Clarke, Arthur C - Fall of Night 02 (51 page)

 
          
 
"Exactly," Seeker said.

 
          
 
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.

 
          
 
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."