* * *
“The facility appears to have been designed for outward observation,” noted the Lhaës Entity. “The irony of its current utilization has not gone unremarked.”
The travelers, along with the Verch-borne guests of Byx, Colombe, and Tenbor’s dove avatar, were taking an informal supper with the Lhaës Entity – embodied by a hovering glass sphere – and two residents, Yor-Spana and Kosczi the Thriceborn. They sat atop a wide platform at the summit of a graceful spire, affording a splendid view of the domed valley’s lush vegetation. Far above them, the rain pattered onto the dome itself, blurring the night sky.
“Its utilization as a greenhouse?” asked Merinel, puzzled.
“Its utilization as an incubator – or perhaps an asylum – of inward observation: the fruitless mental meanderings of social deadweights such as myself,” declared Yor-Spana, waving a goblet, and distributing some of its contents, for emphasis. Yor-Spana, a member of the Xolo species, was possessed of a protruding neck almost as long as his arms, and had a tendency to gesticulate with all three extremities, rocking his humped torso back and forth.
“A lingual purist might select the term ‘artist’s colony’”, added Kosczi. “They might also object to ‘utilization’ as an undeserved elevation of the settlement’s contributions.” Kosczi, a Hrang, had no discernable neck at all, and so was unable to avert his face from the result of Yor-Spana’s expansiveness. He patiently dabbed at his coarse black fur with a napkin and blew his nose, which was located above his four eyes.
“The settlement does indeed function as an artificial biome for certain plants that would not thrive in the open, but it is better known for its preponderance of artistic residents, and it is to this aspect that I was referring,” continued Lhaës. Like the dome itself, the glass sphere that represented the Entity had a faintly discernable hexagonal pattern of diffuse lines, and gave the impression of density while remaining completely transparent.
“With respect, it does seem a whimsical purpose for the Crew to assign to a fully integrated settlement,” remarked Adimar.
“It has more to do with accident than purpose,” replied Lhaës. “The dome is too small to support a large populace. My own presence here is not strategic; try as I might, I am unable to project more than a fraction of my logic into nonlocal Verchspaces. Whether this is an intended design in support of my prior function, or symptomatic of a defect suffered during planetfall, is an open question. Szerar has deemed the condition incurable.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” replied Merinel, disquieted.
“The situation causes me no distress, which may itself be evidence that it is an intentional part of my design. I am quite content to look after this marvelous facility, whatever its original purpose may have been. And if it pleases some of the Ship’s more idiosyncratic creatives to reside here, they are welcome.”
“I cannot imagine living elsewhere,” exclaimed Yor-Spana. “To return now to Mecantrion would be a death sentence: the noise – physical, mental, spiritual! The insistent press of massed sentients on all sides! And worst of insufferabilities, the preening critics! It is bad enough to be subject to their vapid rasping and wheezing via the Verch: to breathe the same air would be the final straw.”
“And Lhaës is the ideal patron,” added Kosczi. “Insightful enough to offer meaningful commentary on one’s efforts, yet discreet enough to know when to refrain from doing so.”
“What sort of artists are you?” demanded Byx. “Do you make sensims?”
“Certainly not!” huffed Yor-Spana. “Well, that is to say, some of us do. Kosczi, for example. But the higher regard of the Dome is reserved for those who shun the childish milieu of the sensory immersion narrative in favor of more refined media.”
“I do make sensims, young friend,” said Kosczi to Byx, “but despite my colleague’s universal ascription of childishness, I do not think you would enjoy the sensims I make. You would find them slow. Indeed, you might think them nearly as slow as Yor-Spana’s mental processes.”
“The Dome’s purpose – you do not know what it was?” asked Colombe.
“No single theory reigns preeminent,” replied the Entity. “It would help a great deal, of course, if we knew the purpose of the Ship itself.”
“That’s silly,” replied Byx. “The Ship was built for us to live in.”
“The Ship is far larger and more complex than it needs to be to serve as a habitat, Abixandra,” said Tenbor. “And most of its structures do not seem designed to support communities of living beings, even if they have now been put to that purpose.”
“Was it not built to carry us between the stars?” asked Colombe.
“Interstellar travel, so far as we can determine from the Ship’s undamaged knowledge bases, is normally conducted via transdimensional portals,” replied Lhaës. “The Ship is far too large to have traveled through such a portal, unless we are very mistaken regarding the limits on their size. It is possible that the Ship was sent here to construct such a portal – some of its equipment seems compatible with such a project. Here again, however, we are faced with the conundrum of overcomplexity: much of the Ship seems utterly unrelated to any such venture. It is also unclear clear why this mission would require such a large and diverse contingent of biologicals.”
“Nor any biologicals whatsoever,” added Tenbor.
“I suppose it would be foolish to assume that it was intended to crash,” remarked Adimar.
“I have heard stranger theories,” replied Lhaës.
“Be that as it may,” rumbled Yor-Spana. “You may bundle an infinitude of theories onto the head of a pin; they will not raise up the Ship by a hair’s width, let alone vault it into the skies to punch holes in the fabric of reality. We are here, and the path behind us crumbles into dust moment by moment. The only relevant question is: what now? And whither? For me, the answer is clear: I will abide in Lhaës and delve towards the tiny grain of truth that lies at the center of my whirligig consciousness.”
“And I shall purloin your liquor while you are thus distracted,” added Kosczi. “Well, that accounts for the two of us. Can the rest of you chart your courses with such admirable dispatch?”
“My fate is not my own to determine,” replied Lhaës. “I am bound to the Dome, by design or misadventure, and I shall watch over it as long as my logic endures.”
“I shall serve the Dish and its people until the Ship is restored,” said Tenbor.
“I am going to become the world’s best glyphcaster ever and get the Verch to do exactly what I tell it to do,” proclaimed Byx.
Colombe furrowed her brow. “I think I have a goal,” she said. “I think my goal is to keep using my new mind until I am wide awake again.” She smiled at Tenbor. “Was that your goal or mine?”
“I am fairly certain it was yours,” replied the dove.
“Once this journey is complete,” said Adimar, “I will return to the Iron Goats and feel the wind on my face as I vault from spar to spar. After that I shall meditate on destiny.”
“Well then,” said Kosczi, “that accounts for everyone other than the presumably lovely Merinel. What are your intentions, dear lady?”
Merinel regarded the foreward perimeter of the great glass dome. “I will complete the errand that calls me away from home, and make my way back again,” she replied. “That is enough for now.”