“Not a distance. A where-when loop.”
“Where does the energy come from?”
As if in answer, the Shadow began to flicker and fade, and I leaned over the bowl (even though I no longer believed that the Shadow was inside of me). And like a dark whale surfacing, the Shadow twisted into its bowl. I wondered how such a tiny space could contain a space so huge.
While the lunies cleared the room, and Hvarlgen hurried down to Grand Central to make a phone call, I pulled my chair over to the bed and sat with Dr. Kim.
“I see it’s no longer accessing our universe through your butt,” he said. “Maybe it has what it needs.”
“Hope so,” I said. “Meanwhile—what’s a Feynman device?”
“Have you ever heard of the EPR paradox?”
“Something to do with Richard Feynman?”
“Indirectly,” Dr. Kim said. “The EPR paradox had been proposed by Einstein and two colleagues in an unsuccessful effort to disprove quantum physics. Two linked particles are separated. The ‘spin’ or orientation of each is indeterminate (in true quantum fashion) until one is determined, up or down. Then the other is the opposite. Instantaneously.”
“Even if it’s a million light-years away,” Hvarlgen said, from the doorway. She rolled into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I told Sidrath about your question. He liked it.”
“It was never answered.” Dr. Kim shrugged.
“In other words, we’re talking about faster-than-light communication,” I said.
“Right,” said Dr. Kim. “Theoretically, a paradox. It was Feynman who proved that the paradox wasn’t a paradox at all. That it was true. And that FTL communication was, at least in theory, possible.”
“So that’s what our little isn’t is,” I said. “A muon bridge.”
“An ansible,” said Hvarlgen. “A device for faster-than-light communication. As I said, Sidrath agrees. What we have here seems to be some version of a Feynman device. Everything that happens to it here happens simultaneously, perhaps as a mirror image, at the other ‘end.’”
“Across the galaxy,” I said.
“Oh, much farther away than that, I think,” said Dr. Kim, taking another shot of PeaceAble. “We may be dealing with realms of space and time that don’t even intersect our own. I think, for sure, that we are dealing with forms of life that aren’t biological.”
At noon I asked for a sandwich. “I’m going to quit worrying about my lower intestine,” I said. “The Shadow has quit worrying about it.”
“We’re not sure,” said Hvarlgen. “Stay on moonjirky just one more meal. This afternoon, we’ll try the session with your pants on and see what happens.”
The Shadow didn’t seem to notice. (I was a little hurt.) It twisted in its bowl, diving into—another form (my own) which appeared across the room as before.
“When is this communication going to occur?” asked Hvarlgen.
“Soon.” The way the Shadow said the word, it sounded almost like a place—like “Moon.”
“What is soon?”
“When the protocol is adjusted.”
There was a long silence.
“What kind of communication will it be?” asked Dr. Kim. “Will we hear it?”
“No.”
“See it?”
“No.”
“Why is it that you never speak unless we ask a question?” asked Hvarlgen.
“Because you are half of the protocol,” said the Shadow.
“I thought so,” said Hvarlgen. “We’ve been talking to ourselves!”
The Shadow started to flicker. I resisted the urge to bend over the bowl, and watched him fade away.
I was tired. I went back to my wedgie to sleep, and I dreamed, for the first time in years, of flying. When I got up, Hvarlgen was still in East with Dr. Kim. They were on a conference call with High Orbital and Queens; they were somewhere between calling the Shadow an ET and an AD (alien device).
I left it to them. I ate alone (another sandwich) and then watched the first half of Bonnie and Clyde with the lunies.
They had a kind of cult thing about Michael J. Pollard. Now I understood why every time something went wrong around the station, one of them was bound to say “dirt.”
Hvarlgen rolled into Grand Central at almost nine P.M. “We’re going to skip the evening session tonight,” she said. “Sidrath and the Q-Team don’t want to miss this promised communication. They are afraid we’ll speed things up, or wear the Shadow out, like an eraser.”
“But you are in charge.” I was surprised to find myself disappointed.
“True. But that’s only a formality. In fact, Sidrath is already on his way here with Here’s Johnny, in case this communication occurs before they can get the Shadow back to High Orbital. We made a deal; I agreed to limit the sessions to one a day.”
“One a day!”
“I think we’ve learned all we’re going to learn here. All it does is answer the same questions, in a sort of a loop.
We’ll go in the morning, Major, as usual. Meanwhile, want to play Monopoly?”
That night I dreamed again that I was flying. The flying itself was flying, so fast that I had to chase it in order not to disappear. The next morning, after breakfast (sausage and eggs) I followed the lunies down the tube to East, where Hvarlgen and Dr. Kim were waiting.
Hvarlgen insisted that I sit in my usual spot. Like a priestess at a ritual, she placed the bowl at my feet, then rolled back to Dr. Kim’s bedside. The Shadow twisted in the bowl and disappeared; the Shadow appeared again in his blue coveralls, bluer than I remembered.
“Who are the Others?” asked Hvarlgen.
“They are not a they. They are an Other.”
(Maybe Hvarlgen was right to limit the sessions, I thought. It was beginning to sound like word games.)
“Another what?” Hvarlgen asked. “Another civilization?”
I heard a sound like a growl. It was Dr. Kim, snoring; he had fallen asleep propped on one elbow, with his spraypipe in his hand.
“Not a civilization. They are not—plural like yourself. Not biological.”
“Not material?” asked Hvarlgen.
“Not a where-when string,” the Shadow said.
“Is the communication ready? Can it take place now?”
“Soon. The protocol is completed. When the communication takes place the protocol will be gone.”
I wondered what that meant. We were, supposedly, part of the protocol. I was about to raise my hand to ask permission to ask a question—but the Shadow was already flickering, already twisting back into being in its bowl.
Being careful not to awaken Dr. Kim, Hvarlgen shooed everyone out of the infirmary and we went to Grand Central for a late breakfast. I didn’t tell her I had already eaten. I had soup and crackers.
The poster said D=55. I had less than two days left on the Moon.
“Isn’t Dr. Earn using a lot of that stuff?” I asked.
“He’s in a lot of pain,” Hvarlgen said. “I just hope he lasts until this communication, whatever it is. At the same time—”
“It’s for you,” said one of the lunies. “It’s the Diana. They just completed TLI and they’re on their way.”
I went back to my wedgie for a nap, and dreamed again of flying. I hadn’t dreamed so much since Katie died. I didn’t have wings, or even a body—I was the flight itself. The movement was my substance in a way that I understood perfectly, except that the understanding evaporated as soon as I sat up.
The wedgie was cold. I had never felt so alone.
I got dressed and went to Grand Central and found two lunies watching Bonnie and Clyde, and Hvarlgen curled up with Sidrath on the phone. I had forgotten how lonely the farside could be. It is the only place in the Universe from which you never see the Earth. Outside was nothing but stars and stones and dust.