curious.”
Anna suddenly resembled a little girl about to divulge a secret. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said. “But we found parts of some of the ships that went into the Ring Stars. Not my group — humans, though. Something very odd had happened to the scraps. I’m not sure what it was, but one older physicist had a heart attack when he saw them.”
Kawashita shook his head slowly; whether in disbelief or wonder, Anna couldn’t tell. “Do you believe in gods?” he asked.
“I don’t disbelieve in anything. I’ve seen too much to be a complete agnostic, so I suppose I do believe in something, yes.”
“When I was a young boy, my mother let me attend a Christian Sunday school service in Hiroshima. It was taught by an old Jesuit from Spain, and he said that someday, when men looked far enough into space with their telescopes, they would see the face of God glowering at them. Have you seen anything like that?”
Anna smiled. “I’m sorry to be rude, but you’re still asking quaint questions. Not bad ones — just quaint. We have legends. Lost ships, planets that disappear when they’re landed, paradises — but they’re fairy tales for the most part.”
“For a Japanese from my time, the universe would be filled withkami ,” he said. “Aighors would bekami , and so would Perfidisians.Kami are not the same as the Christian God, but they are intelligent beings, special ancestors, spirits sometimes, not omnipotent, however. And every star is a goddess, every world a pearl. Does that give you awe?”
Anna paused. “Sometimes I think I’m too dense to be awed,” she said, “or too busy having fun. But somewhere, yes, I suppose I’m a little scared of it all.”
“I’ve been lucky, coming to see it gradually,” Kawashita said. “The person who was a pilot, back in the twentieth century — he would be mad by now. Me, I am just made nervous most of the time.”
“Welcome to the world-anxiety of the modern human,” Anna said, laughing. “Some night, come to my observation bubble and look at the magnified and annotated stars with me. Be prepared to shiver a little. We haven’t scratched the surface yet. Maybe God’s face will glower down on us some day. Maybe at the Galaxy’s core.”
“No, there are six wings at the Galaxy’s core,” Kawashita said cryptically. Anna couldn’t get him to explain what he meant, but it seemed a kind of joke.
She pointed out the ship’s engines on the chart and asked if he’d like to do something he could only do once.
“It does not sound pleasant,” he said. “ ‘Once a philosopher, twice a pervert,’ as Voltaire said.”
“Oh, it isn’t dangerous, and it doesn’t change you any way you’d notice. But you can only do it once.”
“I’ll decide when I see what it is.”
She took him down the long tube separating the living quarters from the vehicle bays and engines, then pointed him through a round hatch into a room gleaming with bare metal surfaces. The rest of thePeloros was decorated with a variety of coordinated color schemes, but here, at its heart, there was no speck of color. A steel-gray cube approached and asked their business. Anna held her hand out for identification and requested its presence at an initiation. Apparently she had done this sort of thing before; the cube complied without objection. It led them down another tube to a weightless spherical chamber. A transparent globe was suspended in the center. Kawashita felt a gluey kind of force fingering him as they floated toward the sphere, like moving through webs of invisible gelatin. His hair stood on end, and his eyes flashed with sparks when he closed them.
Anna, resembling a comedy harridan, took his hand and pressed it against the transparent surface of the sphere. “It’s not glass,” she said. “It isn’t even matter. It’s a field of probabilities. It dictates that the chances your hand will pass through it are zero. So you can’t pass through. But there’s a way.”
Anna suddenly resembled a little girl about to divulge a secret. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said. “But we found parts of some of the ships that went into the Ring Stars. Not my group — humans, though. Something very odd had happened to the scraps. I’m not sure what it was, but one older physicist had a heart attack when he saw them.”
Kawashita shook his head slowly; whether in disbelief or wonder, Anna couldn’t tell. “Do you believe in gods?” he asked.
“I don’t disbelieve in anything. I’ve seen too much to be a complete agnostic, so I suppose I do believe in something, yes.”
“When I was a young boy, my mother let me attend a Christian Sunday school service in Hiroshima. It was taught by an old Jesuit from Spain, and he said that someday, when men looked far enough into space with their telescopes, they would see the face of God glowering at them. Have you seen anything like that?”
Anna smiled. “I’m sorry to be rude, but you’re still asking quaint questions. Not bad ones — just quaint. We have legends. Lost ships, planets that disappear when they’re landed, paradises — but they’re fairy tales for the most part.”
“For a Japanese from my time, the universe would be filled withkami ,” he said. “Aighors would bekami , and so would Perfidisians.Kami are not the same as the Christian God, but they are intelligent beings, special ancestors, spirits sometimes, not omnipotent, however. And every star is a goddess, every world a pearl. Does that give you awe?”
Anna paused. “Sometimes I think I’m too dense to be awed,” she said, “or too busy having fun. But somewhere, yes, I suppose I’m a little scared of it all.”
“I’ve been lucky, coming to see it gradually,” Kawashita said. “The person who was a pilot, back in the twentieth century — he would be mad by now. Me, I am just made nervous most of the time.”
“Welcome to the world-anxiety of the modern human,” Anna said, laughing. “Some night, come to my observation bubble and look at the magnified and annotated stars with me. Be prepared to shiver a little. We haven’t scratched the surface yet. Maybe God’s face will glower down on us some day. Maybe at the Galaxy’s core.”
“No, there are six wings at the Galaxy’s core,” Kawashita said cryptically. Anna couldn’t get him to explain what he meant, but it seemed a kind of joke.
She pointed out the ship’s engines on the chart and asked if he’d like to do something he could only do once.
“It does not sound pleasant,” he said. “ ‘Once a philosopher, twice a pervert,’ as Voltaire said.”
“Oh, it isn’t dangerous, and it doesn’t change you any way you’d notice. But you can only do it once.”
“I’ll decide when I see what it is.”
She took him down the long tube separating the living quarters from the vehicle bays and engines, then pointed him through a round hatch into a room gleaming with bare metal surfaces. The rest of thePeloros was decorated with a variety of coordinated color schemes, but here, at its heart, there was no speck of color. A steel-gray cube approached and asked their business. Anna held her hand out for identification and requested its presence at an initiation. Apparently she had done this sort of thing before; the cube complied without objection. It led them down another tube to a weightless spherical chamber. A transparent globe was suspended in the center. Kawashita felt a gluey kind of force fingering him as they floated toward the sphere, like moving through webs of invisible gelatin. His hair stood on end, and his eyes flashed with sparks when he closed them.
Anna, resembling a comedy harridan, took his hand and pressed it against the transparent surface of the sphere. “It’s not glass,” she said. “It isn’t even matter. It’s a field of probabilities. It dictates that the chances your hand will pass through it are zero. So you can’t pass through. But there’s a way.”
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