed and all are completely

  relaxed. They feel each other, they are each other. Stig feels a single

  large body which is the entire group and which inhales and exhales in

  unison like one large organism.

  Until one of them says, ‘Now we are waking up’.

  They open their eyes and look happily around at each other.

  ‘And now we are completely awake.’

  They get up and move about. Their legs come in contact with the

  ground and carry them forward with light, buoyant steps. Their arm

  movements add to the effect.

  ‘Am I dreaming or am I awake?’, Stig’s voice whispers within him

  as he moves to and fro. ‘At last I’m fully awake again.’

  Intense colours flicker before his eyes, the field stretches out into

  infinity. Everything is completely new and everything is familiar.

  New, fantastic shapes hover before him. Beautiful, familiar objects are

  within his reach.

  A radiant young woman stumbles over a stone. The pain she feels is

  transmitted to him. He reaches out and helps her up. He feels her pain

  in his knee and banishes it with a cooling hand. He smiles at her

  gratefully.

  The Good Ring

  79

  Together they walk over to the tree. She reaches up and plucks a

  piece of fruit. She hands it to him, he takes it, holds it in his hand,

  turns it slowly around. It is a world with everything in it, it is

  everything they are familiar with, it is everything new.

  ‘It is a world with everything in it, is everything we are familiar

  with, it is everything new’, she says in a voice that simply floats off

  into space.

  ‘It is the beginning, it is the end. Do you see it?’, he adds.

  ‘It is sleep, and it is the sleep that we call life, and it is the waking state that is ours’, she says, and her smile dissolves into his.

  They share the fruit, they touch each other’s fingers and let their

  happiness flow from one to the other. They feel the group around

  them. They are themselves, they are the same person, and they are

  the group.

  He shows her the ring he has just found. She touches it and

  carefully turns it round.

  ‘Are we really awake?’, says Stig.

  ‘We are happy’, says the cautious voice that clings around him.

  ‘Is what we call our waking state nothing but a dream to other

  people?’, says Stig.

  ‘We are happy’, says the cautious voice that clings around him.

  Stig shuts his eyes and comes to life in the ordinary sense. He wants

  to grab hold of her, but in his mundane clumsiness he stumbles. As he

  falls the ring scrapes the ground. It begins to grow larger.

  *

  *

  *

  *

  *

  Everything is white, and there is nothing, Stig is in nothing and on

  nothing. There is no earth beneath his feet, there is no sky above him.

  ‘You have paid a visit to the three worlds that are in the same stage

  of development as yours and that were established under the same

  conditions as yours’, Krr explains.

  ‘I can tell that you are now a little more convinced that our account

  of things is correct’, says Sst-Sst. ‘But it’s only reasonable that you

  should have time to get used to the thought.’

  ‘You were in the three worlds at the same time, but we had to let

  you experience them one at a time’, Fffh explains.

  ‘There is something I don’t understand’, says Stig. ‘Which of the

  four worlds is the authentic model, which of them brings us up to

  you? Which is historically correct?’

  ‘We can’t answer that question because it is not correctly put. There

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  Svend A

  ˚ ge Madsen

  is not simply one truth. You people must have found that out, haven’t

  you?’

  ‘No’, says Fffh, shaking all of his large head. ‘That will only happen

  somewhat after his time, to its full extent, that is.’

  ‘Incredible!’, says Krr.

  ‘We have to assure you that all four worlds are real, and therefore

  historically correct.’

  ‘But then do you come from several different planets? Did you

  three originate in different places?’

  ‘No, we all come from one world—the one you call Earth. But all

  four models of the Earth that you visited are authentic and exist

  simultaneously.’

  ‘What is going to happen to me?’, Stig asks, on his guard.

  ‘We merely wanted to show you the various possibilities. Now you

  yourself must decide which world of those you visited you want to be

  put down on—that is, where you’ll spend the rest of your life.’

  Feeling cheered up, Stig looks at the three Brains.

  ‘You—you mean I can make my own choice—any of the three

  places?’, Stig stammers. ‘Why, there can be no doubt about it . . . And

  yet I don’t want to do anything rash. It means too much to me, you

  know.’

  Stig begins to consider the three possibilities. Throughout the

  conversation the three Brains have been flashing lights and transmit-

  ting thoughts to each other. They have a bet on, and they have

  brought Stig up to let him make his choice. Each has placed its money

  on the particular world that is its personal object to study, since each

  is convinced that it cannot help being considered the best.

  ‘Why weren’t you satisfied with showing me only one of them?’,

  Stig says. ‘Then I would have felt much more certain of my choice.

  You should have sent me to the first one—the one that resembled my

  own, where I was happy and could have things the way I wanted

  them.’

  ‘Does that mean you prefer that one?’, says Krr.

  ‘No—just wait a moment. Those machines were really marvellous. I

  don’t suppose I’d be allowed to mix things up a bit, would I? I mean a

  little of that happiness, a bit of the machines and a little of the colours.

  Such a combination would be utterly and fantastically good.’

  Stig is made uncomfortable by the way the three Brains stare at

  him.

  ‘Regardless of how I choose, I’ll always be wondering whether I

  made the right choice.’

  The Good Ring

  81

  Although the Brains seem very patient, he feels hard pressed

  because of their overwhelming mental faculties.

  ‘After all, you’re not offering me worlds at all, but only images of

>   them. How do you expect people to live in them? It’s simple enough

  for you—you know that your world is the right one, whereas I . . .’

  ‘We’re not actually so sure’, says Fffh, suddenly looking serious.

  ‘Our most recent investigations have turned up some disquieting

  material.’

  Alarmed, Stig looks from one to the other of the superior beings to

  make sure they are not merely pulling his leg.

  ‘But that doesn’t concern you’, says Sst-Sst. ‘You won’t remember

  this experience very long. It’s all so improbable that you’ll soon begin

  to think it’s nothing but a story you heard. And fortunately you don’t

  put much stock in stories.

  *

  *

  *

  *

  *

  Stig is standing on solid ground. He looks around.

  ‘There is something that has to be done over’, he mutters.

  He grasps the ring on his finger. With some difficulty he pulls it off.

  For a moment he looks through it as if through a telescope, but

  nothing catches his eye. Then he violently casts it away. He hears a

  faint sound as it lands.

  He blinks his eyes. ‘That was a strange story’, he says to himself. ‘It’s a good thing it’s only a story—one that I wouldn’t care for if it were

  true.’

  He is annoyed because of the innate irascibility that has led him to

  throw the ring away. ‘But that’s the way things are in the world—a

  person no sooner gets hold of something valuable than he throws it

  away. Well, that’s how it is, and there’s nothing one can do about it.’

  Although it strains his back to do so, he stoops over and picks up a

  sharp stone. With it he begins to scrape away the sores on his arm.

  translated by CARL MALMBERG

  GERMANY

  Slum

  HERBERT W. FRANKE

  ‘We’re not here to pass judgement on anybody’, said Vertain, the

  chairman of the Commission. ‘We’re here to find out what happened.

  Just the facts: straight, accurate, and objective. Without any emo-

  tionalism. That’s all.’

  They sat in the Institute’s little conference room, the specialists

  from the Office of Investigation and the members of the expedition

  team—the ones who had returned, that is. The only movement in the

  room came from a five-year-old girl whose image was projected onto

  the giant videoscreen. Although she was surrounded by toys, the

  child showed no interest in anything except the candy that had been

  set out for her. She played with the colourful foil-wrapped bonbons,

  alternately tucking them behind the pillows and stuffed animals and

  then retrieving them, only to find another hiding place after a

  cautious look around.

  Vertain turned to the heavy-set man at the far right of the row of

  team members. ‘Why don’t you start off, Govin?’

  ‘All right.’

  Govin tore his eyes away from the child playing on the screen. In

  a slightly hesitant voice, he began to speak. ‘You all know the

  background. The Institute for Ecological Research needed some

  data. A change in the composition of the outer air had been

  registered—there’d been an increase in carbon dioxide and nitrogen,

  and the bacteria count was up as well. Our job was to find out why.

  The government issued a special permit for us to go on to the

  mainland.’

  The chairman filled in the silence with a question. ‘Were you given

  adequate equipment?’

  ‘Of course. We had everything we needed—food, water, respiratory

  filters, medication—’

  ‘But no weapons’, put in Petrovski, the chief technician at the

  Institute.

  ‘No, no weapons; whatever for? At that point, we had no idea—I

  mean, who would have imagined that—out there—’ Govin’s glance

  involuntarily strayed to the window. A shaft of milky green light fell

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  83

  across the floor of the room. ‘We thought the outside world was dead.

  After all, it’d been years since anyone had left the suboceanic cities.’

  ‘That’s just it’, said Petrovski.

  Vertain waved his hand, a gesture of impatience. ‘Go on’, he told

  Govin.

  ‘We took three special vehicles, each one with its own supply

  system: living quarters below, a control cabin on the upper level, and

  a quartz dome. They were hermetically sealed against bacteria, and

  had some lead content—to act as a radiation shield. One tank for

  every two men. The sluice ferry dropped us off.’

  ‘What did it look like—out there?’, asked Ruarka, the biologist.

  ‘At first everything looked just like the descriptions—ruins of

  suburbs, mountains of garbage, dust, fog . . . And the sun—the sun

  was nothing more than a flat disc of haze.’

  ‘Any animals? Plants?’

  ‘No animals at first’, Govin replied. ‘Later on we came across some

  rats. Big fat ones, much bigger than the ones you read about in the

  Chronicles. There must have been a thousand of them gathered on an

  empty spot between the ruins of a wall. Murray and I climbed out to

  catch a few specimens. We had our protective suits on, of course, and

  were prepared for a real hunt, nets and all. But they didn’t try to run

  away. In fact, they came right up to us. Didn’t attack us, either. They

  sniffed at our boots, climbed up our legs—they even let us pick them

  up with our hands.’

  ‘They’ve been examined in the meantime’, Ruarka added. ‘They’re

  white rats, albinos. And they’re well fed, almost as if they’d been

  fattened up.’

  ‘That should have made us stop and think right there’, said Govin.

  ‘But we had to keep going if we wanted to penetrate several miles into

  the interior, as we’d planned. It was rough going, too. We kept hitting

  up against masses of viscous material, decaying garbage that would

  give way every once in a while. At one point Anthony’s tank sank

  halfway into the muck, and that was some job, fishing it out with

  steel ropes.

  ‘Later on we ran across our first hint about that change in air

  composition. We came on a river bed where the water had dammed

  up: a bridge had collapsed, there were garbage deposits, and the water

  seepage had created pools, like miniature lakes, their shores covered

  with a grey-green film of algae or fungi.’

  ‘Some sort of symbiosis’, Ruarka explained. ‘Algae and bacteria with

  an unusual metabolic system. They release nitrogen and consume—’

  84

  Herbert W. Franke

  Vertain broke in. ‘Maybe all they need to see is the report. It’s all

  stored in the data bank under UP 7/CURRENT.’

  ‘I might just add that the presence of these organisms doesn’t

  explain the increase in nitrogen’, said Ruarka. ‘Not by a long shot.’

  There was a moment of silence. Vertain thumbed through the stack

  of photocopies in his mind.

  ‘There might have been other clues farther on in the interior.’

  ‘We never got that far’, Govin reported. ‘After that point, our

  problems began to mount up. First a building c
ollapsed right in front

  of our eyes; we barely escaped being buried by the debris. Then Larry

  drove his tank into a kind of trough. There was some sort of murky

  liquid, pools of it, at the bottom. We thought it was water, but it turned out to be sulphuric acid. The chain drive gears were eaten away, and

  the tank stalled—we had to leave it behind. That meant we were

  working with two tanks and had to divide the living space among three

  men. It was a little tight, but that was no reason to turn back.

  ‘The next night we had that business with the cobalt tank. We’d

  been keeping the Geiger counters running, and rarely ran into a hot

  zone. We’d been particularly careful about checking the areas where

  we planned to spend the night, of course, and we’d done the same

  thing this time. Everything was fine. But when we woke up the next

  morning, the needles were jumping like crazy. We got out of the

  radiation zone as fast as we could; then we took a look. Under Ed’s car

  there was a lead tank containing cobalt.

  ‘Uncovered. And the gama radiation field had reached our camp

  site.’

  ‘You didn’t suspect anything then?’, Petrovski asked. A shadow fell

  across the faces of the team members: dark clouds of smoke were

  drifting past the window. Vertain switched on the lighting discs.

  ‘Not exactly’, Govin answered. ‘We were in a basin, after all. The

  tank might have slid down by itself. Besides, we knew how careless

  the cities had been with radioactive residue.’

  Ruarka put a hand up. ‘Hadn’t you been taking the safety precau-

  tions a little lightly yourselves?’

  ‘We took every precaution imaginable’, Govin assured him. ‘We

  didn’t feel as safe as we had in the beginning. But that’s what made us

  wonder whether we weren’t imagining things. There were certain—

  signs . . .’

  ‘What kind of signs?’

  ‘Falling rubbish—the bridge that had just collapsed—tracks . . . But

  they could just as easily have been caused by natural events.’

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  85

  ‘What effect did the radiation exposure have on the men?’, Doctor

  Griscoll asked.

  ‘Slight nausea. That passed, though; only Larry never recovered.

  He’d been nearest to the tank.’

  ‘And got the highest dose’, Griscoll added.

  ‘Then the accident happened. We passed several mountains of

  piled-up rubbish. They were burning—even from a distance we