She grimaced in prevarication, but his logic was sound. Insane to anyone who hadn’t met a Metigen, but sound otherwise. “To slow us down in our search for extraterrestrial life?”
“To give us something to fixate on. To give form to the theoretical concept of ‘aliens’…and, yes, perhaps so we wouldn’t search so hard for other aliens.”
“Okay, but there haven’t been reports of abductions for three centuries.”
“As we explored the tangible reaches of space, we found we didn’t need aliens so much—the stars themselves provided more than enough to capture our imagination. Also, we became less susceptible to deception—our planetary sensors would detect any such incursions, were they real. So they faded to legend. But they served their purpose at a critical time in human development.”
“Damn. Cunning, manipulative bastards.” She tilted her head, her gaze focusing on the inky, lifeless eyes. “Do you think Mesme’s…in there? Its consciousness, I mean.”
Caleb had shifted to inspecting the pod itself with renewed purpose, clearly trying to figure out how it operated. “I couldn’t even begin to guess. If it’s aware, I’d expect it to have materialized in empyreal form by now. Maybe since it doesn’t have anything pressing to do, it’s hibernating or something.” Finally he sank to the floor beside her. “Whatever this chamber’s constructed of, I’ve never seen it before. I’ve no idea what’s powering it or how. It’s impenetrable and—”
“You were going to open it?”
“No—I don’t want to kill Mesme, obviously. I just wanted to see if I could open it. Which I can’t.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, considering the pod with varying expressions of dismay, confusion and contemplation. Finally she sighed to exaggerated effect. “What now?”
“Let’s give it the night.”
Mesme never showed.
Given another day and night to stew, her anger and indignation had transformed into frustration, but one thing she wasn’t going to do was sit around impotently twiddling her thumbs and waiting. There was no way to know when the alien might return. It could be an hour, a week, a year…or never.
“So we keep investigating the portal network.”
Caleb rested against the data center and didn’t respond at once. He looked deep enough in thought she expected him to start pacing any second now, but finally he nodded. “I think so. We learned more in the Khokteh universe than in any one before it. We learned the Metigens are intervening in at least some of the pocket universes, and I’d be very interested to discover how they’re intervening in others. Is it solely about playing the role of gods and setting societies against one another, or is there a deeper purpose behind it?”
She drew a hand idly along the back of the couch. “My more reckless inclinations are screaming at me to say screw it all and hit the source portal. But whatever we learned in the Khokteh’s universe, and now finding Mesme gone…I feel like we still don’t understand a goddamn thing. So we shouldn’t go through the source portal.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “We shouldn’t, right?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Right.”
She nodded a tad ruefully. “I resisted for a long time, but now I really wish Mesme had been here. I want to know what ‘the Conclave’ is, and what or who an ‘Anaden’ is. I want to know why they all name themselves after figures in Greek mythology, even when they’re in universes where the Greeks never existed. I want to know…why the Metigens embolden the worst impulses in otherwise intelligent beings, instigating them to kill one another by the hundreds of thousands, and why they think that is somehow acceptable.”
“Hey….” He came over and held her by the shoulders. “We did everything we could. A few months ago you succeeded in saving humanity from genocide, which was no easy feat. Hopefully I saved Akeso from eventual annihilation, and we saved ourselves from the Ruda. So maybe we can’t save every species—not from themselves, anyway. We’re still way ahead by any count.”
She shrugged in his arms. “Shall we go try to save the next one?”
“Maybe the next one won’t need saving. Which, for the record, would be fantastic.”
43
IDRYMA
* * *
I DID NOT THINK TO SEE THE IDRYMA AGAIN.
Yet here I was, my consciousness projected into the Conclave council chamber once more. The fact I was not here under pleasant circumstances did not dull my appreciation to have returned. Aurora Thesi had become my abode, but the Idryma remained my home.
The structure, if it could be called such, existed outside the three spatial dimensions physical beings spent most of their time traveling in, though not outside of time. Katasketousya were experts in dimensional manipulation—more adept at it than any species, in fact, save a select few Anaden progenies. Hence the dimensional shifts hiding the Theseis in each Enisle, as well as our clever little singularity bombs.
Here in this quantum space beside and within physical space, the Idryma presented as mirrored symmetries of light waves woven together into the framework of a great hall. Its chambers flowed outward in successive layers, expanding and contracting as needed to serve our—or their, I reminded myself—purposes. If a floor was needed, a floor manifested, and when not needed it existed only as a probability unmeasured.
Ethereal to the point of being unfathomable for most, to me it was more real than the soil on Aurora Thesi.
“You disabled the spatial triggers at the Aurora entry portal.”
I reluctantly focused my awareness concretely upon the council chamber and the Conclave members it held. “I did.”
“You allowed these two Humans to pass through, without seeing fit to inform us.”
I refrained from drifting my attention from Iapetus to Lakhes, not intending to be the one to reveal to the others that Lakhes was so informed. “I did.”
“You went against the express orders of the Conclave. Why?”
As operational leader it was Lakhes’ questioning to oversee, yet for now the Praetor appeared to be content permitting Iapetus to grandstand while watching on in seemingly detached interest.
“As I have been expelled from the Conclave, I submit I am no longer subject to its orders. As First Analystae of Aurora, it is and has always been my Enisle, and my responsibility. I believe allowing these Humans to investigate the Mosaic is the proper decision.”
“You have lost your objectivity, to an even greater degree than we realized. Your judgment has been clouded by your affection for Humans.”
“I believe my judgment has never been clearer. I have seen firsthand their potential, their strength of will, in a way you have not.”
Hyperion interjected then. “You have loosed a chaotic, unstable variable into the Mosaic. They will destroy everything.”
“It is a risk. They also may save everything.”
“They must be stopped.”
I caused my presence to ripple and grow discernibly in size. I had been respectful, but this was a manifested threat. Not surprising it would be voiced by Hyperion, but if left unchallenged it may become the will of the weight of the Conclave.
“What do you imagine you will do? You will not kill me. You will not kill them, not with your own consciousness. None of you would dare. Will you conscript more assassins in one of the Enisles you happen to catch them in? It did not work before.”
“They won’t be able to skirt death forever.”
“On the contrary, they’ve shown a propensity for doing precisely this. They’ve eluded death in multiple Enisles thus far. But I would gravely advise against efforts to engineer their demise. Have you forgotten our purpose, Hyperion? Because I believe you have.”
“Never! They wreck our purpose, altering the natural course of Enisles without understanding—”
“Tell me, how are things in Amaranthe? I cannot judge for myself, having been exiled. Are they going well?”
Hyperion paused in a vacillation of light and motion, and Lakhes stepped in with typ
ically smooth grace. “They are not. Since you were last here, Mnemosyne, we’ve been forced to retask Enisle Thirty-Eight as a haven for what Fylliots we were able to smuggle out of Amaranthe.”
“Fylliots—they originated in Eridum II, correct?”
“Yes. Their system was claimed for organic material harvesting, along with three other systems which thankfully were not inhabited by sentient species.”
“How many is that in the last century to be threatened with or suffer extinction? Twenty? Thirty? I know you will not have lost count.”
Lakhes showed a ripple of acknowledgment. “Thirty-three.”
My directed attention swept across all those present. “Analystarum, the kairos is upon us. We are nearly out of time. I beg you, do not interfere with these Humans. Let them explore, let them learn. Let them show us what they can do, simply because it is their nature. I believe you will come to see what I already know.”
Iapetus ventured back into the discussion. “Even if you are correct, two solitary Humans cannot accomplish what we require of them. What about the remainder of the species?”
Hyperion sputtered out a taunt. “They are making a mess of their freedom, aren’t they?”
I refused to be provoked into agitation. “It is a challenging period for them, yes. But they have seen other challenging periods and emerged from them stronger for the adversity.”
“How can you know they’ll become what we need them to be?”
Lakhes’ mien was as reserved as ever, but the subtleties in the expression of the question begged for a true answer. There was, however, but one true answer I could give.
“I have faith.”
CODA:
EX MACHINA
“As he caught his footing, his head fell back, and the Milky Way flowed down inside him with a roar.”
— Yasunari Kawabata
SIYANE
PORTAL: C-11
LIKE IN METIS AND EVERY pocket universe with a realized space they’d visited, the portal they traversed deposited them in the depths of a nebula. This one was brighter than many had been, shining in vibrant reds and golds.
Now that the Metigens were aware of what they were doing, they’d decided to start mixing up their pattern. They’d previously assigned all the portals unique designations so they could track where they’d been, but from now on they planned to choose their next destination randomly. It wouldn’t prevent the Metigens from tracking the portals they activated, but at a minimum it reduced the chances of an ambush.
Alex confirmed a TLF wave provided a direction to head, then checked the scanners for anything which might be hostile, or simply intelligent. Seeing nothing, she toed her chair around to face Caleb.
“So Valkyrie was rather busy while we were on Ireltse, and she’s completely integrated herself into the walls and hull of the ship now. She learned a lot from the Ruda.”
A corner of his mouth curled up. “And?”
She rolled her eyes. Was she completely transparent to him? Probably. “And she seems to believe I can use her integration to fly the ship myself.”
“I’m not sure I understand. How is that different from what you do now?”
“I think she means fly the ship by…being the ship. By seeing and acting through the nodes she’s grown in the hull and the frame. Is that an accurate description, Valkyrie?”
‘We won’t know for certain until we attempt it, but you did capture the essence of it, yes.’
“Oh.” He smiled with a hint of teasing. “That would pretty much be everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Not everything…but in a way.” She checked the scanners again. “It looks clear for two or more parsecs. I was thinking I’d try it for a few minutes, while we’re still far from any potential civilization.”
“You should. I’ll be right here. Valkyrie, you’ll alert me if anything goes wrong?”
‘Always.’
She reached over and gently trailed fingertips down his jaw. “Thank you.” Then she spun back to face the viewport and closed her eyes.
I’m ready, Valkyrie.
Follow me.
She did so, allowing her consciousness to weave deeper into Valkyrie’s neural network toward a new cluster. When she reached it she accessed the quantum orbs and—
“Bozhe milostivyy….”
In some vague, distant corner of her mind, she was aware of Caleb squeezing her hand to make sure she was all right, and her hand returning the squeeze of its own accord. Yet it was a faint whisper vanishing behind the reality of this new existence unfolding around her.
The red and gold of the nebula burst to life in all directions, but not in any way she’d perceived before this moment. Instead she could see the composition of the surrounding dust, gases and free particles, see the electrons of their atoms interacting.
The contradiction of space overwhelmed her. It was empty, empty everywhere, yet nevertheless teeming. She sensed the space between the atoms as she slowly spun the ship full circle.
Should she be able to feel the air, the faint breeze of the dissipating shock wave from the supernova which created this nebula? No, for that was a human sense.
This was…something else. An elemental sense, one crafted for photons and their radiant energy.
The TLF wave existed as a gleaming silver ribbon undulating through the nebula out to the stars beyond. Enthralled beyond words, she accelerated forward to follow its path.
PANDORA STELLAR SYSTEM
ANESI ARCH ORBITAL STATION
Devon, I need you to do something for me.
What, Annie?
I need you to relax. You’re fighting me.
No, I’m not.
Yes, you are. Your subconscious is resisting.
But I can’t do anything about my subconscious.
You can. If in truth you do not want this, say so now. I will understand.
I do want it.
Then want it.
Mia jerked out of her drowsy ruminations. What was that?
In the span between dreaming and consciousness, she’d slipped into the Noesis—where something had changed. There was a new presence in the space, familiar but more.
She stood and went to the makeshift cot where Devon still lay.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, as if he were sleeping…she frowned, puzzled. His formerly baggy shirt now stretched taut over his arms and chest, defining the outline of burgeoning muscles.
Her hand rose to her hair; she ran fingertips through to its razor-straight ends. It now fell past her shoulders—nearly as long as it had been before the war. Meno grew it out for her in a matter of days…was Annie now doing much the same for Devon? Building his strength and increasing his muscle tone?
She would want him to be able to better defend himself the next time someone means him harm.
Did she tell you so, Meno?
In a manner—
Behind closed lids, Devon’s eyes began jerking around at a frenetic pace.
Concerned, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Devon, are you okay?”
His eyes popped open, and he flashed her a smile full of guileful self-assurance, something altogether different from either his usual cocky, boyish bravado or the more recent irascible angst.
Or maybe it was his eyes that created the disparity…for they now blazed not white, but a stunning, brilliant amethyst.
“I do believe I am.”
ROMANE
INDEPENDENT COLONY
Morgan’s eyes glittered argent purple—the color of polished amethyst quartz—behind the designer shadewraps she’d picked up before leaving Cavare. The first of Romane’s two suns peeked over a mauve horizon as she exited the spaceport; she surveyed the scene briefly then started off down the street.
Stanley, you still there?
I am. This is a most interesting experience.
My brain is an interesting experience? Well, yes, I could see how it might be.
I will not disagree. However
, what I meant is being in your brain is more different from being connected to your brain than I expected.
She idly observed the increasing number of well-dressed businesspeople who passed her on the sidewalk on the way to their daily duties. I don’t really have a response to that.
It’s fine. I will be exploring for a while, I think.
Hey, just because I agreed to let you hitch a ride, it doesn’t mean we no longer have boundaries.
You keep telling yourself that, Morgan.
Oh no, her brand of humor had finally worn off on him. This was going to be a nightmare.
Annie had shared her ideas on how to transfer an Artificial’s consciousness into the neural structure of a Prevo with Stanley. Since the Devon/Annie connection had been severed and firewalled, they required Abigail’s assistance in order to effect the transfer. But Morgan’s connection to Stanley, at the time, remained intact. It had been…not a simple matter, but doable without additional equipment in any event.
The military was never going to let her fly again, Prevo or no. So she’d burned out the ware—but not until Stanley successfully transferred his higher consciousness into the cells of her cerebral cortex.
She’d left Gianno a note explaining she’d severed the connection, promising not to disclose all the Noetica secrets she knew, sharing a few secrets of her own as a goodwill gesture and threatening to share a few more with the world as a warning. Then she’d resigned her commission and high-tailed it off Seneca before anyone was able to tell her she couldn’t actually do any of those things.
They might come looking for her, of course. But she was playing a bet.
After the Marshal mentioned knowing Morgan’s mother, she’d had Stanley do a little research; what he’d found had been most enlightening. Now, she was operating under the theory that deep down, Gianno still retained some aspect of the philosophy she’d clearly once espoused—that she still respected the notion of taking control of one’s own destiny. Of freedom.
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