Transvergence

by Charles Sheffield

  "Look at the way you came here," J'merlia continued as though Nenda had not spoken. "Through a building by the seashore, and down a narrow shaft. And then look at the extent of these underground structures." He swept a front limb around, taking in the whole giant cavern. "It is not reasonable to believe that all this is served by such mean access, or even that this chamber itself represents a final goal. You asked, Captain Rebka, if we should go up, or stay here, or move through this cavern. The logical answer to all your questions is, no. We should do none of those things. We should go down. We must go down. In that direction, if anywhere, lies our salvation."

  Rebka was ready for his own "Huh?" and "What the hell—" The voice was so clearly J'merlia's, but the clarity and firmness of opinions were a side of the Lo'tfian that Hans, at least, had never seen. Was that what researchers meant when they said a Lo'tfian's intellect was masked and shrouded by the presence of other thinking beings? Was this how J'merlia thought all the time, when he was on his own? If so, wasn't it a crime to let people near him? And if it was true, how come J'merlia could think so clearly now, with others around him?

  Rebka pushed his own questions aside. They made no practical difference, not at a time when they were lost, hungry, thirsty, and desperate. The idea expressed by J'merlia made so much sense that it did not matter how or where it had originated.

  "If you have light," J'merlia went on, "I will be more than happy to lead the way."

  Louis Nenda handed over the illumination disk without another word. J'merlia leaped across to the spiral stairway and started down without waiting for the others. Kallik was across, too, in a fraction of a second, but instead of following J'merlia she stood and waited as Atvar H'sial ferried first Louis Nenda and then Hans Rebka across the gap. As the Cecropian moved on down the spiral, Kallik hung behind to position herself last in the group.

  "Master Nenda." The whisper was just loud enough for the human to catch. "I am gravely concerned."

  "You think J'merlia's got a few screws loose? Yeah, so do I. But he's right about one thing—we oughta go down rather than up or sideways."

  "Sanity, or lack of it, is not my worry." Kallik slowed her pace further, to put more space between her and J'merlia. "Master Nenda, my species served the Zardalu for countless generations before the Great Rising. Although my race memory carries no specific data, there is instinctive knowledge of Zardalu behavior ingrained deep within me. You experienced one element of that behavior when we were on Serenity: the Zardalu love to take hostages. They use them as bargaining chips, or they kill them as stern examples to others."

  Rebka had fallen behind, too, listening to the Hymenopt. "Don't worry, Kallik. Even if the Zardalu get us, Julian Graves and the others won't trade for us. For one good reason: I won't let them."

  "That is not my concern." Kallik sounded as though the idea that anyone would consider her worth trading for was ridiculous. "J'merlia's behavior is so strange, I wonder if he was already captured by the Zardalu. And if he is now, after conditioning by them, simply carrying out their orders."

  Chapter Fourteen

  According to Alliance physicians, Julian Graves could not exist. He was a statistical fluke, a one-in-a-billion accidental variation on a well-proved medical technique. In other words, there was nothing anyone could do to help him.

  It had begun as a simple storage problem. Every councilor needed to know the history, biology, and psychology of each intelligent and potentially intelligent species in the spiral arm. But that data volume exceeded the capacity of any human memory, so when he was elected to the council, Julius Graves, as he had been called then, had been given a choice: he could accept an inorganic high-density memory implant, cumbersome and heavy enough that his head and neck would need a permanent brace, or he could allow the physicians to develop within him an interior mnemonic twin, a second pair of cerebral hemispheres grown from his own brain tissue and used solely for memory storage and recall. They would fit inside his skull, posterior to the cerebral cortex, with minimal cranial expansion. The first option was the preference of many Council members, especially those with exoskeletons. Julius Graves chose the second.

  The procedure was standardized and not uncommon, though Julius Graves was warned that the initial interface with his interior mnemonic twin through an added corpus callosum was a delicate matter. He must avoid physical stimulants, and he would have to endure the difficult period of time when the interface was being developed. He had readily agreed to that.

  What he had not expected—what no one had dreamed might happen—was that the interior mnemonic twin would then develop consciousness and self-awareness.

  But it had happened. For fourteen months, Julius Graves had felt his sanity teetering on the brink, as the personality of Steven Graves developed and supplied its own thoughts to Julius in the form of memories—recollections by Julius of events that had never happened to him.

  It had been touch and go, but at last the interface had steadied. The synthesis was complete. Both personalities had made their accommodation, until finally neither knew nor cared where a thought originated. Julius Graves and Steven Graves had fused, to become the single entity of Julian Graves.

  Now it was hard even to remember those old problems. There had been no recent clash or confusion to suggest that in the bald and bulging skull there once resided two different people . . .

  . . . until the Erebus entered the twisted geometry of the Torvil Anfract and flew on to orbit the shimmer of nested singularities that guarded the lost world of Genizee; and then the old problem had reemerged to shiver the mind of Julian Graves.

  Conflicting thoughts warred within him. For every idea, there seemed to be another running in parallel.

  Make Hans Rebka leader of the group who would enter the singularities, because he was a first-rate pilot and had a reputation as a troubleshooter. No. Make the chief of the party Louis Nenda, because with his augment he could communicate with humans, Cecropians, Lo'tfians, and Hymenopts, whereas Rebka could talk to Atvar H'sial only through an interpreter of pheromonal speech.

  Send the seedship through the singularities—it was the most agile and versatile. No. Send the Indulgence, which was less nimble but far better armed.

  Use Dulcimer as pilot—he was much better even than Hans Rebka. No. He had to stay on the Erebus to guarantee a passage out of the bewildering geometry of the Anfract. No. The whole point of the expedition was to locate Genizee and search for living Zardalu. No. If the expedition did not return to report their findings, there was no point to finding anything.

  They were not sequential thoughts. That would have been tolerable. They were simultaneous thoughts, screaming for attention, fighting for dominance.

  After a few hours of internal conflict, Julius/Steven/Julian Graves could only agree on one thing: while the condition persisted, he was worse than useless—he was positively dangerous. He might make a decision, then a moment later do something to undermine or change it.

  And yet he was the organizer and nominal leader of the whole expedition. He could not add to everyone's problems by making them focus on worries that should be his alone.

  Let the others explore the singularities, then, and look for Genizee and the Zardalu. All his internal thoughtstreams agreed on one thing: that he could best serve the party by staying out of the way. If he remained on the Erebus and did not touch the controls, it was difficult to see how he could do much damage. And perhaps in a few hours or days his personal reintegration would occur and he could be useful again.

  He watched Darya Lang and the second party leave with a feeling of vast relief.

  And learned, within a few hours, that he had no reason for satisfaction. Without others to distract him and to channel his thoughts to particular subjects, the split in his personality became more noticeable. He was incapable of holding any thought without another—several others—riding along beside it. It was worse than it had been during the first days of interface, because there were more than two tho
ughts jousting for dominance. His mind darted and veered and fluttered from place to random place like a startled bird, unable to find a stable resting place. And when the monitors sounded to indicate that some object was seeking rendezvous with the Erebus, any worry that the main ship might be vulnerable to attacking Zardalu was swamped by the knowledge that he would no longer be alone. The presence of another being—any other being—would help to focus his mind.

  The control system of the Erebus indicated that the new arrival had docked at one of the medium-sized external holds. Graves set off through the ship's interior. In the final narrow corridor that led to the hold, a crouching shape rose suddenly before him.

  He gasped, with surprise and then with relief. "J'merlia! Are the others with you? Did you meet Professor Lang?"

  The two questions had risen in his mind in the same fraction of a second. But when the Lo'tfian shook his thin head and said, "I am alone," Graves's divided mind managed to agree on one emotion: disappointment. Of all the beings in the party, J'merlia showed the least independence of thought. He was likely to mirror Graves's own mental patterns, however confused and fragmented they might be.

  "I did not meet Professor Lang," J'merlia continued. "Did she leave the Erebus?"

  "She, and also Dulcimer and E.C. Tally. They went to seek your group. They went to learn why there was damage to the returned drone, and mud on it."

  Graves put his hand to his head. He was getting worse; his voice was no more controllable than this thoughts. But J'merlia was merely nodding and turning to walk with Graves back to the control room.

  "We must have passed each other on the journey through the annular singularities. I have been sent back to tell you that everything goes well. Captain Rebka and the others have landed, and confirm that the planet is the famous lost world of Genizee. It appears to be a peaceful and pleasant place, with no sign of danger."

  "There are no Zardalu?" With a gigantic effort Graves forced his divided brain to the single question. The mental energy required to resolve alternatives and form one thought was enough to crack his skull, or so it felt.

  "We are not sure. No trace of them had been discovered when I left. But Captain Rebka decided to land only when an extensive survey from space showed that it was safe to do so."

  Even to the distracted thought processes of Julian Graves's split brain, there seemed something wrong with that statement. "But the message drone was damaged. How did that happen? Who launched the drone? It has to be done in space. Why was there mud on it? Why did you leave the others on Genizee without a ship and return here alone? How can they be safe, when there may still be Zardalu on the planet?"

  Graves cursed himself as he flopped down at the control console of the Erebus. J'merlia had a linear mind; he would be hopelessly confused by a stream of questions delivered all at once. Graves was confused by them himself. Where were they all coming from?

  "I will reply to your inquiries, if you do not mind, in a rather different order from that in which they were asked." J'merlia sat down without waiting for permission. He lifted six legs and began to click off answers on his claws. "First, I left Genizee under the direct orders of Captain Rebka. I launched the message drone for the same reason. He commanded me to take off from the planet and launch it. The drone itself suffered minor damage and became muddied on our landing on Genizee, as did the seedship, but it was not enough to affect performance. As to the safety or lack of it of Captain Rebka and the others, you know my relationship to Atvar H'sial. Do you imagine that I would ever leave her if I thought that she might be in danger, except under direct orders?"

  There was something wrong with the J'merlia who gave those answers. Graves knew it. Something odd about the answers, too. Lo'tfians did not tell lies—that was well-known—but did that mean they always told the truth? Those two were logically equivalent, weren't they? But suppose that one was ordered to tell lies. His own condition prevented him from thinking it through. His mind was splitting into pieces. He put his hands up to rub his eyes. Even they seemed to want to provide double vision. Well, why not? The optic nerve was part of the brain.

  He covered his eyes with his hands and fought to concentrate. "But why did you come back? Why didn't you send another probe here? If there are Zardalu . . ."

  "The seedship is unarmed, Councilor. Even if it were still on Genizee, it could do nothing to protect the party from any Zardalu that may be encountered. I know that, quite certainly. I came back to help you to bring the Erebus through the singularity rings. There was no way of knowing that the probe had reached you with the information that charts the way in. We must prepare to leave at once, and bring the Erebus to orbit Genizee."

  Graves hesitated. J'merlia was right: the seedship had been defenseless. But to take the Erebus inside the singularities, surely not . . .

  But why not? Almost the whole party was there now, anyway. Julian Graves took his hands away from his eyes, almost ready to force his mind to a decision, and found that J'merlia had not waited for one. The Lo'tfian was already working at the control console, entering an elaborate sequence of navigational instructions.

  When the program was complete, J'merlia turned flight execution over to the Erebus main computer and turned his thin body to face Julian Graves. "We are on our way. In a day or less, depending on the condition of stochastic elements of our path, we will be within sight of Genizee. But this raises a new question, and one that fills me with concern. Suppose that when we reach Genizee, Captain Rebka's group, or possibly Professor Lang's group, have indeed discovered that the planet is the home of the Zardalu. What will we do then? Would it not be logical to bring our group away to safety, and employ the arsenals of the Erebus to exterminate the Zardalu?"

  Graves considered himself lucky. He did not have to think about the last question with his poor community of a brain, because he had already thought about it long before, for days and weeks and months. The Zardalu were bloodthirsty and violent and cruel, former masters and tormentors of dozens of other intelligent races. That could not be denied. But Julius Graves had spent years working on an interspecies Council. One of the Council's prime duties was to protect any species that had borderline or even potential intelligence. The idea of genocide, of destroying all the surviving members of a known-intelligent species, made his stomach turn over.

  Revulsion and anger allowed him to generate the single response.

  "I am not sure what we will do if Hans Rebka or Darya Lang's parties find Zardalu on Genizee. But I can tell you, J'merlia, what we will definitely not do: we will not contemplate deliberate mass destruction of any species that does not threaten our species—yours, or mine, or anyone else's—with extinction. I cannot make that point clearly enough."

  He did not know how J'merlia would react. This was not the docile, obedient J'merlia that they were all used to. This was an action-oriented, clear-thinking, decisive Lo'tfian. Graves almost expected an argument, and doubted that he was clear-headed enough to manage his end of it.

  But J'merlia was leaning back in the chair, his pale eyes staring intently at Graves. "You can make that point clear enough, Councilor," he said. "And you have made the point clear enough. You will not pursue, permit, or condone the extermination of intelligence. I hear you speak."

  As though evaluating the final summing-up of some lengthy argument, J'merlia sat nodding to himself for a few moments. Then he was away, off his seat and scurrying out of the control room. Julian Graves remained to stare after him, to review his perplexed—and oddly multiple—impressions of the past few minutes, and to wonder if he had finally become deranged enough to have imagined the whole encounter.

  Except that the Erebus, beyond all argument and imaginings, was entering the region of annular singularities, the region that guarded the most famous lost world of all Lost Worlds: Genizee, home of the Zardalu.

  LOST WORLDS

  It's no secret that a damned fool can ask more questions than the smartest being in the arm can answer. And yes, I am talk
ing about Downsiders. And yes, I am talking about the Lost Worlds. They seem to have an obsession with them.

  Captain Sloane—that's how they always start, polite as could be—you claim to have traveled a lot (but there's a little skepticism, you see, right there). Where is Genizee, the Lost World of the Zardalu?

  I don't know, I say.

  Well, how about Petra, or the treasure world of Jesteen, or Skyfall or Primrose or Paladin? They know damn well that my answer has to be the same, because every one of those worlds—if they were ever real places—has been lost, all traces of their locations vanished into time.

  Of course, the Downsiders would never dream of going out and looking themselves. Much better to huddle down in the mud and wonder, then pester people who have been out and seen it all, or as much of it as a body can see.