The security hatch into the gate operations center recognized Marta's bio-pattern, sliding open at her approach.

The compartment that contained the center was a large one for a s.p.a.ce station. Three tiers of ranked workstations descended from Director's row, facing the ten-by-five-meter main viewer tank inset in the far bulkhead. Her section chiefs were already hard at it, working the shift countdown.

"Evening, Marta," a.s.sistant Operations Director Estiban Rocardo called up from the central station of the upper tier. "T minus two and ten to dilation and we are showing all green boards."

Behind him, the primary display held focus on theWorm Gate itself. Considerable familiarity was required before the view ceased to inspire awe.

The gate complex hovered in fixed orbit at the L-2 La-grange point beyond Earth's moon. Several kilometers beyond the rotating rim of the command station, the gate itself lay silhouetted against the mottled gray expanse of Luna's rear face.

The gate structure itself could only be called t.i.tanic. Taking advantage of free-fall engineering, its individual components were unconnected, stationkeeping on each other via cybernetically precise thruster control. The twin semi-cylinders of the field generator/acc.u.mulator arrays dwarfed the girder structure tube of the perimeter grid, the so-called "worm cage" at their center focus, and the cage itself was one half a kilometer across by one and a half in length.

The toylike myriad of support facilities cl.u.s.tering in free s.p.a.ce around the gate, the barge docks, the maintenance and warehousing platforms and the habitat wheels, gave the facility scale. Smaller yet, tug and barge combos and orbital shuttles flitted between the stations like gleaming fish within the structure of a coral reef.

In absolute contrast was the wormhole itself. It was there. It was always there, trapped at the central nexus of the worm cage. Marta knew she was looking right at it, but there was nothing to be seen save for the hole's imprint on her instrumentation.In its power-conserving nontransit mode, the wormhole was almost microscopic, held open just enough to insure continued existence and to permit the coherent light flow of the communications laser.

The Worm Gate was beyond being the single greatest creation of humanity. Its building had required the concentrated efforts of two civilizations.

The only like to it was its identical twin parked above the second planet of the Wolf 359 system.

Marta chuckled softly, deliberately pausing for a moment to make herself be impressed.

"What's the joke, Marta?" Rocardo inquired, lifting a dark eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing, Estiban. It's all so workaday anymore that sometimes I forget that we're busy doing the impossible out here."

"What do you mean by impossible?"

"Back in my first year at MIT I can remember attending a lecture by one of the world's foremost physicists who loudly and firmly proclaimed that the worm search was a waste of funding and that interstellar travel was and would always be beyond the reach of mankind."

Her a.s.sistant Director smiled indulgently. "No insult intended. But that was a long time ago."

"I suspect, young man, that had we not made contact with the Furrys that world view would still be in effect. Science is instinctively conservative. We don't like to shuffle the laws of the universe aroundunless we have a very good reason for it. But once we knew that somebody was indeed in the neighborhood, we simply had to figure out a way to borrow each other's lawn mowers."

Marta had been a little girl when first contact had been established between Humanity and the People.

The two species had found each other intriguingly different and yet much alike, both had a broad streak of curiosity in their racial psyche. Both also soon found the years' long cycle of conversation via radio telescope infinitely unsatisfying. A human scholar asking a question of his counterpart among The People had to wait years for the reply and vice versa. Within the scientific communities of both worlds the quest for an improved form of communication became a fixation that bordered on a mania.

Each culture had possessed its own Einstein and Stephen Hawking. Each had an approximately equal understanding of the structure of the universe and each focused its search in the same rarified area of theoretical physics, seeking for a mathematically irrational chimera called a wormhole.

A decade was spent proving that, yes, such things did in fact exist, but as an ephemeral transitory at the outermost edge of quantum reality. Dimensional "holes" did indeed open intermittently between far distant points in s.p.a.ce, but so submicroscopically small and for such a brief period that even a single photon of light could not hope to transit throughone.

A second decade was spent proving that such a wormhole could be "caught" and "held open" via a negative energy field. With the proper application of power, vast oceans of power, it could be "stretched "

to a "size" that would permit the pa.s.sage of physical matter. However, a living being could not survive the transit. Systems created within the three-dimensional universe, be they mechanical, electronic, or biological, could not function within the dimensionless realm that existed within the wormhole, but ideas and goods could theoretically be pa.s.sed across from one world to the other.

A third decade went into the construction of the hardware to make it happen.

"River-'Tween-Worlds, this is Worm Gate. We are coming up on shift initiation. We show good systems and we are ready to set transfer sequencing."

Marta gave her command headset a final settling tug, her eyes flicking to the multiple countdown display bars glowing across the bottom of the imaging tank.

"Understood, Worm Gate. We also prepared."

Over the translator link Tarrischall's voice held none of its usual humorous shading. Her Furry compatriot was the consummate professional when it came to Operations. "We have good systems. We stand by sequencing."

"Very well, River-'Tween-Worlds. Coming up onsequencing initiator. Mark zero three... two... one...

Set."

The twin timing bar displays crawled across the main screen. T minus ten minutes to power up. T minus twenty-five to barge entry. Instantly the bars began their slow shrink back down toward the zero point.

The clocks had started.

One could not dally around with a barge shift. Not while one was expending enough electricity to power an entire continent. The gate crews at both ends of the hole lived by the fact they could build up enough juice in their acc.u.mulator arrays to execute a single two-way barge transfer every twenty-four hours plus a small emergency reserve.

"We have systems verification from 'Tween-Worlds," the Grid Systems Manager called up from his station. "Auto sequencing set and verified."

"Very good, grid. River-'Tween-Worlds, we show auto sequencing set and counting. Do you concur?"

"We concur sequencing, Worm Gate. We are go for transfer."

Lane abstractly noted that the archaic s.p.a.ce age technoslang sounded odd coming from one of the People. Tarrischall had become immensely proud of his linguistic expertise in the area, however.

"Acknowledged, River-'Tween-Worlds. Transfer is go. Securing communications and data links andwithdrawing lasercom platform at this time. Talk with you afterward."

"A-Okay, Worm Gate. Later. Want to hear more about this Jumping Jive. River-'Tween-Worlds, over and out."

"Jumping Jive?" Rocardo queried off circuit.

"Um-hum, Marta replied absently. "It's a long story. Let's just say I'm running a personal cultural exchange program with our Furry friends."

Her mouth tugged down momentarily as the command link indicator with River-'Tween-Worlds control blinked off her communications display.

When they dilated the gate to move a cargo barge through to the Wolf system, they temporarily lost their ability to push a modulated data stream through the wormhole to the opposite gate. Thus, each transfer had to be accomplished as a pretimed sequence of events.

That loss had always made Marta Lane just a little bit uncomfortable.

"Raft positioning?" Tarrischall tossed the question over his shoulder, not shifting his keen jet-eyed gaze from the distant-vision displays.

"Raft anch.o.r.ed at channel approach,"

Marrun-of-Gray-Lake growled back from the Voice-of-Raft-Guidance position. "Drift canceled on all vectors and holding stable."

On the overhead displays the panning vision of the seer units verified the burly Gray-Laker's words.The cargo raft, a huge round-ended cylinder with its sides marked with the odd angular writing and insignia of the Uprights, hovered beyond the gaping mouth of the perimeter grid, poised for the opening of the channel. Remotely guided Pusher units clung to its flanks like leech shrimp, their propulsor vents flaring intermittently.

"Raft Functions?"

"Internal functions verified to the sixteenth level,"

Varess-of-Storms-Bay replied crisply. The slight, golden-furred Voice-of-Raft-Guidance was the newest member of the watch and still somewhat self-conscious among Tarrischall's veteran crew.

"Ready to a.s.sume entry guidance."

"Very good. We will be ready for you in a moment." Tarrischall's eyes flicked to the disappearing time dots on the sequencing display.

"Voice-of-Physics, channel status."

"Plus on all channel systems," Narisara replied crisply. "Nominal to the sixteenth level. Primary and crisis reservoirs at fifteen point six. Prepared for route sequencing on posted marks. Prepared for last phase safety block clearance."

"You have it, O elegant black-furred one. Let's crack her open." Once more Tarrischall grinned at Narisara's fastidious snort.

"All voices prepare for channel opening." she called. "Safety blocks are clear. Flow increase on my notice. Portion one... portion two... portion three..."Four... three... two... one...," The Gate Systems Manager droned from his workstation, calling off the last disappearing millimeters of the bar display.

No matter how many times she sat through it, Marta still felt her throat tighten as the countdown reached its conclusion.

"Zero... we have power up."

There was no overt physical change within or without the control center beyond a shifting of light patterns on the control displays. But within the gate acc.u.mulator arrays huge supercooled fluid state switches closed, bringing the largest single power system the human race had ever created online.

Focused negative energy fields of mind-boggling intensity converged and intermeshing within the worm cage. For a brief moment mankind warred with the very physical structure of the Universe...

and won.

A blackness came to be in the heart of the perimeter grid.

A blackness deeper than that of the surrounding s.p.a.ce itself. A slowly growing sphere of absolute nothing, a nothing with a density, a dimension, a nothing that the stars couldn't be seen through, a nothing that twisted the stomach when looked at. A midnight void darker than the human comprehension of dark.

As he always did at the opening of the gate, Rocardo murmured, "One of these days I'm notgoing to want to look at that d.a.m.n thing anymore."

Marta nodded in understanding. She was in love with the possibilities of the wormhole and of interstellar communications, but there was always a discomfort in looking at something human eyes had never been designed to see.

As it was, they were only seeing the wormhole's event horizon, that portion of its structure that extruded into the human-experienced three dimensions. There was much, much more to it than what was visible and likely just as well.

Bad as it was looking at the hole through a live video pickup, it was worse via a viewport or a s.p.a.ce suit faceplate. Lane found it rather like standing on the edge of a high cliff or atop a tall building. A ...

pulling.

Others felt it as well. There had been a number of suicide attempts over the years involving the wormhole. One or two had even made it in. Marta had often mused that it probably was a rather interesting way to go.

The sphere of ultimate emptiness expanded until it just filled the center of the girderwork cylinder.

"We have full dilation and stability," Rocardo reported from below, "All boards read green.

Reception tugs are positioning. T minus thirteen and counting to projected barge entry and acquisition."

"Very good. Maintain monitoring. Stand by for reception."For the moment all of the action was taking place out at Wolf 359. Tarrischall and his gang would be busy popping the sixty-thousand-metric-ton transfer barge into their end of the hole.

"End" was a purely subjective reference, of course.

While the actual state of existence within the wormhole could be described mathematically, it could not be visualized by a mind designed to operate in three dimensions. On one level, the concept of "distance" had become irrelevant within the perimeter grid of the gate, all points within its contained "universe" being equidistant. On another, it was time that was irrelevant and all of the s.p.a.ce between Wolf 359 and Sol still existed, the materials in transit being dispersed across those quadrillions of kilometers.

However, even locked within this trans-state, individual atoms still maintained inertia. The barge's entry momentum would be enough to carry it through the region of irrelevancy from one "end"

of the hole to the other.

Emerging Earthside, the barge's systems would reintegrate and it would be recovered for unloading.

Simple and foolproof.

"All pushers unbound and clear," Marrun reported. On the far viewers, the pusher units could be seen scurrying away from the ma.s.sive cargo raft, propulsor vents glowing brightly. The raft was on its own now."Voice-of-Physics?"

"The channel is smooth," Narisara replied, using the formalism. "The river flows between the stars."

"Voice-of-Raft-Guidance?"

"The raft obeys on all standards. Ready to voyage."

"Very well. All Voices, stand by for transit-of-channel. Varess, send her through."

On the far viewers, a double belt of dazzling sparks flared into existence at the bow and stern of the cargo raft as its own vents lit. Ever so slowly it began to gain way, the propulsors struggling to inch its bulk forward into the mouth of the perimeter grid.

"Raft entry velocity to first level... second level...

third level..." Varess chanted. "Drift remains null on all vectors... fourth level... fifth..."

Tarrischall tried to keep his attention focused on the raft. It wasn't easy with the black sphere of the channel mouth tugging seductively at the edge of his vision. The Ecstasy-of-the-Great-Dark-Current they called it. That near overwhelming urge felt by some of the People to take that longest dive down the channel. Tarrischall often felt the tug himself.

The dream of doing so and surviving, of reaching the exotic and mysterious world of the Uprights and beyond was a favorite theme of the spinners of projection fictions. Tarrischall enjoyed such yarns and in spite of what Narisara and the otherjoy-smashing Voices-of-Physics might say, he was certain that someday a technology would be found to permit a living being to ride the currents to another star.

Varess' sudden sharp warning cry shattered his musing. "This-Voice-speaks-warning! I have a ma.s.sive flow net fluctuation aboard the raft!

Performance variance across all patterns!"

"Define!" Tarrischall barked, his head snapping down to his display bubble and to the suddenly racing data lines.

"No definition isolated! Generalized flow failure in onboard energy matrix! Shifting to crisis alternative flow!"

Tarrischall gave himself the briefest of instants for consideration. The cargo raft was still stable and gaining velocity as per the set transfer pattern and all functions aboard it had safety duplicates and automatic switch overs. Yet there was a major function collapse going on within the ma.s.sive vehicle, something beyond anything he had ever seen before.

He could not risk the River-'Tween-Worlds! He slapped the alarm pad at his side triggering the rising tri-toned wail of the Danger-And-Rally call within all the chambers of the skynest.

"All Voices! Abort the shift! Abort! Raft Guidance, decelerate! Pusher Guidance, position for recapture! Mender and Mooring Gangs prepare! Ispeak with Voice-of-Crisis!"

"Decelerating!" Varess cried back. "Alternative functions engaged! Braking vents engaged! Drift vectors holding stable. Entry velocity reducing to sixth level... fifth... fourth...

On the far viewer display the vector of the raft's propulsor vents altered, thrusting forward. The huge freight hauler was losing velocity, but slowly, so slowly. There was so much ma.s.s out there to stop.

The blunt curved nose of the raft was approaching the mouth of the perimeter grid.