Laaglenz made a dismissive gesture with the falling fingers of one hand: a bored confirmation.
“But how?”
“As I said at the outset, ‘how’ is invariably a dull question. So dull, in fact, that I will only answer one of the following: how Virtua operates, or how to find your mate.”
At last. “Tell me how to find Elena.”
“A typical human choice, selecting personal attachment over greater knowledge.”
“Actually, no choice was required. You’ve already promised to answer all my questions about Virtua.”
“I did no such thing.” But Laaglenz sounded less than positive.
“You were probably distracted”—by the sound of your own voice—“but when you brought me out of the first sim, I asked you how it worked. You interrupted by promising me that, ‘I will answer all your questions about Virtua later.’” Riordan shrugged. “But I would have chosen Elena, anyway. Because when all is said and done, she’s real and Virtua is just make-believe.”
Instead of becoming angry, Laaglenz lowered his head. He seemed to stare at his midriff. “Given your limited ability to understand what Virtua is and does, I suppose I cannot flaw your reasoning. Indeed—” His sudden pause became a full stop, succeeded by a vacant stare.
Riordan leaned into the Dornaani’s wandering field of vision. “Laaglenz? Are you well?”
“I am…reflecting.”
Caine was prepared to regret his next question. “Reflecting upon what?”
“Upon the irony of what I just said. ‘Given your limited ability to understand what Virtua is and does, I cannot flaw your reasoning.’”
“Yes, what about that?”
“I might as well have been speaking of myself.” Laaglenz glanced at Riordan; he looked more sane, but also, deeply haunted. Terrified, almost. “There is much validity in an earlier question you posed. ‘How can a discrete system in the real universe contain within it a subset of information that is as infinite as the universe itself?’ It cannot, of course. That is how I started on this path, this life: by asking that same question.”
“And?”
“And I was…‘discouraged’ from pursuing it too far. That is why I am here. On the margins. Asking ‘why,’ rather than ‘how.’” His voice darkened. “Asking how can be much more dangerous.”
Riordan was at once eager and wary. Eager because he could sense that Laaglenz was on the verge of revealing recondite, and possibly crucial, knowledge. But Caine was equally wary, because one wrong word could cause the Dornaani to recoil back into the protective shell he had built to shield himself from whatever impossible truth he had grabbed hold of…and that he could not let go. “I did not think,” Riordan murmured, “that enlightenment was ever discouraged among the Dornaani.”
“It never is.” Laaglenz’s voice became hollow. “Yet this was. And so I fear—” He looked up, his eyes suddenly clear, intense. “Human. When you enter Virtua, be mindful of worlds that no longer resemble ours in any meaningful way.”
“But isn’t that kind of change inevitable once users alter the event paths of—?”
“No, no!” Laaglenz interrupted anxiously. “I mean a world, a universe that is so changed that it is unrecognizable, where history has no overlap with ours, or where the rules of physics may have branched away from those we know.”
Caine started, as much at the Dornaani’s sudden earnestness as the bizarre change of topic. “Are you referring to”—Riordan struggled to remember the term—“the many-worlds model of parallel universes? From first-generation quantum theory?”
Laaglenz flapped annoyed fingers in his direction. “Yes. Maybe. Sedge and muck! I do not know what label you hairless apes gave it! But I have wondered…” His voice grew faint. “If a branching incident in a temporal stream—that instant when a symmetry split occurs spontaneously—could be induced, even controlled, then…” His pause became a protracted silence, then a distracted stare.
“Laaglenz?”
“Yes?” He blinked, as if surprised by his surroundings. “You are correct. I promised to tell you how Virtua works. Ask your questions.” There was no indication he had ever been diverted from their original, almost combative exchange.
Riordan leaned forward. “So, Virtua’s instantaneous connections are facilitated by something you call ‘nodes’?”
Laaglenz poked a finger at the floor. “Incorrect. ‘Node’ does not refer to the means of instantaneous transmission. A node is any star system in which those means are present.”
“Okay, so what do you call the means of instantaneous transmission?”
“The closest rendering in your language would be ‘keyhole.’”
“And are they some kind of wormhole, or…?”
“Understanding Virtua does not require that I help you understand the physics of keyholes.”
“Nor their impact upon Dornaani culture, apparently.”
“Your meaning is unclear.”
Riordan shrugged. “These keyholes sound like yet another reason that Dornaani don’t have to leave their homes anymore. And I’m guessing that as use of Virtua became more widespread, an increasing number of these keyholes were reopened.”
Laaglenz did a poor job of mimicking confusion. “‘Reopened?’”
“Look, it’s pretty clear that the first keyholes had to be created by the ancients.” Riordan shrugged in response to Laaglenz’s stare. “Hey, you’re the one who said that Virtua has ‘always been there.’ Logically, then, so have its keyholes. And back when Virtua was turned off or boxed up, I suspect its connections were either ignored or forgotten. But as modern users started discovering it again, you had to find those keyholes. And then, as it expanded, you had to create new ones, just so that the system could run properly.”
“Again, your meaning is unclear. ‘Run properly’?”
“Virtua sounds way too big to run on what we would call a single platform. I’m guessing it requires a distributed network. So by increasing the number of nodes, you weren’t just expanding the user base, you were increasing Virtua’s computing power. And you couldn’t have done that unless you learned how to make keyholes yourself.”
Laaglenz’s face was carefully expressionless. “A provocative assertion without any supporting evidence.”
“You’re a speculator, so you know that when you don’t have complete data, that’s precisely when you have to rely on thought experiments. And here’s mine.
“Even if your race was the heir apparent of the Elders, they wouldn’t put nodes only in your star systems. Because if your metaconcept of an optimal speciate blend is accurate, then they had to distribute the keyholes evenly. Eventually, that communications parity would become essential to political stability among the races.
“But if the Elders had left behind lots of keyholes—say, as many as you now have for Virtua—then some of the other races should have already stumbled across at least one, particularly the tech-savvy Ktor. But since they haven’t, it seems likely that the Elders left behind relatively few keyholes.
“Of course, you Dornaani now have a major advantage they didn’t foresee: you are the only race that remembers their existence. So you’re the only ones who have records showing where some of them were located. That, together with your advanced science and technology, allowed you to study them for a few millennia and discover how to make your own. That’s how you’ve been able to grow Virtua’s nodal switchboard.” Caine spent one brief moment appreciating the surprised look on Laaglenz’s face. “Now, tell me how to find Elena and how to get her away from the monster that’s got hold of her.”
“‘Monster?’ What do you mean?”
“I mean Virtua. And in order to retrieve her, I suspect I’ll to have to face it myself.”
“‘Face’ Virtua? Human, to influence its outcomes, you have to be inside it.”
Caine nodded. “As I’ve come to realize, thanks to you. So if I’m going to free her from the belly of that beast, you have to tell me where I can jump do
wn its gullet.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
JUNE 2124
ORBITING ZHASHAYN, SIGMA 2 URSA MAJORIS 2 A V
Caine drift-walked slowly beside Alnduul as they moved along one of Olsloov’s less-used passageways. The Dornaani had been waiting for him when his shuttle returned from the surface of Zhashayn, but had remained uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way forward. “Where are we going?”
“A restricted area. But first, let us stop in here.” He waved at an unusually large iris valve. It opened and they walked through into a gallery with a mural-sized view of space. Well aft, a speck of intense yellow-white light—Sigma 2 Ursa Majoris 2 A—silhouetted the gas giant in orbit eleven. Alnduul spent a moment gazing at it. “We will shift in two days.”
Riordan nodded, resisted the impulse to reply I’ll believe it when I see it. Cynicism had become habitual while traveling in the Collective. But, the sensors showed nothing in range that might interfere with the preacceleration and outshift to the K-type orange star known to human astrographers as BD+75 403A. “It’s hard to believe that I might finally see Elena.”
“You may see her, but it is unlikely that she will be responsive.”
Riordan nodded. “Sometimes it’s important just to be close to someone, Alnduul. Even if they aren’t conscious.”
Alnduul let air leak slowly out his gills. “I am acquainted with the human desire for closeness, although we Dornaani have no analog. But we do feel strong regret when we are parted from a close friend.” He looked out at the stars. “It is as I shall soon feel regarding my departure from you, Caine Riordan.”
“You’re going somewhere?”
“Yes. That is why I wished to speak to you alone, while contemplating a view that encourages us to keep our vision broad and far-reaching.”
Riordan replied with a rueful smile. “When you start speaking in cosmic superlatives, I start getting worried.” Caine let a few moments pass. “So, what’s happened?”
“As anticipated, I must return to Glamqoozht to face a board of inquiry. They shall determine whether or not I shall remain a Custodian, let alone the Senior Mentor for the Human Oversight Group.”
“What do you plan to say to them?”
“Very little. The board is comprised of many of the same persons who met with you, and as Glayaazh pointed out, they have already made their decision. Besides, if obeying my oath as a Custodian has become cause for dismissal, what may I hope to say?”
Riordan nodded. “Maybe this is a better question: what would you like to say to them?”
Alnduul stared at the unwinking stars before his reply came out in a fervent rush. “I would tell them that, after half a millennium of growing detachment and moral relativity, their greatest shame should be that they no longer feel shame at all.”
Alnduul’s equivalent of teeth—shearing plates that worked like an iris valve—scissored rapidly. “For a culture to remain coherent and viable, it must declare what it opposes just as clearly as it declares what it embraces.” Alnduul’s mouth relaxed. “It is implicit in the belief structure professed by the Corcoran simulacrum: integrity is essential to the continuance of virtue, just as hope is essential to the continuance of life. We have forgotten these truths.”
He turned away from the stars. “I have made provisions to ensure your continued safety. Accordingly, Irzhresht shall remain behind with you.”
Riordan’s left eyebrow climbed before he could stop it. “Irzhresht doesn’t seem particularly fond of me.”
Alnduul trailed a finger. “Irzhresht displays little fondness for anyone. Lojis learn early to suppress signs of need, affinity, or particularly, trust.”
“Okay, but can I trust her?”
“You may trust that she will not wish to displease me.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Perhaps not, but it ensures that she will be a reliable assistant.” His tone darkened. “Her circumstances were dire when our paths first crossed. It was my sponsorship that brought her into the ranks of the Custodians.”
“So she, too, will be excluded from private meetings.”
“That is why I have arranged for another assistant, one with fewer social constraints.” He waved a finger over his vantbrass: the image of another loji—smaller, grayer, more covered with tattoos—appeared before them. “This is Hsontlosh. He is accepted in both Collective and loji communities, and has been invaluable in brokering cooperative relationships between them.”
“You know him personally?”
“I have met him, but cannot claim to know him. However, two Dornaani Arbiters sympathetic to your cause have often retained him and place their highest confidence in his discretion and reliability. You met one of them on Glamqoozht. Heethoo.”
Riordan nodded. “One of the few friendly faces around that table. And the other?”
Alnduul moved toward the exit. “Glayaazh.” He motioned for Caine to follow.
Well, I can’t ask for a better recommendation than that. “So Hsontlosh can accompany me wherever I go.”
“Yes. And he is also your—what is your term?—‘back up.’ A puzzling idiom, since it also means to reverse direction.”
Riordan was too concerned to find Alnduul’s linguistic confusion amusing. “Why do I need back up?”
Two of Alnduul’s fingers traced a fretful arabesque in midair. “Irzhresht is loyal to me, but has always traveled under my direct protection. It is unlikely, but a loji from her past could learn that she is more vulnerable now, and seek to extort her into betraying you.”
“And you think she would be susceptible to that pressure?”
“No, but she is proud and secretive. She might not inform you of attempts to coerce her.”
Riordan nodded. “But Hsontlosh would see the signs and warn me.”
“Yes,” Alnduul drifted a single finger into an upward curl. “Lastly, you will have a guide that is particularly adept at Dornaani customs and concepts, and at explaining them to a human.”
“That sounds too good to be true. Who is this guide?”
Instead of answering, Alnduul approached and waved at an iris valve outlined in orange: restricted access. He entered, stood aside to allow Caine to pass.
Riordan stopped after two steps. A human was rising from a cocoon couch near the opposite bulkhead. He was of early middle age, brown hair, brown eyes, plain-featured with a medium skin tone that could be encountered amongst humans of almost any ethnotype. He smiled. “I am Eku. You must be Caine Riordan. I am pleased to meet you.”
Riordan nodded, scanned the compartment. A Dornaani cold cell was snugged against the far bulkhead. “So, Eku, I see you’ve just come out of cryogenic suspension.”
“That is correct.”
Alnduul moved closer to Eku, watching Caine…who was suddenly wary. So there’s been another human on board the whole time. Nothing technically wrong about that, but I wonder…“How long have you been in cold sleep, Eku?”
“Just over forty-six terrestrial years, Mr. Riordan.”
Caine nodded. “And of the places you’ve visited on Earth, which is your favorite?”
Eku seemed to relax. “I was quite fond of the Crystal Palace in London.” Eku’s smile became thoughtful. “Not so much for its beauty as for what it represented.”
Riordan nodded. “Dreams, hopes, aspirations, joy.”
Eku returned the nod, his smile widening. “Yes. All those things.”
Riordan returned the smile. “Well, I imagine you have a lot of catching up to do. It’s been a pretty lively half century.” A nod at Eku—“I’m glad we had the chance to meet”—and then Riordan stepped back through the iris valve.
Eku called after him. “I am also glad, Mr. Riordan.”
Riordan nodded as the iris valve closed, started back toward his quarters.
It took Alnduul half a minute to catch up with him. “I had hoped this would not be necessary.”
“You mean, having me meet a factotum?”
“No: that I would need to rouse Eku at all. But you will require his assistance.” An awkward pause, then, “You are to be congratulated on how swiftly you discerned his origin.”
“Oh, drop the bullshit praise, Alnduul. Firstly, why would another human be on board Olsloov, particularly one whose appearance is optimized for multiethnic infiltration? And secondly, there’s no other reason you’d have a human on board who’s been in cold sleep for forty-six years, forty years earlier than humanity knew that you or any other exosapients existed.
“But the clincher was the Crystal Palace. That’s been gone almost two hundred years. So it seems you’ve been popping Eku in and out of his cryogenic kennel for centuries.”
Alnduul recoiled. “The deployment of a factotum is never a casual matter. It requires the highest level of permission within the Custodians, since they become familiar with many of our most confidential activities and technologies in the course of their operations. But I understand your anger.”
Riordan sighed. “I’m not sure you do. First the ancients decided to grab some of us as interstellar breeding stock. Then the Ktor land on Earth to grab the Lost Soldiers. Now it turns out you Dornaani have been dropping off your own human infiltrators for so long that some of them may still remember watching mastodon migrations.” He shook his head. “Being a protected race apparently hasn’t stopped anyone from scooping up humans whenever it suits them. Including our so-called protectors.”
Alnduul folded his hands. “We have never ‘scooped up’ anyone. Our factotums are descended from humans whom the Elders removed from Earth. Their sole mission has been to assist us in safeguarding your race without any noticeable intrusions or cultural disruptions.”
Translation: without sending us into a panic about aliens among us. Which, all things being equal, was probably a good idea. But still…“I’m not even sure why I should trust a highly obedient, confidential agent you keep on frozen standby more than I should a loji.” They arrived at Riordan’s stateroom. He turned to face Alnduul. “I’m going to rest a while.” He wasn’t sure whether it was a white lie or if, in fact, he might lie down in the cocoon to process this latest surprise.
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