She looked around, savoring. Some mausoleums carried chiseled epitaphs noted for their charm, which may have preserved the blocky tombs’ hard carbo-concentrated walls in their revered sanctity. Here one referred to
I, THE FAMOUS WIT, PLONEJURE,
SOOTHED PAIN WITH COMEDY AND LAUGHTER.
A PERFORMER OF PARTS, SURE I OFTEN DIED …
BUT NEVER QUITE LIKE THIS.
Another was more dry:
DIUREAUS SAW THE OTHER FOLK BESIDE HIM,
GUILTY, TRUE, AND SQUARE, AND WORSE,
HUNG UP ON A HIGHER CROSS THAN SHE,
DIUREAUS DIED HERE OF FURIOUS ENVY.
Pleasant, to think that wit was ancient. She wished that the Chief of Wisdom Asenath had a touch of wit in her genes. One more tomb inscription caught well Asenath’s melancholy spirit:
THEY TOLD ME, HERADOLIS; THEY TOLD ME YOU WERE DEAD.
THEY BROUGHT ME BITTER NEWS TO HEAR, AND BITTER TEARS TO SHED.
I WEPT WHEN I REMEMBERED HOW OFTEN YOU AND I
HAD TIRED THE SUN WITH TALKING, AND SAW A JET-CURL CARVE THE SKY.
Since this passage was carved, Memor noted, whole worlds had evolved to harbor life, and others had been scorched of life by ancient brutalities. Yet the image saw a jet-curl carve the sky endured.
Ah! Here was the entrance; no more time for rumination. Step proud and high—
Memor marched in grandly, head held high with casual grace, her attendants trailing beneath the grand arches of this Citadel of Remembrance. Herald music rumbled and sang to greet her. Pungent mists fell in tribute and out of duty she sniffed, bowed, fluttered a quick ruby tail display. Skin-caressing life fell in curling display around her, caressing her head leathers, whispering faint blessings and salacious compliments. Invitations whispered in her ears, promising succulent delights, then fluttered away. Aromas of heady prospect swarmed up her nostrils and tainted the air with ruddy promise.
Impatient, she shook these off and looked around for the right portal to find Asenath. From the court rabble here dawdling came much sensory babble, greetings, aromas, electric skin-jolts, high hails, a murmur of veiled gossip—all usefully ignored, for now, to show that she was above the insolent fray.
High ramparts trimmed in grace notes of colorful mega-flowers loomed like cliffs over the noisy gathering crowd, most of them come for the extermination ceremonies. They knew the ancient rules against recording in any medium, sight or sound or scene—a ritual death—and so came for the immediate experience. They did carry magnifier scopes and had an anxious, eager air. Skittering voices surged with a hunger that had no proper name. All these she avoided.
Administrative high offices were disguised from those unwelcome, which meant of course the crowd schooled in mere sensation—and the even greater number of the unknowing, unschooled, blunt of mind—all got shielded away by pale luminances that misled the unwary, sending them down dank corridors to their elemental raw pleasures. In such holes the halt and lame of mind would find some passing delights, and forget why they came, forget for their short vexed time the whole point of the Folk. Good enough.
Yet the dancing sheaves of prickly glow were smart sensors, and the walls knew well whom to admit. Those embedded intelligences, ever circumspect in their ways, sent fraying brilliant amber fingers to direct Memor down somber, ancient corridors. Crusty, glistening rock winked her forward past a sensor net of embedded eyes. She drew in the soft moist airs. There were always fresh changes in the Citadel, yet the Ancient Zone captured best the colossal powers lodged here. The rough stones held much elegant and courtly wisdom of ages past, canny knowledge set in stone. Memor heaved a sigh. She belonged here.
A quiet, delicious blend of dread and strangeness flowed in her Undermind; she sensed it with a tingle of relish. She forgave it the sudden lance that had jarred her, and concentrated on the immediate. That strumming presence knew that this primordial, welcoming Citadel could well be her place of execution. Should she not perform well, and fail with the primates that were fully her charge now, she would receive little mercy.
Yet this did not fully overcome her awe at the majesty here. Of course, her Undermind often used its trickster mode, slipping words and even phrases into her speech, in its keen, eager way. Jokes about Underminds escaping control were a staple of classic literature and current japes. She could feel its hopeful spikes of muted zeal and would have to keep it carefully controlled now. Though not to fathom, indeed.
Drama entered seldom in an Astronomer’s life, and for that she was grateful.
Ah! The correct portal. She entered into a small knot of Astronomers, to be greeted by feather-riffs in orange and emerald, then small trill songs that echoed complimentary status-signals. Heads turned. Eyes widened. Bass calls of friendship resounded. A shield, of course, for what all knew: Memor had been summoned and they were looking forward to the show. Anticipation danced in their eyes and neck-feather-flutters.
She had to wait while a Revealing ceremony concluded. It had been a passage of legendary ardor and travail. The recent male, unsteady and weak-eyed, now advanced toward the welcoming cadre, where she knelt with gravid solemnity. The new She looked around in a many-wrinkled face full of bewildered puzzlement. She blinked with surprise, her feather-fan awash in ripples of wonder and flourishes of muted purple hope. Memor recalled this stage, when the male dwindled away into memory and a new She emerged, dewy-eyed.
From this fresh female’s Revealing she would, through the difficult next Annuals, acquire the long views of a She, yet retain the robust memories of prancing, exploring thrill that had marked her vivid He era. Memor could not help joining in with her deep soprano the rising fulsome joy-song, full of deep welcoming tones, and from above, the high, tenor resonances—all celebrating the conferred judgment and sympathy-from-experience that the Revealing summoned forth. This new She would in time, and with much further study of the essential astrophysics and the Vast History, join the Order of Astronomers. From this essential balance—more a sure dance, truly—between the He and She, wisdom could and thus would come.
Striding forward, clumping with big solemn feet, Memor took note of this new Her-name: Zetasa. In time this new She could, and so might, bring a new, vital stabilizing element to their colloquy—a wise method evolved by the Folk over many, many twelve-millennia in the truly ancient past. This was the essential, time-honored, and stabilizing truth. She relished it.
“Memor!” came Asenath’s solemn, deep bass voice. “We have not greeted in longtimes, I do say.”
Untrue, but perhaps useful. “I greet in tribute, and wish to confer on present problems,” Memor said in long sliding tones, with a penumbral, light-yellow feather display. This drew an attendant twitter of speculation. As tradition demanded, Memor ignored the light trilling soprano chorus of conjecture.
“Which have multiplied, I gather.”
“I captured one of the primates and am learning much from her,” Memor said. “As we speak, skyfish descend upon the Sil lands, to either capture the primates remaining on the Bowl, or else kill them.”
“Ah! As Governors, we must attend to the dismay of the Bowlcrafters, who do not relish such punishments.” Asenath made a flutter-rush of red and gold to signal concern, but Memor thought it was only a pretense. Something else was in play.
“Please lead me,” Memor said to place the conversation in the right ranking order. Asenath had to take the lead.
“You showed us results of your neural net and brain interrogations of these primates, I recall. Eukaryotic multicellular bilaterians, they are, with unexposed Underminds—fascinating, I am sure. You then estimated their capacities as well below we Folk, and perhaps somewhat above others of the Adopted. Yet they continue to elude us, and now half of them have fled the Bowl.”
The attendant minor figures drew in their collective breath at this. To escape! was their clear, unspoken message. Memor made a half turn to block most of them from Asenath’s piercing gaze. She was saying, “Now they have ret
urned to their plasma scoop starship. Do you still feel they can be integrated into our Way?”
Making a ritual humble-flush, Memor said, “Apologies most firm indeed, for my failure to retain or recapture these strange primates. I believe their curious gait—a continual, controlled toppling upon those hind feet that have thick, artificial coverings—must be a key clue to their ability to improvise. They can hop to new ideas far more readily than we anticipated. Their ability to form a quick bond-alliance with the Sil is an example—another two-footed species, I remark, which perhaps helps explains their rebellion. The primates arrived on train transport, and immediately engaged with the Sil in a battle against our skyfish. How this came about with such speed is a puzzle. Perhaps there is a species-signal here that may explain it in part.”
“I would think their two-legged forms were adaptive on a more aggressive and quick-fighting world.”
“So … you would urge extermination.”
Asenath saw she had been maneuvered into a hasty conclusion, always a mistake. “Perhaps not immediately. Their ship has interesting features of magnetic control I and others feel would be useful to examine.”
“Ah, wise. Perhaps a consultation, then?” Memor motioned Asenath into a speaking cloister. She took the feather-flush hint. They made it seem they were merely strolling as they spoke. Memor dropped the shimmering, electric-blue sonic cloak behind them once in the narrow confines, where luminous walls gave a warm green glow.
“I did not want to refer to our continuing trouble with the jet flare guidance,” Memor said.
“You venture that primates could help somehow?” Asenath’s neck fringe fluttered with skepticism.
“They are inventive—”
“Surely you do not imagine that we could allow them to touch what is most sacred and vital to the Bowl!”
“I was trying to—”
“The very idea would be transparent heresy to some of the Folk.” A slow, studied gaze, no feather signals at all. “Perhaps … including me.”
There was surely danger here. Asenath’s feather tones shifted from bright attentive colors of rose-purple and olive into hues tending toward pewters and subdued solemn blues. They rustled, too, with an air of menace. Betrayal by Asenath could take several avenues, all hard for Memor to counter. So—admit failure, and do so quickly and first.
“I mention that possibility only because my own narrow escape—when they and the Sil attacked my starfish—was essential. I had learned that the primates could quickly use the chemically driven Sil weaponry. Our assault teams needed to hear that. The primates are swift, original, unpredictable. I wished to report this firsthand—”
“Your death at their hands would have carried the same message,” Asenath said dryly.
Without hesitation at this sally, Memor said, “I brought recordings, Wisdom Chief, to analyze—”
“Which show that these Late Invaders are erratic, impulsive, volatile, capricious—yes, all qualities we Folk have suppressed, in order to preserve the Bowl of Heaven. Yet these very same Late Invaders you now propose to use, to harvest, to—”
“No, no! I think they could show us new technologies, aid us—and perhaps bring word of a world we do not know, have never visited.”
“And then?”
“Of course, if they cannot be Adopted into our society, then they and their odd ship must be erased.”
Asenath gave a subtle fan-salute, undercut with a skeptical throat-wash of dubious red. “I must say, Attendant Astute Astronomer, that you maneuver well here in chambers, though alas, not on the battlefield.”
“I was not commanding the skyfish!”
“I hear otherwise.…”
Too late, Memor recalled giving orders to the skyfish Captain. She had been unnerved while the simple Sil artillery hammered loud and strong at the great beast’s walls. There was some panic then, before the hydrogen vaults were breached. Only her own quick commands had gotten her into her pod. Her parting sally to the doomed Captain had been, Soon we shall have no further disputes. I will have my pod now. The Captain had of course not appreciated the ironic tone. Memor had not looked back as she quickly departed. The Captain had gone to his proper reward.
Memor had been a bare short distance from the lumbering gray-skinned beast when a Sil shot struck a girder-bone and ricocheted into a hydrogen vault, then through the outer wall. Surely that had been a lucky shot, which Memor witnessed at a distressingly close distance. The hard slam of the exploding hydrogen had very nearly thrown her fleeing pod into a fatal yaw and tumble. She had shuddered as the skyfish bellowed a long, hoarse cry, realizing its imminent death.
Memor sensed she had been silent too long, reflecting on the sudden memory welling up. Her Undermind had not processed those harrowing moments then. But now was not the time to dally over the past. “I made a few suggestions to the Captain, all in the heat of the moment.”
“It became even more heated as you escaped,” Asenath said with brittle brevity, eyes narrowed.
“Had I not, you would know little of the engagement.”
“You are aware that you are already in disfavor?”
“I know that my efforts have not been widely recognized. These primates are difficult to reason with, for their mental structures suffer primitive modes we have not dealt with for a great while.”
“At least you recaptured one of those who escaped in the original party. Yet the others now divide into two groups: those ones we have never captured, somewhere among the Sil, and as well a party of four, who escaped the Bowl entirely, and now return to their ship. This last is most infuriating. Their ship somehow glides just below the firing field of view of our gamma ray lasers on the Rim.”
“Yes, most regrettable.” Memor made an apologetic display of amber and blue gray, rippling her feathers to convey remorse. “I did note that our defenses are deliberately unable to be aimed downward at our Bowl, and this decision was made by Elders long ago, after the Maxer Rebellion.”
“Your history is correct. Alas, the Maxer Movement is not completely extinguished, and I fear this flaw in our defenses can be laid at their door.”
“I did not know!” Memor did not have to pretend; this was indeed bad news, a defense flaw coming at the worst time, with Late Invaders at large.
“It is not your matter, Memor. Concentrate upon the Late Invaders.”
“You mean, capture and kill?” That would be easiest, and would get Memor out of the spotlight. Though she would regret their loss, for they were intriguing in their odd mysteries.
“No! I felt that way before, but there are now new issues. To understand, and keep these discussions secure, we must visit the Vaults.”
Memor felt a tremor of unease ripple up from her Undermind. Grave matters came to those who had to consult the Vaults. “But why?”
“That you must ask Unajiuhanah, Keeper of the Vault Library.”
The idea itself was puzzling, and filled Memor with dread.
FOURTEEN
About Unajiuhanah there was a timeworn joke, that she loved to sing the ancient songs at public events, even at funerals. Asked if she had performed at a recent high burial, Unajiuhanah answered no, and the riposte was, “Then it was a merciful death indeed.”
“Compliments to you, Asenath,” Unajiuhanah began with a ritual rippling feather salute in gray and violet. This achieved the feat of representing the Great Seal of the Vaults in an actual fluttering picture, a striking image on Unajiuhanah’s high fan display. Memor could even see a jittering vague white patch that stood for the formal writing of ancient times, indecipherable now but signifying the weight of vast history. It shimmered like a mute reminder of the long purpose of the Bowl and thus of the Vault.
Asenath introduced Memor, which proved unnecessary as Unajiuhanah brushed aside a summary of Memor’s life details and turned to address her directly.
“Memor, I will entertain your notions because I knew your great ancestors and feel I owe them some indulgence. Indeed,
I live because a certain fine SheFolk many generations ago stood and fought against an insurrection that very nearly toppled all order in this Vault. That ForeFolk stands before me now, represented by a minute genetic fraction—in you, Memor.”
“I am most grateful,” Memor said with a simple mild flourish of ruby, embarrassed neck-fringe.
“Now I have a surprise of sorts for you, to bring you into our deliberations. Here is your other self.”
Unajiuhanah paused, her voice rising to call, “Bemor, come forth.”
“Be More” Memor heard, the very name plunging her backwards into her young days—while her eyes fixed on the big, somewhat ungainly senior male that was … she saw, breathing hard … herself. At least, genetically. Bemor! Lost brother! They had been separated long before Memor went through the Revealing. Now with “Bemor” she heard again the joke between the two of them. It had been funny then while young but had turned sour many twelve-cubed Annuals ago … Be More. More than Memor. Be smarter, swifter, know more, exert power, fathom more deeply, stand taller, command power. Be More.
“Brother!” Memor called, for Bemor had not suffered the Revealing’s agonies and transformations—all done in their youth, by high design. Be more … be male.
“I thought this meeting should best come as a surprise, or else one or the other or even both of you would surely dodge it.” Unajiuhanah gave a mirthful display, fluttering ruby breast-feathers discreetly. Clearly she was enjoying this.
“Your great turbine of a mind reports you well,” Bemor said as overture. “I’ve sensed your reports. Quite complex and deep.”
“Sensed?” Memor realized her own whole-mind scans, carried out routinely to monitor performance, were not private. Usually they were, but of course not in matters of high security.
“They are also quite entertaining,” Bemor said. “You remember well, and your Undermind is a source of insight. The facts you confronted alone are high drama. I could scarcely imagine such odd aliens as these Late Invaders. What zest!”
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