Nigel nodded, The craft was a hundred meters long, but still seemed tiny and precious compared with the monstrous Watcher. And its arabesqued surfaces, its feeling of lightness and swift grace, conveyed its function.
“It’s a fast ship,” Nikka observed, passing a hand over circuits that leapt into amber life.
“I agree,” Nigel said. “The Watcher’s a blunderbuss. This is a stiletto. Or maybe an arrow.”
Carlos touched the hard, dimly alabaster-lit surfaces of it. They stood in what had to be a control room. Screens blossomed into unintelligible displays when they approached. “Robots flew it, I guess,” Carlos said. “Must’ve built the Watcher around this.”
“Perhaps.” Nigel calculated. They had already found evidence that the Watcher was very old, perhaps as much as a billion years. Radioactive isotope dating techniques were fairly accurate, even for such long durations. If this ship was older, it implied a machine civilization of vast age.
“I wonder if we could use it? Figure out the controls?” Nigel wondered.
Carlos brightened. “Sail it to Earth? My God! Yes!”
“Earth?” Nigel hadn’t thought of that.
They were all intensely aware that they were like fishermen swallowed by a whale.
Somewhere in the huge Watcher was the guiding intelligence. Its minions destroyed, it had withdrawn. But it would not give up.
Eventually it would find a way to strike back at the vermin which had invaded it. The Watcher had time. It could move subtly, deliberately.
The corridors took on a brooding, watchful cast.
No one went anywhere alone.
It took three days to find the core.
A crewman led Nigel to the small, compact room near the geometric center of the Watcher’s huge mass.
“Looks like an art gallery, I’d wager,” Nigel said after a long moment of surveying the curved walls.
It was a wilderness of tangled curves. Nothing sat flush with the walls. Small, ornate surfaces butted against each other, each rippling with embedded detail. Patterns swam, merged, oozed. A giddy sense of flight swept over Nigel as he watched the endless slide of structure move through the room.
“This is where it thinks?” he asked.
A crewman said at his elbow. “Maybe. Functions seem to lead into here.”
“What’s that?” A hole gaped, showing raw splintered struts.
“Defense mechanism. Killed Roselyn when she came in. I got it with a scrambler.”
Nigel noticed that some of the panels were spattered with drying brown flecks. The Watcher was exacting a price for each of its secrets.
He sighed and pointed. “And that?”
The crewman shrugged.
A pattern came and went, as though it was a huge ocean wreck seen deep beneath the shifting waves.
It was first a line, then an ellipse, and now a circle. Its surface piped and worked with tenuous detail. Somehow the walls seemed to contain it as an embedded image, persistent against the passing shower of lesser facts. Nigel frowned. An unsettling, alien way to display information. If that’s what it was.
Again came the sequence. Line, oval, circle, oval, line. Then it struck him. “It’s the galaxy.”
“What?” Nikka had just arrived. “What is all this?”
“Watch.” He pointed. “See the broad line of tiny lights? That’s the galaxy as it looks from the side. That’s the way we see it from Earth, a plane seen edge-on. Now watch.” His lined hands carved the air.
The line thickened, winking with a cascade of lights. It swelled into an oval as other data sped across the image, like clouds rushing over the face of a slumbering continent. Fires lit in the oval. Traceries shot through it. It grew into a circle. Strands within it flexed and spilled with light.
Nigel said, “Catch the spiral arms? There. Faint out-lines against those bright points.”
“Well …” she looked doubtful. “Maybe.”
“See those blue points?” Dabs of blue light stood out against the other tiny glows. Evidently they were all stars. But … “I wonder what those stand for?”
“Other Watchers?” Nikka asked.
“Could be. But think. This is a map of the whole damn galaxy.” He said it quietly but it had an effect on the others now crowding into the cramped room. “Seen from every angle. Which means somebody—some-thing—has done that. Sailed far up above the whole disk and looked down on it. Charted the inlets of gas and dust and old dead suns. Seen it all.”
In the silence of the strange room they watched the galaxy spin. It moved with stately slowness. Grave and ghostly movements changed it. Sparks came and vanished. Dim gray presences passed across its face. Lingered. Were gone.
Then a specialist Nigel knew slightly, a wiry astronomer, said, “I think I recognize some of the pattern.”
“Where?” Nigel asked.
“See that quadrant? I think it’s ours.”
A segment of the galaxy did seem to Nigel, now that the astronomer pointed it out, slightly more crowded and luminous that the rest. He frowned as thin mists seemed to spill liquidly through the pie-slice segment. “You recognize stars?”
“In a way,” the astronomer said with a certain prim precision. “Not optical stars, no. Pulsars.”
“Where?”
“See the deep blue ones?”
“Yes, I was wondering—”
“They’re where pulsars should be.”
Nigel remembered vaguely that rapidly spinning neutron stars accounted for the pulsar phenomenon. As the compacted cores of these dense stars spun, they released streams of plasma. These luminous swarms flapped like flags as they left the star. They emitted gouts of radio noise. As a star spun, it directed these beams of radio emission outward, like a lighthouse sweeping its lamp across a distant ship. When the beam chanced to intersect the Earth, astronomers saw it, measured its frequency of sweep.
The astronomer went on, “They’re so prominent in this map. Far more luminous than they are in reality.”
“Perhaps they are important?” Nikka asked.
“Umm.” The astronomer frowned. His face was lined with fatigue but the fascination of this place washed away the past. Even amid tragedy, curiosity was an itch that needed scratching. “Could be. As navigation beacons, maybe?”
Nigel thought of his lighthouse analogy. Beeping signals across the blind abyss?
But there were easier ways to find your way among the stars. He pointed again. “Why is there that big blue patch at the center, then?”
The astronomer looked more puzzled. “There aren’t any pulsars at the galactic center.”
Nikka asked, “What is there? Just stars?”
“Well, it’s got a lot of gas, turbulent motions, maybe a black hole. It’s the most active region of the whole galaxy, sure, but …”
Nikka asked, “Could it be that the galactic center and pulsars have something in common?”
The astronomer pursed his lips, as if he disliked making such leaps. “Well … there’s a lot of plasma.”
Nigel asked slowly, “What kind?”
“All kinds,” the astronomer said with a touch of condescension. “Hot gas made still hotter. Until the electrons separate from the ions and the whole system becomes electrically active.”
Nigel shook his head, not knowing himself where he was headed. You just skated, and went where the ice took you. “Not around pulsars. I remember that much.”
The astronomer blinked. In his concentration the weight of the last few days slipped from him and his face smoothed. “Oh. Oh, you’re right. Pulsars put out really relativistic plasma. The stuff comes whipping off the neutron star surface close to the speed of light.”
Nigel wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Still, something tugged at him. “What kind of plasma?”
“There aren’t any heavy ions, no protons to speak of. It’s all electrons and their antiparticles.”
“Positrons,” Nigel said.
“Right, positrons. The e
lectrons interact with the positrons in some fashion and make the radio emission. We—”
“And at galactic center?” Nigel persisted.
The astronomer blinked. “Well, yeah … There was report a while back. … A detection of positrons at the galactic center.” His voice caught and then a wondering enthusiasm crept into it. Nigel watched the man’s face fill with a wan yet growing delight. “Positrons. If they slow down, meet electrons, the two annihilate. Give off gamma rays. A gamma-ray telescope Earthside, Jacobson’s group I think it was, saw the annihilation line.”
Nigel felt a slow, gathering certainty. “Those blue dots …”
Nikka said softly, “The Watcher keeps track of where positrons appeared naturally in the galaxy.”
The fact sank into them. The Watcher’s main job was to stamp out organic life, that was clear. But something had told the ancient craft to notice pulsars and the positron plasmas they spewed out into the galaxy. A phenomenon that occurred also at galactic center—but on a hugely larger scale, apparently, judging by the large blue zone at the very hub of the rotating swirl.
The astronomer said, puzzled, “But there can’t be so many pulsars at the center of the galaxy …”
“Still, there is that blue globe,” Nigel said.
Something was happening at galactic center. Something important.
And the machine civilization thought it was vital, perhaps as important as the obliteration of the organic yeast they so hated.
Nigel said softly, with a gathering certainty, “If we are ever to deal with these things, with their Watchers and Snarks and the whole damn mechanical zoo of them … we’ve got to confront them.”
Nikka saw what he meant. “But—Earth! We can return now. There is so much to be done.”
He shook his head. Looking around the room, with its myriad sliding sheets of alien thought and strange design, he watched the luminescence play upon the haggard faces.
Faces pursued by a voracious and unyielding intelligence. Faces lined and worn by the silent anxiety they all felt, just being here.
The Watcher would give them no rest. They had to get out. Move on.
But not simply run back home. Earth was no haven. There was no blithe sanctuary now. Not anywhere in the whole swarming galaxy.
“No. We’ve got the means. That little ship we found. It must be a fast craft. I’ll bet it came here and supervised the building of this Watcher.”
“Nigel …” Nikka began a protest, then stopped.
“That ship still works. It could go back. Back where it came from. Where we must go.”
They began to murmur and protest.
A small band of humans, their incessant crosstalk rebounding from the alien surfaces. Nigel smiled.
Their dreams lay Earthward. They would have to be convinced.
le’s all slide out of here one of these nights
But he knew he could convince them. The rest of humanity was reeling under war and a vast, brute yoke. If this small knot did not seize this opportunity, humanity would dwell forever in the dimness of ignorance. Victims. Prey.
and go for howling adventures amongst the Injuns
There was no turning back now. Maybe there never had been any possibility of turning away from what lay out here. He had felt it for a long time, since the first vague pricklings of understanding at the sunny, long lost Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Odd, he felt almost nostalgic for the place now.
Now that he knew he would certainly never see it again.
For there was always the opening-out, and it would always win.
over in the territory
He pointed at the somber, revolving disk of countless fevered stars. Unfathomable messages glided across quilted surfaces.
and I says all right, that suits me
“Let’s go,” he said, and pointed at the galactic center.
Timeline of Galactic Series
2019A.D Nigel Walmsley encounters the Snark, a mechanical scout.
2024Ancient alien starship found wrecked in Marginis crater, on Earth’s moon.
2041First signal received at Earth from Ra.
2049First near-light-speed interstellar probes.
2060Modified asteroid ships launched, using starship technology extracted from Marginis wreck.
2064Lancer starship launched with Nigel Walmsley aboard.
2066Discovery of machine intelligence Watchers.
2067First robotic starship explorations. Swarmers and Skimmers arrive at Earth.
2076Lancer arrives at Ra. Discovery of the “microwavesighted” Natural society.
2077Lancer departs Ra.
2081Mechanicals trigger nuclear war on Earth.
2085Starship Lancer destroyed at Pocks. Watcher ship successfully attacked, with heavy human losses.
2086Nigel Walmsley and others escape in Watcher ship, toward Galactic Center. Humans launch robot starship vessels to take mechanical technology to Earth.
2088Humans contain Swarmer-Skimmer invasion. Alliance with Skimmers.
2095Heavy human losses in taking of orbital Watcher ships. Annihilation of Watcher fleet. No mechanical technology captured due to suicide protocols among Watchers.
2097Second unsuspected generation of Swarmers emerges.
2108First in-flight message received from Walmsley expedition: “We’re still here. Are you there?”
2111Final clearing of Earth’s oceans.
2128Robot vessels from Pocks arrive at Earth carrying mechanical technology. Immediate use by recovering human industries.
2175Second mechanical-directed invasion of Earth, using targeted cometary nuclei from Oort cloud. Rebuilding of human civilization.
2302Third mechanical-directed invasion of Earth. The Aquila Gambit begins successive novas in near-Earth stars. Beginning of Ferret Time.
2368First mechanical attempt to make Sun go nova. Failure melts poles of Earth.
2383Second nova attempt. Continents severely damaged.
2427Fourth mechanical-directed invasion of Earth. Rebuilding of human civilization.
2593Fifth mechanical-directed invasion of Earth. Diplomatic ploy thwarted.
2763Fifty-seventh Walmsley message received: “Are you there?”
3264First expedition launched toward Galactic Center from Earth.
4455First appearance of fourth chimpanzee species; clear divergence from host, Homo sapiens, the third species.
FLIGHT OF HUMAN FLEET TO GALACTIC CENTER “THE BIG JUMP”
29,079Formation of added geometries to Wedge spacetime around the central black hole. Old One manipulation of local Galactic Center space-time, apparently in anticipation of further mechanical-Natural violence. Mechanical forms carry out first incursions into Old One structures.
29,694Walmsley group arrives at Galactic Center in Watcher craft.
29,703First human entry into Wedge. Some communication with Old Ones.
29,741Arrival of Earth fleet expedition at Galactic Center.
29,744Meeting of Earth expedition and Walmsley group.
30,020-The “Great Times” of human development.
34,567Unsuccessful search for Galactic Library. Successive conflicts with mechanicals. Development of higher layers of mechanical “sheet intelligences.” Philosophical conflicts within mechanical civilizations. Formation of mechanical artistic philosophy.
34,567-Chandelier Age. Humans protected themselves
35,812against rising mechanical incursions. Particiption of earlier humans from the Walmsley expedition. Some collaboration with Cyber organic/mechanical forms. Discovery of Galactic Library in the Wedge.
35,812-The “Hunker Down.” Exodus from the Chande-
37,483liers to many planets within 80 light-years of Absolute Center. Includes High Arcology Era, Late Arcology Era, and High Citadel Age as human societies contract under Darwinnowing effects of mechanical competition.
37,518Fall of Family Bishop Citadel on Snowglade, termed the “Calamity.”
37,524Escape of Family Bishop from Snowglade in ancient human vessel. Clandestine oversight of this band by Mantis level mechanicals.
37,529Surviving bishops reach nearest star, encounter Cybers. Defeat local mechanicals. Adopt some human refugees.
37,530Bishops leave, escorted by Cybers and cosmic string.
37,536Bishops reach Absolute Center, enter Wedge.
37,538-Temporal sequences become stocastically ordered. Release of Trigger Codes into mechanical minds. Death of most mechanical forms. Intervention of Highers to rectify damage done by excessive mechanical expansion.
Preservation of several human varieties. Archiving of early forms in several deeply embedded representations.
Beginning of cooperation between Higher mechanically-based forms and organic (“Natural”) forms. Decision to address the larger problems of all lifeforms by Syntony, in collaboration with aspects of lower forms.
Beginning of mature phase of self-organized forms.
OF PREAMBLE. LATER EVENTS CANNOT BE THUS REPRESENTED.
About the Author
GREGORY BENFORD is a professor of physics at the University of California, Irvine. He is a Woodrow Wilson Fellow, was a Visiting Fellow at Cambridge University, and in 1995 received the Lord Prize for contributions to science. His research encompasses both theory and experiments in the fields of astrophysics and plasma physics. His fiction has won many awards, including two Nebula Awards, one John W. Campbell Award, and one British SF Award. Dr. Benford makes his home in Laguna Beach, California.
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