The Shattered Sky

by Paul Lucas

  Sure enough, on the other side of the room a tarantula on another workbench was waving a small white cloth dangling from its fore legs. We walked over. The element body crawled up onto a particularly mysterious-looking bank of Builder machines. “Do you see this?” It said, instantly picking up the conversation from its other body.

  I nodded.

  “I think this is what was catalyzing the disruption. It’s a gravity wave resonator. A communication device like a radio, except it uses gravity waves instead of electromagnetic waves as the carrier. A couple others have been found in other artifact sites, so this was fairly easy to spot.”

  “That’s why you were able to shut it off so quickly before.”

  “Right. Part of my job as xenotech is to keep up with discoveries of other expeditions. Now remember that gravity waves are not quite like electromagnetic waves. EM radiation comes only from certain specific sources. Gravity waves, however, come from everywhere. Every material object in the universe has mass and therefore a gravitational field. In other words, everything around us is emitting gravity waves.“The resonator does work like a radio in that it sets up a gravity-wave transmission in resonance with the gravity waves being emitted by the objects around it. This boosts the signal, kind of like how a radio station uses a transmission tower. But while a radio can only work like this with metal objects, a gravity-wave resonator can work with any material object, as they all emit gravity waves.

  “What happened, I think, is that the resonator used the entirety of the Tower as its transmission booster. Many people think that may be the Tower’s true purpose, to act as a gravity-wave transmitter. If you’ve ever noticed, the Tower’s vertical curve is very asymptotic, like the graph of a quadratic equation. The outer shape probably has something to do with the wave amplitude. All the rooms, airducts, living space, and lighting might have been added just as an afterthought.

  “Anyway, it was transmitting powerful gravity-wave signals for I don’t know how long. It was slowly making its way up the frequency spectrum, from long waves to short waves. What this did was two things: one, it set up secondary resonances in the surrounding area in objects of a certain size. In other words, objects of a certain size acted like receiving antennae on a radio for the gravity-wave transmission. This is probably what was really bothering the Xique’s multi-ton prey gods. The effect probably wasn’t life-threatening, but the constant vibration of your internal organs would make you feel--what was that term you mammals use?--it would make you feel queasy, like motion sickness, only you’d have it all the time. Not surprisingly, the Xique’s prey gods decided to move far away to where the effect wasn’t so intense.

  “As the gravity slowly transformed to higher and higher frequencies over what I guess were a number of weeks, the vibration of the tower crossed the threshold into the low-subsonic hearing range. The Xique, who have far superior hearing to humans and even Myotans, picked up on that. Heck, given the Tower’s size and the power of the gravity-wave transmissions, they could probably pick up the low hum at an easy fifty kilometers distance if the conditions were right. They must have concluded that the sound was what was driving the prey-gods away, and sent out the word to every Xique they could reach.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. I was following the technical jargon, but only barely. “What would have happened if you hadn’t shut off the resonator, Dumas?”

  The element-body before us scuttled around in a tight circle. The Spider Swarm equivalent of a shrug? “My best guess is that things would have gotten very unpleasant around here for you and your people, Gossamyr. In another week the resonance would have started to affect human-sized objects. All of you would have been constantly sick. You would have had to abandon the Tower for I don’t know how long.”

  We were all silent for a moment, contemplating that. “But how did the resonator turn on? Last we knew this room was sealed.”

  “I don't know. It might have been set on a timer, or remotely activated. Probably all the machines in this room were activated at the same time, including the door mechanism.”

  “But why?” I said.

  “The real question here is not why,” my husband said quietly, “but who did it.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Human-animal hybrids are thought to be the first transhuman intelligences engineered by the Builders, perhaps not too long after the Great Library records end. After all, primitive human-animal hybrids were already in existence on old Earth as far back as the 1980s, when biologists of that era began grafting human DNA onto lab animals for medical research.

  Hybrids would be easier to create than pure uplifts; some scholars even call it a “cheat” on the Uplift process. After all, the template of DNA sequences for creating a sentient humanoid lifeform already exist in every human being; it would only be a simple matter for people with Builder-level technology to “customize” this template by importing other ready-made gene sequences from other lifeforms.

  There is further evidence among existing species of these ancient hybrids, as many Artisan-class humanoids have DNA sequences that unmistakably came from human beings. Felinoids, for example, get only 1%-2% of their genes from cats. The human genes seem to govern the sentient’s overall humanoid form, brain formation, reproductive mechanics, and internal organ function. The feline genes govern facial features, secondary body features (fur, tail, etc), as well as enhanced senses.

  Other sentient species with possible human-animal hybrid gene sequences include Myotans, Otterkin, Equinoids, Neomatans, and Vulpines, but await the opportunities for wide-spread gene-sampling and testing needed for confirmation.

  --from In Search of the Non-Human Mind, by Freida Han, published 545, Haggerty Press, Borelea.

  * * *

  Dumas left the Lab several hours later. He had rigged up several tiny portable heaters to allow himself to transverse the corridors of the Tower without losing too much heat. The batteries on the heaters would only last an hour or two, but that was more than enough time for his element-bodies to make their way down to the surface and its more arthropod-friendly temperatures.

  As soon as he left Lerner and I spread our blankets and sleeping rolls and had sweaty, sticky, very noisy sex. The exotic nature of our surroundings only added to our excitement, that and the fact that we would not be disturbed--it was well past dark and the vast majority of the community fifty stories below us was fast asleep. Still, the open door lent a slight element of danger that added extra shivers to our mating heat.

  When we finished, Lerner pleasantly surprised me by pulling out the needles and dyes and cloths of our tattooing kits. We heated our small pouches of dye by the space heater, and using the unit’s cheery reddish glow, my very naked husband was soon injecting warm red ink into my wing membrane with the repeated pinch-prick of his favorite bone needle. We had tried KN-made metal needles, but I hated how they felt; so cold and impersonal, and I could not help always thinking of the humans' evil-looking syringes. Like most females I’m very particular about what I let penetrate my body. Myotan-crafted needles made from the bones of small birds somehow always felt warmer and friendlier.

  In and of themselves, the individual pinpricks with the needle hurt, and many thousands of them over the course of many years were needed to perfect our tattoos. But the pain was always mitigated by the fact it was your Mate working on you, creating out of love an artwork that would live on long after you died. And the act was somewhat sexual, at least to us Myotans; your Mate straddles you, injecting warm ink into your body, each penetration of the needle breaching new skin, like the hymen of a virgin. Even the sensation of pleasure-pain was somewhat similar, if on a smaller scale, to what I felt my first time all those years ago.

  Soon it was my turn to work on him. I pulled my favorite needle from my kit, sterilized the point with a KN-made lighter, and bent to my task. Lerner had no wings, of course, but insisted on sharing in the Myotan tradition with me. His back and chest were my canvas. I straddled my husband’s muscular backside
and began applying the silver-gray dye I had prepared several days ago to the helistat image on his right shoulder blade.

  He squirmed several times under my ministrations. I often wondered if the tattooing process was as arousing for males as it was for us females, or if it was just the constant close touch of a naked female that inflamed them so. Probably a little of both. Not that my husband needed much provocation in any case.

  Just as I finished blotting the last of the stray ink from his back, he slowly turned over under me, his physical arousal very evident. His oh-so-innocent pursed lips and sprawled body were an invitation I could not resist. I shifted my tool fingers to his shoulders and spread my thighs wide to show how eager I was for him. With a soft, very male growl of eager impatience, he wiggled into position and thrust up into me with one fluid upward motion. I cried out as he filled me, shuddering with pleasure. His rhythm began slow and languidly, but quickly he worked his way into wild abandon. I met him surge for surge, grinding down into him with every upward push.

  It was his second time that night, so he lasted quite some time. I was able to climax twice before he cried out and went rigid under me, clutching my hips tightly and flooding me with his warm male gift.

  I collapsed on top of him as we both shivered through our aftershocks. I spread my wings wide to help me cool off.

  Something dry and scratchy scuttled across my right membrane near the very tip of my wing-finger. I looked up to see a hairy black spider peering at us, its eyes glistening in the glow from the space heater.

  I yelped and practically leapt off my husband, crouching on his side to make sure he was squarely between me and the creature. Lerner bolted up into a sitting position, looking around for whatever startled me. “What? What is it?”

  Trembling, I pointed.

  My husband rolled his eyes. “Goss, that’s just Dumas.”

  “I--I thought he left.”

  “He did, but he left an element body behind to help us monitor the equipment.”

  “That means he was probably watching us the whole time!” I said accusingly.

  Lerner shrugged, laying back down with fingers knitted behind his head as he looked up at me. “Not the whole time, I’m sure.”

  “That pervert!”

  “Goss, you have to understand about Spider Swarms. They aren’t human.”

  “I am not human.”

  “You know what I mean. Our bodies are so alien from theirs that he couldn’t possibly get aroused from watching us. Heck, he’d probably get more excited watching water drip off a damp rag than watching us have sex.”

  “Then why is he watching us?”

  “Remember this is just one element body, separated from the rest of Dumas. Individually like this, the element bodies aren’t any more sentient than, say, a well-trained housecat. Its all the spiders’ minds acting together in concert that give the swarms their intelligence. Dumas’ communal mind probably gave this critter here some simple commands to carry out while it was out. But it’s used to being part of a unit, so it’ll hang around whoever it finds familiar, like us. Besides, it’s a natural predator, so it’s probably fascinated by jerky motion, just like a cat would be.”

  “Hmp,” I said, pulling my lips into a sly smile. “And I guess we were pretty jerky there for a while.”

  “Speak for yourself, wife. Every move of mine was pure grace.”

  I thumped him playfully on the chest. “Oh, right. Did you say the spider liked watching jerky motion, or watching jerks? If it is the latter than I know a certain human he has his eye on right now.”

  “There’s someone else in the room?”

  I thumped him again, only half-playfully this time. He snickered and grabbed me, pulling me down into a mock-wrestling match. We rolled and struggled and laughed. He could have pinned me easily, but--smart male that he was--he let me end up on top.

  I cooed, my finger claws lightly scratching the near-hairless skin of his broad chest. “Does all this enthusiasm mean you’re ready for a third time, husband?”

  He looked a bit sheepish. “Geez, Goss, you’re going to screw me sterile.”

  “That does not matter with us.”

  He sat up, his face suddenly serious. “Maybe not for some things. But I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about the other night.”

  “About having a child?”

  “Yeah. If that’s what you want, I think I’m ready to go through with it.”

  “I have been thinking about it, too, Lerner. I am ready for it. But I am also unsure about a great deal. Especially about what the doctors back in the KN said we had to go through. And whatever children I eventually birthed wouldn’t even be our children, not in the true sense. They’d be--what was the word?”

  “Clones,” he said. “Our twin brother and sister, kind of.”

  Silence stretched. “Lerner,” I said at last, “I want to have children, but I want to have our children. I want it so much that it hurts sometimes when I think of it. But I don't know if we should leave for two years or more, not after what happened with the Xique. We lost so many. Our people need everyone, including us. Windrider needs me. I just--” My words faltered.

  My husband reached up and wiped away a stray tear I didn’t know I had shed until he pulled away glistening fingers. “Goss, it’s okay. We can wait a few more years until things get back to normal. We’re both still young.”

  “But it hurts, Lerner. Every other female my age already has a child or is expecting one. And when I see Feather or Windsong holding their youngsters, feeding them or rocking them or cooing little sounds at them, I feel this big emptiness deep inside. It sounds stupid and selfish, but I want a child now.”

  My husband opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for proper words to say. Finally, almost helplessly, he just leaned close and gently rubbed my back.

  A long time passed with us just holding each other. I calmed down and just enjoyed his warmth and closeness for a long while.

  My husband decided to change the subject. "Has there been any change with Brightwind?"

  I slowly shook my head. Brightwind had fallen asleep one night last week and had never woken up. His other injuries were responding well to treatment, but his head wounds had relapsed and driven him into a coma. "I'm afraid not. He keeps getting worse and worse. Both our spirit callings and KN medicine are not helping. Windrider fears he may be slipping away from us."

  "Damn."

  "We can't lose him, too, Lerner. We can't. Not after all the others."

  He hugged me tighter. "There's nothing we can do, I guess. There may be nothing anyone can do."

  A grumble sounded on the far, darkened side of the room, followed by a low whine and an odd popping noise. I yelped and without thinking jumped in my husband’s arms. “Is that Dumas?”

  I could feel Lerner suppressing a nervous shudder. He shook his head. “No. Dumas is right there.” He pointed with his chin at the spider who was two meters away, on the opposite side of us from the sound, scuttling slowly closer. It, too, was seeking comfort in closer proximity. “What was that?”

  “Let me see.” I waved my arms, chanting quickly and quietly in order to summon a light spirit to illuminate the far side of the room. Nothing happened. I tried again, putting all my concentration into it. Nothing again. “Lerner, the spirits--the Matrix--is not responding!”

  “Damn,” he said, reaching for his tool pack. “Didn’t Louis say that this room was not just a Weird, but a Dead Zone? The constant subsonics caused by the gravity resonance might have destroyed all the nanites in it. I wish we would have thought to check on that.” He grabbed up a flashlight and swung it around to where the noise had originated.

  There, just beyond the angled transparent tubes, stood a broad, open doorway that had not been there before. And beyond it, darkness.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The question I always come back to is this: Why a dyson sphere?

  The Builders had incredibly advanced technology
, so much so that interstellar travel would have been a routine matter for them. They could have accomplished any number of starship schemes outlined by Old Earth visionaries. Light sails, antimatter rockets, Bussard ramjets and more would have been as easy for them to make as creating an automobile is for us.

  The existence of extra-solar planets had been confirmed since 1994 on old Earth, meaning that in all statistical probability the galaxy at large must contain at least thousands of life-bearing worlds such as Earth and many millions more that are terraformable, another technology that the Builders would not have perspired over.

  So why didn’t they go? Why isn’t the galaxy teeming with human-built starships and colonies? Like our old Earth ancestors, we turn radio telescopes, interferometers, and kit-bashed gravitic detectors toward the surrounding stars and so far have found only silence, a dearth of artificial signals in every direction.

  Our science of true astronomy is still young; after all, no one from the KN had ever seen real stars until Joanna Singhe looked out into space from the Underworld thirty years ago. There is still much we do not know. But the question remains: why are the stars still so silent?

  --from The Other End of History, by Kylie Agamotto and Kenneth Jones, published 545, Little Shard Press, Teranesia.

  * * *

  We were not stupid. After what had happened with the Xique, we were not going to risk ourselves on unknowns. At least not by ourselves. We grabbed our clothes and ran out of there. We stopped just long enough for Lerner to grab up Dumas’ element body on the way out. It might have been my imagination, but the spider seemed as relieved as we were to get out of that place.