something outside of time, a new cage.”
Cley felt a flash of alarm in Kata, who stiffly said, “That is nonsense.”
“Of course,” Seeker said. “But not my nonsense.” It made a dry, barking noise that Cley could have sworn was laughter carrying dark filigrees beneath.
Cley felt a surf of consternation roll over the sea-deep swell of Kata’s mind.
“And next?” Kata asked.
“No cage holds forever.”
“So the…thing…will escape. Will you help us?”
“I have a higher cause,” Seeker said quietly.
“I suspected as much.” Kata raised one eyebrow. “Higher than the destiny of intelligent life?”
“Yours is a local intelligence.”
“We spread once among the stars, and we can do it again.”
“And yet you remain bottled inside your skins.”
“As do you,” Kata said with clipped precision.
“You know we differ. You must be able to sense it.” Seeker rapped the cranial bulge that capped its snout, as though knocking on a door.
“I can feel something, yes,” Kata said guardedly.
Cley could pick up nothing from Seeker. She shuffled uneasily, lost in the speed and glancing impressions of their conversation.
“You humans have emotions,” Seeker said slowly, “but more often emotions have you.”
Kata prodded, “And your kind?”
“We have urges which serve other causes.”
Kata nodded, deepening Cley’s sensation of enormous shared insights, tapering Supra perspectives that led to infinities, and yet that seemed as unremarkable to them as the air they breathed. They all lived as ants in the shadow of mountains of millennia, and time’s sheer mass shaded every word. So no one spoke clearly. Dimly she guessed that the river run of ages had somehow blurred all certainties, cast doubt on the very categories of knowing. History held counterexamples to any facile rule. All tales were finally slippery, suspect, so talk darted among somber chasms of ignorance and upjuts of painful memory as old as continents, softening tongues into ambiguity and guile.
Seeker broke the long, strained silence between them. “We are allies at the moment; that we both know.”
“I am happy to hear so. I have wondered why you accompanied Cley.”
“I wished to save her.”
Kata asked suspiciously, “You just happened along?”
“I was searching to learn of fresh dangers which vex my species.”
Kata folded her arms and shifted her weight—an age-old human gesture that Cley guessed meant the same to all species: a protective reservation of judgment. “Are you descended from the copies we made?”
“From your Library of Life?” Seeker coughed as though to cover impolite amusement, then showed its gleaming teeth in a broad, unreadable grin. “Genetically, yes. But once you released my species, we took up our ancient tasks.”
Kata frowned. “I thought you were originally companions to a species of human now vanished.”
“So that species thought.”
“That’s what the libraries of Sonomulia say,” Kata said with a trace of affronted ire.
“Exactly. They were a wise species, even so.”
“Ur-human?” Cley asked. She would like to think that her ancestors’ lost saga had included friends like Seeker.
Its large eyes studied her for a long moment. “No, they were a breed that knew the stars differently than you.”
“Better?”
“Differently.”
“And they’re completely lost?” Cley asked quietly into a stillness that had come over their conversation. She was acutely aware of the shrouded masses of history.
“They are gone.”
Kata asked suspiciously, “Gone—or extinct?”
“From your perspective, for now,” Seeker said, “there is no difference.”
“Seems to me extinction pretty much closes the book on you,” Cley said lightly, hoping to dispel the tension that had now crept into the air.
“Just so,” Kata said evenly. “The stability of this biosphere depends on keeping many species alive. The greater their number, the more rugged Earthlife is, should
Cley felt a flash of alarm in Kata, who stiffly said, “That is nonsense.”
“Of course,” Seeker said. “But not my nonsense.” It made a dry, barking noise that Cley could have sworn was laughter carrying dark filigrees beneath.
Cley felt a surf of consternation roll over the sea-deep swell of Kata’s mind.
“And next?” Kata asked.
“No cage holds forever.”
“So the…thing…will escape. Will you help us?”
“I have a higher cause,” Seeker said quietly.
“I suspected as much.” Kata raised one eyebrow. “Higher than the destiny of intelligent life?”
“Yours is a local intelligence.”
“We spread once among the stars, and we can do it again.”
“And yet you remain bottled inside your skins.”
“As do you,” Kata said with clipped precision.
“You know we differ. You must be able to sense it.” Seeker rapped the cranial bulge that capped its snout, as though knocking on a door.
“I can feel something, yes,” Kata said guardedly.
Cley could pick up nothing from Seeker. She shuffled uneasily, lost in the speed and glancing impressions of their conversation.
“You humans have emotions,” Seeker said slowly, “but more often emotions have you.”
Kata prodded, “And your kind?”
“We have urges which serve other causes.”
Kata nodded, deepening Cley’s sensation of enormous shared insights, tapering Supra perspectives that led to infinities, and yet that seemed as unremarkable to them as the air they breathed. They all lived as ants in the shadow of mountains of millennia, and time’s sheer mass shaded every word. So no one spoke clearly. Dimly she guessed that the river run of ages had somehow blurred all certainties, cast doubt on the very categories of knowing. History held counterexamples to any facile rule. All tales were finally slippery, suspect, so talk darted among somber chasms of ignorance and upjuts of painful memory as old as continents, softening tongues into ambiguity and guile.
Seeker broke the long, strained silence between them. “We are allies at the moment; that we both know.”
“I am happy to hear so. I have wondered why you accompanied Cley.”
“I wished to save her.”
Kata asked suspiciously, “You just happened along?”
“I was searching to learn of fresh dangers which vex my species.”
Kata folded her arms and shifted her weight—an age-old human gesture that Cley guessed meant the same to all species: a protective reservation of judgment. “Are you descended from the copies we made?”
“From your Library of Life?” Seeker coughed as though to cover impolite amusement, then showed its gleaming teeth in a broad, unreadable grin. “Genetically, yes. But once you released my species, we took up our ancient tasks.”
Kata frowned. “I thought you were originally companions to a species of human now vanished.”
“So that species thought.”
“That’s what the libraries of Sonomulia say,” Kata said with a trace of affronted ire.
“Exactly. They were a wise species, even so.”
“Ur-human?” Cley asked. She would like to think that her ancestors’ lost saga had included friends like Seeker.
Its large eyes studied her for a long moment. “No, they were a breed that knew the stars differently than you.”
“Better?”
“Differently.”
“And they’re completely lost?” Cley asked quietly into a stillness that had come over their conversation. She was acutely aware of the shrouded masses of history.
“They are gone.”
Kata asked suspiciously, “Gone—or extinct?”
“From your perspective, for now,” Seeker said, “there is no difference.”
“Seems to me extinction pretty much closes the book on you,” Cley said lightly, hoping to dispel the tension that had now crept into the air.
“Just so,” Kata said evenly. “The stability of this biosphere depends on keeping many species alive. The greater their number, the more rugged Earthlife is, should
Similar Books
