Galactic Empires (20 page)

Perri smiled at the ancient creature.

"This is
our
adventure," she concluded. "Yours, and mine."

III

What lay below was very much the same as everything above. Which was what they had expected. The only difference was that no public map showed these particular cavities and chimneys, and the long tunnels and little side vents always led to a wealth of new places devoid of names. According to Perri's navigational equipment, they had wandered nearly twelve kilometers before beginning their hunt for a campsite. A series of electronic breadcrumbs led back to the original hole and their left-behind note, and, speaking through the crumbs, Quee Lee discovered that her lady friend and the twins hadn't bothered to come looking for them. She speculated as to why that might be, and they enjoyed a lewd laugh. Then, following one promising passageway around its final bend, they entered what seemed to be the largest room they had seen for weeks.

The floor of the room was an undulating surface, like water stirred by deep currents. They selected a spacious bowl of cool gray hyperfiber, and, with the camp light blazing beside them, they made love. Then they ate and drank their fill, and at a point with no obvious significance, Perri strolled over to his pack and bent down, intending to snatch some tiny item out of one of the countless pockets.

That was the moment when every light went out.

Quee Lee was sitting on her memory chair, immersed in sudden darkness. Her first instinct was to believe that she was to blame. Their camp light was in front of her. Had she given it some misleading command? But then she thought about their other torches and, realizing that the night was total, she naturally wondered if for some peculiar reason she had gone completely blind.

Then from a distance, with a moderately concerned voice, her husband asked, "Darling? Are you there?"

"I am," she remarked. Perri was blind too, or every one of their lights had failed. Either way, something unlikely had just occurred. "What do you think?" she asked.

"That it's ridiculously dark in here," Perri allowed.

Perfectly, relentlessly black.

"Do you feel all right?" he inquired.

"I feel fine," she said.

"I do, too." He was disappointed, as if some little ache might help answer their questions. "Except for being worried, I suppose."

One of Perri's feet kicked the pack.

"Darling?" she asked.

He said, "Sing to me. I'll follow your voice."

Softly, Quee Lee sang one of the first tunes that she had ever learned—a nursery rhyme too old to have an author, its beguiling lyrics about rowing and time wrapped around a language long considered dead.

Moments later, she heard Perri settle on the ground directly to her right.

She stopped singing.

Then Perri called from somewhere off to her left, from a distance, telling her, "Don't quit singing now. I'm still trying to find you, darling."

For a long moment, nothing happened. The darkness remained silent and unknowable. And then from her right, from a place quite close, a voice that she did not recognize softly insisted, "Yes, please. Sing, please. I rather enjoy that wonderful little tune of yours."

IV

Quee Lee began to jump up.

"No, no," the voice implored. "Remain seated, my dear. There is absolutely no reason to surrender your comfort."

She settled slowly, warily.

Perri said her name.

Clearing her throat, Quee Lee managed to say, "I'm here. Here."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"But I thought I heard-"

"Yes."

"Is somebody with you?"

In the same moment, two voices said, "Yes."

Then the new voice continued. "I was hoping that your wife would sing a little more," it remarked. "But I suppose I have spoiled the mood, which is my fault. But please, Perri, will you join us? Sit beside Quee Lee, and I promise: Neither of you will come to any harm. A little conversation, a little taste of companionship… that's all I wish for now."

Again, with urgency, Perri asked, "Are you all right?"

How could she answer that question? "I'm fine, yes." Except that she was startled, and for many rational reasons, she was scared, and with the darkness pressing down, she was feeling a thrilling lack of control.

Her husband's footsteps seemed louder than before. In the perfect blackness, he stepped by memory, and then, perhaps sensing her presence, he stopped beside her and reached out with one hand, dry warm fingertips knowing just where her face would be waiting.

She clung to his hand with both of hers.

"Sit, please," the stranger insisted. "Unless you absolutely must stand."

Perri settled on one edge of her soft chair. His hand didn't leave her grip, and he patted that knot of fingers with his free hand. As well as she knew her own bones, Quee Lee knew his. And she leaned into that strong body, glad for his presence and confident that he was glad for hers.

"Who are you?" Perri asked.

Silence answered him.

"Did you disable our lights?" he asked.

Nothing.

"You must have," Perri decided. "And my infrared corneas and nexus-links, too, I noticed."

"All temporary measures," the stranger replied.

"Why?"

Silence.

"Who are you?" Quee Lee asked. And in the same breath, she added, "What is your name?"

Something about that innocuous question was humorous. The laughter sounded genuine, weightless, and smooth, gradually falling away into an amused silence. Then what might or might not have been a deep breath preceded the odd statement, "As a rule, I don't believe in names."

"No?" Quee asked.

"As a rule," the voice repeated.

Perri asked, "What species are you?"

"And I will warn you," the voice added. "I don't gladly embrace the concept of species either."

The lovers sat as close as possible, speaking to each other with the pressure of their hands.

Finally, Quee Lee took it upon herself to say, "We're human. If that matters to you, one way or another."

Silence.

"Do you know our species?" she asked.

And then Perri guessed, "You're a Vapor-track. Nocturnal to the point where they can't endure even the weakest light-"

"Yes, I know humans," the stranger responded. "And I know Vapor-tracks, too. But I am neither. And believe me, I am neither nocturnal nor diurnal. The time of day and the strength of the ambient light are of absolutely no concern to me."

"But why are you down here?" Quee Lee asked.

Their companion gave no response.

"This is a very remote corner of the Ship," Perri said. "Why would any sentient organism seek out this place?"

"Why do you?" was the response.

"Curiosity," Perri confessed. "Is that your motivation?"

"Not in the least." The voice was more male than female, and it sounded nearly as human as they did. But those qualities could be artifacts of any good translator. It occurred to Quee Lee that some kind of deception was at work here, and that what they heard had no bearing at all on what was beside them. "I could imagine that I am a substantial puzzle for the two of you," the voice allowed.

The humans responded with their own silence.

"Fair enough," their companion said. "Tell me: Where were each of you born?"

"On the Great Ship," Perri volunteered.

"I come from Earth," Quee Lee offered.

"Names," the stranger responded. "I ask, and you instantly offer me names."

"What else could we say?" asked Quee Lee.

"Nothing. For you, there are no other polite options. But as a rule, I prefer places that don't wear names. Cubbyholes and solar systems that have remained uncataloged, indifferent to whichever label that a passerby might try to hang on its slick invisible flesh."

Quee Lee listened to her husband's quick, interested breathing.

After reflection, Perri guessed, "And that's why you're here, isn't it? This is one place inside the Great Ship that has gone unnoticed. Until now."

"Perhaps that is my reason," the voice allowed.

"Is there a better answer?" Perri asked.

Silence.

"You have no name?" Quee Lee pressed.

The silence continued, and then, suddenly, an explanation was offered. "I don't wear any name worth repeating. But I do have an identity. A self. With my own history and limitations as well as a wealth of possibilities, most of which will never come to pass."

They waited.

The voice continued. "What I happen to be is a government official. A harmless and noble follower of rules. But when necessary, I can become a brazen, fearless warrior. Except when my best choice is to be a determined coward, in which case I can flee any threat with remarkable skill. Yet, in most circumstances, I am just an official: the loyal servant to a exceptionally fine cause."

"Which cause?" both humans asked.

"In service to the galactic union," the entity replied. "That is my defining role… a role that I have played successfully for the last three hundred and seven million years, by your arbitrary and self-centered count."

Surprise and doubt ran through their bodies.

Quee Lee took it upon herself to confess, "I'm sorry. But we don't entirely believe you."

"You claim you were born on Earth. Is that true, my dear?"

She hesitated.

" 'Earth.' Your home planet carries a simple utterance. Am I right?"

She said, "Yes."

"I do happen to know your small world. But when I made my visit, the stars were completely unaware of that self-given name."

"And what do you know about Earth?" Perri asked.

"Actually, I know quite a lot," their companion promised. Then once again, it fell into a long, long silence.

V

Separately, Quee Lee and Perri had come to identical conclusions: The voice was rhythmic and deep, not just easy to listen to but impossible to ignore. Every word was delivered with clarity, like the voice of a highly trained actor. But woven through that perfection were hints of breathing and little clicks of tongues or lips, and, once in a great while, a nebulous sound that would leak from the mouth or nostrils… or some other orifice hiding in the darkness. Whatever was speaking to them was slightly taller than their ears, and their best guess was that the creature was sitting on a lump of hyperfiber less than three meters from them. There was mass behind the voice. Sometimes a limb would move, or maybe the body itself. Perhaps they heard the creak of its carapace or the complaining of stiff leathery clothes, or maybe a tendril was twisting back against it-self-unless there was no sound, except what the two humans imagined they could hear out in the unfathomable blackness.

As far as they could determine, their nameless companion was alone. There wasn't any second presence or a whisper of another voice. And it somehow had slipped into their camp, perhaps even before the lights died, and neither one of them had perceived anything out of the ordinary.

Maybe the voice was just that.

Sound. Or a set of elaborate sounds, contrived for effect and existing only as so much noise, produced by nothing but the unlit air or the fierce motions of individual atoms.

Perhaps somebody was playing an elaborate joke on the two of them. Perri had many clever friends. A few of them might have worked together, going to the trouble necessary to bring him and Quee Lee into this empty hole, snatching them up in some game that would continue until the fun was exhausted and the lights returned. Quee Lee could envision just that kind of trick: One moment, a mysterious voice. And then, just as suddenly, a thousand good friends would be standing around them, congratulating the married pair on one or another minor anniversary.

"Is this a special occasion?" Quee Lee asked herself.

That route seemed lucrative. She smiled, and the nervousness in her body began to drain away. How many months and years of work had gone into this silly joke? But she had seen through all of the cleverness, and, for an instant, she considered a preemptive shout and laugh, perhaps even throwing out the names of the likely conspirators.

The creature continued explaining what might or might not be real. "My preferred method of travel," it proclaimed, "is to move alone, and always by the most invisible means. This is standard behavior for officials like myself. We will finish one task in some portion of the Union, and, with that success, another task is supplied. Since news travels slowly across the galaxy, an entity like myself is granted considerable freedom of action. Few organizations are confident enough to tolerate such power in their agents."

"What kind of tasks?" Perri asked.

"Would you like an example?"

"Please."

"I am thinking now of a warehouse that I had built and stocked. A hidden warehouse in an undisclosed location. And in the very next moment, I was suddenly dispatched into my next critical mission."

"A warehouse?" Perri asked.

"A vast, invisible facility full of rare and valuable items. I haven't returned to that particular location since, but it most likely remains locked and unseen today. Unused, but always at the ready. Waiting for that critical, well-imagined age when its contents help with some great effort. But that is the Union's way: We have an elaborate structure, robust and overlapping. Enduring and invincibly patient. Which is only natural, since we happen to be the oldest, most powerful political entity within this galaxy."

"The Union?" Perri said dubiously.

"Yes."

"That's a name," he pointed out. "I thought you didn't approve of such things."

"I offer it because you expect some kind of label. But like all names, 'the Union' doesn't truly fit what is real." A smug, superior tone had taken hold, but it was difficult for the audience to take offense. After all, this was just a voice in the night, and who could say what was true and what was sane?

"Simply stated," their companion continued, "my Union is a collection of entities and beliefs, memes and advanced tools, that have been joined together in a common cause. And what you call the Milky Way happens to be our most important possession. The central state inside a vast and ancient empire."