"Well, sir, I'm sure I could win with White."
The captain smiled faintly. "You should know that FTL career men are noted for memory, not intelligence, and that they retain few illusions."
"I'm sorry, sir. I must admit that your defense, while logical from a positional standpoint, is unsound in the present case. But I do admire your ability to play without a board. I could never do that."
Shetland resisted the flattery, not entirely successfully. He was here to judge, not to be judged, and it was going to be difficult. This boy, the record said, was a virtual genius. "Perhaps, in time, you will show me how to win with White," he said. "It happens that I can see the board and pieces whether or not they are physically present. Just as I can read a book by turning the pages in my memory. Just one of the qualifications of the office."
Beeton sat on his bunk, not wishing to ask directly the purpose of the captain's visit. Shetland did not enlighten him. "Going into research after this trip?"
Beeton expressed surprise. "You know?" Then he smiled ruefully. "But you've studied the records, of course. Yes. Originally those lectures on celestial mechanics and such bored me. I would sit in the front of the class, my eyes fixed on the little box of rubber bands quivering like worms on the professor's desk, while he gave out with the poop. He used to purse his lips around the word... but all that changed. I'm going to settle down, get married."
"I'm sure Alice is a fine young woman. Yes, our files are thorough." Fencing, of course—but necessary.
Beeton gave him a curious glance, then made a hint of a shrug.
"Woman," he said. "That's the word that comes between 'wolverine' and 'wombat' in the dictionary." Shetland opened the big dictionary in his mind and skimmed the page. It was true. "And I want to assure you, Captain, that megalocarpous specimen on the wall is not Alice." Shetland riffled through his dictionary again, smiled when he found the word. Beeton was playing games with him, forcing him back.
"Do you know how I met her, Captain? I was sitting in a public library, studying a text on psychology, when I overheard this kind of clip-clop, clip-clop coming up behind me. For a startled moment all I could think of was a horse. You know the sound those primitive animals make when some rich showman takes them across a concrete street, the metal-shod hoofs ringing out like castanets. I couldn't resist turning around in my chair to see what could make that kind of noise in a library. Of course it turned out to be two girls in heels. But that horse was still in my mind, and you know, their feet did resemble hoofs in an attractive way. Their legs were clean and supple, rather like those of a thoroughbred.
"I laughed out loud. 'Now I know why they call them fillies,' I said. One of those girls heard that, and she came over to ask me just what I meant. Her tone was severe. That was the first time I had a really good look at her, aside from her ankles. She had on a knitted green dress, form-fitting over an excellent form... might as well admit it. I was smitten by her appearance. One thing led to another—"
"So that was Alice."
"No. Alice was the other girl. I didn't pay any attention to her that time. She—well, it gets a little complicated. I don't suppose your records cover that sort of thing."
Shetland got the point. The records were illusory. They told him nothing that would enable him to understand this too clever young man. He was being gently told to mind his own business.
How he wished he could! But Beeton was still the prime suspect, and if there was fear concealed behind that voluble facade, the captain had to know it.
"You've admitted that your early scholastics were not remarkable. What caused you to change?" For here, perhaps, the record did offer a take-off point. The shift had been abrupt, and it had been from indifferent to absolute brilliance. There were personal comments by several instructors: "Jumps to accurate conclusions." "An intuitive thinker; never makes a mistake in theory." "Even cheating is not that sharp!"
Beeton's tone was flippant. "Maybe I was afraid, Captain. Afraid that the ghost of my past would come back to haunt me. These days a degree is not enough; there were too many decades of assembly-line doctorates that degraded the magic. They delve into your records, as well you know. If I had left behind me a reputation for careless work—"
Was the young man still taunting him, showing the flag to the bull? Or was there genuine tension now?
"...though that's an unfortunate way to put it," Beeton was saying. " 'Ghost,' I mean. I always was afraid of the supernatural. Sometimes I suspect that my whole interest in science was spurred by a lingering fear of ghosts. As though I were trying to shine a light in the dark corners, to prove that nothing nonphysical could possibly hurt me, because there was nothing there. Seems ridiculous now."
Childhood fears. It did not seem ridiculous to Shetland.
For the Meg II at this moment the entire universe had become nonphysical. They were traveling at such a rate that an entire galaxy could be traversed in less than a second, and it made no difference whether the ship passed near or through it. How easy to invoke the sense of unreality, to renew the fierce early terrors.
How easy, too, to play upon the credulity of a meddling captain....
"Does the Academy still teach Einstein?" Shetland inquired with a smile.
Beeton smiled too, seeming to relax. "It still does. But of course it's a mistake to assume that FTL disproves his work. The General Theory never did limit an object to the speed of light. Though I doubt that the old gentleman anticipated—what is our present speed?"
Shetland did not miss the nervous throb, the slight terror showing in the tips of the fingers. Beeton knew the time, and he could do conversions. His question seemed like a plea for confirmation—or denial.
He looked at his watch. It said 22.9, drive time. "Just over a megaparsec per second. Our mission requires high speed."
Beeton rose to the bait, definitely nervous now. "It certainly does. This voyage will rewrite the text on celestial cartology. My instruments are recording the placement and pattern of every galaxy and cluster within a billion parsecs of our course—though I must admit that our present velocity makes this seem tiny. It will take many years for the computers back on Earth to assimilate the information we collect in hours. But our journey will be over in ten minutes."
Shetland could not conceal his astonishment. "It will?"
"Certainly. It began with the vast primeval explosion that flung matter and radiation in every direction to populate the vacant space. Then gravity slowed this impetuous expansion and brought the universe into a state of equilibrium two billion light-years in diameter. But when the galaxies formed, the forces of repulsion came into prominence, and expansion resumed. Now five billion years have passed since the beginning, and our universe has grown to a radius of three billion parsecs. In moments we stand at the culmination of it all, our mission is over: the rim."
To every man his own justification for the voyage, Shetland thought. To every man his own disillusion.
"Not yet," he said succinctly.
Beeton's innocent eyes focused on him. "You have to stop, of course. There is no point going beyond the rim of the universe."
Shetland spoke carefully. "According to your theory, there should be a cessation of all matter at approximately 23.1 on the clock. I have asked to be alerted the moment such cessation occurs. None has. It is now 23.2 hours. There has been no 'rim.' We shall not stop."
Beeton turned pale. His breath came in labored gasps. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the captain.
The intercom blared out behind Shetland with startling volume. "Captain to beacon immediately!"