I raise my head. “Untrue!”
“And unfair,” says Chkaa. “Doris invited, but you have already delivered her answer.”
“Witnessed!” I say. “It’s enough. She may be severed, and invite conflict blindly; we’ve seen her with a dead one of her species at her feet.”
And Chkaa, “Possible, as this was witnessed.”
Kir stamps his foot. “If she were severed, the other humans would never skim her wake, and yet they do.” Haa chimes, “Observed.”
“Not only hers,” I say. “SungKenneth also allow the one named Lynn to cut water.”
“Witnessed,” Chkaa agrees, nodding. “And these few look to still others to cut water—the ones they speak of contacting. They are not alone of their species.”
“Deduced.”
We speak too fast for the partially trained model projector, I think, or perhaps SungKenneth don’t understand what it tells them. Observed: They’re watching us with tension in their faces.
TsorrPfiirr take a step back, gazing at one another—hail!—deep in apfaa. Tsorr gives soft clicks of his tongue, pensive, while Pfiirr counterpoints, tapping her pale claw tips together. “In fact, Tsorr,” she says, “we’re cutting water when Cochee-coco discover another species in the great star pattern.” Tsorr purrs solemnly, “Witnessed. Enough argument. We should seek immediate consensus.” Says Pfiirr, “Resolved.”
Serious, that! I glance across Lynn to meet eyes with Chkaa; he’s worried, observed, and KirHaa seem nothing but eager, overtaken with the Martial Purpose.
Oh, hoped, if Lynn would only wake! Her unconscious body is a terrible accusation against Doris, even against her entire species. Doris hasn’t yet gained sufficient breath to speak, observed, but she is claimed by KirHaa, and will invite them again, likely enough—while SungKenneth, seemingly, are unwilling or afraid to speak for themselves. Our claim is in danger, truth!
TsorrPfiirr reach into their controls, swift, fishing out apfaa for the consensus: ones who cut water upon their ships, ones who direct the Form and Performance Purposes upon Star-Pattern-Celebration, one even from the Rodhrrrdkhi planet, found available for immediate witness. The faces of each apfaa hover in conjoined globes above TsorrPf iirr’s shoulders, observed, but they don’t speak. Their eyes still glance about to their own controls while they seek past witness to understand what has happened here.
“The test of a new species falls to consensus,” says Tsorr. And Pfiirr, “Not simply to the few.” Tsorr chimes, “Truth!” He waves his hand, observed, to us and to the consensus watchers. “The species, humans, possesses language.” Pfiirr adds, “First claim, ChkaaTsee TsaaTso GreatTreePurpose: witnessed.”
“Second claim, KirHaa MartialPurpose,” says Kir. “Witnessed,” chimes Haa.
TsorrPfiirr nod at them. “Yes,” says Pfiirr, shaking her blue ear chimes. “The second claim is also recognized.” Says Tsorr, “Truth! But our consensus does not trace claim; it evaluates this species’ capacity to grasp Purpose.” And Pfiirr, “Resolved. KirHaa, do you offer observations to serve the test?”
“Yes,” says Kir. “These creatures fight with no grace, no pattern, and no conviction.” “Witnessed,” says Haa. “They have the hysterical drive of panicked animals, but to our view they possess no Purpose.” And Kir, “No Purpose.”
Oh, how it makes me shiver, like a severing or a death!
The consensus listeners speak in shock, all at once. Pfiirr leaps swiftly to the controls, dexterous, untwining their voices.
“No Purpose?” “Awful!” “But they speak, which suggests intelligence.” “Truth!” “There must be another explanation.” “Surely; only on three planets have such impaired species been found.” “Not another impaired species!” “But your planet there is half breathed, its ice frozen underground.” “Truth—how could you find such creatures there?” “Certainly they are not native.” “Concurred, but how could they have arrived there?”
Tsorr speaks. “ChkaaTsee GreatTreePurpose say that these creatures are a spacefaring species.” “Witnessed,” agrees Pfiirr, “but it is not necessarily so.” Tsorr bends his nose to his claw tips and ruffles the fur of his broad white shoulders, observed. “They may be pets, kept in an enclosure on this planet by someone else.” Says Pfiirr, “Possible.”
Now Kenneth gets to his feet, observed, and cries out. Unfortunate: The model projector does not catch everything. “We are—not pets!”
I await Sung’s answer, but from the floor, Doris wheezes, “I knew it.”
More murmurs from the consensus listeners, observed. Chkaa looks at me—in his eyes, unmistakable, a call to notice that Sung and Kenneth may not be apfaa either. Oh, I take his meaning, certain, but if Sung won’t chime for Kenneth, I will—resolved.
“These creatures aren’t pets,” I say.
“Truth!” says Chkaa. “We’ve entered their halls; witness, all apfaa here, that the controls and accommodations in the edifice that the Form Purpose damaged are fitted to this species and no other.”
I nod and stamp my feet. “Witnessed.”
Among the consensus listeners, the apfaa from the Rodhrrrdkhi planet speaks, observed. “We agree that these are not pets.” “Indeed—yet if they direct themselves, travel through space, and yet have no Purpose, this is a catastrophe.” “Concurred.”
TsorrPfiirr look down at us, solemn. “To discover Purposeless spacefarers would be an unimagined circumstance,” says Pfiirr, and Tsorr, “Truth, that! It would require an unprecedented response.”
Oh, does Chkaa my brother feel in his heart the agony I now feel in mine? The three impaired species, each without the capacity for Purpose, caused great mourning, truth! Avoiding them changed the entire composition of the great star pattern. And now, shall such creatures travel into our pattern? Unthinkable!
“It can’t be,” I say.
“Surely,” says Chkaa. “For if they have no Purpose, how can they be spacefarers at all?”
“How indeed, brother?” I stamp feet, keeping my eyes up toward the consensus and away from KirHaa. “Theory suggests that spacefaring requires apfaa.”
“Speak, sister.”
“And even if this were not so, such advancement requires Purpose.”
“Surely!” chimes Chkaa. “For how could their artifacts and artificial atmosphere be created without Purpose?”
“How, how?”
Lynn stirs on our shoulders, observed, but doesn’t wake. Could she be a Purposeless entity, truly? Could she be so utterly alien? No, no! She is too sane to be severed, observed. Possible: She may be isolate. But not Purpose-less! That we have not discovered Purpose in humans means only that we have not yet seen it, resolved! We need more time, truth—Lynn would speak to us, but for now she cannot.
KirHaa aim blows at one another. “Look, all apfaa here,” chirps Kir, “No impaired species must be permitted to alter the great star pattern.” “Hear, hear,” Haa agrees.
Sounds of agreement come from the consensus listeners, unwelcome.
“Speak, KirHaa,” says Pfiirr, and Tsorr, “Speak.”
“Martial Purpose alone can stop this,” Kir whistles. “Resolved,” says Haa. “This much we have learned from our mistake: That humans are unable to shield from our weapons, and are easily eradicated.” Says Kir, “Witnessed.”
“Be patient,” says Tsorr. “This may be true—” “Possible,” chimes Pfiirr. “But such a mobilization of the Martial Purpose—” “Can be swift as snatching fish!” Kir declares, and Haa, “Resolved!”
Lynn moves on my shoulder, forcing me to rebalance—hope!—but she only takes a deeper breath and then subsides.
She still stands at the heart of this, decided. She tries to understand, truth—she speaks of Purpose when no one else does. If she is apfaa to Doris, to speak to her alone would be violation, awful! But if Chkaa is right—I relinquish my pattern, but save something more important, perhaps—and I still carry our model projector . . .
I turn with Lynn on my shoulder
toward the door. Chkaa yips in surprise but follows, and soon we’re running. KirHaa come after us, observed—but they’re too late, Purpose-blind as they have been in their petition to the consensus. Chkaa activates Lynn’s bubble—just in time, truth!
We pierce the water.
7. Lynn
Ohhh my jaw hurts.
What happened? The whole world is moving—and why do I feel wet?
Holy shit! Otters!
I open my eyes, but can’t focus—too close. Something round is right beside my nose, a sphere with a pattern behind it, white and dark.
Dark.
That’s his fur. And those must be his hands under my arms; suddenly I’m sure that Light is right behind me. My heart pounds. Bubbles twirl past. I crane my neck and glimpse the water tunnel we’re in, just as a doorway field comes at us. The otters pull on my arms, flipping their hindquarters forward as we punch through—I’m going to fall on my stomach—!
I stumble onto a white surface, smooth and hard but uneven, it curves into crazy translucent shapes that fill half the room, as if we’ve been frozen inside a wave.
Why have they brought me here?
Knees quivering, I pull away and fumble off the nasty wet force field. Dark and Light chatter briefly at one another, then turn to look at me. Dark holds his whiskers forward; his peb bled brows drip water. Light steps to his side, her fur gleaming wet, her gold net swirling behind her. She sets down the translator dome and summons its holographic tree.
“Where is this place?” I ask.
Light pats the air with her hands. “We haven’t come far from the Heart. This is a room for Celebration of Form.”
And Dark, “Truth. We want to talk.”
I swallow hard. “Why did you bring me here? Please, take me back to the others.”
Light shakes her whiskers. “Please, please, Lynn. We need to talk to you. We’re trying to help you. The Fight Purpose want to claim humans.”
Dark gives a chirp. “Truth!”
“Like DodgeStrike?” My chest contracts. “Wait, what do you mean, humans? Do you mean, all humans?”
Light nods. “DodgeStrike argue that humans are a limited species without the capacity for Purpose.”
“Witnessed,” says Dark. “Our species always avoids such limited creatures.”
“Truth! If such creatures traveled the stars, they would create chaos in the great star pattern, and they must not do this.”
“Resolved!”
“So the Fight Purpose wishes to stop you.”
“Truth!”
“Unless, Lynn, you can tell us humans are capable of knowing Purpose.”
“I’m trying . . .” My sore head isn’t up to this; I sink down on the floor. Dark and Light follow me down with a liquid-backbone curl, landing on their stomachs.
“Please, Lynn,” Light says. “The dying of any of your species is not our wish.”
Dark echoes, “Please.”
I rub my face with both hands. “I told you my work was my Purpose. That’s not good enough for you?”
“Even species too limited for language can work,” says Light.
“Certain,” Dark agrees. “But work itself is not Purpose. Advanced species turn their work to serve Purpose.”
Light adds, “Truth.”
This is going to drive me crazy. “But I don’t know what you mean, so how can I answer? Why is this so important that DodgeStrike want war over it? What is Purpose, anyway?”
“Oh, sing, sing!” cries Light, and they both burst into song.
I watch helplessly until they stop.
Finally Light says, “Any creature with the capacity for Purpose can feel the call of many Purposes, but always one they will choose to answer.”
“Truth,” says Dark. “One Purpose above all that floats us higher. Purpose is our reason to live, to strive. The force behind all creation—this is Purpose.”
And Light adds, “Hail!”
No way. Could there be anyone less well qualified than me to discuss the meaning of the Universe? I search through every human spirituality I can think of, but how can I explain them? I have to, though—if I’m the only one standing between humanity and mass attack by these bizarre creatures who’ve just wiped us out!
Hyperventilating—my lips and fingertips are getting numb. The fact is, I can’t save the human race. I don’t know anything that would give all of humanity a purpose. All I really know is my numbers.
“Please ask someone else,” I say. “I can’t help you—I don’t even know if I believe in God. I just—” I clench my fists on my knees, feeling tears in my eyes. “Doris was right; I’m just an engineer. All I want to do is go back to my project—my machines and their beautiful numbers. They’re down there waiting for me. I built them the best protection I could, but they can still drift off course if we leave them too long. That’s all I care about right now.”
Silence.
When I look up, Light and Dark are staring at me, softly patting hands with one another. “Tell us more about your beautiful numbers,” says Light.
And Dark, “Tell how beautiful, tell why.”
“Please, oh, please.”
Oh, boy. I shouldn’t have mentioned the project—shouldn’t even have hinted at the existence of the array. But I’ve never seen these guys so intense. They obviously think I’ve said something important. If it means averting a war, how can I refuse to answer my favorite question in the world?
“It’s a question of numbers converging,” I say, hoping the translator can keep up. “You know those pictures I told you about? They’re a graphic, um, picture simulation of two massive number sets coming together.” I hold out my open hands, cradling one set lovingly in each, closing my eyes to savor their colors, their flavor, and complexity. “The planet conditions here. The array function over here. And then—then it gets awesome.”
Dark and Light start this weird purring sound.
As I bring my hands together slowly I can see it in my head, like falling in love with the project all over again. “Here’s the thing. If you shoved them together, they’d crash. All the effects would be lost. But if instead you slide them into each other slowly—you intertwine the ice trees, and the microvortices in the atmosphere—of course, it requires a special variety of chaotic responsiveness, that was the fundamental breakthrough—then you can magnify the effect exponentially! Eventually, the colors won’t just be in the simulation. They’ll color the whole planet blue and green. Imagine it.” My throat tightens up. “God—we have to keep it running! Somehow—though with all our crew lost . . .”
I hear a long, trilling whistle. It’s Light. She says softly, “Purpose . . .”
“Truth, sister,” Dark answers. He and Light stand up and shake from nose to tail, fur rippling, and start tapping rhythms with their web-toed feet.
Light cries, “Hail the Great Tree!”
“Hail!” echoes Dark, and next thing I know they’ve picked me up, one on each arm, and they’re dancing me in a circle.
“Whoa—stop, you’re making me dizzy!”
Light stops with her black nose right beside mine; her whiskers tickle my cheek.
“You’ve shown us your Purpose,” she says. Her chuckling speech comes from her throat, but the translation comes out lower: It’s the necklace that’s been localizing the translation. That thing has more functions than I thought.
Her brother declares, “Truth, witnessed! You are of the Great Tree Purpose, just like us.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know—”
“Listen,” says Light. “All who pursue the Great Tree Purpose know this: As each unit enters a pattern, always that pattern forms a unit on a larger scale. If you can speak of ice trees, and change patterns in atmospheres, you know this also.”
“Observed,” Dark agrees.
Unbelievable. Their Great Tree—it’s fractal structure? It has to be; it’s staring right at me, in the holographic translator, the cloud ship, the very shape of this room.
“Okay, I see it.” I frown. “But that isn’t Purpose, is it?”
“The Great Tree is only the particular nature of our Purpose,” says Light. “Purpose is seeing the beauty of that nature—the instinct that drives us to create, to pursue, pursue.”
“And drives you also,” says Dark.
“Witnessed!” Light declares. “Let’s return to the consensus.”
“Resolved.”
We find the others waiting: Sung frowning; Kenneth white-knuckled; Doris trying to shrug off the unforgiving grip of Dodge and Strike; Blue and Orange standing in the midst of a holographic array of alien faces. Every one of them watching us.
Light activates the translator dome, and she and Dark bow their heads, saying in unison, “Hail, BlueOrange.”
“So,” says Blue. “We see that the minds of humans are capable of understanding Purpose.”
“Witnessed.” That’s not just Orange answering, but all of them—Dodge, Strike, and the stranger otters too.
Witnessed?
Doris growls, her face flushed with rage. “Damn you, Lynn Gable—I’ll have your head for this breach of contract! You’ll never receive clearance anywhere again.”
When I look at the guys in horror, Sung murmurs, “We heard everything.”
“What? Everything?!”
“Handing Terrafirm’s proprietary information over to aliens, ” Doris snarls. “And now that I know who hacked our systems, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
I gulp. “Doris, they were going to declare war—” “Our security has been compromised. I’m shutting down the project.”
Kenneth bursts out, “No!”
“You can’t do that.” “Truth!”
That wasn’t Sung.
Light stamps her feet. “The claim to this project is not yours, Doris,” she says. “It belongs to Lynn GreatTreePurpose.”
“It belongs to the late Doctor Kasemsarn and Terrafirm, Incorporated,” says Doris.
Dark snuffs indignantly. “To Lynn GreatTreePurpose, witnessed,” he says. “But if Doris wishes, then she may ask to trace the claim.”
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