Beyond the Fall of Night

by Arthur C. Clarke

  On the morning of the third day she broke a long silence with, "I am Cley. Do you use names?"

  The creature did not use names among its own kind but knew that humans did, and the animals who mimicked them. "I have been called the Seeker After Patterns."

  "Well then. Seeker, I thank you for—"

  "Our species are allies. Nothing need be said." Seeker dipped its large head in a way that seemed unnatural to it. Cley realized with a pang that Seeker had studied humans enough to attempt this gesture, invoking humbleness.

  "Still, I owe so much."

  "My species came long after yours. We benefited from your struggle."

  "I doubt we did you much good."

  "Life builds upon life. Your kind were but fossils and dust when we walked."

  They gathered berries in silence. Seeker could rear up. Centaurlike, or even stand entirely on its hind legs, using its midpaws like clumsy hands. This aided in scooping many small fish from the cold stream rushing over black pebbles. They ate the yellow-green fish without using a fire and stayed well back among the trees. Cley had processed her deep sense of loss through several nights now and the pain of it ebbed, permitting the color to return to her cheeks and no longer robbing her of her sharpness. She and Seeker set out to search the forest further for bodies and this gave her strength despite what she dreaded finding.

  She was not married to anyone, male or female, but she knew each person in her tribe intimately. The anonymous charred remains were a blessing, in a way. Apparently some had rotted, then been burned.

  They searched systematically through the afternoon, finding only more scorched bodies. Finally they stood looking down into a broad valley, tired, planning where to go next.

  "I trust you are all right," a voice said behind them.

  Cley whirled. Seeker was already dashing with liquid grace among the nearby trees. A tall, blocky man stood on the outer deck of a brass-colored craft that balanced silently in the air. He had come upon them from behind without even Seeker noticing and this, more than his size and the silent power of his craft, told Cley that she had no chance of getting away. Blinking against the sun glare, she saw that this was a Supra.

  "I . . . yes, I am."

  "One of our scouts finally admitted that it was not sure all the bodies it saw were dead. I am happy I decided to check upon its work."

  As he spoke his ship settled gently near Cley and he stepped off without glancing at the ground. Despite his bulk he moved with unconscious lightness.

  "My friend saved me."

  "Ah. Can you induce him to return?"

  "Seeker! Please come!"

  She glimpsed a bulk moving through the nearby bushes, closer than Cley thought the creature could be and coming opposite from the direction Seeker had left. It must be quicker than it looked. There was scarcely a ripple in the foliage but she knew it was there, still cautious. The man smiled slightly and shrugged. "Very well."

  "You came to bury my kind?" Cley said bitingly.

  "If necessary. I would rather save them."

  "Too late for that."

  A sadness flickered in his face as he nodded. "The scouts reported some bodies, but all have been burned. You are all I have found— delightfully alive."

  His calm mildness was maddening. "Where were you Supras? They hounded us, tracked us, killed us all!"

  His face showed a quick succession of emotions, each too fleeting for her to read before the next crowded in. Still he said nothing, though his mouth became a tight line and his eyes moistened. He gestured at the pall of smoke that still climbed on the far horizon.

  Cley followed his movement and said severely, "I guessed you had to defend your own, but couldn't you have, have . . ."

  Her voice trailed away when she saw the pained twinge that constricted his face as her words struck home. Then his mouth thinned again and he nodded. "They attacked new work and old alike. We could not divine what they were about, and when we did, it was too late."

  Her anger, stilled for a moment by his vulnerability, returned like an acrid burn in the back of her throat. "We had nothing to defend ourselves!"

  "Did you think we had weapons?"

  "Supras have everything!"

  He sighed. "We protect through our laboring machines, through the genius of our past."

  "There was fighting in the past. I have heard—"

  ''The far past. Well before your time. We—"

  "But they knew how. Why didn't you?"

  His expression changed again several times with a speed she found baffling. Then a grave sourness shaped his mouth with a sardonic twist. "Tell me who they were and perhaps I can answer you."

  "They?" She felt sudden doubt. "I thought you would know. They . . . well, they looked more like us . . ."

  "Than like me?"

  She studied him for a long moment. He was twice her size, with an enormous head. Yet his ears were small and his nose was stubby, like an afterthought. "Yes, they were more our size. Their heads were human and—"

  "Ur-human," the man corrected absently, as though he was distracted.

  "What?"

  "Oh, I am sorry. We term your kind Ur-human, since you are the earliest form available."

  Her mouth whitened. "And what do you call yourselves?"

  "Ah, humans," he said uncomfortably.

  "Well," she said pointedly, "those who burned your city and killed us, they were Ur-human, too."

  "Did they have earlobes?"

  "I, I can't remember. Things happened fast and—"

  "Were their teeth widely spaced, like yours? That was an early modification of the even earlier hominid forms, I gather from my studies with the Keeper of the Records."

  "Look, I—"

  "Large spacings prevent food from accumulating and decaying. We use that design, as you can see, but also regrow a set every century to compensate for wear. If—"

  "You think I had time to think of that?''

  The man's raptly studious expression vanished as he blinked. "I merely hoped to enlist your aid."

  "You people run the world, not us."

  Soberly he said, "No longer."

  She dammed up the bitter torrent within her and said quietly, "Who were they?"

  "I don't know. They looked human."

  "They weren't like my people."

  "Of course not. You possess only those skills appropriate to tending the forests. These people had mastered warring technology that is ancient beyond measure."

  He gazed apprehensively at the sky, rubbing his shoulder as though he was stiff. She noticed that his light, loose-fitting jump suit was stained and torn.

  "You fought them?"

  "As we could. We were surprised and saw only flame, no people."

  Seeker spoke from beside them. "The lightning returned here, later, to burn the dead humans."

  Both humans were startled. Blinking, the man said, "You are remarkably silent."

  Seeker said, "A craft of ours. You found no humans unburned?"

  The man frowned. "Not yet."

  "I doubt you will," Seeker said. "They are thorough."

  Cley asked, "What did they do to your cities?"

  "Come." He gave the order without taking his eyes from the sky. His mouth echoed a quick flurry of emotion and he held a palm up to Seeker. "Fine ally, we gather now."

  This seemed enough for Seeker. The brass-bright craft tilted momentarily as the creature boarded. Cley went through the wide hatchway and into a simple, comfortable control cabin. The Supra sat down and the ship lifted with scarcely a murmur.

  "I am Alvin," he said, as though anyone would know who he was. His casual confidence told her more than the name, and she responded to his questions about the last few days with short, precise answers. She had rarely even seen a Supra and this one was not winning her over.

  But as they rose with smooth acceleration Cley gaped, not attempting to hide her surprise. Within moments she saw the lands where she had lived and labored reduced to a mere
spot in a vastly larger canvas. She watched the mountains she had admired as a girl reduced to foot soldiers in an army that marched around the curve of the world. Her tribe had known well the green complexity of the forests, but she had not truly comprehended the extent of the Su-pras' works. Many thin brown rivers flowed through narrow canyons, giving the mountain range the look of a knobby spine from which many nerves trailed into the tan deserts beyond. Brilliant snowcaps crowned the tallest peaks, but these were not, she saw, the source of the countless rivers. Each muddy nerve began abruptly high in a canyon and was busily digging itself in deeper.

  Cley pointed and before she could ask Alvin said, "We feed them from tunnels. The great Millennium Lakes lie far underground here."

  21

  This landsculpting was only a few centuries old, but already the moist wealth had reclaimed much of the planet's dry midcontinent.

  Alvin sat back, indolent as his ship performed a long turn to show her the expanses. She caught a brilliant spark of polished metal far away on the very curve of the planet.

  "Diaspar," Alvin said.

  "The legend," she whispered.

  "It is quite real," he said, running his eyes over the display screens that studied the space around them.

  "Did they go there, too?"

  "The attackers? No. I have no idea why not."

  "Does Diaspar's name come from 'despair'?"

  "What?" He sat bolt upright. "No, of course not. Who said it did?"

  "It was a joke we made," she said to unknit his eyebrows. "That you Supras had been walled up in there so long—"

  "Nonsense! We saved humanity, holding on while the desert encroached. We—"

  "And that green spot? Right beside Diaspar?"

  "That's Lys."

  "Lies? Someone telling lies?"

  "No! Look, I do not know what you Ur-humans do for amusement, but I do not find—"

  "I was merely recalling some primeval humor."

  Alvin shook his head. His eyes never left the screens and she realized he was looking for a sign that the attackers might return again. How they could vanish so readily and elude the Supras she could not fathom. But then, the Earth was large, and in these sprawling lands there were many places to hide.

  "When?"

  "More years ago than you could count if you did nothing else throughout your life."

  She stared. The display showed wispy lattices of streets beneath the shifting sands, the shadows of cities whose very names were lost. "So many . . ."

  "There were vast alternatives to Diaspar then. We did not seize them."

  "And now?"

  Alvin laughed. "Uncountable! Infinitude!"

  To her surprise Seeker spoke, reedy and melodious. "There are more breeds of infinitude than of finiteness."

  Alvin raised his eyebrows, startled. "You know of transfinites?"

  "You speak of mere mathematics. I refer to your species."

  Seeker had not spoken to Alvin since they entered the ship. She saw that the beast was not awed by this sleek, swift artifact. It sat perfectly at ease and nothing escaped its quick, bright eyes.

  Alvin pursed his lips. "Just so, sage. Did you know that your kind evolved to keep humans intellectually honest?"

  Cley could not read Seeker's expression as it said with a rippling intonation, "So humans think."

  Alvin looked disconcerted. "I ... I suppose we, too, have illusions."

  "Truth depends on sense organs," Seeker said with what Cley took to be a kindly tinge to its clipped words. Or was she imposing a human judgment on Seeker's slight crinklings around its slitted eyes, the sharpening of the peaks of its yellow ears?

  "We have records of the long discourses between your kind and mine," Alvin began. "I studied them."

  "A human library," Seeker said. "Not ours."

  Cley saw in Seeker's eyes a gulf, the darkness that would always hang between species. Across hundreds of millions of years words were mere signal flares held up against the encroaching night.

  "Yes," Alvin said soberly, "and that is what burns. We know what humans thought and did, but I am coming to see that much history passed outside human ken."

  "Much should."

  "But we will regain everything," Alvin said severely.

  "You cannot regain time."

  Alvin nodded with wan fatigue. Cley knew fragments of his history and saw that he had changed in the several centuries since as a daring boy he had altered human fortunes. One of her own people would have passed through wisdom and died in the time this man had enjoyed; another sign of the unknowable distance between the species. Alvin's spirit visibly ebbed, as if this flight had taken him momentarily away from a fact he could not digest.

  The ship was landing beside a wall of black that she at first took to be solid. Then she saw ash-gray coils rising through sullen clouds and knew that this was the smoky column she had seen for days.

  "The Library of Life," Alvin said. "They attacked it with something like lightning. Bolts that struck and burrowed and hunted. They found the treasure that ages of wearing winds had not discovered."

  "An underground library?" Cley asked. Her tribe had once laughed at a Supra who told them of this practice, the attempt to imprison meaning in fixed substance. People who lived and worked in the constant flux of the deep woods saw permanence for the illusion that it was.

  "A legacy separated from Diaspar," Alvin said kindly. "The ancients knew its storehouse would not be needed in my crystal city. But the urge to preserve was profound in them and so they buried deeply."

  "A recurrent human feature," Seeker said.

  "The only way to understand the past," Alvin countered sharply.

  "Meaning passes," Seeker said.

  "Does transfinite geometry?"

  "Geometry signifies. It does not mean."

  Alvin grunted with exasperation and kicked open the hatch. The sharp bite of smoke made Cley cough but Alvin took no notice of it. They climbed out into a buzz and clamor of feverish activity. All around the ship worked legions of robots. Supras commanded teams that struggled up from ragged-mouthed tunnels in the desert, carrying long cylinders of gleaming glass.

  "We're trying to save the last fragments of the library, but most of it is gone," Alvin said, striding quickly away from the guttural rumble of the enormous fire. Smoke streamed from channels gouged in the desert. These many thin, soot-black wedges made up the enormous pyre that towered above them, filling half the sky.

  "What was in there?" Cley asked.

  "Frozen life," Seeker said.

  "Yes," Alvin said, his glance betraying surprise. "The record of all life's handiwork for over a billion years. Left here, should the race ever need biological stores again."

  "Then that which burns," Seeker said, "is the coding."

  Alvin nodded bitterly. "A mountain-sized repository of DNA."

  "Why was it in the desert?" Cley asked.

  "Because there might have come a time when even Diaspar failed, yet humanity went on. So the Keeper says."

  The teams of robots moved in precise ranks that even the hubbub of fighting the fires could not fracture. They surged on wheels and legs and tracks, churning the loose soil as they pushed large mounds of grit and gravel into the open troughs where flames still licked. She could see where explosions had ripped open the long trenches. Now the fire scoured the deep veins of the planet's accumulated genetic wisdom, and the robots were like insect teams automatically hurrying to protect their queen, preserving a legacy they could not share. Cley could scarcely take her eyes from the towering pyre where the heritage of numberless extinct species was vanishing into billowing wreaths of carbon.

  The machines automatically avoided the three of them as they walked over a low hill and into an open hardpan plain. In oblivious tribute to the perfection he knew in Diaspar, Alvin did not bother to move aside as batallions of robots rushed past them. Seeker flinched visibly at the roar and wind of great machines, dangerously close.

  Cley saw
that feelers of grass and scrub trees had already advanced here, resurgent life licking at the dead sands. Supras hurried everywhere, ordering columns of machines with quick stabs at hand-held instruments.

  "The fight goes no better," Alvin said sourly. "We are trying to snuff it out by burying the flames. But the attackers have used some inventive electromotive fire that survives even burial."

  "The arts of strife," a woman commented sardonically.

  Cley turned and saw a tall, powerfully built woman some distance away. Yet her voice had seemed close, intimate.

  "Alvin!" the woman called and ran toward them. "We have lost a phylum."

  Alvin's stern grimace stiffened further. "Something minor, I hope?"

  "The Myriasoma."

  "The many-bodied? No!" Despair flitted across his face.

  Cley asked, "What are they?"

  Alvin stared into the distance, emotion flickering in his face. "A form my own species knew, long ago. A composite intelligence which used drones capable of receiving electromagnetic instructions. The creature could disperse itself at will."

  Cley looked at the woman uneasily, feeling an odd tension playing at the edge of her perceptions. "I never saw one."

  "We had not revived them yet," Alvin said. "Now they are lost."

  Seeker said, "Do not be hasty."

  Alvin ignored it. "You are sure we lost all?"

  "I hoped there would be traces, but . . . yes. All."

  Cley heard the woman and simultaneously felt a deeper, resonant voice sounding in her mind. The woman turned to her and said, "You have the talent, yes. Hear."

  This time the woman's voice resounded only in Cley's mind, laced with strange, strumming bass notes. I am Seranis, a Supra who shares this.

  "I, I don't understand," Cley said. She glanced at Seeker and Alvin but could not read their looks.

  I’ve have re-created you Ur-humans from the entries in this Library. We further augmented you so that you could understand us through this direct talent.