Moskin stared. The darkness was once again pushed back by a display, this one a simplified representation of a star system. Globe in the centre: star. Globe circling the star: the Pinian realm Bayn had found, in its ballworld planetary guise. Another globe, further out, spinning around a point presumably representative of another planet: the Elevator’s resting place.
“That’s not possible,” he whispered. “If this scale is correct…”
A sun maybe three billion cubits34 across,” the Flesh-Eater said, “a planetary orbit almost two trillion cubits35 in length. A length the planet can traverse in almost exactly one Firstmade year, by the way, using nothing but gravity. Quite the achievement in planetary engineering.”
“Did you say trillion?”
“And the orbit of the planet the Destarion is circling is even wider,” the Flesh-Eater went on. “Nine-and-a-half trillion cubits,36 give or take. And that may not even be the full extent of the system. Star systems are huge and cumbersome and inconvenient.”
“Inside a volume…” Moskin shook his head. “How big is the space in which Earth, Hell and Cursèd used to float?”
“The gulf is approximately a hundred million cubits37 across,” Bayn said, “although of course that only counts the breadth of the volume previously occupied by the Pinian realms. The layer of space between Heaven and the Rooftop is technically as wide across as the Void Dimension itself, functionally infinite. It is, however, only slightly more than a hundred million cubits deep.”
“A hundred million?”
“It’s folded space, an alternate layer,” Bayn said. “This is the work of the Infinites, Moskin. You shouldn’t think about it in terms of spatial physics as you know it.”
“But even so…”
“You’re not familiar with spherical worlds,” Bayn said. “Yes, they take up a lot of space, but they’re also classical, low-maintenance … Cursèd’s Playground is full of them,” she paused, then went on in a low, excited voice. “If you have a whole separate sphere to fold three flatworlds into, and you want them to function without outside help – well. A star and a collection of orbiting rocks with the flatworlds wrapped around the outsides of them … don’t you see? It’s not a vanishing. It’s an exile. Just as you suspected.”
“Except they’re not supposed to function entirely without outside help, are they?” Moskin said.
“True,” Bayn said. “Another suspicion of yours that I think is correct, by the way.”
“How can you doubt it?” Moskin said. “With so many dying…”
“Oh no, that’s quite normal,” Bayn said. “Healthy, growing population. Earth was mostly inhabited by humans. Trust me, if they’d just been dying at that rate for the past fourteen centuries, there would have been none left twelve centuries ago. Humans die almost as quickly as they breed,” she let out another unsettling laugh. “Almost.”
“If I recall correctly, Hell has a diverse native population but few humans,” Moskin ventured.
“Yes, a lot of Ghoffers and Bībkind, plenty of Molren and a reasonably large community of your kind, Moskin,” Bayn agreed. “Their death toll is likely to be much less ferocious. And Cursèd was almost uninhabited. There was a bunch of Ogres there at the last census, and they most likely won’t be dying at all. This is the main reason I think I have missed the other planets so far. Not as much of a signal to pick up on. Although…”
“Although?”
“Well, the planet I found has most of Earth wrapped around it,” Bayn said. “That means a significant portion of Earth, and all those humans, are on one of the other worlds. And if each only has a part of a flatworld integrated into it…”
“There might be more than three,” Moskin said, thinking again of the scattered organs of the threefold sacrifice.
“A lot more,” Bayn said. “And the humans on those Earth-parts would have bred themselves close to the level of the Earth-planet by now, which should have made them easier to locate. Unless the more numerous non-human locals of those worlds had … well, enforced some control. Maybe even performed a cull.”
Moskin shivered. “But the planet you’ve found, the one which had most of Earth wrapped around it – its population is stable?”
“I’m not sure if ‘found’ is the right word,” Bayn said, “or ‘stable’, for that matter … but yes, they seem to be doing okay. Only…” again, she trailed off again, a little uncertainly.
“Only?” Moskin prompted once more.
“How much do you know about humans?”
Moskin shook his head. “Practically nothing. I’ve never met one,” he thought of the Angel. “Not a standard one, anyway.”
“They’re … curious beasts,” Bayn said. “As you know, they’re fairly common throughout the Corporation but very unpopular due to a broken stimulus-response model and its related aggression, stupidity and other behavioural and cognitive issues. The divine and mortal authorities under the Infinite Ith – of which the Pinian Brotherhood is one – were required to take in populations of humans and offer them protection and shelter. Nobody particularly wanted to, but … well, there were historical as well as ethical reasons.”
“I remember,” Moskin said. “On Barnalk Low, we were taught that it was because the humanoid form wasn’t sufficiently separated from the chosen physical form favoured by Gods when They walked among mortal beings, so They considered it an insult. But Ith, in Her benevolence, named the humans as Her chosen race, and bade Her followers and allies shelter them.”
“Which just made everyone hate them even more,” Bayn said in amusement, “yes. The version I heard was that humans just turned out that way. The humanoid form is fairly standard for primates, and your own Áeaoid form is very similar – it’s really just a matter of evolutionary adaptation, luck of the draw. But when it happened, a lot of Gods got annoyed. The Worm Cult also played a part in making the humanoid form hated across the Corporation, and that is a lingering prejudice.
“There’s even some evidence that Nnal, the Nemesis Infinite, was involved in the adoption of the human race by Ith. He may have forced Ith to take the humans as Her own, and perpetuated the curse ever since so that She had to watch the human race be hated and hunted across the Corporation. There are many legends.”
“Interesting, but maybe not pertinent to our current situation,” Moskin suggested.
“Maybe not,” Bayn agreed. “Usually, when the Infinites begin to work Their way into an explanation, it’s a sign that things have gone beyond my expertise. However, we are looking upon the work of Infinites, as I said. This much is almost certain. Another chapter in the mythical conflict between Infinite and Firstmade.”
“I concur,” Moskin said. “Still, humans – short lifespans, adaptive, and heavy breeders?”
“Oh, like vermin,” Bayn said. “Before the vanishing, when the Four Realms were open and run by the Disciples – run properly, that is, and with full support and infrastructure in place, which it doesn’t look like they have at this point – back then, the humans were kept under control. There was balance. The other species kept them on the rails, and a bit of good old-fashioned fear of God didn’t hurt. They were healthy, and their population was healthy. Now, though … well, I would be less worried about them all dying in there, and more worried about them overcrowding the planets they’re on,” she paused. “And then all dying in there.”
“So what do we do about it?” Moskin asked.
“Ah, well, yes,” Bayn replied. “I was rather hoping you could tell me that.”
BLACKNETTLE
The Flesh-Eater shut down the observation display and brought the light back up to normal.
“The Destarion is dormant at the moment,” she said, “as far as I have been able to tell. And activation is dependent on orders from the revered Disciples, or at the very least her crew, which – in her latest incarnation as a transportation alternative for people too lazy to take the Stairs – has been mostly humans.”
“And you haven’t
seen any sign of humans … breeding and dying … in the Destarion’s vicinity?” Moskin asked. The idea of a ship – an entity – like the Destarion being under the control of human beings was a little unsettling, and he was quietly relieved to hear that she was dormant. It was probably for the best.
“No,” Bayn said. “I’ve concluded that her passenger and crew numbers were relatively low to begin with, and have either perished due to lack of power and resources, or have been placed into deep stasis. Humans are unlikely to survive – certainly not for fourteen centuries, as it has now been.”
“I gather they’re pretty adaptable, though,” Moskin said.
“Oh, no doubt about it. The world I have located proves that at least,” Bayn agreed. “But even that … I am not sure how long it will last. It’s about the Power Plant, you see.”
“I assume you mean the Power Plant,” Moskin said.
The ten million Corporate Dimensions ran on fundamental energy from the Power Plant in The Centre. It was all very well to wrest energy from the laws of physics – Barnalk Low, for example, used a lot of power generated by conventional means – but in a universe without a lifeline to the Power Plant, physics itself was inert. There was no starting point. It was like the old story about the man trying to create life from clay. First you had to get your own clay.
Most Corporate civilisations cut out the middle steps and simply converted Power Plant energy directly from the unimaginable ether of the power network.
“Power Plant energy would help stabilise any of the difficulties a so-called natural, self-sustaining star system might encounter,” Bayn said, “making it a theoretically safe plane of reality for an indefinite period. It is almost unthinkable that the planets were supposed to operate without a conduit. Without knowing how large the system is, but assuming it’s not as large as a galaxy like the Playground…”
“It would just be a more drawn-out way of killing them all,” Moskin said.
“Yes,” Bayn replied darkly. “And unless the Infinites’ intention for this exile was to force the Disciples to watch everything in Earth, Hell and Cursèd die – not that I’m necessarily ruling that out – then there has to be some way of feeding them power. Either through the Destarion–”
“Do we know the Lost Disciples are in there?” Moskin asked.
“What?” Bayn asked, sounding scandalised.
“There was a faction in Fade,” Moskin explained, although he suspected she’d studied the same data he had even if she hadn’t lived among the organic faithful, “who believed that when the vanishing – the exile – happened, and a bunch of debris and civilians were left behind to fall into the Rooftop, the three Disciples were part of the debris.”
“If the revered Firstmades had fallen from Earth onto the Rooftop of Castle Void, they would almost certainly have been killed,” Bayn said loftily. “And they would have taken new bodies and been reborn at God’s feet–”
“Not if they were caught by the Darkings and taken into the Castle,” Moskin said quietly. “And not killed.”
Bayn hissed. Unlike her laughs, this offering sounded exactly like a hiss. “That would be an almost unprecedented act of war.”
“Whereas this,” Moskin gestured at the platform behind him to indicate the gulf in which they were apparently now floating, “is an almost unprecedented act of punitive world-banishment into another layer of reality. Although admittedly the involvement of the Infinites makes it a complicated crime to prosecute.”
Bayn didn’t laugh. “If the revered Firstmades were taken into Castle Void as prisoners, our course is clear. The nature of the aid we can offer changes dramatically.”
“I don’t think that actually happened,” Moskin said, worried that the Flesh-Eater might be preparing to start a war she’d already told him she wasn’t equipped to carry out. “I’m just wondering if you had any supporting evidence for us to act on the assumption that it didn’t.”
He was also concerned, but didn’t want to press his luck, that there was something far larger that they were both missing. Something about the Pinians not dying, something about that lone doomed soul-journey in the Fourth Century after the vanishing. There was something wrong with the picture – and if it was something missing from the picture, it was something huge.
Bayn didn’t answer this – not immediately.
“Do you know where I really realised I was lost, Moskin?” she asked. In the adjacent sweep of wall, another door-mouth gaped open.
Moskin rose and started towards it, recognising the unspoken invitation. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. “Where was that?”
“The thickness of the bubble,” she told him moodily.
“The thickness of … what bubble?”
“The area affected by the exile,” Bayn said. “The boundary of the gulf of the vanished worlds, somewhere inside which our folded-up star system has been tucked. I initially envisioned it as a bubble. A field, of sorts. The veil, as they call it.”
“And the thickness of the veil was what made you realise you were lost?” Moskin stopped in the newly-appeared doorway, running his hand around the smooth enamel.
“The idea that it even has thickness is probably a logical fallacy,” Bayn said. “But at least on this side, we know that the gulf is a certain size, and we know its affected area does not have clear edges.”
“The stairs below Fade,” Moskin said, “and the stairs above Rise.”
“Exactly. They don’t cleanly cut off, but instead sort of blur away into nothingness. But that’s only the edge of the gulf, and it only affects things that were there when the vanishing – or the exile – occurred. It really only affects the Eden Road, actually.”
“I’ve descended and stepped onto Uterña without fading away myself,” Moskin said.
“Yes. What’s more, there were things deep inside the volume which weren’t caught in the bubble, and they remained perfectly solid. Like the debris I collected – and like me myself,” Bayn said. “One minute I was in wide-envelope orbit, the next minute … here, with the rest of the rubbish, and nothing but emptiness all the way to Heaven.”
Moskin was tempted to ask more about Bayn’s experience of the exile from a first-hand perspective. It didn’t, he supposed, have much bearing on their current situation. If it could be of any help, she probably would have said something about it already.
“It’s quite beyond me,” he said politely.
“Yes, well, me too,” Bayn admitted. “I made a lot of guesses – and since you ask, the idea that the Disciples are in there was such a guess, although I have more information now … but I keep circling back to the same set of completely indecipherable physical properties we have to deal with – which is why, by and large, I have run into problems and why, ultimately, I found myself lost. I have the ability to make intuitive leaps, but I’m incapable of the same level of abstraction you are.”
“Physical properties,” Moskin started into the passageway. “Let me see…”
Bayn didn’t even let him start. “We have three flatworlds that have been dropped into a separate plane of reality and apparently rearranged into spherical planets,” she said tartly. “We have an empty gulf that ships can fly around in and idiots can fling themselves into, but which has fuzzy edges where the Eden Road passes through from top to bottom. And we have a mess of debris from the centre of the gulf, that didn’t fuzz out or vanish with the rest but just sort of sat there when the worlds disappeared out from around it, and then fell. And you know where that leaves me?” she still didn’t wait for him to respond. “That leaves me at ‘an Infinite did it’, and that gives me absolutely nothing to work with. There is no analysis, no calculation, no experiment I can conceive of that will take me another step forward. And when I say ‘another step forward’, keep in mind that the last real step forward I took – before encountering you, at least – was hundreds of years ago.”
“And so you’re forced to turn to the hideous mystical illogic of orga
nic creatures,” Moskin smiled as he walked.
Bayn was silent for a few moments in a distinctly uncomfortable way. Then she chuckled. “I would far prefer an alternative phrasing that was more complimentary to both of us,” she said, “but basically, yes. I am at a loss. You are not. If my data can help you, then perhaps your faith can help me.”
It was such a paradoxically heartfelt, not to mention interesting proposal, Moskin couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was more than a little at a loss himself.
“I guess I’ll have to see what I can do,” he said. “Why me, though?”
“Oh, please don’t start asking that.”
“Fade has thousands of faithful, thousands of believers, thousands of theorists who have been studying this since it began. The Molren alone–”
“Molren,” Bayn scoffed. “Just living for a long time is no measure of how much you know about the urverse. It’s you because it’s you, Moskin. You saw through the riddle of the souls and envisioned the transformation of the worlds. You drew the connection between the origin story of Gróbi, Áea and Gyrlei and the exile of the Pinian realms, and you did it all without the database and processing power at my disposal.”
“I’d barely begun to figure it out,” Moskin demurred, as the tunnel coiled upwards.
“You want to know if things are falling apart in the Lost Realms?” Bayn asked. “You want to know if the revered Firstmades are in there, and not down in Castle Void having the old thumbscrews applied? Your way is the way we’re going to find out. Because my data is only going to take us so far, and the Angel isn’t working anymore.”
“The … Angel?” Moskin stopped in the middle of the passageway. “You mean Blacknettle, the Angel who … who that other Angel was asking you to hand over? She’s in here?”
If you want Blacknettle, I invite you to come and retrieve her in person, he remembered the ship saying.
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