There are half a billion of these dense relics in any galaxy … and a new one produced every thirty years or so. But only a few neutron stars have the narrow range of traits needed by the Transcendent Order. Well behaved. Rapidly spinning, but with low magnetic fields.
Lark overcame his surprise.
I get what’s going on. The process continues!
How could a growing appetite for tides be satisfied by a mere white dwarf star? Of course, they’ll migrate to a place where the fields are even more intense.
So, the myriad candidate vessels surrounding Polkjhy right now are only passing through! They use the white dwarf as an assembly area—a place to merge and transform, getting ready for the next phase.
The next time a slit-passage opened, Lark once again cast his thoughts through, riding the carrier wave of a vast information-handling system, like a sea flea surfing atop a tsunami, seeking to learn what kind of life transcendent beings made for themselves in such a strange place.
A fog seemed to envelop the neutron star, like a dense haze, whirling just above the surface.
Habitats, Ling identified.
Lark tried to look closer, but was stymied by how fast the objects sped by, just above the sleek black surface. Each orbit took minuscule fractions of a second, racing around a course where gravity was so intense that tidal forces would rip apart any physical object more than a few meters across.
Even with his perceptions enhanced by Mother, there were limits to what his organic brain could grasp.
But … Mentally, he stammered. When hydro- and oxy-life merge, the result is still organic … based on water. Bodies with liquid chemistry. How can beings like us survive down there?
As if his question were a command, the focus of their attention shifted outward, to surrounding regions of space, further from the neutron star, where an enormous throng of dark, spindly objects could now be made out, parked in stately rows.
Lark sensed metallic presences, each waiting its turn with a patient silence that could only originate in the vast depths of interstellar vacuum.
Realization struck.
Machines!
A third life order had arrived. Answering some compelling call, the best and highest of their kind assembled to participate in a new union.
Another kind of marriage.
A narrow slit appeared in space, allowing ingress from a white dwarf assembly zone. One more globule-ark popped into the twisted sky, bringing its cargo of merged organic life-forms.
Several dozen of the waiting mechanicals converged around it, weaving a cocoon of fibrous light.
There was no resistance. Lark’s expanded empathic sense picked up no dread, or resignation. Only readiness for metamorphosis.
The biologist in him recognized something elegant and natural looking about the process, although soon the details grew too complex and blurry even for his enhanced perceptions to follow.
All at once, amid a burst of actinic flare, everything was transformed. Consumed.
What fell away from the flash seemed like no more than a rain of glittering specks, plummeting eagerly toward the comforting squeeze—the intense embrace—of gravitational fields just above the neutron star.
Lark’s head whirled in awe. He pulled back his attention, anchoring it to the real world by riveting on the soft brown eyes of Ling.
Is that it? Is that where everything culminates? With hydros, oxies, and machines merging, then orbiting forever next to a dense black sun?
Ling shook her head.
That’s as far as I’ve been able to probe. But logically, I’d guess otherwise.
Think about it, Lark. Three life orders coalesce. The three who are known as the fiercest. The most potent at manipulating matter and energy. At last we know why hydros, oxies, and mechs have been able to coexist for so long … since they share a common destiny, and none can thrive without the others.
But there are more orders. More sapient styles than just those three! Quantals and Meta-memes, for instance. And rumors of some that have no mention in the Great Library. Simple logic—and aesthetics—make me imagine that the process continues. Others must join as well. At some level beyond the one we just saw.
Lark blinked.
Some level beyond? But what could lie beyond …?
Then, all at once, he knew.
Sharing his realization, the little Zang next to him vented foul-smelling bubbles—the equivalent of a dismayed wail—and shrank inward. But Lark only nodded.
You’re talking about black holes.
An unbeckoned flood of information crowded his thoughts, revealing many different types of “holes” known to science—sites where the density of matter passed a point of no return, wrapping gravity so tightly that no light, or information of any kind, could escape. Only a few of the deep singularities would do for the purpose Ling described. Smaller ones, mostly—massing up to just a few dozen times a typical sun. Bottomless pits, whose steep fringes would have the greatest tides of all … and where time itself would nearly stand still.
In such a narrow zone, just outside the black hole’s event horizon, distinctions of matter and energy would blur. Causality would shimmer, evading Ifni’s grasp. Under the right conditions, all of life’s varied orders might merge, creating a pure sapiency stew. Intelligence in its most essential form.
If everything worked.
You’re right, it’s logical and aesthetic. Even beautiful, in its own way.
But I have one question, Ling.
Where do we fit in this grand scheme of things?
I mean you and I!
All the beings on these arks and globules surrounding us may be ready for such a destiny … assuming they survive the disruptions and chaos in order to reach the next level. After all, they’ve spent ages refining their souls, getting ready for this transformation.
But you and I were caught up in it by accident! Because we’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. We don’t belong here!
Ling’s hand slipped into his, and Lark felt her warm smile inside his mind.
You don’t like our new nest, love?
He squeezed back.
You know I do. It’s just kind of hard to look forward to the next step—being “merged” with some star-computer mechoids, then squished down to the size of a pea, and finally—
She stopped him with a light mental touch, a calming stroke that brushed away incipient panic.
It’s all right, Lark. Don’t worry about it.
I very much doubt we’re going to proceed much farther down that path.
Not if the Jophur have anything to say about it.
Sara
GETTING AN ANSWER TO HER QUESTION DID not settle any of the worries plaguing Sara.
While the Niss hologram gyred nearby, her forehead creased with concern.
“Damn! I hoped to learn the bastards had transcended.”
The computerized voice replied with puzzlement.
“Might I ask why you are concerned about the fate of any one particular elder race?”
Her frown deepened. “The Buyur weren’t just any race. Back when they held the lease on Jijo, they were renowned for cleverness and wit. You might say they were the Tymbrimi of their time, only far subtler at playing games of manipulative politics and power … and they had a much longer view of what it took in order to execute a good joke.”
“In the name of my Tymbrimi makers, thanks for the compliment,” the Niss replied sarcastically. But Sara had learned to ignore its feigned moods, designed to irk people in the short term. She was concerned about a race of jesters whose notion of a punch line could easily span a million years. Patient comedians whose intended victims might include her own folk—the Six Races of the Commons of Jijo.
“Are you sure the Transcendents keep such good records?” she asked. “Maybe the Buyur passed through a different white dwarf—a different merging-funnel—when they graduated to the next level.”
“You misunderstand the nature of qu
antum computing,” commented the Niss, dryly. “Every part of the Transcendent Mesh is in local contact with all others. There are no distinctions of space, or even time. All Transcendents know what the others know. We are talking about the closest thing to what you humans used to call the Omniscient Godhead … on this side of the Omega Point.”
Sara grunted, slipping into the thick accent of a Dolo Village tree farmer.
“So far, I seen about a dozen levels o’ so-called star deities, and I ain’t been impressed with a one of ’em. Pettiness seems to follow life, no matter how high it climbs.”
“So young to be so cynical,” the Niss sighed. “Be that as it may, the query you sent into the Mesh did receive an answer. Assuming the Transcendents are not lying, we can be fairly certain that the Buyur have not joined them yet.”
Sara glowered at the news. It had seemed the best possible solution to a problem gnawing at her lately. The deeper she went into the equations—modeling the violent convulsions now racking the cosmos—the more one fact became clear.
The math was just too elegant, too beautiful for all of Galactic society to have missed the correlations. No matter how hidebound and narrow-minded the majority were, some others must surely have come up with similar, revealing shortcuts. Similar ways of seeing past the blinders.
Anyone who did so would have pierced the veil of secrecy, and known far in advance that a spatiotemporal crisis was coming. A time when all hyperspatial paths would undergo upheaval, and confusion would reign.
Mounting evidence convinced Sara that the Buyur must have known. They had planned things so that sooners would be lured into Jijo’s system after Galaxy Four was declared fallow and evacuated. They arranged for a nearby transfer point to go dormant, and for Izmunuti to enter flare stage, creating the perfect bottle for whatever specimens came nosing into the trap.
And there are more coincidences, she pondered. Like why all the squatter groups settled only on the Slope, despite our initially warring natures. Supposedly that was because of the Sacred Scrolls, but I figure there was another force at work.
The Egg. Silently influencing our ancestors, even two millennia before it burst up through the ground.
Indeed, why stop there? Might the Buyur have chosen which races should send sneakships to Jijo, seeding the illicit colony with just the right mix?
Did they manipulate the g’Kek, for instance, driving those happy, prosperous space dwellers into a hopeless vendetta with the Jophur, just so that a small remnant would have to flee, seeking shelter beneath Izmunuti’s stark, unblinking eye? Did they then liberate some Jophur from their master rings, creating a shipload of restored traeki who must take shelter on Jijo and befriend the g’Kek?
The problem with thinking about plausible conspiracies was that the mind quickly gorged on every correlation, turning each one into a glaring likelihood … such as blaming the Buyur for all that had happened to Earth during the last several thousand years. Because the darkness, ignorance, pain, and isolation helped make humans what they were, eventually forcing them to dispatch sneakships toward far corners of space. Sending out lifeboats—such as the Tabernacle—in hope of preserving small samplings of humanity against the coming deluge.
Did the Buyur set all that up, just in order to have the right ingredients for their masterpiece on Jijo?
Sara shook her head. If she followed that road—extending her theory far beyond available proof—it would end in paranoia.
“We have learned another thing, by tapping the Transcendent Mesh,” the Niss explained. “A titanic space battle has been going on for weeks near the outskirts of the Solar System. Even augmented by some recent brave allies, Earth’s defenses are now verging on collapse. Soon, fanatics will have the path open before them.
“When they finally converge on the blue homeworld of your race, Sara, it would be unrealistic to hope for mercy.”
While she probed for answers, the escape attempt was going slowly.
With its outer flanges still mired by the “magic” coating, Streaker was nowhere near as nimble as before. Without Lucky Kaa at the helm, it taxed Akeakemai and the other dolphins to pilot the ship slowly outward, away from the white dwarf star.
All around them spun the worst traffic jam of all time, a high-speed vortex of riotous confusion, peppered with debris from violent explosions. While most of the candidate globes tried to keep on course—doggedly continuing their downward spiral, despite collisions and chaos waves—a small minority were attempting to flee, like Streaker. Enough of them to disrupt the ranks, shredding any remaining semblance of order. Getting through such a maelstrom would take more than Ifni’s luck. It would take a miracle.
Even if the Earthship made it to open space, there would be the Jophur battleship to contend with. And the old problem of finding a safe place in the universe to hide.
Sara glanced across the Plotting Room at Gillian Baskin. The older woman stood in conference with a sleek, blue-gray figure who floated beyond a glass barrier, in the flooded half of the chamber. It was the dolphin astronomer, Zub’daki, explaining something in a dialect of Anglic that was too high-pitched for Sara to follow. But from the hunch of Gillian’s shoulders, it could not be good news. Her face was pale and drawn.
These moments may be our last, Sara thought. I should spend them with Emerson, not wallowing in theories about ancient crimes, or analyzing cosmic calamities no one can do anything about.
Alas, Emerson was never around. Despite his handicap, the brain-damaged engineer had commandeered all the technicians that Hannes Suessi could spare. They had given up trying to scrape away Streaker’s dangerous, cloying outer layer, and were working instead on the communications laser. Though Emerson’s idea was still unclear to most of the crew, Gillian had approved the project, partly in order to give off-duty personnel something to do, keeping their minds occupied.
I wish I had such a refuge … a way to stay busy, pretending I was making a difference. But the only technology I know anything about is how to make paper, using crude pulping hammers and power from Nelo’s little water-driven mill. Beyond that, I’m just a shaman. A spinner of incantations. A practitioner of the quaint Earthling art of calculus.
Prity came alongside carrying several sheets covered with perspective renderings—representing hyperspatial pathways, tormented and stretched almost to the breaking point. Sensing her mistress’s mood, the little chimp assistant put the papers aside and climbed into Sara’s lap.
Dear sweet Prity, Sara thought while stroking her. You are mute, while Earth’s chimps have progressed to speak and fly starships. And yet, how I would have loved to show you off! You would surely have amazed them, if we ever made it to Terra.
Continuing her conversation with Zub’daki, Gillian used quick hand gestures to conjure up holographic images of several other dolphin faces, including Akeakemai and the chief astrogator, Olelo, who listened for a few moments, then protested loudly enough for Sara to overhear snatches of bubbly Trinary-Anglic.
“… we are proceeding as fast as prudently possible, under the circumstancessss. It would be foolhardy and recklessss to just charge ahead through this chaotic traffic jam!”
She could not make out Dr. Baskin’s reply, but it had considerable effect on Akeakemai, whose eyes bulged with an almost human look of surprise. Chagrin overcame the perpetual “smile” that neo-dolphins always seemed to wear.
Sara gently lifted Prity from her lap and put her on the deck. She stood up and began moving toward the conversation, whose intensity grew with each passing dura.
“But-t-t-t—” Akeakemai sputtered. “What about the Transcendentsss? Surely they would never allow such a thing to happ-p-pen!”
Allow what to happen, Sara puzzled as she approached.
Abruptly, the Niss Machine manifested its holo presence, spinning in midair near Gillian Baskin.
“I have bad news,” it announced. “The gateways have shut down. They are accepting no more candidates from this ingathering swarm.”
/>
“I was afraid of this,” Gillian said. “The subspace disruptions have overcome the gateways’ ability to function. Now the arks will have nowhere to go, piling up just above the surface of the dwarf.”
“The pileup is already taking place, as ever larger numbers of candidate vessels finish their transformations and settle into that low, crowded orbit. However—” The hologram twisted and bowed. “You are wrong about the gateways. They are not dysfunctional. True, they appear to have stopped sending more candidates through to realms beyond. But this is because they now have other tasks in mind.”
“Show us!” Sara demanded, intruding on Gillian’s authority. The older woman nodded, and a multidimensional image sprouted. All objects were represented on a logarithmic scale, allowing events to be seen in vivid, compressed detail.
Down near the white dwarf, giant vessels thronged like a teeming herd of restless beasts, circling ever more tightly around a blazing fire. More streamed in steadily as Sara watched, contributing to a disk that kept spreading and thickening. Each new arrival came seeking passage to the next level. To a fabled place, next to some distant neutron star, where they might transform yet again, and bask in the embrace of mighty tides.
Only the conduits were gone! The needlelike structures had been busily occupied, just moments ago, passing candidates toward their goal. But now the immense devices deserted their stations and could be seen climbing away, abandoning the latecomers to their fate!
The gateways shimmered with inconstant colors that made them seem slippery to the eye, reminding Sara of the spectral flow—the desert of psi-active stone, back home on Jijo—where even a single glimpse could send a mind reeling.
Rising steadily away from the dwarf star, each needle plunged through the funnel of descending arks, forcing countless many of them to maneuver wildly out of the way, leaving behind swirls of confusion. Whatever order had remained in the mass pilgrimage swiftly vanished. Massive explosions glittered behind each behemoth, like phosphorescent diatoms, churned in some dark sea when a great beast comes rushing through.