The Stillness Among the Stars

by James P. Hogan

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  The Stillness Among the Stars

  by James P. Hogan

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  Science Fiction

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  Fictionwise, Inc.

  www.Fictionwise.com

  Copyright ©1998 by James P. Hogan

  First published in Star Child, 1998

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Fourth story in the “Star Child” series. Series comprises:

  1. “Silver Shoes for a Princess"

  2. “Silver Gods from the Sky"

  3. “Three Domes and a Tower"

  4. “The Stillness Among the Stars"

  * * *

  THE STILLNESS AMONG THE STARS

  1

  Cyron's former palace had dominated the center of an Aranos that had witnessed ritual mass killings to appease wrathful gods, and staged death duels between prisoners as a spectacle to entertain the public. Now it was preserved as a museum to an age that was now distant, yet needed not to be forgotten. Its spires, once the first part of the city to be seen by a traveler approaching from any direction, had been absorbed into the skyline of metal-ribbed domes and glass-faced towers rising around it. Immediately to the west stood the Multiversity with its marbled arcades and long, stepped terraces—a combination of university and what in bygone times would have been called a temple, devoted to the study and celebration of “Gnoscience,” best described as a mingling of science and an intuitive belief system dealing with the common creativity exhibited by Mind and Life. On the far side was the administrative center for the city and its services, which included water, power, and sanitation. A theater hall and school of drama had been built beyond that, where the old central prison had once been, and next to it was a communications building topped by antennas.

  Taya's residence lay about a mile north of the central district, in an area still consisting mainly of individual homes scattered amid greenery and trees. Once the town villa of a leather-and-fabrics-importing family who had migrated to tropical regions, it dated from the second decade after the “Advent,” as Merkon's arrival had come to be known, and from which official dates were reckoned. It was spacious yet modest in style, as suited her taste, and as well as providing her personal living space, had been extended in earlier years by the addition of rooms for receiving the visitors and emissaries from distant lands who had passed through seeking advice or counsel, her blessing for some new venture, or simply to pay respects. But as Taya felt the need to give more of her time to solitude and rest, those activities had reduced until these days, only one of the reception rooms was used, and her appearances in public were confined to special or symbolic occasions. The remainder had been converted into quarters for just a few occasional guests and the staff she had gathered to assist her through her ailing years. At the same time, the setting was sufficiently secluded to keep from being intrusive the flow of the devout, the curious, and others, who would come out in the course of a visit to the capital with the hope of glimpsing the Sky Mother, or perhaps just stand for a while contemplating her abode, nourishing the feeling of spiritual affinity that came with the sense of physical closeness.

  Many Azureans, particularly among the elders whose beliefs remained rooted in the older traditions, still regarded her as the incarnation of a supernatural being. None of the mec-minds, despite their mastery of the physical world and ability to explain in detail how the first of the Star Children had come into being, had seen fit to tell them they were wrong. How could they? For, while it was one thing to be able to list the codes that had turned Scientist's first speck of life into a being that grew and thought, they had no more idea where those codes had come from than they had of how the codes had come together that directed the assemblies of the birds and flowers on Azure.

  Nothing had changed much in that respect since the earliest days, Kort reflected as he stood in the library scanning the morning's mail flowing into and out from the local Azurenet link node, while at the same time tuning in idly to the current dispute going on between Mystic and Skeptic, with intermittent inputs from Thinker, Biologist, and Evolutionist. Kort wasn't contributing anything himself. The debate went around and around the same circles endlessly, and he was weary of it. Sometimes he thought that perhaps the more traditional of the Azureans had the right idea: Make up your mind once and for all what you believe, and let that be an end to it. Even as he thought it, the part of him that was drawn from Mystic applauded, while the Scientist part writhed in protest. Being the most composite of all the mec-minds might have an advantage in flexibility, but he had learned that another side to it was the inability ever to be absolutely sure of anything. But that could also have its benefits in that it gave him more time to think instead of getting embroiled in interminable, single-viewpoint arguments that never went anywhere. That also applied to Thinker, of course, for being able to formulate any point of view was Thinker's nature. But that very fact made him incapable of adopting any opinion on anything in preference to another, so decisions always ended up being taken by the others.

  There were times when Kort felt that he had more in common with the humans of both kinds—Merkonian and Azurean. They seemed to function as composites of fragmented mentalities too, that were constantly in conflict or alliance among themselves, one seemingly gaining control one day, and at some other time another. Psychologist thought that was what gave them their colorful and volatile personalities. The mec-minds had their personalities too, but in a way that was more predictable. When Skeptic, Mystic, and Scientist, for example, became involved in an argument, it was generally easy to anticipate the line that each would take, and they never deviated from it. With humans, you could never tell. It all depended which one of the persons in their head was in charge. Sometimes the other mec-minds told Kort that he baffled them in the same way.

  An interrupt from one of the house sensors told Kort that Irbane had come out of Taya's private suite and was heading toward the library. Technically it would have been possible for Kort to follow the proceedings between Taya and the visitors who were inside with her, but he observed the conventional respect for privacy. From the hunched strain of the young man's gait and the tension written into the muscles of his face, Kort read that Irbane was troubled.

  Having dispatched the mail, Kort directed the incoming messages for Taya through to her notepad along with a few miscellaneous reminders due that day. The guests who had arrived with Marcala would be visiting parts of the city later, so Kort ran a copy of the local map and directory for them from the printer. A check with the weather channel verified that the afternoon would continue sunny and dry but cooling later. An airing of grievances had been scheduled at the Forum over proposed changes to the land-use laws. The link from Merkon was reporting that Cosmologist had found some intriguing new regularities in the motions of galaxies.

  Kort found that he no longer needed to apply any volition to carrying out these routine chores. They proceeded automatically, letting him focus his awareness on questions involving greater complexity or speculation about the future. This was another respect in which he had felt his mind developing further toward a more humanlike pattern of serial introspective processes arising from a massively parallel unconscious. The result was a coherence of thought at a level which, while somewhat slower, was incomparably mo
re rewarding in its greater richness and powers of abstraction. How apt it had been, long ago, he reflected, when Taya had laughingly taunted him for being a “machine mind.” Mec-minds, it seemed, needed time to grow and develop, much as human bodies did. Perhaps the contrast held a significance that Kort hadn't figured out yet.

  Irbane appeared in the doorway. He was tall, thin, and wan looking, in his late twenties, Kort judged, with blond, shoulder-length hair and the kind of elongated features that gave some humans the look of always taking everything too seriously. He was dressed in the traditional style of the more austere Halsabian monks: a loose-sleeved robe worn over a heavy shirt of red, with slippers of woven thong. His office seemed to combine the roles of secretary and Marcala's traveling companion.

  “There's a map to help you find your way around,” Kort said, gesturing toward the printer as Irbane came into the room. “The day will stay fine, but take something warm for the evening."

  “I won't be going,” Irbane said. “I thought I'd just stay and read here in the library and let Marcala and Taya talk. The city, with its the noise and the crowds...” He left the sentence unfinished. His voice was brittle. Kort pretended not to notice.

  “As you wish. Have the others decided what they want to do yet?"

  “Basno and Cerelia say they'll walk with Kadethir as far as the Multiversity, then leave him to his business there and go their own way. They'll probably call a roid to bring them back later. The children will likely be tired by then."

  “Best,” Kort agreed, and ran a second copy of the map. The mecroid that had been weeding beds along one side of the house sent a signal that the job was complete. Kort connected briefly into its visual system to inspect the work, then sent it instructions to rake and trim the rear lawn.

  Marcala had been one of the group of Star Children who made the first landing—nobody called them “Primaries” anymore; the Azurean term had come into general use. Kort could still retrieve replays of her as the timid one, the one who had covered her eyes as the clouds below loomed larger, who had seen disaster threatening at every turn. Now nearing the end of her 60s along with the nineteen surviving others—apart from Taya—who had arrived with Merkon, she had followed the path of many Star Children and married into an Azurean family. But then in her later years she had changed direction to take up a different life as a priestess, joining a sect that practiced disciplines passed down from long ago, and which claimed links back to the Ancients. This experience had drawn her closer to Taya. The two women communicated constantly and visited often, although in the latter years it had been Marcala who came more frequently to Aranos.

  All of the Star Children who could travel had come to Aranos over the recent months, bringing their spouses and offspring and kin. A week before, Nyelise had come back from the North with her twin sons, three of her grandchildren, and her Azurean second husband—Eltry had succumbed to an illness ten years previously. A month earlier, Jasem, also one of those from the first landing, had reappeared from the scientific base established on Azure's moon to investigate the relics still being excavated there from the civilization of the Ancients. They had come and told of their lives and their exploits; they had looked on bravely and smiled while Taya talked with the children and gave them gifts to unwrap. But behind the smiles and the proud words, their eyes were heavy. They had come to Aranos because the time had come to say, each in their own way, their farewells to the Star Mother.

  Irbane regarded Kort awkwardly. “I didn't realize she was dying,” he said. “I needed to get out for a moment to compose myself. It comes as something of a shock when you realize it can happen even to somebody such as she. That you've heard so much about...."

  “Nobody told you?” Kort looked surprised. Mecs’ faces could make expressions now, by means of a thin crystalline surface layer capable of being selectively darkened by electrical current patterns to emulate moving lines and features.

  Irbane shook his head. “Marcala gets engrossed in her professional duties. Her diligence sometimes fails to extend to what one might call more ... social matters."

  There was no advanced infirmity as yet—Taya was still able to move around. Although Medic had felt there was no need to spread the news more widely at present, Kort had no doubt that Marcala had just “known” in the uncanny way the Star Children had of knowing such things. Nyelise had known; Jasem, from as far away as the moon, had known. Sometimes they failed to make sufficient allowance for what was less obvious to others.

  “Surely Azureans have come to terms with the fact of bio-life mortality,” Kort said. “It was you who taught us about it."

  “It's just ... It comes as a shock all the same—with somebody like that,” Irbane said once more. “To me, anyway. I suppose it's like realizing for the first time, really, that a god is mortal.” Kort moved over to the shelves and began replacing the books and manuscripts that Marcala had been browsing through earlier. Irbane watched him. “I'm told that your kind of life—machine life—lives forever,” he said.

  Being close to Marcala, Irbane would know more than the average Azurean, Kort reflected. She would have told him about growing up in Merkon, described the realm of the machines. “I don't know about forever,” Kort replied. “We haven't exactly put it to the test for that long yet."

  “But you can replace parts that fail or wear—even evolve by incorporating improvements as you learn."

  “That's so. One day, some think it might be possible to do similar things with bio-life also."

  “And is it true that your bodies are just shells that you animate from afar? Your minds are really contained in arrays of crystal up in Merkon, even now as we speak?"

  “Yes,” Kort said over his shoulder.

  “I cannot really imagine how that can be, yet I suppose I must believe you.” Irbane paused before coming back to the subject that he had digressed from. “And these minds that exist in crystals in the sky, do they feel pain and shock too? To us, Taya is a goddess, whom we now learn we must lose. What is she to minds that may exist forever?"

  Kort put the last volume slowly back on its shelf and remained silent for several seconds before turning. The simulated face on the metal head was withdrawn and solemn. “The first-born of our children,” he replied. “She was the reason why I came to exist."

  Before Irbane could respond, a call came through from Taya in the private suite. “Kort, they're just about ready to leave here. Also, we have something for you. Could you join us?"

  “I'm on my way,” Kort sent back.

  “Oh, and Basno says can you get him a map?"

  “Already done."

  There was a blur of voices in the background that the microphone in Taya's notepad didn't pick up. “Kadethir will be leaving them at the Multiversity and then going somewhere else. We'll need a map for him too."

  “Yes, I know. I have one for him,” Kort said as he retrieved the sheets.

  “Kort, how could you know? They're only just through deciding what they're doing."

  The electro-etched features creased into a smile. “I know everything,” Kort replied.

  * * * *

  Kadethir was a seer from the sect that Marcala had joined years ago now. Kort thought he reminded Taya of Serephelio, which perhaps explained why, whenever he came to Aranos, she had always pressed him to stay a few days and spent hours with him engaged in long discussions in the library or walking in the garden. This time, however, he had not stopped by in the course of a visit made for other reasons, but come by design, accompanying Marcala. With them were Marcala's son from her earlier life, Basno, his wife, Cerelia, and their two children—whom Taya insisted on referring to, along with all the others of their generation of descendants from Star Children, as “her” great-grandchildren.

  Nerla, the housekeeper, was just leaving with a tray of used cups and dishes as Kort entered. He found Taya up and in a robe, propped on the couch in the sitting room. Kadethir and Marcala were seated at a low table opposite to her. Basno stoo
d with his back to the window, while at the larger table in the center of the room Cerelia and the children were admiring the presents that had been opened. There was a necklace for eight-year-old Arrelil, made, Taya had told her, from the colored stones that Taya herself had played with when she was a little girl in Merkon, and for Arrelil's brother Starp, aged eleven, a model of an Ancients’ space vessel, copied from a design uncovered in the lunar ruins and made from sample metal alloys that Jasem had brought back.

  “Did you see Irbane out there?” Taya inquired as Kort joined them. It was good that she was out of bed. Her voice sounded brighter than it had for several days. Having company seemed to help. The contrast of her white hair set off the dark blue of her robe. Kort remembered how, as a child, she had asked if she would one day turn silver like him.

  “Yes. I left him in the library,” Kort answered.

  “Did he say if he's going with the others?” Marcala asked.

  “I think he'd prefer an afternoon alone amid silence,” Kort said.

  “Ah, so that's how you knew,” Taya murmured.

  A polished wooden casket lined with pink silk lay open on the table in front of where Marcala and Kadethir were sitting. Inside it was a bracelet fashioned in two halves carved from a milky gray stone, with an ornate metal hinge on one side and a matching clasp on the other. The stone had veins of white and black, and carried an intricate, incised design that Kort recognized as similar to others on artifacts and prints that Marcala had produced on previous occasions. He knew they went back to the earliest times of the spiritual order to which she belonged, but what they signified was not something that he had never had reason to involve himself in. Taya, he noticed, was wearing a pendant of identical material and design, mounted on a thin silver chain. Kort sent a request for a quick background summary to Mystic, who of course knew all about such things. The response came back: