Heirs of Earth

by Sean Williams

  The thought was a disquieting one, putting as it did Thor’s intended mission to contact the Spinners into serious doubt, so Lucia turned away from it. After all, it wasn’t her problem. She had watched the other engrams scurry about at their highest clock speeds, frantically choosing systems, preparing for every possible contingency, expending far too much energy, she thought, in staving off the inevitable. For a brief time she considered volunteering for the mission, but that foolish notion soon passed. She’d spent what felt like an eternity locked in an electronic coffin alone; now that she was out, she wasn’t about to consign herself to another more permanent tomb. She had better things to live for.

  “You’re back?”

  Lucia had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t noticed Rob’s tumbling robot at the entrance to the Dark Room.

  “Yes. I went exploring without you. I’m sorry.”

  “The gifts?”

  “I visited them all, but there was too much to take in, in one scan. I spent most of my time in the Library, checking out some of the alien cultures recorded there.”

  His chuckle resounded in the darkness. “I wish we’d had you sooner, Lucia. It would have made our job a whole lot easier. It’s a shame the hole ship isn’t here, though. Now that’s an awesome piece of technology we’d love to figure out.”

  “Why do you suppose there’s only one of each thing per set of gifts?”

  “That’s one of the many mysteries we’ve yet to work out,” he answered, his robotic limbs twitching. “There are so many things here that we just don’t understand: complex machines that, for all we know, might well start a production line that could supply us with as many of each item as we need. Who knows?”

  It was certainly possible, thought Lucia, especially given what she had learned about the I-suits, but it was all too alien for her to be absolutely certain of anything. She might have had the ability to explore the gifts far more effectively than anyone else, but it would still take time—time that she knew she didn’t have. No one did.

  She did, however, sense hidden structures behind the gifts that hinted at unseen potentials. There was enough information in the Library alone, for example, to keep a hundred researchers occupied for a century. But behind that there was an underlying purpose or function that Lucia couldn’t quite fathom—and the same applied to all the other gifts, too: the Lab, the Surgery, the Science Hall, the Map Room—they all had things hidden beneath the surface.

  Of all the gifts she’d investigated so far, she had no doubt that the hole ships were the linchpin of humanity’s survival effort. Without them, there would be no ftl communication and no physical exchange between the colonies. Nor would there be any chance of escape, either.

  And that, ultimately, was what she wanted. She had no desire to hang around like a rabbit caught in headlights as the Starfish bore down on them. Thor had brought her back against her will, and Peter had made it absolutely clear that there was nothing for her, even if she did stay. The mental pain—worse than mere anguish or grief because this was written deep down in her operating code, causing strange leaps and jumps of emotion or continuity every time she thought of him—was going to render her dysfunctional if she didn’t quickly take steps to alleviate it.

  “You know,” Rob was saying, “sometimes I think we spend so much time wondering about the Spinners’ and Starfish’s motivations that we miss a very basic point.”

  “And that is?”

  “What if their motivations are beyond our comprehension?” he said. “Or worse: what if they have no motivations at all? I mean, we’re used to empirical science having an answer—or at least promising an answer—to everything. But there might not be an answer in this case. The Spinners give us gifts, and we see them as being altruistic. But with so many strings attached, how can we be certain that altruism is their motivation? Why haven’t they warned us about the Starfish? Why do they limit communications to just one person in each colony—and a dysfunctional person at that? Why do they give us communicators that draw attention to us? We seek answers to all of these things, when in the end it might just be that they simply don’t care that much.”

  “Which would go against our altruistic assumptions,” said Lucia, seeing his point.

  “Exactly,” said Rob. “We try to understand their reasoning for doing what they do, try to rationalize their activities with logic, when in truth it might just be incomprehensible to a primitive species like our own. Their reasons may be beyond our ability to understand.”

  She could hear the puzzlement in his voice. It was overlaid with a very real concern, for cracking this puzzle, he knew, might mean the difference between life and death for the human survivors.

  “But there’s another possibility that has been raised, particularly about the Starfish.” He paused as if to check that she was still listening.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “Both races exhibit extremely high technology but a relatively low sophistication when it comes to their broader actions. We assume that the Spinners were drawn here by the radio emissions of our nascent civilization, but that need not be the case. They might have stumbled across us by chance on some longer, wandering exodus. We also assume that there’s some sort of method to their gift drops, but we haven’t as yet been able to discern it: not all colonies get the gifts, and why some do and some don’t remains a mystery. It’s the same with the Starfish: we know from following the attacks that they home in on stray signals, then expand out in spheres, searching system by system. But it wouldn’t take an intelligence to do this: it could just as easily be achieved by AIs.”

  “Machines?” The possibility was as startling as it was unsettling. “You think that’s all they are?”

  “It’s possible. They could be autonomous systems set running thousands of years ago—maybe even millions of year ago. The Spinners are programmed to seek out new civilizations and give them a leg up; the Starfish could well be programmed to stamp out such attempts. And if that’s the case, then surely the motivations behind the programming are irrelevant to us at the moment—and might be forever unfathomable.”

  He paused, and in that brief silence she heard a world of uncertainty.

  “For all we know, Lucia,” he muttered after a few moments, “these things could have encountered thousands of races before us. It’s possible that the Praxis and the Yuhl are the only ones to have survived—and only then by barely managing to hang on. My God, Lucia, these things could be responsible for the deaths of trillions of beings! And all because a long time ago, possibly in some distant galaxy, someone set a machine or two in motion and never thought to give them a cut-off switch.”

  The vision of technology run rampant, of opposing impulses sweeping the galaxy clean of any sign of emerging life, troubled her greatly. And while Sol and Peter’s plan to throw a spanner into that technology was a noble one, she didn’t feel terribly reassured. No one had managed it in the past, so what made humanity any different? Only its arrogance, she told herself. The innate belief that we are crucial to the universe and its machinations. Despite Copernicus’s discovery centuries ago that the sun and stars and planets didn’t all revolve around the Earth, deep down humanity still believed itself to be the center of the universe. But once the Starfish have finished with us, she thought, then that belief will be put to rest once and for all.

  “Lucia? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” she answered. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

  ‘‘I’m sorry. I can be somewhat negative at times.”

  “As well you have a right to be, Rob. We all do. But I’m going to need to rest for a while now. All this information from the Library and the other spindles has left me exhausted. We’ll talk again soon, okay?”

  She didn’t wait for him to respond; she just withdrew deeper into the spindle, with Rob’s words playing in her mind. As the darkness began to seep into her, she felt a sense of terrible foreboding. Whether Rob was right or not, it didn’t matter. The f
act was, time was running out—and fast. If she didn’t act soon, it would be too late; she’d be trampled underfoot by the mighty Starfish along with everyone else.

  With most of the hole ships tied up in the resistance effort, she would have to find another way to get mobile again. Perhaps if she examined the gifts more, she would find a way to build herself another one. Or perhaps she could just steal the next one that docked there. However she was to achieve it, though, she wasn’t about to stick around any longer than she had to.

  1.2.6

  “And so we are committed,” said the leader of the Species Dream. “We stand by our decision to divide the Ambivalence. We have pledged more than just our support to humanity/rill’s cause. We have made their cause our own. We will live with them, or die with them. We are the Yuhl/riil.”

  Sol listened, knowing that he was talking more for the benefit of the other Yuhl, not the humans participating in the decision-making process. The suffix riil was commonly translated into English as prey by the hole ships, indicating the relationship the Starfish normally had with those civilizations that chose to make a stand. She hoped that it would soon acquire a new meaning—although the fact that the section of the Fit that had remained behind were now calling themselves the Unfit suggested that their confidence was flagging.

  A clamor of voices rose out of the darkness. The Yuhl didn’t meet in large halls like humans did, to posture and preen before one another. They linked minds via biological helmets that plunged the senses into a virtual space that kept all distractions to a minimum. The identities of the speakers were traditionally obscured, although they did come with subtle markers designed to stop the conversation from dissolving into disconnected phrases. The voice of the Species Dream leader—a Yuhl Alander had once referred to as Radical/Provocative—came with the distinct smell of recently cut grass.

  “Who will go?” asked one of the other Yuhl. “Who do we choose to send to their deaths?”

  “Volunteers only.” Thor’s voice rang out clearly through the dense, heavy space. “We can only afford to send those who are committed to seeing this mission through. It is too important to risk sending anyone who might have doubts.”

  “And how do we choose from the many who would rather act decisively than remain behind?” said another Yuhl voice.

  “I will hear recommendations,” said Thor, her voice containing a clear challenge. “But the final decision will be mine. Since I am leading the team and ultimately responsible for its success, I want to know that I can trust the people that are with me.

  “I wish to volunteer,” said Alander.

  “Me, too,” said the voice belonging to Cleo Samson of Sagarsee.

  That made sense, Hatzis thought. As military supervisor of the Marcus Chown and the colony over which the resistance effort orbited, Samson would want to be involved.

  “I’ll recommend Caryl Hatzis of Gou Mang and Caryl Hatzis of Inari,” said Sol when it was clear that none of the Yuhl were going to volunteer. Those were the two most capable of her engrams, in her opinion, apart from Thor. She figured it couldn’t hurt to load the side in her favor a little. “And I would like to put my own name forward, as well.”

  “You, Sol?” Thor asked, picking her out from the vast number of minds listening in. “I had you pegged as the one to mind the fort.”

  While you go in search of glory, Sol thought wryly to herself. “I’m sure the Unfit are capable of managing Sagarsee and the other colonies.”

  “We welcome and accept that task,” said Radical/Provocative.

  “It hasn’t been offered to you yet,” snapped Thor. “I’m not happy with the idea of both Sol and myself going. If the mission fails and both of us die—”

  “Sol has abilities no one else has,” put in Alander quickly. “We’d be fools not to include her in the mission. Besides which, if the mission does fail, then it doesn’t really matter who stays behind, does it? Because if we fail, then we’ll all be dead anyway.”

  If the mission fails... Alander’s words echoed in Sol’s thoughts. After all the death she’d seen, it still didn’t seem quite real that this peaceful, prosperous colony could soon be reduced to ash—and her with it, if she stayed. The habit of life was a seductive one, and it was often too easy to pursue it in a state of denial, to sit back in the naive hope that the unimaginable might not happen.

  “I’ll bow to Thor’s authority,” she said, hearing the words as though they came from a great distance. “If she wishes me to stay, then I shall stay. But I think it would be a mistake.”

  “I hear you, Sol,” said Thor. “But using the same argument, I would like to recommend Frank Axford for the mission also. He, too, has abilities no one else does; therefore, he, too, could contribute.”

  The name prompted an immediate uproar. Voices belonging to both races, Yuhl and human, protested that Axford was a traitor, a liar, a murderer, and ultimately a danger to the success of the mission. Thor didn’t deny any of it, but neither did she withdraw his name from the mission roster, arguing that he had unique talents for self-preservation that could give the mission the edge it needed.

  Sol wanted to laugh. Just exactly what was Axford to Thor, anyway? An anti-Sol panacea? She had to admit, though, it took a lot of guts for Thor to put his name forward, especially when the Yuhl refused to have anything to do with the mission if he was involved.

  Despite the objections, the gathering reached a compromise: if Thor could locate Axford and was convinced that he would cooperate fully, she could invite him to join the mission. But under no circumstances was she to take any undue risks.

  “I’m not likely to do that,” said Thor. “Not when it’s my life on the line, too.”

  And for the sake of everyone else’s, Sol added to herself, I’ll make damn sure I keep my eyes on both of you.

  A spattering of names followed Axford’s. There was room for only seven on the mission, and Sol had already created a list in her mind of those she would have had going. She didn’t doubt that Thor’s would be a similar list, assuming she was choosing for capability, of course, and not one-upmanship. Without the Yuhl aboard, that left easily enough room for the versions of herself she had nominated.

  As the discussion wandered back to the details of the mission and what it hoped to achieve, Sol quickly lost interest. These were arguments she’d heard many times before, and it was something of a relief to know that they were Thor’s problem now. She removed herself from the conference, her head coming out of the biological mask with a moist sucking sound. A tapering, six-fingered hand offered her a cloth to wipe away the contact gel. She took it gratefully, clearing her nose and mouth so she could breathe.

  “I/we would be honored to be chosen for this mission,” said a Yuhl voice from close by. “Were I/we allowed to go.”

  Sol wiped gunk from her eyes with the back of her hand. The alien loomed over her at close quarters, his hand still outstretched from proffering the towel. She wasn’t as proficient at reading the facial expressions of the aliens as Alander, so she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She wondered if he had been prompted to talk to her out of rebellion against the Unfit or for other more existential reasons. For two and a half thousand years the Yuhl had been following in the Ambivalence’s wake, scavenging for survival and clinging to existence by the finest thread. And now Thor planned to take a mission to actually confront the Starfish. If Sol had believed in God and someone had announced a mission to go have a chat with Her, then she would probably be apprehensive also.

  “You know why you can’t go,” she said, returning the towel to the alien. “It’s not my decision. It’s up to Thor and the Unfit.”

  “It would not be proper/be inappropriate for my/our people to go on this mission,” said the alien, his wing sheaths snapping, “with the traitor Frank/Axford involved.”

  She nodded. “That’s a good excuse, anyway.”

  The alien’s crazy checkerboard face adopted a series of unreadable expressions. His two oval eyes
regarded her blankly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just joking.”

  “My/our intentions are genuine/noble,” he said.

  “I’m sure they are.”

  “Should the mission succeed, your/our deeds will be talked about for generations to come.”

  Sol looked at the alien quizzically. “We’re not doing this for fame, you know.”

  “The courage of those on the mission will be talked about regardless. Courage gives hope, and hope is a platform upon which to build a future.” The Yuhl’s faceplates shifted like some bizarre, organic rebus puzzle. “Those on the mission will return/die as heroes,” the alien answered. “I am Vrrel/Epan. I will anticipate that moment in my/our thoughts.”

  “Thank you,” she said, oddly touched by the alien’s awkward words. “I hope we return, too. Keep your fingers crossed we do so in one piece and with good news.”

  Vrrel/Epan looked down at his hands, and she left him standing there, puzzled, while she went to get ready.

  2.1.0

  UEH/ELLIL

  Ueh didn’t wait to see Mantissa A depart into unspace. He was already moving on the Praxis’s grisly errand.

  His first objective was to get out of the places usually occupied by the Praxis’s attendants. This wasn’t easy to do, undetected. The spaces were cramped and crowded, and the lighting was orange-tinted and seemed dark to his human-accustomed eyes. Dozens of double-streamed voices issued from all around him, creating a dense, confused ambience. Lower gravity allowed support staff to occupy positions on walls or ceilings, giving the impression that every available cubic centimeter was thoroughly occupied.