The Greatship

by Robert Reed

  6

  “I think you understand me.”

  He stared at the woman. Except for a plain white garment, she wore nothing. No armor, no helmet.

  “My name is Aasleen.”

  Aasleen’s face and open hands were the color of starless space. She was speaking into the air and into an invisible microphone, her radio words finding him an instant before their mirroring sound.

  The woman said, “Alone.”

  He wasn’t struggling. Doing nothing, he allowed his power to swell, and he wondered what he might accomplish if held this pose for a long time.

  “That’s your name, isn’t it? Alone.”

  He had never embraced any name and saw no reason to do so now.

  With her black eyes, Aasleen studied the prisoner. And as she stood before him, coded threads of EM noise pushed into her head. Buried in her organic flesh were tiny machines, each speaking with an urgent, complex voice. She listened to those voices, and she watched him. Then she said one secret word, silencing the chatter as she approached, walking forward slowly until he couldn’t endure her presence anymore.

  He made himself invisible.

  She stopped moving toward him but she didn’t retreat either, speaking quietly to the smear of nothing defined by the giant clinging limbs.

  “Twisting ambient light,” she said. “I know that trick. Metamaterials and a lot of energy. You do it quite well, but it’s nothing new.”

  Alone remained translucent.

  “And I understand how you can shift shapes and colors so easily. You’re liquid, of course. You only pretend to be solid.” She paused for a moment, smiling. “I had a pet octopus once. He had an augmented brain. To make me laugh, he used to pull himself into the most amazing shapes.”

  Alone let his body become visible again.

  “Step away,” he pleaded.

  Aasleen stared at him for another moment. Then she backed off slowly, saying nothing until she had doubled the distance between them.

  “Do you know what puzzleboys are?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Puzzleboys build these wonderful, beautiful machines—hard cores clothed with liquid exteriors. Their devices are durable and inventive. The best of them are designed to survive for ages while crossing deep space.”

  Aasleen paused, perhaps hoping for a reaction.

  Growing tired of the quiet, she explained, “Puzzleboys are like a lot of sentient species. They wanted the Great Ship for themselves. Thousands of worlds sent intergalactic missions, but my species won the race. I rode out here on one of the early starships. Among my happiest days is that morning when I first stood on the Ship’s battered hull, gazing down at the Milky Way.”

  He said, “Yes.”

  “You know the view?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled, teeth shining. “A couple thousand years ago, as we were bringing the Great Ship into the galaxy, the puzzleboys started singing lies. They claimed that they had sent a quick stealthy mission up here. The laws of salvage are ancient—far older than my baby species. Insentient machines can’t grab so much as a lump of ice for their builders. But the aliens claimed that they had shoved one of their own citizen’s minds inside a suitable probe. Like all respectable lies, their story had dates and convincing details. It’s easy to conclude that their one brave explorer might have reached the Great Ship first. If he had, this prize would be theirs, at least according to these old laws. The only trouble with that story is that their mission never arrived. I know that. I never saw signs of a squatter, and they haven’t produced corroborating evidence. Which is why we have made a point of insulting that entire species, and that’s why the legal machinery of this cranky old galaxy has convincingly backed our claim of ownership.”

  Quietly, he said, “Puzzleboys.”

  “That’s a human name. A translation, and like most approximations, grossly inadequate.”

  An EM squeal offered the species’ name.

  “Do you recognize it?” asked Aasleen.

  He admitted, “I don’t, no.”

  “All right then.” She nodded, a thin smile breaking and then vanishing again. “Let’s have some fun. Try to imagine that somebody we know, some familiar civilization, dreamed you up and sent you to the Great Ship. Maybe they borrowed puzzleboy technology. Maybe you’ve sprung from a different engineering history. Right now, I’m looking at oceans of data. But despite everything I see, my experience and intuitions, I can’t pick one answer over the others. Which is why this so fascinating, sir. And why you are so fun.”

  Alone said nothing.

  She laughed briefly, softly. “That leaves us with a tangle of questions. For instance, do you know what scares me about you?”

  “What scares you?”

  “Your power supply does.”

  “Why?”

  Aasleen didn’t seem to hear the question. “And I’m not the only person sick with worry,” she admitted, closing one of her eyes and opening it again abruptly. “Miocene,” she said, and sighed. “Miocene is an important captain. And you’re considered a large enough problem that right now, that powerful captain is sitting inside a hyperfiber bunker three kilometers behind me. Three kilometers is probably far enough. If the worst happens, that is. But of course nothing will go bad now. As I explained to Miocene and the other captains, you seem to have survived quite nicely and without mishap, possible for thousands years. What are the odds that your guts are going to fail today, in my face?”

  He considered his nature.

  “Do you have any idea what’s inside you?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “A single speck of degenerated matter. A miniature black hole, perhaps, although you’re more likely the house for a quark assemblage of one or another sort.” Aasleen sighed and shrugged. “Regardless of your engine design, it is novel. It’s possible, yes, and I have a few colleagues who have done quite a lot of work proving that this kind of system might be used safely. But to see something like you in action and to realize that you’ve existed for who-knows-how-long, and apparently without demanding any significant repair…”

  She paused. “I am a very good engineer,” she said. “One of the best I’ve ever met, regardless of the species. And I just can’t believe in you. Honestly, it is impossible for me to accept that you are even a little bit real.”

  “Then release me,” he begged.

  She laughed.

  He watched her face, her nervous fingers.

  “In essence,” she continued, “you are a lucid entity carrying a tiny quasar in its core. The quasar is smaller than an atom and enclosed within a magnetic envelope, but massive and exceptionally dense.”

  “Quasar,” he repeated.

  “Matter, any matter, can be thrown inside you, and if only a fraction of the resulting energy is captured, you will generate shocking amounts of power.”

  He considered her explanation. Then with a quiet tone, he mentioned, “I have seen the Ship’s engines firing.”

  “Have you?”

  “Next to them, I am nothing.”

  “That is true. In fact, I have a few happy machines sitting near us that can outstrip your capacities, and by a wide margin. But as Submaster Miocene has reminded me, if that magnetic stomach is breached and if you can digest just your own body mass, the resulting fireworks will probably obliterate several cubic kilometers of the Ship, and who knows how many innocent souls.”

  The words felt true, and Alone believed her. But then he remembered that good lies have believable details and he didn’t feel as certain.

  Aasleen smiled in a sad fashion. “Of course I don’t know exactly what would happen, if your stomach failed. Maybe it has safety mechanisms that I can’t see. Or maybe its fire would reach out and grab my body and everything else in this room and as far away as Miocene…and with that, the Great Ship would be short one engine, and the survivors would find an enormous hole in the hull, spewing poisons and nuclear fire.”

&nb
sp; “I won’t fail,” he promised.

  She nodded. “I think that’s an accurate statement. I know I want to believe that both of us are perfectly safe.”

  “I won’t hurt the Ship.”

  “Which is a fine sentiment. But why do you feel certain?”

  “Because I am,” he said.

  Aasleen closed her eyes, once again concentrating on the machines inside her head.

  “Please,” said Alone. “Let me go.”

  “I can’t.”

  His shape began changing.

  Aasleen’s eyes opened. “I know the story about you and Wune meeting. My hope? You take my appearance like you did hers. That might be fun.”

  But he didn’t. There were no limbs now, nothing resembling a face. To the eye he resembled a ball of hyperfiber with giant rockets on one hemisphere, thick armor on the other. Using a hidden mouth, he promised, “I won’t do any harm. I won’t hurt anyone and I will never injure the Ship.”

  “You just want to be left by yourself,” Aasleen said.

  “Everything else hurts.”

  “And why?”

  He had no response.

  “Which leads us to another area of deep concern,” Aasleen said. “A machine built by unknown minds is found wandering inside a second machine built by unknown minds. There seems to be two mysteries, there might be only one. Do you understand what I mean?”

  He said, “No.”

  “Two machines but only one builder.”

  He didn’t react.

  She shook her head. “We don’t know how old the Great Ship is. We have informed guesses but no precision. And no matter how well engineered you appear to be, I don’t think you’re several billion years old.”

  He remained silent.

  Aasleen took one step closer. “And here is a third terror that involves you: A captain’s nightmare. Maybe you are the puzzleboys’ machine. Or you’re somebody else’s representative. Either way, if you arrived here on the Ship before any human did, and if there’s a lost soul inside whatever passes for your mind…well, then it’s conceivable that a different species might legally claim possession over the wealth and impossibilities that the Great Ship offers. And at that point, no matter how sweet your engineering is, your fate is out my hands…”

  Her voice trailed away.

  She took a tiny step forward.

  “I have no idea,” said Alone. “I don’t know what I am. I know nothing.”

  The tiny machines inside Aasleen were speaking rapidly again.

  “I’m watching your mind,” she said. “But I’m not familiar with its neural network. It’s a sloppy design, or it is revolutionary. I don’t know enough to offer opinions.”

  “I wish to leave now,” he said.

  “In the universe, there are two kinds of unlikely,” said Aasleen. “The Great Ship is the grand type—never attempted or even imagined, but achievable, provided someone has time and the relentless muscle to make it real. And then there’s the implausible that you imagine will come true, and one day your worst fears turn real. If the Great Ship belongs to someone else, then my species has to surrender our claim. And even though I have convinced myself that I am a good charitable soul, I don’t want that to happen. In fact, I would likely go to war in order to keep that from happening.”

  Alone did nothing, gathering strength.

  “And suppose you are safe as rain,” she said. “I don’t relish the idea of you wandering wherever you like. Not onboard my ship, and certainly not until we can coax out the answers to all these puzzles.”

  With no warning, Alone lost his shape, turning into a hot broth that tried to flow around the grasping arms.

  The arms seemed to expect his trick, quickly creating one deep bowl that held him in place.

  “I promise,” said Aasleen. “You’ll be somewhere safe. We will keep you comfortable, and as much as possible, you’ll be left alone. Not even Miocene wants to torment you, which is why a special chamber is being prepared—”

  A new talent emerged.

  The liquid body suddenly compressed itself, collapsing into a tiny dense and radiant drop hotter than any sun. And as the bowl-shaped limbs struggled to keep hold of this fleck of fire, Alone stole a portion of the surrounding mass, turning it into energy, shaping a ball of white-hot plasma.

  Then he shrank into an even tinier, hotter bit of existence.

  Aasleen turned and ran.

  The arms were pierced. Alone fell to the floor. The hyperfiber bubbled and burst into plasmas that he pulled close and pushed downward, using the fire as a drill, and he sank out of view, sank slowly until the hyperfiber turned into a bed of pale pink granite, and then much as a ship passes between the stars, he was flying quickly through what felt like nothing.

  7

  Creating a narrow hole, Alone fled.

  The hole was lined with compressed, distorted magma that flowed and exploded and then hardened above him. But despite his minuscule trail, enemies would follow. He felt certain. Alone was valuable in their eyes, or he was dangerous, or they simply could not approve of his continued existence. Aasleen and the captains would keep chasing him, and realizing that, it was obvious that his many enemies were gathering below, now waiting for him inside the next trap.

  Alone let his body balloon outwards, one final burst of blazing heat terminating his descent.

  A cone-shaped chamber hung above him, its wall glowing pink as the residual heat bled away. He lay silent for long minutes before sprouting delicate fingers, pushing their tips through the magma, into the cold stone. Vibrations fell over him—bright hard jarrings marking the closing and sealing of every hatch and orifice and superfluous valve. Then something massive and quite slow passed directly below him. But these subtle noises were never regular, never simple, creating distortions and echoes as the waves broke around hundreds of empty spaces. Swim in one downward angle and a large chamber was waiting. Another easy line promised a far more extensive cavern. But what caught Alone’s interest was a line that might not even exist, a flaw in the rock, perhaps, or maybe a tunnel leading nowhere. That target was near. Illusion or not, Alone would learn the answer soon, and now he pulled his body into a new shape, looking like the worms common to a hundred billion worlds as he began slithering and shoving his way forward.

  He missed his goal by eighty meters.

  But instinct or a wordless voice urged him to pause and reconsider. What was wrong? An urge told him what to do, and he didn’t hesitate, following a new line until not only was he certain that he was lost but that the Great Ship was solid to its core, and his fate was to wander this cramped darkness until Time’s end.

  The rock beside him turned to cultured diamond.

  With the worm’s white-hot head, he pushed through the gemstone. Countless thread-like tunnels were woven through the Great Ship, and this was among the most obscure, barely mapped examples. He glowed brightly for a long moment, new eyes probing in both directions. He wanted instinct to help. Instinct said nothing. Then inside a space too small for a human child to stand, he sprouted limbs and began to run, pushing off the floor and the sides and that low slick diamond ceiling. At every junction and tributary hole, he picked one for no reason. Eventually he was hundreds of kilometers from his beginning point, random choice carrying him until the instant when he realized that he was beginning to wander back toward his starting point.

  Alone paused, listening to the diamond and the rock beyond. The next turn led to a dead end, and he carefully backed out of that hole and hunkered down, and with a soft private voice asked, “What now?”

  “Down,” the familiar voice coaxed.

  Nothing else was offered. No other instruction was needed. He burned a fresh hole in the diamond floor, and after plunging three kilometers, his fierce little body exploded into a volume of frigid air that stretched farther than the light of his body could reach.

  Alarmed, he turned black as space.

  He fell, and a floor of frozen water and carbon di
oxide slapped him when he struck bottom.

  The cavern was bubble-shaped, filled with ancient ice and a whisper of oxygen gas. Except for the dimpled footprints of one robot surveyor, there was no trace of visitors. No human had ever stepped inside this place. But as a precaution, the only inhabitant erased his tracks, and where his warmth had distorted the ice, he made delicate repairs.

  The walker’s life gave way to a sessile existence. Alone moved only to investigate his new home. Every sealed hatch leading out into the Ship was studied, and he prepared three camouflaged exits that wouldn’t appear on the captains’ maps. Sameness made for simple memories. The next seventeen thousand years were crossed without interruption. Life was routine, and life was silent and unremarkable, and the fear that he knew best subsided into a slight paranoia that left each sliver of Time sweet for being pleasantly, unashamedly boring.

  Doing nothing was natural.

  For long delicious spans, the entity sat motionless, allowing his heat to gradually melt the ice. Then he would cool himself, and his surroundings would freeze again while he pretended to be the old ice. With determination and patience, he imagined billions of years passing without significance, nothing in this tiny realm suffering change. Sometimes he sprouted a single enormous eye, and from another part of his frigid body he emitted a thin rain of photons that struck the black basalt ceiling and the icy hills around him, and with that eye designed for this single function, he would slowly and thoroughly study what never changed while his mind tried to envision the Ship that could not be seen.

  “Speak to me,” he might beg.

  Then he would wait, wishing for a reply, tolerant enough to withstand a year and sometimes two years of inviting silence.

  “Speak,” he would prompt again.

  Silence.

  Then he might offer a soft lie. “I can hear you anyway,” he would say. “Just past my hearing, you are. Just out of my reach, out of my view.”

  But if the strange voice was genuine, then its maker was proving itself more stubborn even than Alone.