Weissenbaum's Eye - Stetten

Weissenbaum's Eye - Stetten - Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

For the next several weeks, Sand's days were filled with his new couch. Except for three meals a day, there was nothing much to do besides explore this virgin medium. Sand found he had more time here to develop his skills than ever before, and with Don Andrews' rule about no other people in his simulation, the solitude made him acquire patience and lose self-consciousness. His art had room to grow around him.

His favorite creation was a stream through a grove of birch trees, which he extended up and down the water's edge so that a set of several scenes was now connected. He walked for hours from one scene to the next, changing subtle details, making things run smoother. But sometimes, as he worked all by himself, he felt a presence in his simulation, some vague thing just beyond his own creation. It was like sound, or music, coming from above the sky. He asked Don Andrews about it, indirectly, one morning at breakfast. The meals continued to be held without much conversation, as if the rules against all interaction applied off the couch as well. Hardly a word had been spoken all morning when Sand broke the silence. "Rather than a direct invasion from the Earth, don't you think some subtle infiltration through the medium might be more likely?"

Tarni listened to his question, sipping at her coffee. Don Andrews impatiently assured Sand, the relay beacons were no longer functional, preventing any direct interaction from the Earth.

But Sand continued, "What if the infiltration came from closer?" Don Andrews' reaction bothered him. He didn't call the idea crazy. He just ignored it, or tried to. Tarni seemed to notice Don Andrews' odd behavior as well. Her eyes met Sand's for a moment, seeming to communicate something important, before she looked down and resumed her meal. It was the first hint she had shown of anything in common with him since they had arrived.

The truth was, Sand was lonely in Backdoor. Despite successes in helping Judy, and the rewarding time he spent in his own art, Sand was still the outsider, mistrusted for his artistic ways, for his past. No one could forget that he had been an addict. The only one who seemed accepting was Judy, and then only when he was helping her.

Other times he wandered through the lifeless hallways, seeking out abandoned sections of the town, sleeping quarters, recreational facilities, machine rooms in disuse that had produced the sections of the vessels to be assembled in the cathedral. One such expedition to the top floors led Sand to discover a ladder up through a small trap door. Climbing through it he found a long porch, where the lip of the crater was honed to an edge of steel and glass, with windows looking out in both directions from the top of Backdoor. Down the outer rim of the crater ran the irregular surface of the moon, to where the ferry rested securely embedded in its cradle. In the other direction, down the inner rim was Weissenbaum's Eye, stretching out as level as a lake.

The Earth was never seen from this grim outpost, this fortress raised in exile from all humankind. Yet it occurred to Sand that even here the medium had found a niche, a way to persevere, a reason to be needed. At least, so it seemed, Don Andrews believed. But why?

A voice startled him from his thoughts. "You are very good at finding your way around new places." Tarni stepped out from a shadow further down the narrow deck. Recovering from his initial surprise, Sand figured Tarni was referring to his escape from his cabin during their recent trip.

"It's easier here, than in the ferry. The doors aren't locked," he replied. Tarni turned to look out the window, down over the crater, her hand resting on the sill. Sand thought almost that she was smiling. He asked, "What are you doing up here?"

"Oh, I come up quite often," she replied turning towards him, "more than I should. I'm supposed to be learning how to use the couch. But I don't like it much. It disturbs me. This morning, when you asked Don Andrews about infiltration...I've felt something too...a presence on the couch. I can hear it."

"Yes, I know," Sand agreed. "I hear it too, especially when I'm making something new. And I didn't put the sound there, it just appears."

Sand remembered that he was supposed to be Tarni's teacher, a prospect which suddenly seemed more attractive. Tarni probably had not really created much, yet.

"What have you done so far with your couch?" he inquired.

"Well, I'm not any good at making my own programs," she confessed, "so I just use those programs from the ferry."

"But they're boring," Sand protested. "There's so much more you can do."

"I don't want to do anything," Tarni said with sudden anger that set Sand back. Her prejudice had returned. He felt ashamed and suddenly was thinking of his father. Was he really just like Peter? Tarni's tone reminded him of his mother's. How strange to recall the hatred and disgust in Mara's voice when she talked about the medium. Backdoor's simulation seemed so innocent, so clean.

But as if she had not meant to aim her anger at him, Tarni spoke more softly, without looking at him. "Have you seen the telescope?"

Sand noticed above their heads a large dark square of glass, which came alive as Tarni adjusted a set of knobs below it. Orion flashed on the glass. "Without Earthshine, or atmosphere, we get some nice pictures up here, especially at night."

Sand stopped to consider the fact that night here lasted half a month. For a while Tarni steered the telescope in silence.

"My parents were addicted," she said. "I saw them both decay on their couches." She paused, and looked up at Sand. "But you aren't like them. I do want to believe, like Don Andrews, that our salvation lies in the proper use of the simultron." She paused, and added, slowly, "I would like to learn how to create my own programs." Sand's heart jumped a beat, and he happily began considering how to help her. This was different from what he had done for Judy, who simply wanted programs already made. Tarni seemed to want to be an artist.

"It's best not to start from scratch," he said. "I'll give you a copy of the stream I'm working on just now, and you can try playing with it."

"What do I do?" she asked, with a fragile excitement shining deep within her eyes. Sand realized now those eyes were not just smart and pretty, but could be forgiving and unafraid. "Just look around," he said, with warm encouragement. "Experiment with your imagination. See what happens."

Later, when Tarni returned to her room, the first thing she did was lie down on her couch. The new program was there, and she selected it. She had not seen trees and flowers since leaving her grandfather's farm to join the colonization. Strolling down by Sand's stream, something stirred that had been silent too long. As if alive, the whispering sounds of peace danced down between the leaves, to linger in the sunlight by the water's edge.

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