Convergent Series (17 page)

When the piece ended he was surprised to find Julius Graves standing there watching him.

"May I?" The councilor sat down at the table and gestured at the empty bowl. "Can you recommend it?"

Rebka shrugged. Whatever Julius Graves wanted from him, opinions on soup were low on the list.

"Has it ever occurred to you," Graves said, "how improbable it is that we are able, with very little assistance, to eat and digest the foods of a thousand different worlds? The ingredients of that soup were produced on Opal, but your stomach will have no trouble handling it. We and the Hymenopts and the beings of the Cecropian clade are totally different biologically. Not one of them is DNA-based. And yet, with the help of a few strains of single-celled bacteria in our gut, we can eat the same food as each other. Surprising, is it not?"

"I guess so."

Rebka hated one-on-one conversations with Graves. Those mad blue eyes scared him. Even when the conversation seemed general he suspected an undercurrent, and to add to the confusion he was never sure how much input was coming from the mnemonic twin. Steven had a fondness for endless facts and stupid jokes, Julius for subtlety and indirection. The present conversation could be simple speculation from the one, or a devious probing from the other.

Graves was grinning to himself. "I know, you don't think it's significant that we can eat Opal's food, or Quake's. But it is. For one thing, it disposes of a popular theory as to why Cecropians and humans did not fight when first they met. People say they avoided combat because they were not competing for the same resources. But that is nonsense. They not only compete for the same
inorganic
resources of metals and raw materials; they are also—with a little assistance at the bacterial level—able to eat the same food. A human could eat a Cecropian, if the need arose. Or vice versa. And that introduces a new mystery."

Rebka nodded to show that he was listening. It was better to play the straight man than say too much.

"We look at a Cecropian," Graves continued, "or a Lo'tfian, or a Hymenopt, and we say, how
alien
they are! How different from us! But the mystery is surely the other way round. We should say, why are we all so
similar
? How is it possible that beings derived from different clades, seeded on different worlds, warmed by suns of other stellar types, of totally disjoint biology, without one item of common history—how can it be that they are so alike that they
can
eat the same foods? That they are so close in body shape that we can use Earth-analogs—Cecropians, Hymenopts, Chrysemides—in beings from the most distant stars. That we can all
talk
to each other, one way or another, and understand each other amazingly well. That we share the same standards of behavior. So much so, that a single ethical council can agree on rules to apply through the whole of the spiral arm. How can these things be?

"But then, the spiral arm is filled with mysteries."

Graves was heading somewhere, Rebka was sure. But the other had a long way to go before he made any kind of sense. For the moment, all he seemed to offer was a philosophical lecture.

"Many mysteries," Graves went on. "The Builders, of course. What happened to them? What was their physiology, their history, their science? What is the function of the Lens, or of Paradox, or of Flambeau, or of the Phages? Of all the constructs of the Builders, surely the Phages are the most useless. Steven, if permitted, will discourse for many hours on this subject."

Rebka nodded again.
But, pray God, he won't.
 

"And there are other, more recent mysteries, ones that puzzle me extremely. Think of the Zardalu. A few millennia ago they ruled more than a thousand worlds. We hear from their subject species that they were tyrannical, ruthless, merciless. But as their empire crumbled, those same vassal species rebelled and exterminated every Zardalu. Genocide. Was that not an action more barbaric than any practiced by the Zardalu themselves? And
why
did they choose to rule as they did? Did they have a different idea of ethical behavior, one unrecognizable to us? If so, they were truly alien, but we will never know in what way. What would an ethical council have made of the Zardalu?"

. . . a single ethical council can agree on rules .
. . Rebka saw the sudden agony on Graves's lined face, and his mind flicked back to that earlier comment. By talking alternative moralities for the Zardalu, was Graves questioning the rules set up by his own council? Was he preparing to disobey his own instructions?

Graves would not meet Rebka's eye. "I sometimes wonder if the ethics we favor are just as local and as limited as our common set of body shapes and thought patterns. The Builders had science truly alien to us. It does not match our worldview. We do not know how they built, or why they built. And yet our scientists tell us that there is only one set of physical laws that govern the whole universe—just as our philosophers tell us that we have one system of universal ethics! I wonder if Builder ethics would prove as alien as their science. Or if they, able to see how we treat our many different species, would not be appalled at our bias and misjudgment.

"I propose that we all have a lesson to learn, Captain, and it is as simple as this: the rules set up by any council must be
dynamic
. Regardless of the way they are viewed by the average person, they cannot be forever the same, set in stone and steel. We must study them constantly. And we must always ask if they can be improved."

Graves glared suddenly at Rebka, turned, and ascended the ramp to the upper level of the capsule.

Rebka remained seated and stared after him. There had been a counterpoint in those final sentences, almost of two voices. Was it possible that Julius and Steven Graves were holding some kind of interior dialogue, with Rebka no more than bystander? Maybe Julius wanted to do one thing, and Steven another.

It was preposterous; but no more unlikely than the development of individual consciousness in the mnemonic twin. And if working with Julius Graves on the surface of Quake would be bad, working with an unstable mixture of Julius and Steven would be impossible.

Twins, squabbling for dominance within one braincase? Rebka stood up, noticing as he did so that the deck offered much less pressure on the soles of his feet. His weight was down to a few pounds. They must be closing on Midway Station. He headed for the ramp, wondering if Max Perry was still sitting in frozen contemplation of Quake. More and more, he felt like the keeper of a bunch of talented lunatics.

On his first trip to Quake, Rebka had been quite keen to enter and examine Midway Station. Humans had modified and cannibalized it, but it was still Builder technology, and that made it fascinating. Yet when Max Perry had chosen to bypass it—had been
driven
to bypass it—Rebka, in his own curiosity about Quake, had not argued with that decision.

Now the urgency to reach Quake was far greater—thirteen Dobelle days to Summertide, according to Rebka's internal clock; only one hundred and ten hours! Keep moving!—but now Perry insisted on stopping at Midway.

"Take a look for yourself." Perry pointed at the status board on their capsule. "See the power consumption? It's too high."

Rebka looked and could deduce nothing. Nor could Graves. If Perry said things did not seem right, the others had to believe him. There was no substitute for experience, and when they were on the Umbilical, Perry's knowledge reigned supreme.

"Are we in danger?" Graves asked.

"Not immediate danger." Perry was rubbing his nose thoughtfully. "But we can't risk heading down to Quake until we know why the power use is up. We daren't risk power loss for our own approach. And the central controls are all on Midway Station. We have to stop there and find out what's happening."

Under his direction, the capsule had already left its invisible guides and turned toward the misshapen bulk that filled half the sky on their left.

When humans had first discovered it, Midway Station had been an airless, arching vault, three kilometers across and almost empty. The walls were transparent. A man in a space suit could fly to the side facing Opal and detect that he was falling gently in that direction; one strong kick off the glassy outer wall would carry him through the open interior. He would then drift on and on, gradually slowing, until the opposite outer wall finally arrested his motion. The station marked the exact center of mass of the Quake/Opal coupled system.

The Builders' uses for Midway Station were not understood. That did not matter to most humans. They had filled the open sphere with a set of interlocking pressurized chambers, making it a temporary habitat and a storage facility for everything from thermal boots to freeze-dried food. Responding to some old cave instinct that favored enclosed spaces, they had also covered the external walls with a shiny, opaque monolayer. After four thousand years of Expansion, humans were apparently still uncomfortable with the open endlessness of space.

The capsule moved through a first airlock, then nosed molelike along a dark corridor just wide enough to permit its passage. Two minutes later it came to a cylindrical chamber filled with racks of display equipment and control boards.

Perry waited for a couple of minutes while the interior and exterior pressures were almost matched, then forced open the capsule's hatch and floated out. By the time the others had followed him he was already at work on one of the displays.

"Here." He pointed. "Straightforward enough. That's the problem. Another car was traveling the Umbilical at the same time as us."

"Where?" Rebka stared at the displays. They showed cameras and monitors all along the length of the Umbilical. He saw nothing.

"No, you won't see it." Perry had noticed where Rebka was looking. "The power drain is over now. That means the other capsule isn't on the Umbilical anymore."

"So where is it?" Graves asked.

Perry shrugged. "We'll find out. I hope there's someone on duty down there. I'm sending an emergency signal." He was already moving across to a communications unit and tapping in entry codes.

Within twenty seconds Birdie Kelly's face came onto the screen. He was panting, and his hair was tousled. "Max? Commander Perry? What's wrong?"

"You can tell us, Birdie. Look at your power draw for the past few hours. We've had two capsules in use."

"That's right. No problem; we checked and there's plenty in reserve."

"Maybe. But there is a problem. That other car didn't have authorization."

Birdie's face was puzzled. "It certainly did. The woman had authorization from
you
. Personally. Hold one second."

He disappeared for a few moments from the screen and returned holding a marked sheet. "That's your sigil—see it?—right there."

"You let her have a car?"

"Of course I did." Birdie's tone switched from defensive to annoyed. "She had authorization, and she must have known the exact Umbilical command codes. If she hadn't, they'd never have risen one meter above sea level."

"They?"

"Sure. We assumed you knew all about this. The woman." Birdie Kelly peered at the sheet. "Darya Lang. With the two aliens. A Cecropian, and another form I didn't recognize. What's going on up there?"

"That authorization was bogus, Birdie. My sigil was faked." Perry glanced at another control board. "We show they're not on the Umbilical anymore."

"Right. They'll be on Quake. I hope they're having a better time up there than we are here." The wall behind Kelly shivered and tilted, and a scream of wind sounded through the link. He turned to glance away from the screen for a split second. "Commander, unless there's something else I can tell you, I have to get off right now."

"Another storm?"

"Worst ever. We just had a call through the Sling Network, five minutes ago. Spidermonkey is starting to break up. We have an airlift going in, but they're having trouble landing on the Sling to get people off."

"Go help there. We're on our way. Good luck, Birdie."

"Thanks. We're going to need it. Same to you."

Birdie Kelly was gone.

And so was Perry. By the time Rebka and Graves caught up with him he was starting to seal the capsule.

"Nine hours ahead of us," he said. "This near Summertide, that's more than enough to kill them all."

He touched a final command sequence, and the capsule started them back out along the narrow corridor.

Hans Rebka lay back in his seat and stared ahead, waiting for the first sight of Quake as they emerged from Midway Station.

He felt tense, yet oddly satisfied. His instincts had not let him down. The blow that he had been waiting for since Max Perry told the others that Quake was off-limits had been delivered.

Or at least,
one
blow had been struck.

His feeling of impending revelations had not gone away completely. The old inner voice assured him that there was more to come.

UAC#: 1067
Galactic Coordina
tes: Not applicable
Name:
Phage Star/planet association: Not applicable
Bose Access Node:
All
Estimated age:
Various. 3.6 to 8.2 Megayears.
 

Exploration History:
The first Phages were reported by humans during the exploration of Flambeau, in E. 1233. Subsequently, it was learned that Phages had been observed and avoided by Cecropian explorers for at least five thousand years. The first human entry of a Phage maw was made in E. 1234 during the Maelstrom conflict (no survivors).
 

Phage avoidance systems came into widespread use in E. 2103, and are now standard equipment in Builder exploration.
 

Physical Description:
The Phages are all externally identical, and probably internally similar though functionally variable. No sensor (or explorer) has ever returned from a Phage interior.
 

Each Phage has the form of a gray, regular dodecahedron, of side forty-eight meters. The surface is roughly textured, with mass sensors at the edge of each face. Maws can be opened at the center of any face, and can ingest objects of up to thirty meters' radius and of apparently indefinite length. (In E. 2238, Sawyer and S'kropa fed a solid silicaceous fragment of cylindrical cross-section and twenty-five meters' radius to a Phage of the Dendrite Artifact. With an ingestion rate of one kilometer per day, four hundred and twenty-five kilometers of material, corresponding to the full length of the fragment, were absorbed. No mass change was detected in the Phage, nor any change in any other of its physical parameters.)
 

Phages are capable of slow independent locomotion, with a mean rate of one or two meters per standard day. No Phage has ever been seen to move at a velocity in excess of one meter per hour with respect to the local frame.
 

Intended Purpose:
Unknown. Were it not for the fact that Phages have been found in association with over three hundred of the twelve hundred known artifacts, and only in such association, any relationship to the Builders would be questioned. They differ greatly in scale and number from all other Builder constructs.
 

It has been speculated that the Phages served as general scavengers for the Builders, since they are apparently able to ingest and break down any materials made by the clades, and anything made by the Builders with the single exception of the structural hulls and the paraforms (e.g., the external shell of Paradox, the surface of Sentinel, and the concentric hollow tubes of Maelstrom).
 

—From the
Lang Universal Artifact Catalog
, Fourth Edition.