Transcendence

Chapter Twelve

Like most rational beings in the spiral arm given any opportunity to do so, J’merlia had read the description of his own species in the Universal Species Catalog (Subclass: Sapients). And like most rational beings, he had found his species’ entry most puzzling.

The physical description of an adult male Lo’tfian was not a matter of dispute. J’merlia could look at himself in a mirror, and agree with it point by point: pipestem body, eight articulated legs, lidless yellow compound eyes. Fine. No argument about that. Great gift for languages. No doubt about it. What he found mystifying was the description of male Lo’tfian mental processes: “Confronted by a Lo’tfian female, the reasoning ability of a male Lo’tfian apparently switches off. The same mechanism is believed to be at work to a lesser extent when a Lo’tfian male encounters Cecropians or other intelligences.”

Could it be true? J’merlia had felt no evidence of it — but if it was true, would he even know it? Was it possible that his own intelligence changed according to his company? When he was in the presence of Atvar H’sial, what could be more right and natural than that he should subdue his own thought processes and desires in favor of hers? She was his very own dominatrix! And had been, since he was first postlarval.

Yet what he could not deny was the change in his level of activity when he was left alone, without instructions from anyone. He became nervous and worried, his body moved in jerks, his thoughts jumped and skittered in a dozen random directions, his mind was ten times as active as comfort permitted.

Like now.

He was dead. He had to be dead. No one could fly smack into the middle of an unstructured singularity and live. And yet he couldn’t be dead. His mind was still working, chasing a hundred thoughts at once. Where was he, why was he, what had happened to the seedship? Would the others survive? Would they ever learn what had happened to him? How could any mind pursue so many thoughts in parallel? Could even a dead mind do that, operating in limbo?

It was an academic question. He was certainly in free-fall, but certainly not in limbo. For one thing, he was breathing. For another, he hurt. He had been pulled apart, and now he could feel his body re-forming, settling back into place atom by atom. His sight was returning, too. As the whirlpool of rainbow colors around him subsided, J’merlia found himself hovering in the middle of an empty enclosure. He was surrounded by a million points of sparkling orange, randomly scattered in space. He stared in every direction and found nothing to provide a sense of scale. The glittering points could be feet away, or miles — or light-years. He moved his head from side to side, trying for parallax. Nothing. The lights were all at the same distance, or they were all very remote.

So he would hang there in the middle of nothing, until he starved to death.

J’merlia pulled his limbs in close to his body, retracted his eyestalks, and slowly rotated in space. As he did so he noticed a just-perceptible change in his surroundings. A small part of the orange glitter had been obscured by a tiny circle of more uniform orange light. Staring, he watched the occulting disk grow steadily in size.

It was coming toward him. And it was not small. As it came closer he realized that it must be many times as big as he was. By the time it stopped, it was obscuring a third of the field of orange spangles. Its surface was a uniform silver, a soft burnished matte that diffused the light of the orange sparkles falling on it.

There was a sighing whistle, like a gentle escape of steam. Undulations grew on the surface of the sphere, ripples on a great ball of quicksilver. It changed shape, to become a distorted ellipsoid. As J’merlia watched he saw a frond of silver grow upward from the top, slowly developing into a five-petaled flower that turned to face him. Open pentagonal disks extruded from the front of the ball, and a long, thin tail grew downward. In a couple of minutes the featureless sphere had become a horned and tailed devil, with a flowerlike head that looked directly at J’merlia.

He felt a sense of relief for the first time since the seedship had flown into the heart of the singularity. He might not know where he was, or how he had come here, or what would happen to him. But he knew the nature of the entity that had just arrived, and he had a pretty good idea what to do next.

He was facing a sentient Builder construct, similar to The-One-Who-Waits, on Glister, or Speaker-Between, on Serenity. It might take a while to communicate with it — the other two had been out of action for three million years, and a little rusty — but given time they had both understood speech. They had just needed a few samples, to get the ball rolling. J’merlia’s concentration and will had weakened when the other being had first approached. Now, as he realized that he was dealing with no more than an intelligent machine, his own intelligence seemed to rise to a higher level.

“My name is J’merlia.” He spoke in standard human. He could have used Lo’tfian or Hymenopt, or a pheromonal language, but human had worked well with the Builder constructs before.

There was a soft hissing, like a kettle coming to the boil. The flower-head quivered. It seemed to be waiting for more.

“I came to this system with a group of my fellow beings, from far away in the spiral arm.” Was that even true? J’merlia was not sure what “this system” was — for all he knew he had been thrown ten million light-years, or into a completely different universe. Except that the air around him was certainly breathable, and his body was unchanged. The being in front of him still seemed to be waiting. “My ship encountered a singularity. I do not understand why that event did not kill me. But I am alive and well. Where am I? Who are you?”

“Amm-m-m I… am-m I… am I,” a wheezing voice said. “Where am I? Who am I?”

J’merlia waited. The sentient Builder constructs took a while to warm up. Some long-dormant language-analysis capability had to be retrieved and used.

“J’merlia?” the hoarse voice said at last.

“I am he. My name is J’merlia, and I am a Lo’tfian, from the planet Lo’tfi.”

“A Lo’tfian. Is that a… a live intelligence? Are you a… sentient organic form?”

“Yes.”

“Then that is the reason for your preservation. The singularity that sought you out and captured you is part of the system under my care. It functions automatically, but it was not designed to kill organic intelligence. To confine, yes, but not to kill. It therefore transferred you here, to Hollow-World.”

Language contained so many subtleties. Just when J’merlia was convinced that they had established clear communication, the other came up with something baffling. To confine, but not to kill. Was Hollow-World the artificial moon of Genizee?

“How big is the system under your care? Does it include the planet from which I just came?”

“It does. True-Home is in my care. Had you not entered the singularity, you would have been returned there, as all ships bearing organic intelligence and seeking to leave this region are returned to True-Home. That is part of my responsibility. You ask, who am I? I tell you, I am Guardian.”

“Guardian — of what?”

“Of True-Home, the world within the singularities. The closed world that will — one day — become the true home of my designers and makers; the home of the Builders.

J’merlia felt dizzy, and not only because of the wrenchings of his passage to Hollow-World. According to Guardian, Genizee was to become the home of the Builders. But Serenity, the great artifact thirty thousand light-years out of the galactic plane, was also destined to become the home of the Builders, if Speaker-Between could be believed. And even little Quake, back in the Mandel system, was supposed to be the home of the Builders, too — despite the fact that Darya Lang, who knew more about the Builders than anyone J’merlia had ever met, insisted that they must have developed on a gas-giant planet like Gargantua and would live only there or in free-space.

“I sense an anomaly,” Guardian continued, while quicksilver ripples crisscrossed its body. “You say that you are from the planet Lo’tfi. Are you telling me that you did not originate on True-Home? That you came from elsewhere?

“I did — we did, my whole party. I told you, we are from outside the Anfract, from far away in another part of the spiral arm.”

“Tell me more. I sense a possible misunderstanding, although I am not persuaded without more direct evidence. Tell me all that has happened.”

It was a direct command, but one that J’merlia felt poorly equipped to obey. Where was he supposed to begin? With his own birth, with his assignment to Atvar H’sial as his dominatrix, with their trip to Quake? Whatever he told Guardian, would the other being really understand him? Like the other sentient Builder constructs, Guardian must have been in standby mode for millions of years.

J’merlia sighed and began to talk. He told of the original home planet of each member of the party; of their convergence on the twin worlds of Opal and Quake, for Summertide Maximum; of their move to the gas-giant Gargantua and their passage through the Eye of Gargantua and a Builder transportation system to Serenity; of their successful fight with the surviving Zardalu, who had been set free from stasis fields by the Builder construct Speaker-Between; and then of how the Zardalu had returned to the spiral arm and to the planet Genizee — True-Home, as it was known to Guardian.

J’merlia and some of his companions had followed, seeking the surviving Zardalu. And at that point their ship had been plucked from the sky and deposited against their will on the surface of True-Home.

“Naturally,” Guardian said when J’merlia was finally silent. “The system in operation about True-Home assumes that any ship within the nested singularities is seeking to leave, and that is forbidden unless the organic intelligences within it have passed the tests. True-Home is a quarantined planet, under my stewardship. It was not anticipated that organic intelligences would arrive here through the protecting singularities, seek to explore within, and then hope to leave.”

“But my companions are there now. They are in danger, or even dead.”

“If what you have told me is true, and if other criteria are satisfied, than I will admit the possibility of a misunderstanding. Do you wish this situation to be corrected, and your companions assisted in their attempt to leave True-Home?”

“I do.” Even someone as naturally subservient as J’merlia had trouble giving a restrained answer to something as obvious as that. “Of course I do.”

“Then we can begin at once. There must be direct verification. Are you ready?”

“Me!” J’merlia was suddenly aware of his own insignificance and ineptitude. He was the idiot whose brain-frozen incompetence had allowed the seedship to be caught by the amorphous singularity, while he sat and did nothing. He was the fool who had launched the battered drone back to the Erebus — without even mentioning in its message the fate of Captain Rebka and the others. He was a male Lo’tfian, a natural slave who was happiest taking orders from others. He was inadequate.

“I can’t help. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.”

“You are all that can help. You are organic intelligence. You are not nothing. You are manything. You are manybody. You have many components. You must use them.”

“I can’t do it. I know I can’t.”

But the Guardian was not listening. An oval opening had formed in the middle of the fat silver body, and J’merlia was being drawn into it along a green beam of light. He opened his mouth to protest again and found that he could not speak. Could not breathe. Could not think. He was being dismembered — no, disminded, in exquisite torture.

The entry of the seedship into the outskirts of the amorphous singularity had been painful, but that had been physical pain, physical disruption, twisting and tearing and stretching. This was far worse, something he had never experienced before or heard described. J’merlia’s soul was being fractionated, his mind splitting into pieces, his consciousness spinning away along many divergent world lines.

He tried to scream. And when he at last succeeded, he heard a new sound: a dozen beings, all of them J’merlia, crying their agony across the universe.