night, his principal duomother, XVI Eloise, had taken him up to the roof of the housing complex. There, away from the
light pollution of the poorly lit streets, it was possible to see the stars. There was still too much light to see the dusty
sweep of the Galaxy, but the brighter stars stood out clearly.
Sam had never seen stars before. He had never been outside the complex after darkness had fallen.
Eloise had named some of the nearer stars and the patterns they made: the rabbit, the lizard, the coelacanth. Many of his
neighbors, she told him, were from species that had evolved on planets surrounding one or another of those stars. She had
explained the words patiently, as a good mother should, until he dimly began to understand.
And then she’d said something that at the time made no sense at all. She had pointed out a bright, slightly reddish star,
saying, “We were all born in such stars, Sam. That is where the atoms of our bodies were made. If you need proof that the
Lifesoul-Giver is real, that is where you will find it.”
The moment had stayed with him, but it was years before he properly understood what his duomother had meant. The star was
Omicron Oblatratrictis, colloquially known as Orc Eye. It was thirty-eight light years away, and it was a red giant. Red giants
were where the universe made its carbon, an essential element for Fyx and Hytth and humans. Who, except the creator of the
universe and its sentient life, could turn stars into living beings? And since there must be a creator, there must also be
a maintainer, the Lifesoul-Cherisher. And to keep the cosmos tidy by eliminating surplus lifesouls, there must be a Lifesoul-Stealer.
. . .
Which brought him back to the Neanderthals. It was as if they were blind to the presence of the Lifesoul-Giver. As if they
felt no need for anything that extended beyond the mundane bounds of the material universe. But, he remained sure, this was
ignorance, not evil. With enough effort, even the infidel Neanderthals could be brought into the One Sole Union. And it looked
as if No-Moon would afford the perfect opportunity to achieve that holy goal.
There were a few other species, too, in smaller numbers. No-Moon, in its own secular manner, was already started on the golden
pathway to multiculture! That boded well for the success of their mission. The indigenes would be converted. The transient
population would be recruited to open up new routes for spreading the gospel of the unity of the cosmos, and they would also
help the high acolyte to fulfill her assigned quota of love.
The ecclesiarchs back on the Cloister Worlds of Intermundia, the religious leaders at the core of Cosmic Unity’s domain, would
be well pleased.
“I just can’t get over how flouncin’
big
this thing is,” said Fat Apprentice, who had spent much of the trip so far exploring
Talitha
in his golden sailor suit.
“Yeah,” Short Apprentice responded. It was difficult to find better ways to express the feeling of sheer incomprehension that
he felt whenever he tried to come to terms with the Neanderthal vessel—and, even more so, with its builders. The biggest sailing
boats on No-Moon were cruiseliners about eighty yards long, thirty broad at the beam; their masts were seldom more than fifty
yards tall, and the sail, on the occasion he was fortunate enough to be able to go on board and inspect one of those impressive
boats, had been absolutely massive.
Now it seemed puny in retrospect. And
Talitha
didn’t even
have
a sail. Not that it needed one.
Stun had been kind enough to show them a graphic of Ship once the routine of quitting orbit for deep space had been completed.
It was vast. There were interminable corridors, some straight, some twisty. Huge engines occupied much of the stern. A veritable
flotilla of transpods had been stowed in just one of the capacious holds. Apparently, the Precursor vessel housed not just
active crew but their
light pollution of the poorly lit streets, it was possible to see the stars. There was still too much light to see the dusty
sweep of the Galaxy, but the brighter stars stood out clearly.
Sam had never seen stars before. He had never been outside the complex after darkness had fallen.
Eloise had named some of the nearer stars and the patterns they made: the rabbit, the lizard, the coelacanth. Many of his
neighbors, she told him, were from species that had evolved on planets surrounding one or another of those stars. She had
explained the words patiently, as a good mother should, until he dimly began to understand.
And then she’d said something that at the time made no sense at all. She had pointed out a bright, slightly reddish star,
saying, “We were all born in such stars, Sam. That is where the atoms of our bodies were made. If you need proof that the
Lifesoul-Giver is real, that is where you will find it.”
The moment had stayed with him, but it was years before he properly understood what his duomother had meant. The star was
Omicron Oblatratrictis, colloquially known as Orc Eye. It was thirty-eight light years away, and it was a red giant. Red giants
were where the universe made its carbon, an essential element for Fyx and Hytth and humans. Who, except the creator of the
universe and its sentient life, could turn stars into living beings? And since there must be a creator, there must also be
a maintainer, the Lifesoul-Cherisher. And to keep the cosmos tidy by eliminating surplus lifesouls, there must be a Lifesoul-Stealer.
. . .
Which brought him back to the Neanderthals. It was as if they were blind to the presence of the Lifesoul-Giver. As if they
felt no need for anything that extended beyond the mundane bounds of the material universe. But, he remained sure, this was
ignorance, not evil. With enough effort, even the infidel Neanderthals could be brought into the One Sole Union. And it looked
as if No-Moon would afford the perfect opportunity to achieve that holy goal.
There were a few other species, too, in smaller numbers. No-Moon, in its own secular manner, was already started on the golden
pathway to multiculture! That boded well for the success of their mission. The indigenes would be converted. The transient
population would be recruited to open up new routes for spreading the gospel of the unity of the cosmos, and they would also
help the high acolyte to fulfill her assigned quota of love.
The ecclesiarchs back on the Cloister Worlds of Intermundia, the religious leaders at the core of Cosmic Unity’s domain, would
be well pleased.
“I just can’t get over how flouncin’
big
this thing is,” said Fat Apprentice, who had spent much of the trip so far exploring
Talitha
in his golden sailor suit.
“Yeah,” Short Apprentice responded. It was difficult to find better ways to express the feeling of sheer incomprehension that
he felt whenever he tried to come to terms with the Neanderthal vessel—and, even more so, with its builders. The biggest sailing
boats on No-Moon were cruiseliners about eighty yards long, thirty broad at the beam; their masts were seldom more than fifty
yards tall, and the sail, on the occasion he was fortunate enough to be able to go on board and inspect one of those impressive
boats, had been absolutely massive.
Now it seemed puny in retrospect. And
Talitha
didn’t even
have
a sail. Not that it needed one.
Stun had been kind enough to show them a graphic of Ship once the routine of quitting orbit for deep space had been completed.
It was vast. There were interminable corridors, some straight, some twisty. Huge engines occupied much of the stern. A veritable
flotilla of transpods had been stowed in just one of the capacious holds. Apparently, the Precursor vessel housed not just
active crew but their
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