Beyond Infinity (40 page)

Still, she
knew
that the Supras and their cosmic games mattered to what she still thought of as “real” people, her own. Maybe this attitude itself was a symptom of her kind—but if so, then
so be it
, she thought adamantly. A species has to know its limitations.

So she said, “All right. I’ll do it.”

The Supras seemed pleased with her decision. Seeker gave no sign of reaction.

After all her agonizing, she was surprised that nothing dramatic happened immediately. Most of a battle lies in the preparation. The Leviathan swooped in toward the disk of life and worlds that was the Jove complex. Trains of space biota came and went from the Leviathan, carrying out intricate exchanges.

In the moments when Rin and Kata were not occupied with tasks, she learned more from them. She recalled the moments when Kata and others had let go of their constraints, dancing, especially at their festivities—flooding Cley’s mind with unsorted impressions and thoughts. Cley had then slept long hours—fitfully, sweating, letting her brain do much of the unscrambling. She had learned not to resist. And to avoid.

So it was now. She got much through the Talent-talk, staggered from its impact…and slunk away. Slept. Each time she awoke, surprises awaited, fresh ideas brimming within her. But it was hard work and drained her.

She spent some time watching the scintillant majesty of Jove. It was a blessing, as some in her Meta used to say, simply to
be
.

She now also understood that this grandeur was not the outer limit to the living solar system. She had been misled by her own eyes. Knowledge Kata sent through the Talent told her of provinces she had not guessed.

Earthborne life saw through a narrow slit of the spectrum. Time had pruned planetary life to take advantage of the flux that most ably penetrated Earth’s obliging atmosphere. Earthlife preferred the ample green light. But that tiny slice of the spectrum was blind to bigger, more subtle events.

No Earthbound life ever used the lazy, meter-long wavelengths of the radio. So none could witness the roil of immense plasma clouds that fill the great spiral arms. Seen with a large radio eye, the abyss between suns shows knots and puckerings, swirls and crevasses. The wind that blows outward from suns stirs these slow fogs. Only an eye larger than Leviathan itself could perceive the incandescent richness that hides in those reaches. The beings that swam there gave forth great booming calls and lived through the adroit weaving of electrical currents.

Cley realized this after a long sleep, the knowledge coming to her almost casually, like an old memory. She would never see these knots of ionized matter trapped by magnetic pinches, smoldering and hissing with soft energies beyond the seeing of anything born in flesh.

Yet now she recalled, through Kata, the vast flaring of plasma veins, the electromagnetic arteries and organs. Plasma structures had formed within the first eons of the universe, passing through many generations before mass began to fuse and flare in the first stars. Evolution had begun its workings on those naturally driven energies, long before suns had thundered forth their full, mature radiance.

Light required a week to span these beings the size of solar systems. Bodies so vast must be run by delegation, so the intelligences that had evolved to govern such bulk resembled parliaments more than dictatorships.

She caught a glimmer of how such beings regarded her kind: tiny assemblies powered by the clumsy building up and tearing down of molecules. How much cleaner was the clear rush of electromotive forces…

But then her perceptions dwindled back to her own level, the borrowed memories faded, and she understood.

“Seeker!” she called. “The Malign—did the Ur-humans contribute much in shaping it?”

Seeker was quiet for a long time, her long face mysteriously sober. “No, they were drawn into a later…well,
modification
is the wrong term, but it is the closest in your worldview.”

“I caught pictures from Kata, confusing ones. Of magnetic things that live naturally.”

Seeker smiled. “Strange, yes, but they are our allies.”

Rin spoke from behind her. “And ones we desperately need.”

Cley demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

“Because I did not know, not fully. The knowledge…” Rin’s normally strong voice faltered. He looked more tired and pensive than before. “No, it was not knowledge. I discounted the Multifold’s testimony when it told us of these magnetic beings. Our Keeper of Records said there were none such. After all, there were no references throughout all of the Records.” He smiled wanly. “Now we are wiser. It was smug legend that I knew. The arrogance of Sonomulia, as vast as its truths.”

Cley said slowly, “Humans somehow trapped one of those magnetic creatures?”

Rin chuckled dryly. “Mere humans, you mean?”

“Well…yes.”

Rin settled onto a sloping, crusty branch, his shoulders sagging. “Humans have a reach which somehow always exceeds our grasp.”

“The Malign got away?”

He nodded ruefully. “And somehow, from its associations with humans and other intelligences, it learned to perform feats which no other magnetic being knew. It ravaged enormous territories, marauding along the dust lanes. It slaughtered the native magnetic structures.”

“Until someone trapped it again. This galactic civilization I keep hearing about?”

She shot him an impish grin to cover her feelings. This talk was unsettling. She started a small fire to cook supper.

“Galactic civilization was once majestic,” Rin said. “Compared to what we know, at least. It made the higher forms of the pure magnetic mentalities—stately beings, grand, though they led to the Malign. Humans carry some of that guilt as well.” Rin seemed sobered, but then he visibly took heart. “Seeker, what do you think of galactic civilization?”

“I think it would be a good idea,” Seeker answered very softly.

“But it exists!”

“Does it? You keep looking at the parts—this or that species or phylum, fleshy or magnetic. Consider the whole.”

“The whole what?

Seeker shrugged. “One of your own philosophers remarked that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught. You must live
through
your world.”

Cley said, “I’ll never have the perception of Rin, of the Supras—”

Seeker laughed heartily, her legs scrabbling for purchase, so that she did not fall off her perch. “Supras? They are like other people, only more so.”

Rin shot Seeker a sour glance. “We like our lives orderly, free of the messy way the Originals and other early forms thought.”

Seeker laughed again and ignored Rin, looking at Cley. “The messiness of life
is
your life, which you hope to shape with a perceptible narrative line.”

Rin’s nostrils flared, and he said icily, “We are wasting time—waiting for the Malign to descend upon us.”

“So?” Seeker licked her black lips with the red tip of her tongue. “Your ships and magnetic inductors and all the rest—they are ready?”

“Um, yes.”

“Then we might as well talk. It’s therapy for you supersmart primates. And procyons.”

Rin nodded ruefully. “As nearly as we can tell, the precipitating event in galactic history was the Quickening. Humans and others, aliens—they all passed through this stage. Some termed it the Singularity. But later historians believe that it was only when they all came together and became the event historians term the Singular that the true amplitude of the deed became clear. They transcended horizons we cannot even sense, among them, the higher dimensions.”

Cley said, “The Singular disappeared from our known universe, leaving…what?”

“Leaving room for newer forms to grow,” Seeker said. “Very polite, I would say. It was certainly no tragedy.”

Rin frowned. “For humans it was. We were left behind, almost like, well,
leftovers
.”

The sudden anger in his voice was daunting. Cley had never considered that Supras might be insulted by history itself; certainly the thought had never occurred to
her
.

“And the Multifold,” Rin continued vehemently, “it is a wonder, but still a shadow of the Singular. Most vexing…”

She stopped listening, taking shelter in the familiar rituals of cooking. Something in the human mind liked the reassuring order of repetition, she supposed. Rin kept talking, explaining facets of sciences she could not even identify. She let him run on. The man was troubled, hanging on to his own image of what human action meant. It was better to let his spill of words carry frustration away from him—the most ancient of human consolations. She skinned and blackened up three large snakes—caught using a forked stick, a trick she learned as a girl—then roasted them with a crust of spices and offered Rin one.

To his credit he did not hesitate. “A curious custom,” he remarked, after biting into a muscular yellow chunk. Its savor seasoned the air. “That such a simple procedure brings out the raw power of the meat.”

“You’ve never cooked before?”

“Our machines do that.”

“How can machines know what tastes good?”

Rin explained patiently, “They have something better—good taste.”

“Ha!” Cley snorted. She bit off a mouthful of snake and chewed ferociously. Originally.

Rin looked offended. “Sonomulia has programs handed down from the greatest chefs.”

“I’d rather stir the coals and turn the meat myself.”

“You do not trust machines?”

“Only so far as I have to.”

“But it was an Ur-human subspecies that set us on the road of technology.”

She spat out a piece of gristle. “Has its limits, though. Think technology’s done you a lot of good?”

Rin looked blank. “It kept us alive.”

“Those bots? They kept you in a bottle, like a museum exhibit. Only nobody came to see.”

Rin frowned silently, lost in thought.

Cley liked the way the flickering firelight cooked tangy flavors and heat into the air, clasping them all in a smoky, perfumed veil. Something deeply human responded to this wood-smoke redolence. It touched even Rin, smoothed his face. The play of firelight tossed shadows across them all. Seeker sucked in the smoky bouquet, licking the air.

Cley said softly, “Did you ever wonder why nobody ever came to visit the museum?”

Rin looked startled. “Why, no.”

“Maybe they were too busy getting things done,” she said.

“Out here?”

She could see that no matter how intelligent these Supras were, they also had values and associations that were virtually hard-wired into them. “Sure. Look at that”—she gestured at the translucent bowl above, where Jove spun like a colossal living firework—“and tell me dried-up old Earth was a better idea.”

Rin said nothing for a long time. Then, “I see. I had thought that human destiny turned upon the pivot of the home world. Still.”

“It did, oh, yes,” Seeker said brightly. Rin twitched as though something had prodded him; Cley suspected he had forgotten that Seeker was there. “But that is only a partial story.”

Rin looked penetratingly at Seeker. “I have long suspected that you represent something…unknown. I extensively interrogated the archives of Sonomulia about your species. You evolved during a time when humans were relatively unambitious. When the Artificials ruled.”

The firelight danced across the odd expressions on Seeker’s face as she said softly, “They did great damage, those early bot culture forms. Remorse tinged them, yes, but only for a while.”

Rin nodded. “Still, our records did not show such a high intelligence among the procyons as you display.”

“You still think of traits lodged in individuals, in species,” Seeker said.

Rin looked irritated. “Well, of course. That defines species, very nearly.”

Seeker asked, “And if a trait is shared among many species simultaneously?”

Rin shook his head. “By a Talent, like that of Illusivia?”

Seeker’s luminous eyes peeked out from beneath heavy lids. “Or more advanced.”

Rin considered. “Well, that might alter the character of intelligence, granted.” His face took on his librarian’s precise, pensive cast, his cheeks hollowing as though he contracted into himself. “I wonder if such Talents could arise naturally.”

“They do,” Seeker said. “I am a member of a larger system. So are you. But you do not communicate well—a typical characteristic of early evolved intelligences.”

Rin’s thin mouth turned up in an irked curve. “People seem to feel I speak fairly clearly.”

“People do, yes.”

Rin smiled stiffly, peering down his long nose at Seeker. “We re-created you ourselves, remember? Made you whole from the Library of Life. Sometimes I think we erred somehow.”

“Oh no!” Seeker barked happily. “It was your best idea.”

“The records say you were solely suited for Earth.”

“Wrong,” Seeker said. “Libraries can lie.”

“That would explain why you move so easily in space.”

“Not entirely.” Seeker’s eyes danced.

“You have other connections?”

“With everything, approximately. Do you not?”

Rin shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t think so.”

Merrily Seeker said, “Then do not think so much.”

Cley laughed, but at the back of her mind a growing tenor cry demanded attention. “Say, something’s…”

Seeker nodded. “Yes.”

She felt the Supras of Illusivia now, Kata’s just one among many cascading voices. They formed tight links, some in their ships, some in this Leviathan, others dispersed among Jonahs and Leviathans and the churning life-mats of the Jove system. A long, soaring chorus. Yet anxious, trembling.

They all sensed it. Something coming.

“How quickly does it approach?” Rin asked urgently. The earlier mood was broken, his doubts momentarily dispelled. Now he was all cool efficiency.

“I can’t tell.” Cley frowned. “There are refractions… Is it possible that the Malign can move even faster than light?”

“That is but one of its achievements,” Rin said, concern creasing his forehead. “We humans attained that long ago, but only for small volumes in warped geometries—for tunnels, for ships. The Malign was limited, as are the magnetic beings.”