Beyond the Fall of Night

by Arthur C. Clarke

  "A swamp is perhaps a better term. It is ingrained in Vana-monde's being."

  "It has some of us in it?" Cley felt a spurt of elation. This was at least some mark her kind had left in the great ruined architecture of time.

  "In the growing struggle, speed is essential. To link our own abilities with Vanamonde requires connections only you and your kind can make."

  Cley's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The Ur-humans you manufactured?"

  "Yes, they will be used. Seranis and the others of Lys have schooled them in the talent, a labor of great difficulty in such a short time."

  "You're manufacturing us, using us like, like—"

  "Of course." Alvin was unbothered. "That is in the nature of the hierarchy of species."

  "You have no right!"

  "And we have no wrong."

  Seeker made a rude noise and twisted its mouth into an unreadable shape. Clay realized that it conveyed human expressions only when it wished to.

  "There is no moral issue here," Alvin went on, casting an irritated glance at Seeker. "These matters transcend the concept of rights. Those ideas attach to strategies societies use to maintain order and station. As concepts they have no validity in the transactions across the gulf that separates us." Alvin smiled, as though he knew this was the sort of thing Ur-humans did to take the edge off a stark statement.

  Cley said, "That's incredible. We have an obligation to each other, to treat everyone as holding natural rights."

  Natural to what? Seranis sent.

  Cley answered. To anything and anybody who can think.

  Think what? These are not times like those in which your kind evolved. Now there are many beings, large and small, who carry self-awareness.

  Cley covered her own inner confusion with. Then they have to be accorded their own dignity.

  Dignity does not mean they can step outside the inherent ordering ordained by evolution's hand. Seranis gave Clay a look of concern, but in her striations of quick thought there was an underlayer of annoyed impatience.

  "Look, I have to think about all this," Cley said.

  Alvin said, "There is no time for the kind of thinking you do. The moment is upon us."

  Cley turned to Seeker. "What should I do?"

  Seeker smacked its lips as though hungry. "I do not subscribe to their ideas. Or to yours. Both are too simple."

  "Seeker, I need support from you."

  "Your actions I can assist, perhaps," it said. "It is true, as the Supras say, that your innate abihties are needed."

  "No, I didn't mean help with their fight. I want you to—well, tell them they're wrong, that they're treating my people like, like animals. "

  "I am an animal. They do not treat me as you."

  "You're not an animal!"

  "I am not remotely human."

  "But you're, you're . . ."

  "I am like you when I need to be. But that is to accomplish an end."

  "What end?" Cley asked, her confusion deepening.

  "To bring you here at this time. To unite you with Ur-humans, as I promised." It glanced at Alvin and Seranis. "I knew the Supras would probably fail to do so."

  Across Alvin's face flitted an expression Cley could not read, but the nearest equivalent was a mixture of irritation and surprised respect. Alvin said warily to Seeker, "It would have been simple to bring you here, had the Mad Mind not managed to learn how to enter our ships. And you could not have known it would understand that so quickly, much less that it could find these Ur-humans among all the ships we have."

  "I could not?" Seeker grinned.

  Cley felt something pass between Seeker and the Supras, a darting note of complex thought. "Seeker! You have the talent."

  "Not your talent. But no matter." Seeker turned to Cley. "I believe this issue must be resolved now, so I shall do it."

  Alvin said sternly, "I cannot allow so crucial a matter to—"

  "Do as they say," Seeker said to Cley.

  "But I—"

  "If you wish to think in terms of the structure of rights, then consider a point." Seeker brought a nut toward its mouth but fumbled and dropped it. "The others of your kind—and I do not believe they are your 'people,' for they are not yet people at all—will certainly die if you do not."

  Alvin scowled. "You can't be sure of that."

  Seeker did not immediately answer. Instead it pulled the carcass of a small rodent from a snag in its pelt and began to casually gnaw on it. The Supras all looked askance at this. Cley remembered how delicate and rarefied their own food had been, like eating clouds.

  Seeker licked the carcass sensuously and said, "You remember the era of simple laws?"

  Alvin frowned. "What? Oh, you mean the age when science discovered all the laws governing the relations between particles and fields? That time is of no relevance now."

  Seeker closed one eye and let one side of its face go slack, as if it could slip halfway into sleep. Cley wondered if this was some arcane joke.

  Seeker said, "The Ur-humans found all such laws. But to know how gravity pulls upon a body does not mean even in principle that you can foresee how many such bodies will move. The prediction of any real system is beyond the final, exact reach of science."

  Alvin nodded, but Cley could tell that he did not see where this subject led. Neither did she. And time was running out, she thought with irritation, while these two argued over grand principles.

  "True," Alvin said, "but that is ancient philosophy. Quantum uncertainty, chaos—these forever screen precise knowledge of the future from our eyes."

  Still with one eye closed, Seeker said "And what if this were not so?"

  "Then we Supras would have discovered that long ago," Alvin insisted. "Such knowledge would reside in the lore of Diaspar."

  Seeker blinked with both eyes and animation returned fully to its face. At the same moment Cley felt a burst of talent-talk like unrecognizable bass notes. Some Supras stirred uneasily. She realized that Seeker had complied—it had sent some sort of message while carrying on this lofty discussion.

  Seeker said, "Much has been discovered since strata of learning were laid down in Diaspar."

  A note of doubt entered Alvin's voice. "The humans who came after our kind, those who left—they found such ability?"

  Seeker said, "No. That is not open to your order of being."

  "Beast, are there higher orders which know science?" Alvin looked around at his fellow Supras, who seemed distantly amused by this conversation.

  Seeker said, "None you can readily see standing before you."

  "Magnetic minds, then? Even they merely use science," Alvin said. "They do not truly comprehend it."

  "There are other methods of comprehension which come out of the sum of species."

  Alvin's head jerked with surprise. "But we are discussing the fundamental limits on knowledge!"

  "This 'knowledge' of yours is also a category," Seeker said, "much like 'rights.' It does not translate between species."

  "I cannot understand how that can be," Alvin said primly.

  "Exactly," Seeker said.

  35

  The strange conversation between Seeker and the Supras wound on as Cley tried to think.

  In the end she saw that she had no choice. She had to take part in whatever was to come, no matter how little the gargantuan events had to do with her own fortunes. Her folk had begun to fade already in her memory, crowded out by the jarring, swift events since they had been burned into oblivion by the Mad Mind. She felt now the totality of what that vicious act had meant. To murder not merely people but a people, a species. Was she becoming more like the Supras now, that such an abstraction could touch her, arouse what Alvin would no doubt term her "animal spirits"?

  Still, she could not readily feel that the Supras and their cosmic games mattered to what she still thought of as "real" people, her own. She sensed that this attitude itself was perhaps a symptom of her kind—but if so, then so be it, she thought adamantly.

&
nbsp; The Supras seemed pleased with her decision. Seeker gave no sign of reaction. After all her agonizing, she was surprised that nothing happened immediately. They 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 Alvin and Seranis were not occupied with tasks, she learned more from them. She recalled when Seranis had let go her constraints, flooding Cley's mind with unsorted impressions and thoughts. Cley then slept long hours, fitfully, sweating, letting her brain do much of the unscrambling. She had learned not to resist. Each time she awoke, surprises awaited, fresh ideas brimming within her.

  She spent some time watching the scintillant majesty of Jove, but she now understood that this was not the outer limit to the living solar system. She had been misled by her own eyes.

  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 the atmosphere, preferring the ample flux of green light. No Earthbound life ever used the lazy, meter-long wavelengths of the radio.

  So they could not witness the roll of great plasma clouds which 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 outer fogs. Only an eye larger than Leviathan itself could perceive the incandescent richness that hides in those reaches. The beings which sw^am there gave forth great booming calls and live 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 she recalled, through Seranis, the vast flaring of plasma veins, the electromagnetic arteries and organs. Light required a week to span these beings. Bodies so vast must be run by delegation, so the intelligences which 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 Mad Mind—humans didn't make it from scratch, did they?"

  "Not wholly, no." Seeker had been quiet for a long time, its long face mysteriously calm.

  "I caught pictures from Seranis, pictures of magnetic things that seem to live naturally."

  Seeker smiled wolfishly. "They are our allies."

  Alvin spoke from behind her. "And ones we desperately need."

  Cley demanded, "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because I did not know, not fully. The knowledge . . ." Alvin's normally strong voice faltered. He looked more tired and pensive than before. "No, it was not knowledge. I discounted V'anamonde'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 Diaspar as vast as its truths."

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

  Alvin settled onto a sloping, crusty branch, his shoulders sagging. "Humans have a reach which exceeds our grasp."

  "The Mad Mind got away?"

  He nodded. "And somehow, from its associations with humans, learned to perform feats which no other magnetic being knew. It ravaged enormous territories, slaughtered magnetic structures."

  "Until someone trapped it again. This Galactic civilization I keep hearing about?" This talk was unsettling. She started a small fire to cook supper.

  "Galactic civilization was once majestic," Alvin said. "It made the pure mentalities like Vanamonde, building on the magnetic beings." Alvin seemed heartened now. "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? The Empire left our known universe, leav-ing-"

  "Leaving rooms for newer forms to grow. Very polite, I would say. It was certainly no tragedy."

  Alvin frowned. "For humans it was. We—"

  Cley stopped listening, taking shelter in the familiar rituals of cooking. Something in the human mind liked the reassuring order of repetition, she supposed. Alvin kept talking, explaining facets of sciences she could not even identify, but 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 away frustration, the most ancient of human consolations. She cooked three large snakes, blackened with a crust of spices, and offered him one.

  To his credit he did not even show hesitation. "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?"

  Alvin explained, "They have something better: good taste."

  "Ha!"

  Alvin looked off^ended. "Diaspar 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 it's done you a lot of good?"

  Alvin looked blank. "It kept us alive."

  "It kept you in a bottle, like a museum exhibit. Only nobody came to see."

  Alvin frowned. "And I broke out."

  Cley liked the way the flickering firelight cooked flavors and heat into the air, clasping them all in a perfumed veil. Something deeply human responded to this woodsmoke redolence. It touched Alvin, smoothed his face. Seeker sucked in the smoky bouquet, licking the air.

  "Did you ever wonder why nobody ever came to visit the museum?"

  Alvin 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."

  Alvin said nothing for a long time. Then, "I see. I had thought that human destiny turned upon the pivot of Diaspar."

  "It did," Seeker said. Alvin twitched as though something had prodded him; Cley suspected he had forgotten that Seeker was there. "But that is only a partial story."

  Alvin looked penetratingly at Seeker. "I have long suspected that you represent something . . . unknown. I extensively interrogated the archives of Diaspar about your species. You evolved during a time when humans were relatively unambitious."

  Seeker said softly, "They had done great damage to themselves. Remorse tinged them. But only for a while."

  Alvin nodded. "Still, our records did not show such a high intelligence as you display."

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

  "Well, of course. That defines species, nearly."

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

  Alvin shook his head. "By telepathy, like that of Lys?"

  "Or more advanced."

  "Well, that might alter the character of i
ntelligence, granted."

  Alvin's 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."

  Alvin's mouth turned up in an irked curve. "People seem to feel I speak fairly clearly."

  "People do, yes."

  Alvin smiled stiffly. "We re-created you ourselves, 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.

  "That would explain why you move so easily in space."

  "Not entirely." Seeker's eyes danced merrily.

  "You have other connections?"

  "With everything. Don't you?"

  Alvin shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't think so."

  "Then do not think so much."

  Cley laughed, but at the back of her mind a growing tenor cry demanded attention. "Something's . . ."

  Seeker nodded. "Yes."

  She felt the Supras of Lys now, Seranis 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.

  "How quickly does it approach?" Alvin asked urgently. The earlier mood was broken, his doubts momentarily dispelled. Now he was cool efficiency.

  "I can't tell." Cley frowned. "There are refractions. ... Is it possible that the Mad Mind can move even faster than light?"

  "That is but one of its achievements," Alvin said, concern creasing his forehead. "We humans attained that long ago, but only for small volumes, ships. The Mad Mind was limited, as are the magnetic beings. This great fact ordains that the linking of the natural magnetic minds proceeds slowly across the galaxy. Nothing so large can move faster than light. Or so we thought."

  "That's how the Mind finally got out of the Black Sun, isn't it?" Cley asked. She caught thin shouts of alarm in her mind.