"The time is drawing close."
"Time for what?"
"The struggle."
"You weren't just giving this talent a chance to grow, were you? You're taking me somewhere, too."
"To Jove."
"Sure, but I mean . . . oh, I see. That's where it'll happen."
"Humans have difficulty in understanding that Earth is not important now. The system's center of life is Jove."
"So the Mad Mind has to win there."
"There may be no winning."
"Well, I know what losing will be like." Cley thought of the scorched and mangled bodies of all the people she had ever loved.
"It is because we do not know what losing would be like that we resist."
"Really? Look, it stomped on us as if we were bugs."
"To it, you are."
"And to you?"
"Do not insects have many uses? In my view they are far more seemly in the currents of life than, say, just another species of the Chordata."
"Cor what?"
"Those who have spinal cords."
Irked, Cley said, "Well, aren't you just another spinal type?"
"True enough. I did not say I was more important than you."
"You compared us Ur-humans— me, since I'm all that's left— with bugs!"
"With no insects, soon there would be no humans."
Exasperated, Cley puffed noisily, sending her hair up in a dancing plume. "The Supras sure got along without them, living in Dias-par."
"The Supras are not of your species."
"Not human?"
"Not truly." Seeker finished ministering to her wounds and gave her an affectionate lick.
Cley eased her blouse gingerly over her cuts. "I have to admit I pretty much felt that way myself."
"They cannot be true companions to you."
"They're the only thing left."
"Perhaps not, after we are done."
Cley sighed. "I'm just concentrating on avoiding that Mad Mind."
"It will not care so greatly about you after you have served."
"Served? Fought, you mean?"
"Both."
She felt a light trill streak through her mind. At first she confused it with warbling birdsong, but then she recalled the sensation of blinding, swift thought, conversations whipped to a cyclonic pitch. "Supras. They're coming."
She felt their presence now as several tiny skittering notes in the back of her mind, mouse-small and bee-quick. "What'll we do?"
"Nothing."
"They're getting close."
"It is time they did."
Seeker gestured at the intricate whirl of light visible through a high, arching dome above the tangled greenery. Beyond Jupiter's original large moons there now circled rich Mercury and shrunken Saturn. Each was a different hue. But these radiant dabs swam among washes of bright magenta and burnt-gold—single life-forms larger than continents. Seeker had described some of these in far more detail than Cley could follow. They all seemed to be complex variations on the age-old craft of negotiating sunlight and chemicals into beautiful structures. Seeker implied that these were intelligences utterly different from Earthborne kinds, and she struggled with the notion that what appeared to be enormous gardens could harbor minds superior to her own.
Cley lay back and listened to the steadily strengthening Supra talk. She could not distinguish words, but a thin edge of worry and alarm came through clearly.
Languidly she dozed and listened and thought. The smears of light that swung throughout the great orbiting disk of Jove reminded her of sea mats formed at the shorelines of ancient Earth. She had learned of them through tribal legend, much of which dealt with the lean perspectives of life.
Sandwiched between layers of grit and grime, even those earliest life-forms had found a way to make war. Why should matters be different now? Some microbe mat three billion years before had used sunlight to split water, liberating deadly oxygen. They had poisoned their rivals by excreting the gas. The battle had raged across broad beaches bordered by a brown sea. The victorious mats had enjoyed their momentary triumph beneath a pink sky. But this fresh gaseous resource in turn allowed new, more complex life to begin and thrive and eventually drive the algae mats nearly to extinction.
So it had been with space. Planetary life had leaped into the vast new realm, first using simple machines, and later, deliberately engineered life-forms. The machines had proved to be like the first algae, which excreted oxygen to poison their neighbors. Once begun in space, nothing could stop the deft hand of Darwin from fashioning the human designs into subtler instruments. For a billion years life had teemed and fought and learned amid harsh vacuum and sunlight's glare.
In time the space-dwelling machines were driven into narrow enclaves, like the early algae mats. Out here, bordering the realm of ice, machines had finally wedded with plants to make anthology creatures. This desperate compromise had saved them. Cley had seen several of them enter the Leviathan—beings which looked to her like mossy furniture or animated steel buildings.
Sometime long ago, spaceborne life had begun to compete for materials with the planetary life zones. After all, most of the light elements in the solar system lay in the outer planets and in the cometary nuclei far beyond Pluto. In this competition the planets were hopelessly outclassed.
From the perspective of space, Cley thought, planetary Hfe even looked like those ancient algae mats—flat, trapped in a thin wedge of air, unaware of the great stretching spaces beyond. And now the mats survived only in dark enclaves on Earth, cowering before the ravages of oxygen.
Given a billion years, planetborne life had done better than the mats. Slowly the planetary biospheres forged connections to space-borne life through great beasts like the Pinwheel, the Jonah, the Leviathan.
But was this only a momentary pause, a temporary bargain struck before the planets became completely irrelevant?
Or—the thought struck her solidly—were they already?
34
The Supras boarded the Leviathan after protracted negotiation. The Captain appeared before Seeker and Cley, buzzing madly, alarmed for some reason Cley could not understand. She had to reassure the Captain three times that she was indeed the primitive human form the Supras sought.
Only then did the Captain let the Supras board and it was some time before Alvin appeared, alone, thrashing his way through the luxuriant greenery. He was tired and disheveled, his usually immaculate one-piece suit stained and dirty.
Then Clay saw that his left arm was missing below the elbow.
"What—how—"
"Some trouble with a minor agency," Alvin said, voice thin and tight.
She rushed to him. Felt the stub of his arm. The flesh at the elbow was deeply bruised and mottled with livid yellow and orange spots.
"A little snarly thing," he said, sitting carefully in a vine netting. "Came at me as we entered this enormous beast."
"An animal?"
"A concoction of the Mad Mind."
"What—"
"I killed it."
"What can I do? Didn't you bleed? What—"
"Let it go," he said, waving her away, mustering more strength in his voice.
"But you're hurt. I—"
"My arm will take care of itself." He grimaced for an instant but then recovered with visible effort.
She moved to help him but he turned, keeping the severed arm away from her. She frowned with concern. "Well, at least take something for the pain."
"I could release ..." a twinge shook him "... my own endorphins if I chose. But it would slow regrowth."
The stump of the arm had already formed a protruding mass of pale cells at its tip. Cley watched Alvin's flesh slowly begin to extrude from his elbow. The arm seemed to build itself layer by layer as it bulged outward. Stubs of bare white bone first inched forth. Then ligaments and tendons accumulated along the bones, fed by swarms of migrating cells like moving, busy lichen. A wave of denser cartilage followed, cementin
g attachments with fibers that wove themselves as she watched. Then layers of skin fattened in the wake of growth, first a column of pink and then darker shades. Already Alvin's arm was several centimeters longer. Sweat drenched his clothes but he clenched his teeth and said nothing, muscles standing out in his neck.
Cley sat beside him, fetching water when he asked. A long while passed. He ate some red nuts when she offered them but refused any more food. He seemed to summon up the materials and energy for regrowth from his own tissues. His strong legs seemed to deflate slightly, as though flesh was dissolving and migrating to his wounded arm. His entire body turned a ruddy pink, flushed with blood. Muscles jerked and filigrees of color washed over his skin. He moaned occasionally but managed to contain his torment, breathing shallowly.
His hand formed with quick rushes of matted gray cells. They flowed directly from his veins, moving to the working surface and making mats. These gathered into the fine network of muscles that made the human hand such a marvel of evolution's art. She watched as though this were a living anatomy lesson. Bones grew to their fine tips, followed by a wash of cloaking cells. Blue waves of cells settled into place as muscle. Stringy, yellow fat filled in spaces. Fresh skin had begun to wrap the thumb and fingers before Alvin blinked and seemed to be returning to full consciousness. White slabs hardened to make his fingernails, their tips nicely rounded.
"I ... I never saw such," Cley said.
"Usually we would take more time."
"You must be exhausted. I could see your body stealing tissues to build your arm."
"Borrowing."
"My people have some ability like that, but nothing nearly—"
"We must talk."
Seeker appeared nearby. Where had it been all this time? Cley wondered.
Alvin seemed to shake off the torpor which had possessed him. He stretched his arm experimentally and joints popped in his wrist and fingers. For a moment he reminded Cley of a teenager testing his newfound strength. Then he crisply glanced at Seeker and said, "So."
"So what?" Cley countered. She felt at the edges of perception a darting conversation.
Alvin shook his head and said to Seeker, "You promised you would help keep her safe."
Seeker yawned. "I did."
"But you did not have permission to take her away from us. And certainly not to escape into space."
Cley had expected anger from Alvin, not this air of precise displeasure. She was not surprised that Seeker had struck some kind of deal with them back on Earth, though. Seeker enjoyed wriggling through the interstices of language.
Seeker said, "I did not need permission."
"I should think—"
"After all, who could give it?" Seeker asked lazily.
"She is of our kind. That gives us rights—"
"You are Homo Technologicus. She is Ur-human, several species removed from you."
Alvin pursed his lips. "Still, we are more nearly related than you."
"Are you so sure?" Seeker grinned owlishly. "I span the genetic heritage of many earlier forms."
"I am quite confident that if I read your helix I could easily find many more differences—"
"Listen, you two," Cley broke in. "/ wanted to get away from that Library. So I left. Seeker was just along for company."
Alvin looked at her for a long moment and then said calmly, "At least you are safe and have made the journey to where we need you."
"You intended to bring me here yourself?" Cley asked.
"Yes, in a ship."
Cley's temper flared despite her efi^orts to maintain the easy calm of a Supra. "What? I could have zipped out here in a ship?"
"Well, yes." Alvin seemed surprised at her question.
She whirled to confront Seeker. "You made me go through all this?"
Seeker worked its mouth awkwardly. "I perceived that as the correct course."
"It was damned dangerous. And you didn't even consult me!"
"You did not know enough to judge," Seeker said uncertainly.
"I'll decide that!"
Seeker backed away. "Perhaps I erred."
''Perhaps? You—"
"Do not be hasty," Alvin said mildly. "This animal is clever, and in this case it showed foresight. It was lucky for you that I did not convey you outward by our planned route. We thought it intact. Yet several craft carrying needed Ur-human passengers were destroyed after leaving Earth, and you could well have been among them."
"What?" Cley's flare of anger guttered out. "My people?" Cley was so excited she lost her grip on a vine and had to catch herself.
"Not exactly. We grew them from your helix."
"You mean they're—they're me?""
"Some, yes. Others we varied slightly, to get the proper mix of abilities."
Cley had feared the Supras would do this. Would such cooked-up
Ur-humans be zombies, shorn of culture, mockeries of her kind? Such disquiets had propelled her to escape.
"I ... I want to see them."
"You can when all this is over."
"No! I have a right to be with my own kind."
"Are you not content with our company?" Alvin gestured and Cley saw that while she was so intent a group of Supras had quietly infiltrated the bowers around them. Seranis stood nearby, one eyebrow cocked, studying the leafy cascades with evident distaste. Her clothes had been torn and blackened—in the same engagement as Alvin? Already the rips were healing. Smudges dissolved, digested by the glossy fibers.
Cley sighed. "I'm out of my depth with you Supras. You aren't human."
We are more than human, in your manner of speaking, Seranis sent.
"If you have any sense of justice, you'll let me see my people."
Justice will come in time, Seranis sent with a tinge of blithe unconcern.
Cley looked at Seeker but it seemed to be absorbed in picking mites from its pelt. "How long will that be?" she asked.
"Our struggle has already begun," Alvin said. "It is best that you stay with us for the time being."
Cley blinked. "The fight's already going on?"
"In a sense it has been going on for long before your own birth," Alvin said, cooly gentle.
Cley saw the chinks in his armor now, though—a tilt of his solemn mouth, a refractory glint to his eyes. "Where?"
"The final engagement has begun on the outer rim of the solar system. It now converges here, where the strength of the Jovian magnetic fields can shelter us somewhat, and our reserves are greatest."
Cley suddenly felt strongly the skittering, frayed skein of talent-talk that flitted among the Supras from Lys. Time had enlarged her ability, for she could now trace faint threads of flittering ideas, currents and implications that came and went in gossamer instants.
"What can I do in all this? I—"
As if years of preparation had focused on a single point in time, an answer leaped through her mind. Seranis was the channel for this, Cley felt, but she had a sense of an assembly of voices behind the massive intrusion. A wedge of thought drove itself through her. They were telling her much, but it was like trying to take a drink from a firehose.
"I ... I don't understand . . ."
"It will take a while to unsort itself in your mind, I'm told," Alvin said.
"So much . . . What is the Black Sun?"
"An ancient term. 'Black Hole' is a better one." Alvin carefully chose his words, obviously talking down to her. "Our legends held that the Mad Mind was imprisoned at the edge of the galaxy, when in fact the Black Hole sits at the center."
"Pretty big error."
"A flaw in notation, apparently." His earnest precision reminded her that his first love had been Diaspar's library. "History was correct about the Mind's devastation, though. It knows a way to eat the plasma veils which hang in the galactic arms, leaving great rents where suns should glow. Legend held that the Mind and Vana-monde would meet among the corpses of the stars, but we find now that the collision must occur here, near Earth, where matters started
and must finally end."
Cley shook her head, trying to clear it. "I can't possibly amount to much in all this."
"So I would have said as well, once." Alvin had settled on a branch and even in the low spin-gravity the lines in his face sagged. "But you do matter. You Ur-humans had a hand, along with more advanced human forms and alien races, in making both magnetic entities."
"Us? Impossible."
"I admit it seems extremely unlikely. Yet the deep records of Diaspar are clear, if read closely."
"How could we make something like smart lightning?"
"You may come to understand that in the fray that approaches."
"Well, even if we helped make V^anamonde, what's that matter now? I don't know anything about it."
Alvin looked at Seeker, but the big creature seemed unconcerned.
Cley got the feeling that all this was running more or less as Seeker expected, and it was never one to trouble itself with assisting the inevitable.
Alvin spread his hands. "Deep in Vanamonde lies a set of assumptions, of world view. They depend on the kinesthetic senses of Ur-humans, upon your perceptual space."
"What's that?"
"What matters is that we cannot duplicate such things."
"Come on," Cley said bitterly. "I know I'm dumber than anyone here, but that doesn't mean you can—"
We do not delude you. Seranis gazed at Cley somberly. The makeup of a being circumscribes its perceptions. That cannot be duplicated artificially. We tried, yes — and failed.
Alvin said, "We find communicating with Vanamonde exceedingly difficult. We have struggled for centuries to no avail."
"Why?" Cley asked. "I thought you people could do anything."
We cannot transcend our world view, any more than you can, Seranis sent.
"That is always true of a single species," Seeker said casually.
Alvin's forehead knitted with annoyance. "And you?"
"There has been some tinkering since your time," Seeker said.
"This is our time!" Alvin said sharply.
Seeker leaned back and did not reply.
"Look," Cley said, "how do you talk to Vanamonde?"
"Badly. To reach it we must step through the thicket of the Ur-human mind-set."
"Thicket?" Cley asked.
Beyond the Fall of Night Page 25
