Sunborn (29 page)

   
Bandicut sat on the padded bench, steadying himself. /Go./

    The transition this time felt smoother, with Charli following a now-familiar route into the mind of the entity. The quarx and Charlene-Deep began to speak. For a time it was indecipherable to Bandicut—like distant bell buoys clanging to each other on a foggy night. But gradually words began to emerge, and fragments of conversation drifted across...

   
///...know where we are going? ///

    
<<< Daarooaack will lead.

    
Daarooaack can see paths that are obscure to us. >>>

   
/// Daarooaack. What is Daarooaack?

   
A part of you...of Deep? ///

   
/Daarooaack?/ Bandicut blinked. /Forget it.
Dark.
 We’re calling her Dark./

     <<< Yes? Dark, then.

    
Dark is another...different...

    
can do things we cannot.

    
We...things Dark cannot. >>>

   
/// But where did Dark come from? ///

    
<<< Like us...another place and time...

    
place-time... >>>

   
/// Universe? ///

    
<<< Yes. >>>

   
/// Both of you?

   
From the same place? ///

   
There was a perceptible pause before Deep answered, in the quarx-echo’s voice.

     <<< We think so, yes. >>>

   
Bandicut felt the quarx’s empathy. But while he was interested in what these clouds were and where they came from, right now he had other things on his mind. /Charli, can you find out where we’re going, how we’re supposed to find our way there?/

    Charli responded smoothly:

   
/// Where will Dark lead us? ///

    
<<< Between ridges, and down rivers.

    
Dark can find the way. >>>

   
/// Are you saying that Dark can...///

    
<<< See the paths through n-space, yes.

    
You could say it is a gift. >>>

   
The echo of Charlene reverberated softly, almost as though with laughter.

     <<< And as to where...

    
we go to where stars are being born,

    
at the end of the river.

    
To where starlife is aflame.

    
To where the trouble lies.

    
We cannot defeat the sickness without going

    
to where the trouble lies. >>>

   
/Dark can get us to the Trapezium, is that what she’s saying?/ Bandicut asked.

   
/// Dark’s the one to follow, yes...///

*

   
Antares, clearly puzzled by the new entity, wondered aloud just what Deep and Dark
were
. “They feel so similar in some ways—but in other ways feel very different.”

    “I can tell you this much,” Jeaves said. “They seem to create, or maybe even are made of, moving quantum disturbances.”

    “Uhhlll...”

    Charli spoke slowly.

   
/// I perhaps think I know what these clouds are.

   
I think they’re diffuse singularities. ///

   
Startled, Bandicut turned his attention back inward. /Aren’t singularities points, like in a black hole?/

   
/// That’s how we ordinarily think of them.

   
But this is something different.

   
You know how a singularity can be thought of

   
as an opening in spacetime,

   
where the rules of physics cease? ///

   
Bandicut nodded, aware of the others in the room watching him.

   
/// Well, Deep and Dark say

   
they have come to this universe

   
from another. ///

   
/Another universe?/

   
/// Yes.

   
And whatever they were in their own universe,

   
here they took the form of

   
singularities distributed over measurable space.

   
That’s why they can affect

   
spacetime in ways that might otherwise

   
seem unlikely. ///

   
Bandicut exhaled softly. /The whole thing seems plenty unlikely to me./

   
/// And yet it happens.

   
That’s my belief, anyway. ///

    
<<< Yes. >>>

   
That last was a whisper from afar. Bandicut hadn’t realized that Charlene-echo was still with them.

    “John?
John,
 have you gone away again?”

    He brought his eyes back into focus. Antares was peering at him. “Uh,” he managed.

   
Bwang.
 “Silence-fugue?”

    Antares’s hand was on his arm. “No, not silence-fugue. But he had that lost look on his face again. John, was it Charli?”

    Bandicut nodded, searching for his voice. Finally he was able to say, “I was just...learning about our friends.” He tried to convey what the quarx had just told him. The others looked puzzled. “It’s not like I understand it exactly.”

    “Understand what?” Ik said, striding onto the bridge.

    Bandicut turned, startled. “Ik! Are you all right?”

    “I am fine,” Ik said—a little shakily, Bandicut thought. “What have I missed?” The bony-faced Hraachee’an looked from one person to another with his deep-set eyes.

    Bandicut opened his mouth and closed it.

    “Perhaps,” Jeaves interrupted, “I should start. I have been thinking, it is time I turned some of the control of this mission over to the four of you.”

    This time everyone turned and opened their mouths. Li-Jared bonged softly. Bandicut stammered, searching for a reply. Finally he managed, “Do you mean you are asking our opinions?”

    Jeaves regarded him in apparent thought. “I have always intended to do so. I have not always, I’m afraid, set you at ease in the
manner
in which I accept your input. I suspect I have seemed at times...
autocratic,
 in my approach.”

    Bandicut coughed.

    “I apologize. My preparation—my experiences leading up to meeting you—did not prepare me well for dealing with relationships. I used to be better at it. But I have had far more practice, of late, in working with other AIs. And with beings such as the haloes, with whom the dynamics are rather different.” Jeaves inclined his holographic head slightly.

   
Bwang.
 “That all sounds wonderful and moving,” said Li-Jared. “What, exactly, are you offering?”

    “I am offering to step down, on a trial basis, from what we will for the sake of argument call
command,
” said the robot, “and function instead as your advisor and executive officer. The four of you will make the decisions, and I will help you carry them out.”

   
“Rrrm, that sounds...well...” Ik rubbed the opposing thumbs of both hands together for a moment, studying them. Then he looked up. “What do you mean,
trial basis
?”

    Jeaves shifted his gaze to take each of them in. “It means, if it doesn’t work out—if, for example, you squabble among yourselves, because I have no basis on which to assign command to just one of you—or if you make decisions that are clearly antithetical to the mission—then my transfer of authority will expire. And the shipboard AI will once more recognize my command authority.”

   
“So-o-o,” Bandicut said, “it’s more of a
pretend
 change of authority. You’re going to let us play-act, and see how you like our acting. And if we’re good, we get to keep play-acting. Is that it?”

    “No—no—you will make the decisions. And if it works out, you will stay in command. I really am hopeful that your command will work out better than...mine.”

   
Bong.
 “I see,” said Li-Jared. “Then—if we were to decide to abandon the mission and turn around and get out of here while we’re still breathing, you would—what did you say—help us carry that out?”

    “I—” Jeaves paused, and for a long moment, seemed as if he had frozen.

   
“Yes?”
 Li-Jared prompted.

    Finally, Jeaves twitched. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I really just don’t know.”

    Li-Jared snorted and turned away, but Bandicut stared at the robot thoughtfully. He wondered just how serious Li-Jared was in his hypothetical proposal. “At least he’s telling the truth,” Antares said, speaking before Bandicut could think what to say. “Uhhl, Li-Jared, is that what you want to do? Abandon the mission?”

   
This time it was Li-Jared who took a long time to reply. He studied the robot out of the corner of his eye as he was thinking. “No,” he said finally. “Not really. But I wanted to know if Tinman here would tell us the truth. I didn’t believe for a second that he’d let us get away with something like that.” He bowed slightly toward the robot. “Thank you for being honest.”

    Bandicut could have sworn he saw Jeaves sigh in relief.

    “But there is something I want right now,” Li-Jared continued.

   
“Yes?” asked the robot.

    “Input controls to the AI, here on the bridge.” Li-Jared pressed his mouth tightly closed, thinking. “And...”

    “And flight controls,” Bandicut interjected. “It’s about time you taught us to fly this damn thing. Is that what you were thinking, Li-Jared?”

    “That’s it. Flying lessons. When do we start?”

*

   
The changes, Jeaves said, would take a little time; they should get some lunch. They did. And when they returned, they found the walls glowing red, and flashing violently like a malfunctioning lighting panel. Jeaves asked them to wait a moment. The red lights gradually faded. A soft, white light appeared in its place, and a panel of instruments slowly extruded from the wall on the left. Another panel extruded on the right. The left one, however, detached from the wall and floated slowly to the center of the bridge, where it came to rest, still floating, in front of the balcony viewspace.

    “John Bandicut,” said Ik. “Are those your flight controls? Can you fly with that?”

    Bandicut stepped up to see. He peered over the instruments, which were largely incomprehensible. But in the center, there was a knobby thing like a joystick. He closed his hand over it. “I don’t see why not. Jeaves? Are you giving the lessons?”

    In answer, Delilah descended from the ceiling and circled around him, chiming.

*

   
While Bandicut was learning to fly, trading off from time to time with Li-Jared, Antares kept a silent watch, senses alert, trying to gain some understanding of Dark, and of the region they were flying through. Dark and Deep were now leading the ship together, but while Deep stayed relatively close, Dark ranged out ahead, scanning the territory, and then circled back for a periodic rendezvous. Dark didn’t seem to like to stay in one place, or even to move slowly. And, she liked to sing.

    It sounded to Antares like three or four, or perhaps many more, songs being sung around her at once, echoing back from space like sounds from distant bodies. Antares felt herself in the center of something noisy and confusing, and perhaps wonderful, and perhaps perilous. Songs.

    (Who is singing?)

    (Who is here?)

    Besides Dark, she felt the presence of Deep, and of her friends, but this wasn’t any of them.
(Who is here?)
 Was it really just Dark, whose strains echoed across the seeming emptiness of space? She didn’t think so. There was a certain lyrical quality to the sounds, which she thought Deep and maybe Dark were enabling her to hear.

    But were they cries? Cries for help? She was starting to hear, or imagine she heard, words.

           
Can we not ?

               
Do we feel ?

       
Do we know ?

                   
together we