Macroscope

He mastered it, driving his viewpoint around as though it were a racing car upon a treacherous track. Then he oriented for a “walk” along the hall. A twist superimposed upon the other adjustments, and he was facing the way he wanted; a tilt, and he was trotting down the hall toward Kovonov’s office.

The Russian was playing solitary sprouts. “If only I could talk to you, Kov!” Ivo exclaimed. “Just to ask you where that UN ship is, if there is one…”

“In Russian?” He jumped, but of course Kovonov had not spoken. Afra was back, her tone deceptively sweet.

Ivo felt the slow flush move up his face to the goggles and knew she was seeing it also, but he kept a steady image of the office. There had to be some way to make contact, and he was sure Kovonov was the key. The man had been too knowledgeable, too familiar with the necessary problems — perhaps because he had rehearsed this voyage himself. If anyone could communicate, across this barrier so much greater than that of language—

He concentrated on the board before the Russian. A vital message had been communicated through this board not so long ago, and perhaps another waited. Meanwhile, this was practice of another sort, since he had discovered in the course of his adjustments that size, too, could be directly controlled. Such adaptations would necessarily become more and more precise as the range increased, in future forays, and he felt he ought to have it down pat. This fine-tuning became an art; it was hardly accident that his musical ability was telling.

“What are you doing?” Afra demanded.

Ivo stifled an irritable reply. Surely she realized how delicate—

“Reexamining the portents, you might say,” Groton said, and Ivo realized with relief that Afra’s question had been directed at the older man.

“Your damned astrology tomes!” she exclaimed. “Your wife brought texts on art and music, but you had to bring—”

“Better than the pretty clothing you packed,” Groton replied, his tone showing his unperturbed smile. But the argument was on. Tension had to seek its sublimations.

And control came. Smoothly Ivo brought the focus down upon the sprouts-board, keeping it clear, magnifying the picture, until the dotted lines and loops loomed enormously across his field of vision. He centered on a single dot, making it swell up as though it were a planet. The illusion captured him, as illusions did; he was coming in for a landing, spaceship balanced. Time for the braking rockets…

“Doesn’t it seem just the merest trifle ridiculous to twiddle with squiggles on paper while there is so much of importance going on?” Afra inquired, and again Ivo had to confine a guilty start.

“I would prefer to call it the interpretation of the nuances of a horoscope,” Groton said calmly. He was better equipped, temperamentally, to fence with her than Ivo was. Beatryx must have gone back to the supply compartment, since she was not present to break this up. “I hardly consider it ridiculous to explore our situation and resources with the best instruments available. There is, as you point out, much of importance going on.”

“Are you seriously trying to equate the use of the macroscope with your occult hobby?”

“I do not consider astrology to be in any sense ‘occult,’ if by that term you mean to imply anything fantastic or magical or unscientific. In the sense that both are tools of immense complexity and potency, yes, I would equate astrology with the macroscope.”

“Let me get this quite straight. You make a representation of the constellations — only those within the narrow belt of the zodiac, ignoring the rest of the sky — and planets — those of Sol’s system exclusively — as they appear in Earth’s sky at the moment of a person’s birth… and from that mishmash you claim to be able to predict his entire life including accidents and acts of God, so that you can tell him — for a suitable fee — to watch out for trouble on a given day or to invest in a certain stock — and yet you claim there is nothing supernatural or at least unethical about this procedure?”

“What you describe is undoubtedly supernatural and possibly of dubious ethics, but it isn’t astrology. You are attributing erroneous claims to this science, then blaming it because it does not and can not make good on them.”

“Exactly what is your definition of astrology, then?”

“I can hardly define it in a sentence, Afra.”

“Try.” Did she think she had him?

“The doctrine of Microcosm and Macrocosm — that is, the concept of the individual as the cosmos in miniature, while the greater universe is total man in his real being.”

The dot-planet broke up into swirls and blobs. He was too close; the resolution of the chalk was not that fine. Soon he would have to center on one section of it, then on a subsection, and so on into the microcosm…

Doctrine of microcosm…

“A microscope!” he said, finding it excruciatingly fu

“What?” Afra sounded angry.

Oops. “Nothing.” Carefully, he reversed the action, and the scattered chalk coalesced. Now he was taking off from the planet, watching it reform into a distant dot that became a mere point of light against the black background of space. The other lines appeared, marking constellations of the night sky. Could Groton analyze them astrologically?

“All right,” Afra said. “Score one for you. You put me off again. But this time I’m not going to let you slip out of an honest discussion. I want to have your specific rationale for this foolishness.”

Nothing like handing him loaded dice, Ivo thought wryly — but he, too, was curious.

“Well, it is evident that there are certain objects in the universe,” Groton said gamely, “and that they are in constant motion, relative to Earth and to each other. That’s one reason we require the assistance of a computer to orient the macroscope. These masses, and their respective movements, interrelate considerably. That is, the sun carries its family of planets along with it and forces them into particular orbits, while the planets affect their satellites and even distort the orbits of other planets.”

“That is not precisely the way modern theory describes the situation, but for the sake of argument we’ll accept it. So granted. The Solar system interacts.” She sounded impatient, eager for the kill.

“Similarly, there are a number of human beings and other creatures on the Earth, and they relate to each other and interact in an almost impenetrably complex pattern. We merely draw a parallel to the apparent motions of the—”

“Now we come to it. Mars makes men warlike?”

“No! There is no causal co

Just as, Ivo thought, he was now performing all kinds of clever manipulations to make his macroscopic viewpoint stable. It would be impossible to accomplish anything if he tried to orient on galactic or even Solar “rest.” The center of the universe had to be where the observer was.

He was now paying more attention to the dialogue than to the semiautomatic refinements of macroscopic control, but was jolted back to business. His image was gone! Had he lost touch?

No — Kovonov had merely removed the board. How easy to forget reality, to become involved, to begin to believe in one’s fancies, and to see the monster hand of the image as the hand of God, drawing away the firmament. He had to guard against personification; it could unhinge him.