by Zack Jordan
Welcome, Human.
“I think she’s leaking again,” whispers half of her welcoming committee.
“Told you,” says the other.
Sarya barely hears the words. Her focus has narrowed, excluding everything except for this thing in front of her, this ship that was built with the actual five-fingered hands of her people. She stands, slowly, brushing her hands on her utility suit. “Ship,” she says quietly, ignoring her body’s manifold reaction. “What…are you?”
“This ship is Planetwrecker-class warship Firebringer,” says the ship. “It has been placed in hibernation mode, awaiting a Human user.”
“Goddess,” Sarya whispers.
“Command not recognized,” says the ship. “Please try again.”
A small throat clears behind her. “Did it just say…command?”
“Fascinating.”
“Terrifying.”
Sarya runs her hand over the ship’s surface, thinking about what is contained in this black shape. She can’t feel it, she registers nothing but a force pressing back on her fingers, but in this thing is power like she’s never dreamed. “Ship—”
She is interrupted by an awkward laugh. “Actually,” says Left, inserting itself between Sarya and the darkness. Its smile has all but disappeared. “It’s probably not a great idea for you to start giving this thing commands willy-nilly. Maybe it wasn’t a great idea to bring you here in the first place. In fact, maybe we should be making our way toward dinner?” It pushes on her legs, more than a little frantically. “If you’ll just come this way—”
“Oh, come on,” says Right. “Could be fun to see how quickly she’ll almost kill us all.”
“Could be fun? Are you insane? Have you talked to this thing?”
“I have. Which is why I want to observe this. And I’m not insane, unless the boss Himself is insane—”
“In any other circumstances, I’d love to observe alongside you,” says Left, brushing white hair off a damp forehead. “But when a Human warship starts taking commands from a Human—”
“I’m not going to kill us all,” Sarya breaks in, annoyed. “I’m just—”
“Firebringer has multiple options for command kill us all,” booms the ship. “Please choose from nuclear weapons, antimatter weapons, nanoweapons, relativistic weapons, gravity weapons, or say more for more options.”
“No!” shouts Left, turning to bang on the ship with a small fist. “Cancel command!”
“User not recognized,” grates the ship.
“One sentence,” says Right, apparently impressed. “That’s quick.”
Sarya stares at the ship, wide-eyed. Having grown up in the Network, half these words are only relics from her study of the Humans. “Okay,” she says. “I mean…no. That’s enough.”
“Would you like to modify the command?” asks the Human ship. “Example modifications include injure us all or kill some of us.”
“No,” says Sarya, beginning to understand Left’s concern. “I would like to…cancel the command.”
“Command canceled. All weapons systems standing down.”
“See the problem?” says Right, patting the darkness. “That’s not a Network mind in there. It doesn’t…share your value system, let’s say. It’s a Human-designed artificial intelligence that’s had no one to talk to for a long time.”
“The boss talks to it,” says Left. “I’ve heard him.”
“That’s part of the problem,” says Right. “He’s probably half the reason this thing has such…strange ideas. I bet you could ask this ship to make you a sandwich and it would harvest your intestines to do it.”
“See, you’re hungry! If we could just get to dinner—”
“Which makes sense, from a certain point of view.”
“Maybe if you’re the boss. Who, I might add, is waiting dinner on us.”
Sarya runs her hand over the blackness. This ship may have torn apart multiple solar systems in its day—and yet this is the closest she’s ever been to something Human-made, and she can’t bear to step away. She’s seen it in action, she realizes—or something like it. She pictures a black shape tearing its way into reality, in the middle of a Human-led slaughter. “And it’s faster than light,” she murmurs.
Instantly, her hair begins drifting upward off her shoulders. At her feet, every blade and leaf has raised itself straight up in the air. In the treetops, she hears the swishing and creaking of thousands of branches being lifted upward.
“FTL drive online,” grates the ship. “Please input spacetime re-entry coordinates. If you would like to survive launch, please enter this ship.”
“Spacetime re-entry?” says Right. “Like, it’s going to leave spacetime?”
“No!” shouts Left, attempting to restrain its floating hair with one hand and the bottom of its small shirt with the other. “No leaving! No, uh, proceeding! Stand down, ship!”
“User not recognized,” says the ship.
Right shakes its small head. “You could tell this thing to find an empty parking space and it would launch a nanoweapon.”
Sarya takes a moment to feel the raw power vibrating the air around her. She may be small again, but strength has not lost its appeal. “Ship,” she says, “cancel command.” Her hair falls to her shoulders. Around her, the forest settles in a massive cracking wave.
“FTL drive offline,” says the ship.
Left sinks to the ground, shaking. “Let her wake up by the Human ship, I said,” it murmurs. “It’ll be dramatic, I said.”
“Oh, relax,” says Right. It turns to Sarya, and for the first time it has a smile on its face. “You hungry?”
The two lead her through the forest, their small footsteps almost inaudible even in the relative quiet. From time to time, Left will stop and think, scratching its mop of hair, then proceed in a slightly different direction.
“It’s this way,” murmurs Left to itself. “Isn’t it?”
“Hope you’re hungry,” says Right over its shoulder. “The boss has quite a spread in the works.”
“I could use a food bar or two,” admits Sarya. “Type F-forty-six, if you’ve got it. I haven’t had anything above F-thirty since…” Since Watertower, come to think of it.
“I don’t know what any of that is,” says Right, “but I’m going to guess it’s terrible. Numbered food?”
“Actually,” says Left under its breath, “maybe it’s…this way?”
The assault of memories, meanwhile, has not let up. Sarya runs her hands over the surface of these towering plants—trees, she remembers from her mother’s memories. She is almost sure there is a deeper memory under that one, one in another language or maybe without words at all. She’s touched a tree with hands, not blades; her fingers know its texture. Her nose remembers the smell of the air. Her feet understand this uneven ground, this random assortment of flora, these sudden roots that lie across her path. Her eyes know these colors, these patterns, this green-and-brown mess and medley. And as she walks, she realizes that it’s what she does not see that is most intriguing.
There is no Network here.
There are no threads, dark or otherwise. There are no minds floating in the darkness. There is no endless variety of personalities interacting and vying with one another. There are no artificial sound sources hidden in the trees, no caretakers cheerfully watering the undergrowth, no frantic transport drones whipping down the path with places to be. Unlike literally every place Sarya has ever been, this place is not saturated with the mind of Network.
It’s saturated with Someone else.
He appears slowly, in ones and twos. One moment she is alone following her welcoming committee, and the next moment there is a cheerful little figure next to her. Another follows in the next moment, on her other side. These are real Observers, with their identical gaits and ident
ical clothes, and they flash indistinguishable smiles up at her. Her two guides, as soon as they see what is happening, seem to collapse into themselves. They hunch their shoulders and walk with their heads down, their hands in the pockets of their small mismatched clothing. Soon the three of them are at the center of a roaring torrent of Observer, all heading the same direction.
“How was the welcome?” asks an Observer. “Were you sufficiently wowed?”
“You don’t have to answer,” says another, bouncing up. “I saw the whole thing.”
“What do you think?” asks a third. It gestures toward Left and Right, who seem to be huddling together as they walk inside Observer. “Are they ready to join Me?”
“I—um.” Sarya is not sure how to answer the question. “Sure?”
“Good!” says Observer, as if that decided it. “That’ll be two more for tonight.”
She regrets her blithe recommendation when she sees Right’s bald figure shudder, but her mind is in a strange sort of disconnect. It’s an odd thing to identify with a gigantic group mind over an intelligence more your size, but here she is. Sarya may be small at the moment, but she’s been large. She may not feel potential around her right this very second, but she knows what it feels like. She’s been millions strong, she’s seen reality from a higher vantage point, and she is at ease in Observer’s presence. But at the same time, she understands the discomfort Left and Right must feel. They press toward each other, alone together in the midst of a greater mind. Goddess knows she’s been there too.
She glances up through a break in the canopy, at the featureless blue ceiling. “How big is this arboretum, anyway?” she asks.
“Arboretum!” scoffs an Observer. “I mean, it may be homemade, but a planet is a planet.”
The word sends a shiver up Sarya’s spine. For the first time since she arrived, she feels a hint of fear. “I’m on—I’m on a planet?” she asks.
“Sort of,” says another. “But it’s unlike any other planet in the galaxy. I mean, except for the thousands of others up there.” It waves toward the blue ceiling—or sky, Sarya is rapidly realizing. “It’s a whole fleet of planets, if that makes sense. All come together, for the first time in history, in a hole carved into the brain of Network Itself—at a Blackstar, of all places!” The Observer sighs happily. “My Blackstar,” it says. “I’ve always wanted one.”
“I mean…I’m on the outside of something, though?” Sarya’s knees feel suddenly weak. “That’s…there’s no ceiling up there?”
“This baby’s a billion cubic kilometers!” says an Observer, kicking the undergrowth. “Big ol’ cube, about a thousand kilometers on a side. If there was no forest, you’d be able to see four giant mountains from here—which are of course the corners of this face. There’s a big sea in the middle too, because that’s where the water gathers—and if you think about it, that’s why everything seems either slightly uphill or downhill. The weather gets super weird around the edges too. Come to think of it, there are a lot of downsides, but—gosh darn it, laws of nature—I wanted cubes.”
“But to answer your earlier question?” says one, patting her leg paternally. “Yes, you’re on the outside of it.”
And that does it. Instantly, Sarya’s eyes flick upward and she feels herself sinking. “So then—”
“Yep!” says a cheerful Observer. “Nothing but empty space up there! More space than your adorable little mind can conceive of. You could fall for centuries and never hit anything bigger than a— Oh, right. You’ve never been on a planet before.”
Sarya has sunk into a crouch, breathing hard. The stream of Observers parts around Left and Right, who stand protectively to either side of her.
“I got a little excited,” says a passing Observer. “But never you fear! Even if I didn’t have artificial gravity—and I do, and it’s better than Network’s—this thing’s got enough mass to make you stick.”
“I just—I don’t—”
“You’ll be okay,” whispers Left in her ear, its hair tickling her cheek.
“It really is safe,” whispers Right. “I mean, as safe as anything here.”
The flow of Observer does not halt. “Just pretend it’s a ceiling up there!” He calls from somewhere in the crowd of Him. “Pretend we’re still on My brand-new Blackstar.”
She concentrates on the words so she doesn’t have to concentrate on not throwing up or not passing out. The Blackstar, there we go. It’s big, but it’s enclosed. It has ceilings, billions of them. Ceilings are great, aren’t they? They divide reality into nice little chunks. They contain it. They separate you from the endless void, the empty space that lies on the other side of that big blue thing…That’s ceiling up there, not sky.
Trembling, mouthing the word ceiling over and over, she allows Left and Right to wedge themselves under her hips and heave her to her feet. She keeps her eyes on the undergrowth, one hand gripping each guide’s small shoulder. “Okay,” she says through her teeth. “I’m good.”
They say nothing, but she feels a pat on her leg from each direction.
By the time she has traveled another half kilometer, the stream of Observer has turned into a river, with new tributaries joining every dozen meters. From her vantage point nearly a meter above their heads, she can see they cover the forest floor in all directions. They move identically, are dressed identically—and all of them, without exception, give her golden once-overs with identical eyes when they join the flow.
“I can’t help but think that this whole experience would be more dramatic at dusk,” says an Observer bouncing past.
“Dusk?” says Sarya, curiosity pricked. To someone who grew up in artificial environments, dusk is a minor event. It’s the transition time when the lights fade from day color to night color. As to what it could mean here…she has no clue.
“Close your eyes,” says another figure with a smile.
She does so, slowing her steps so she doesn’t trip over her own feet. Instantly, a flash of light blazes red through her eyelids. For a moment she would swear she could count her own veins—and then it’s gone.
“Open,” whispers His voice in her ear.
Observer controls the heavens. She knows that because she has just opened her eyes to a sky that is a dark pink–to–navy gradient, with a brilliant strip of orange in one direction. And as if the color change were a cue, bright orange and yellow lights crackle into life in all directions and begin bobbing around the crowd. They throw sparks into the air above them and trembling shadows across the bouncing mass of Observer. Sarya feels heat on her face as one passes by in the grip of a dancing Observer, and then a whole chain of questions about climate and sunlight on a fleet of cubes instantly flies out of her head because she has just realized what she is seeing.
“That’s fire,” she says. “You have fire on a spacecraft.”
“Planet,” says Observer. “Sort of. But yes.”
She swallows and glances around at the plant life. “Do these things, um…what’s the word?”
“Do trees burn?” says a gleeful passing Observer. “Do they ever!”
“Want a torch?” asks another, thrusting a flaming mass toward her.
She pulls back, blinking, her hands instinctively pulling her hair away from the sputtering heat. Tiny glowing specks leap from it, trailing dark vapor, and fall on nearby Observers. They don’t seem to mind; they laugh and shake them out of their hair or off their tunics.
“Um, no,” she says. “Thank you, but definitely not.”
“Suit yourself,” says the Observer, skipping on in an extremely unsafe way.
Her cognitive dissonance has increased, if anything. This gigantic person doesn’t share her value system, as Right would put it. Except…He does. He, more than anyone—or Anyone—she has ever met, appreciates the right now. He finds pleasure in the mundane. He dances instead of walking, H
e shouts instead of speaking, He built thousands of cubic starships covered with forests because why the hell not, and now He is taking her…
Where?
At the front of the horde, a rhythm has begun. It sounds like Observer’s spastic selves are striking things, resonant things. Together the sounds create a repeating pulse of clicks and booms, and Sarya finds herself taking smaller and faster steps to walk to the cadence. She peers into the cheerful chaos on all sides to find the sources of those sounds, and then more sounds begin filtering out of the darkness. Low ones, high ones, as rhythmic as the clicks and booms but longer and less explosive. They blend together, creating combinations that reach deep inside her.
“What is that?” she asks.
“It’s called music!” shout a half dozen Observers. “Another little hobby of Mine.”
“Most species don’t get it,” says one with a significant glance at the heavens.
“Fortunately, My children know all about it,” says another with a smile.
And then above the music soars a single piercing voice, clear and rhythmic.
I’ve lived a billion billion lives
I’ve died a trillion deaths!
I’ve loved and fought and sailed the stars
But My heart I leave at home!
And then comes a tsunami of sound from across the face of the world as, all together, Observer roars: MY HEART I LEAVE AT HOME!
Sarya realizes her mouth is open, but she cannot manage to correct the situation. She’s never heard anything like this. It’s like a Widow chant, except…except a hundred times better. The words are pitched to match the music, they skip over its pulses and lie in its valleys. The two of them blend together to speak to her more deeply than any chant, to a part of her mind she never even suspected she possessed. Her lips begin moving with the words. My heart I leave at home.