Behaving like something between liquid and powder, the crystalline panel first became translucent and then receded into the circular jamb at the end of the corridor through which they had passed.
Beyond that corridor was a junction with only two choices: left, which would presumably take them back to the other ship which was docked nearby or right, which moved further into the two thousand kilometer long, rectangular structure built onto the thirty thousand kilometer long panel which formed part of what Kongming was increasingly convinced was indeed a Matrioshka Brain.
“We should investigate the ship first,” Kongming decided, turning left and shortly coming to a seemingly identical, opaque pane of crystal set into an equally identical jamb, beyond which was almost certainly the second ship.
Though this time, when Kongming attempted to open the crystalline door by placing his hand against it, nothing happened. He cocked his head in confusion, trying again but again nothing happened.
“The way seems to be made clear,” the Crafter sighed, and Kongming was forced to agree.
They doubled back and made their way down the right-hand corridor, walking several meters before Kongming’s com-link chimed that they were out of range of the shuttle’s transceiver—from which he had been receiving passive sensor feeds.
“That’s odd,” he said, turning around and seeing that the corridor through which they had just come was gone. In its place was another opaque, crystal disc which barred the way. Yet again, when he touched it nothing happened.
“I am not livestock to be herded,” Kratos growled.
“Nor I,” Kongming agreed, “but we have little choice in the matter.”
He resumed his previous direction and after less than a minute came to another opaque disc. He sighed, reaching out tentatively with his hand before looking over his shoulder.
To his surprise, neither Kratos nor the Crafter were in the now-truncated corridor with him. The ‘corridor,’ such as it was, was now merely ten meters long and was eerily silent. “Kratos?” he called out, checking his com-link and finding nothing amiss. There was no interference that he could detect, but there was also no signal from either Kratos’ power armor or the shuttle.
He grimaced, but he knew he had come too far to allow fear to control him. There was a potentially matchless harvest of discovery to be had on the other side of the door he had just reached, and he knew of nothing that could stop him from attempting to reach it now that he was so close.
Kongming reached out with his hand, this time with more confidence, and when his fingers touched the opaque panel he was rewarded with the same warm, tingling sensation which had preceded the opening of the first door.
Just as before, the panel seemed to melt away and what was revealed beyond was unlike anything he had expected to find.
The chamber he stepped into was dome-shaped and cavernous, measuring at least fifty meters high at the apex and twice that in diameter at the floor. The dome’s surfaced glimmered with a hypnotic display of lights, the patterns and colors of which were more fascinating than any other display he had witnessed in his life.
But they were mere footnotes compared to the mound of clearly organic material situated in the middle of the dome’s floor. Thousands of strands of the same, fleshy material which Kongming had found aboard the ComStat Hub—and which powered the Prejudice’s virtual processing systems—were interwoven to form bundles which grew progressively thicker the closer they came to the center of the chamber.
There, pulsing with an inner, greenish light was a spire of crystal which even as he watched seemed to gradually morph from one ‘form’ to another without ever changing its apparent physical dimensions or angles.
A nearby strand of neural tissue no thicker than a spaghetti noodle slowly unwound itself from its main bundle and rose, like a cobra, until it was at the level of Kongming’s eyes—which, incidentally, is where its thin end was pointed.
Kongming took a hesitant step back and the fiber sluggishly pursued. Kongming drew a deep, steadying breath and muttered, “This is what you came for…”
Steeling his resolve, he reached out with his finger until it was mere inches from the bundle. The bundle slowly moved toward his fingernail, and when it touched his skin he felt a surge of what seemed like electrical current surge through his body.
His vision instantly whited out, and when he regained his senses he was in the same dreamscape where he had first conversed with the Seer.
“You have come at last,” the Seer’s voice called from over his shoulder, and Kongming turned to see the same apparition which had haunted his waking thoughts since the fantasy of Zhongda had been chased from his mind.
“You brought me here,” Kongming said, “so why do you sound surprised?”
“We cannot truly see the future, Kongming,” the Seer sighed. “We can only unwind the threads of probability as the Masters taught us to do so very, very long ago.”
“The Masters…they were the Ancients,” Kongming said, rather than asked. He waved his hand, intending to encompass the dome but seeing nothing except empty, white void where he gestured. The only things which were tangible and perceptible in this strange, virtual space were him and the Seer.
“They were that,” the Seer nodded. “And they were much, much more.”
“I need answers,” Kongming said flatly, “not more cryptic nonsense.”
“And answers you shall have,” the Seer agreed. “What would you know?”
“Did the Ancients build this place—the Matrioshka Brain, I mean,” Kongming again futilely gestured to the emptiness around him.
“No,” the Seer shook his head serenely, “the Eyes were left behind by others. The Masters simply learned to use them and they passed this knowledge on to us, who act as their Watchers.”
Kongming’s suspicion was now confirmed: the Matrioshka Brain was indeed the ‘Eye’ which the Seer had hinted at earlier. “What were the Seers supposed to watch?”
“Everything,” the Seer replied, “for there is nothing in the universe which does not contribute to, or attempt to undo, the most precious thing of all: life.”
“Were the ‘Eyes’ built by the Elders?”
The Seer cocked his head dubiously, “I do not know the answer to that question. What I know is that the Masters did not build them.”
Kongming narrowed his eyes, “You’re not real, are you?”
“I am no less and no more real than you are,” the Seer retorted.
“You’re…a part of me somehow,” Kongming concluded.
“Put simply: yes. But now you are also a part of me,” the Seer explained. “Think of it as a symbiosis: the Mark which you accidentally received—what you think of as ‘Ancient neural tissue’,” he clarified, “does possess an extremely rudimentary form of what you would consider ‘intelligence’ or, at the very least, ‘instinct.’ But it is not sentient; therefore it is not a discrete being, or entity, in its own right. To achieve sentience, the Mark requires a host through which it gains experiential perspective.”
Kongming began to nod slowly, recalling the reports of how Hansheng had interfaced with the Prejudice’s main cogitators near the end of the Battle of Cagnzyz. “And the tissue—the ‘Mark’—can interface with any form of data processor?”
“Yes, at least in the short term,” the Seer allowed hesitantly, “but the Mark is designed to infiltrate any inorganic systems which attempt to interface with it for the purpose of destroying those inorganic systems. The Masters very nearly lost the Great Struggle against a plague of inorganics, and thus imbued their very essence—including the Mark—with defenses that would repel attempts at infiltrating, controlling, or otherwise subverting the Mark for aims which do not align with those of the Masters. Those defenses unerringly succeeded in protecting the Masters’ legacy…until the arrival of the Dark.”
“The Dark?” Kongming repeated skeptically. “How does any of that have to do with the Dark? And what is the Dark anyway?”
“The Dark is, put bluntly, the perfect pathogen,” the Seer explained. “It was designed not to destroy, or even to manipulate, but simply to observe the Mark and its host. Were its creators’ goals any more ambitious, the Dark would have been eradicated long ago. But its creators were clever—cleverer even than the Masters. Their abomination infects a host that bears the Mark, and eventually that host becomes…corrupted. The savage perfection of the Dark is that it does not overtly, or even covertly, encourage its hosts to act against the Masters—it simply provides those hosts with advantages which will eventually fade if certain steps are not taken.”
“What kind of steps?” Kongming pressed.
“I…I do not know,” the Seer said with what seemed like genuine surprise. “I thought I remembered but now…I cannot seem to recall the details.”
“So…‘hosts’ that have been infected with the Dark can use the Sight?” Kongming asked, recalling with vivid detail the process of unwinding the serpent-like threads of probability.
“Only in a limited fashion,” the Seer shook his head. “Emotion acts to render the sight less precise. It seems that the Dark only permits its hosts Sight of extreme conflict nexuses, whereas the Masters’ intended gift was one which would prevent such conflict. At least…I thought that was their intent…” the Seer trailed off doubtfully. “The Sight was intended to promote the development of life, not destroy it, but the Dark seems to revel in destruction.”
“How does the Sight even work?”
“The Eyes process possible futures and arrange them into threads of probability,” the Seer said confidently, but at this point Kongming was beginning to doubt the value of his words, “and one with the Mark can then search these threads.”
“But how can that happen?” Kongming said dubiously. “How can a living creature, with no equipment whatsoever, transmit and receive information faster than light to and from one of these ‘Eyes’?”
“It is achieved via a form of what you might consider ‘entanglement’,” the Seer explained, and that bit seemingly confirmed Kongming’s best working theory. “Each Mark contains a number of unique particles which are, essentially, entangled with particles found in there,” he gestured to a previously empty patch of white void, which was now replaced with the towering crystal spire around which the Ancient neural tissue bundles were tightly wound.
“The rare elements,” Kongming nodded, glad to have that portion of his theory also confirmed, “they serve as the conduit for the information transfer.”
“Indeed,” the Seer nodded.
“But…if that’s the case,” Kongming mused, “why doesn’t each Eye just shut off access to the particles that have been infected by the Dark?”
“That is one of the many defensive measures which the Masters provided,” the Seer sighed, “but the Dark has only existed for a tiny moment in the Ancients’ timescales, and yet it has already destroyed nearly all of us Watchers.”
“How many Watchers were there?”
“At our height, we numbered in the tens of thousands,” the Seer said darkly, “but now only a tiny fraction of those remain—and those who have survived are wise not to employ the Sight overly much, since doing so invariably attracts the Dark.”
Kongming nodded slowly as piece after piece fell into place in this mysterious puzzle. He then straightened himself and said, “I made you a promise back on Cagnzyz. I told you I would help you if you helped me; you fulfilled your end of the bargain and now I think it’s time for me to fulfill mine. What can I do?”
“That is a…difficult question,” the Seer said hesitantly. “For you did not undergo the ritual cleansing required of a Watcher.”
“Cleansing?”
“As I said, emotion clouds the Sight,” the Seer explained, “and one whose perspective is weighted down by emotional attachments—however distant they might seem from one moment to the next—cannot use the Sight without incurring significant physical harm. This is to prevent the Mark from falling into the hands of those who would use it for their own purposes—this is another of the Masters’ defensive systems, if you will. Somehow the Dark seems able not only to survive this harmful mechanism, but exposure to it actually seems to make infected hosts stronger.”
“How do you know that?” Kongming pressed. “Can you somehow observe the hosts that are infected with the Dark?”
“Not directly, no,” the Seer said grimly, “that is a primary reason why they are ‘the Dark’: because we cannot see them. But indirectly we all feel the death of a fellow Watcher—on rare occasions, Watchers have reported the presence of the Dark shortly before their lives were ended.”
“Then…how can I help?” Kongming asked.
“You are different,” the Seer mused. “Your Sight will never be as far or as clear as that of another Watcher, and yet you survived the final test which, even among the properly initiated and cleansed, is fatal in a large portion of those subjected to it. We are uncertain of how to proceed.”
“Wait,” Kongming held up a hand haltingly, “who’s ‘we’?”
The Seer smiled, “Such an inquisitive mind you have. Prior to your arrival, a few surviving Watchers debated this issue in private before arriving at a conclusion. Normally such a conclave would result in the summary destruction of a host in your position, given that you were not properly initiated or cleansed and that your first use of the Sight was to impose your will on creation itself by choosing who should live and who should die—and basing that choice on an emotional connection, which is the basest form of motive. However…” the Seer continued even as Kongming wanted to shrink from the memory of Vali Funar’s last moment, “we believe you can provide service in a different fashion—a fashion which we have been reluctant to endorse, but as the Dark continues to spread unabated we find we have little choice but to do so.”
“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Kongming said meekly.
“No,” the Seer allowed, “but it would appear it is enough.” The white void surrounding them melted away and was replaced with familiar graphical representation of the Gorgon Sectors. “The Dark has been at work in this area for quite some time, and all of the Watchers whose duty it has been to tend this region have been destroyed by them.”
“All of them are dead?” Kongming repeated incredulously.
“Yes,” the Seer nodded somberly, “and they were destroyed in the relative blink of an eye. The Dark has manipulated events here to serve their purpose, and though we do not know the Dark’s ultimate goal we cannot allow them to succeed. That is where you come in.”
“Me?” Kongming recoiled.
“Study this diagram,” the Seer said as a dozen different points winked emphatically all across the Gorgon Sectors—and even beyond, toward the Outer Rim, “these are the locations where our fellow Watchers were when the Dark consumed them.”
“What do you want me to do?” Kongming asked as he recognized something of a pattern in the arrangement of the locations, but he could not immediately identify it.
“Investigate these locations,” the Seer replied, “you need not visit each of them personally, but there may be clues present in these places which pertain to the fates of our fellow Watchers.”
“I thought you said the Dark killed them,” Kongming said skeptically.
“That is our opinion, but…it is complicated,” the Seer sighed. “You are every bit as inquisitive and formidable as we anticipated; you fall well short of a true Seer, but you may yet play your own part in this.”
Ignoring what he took to be an overt insult, Kongming decided to ask the last question on his mind, “If you can see the future—or the ‘threads of probability’—and you correctly guessed my arrival here decades ago, along with predicting everything else that brought me and my people to this place,” he gestured widely with his arms, “how is it that you don’t already know what happened to your people? This all seems like another test to me—and I’m done being tested.”
“Existence its
elf is a test,” the Seer said as his eyes hardened, “and arrogance is always a weakness.” He stood with silent condemnation plain to see on his features before those features softened fractionally, “To answer your question as directly as possible: the gift of Sight itself proves to be the greatest, most difficult to isolate variable in calculating the threads of probability. It is a small thing to predict the behavior of simple chemistry under controlled conditions, and only slightly more difficult to predict the behavior of inanimate material—even so much material as is contained in our narrow facet of reality. Predicting the behavior of intelligence was challenging, but the Masters discovered the method after centuries of dedicated study. The true difficulty,” he explained, “is in predicting the impact of information—especially when that information was obtained via the Sight.”
Kongming finally thought he understood that last, most obscure detail, “So the Dark, by employing the Sight for motives not aligned with the will of the Ancients…somehow increases the difficulty of unwinding the threads of probability?” He thought about that interplay for a few seconds before he was reminded of something called the ‘observation paradox,’ which had been a crude but effective thought experiment designed to describe how simply observing a particle could change its behavior. “The Dark, just by using the Sight for its own purposes, actually changes the probability of each thread’s accuracy. If it can observe enough information—or unwind enough threads—the Dark can render the Sight completely useless…which means that previously probable threads become impossible, and previously impossible threads become possible?”
“Indeed,” the Seer nodded gravely. “The Dark’s reach has extended so far, and so deep, as to cast an impermeable shadow over vast tracts of this galaxy. With our Sight thus limited, our ability to see the threads clearly has been nearly stripped away entirely. If the Dark is not stopped, the Masters’ vision and plan will be undone—which would spell the inevitable end of all life as we know it, according to every thread which we have ever unwound.”
The Middle Road (Spineward Sectors: Middleton's Pride Book 7) Page 22
