grew thick metallic shields covering their bodies. Animals on planets with low gravity tended to be floppy and large, on planets with high gravity small and compact.
In the course of billions of planetary orbits about their central stars, billions of seasonal cycles, many possibilities were tested. Structural features that helped an animal survive were naturally perpetuated in future generations. Those features that did not were eventually eliminated, as the creature’s descendants could not cope well enough with their environments to continue reproducing. As far as progeny were concerned, many of the oxygen creatures reproduced in pairs, combining their replicating molecules to make small, detached offspring rather than each adult splitting in half. In some worlds, creatures reproduced not in pairs but in triples and quadruples. These latter exchanges required awkward conjugations of bodies but allowed great variations of progenitor material.
And the brains! As I had suspected, the masses of coordination and control cells had evolved to a fantastic degree, forming intricate networks of electrical activity. Some of these brains contained as many as ten trillion cells, each cell connecting to a thousand other cells. Over time, creatures with such brains rebuilt their environments. They made new materials and inanimate structures of their own design. Waterways. Tools. Machines. Cities. They developed advanced communication methods, such as encoding information in electromagnetic radiation or storing it in silicon-based molecules and quantum clusters. They created devices to extract energy from their central star and from passing comets. They discovered mathematics. They performed experiments. They built instruments that could sense what their bodies could not. They developed theories of the physical universe. And they discovered many of the laws and principles that governed the universe,
my
laws and principles. These mere conglomerations of atoms and molecules
discovered my laws
. And the music they made! Such music, equal to what I have created from my mind, they produced by material instruments with vibrating strings and air flows and liquid compressions. When I heard their music, from one star system to the next, I realized that these brains were participating in the beauty of the cosmos, as Uncle Deva had described. They were aware of themselves, yes. They were thinking, yes. But they were more than thinking. They were
feeling
. They were feeling the connection of themselves to the galaxies and stars. They were grasping the beauty and depth of their existence and then expressing that experience in musical harmonies and rhythms. And in paintings. In metaphors, and words. In dance. In symbiotic transference. They imagined the cosmos beyond their own bodies. They imagined. But they could not imagine where all of it started. For all of their intelligence, there were limits to their imagination. They could not know of things that were not of their essence. They could not know of the Void. But the mystery of such things they did seem to feel, and it tingled in them and opened them up.
Time. Time fluttered and spun and wound itself up. Time stretched and compressed and dilated and dissolved. I had been mistaken about time. Although time could be measured and sliced by the beats of the hydrogen atoms, now that other minds existed time did not move on its own. Or rather, even if it moved on its own, its movement was relevant only to how it was witnessed. Time was partly conception. Time was partly a thing in the mind. Just as events. Since the universe began, nearly 10 33 ticks of the hydrogen clocks had transpired. Stars had been born. Stars had aged, then exploded or dwindled to dim and cold ashes. Galaxies had collided. Living cells had formed. Then minds. Cities had risen on deserts. Cities had fallen. Civilizations had flourished, then ended. Then new civilizations emerged. Nothing was lasting, nothing was permanent. Living
In the course of billions of planetary orbits about their central stars, billions of seasonal cycles, many possibilities were tested. Structural features that helped an animal survive were naturally perpetuated in future generations. Those features that did not were eventually eliminated, as the creature’s descendants could not cope well enough with their environments to continue reproducing. As far as progeny were concerned, many of the oxygen creatures reproduced in pairs, combining their replicating molecules to make small, detached offspring rather than each adult splitting in half. In some worlds, creatures reproduced not in pairs but in triples and quadruples. These latter exchanges required awkward conjugations of bodies but allowed great variations of progenitor material.
And the brains! As I had suspected, the masses of coordination and control cells had evolved to a fantastic degree, forming intricate networks of electrical activity. Some of these brains contained as many as ten trillion cells, each cell connecting to a thousand other cells. Over time, creatures with such brains rebuilt their environments. They made new materials and inanimate structures of their own design. Waterways. Tools. Machines. Cities. They developed advanced communication methods, such as encoding information in electromagnetic radiation or storing it in silicon-based molecules and quantum clusters. They created devices to extract energy from their central star and from passing comets. They discovered mathematics. They performed experiments. They built instruments that could sense what their bodies could not. They developed theories of the physical universe. And they discovered many of the laws and principles that governed the universe,
my
laws and principles. These mere conglomerations of atoms and molecules
discovered my laws
. And the music they made! Such music, equal to what I have created from my mind, they produced by material instruments with vibrating strings and air flows and liquid compressions. When I heard their music, from one star system to the next, I realized that these brains were participating in the beauty of the cosmos, as Uncle Deva had described. They were aware of themselves, yes. They were thinking, yes. But they were more than thinking. They were
feeling
. They were feeling the connection of themselves to the galaxies and stars. They were grasping the beauty and depth of their existence and then expressing that experience in musical harmonies and rhythms. And in paintings. In metaphors, and words. In dance. In symbiotic transference. They imagined the cosmos beyond their own bodies. They imagined. But they could not imagine where all of it started. For all of their intelligence, there were limits to their imagination. They could not know of things that were not of their essence. They could not know of the Void. But the mystery of such things they did seem to feel, and it tingled in them and opened them up.
Time. Time fluttered and spun and wound itself up. Time stretched and compressed and dilated and dissolved. I had been mistaken about time. Although time could be measured and sliced by the beats of the hydrogen atoms, now that other minds existed time did not move on its own. Or rather, even if it moved on its own, its movement was relevant only to how it was witnessed. Time was partly conception. Time was partly a thing in the mind. Just as events. Since the universe began, nearly 10 33 ticks of the hydrogen clocks had transpired. Stars had been born. Stars had aged, then exploded or dwindled to dim and cold ashes. Galaxies had collided. Living cells had formed. Then minds. Cities had risen on deserts. Cities had fallen. Civilizations had flourished, then ended. Then new civilizations emerged. Nothing was lasting, nothing was permanent. Living
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