Heaven's Reach (16 page)
Authors: David Brin
Rann.
Lark had few options. With the traitor taking part, he didn't dare try his luck again with the purple ring, whose usefulness was probably finished anyway. So he fled back toward the place where he and Ling had once made their brief attempt at sabotage, throwing a pathetic little bomb at the Jophur nerve center, then fleeing together in triumph amid clouds of smoke, running and laughing as they played spy, using their purple pass-ring to go almost anywhere, defying the enemy to catch them.
Of course it hadn't felt like that much fun at the time. Only in contrast to Lark's present misery did it seem a carefree episode. A frolic. He'd give anything to go back to that time. Even creeping about as half-naked vermin in an alien ship, he had been happy with Ling at his side.
More than a day must have passed since he'd last had any rest. Food became a fading memory, and there was no leisure anymore to explore chambers along the wayâonly the tense wariness of a prey animal, fighting desperately to stave off the inevitable.
Mysterious vibrations intensified, punctuated by other noises that boomed or crackled faintly in the distance. The normal pungency of Jophur hallway aromatics thickened with new scentomeres, wafting through the ventilation system. Some were too strange or complex for him to decipher, but
fear
and
revulsion
were almost
identical to traeki versions he knew from growing up on Jijo.
Something had the crew very upset.
Queasy sensations warned Lark of shifts in the ship's artificial gravity, making the floor seem to tilt, then briefly lose pressure against the soles of his feet. The steady background hum of engines increased pitch and intensity. Lark was tempted to duck into a nearby chamber and try to activate a view screen, just to find out what was going on. But any room might become a trap while his pursuers were so close.
A few duras later, he felt a nervous shiver on the back of his neck that warned him of approaching robotsâa fey sensitivity to their suspensor fields that had saved him more than once so far. The scent of approaching Jophur soldiery reinforced his decision.
Back the other way, quickly!
Though weary, he sped up, trying to reach one of the ramps leading to the next level. Of course, with each move north the width of his domain narrowed, leaving him fewer options. Soon, they would harry him into a corner with no escape.â¦
Lark scurried around a bend, only to brake sharply, with a grunt of dismayed surprise.
Just a few meters ahead of him, Rann let out a shout. The tall Danik warrior yelled at a golden bracelet on his wrist. “I've got the son of a bitch!”
Lark spun about and fled, seeking the only remaining branch tunnel that seemed free of foes. Behind him, Rann could be heard switching to GalTwoâmore useful at communicating with Jophur than vulgar Anglic cursing.
“To this locale, speed quickly and urgently. The quarry, it is near!”
Lark considered halting. Finding a corner to hide behind and ambush Rann as he hurried after. Better to face the human traitor alone, and possibly do Rann harm, than wind up facing a swarm of Jophur and their robots, who would be invulnerable to his fists.
But he chose to stay free, if only for a few moments
longer, dashing down the sole remaining escape pathâa narrow corridor, probably leading nowhere.
Sure enough, exultant cries followed, and Lark knew he was cornered when he saw the dead end, no more than forty meters ahead.
He halted by a closed doorway, fumbling with shaky hands to bring the purple ring up against the lock plate. It sprayed a soft mist, but either the torus was tired or the Jophur commanders had learned their lesson. The door stayed adamantly shut.
Lark heard a cry of satisfaction as Rann spied him from the far intersection. But the Danik waited for othersâJophur and their machinesâto join him before approaching any closer. For several duras the two of them just stared at each other in mutual loathing. Then Rann smiled as a Jophur and two robots joined him. They started to advance.
Suddenly, from Lark's other side, there came a low reverberation and a growing sense of heat. He turned around, backing away from the bulkhead where the hallway ended. That blank wall began glowing and bowing outward. Molten droplets oozed from the edges of an oval that blazed brightly, forcing him to raise both hands and shield his eyes. Lark gagged on an odor he recalled from visits to the laboratory of the Explosers Guild, in Tarek Townâhydrogen sulfide gas.
As the oval slumped inward, he briefly glimpsed another twisty corridor beyond, glowing with an eerie light. Lark turned to flee, but a wave of hot vapors slammed his back, “knocking him down. His forearms struck the deck painfully hard while a surge of baked air passed overhead and on down the hall, toward Rann and his companions.
For an instant, Lark's senses were in such an uproar that he felt swaddled by numbness. No information could get through, except pain â¦Â and the fact that he still lived. When he managed to open his eyes once more, Lark blinked in disbelief.
Down the corridor, where moments ago his hunters had been marching confidently to capture him, he now glimpsed the last of them fleeing round the corner. Rann
glanced back, terror in his pale eyes, and Jophur warriors heaved their bulky forms out of sight. Only two robots remained at the intersection, taking up defensive stances, but not firingâas if loath to try.
Lark knew he should be happy of anything that put his enemies to flight. Yet, he felt reluctant to roll over and see what had arrived.
I just know I'm not gonna like this
, he thought.
The rotten egg smell was almost overpowering, and a faint luminance filled the hall, coming from above and behind his prone form, along with a faint, whispering hum.
Gathering his courage, Lark pushed off the floor with his scalded right arm, rolling onto his back.
It stood a few paces behind him, just this side of the hole it had made in the bulkhead. A glowing ball, roughly three meters across, barely able to squeeze through the corridor. Though it had the color of bronze metal, the intruder seemed to ooze and ripple as it rolled slowly forward, more like a fluid-filled bag than a balloon. Lark recalled the living cells he used to watch through his beloved microscope, back when he and other sages had the time to pursue knowledge, doing what passed for science on the primitive Slope.
A cell, many times his size. Living.
And yet, all at once, Lark knewâ
This is like no life I ever saw before.
The thing made sloshing sounds as it crept languidly toward Lark, swarming over his foot, climbing upward, rendering him immobile, then causing a chill numbness to spread along his bones.
THE ORDERS OF LIFE
FOR AGES
âever since the blessed Progenitors departedâsome contemplative oxygen-breathing races have wondered about the question of “plenitude.”
If life is so common and vibrant here in the Five Linked Galaxies, they ask, should we not expect to see signs of it elsewhere? Astronomers have counted seven hundred
billion
other galactic pinwheels, ovals, and other vast conglomerations of stars out there, some of them even bigger than our own Galaxy One. It seems to defy all logic that
ours
would be the only nexus where sapiency has arisen.
What a waste of potential, if it were so!
Of course, this opinion is not universally shared. Among the many social-religious alliances making up our diverse civilization, some insist that we
must
be unique, since any other situation would only mock the ultimate greatness of the Progenitors. Others perceive those billions of other galaxies as heavenly
abodes where the august Transcendents go, once they complete the long process of perfecting themselves on this plane of reality.
Many have tried to pierce the veil with scientific instruments, such as vast telescopes, aimed at studying our silent neighbors. Indeed, some anomalies
have
been found. For instance, several targets emit rhythmic noise pulsations of towering complexity. Other galaxies seem
burned out,
as if a recent conflagration tore through them, destroying nearly every planetary system at the same time.
And yet, the data always seems ambiguous, allowing a variety of interpretations. The Great Library is filled with arguments that have raged for aeons.
Are
other
galactic groups linked together by hyperspatial transfer points, the way our own five spirals are, despite huge separations in flat spacetime? Our best models and calculations do not give definitive answers.
FROM
time to time, some young race gets impatient and tries posing these questions to the Old Onesâthose sage species who have surrendered starships to develop their souls within the Embrace of Tides, passing on to the next order of life.
Depending on their mood, the ancients either ignore such entreaties or reply in frustrating ways.
We are alone,
answered one community of venerable ones.
No we are not,
countered a second.
Other galaxies are just like ours, teeming with multitudinous sapient species, taking turns uplifting each other as a sacred duty, then turning their attention toward the duties of transcendence â¦Â as we are doing now.
One cluster of Old Ones claimed to know a different answerâthat most island universes are settled quite suddenly,
by the first race to achieve spaceflight. These first races then proceed to fill every star system, annihilating or enslaving all succeeding life-forms. Such galaxies are poor in diversity or insight, having lacked the wisdom that our blessed Progenitors showed when they began the great chain of Uplift.
That is wrong,
claimed yet another assembly of venerables in their spiky habitat, huddled amid contemplative tides.
The unity of purpose that we sense in such galaxies only means that they have already evolved toward united oneness! A high state wherein all sapient beings participate in a grand overmind â¦
FINALLY
, it grew clear that these conflicting stories must mean just one of two things.
Either
the Old Ones really have no idea what they are talking about, or else â¦
Or else
their varied answers together comprise a
sermon.
A basic lesson.
Other galaxies are none of our business! That is what they are teaching. We should get back to the proper tasks of young racesâstruggling, learning, uplifting, and striving with each other, gathering experience and strength for the next phase.
Answers will be forthcoming to each of us who survives the testing, when we ultimately face the bright light of the Great Harrower.
Harry
I
T SEEMED THAT E SPACE WAS NOT THE ONLY
realm where
ideas
had a life of their own. On his return, Harry found Kazzkark Base teeming with hearsay. Strange rumors roamed like ravenous parasites, springing from one nervous being to the next, thriving in an atmosphere of contagious anxiety.
Steering his scoutcraft to the planetoid's north pole, Harry docked at a slip reserved for the Navigation Institute and cut power with a sense of relief. All he wanted now was to sleep for several days without having to endure relentless exhausting dreams. But no sooner did he debark and begin the protocols of reentry than he found himself immersed in a maelstrom of dubious gossip.
“It is said that the Abdicator Alliance has broken into several heretical factions that are fighting among themselves,”
murmured a tourmuj trade representative standing in line ahead of Harry at immigration, chattering in hasty Galactic Four.
“And the League of Prudent Neutral
Clans are said to have begun mobilizing at last, combining their fleets under pargi command!”
Harry stared at the tourmujâa lanky, sallow-skinned being that seemed all elbows and kneesâbefore responding in the same language.
