Up to about 9,000 kilos in size, a Rewall is a highly functional colony of individual cells. When colonies grow beyond that mark, however, they cease to function as a collection of cells and begin the change into a single unified macroorganism.
IDENTITY
What makes the Rewall truly alien is the rarity of individual identity.
The species grows like a typical bacterial colony: cells in the colony split, doubling in number, and the colony grows progressively larger. If that colony is divided into two or more pieces, each piece is a new colony containing some — but not all — of the memories and skills of the original. There is a brief period during which divided colonies can be rejoined, but after that period has expired, chemical imprinting occurs that prevents the divided parts from joining an existing colony.
When a colony moves past the 9,000-kilo mark, however, things start to change. That amount of mass marks a successful colony that has not only survived, but stayed largely intact for a length of time usually around thirty standard years. The organism goes through a phase change: individual cells cease to have individual identity. Scientists have dubbed this phase of the Rewall life cycle the elevation phase, and the members who have reached that phase are known as the Elevated.
REPRODUCTION
While Rewall colonies can multiply by splitting into smaller pieces, only the Elevated can reproduce in the traditional sense of the word. Elevated breed by “budding,” or breaking off pieces of themselves known as “larvae.” Larvae are small colonies that are more animal than sentient. A larvae feeds to stay alive but has only one biological imperative: find the larvae of another Elevated, and join with it. When this happens, the cells of the two individual Elevated combine to create a new colony, providing genetic diversity that helps the Rewall survive and evolve.
A CASE FOR SPACE
The growth process doesn’t stop when a colony elevates. In the Rewall’s ancient historical records, there are stories of ocean-borne colonies weighing 150,000 kilograms — larger than the blue whale, the largest creature to ever live on Earth, and almost as large as a fully grown Quyth aquatic predator commonly known as a Kraken.
On a planetary body, the maximum size of a Rewall colony is limited by gravity, air pressure and other physical forces. In space, however, most of those external forces are no longer present. Once the Rewall achieved sustainable space flight, something drastic happened that changed their species’ fortunes forever — once free of their home planets, the Rewall just kept getting bigger.
LEVIATHAN
Shortly after developing ships capable of carrying the Rewall off their home planet, a new kind of cell function evolved. The function enabled a cell to bind tightly with its neighbors, creating a pressurized “skin” that allowed the cells beneath it to function as they normally would without risk of decompression or freezing. With those environmental dangers removed, the Rewall were able to survive outside of ships and without the protection of any extravehicular suit or container. The only limitations on Elevated size became how much food the colony could acquire.
Because of this unique biological phenomenon, Rewall have become the largest organisms in the galaxy, possibly even in the universe. Surviving in the vacuum of space created a third phase in the Rewall development, a form called Leviathan.
THE TERROR IN THE VOID
Leviathans can create their own relativistic thrust. They also have a biological punch drive, the mechanics of which are still not understood by the scientists of any other species. Unlike the technology held by the other sentient races, a Leviathan can travel from one end of the galaxy to the other in a single punch, or pop out anywhere in-between. This makes the Leviathans a potential threat to every governmental system: territory must be protected, but the Leviathans have the ability to bypass the shipping lane “choke points” that allow for the creation of fixed territorial borders.
And yet, governments have a far greater fear than violation of territorial integrity — the fear of “spawning.”
Leviathans can travel between the stars. They reproduce just as the Elevated do, by budding. That is how the Rewall colonize planets: Leviathans travel to an unoccupied planet, seed that planet with their larvae, and wait for the larvae to populate the surface.
The fear is, of course, that there is nothing to stop the Rewall from doing this on inhabited planets. The species is capable of traveling anywhere and bypassing military forces, which means the Rewall are capable of colonizing each and every inhabited planet in the galaxy. While this has never occurred, the threat is ever-present.
7
The Biggest Ship
QUENTIN WASN’T SURE if the room had existed before he and his friends boarded Rosalind, or if she had grown it just for them. There was a nice table, along with couches and chairs that were surprisingly comfortable considering she had extruded them from the floor. The room even had something Quentin would have never expected from a Prawatt ship: color. Strange abstract maroon patterns decorated pale blue walls. Rosalind had even gone so far as to splash a Krakens logo on the ceiling.
John and Ju were sleeping on the floor, Becca on a couch. All three were out cold. George sat quietly by himself. Quentin had made sure the man took his scheduled meds; right after taking them, George got kind of introspective and didn’t talk much.
Quentin, Kimberlin and Doc Patah were doing what they’d done for most of this journey: studying. Their messageboards flared with pictures, holos and text about the Rewall. To Quentin, most of what he learned about that species simply didn’t make any sense. He shut off his messageboard.
“This can’t be real,” he said to Kimberlin. “Colonies of bacteria that walk around? No way.”
The lineman smiled. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because ... well, you can’t even see bacteria without a microscope or eye-mods. They’re little.”
Kimberlin raised one eyebrow. After months of tutoring, Quentin knew that expression; Kimberlin wanted terminology more accurate than they’re little.
Quentin sighed. “Fine. I don’t believe that millions of single-celled organisms can work collectively as one great big animal ... I mean ... as one macroorganism.”
“Trillions,” Kimberlin said.
“What?”
“It’s not millions of single-celled organisms, Quentin, it’s trillions. The typical Rewall has anywhere from fifty to two hundred trillion zooids, and for the largest of their species, exponentially more.”
“Fine, trillions. Even harder for that many to work as one big thing.”
“I see,” Kimberlin said. “And how many cells do you think there are in your body?”
The HeavyG only asked questions like that when the answers would help prove his point. The guy knew so much; it really got to be annoying after a while.
“Judging from that smart-ass look on your face, Mike, I’ll guess hundreds of trillions.”
The lineman’s smile widened. “Excellent deduction. And, also, fairly accurate. Hundreds of trillions of individual cells make up Quentin Barnes and all his parts. You can’t see any of your cells without a microscope or eye-mods, so why is it so hard for you to believe that a Rewall colony can collectively achieve a similar level of organization?”
Quentin didn’t have an answer. He was more than just a collection of cells ... wasn’t he? Science and the High One weren’t mutually exclusive (another phrase Kimberlin had taught him). In fact, Quentin believed that science was the tool High One used to create all things. He existed because High One wanted him to exist, but if a slimy mat of bacteria could eventually “come alive,” so to speak, did that mean intelligent life could occur without the High One’s hand?
The walls let out a now-familiar heavy sigh, saving Quentin from further dealing with those uncomfortable thoughts.
“Everyone to the bridge,” Rosalind said. “Bumberpuff thinks you’ll all want to see this. As for what I think? Not that anyone cares, really, but if someone asked me, and I wasn’
t just minding my own business — which I always do — I’d tell them—”
“We’re on our way,” Quentin said. Damn but this ship was long-winded.
The walls sighed again. “If that’s what makes you happy.”
Kimberlin cleared his throat, then turned off his messageboard. He looked nervous.
“I hope this goes well,” he said. “The Rewall are as militaristic as any other sentient race. They protect their territory. If something goes wrong, I’m afraid we’re all going to die.”
“You say that a lot, Mike.”
The lineman shrugged. “That doesn’t make it any less possible.”
Quentin stood and thumped his lineman’s huge shoulder.
“Tell you what, big guy, when the regular season starts, I’ll put you in charge of halftime pep talks. You just fill people with confidence.”
QUENTIN HAD READ about the Rewall, but some of that information hadn’t sunk in — this was space, after all, and he’d automatically expected to see a ship.
But there wasn’t a ship. No ship at all. Just a ... a thing, hanging out there in the void.
Rosalind had grown a clear viewport bubble in the bridge, or whatever this central room was called. Quentin walked into that bubble. His brain struggled to find definitions for what he saw beyond the clear material.
Tendrils of some kind, reaching out for miles. Not “tentacles,” exactly, but rather long strands of something that looked about as resilient as the algae ropes he’d seen back on Stewart: long things that only seemed solid until you reached into the water to touch them and your finger slid right through.
Those extrusions reached out from an irregular sphere, lumpy in some places, indented in others. Light from a nearby star played off the thing’s brown hull.
Skin, Quentin reminded himself. It’s not a HULL, because that’s a living thing out there. It’s SKIN.
The center of that sphere looked like a meteor had smashed into it, creating a deep, conical impact crater that glowed yellow, brighter the farther in it went — at the bottom, it blazed like a tiny sun.
Other spots on the sphere shimmered with different colors: glimmering reds, flickering blues, jewel-bright greens.
Quentin didn’t need anyone to tell him the obvious: that thing out there was even larger than the Grieve. Quite a bit larger.
“High One,” Quentin said. “That’s a living being?”
“It is,” Rosalind answered. “I’ve met this one before. I call it Joey.”
“Joey?” Quentin pointed at the monstrosity. “You met that?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Rosalind said. “We had a little disagreement.”
Quentin sensed people on his right: John and Ju. And on his left, Becca and George. George stared out, his face blank with shock.
“They’re real, Quentin,” George said, his voice a reverent whisper. “I can scarcely believe it myself. The elder gods ... they’re real.”
John laughed. DON’T EAT THE SPACE-BOOGERS flashed across his face.
“That’s not an elder god, Georgie,” John said. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s a seriously big ball of floating poop.”
Ju started to giggle. “Poop,” he said. “That’s a funny word. Poop.”
George frowned at the Tweedy brothers. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Who is to say a floating planetoid of feces can’t be a living god?”
Quentin hoped it wasn’t actually a living god; he’d met one of those already, and one was more than enough.
“If that thing will get us to the Portath Cloud, then let’s get it done,” he said. “Bumberpuff, can you talk to it?”
The captain joined them in the now-crowded viewing bubble.
“The Rewall language is more seen than spoken,” he said. “I don’t have the capacity to communicate with them, but Rosalind does. We have to be careful, though — they’re bloodthirsty creatures if you get near their borders.”
Kimberlin rubbed his face. “Let me guess ... we’re not near the Rewall border, we’re across it. Am I right, Bumberpuff?”
The Prawatt’s body rattled. “Well, we needed to get their attention.”
John groaned. “Oh, man, this is going to end poorly.”
“Mega-poorly,” Ju said. “Dying is going to suck.”
Becca gave Ju’s shoulder a backhanded slap. “Guys, knock it off. This is serious.”
John looked at Becca, then back out the viewport. He shrugged. DYING SEEMS KINDA SERIOUS TO ME, BUT WHAT DO I KNOW? scrolled across his forehead.
“It will be fine,” Bumberpuff said. “Rosalind, please show the Rewall what we want.”
“Very well,” she said. “I don’t mind, if that’s what makes you happy. I hope this works — I’m really not in the mood for a fight today.”
Part of Rosalind’s hull extended, a pseudopod of living black metal that flowed, then dissipated as if it were a gas. It looked like she was bleeding into space, a rip in some ship-sized artery spilling black blood into the void. The spray shimmered, took on a color: purple. In seconds, the purple haze started to take shape, denser at the middle, where it began to glow brightly.
Quentin had spent the past few days staring at an image just like that. He wasn’t the only one to recognize it.
“The Cloud,” Becca said. “Wow, that looks exactly like the Cloud.”
“I try,” Rosalind said. “I try.”
Just inside the edge of her glowing creation, an orange light pulsed rapidly. Her message could not be more clear: this is where we want to go.
“That’s amazing,” Quentin said. “I guess a picture really is worth a thousand words.”
“True,” Bumberpuff said. “And a scale model is worth a million of them.”
The Rewall Leviathan sat there, obscuring the universe.
“What happens now?” Quentin asked.
“Three possibilities,” Rosalind answered. “First, Joey does nothing and leaves. It depends on his mood. Second, he decides we mean no harm and takes us where we want to go. Third, Joey gets pissy and tries to destroy me.”
Quentin looked back into the bridge, once again instinctively seeking out something to visually connect with when he spoke.
“Rosalind, can you beat that thing?”
She didn’t answer right away. The pause added tension where there was already plenty to go around.
“I’ve done it before,” she said. “I actually killed a Rewall Leviathan some fifty years ago, but it was a close call. I didn’t truly understand what a glorious sentient being it was until it was gone. It is not my proudest memory.”
Quentin had never felt so small. Whatever happened next, there was nothing he or any of his friends could do about it.
Rosalind spoke again, her voice more clipped, more urgent.
“I’m detecting power fluctuations in Joey’s core. It’s getting ready to move.”
George pressed his hands against the inside of the viewport bubble. He leaned forward, eyes wide and gleaming.
The Rewall’s shape changed, the sphere flattening somewhat. Kilometers-long tendrils stretched toward Rosalind.
“It’s coming for us,” Quentin said. “What do we do? Is it attacking?”
“I’m not sure,” Rosalind said. “It could be, or it could be coming to take us to the Cloud. I’m afraid I’m not very good at reading Joey. If he is attacking, we’re sitting ducks. I think moving out of the way — fast — is a good idea.”
Quentin felt cold metal wrap around his upper arm: Bumberpuff, leaning close.
“You decide if we stay or flee,” the captain said. “The Leviathan is the fastest way to reach the Portath Cloud, but if you want to leave, we leave.”
The impossibly huge creature drew closer, so large it blocked out the vastness of space itself.
“Don’t panic,” Rosalind said. “To take us to the Cloud, Joey has to engulf us.”
Quentin didn’t like the sound of that. “And if he’s not helping, but attacking?”
 
; “Oh, same thing,” Rosalind said. “He’ll try to swallow us up either way.”
“Then how the hell do we know the difference?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Rosalind said. “If the hull cracks and I fill up with acid that dissolves you, that means Joey is hostile.”
The tendrils closed in, not far now, not far at all. If Quentin made the wrong call ...
Bumberpuff shook Quentin’s arm.
“It’s not too late to run,” the Prawatt said. “But decide. Now.”
If Joey was attacking, every sentient on Rosalind — and even Rosalind herself — would die. But if Quentin gave the order to flee, it would cost them at least six days. Jeanine didn’t have six days, if she was even alive at all. An impossible choice, made worse by the huge creature that now filled up the entire viewport bubble.
It was a coin toss with lethal ramifications. Quentin didn’t know what to choose, so he did something he would have never considered before this moment.
“George? What do you think?”
John huffed in disgust. “Crazy George decides if we live or die? You do know his first name is Crazy, right?”
Becca grabbed Quentin’s other arm. “John’s right — you can’t let George make this call.”
George turned away from the bubble. He smiled wide.
“I sense no hostility from the elder god,” he said. “Trust in his ways, Quentin. Trust in his ancient wisdom.”
Quentin looked out the bubble. He saw the hot, glowing pit at the Leviathan’s center. The tendrils had almost arrived.
If he was wrong, he was dead, and so were these people he loved.
The hard call. Someone had to make it. Someone always had to make it.
“We stay,” he said.
The tendrils wrapped around Rosalind, cutting off all light from the nearby star.
8
Surgery
QUENTIN DID NOT DISSOLVE in acid.
Thanks to being inside of Joey, Rosalind couldn’t see anything, or pick up any signals. When she wasn’t complaining about how the Rewall Leviathan was making her outer hull itch and blister, she shared what little she knew — since she was still in one piece, Joey was probably taking them to the Cloud. Probably.