models, carried out by digital cognizance. But ultimately, it amounted to the same thing. Joined at last, they found a shared outlook on life.
We — and everything we see around ourselves, including the mighty Transcendents — exist merely as part of a grand scenario, a simulacrum being played out in some higher-level computer, perhaps at another plane of existence — or else at the Omega Point, when the end of time brings all things to ultimate fruition.
Either way, it makes little sense to get caught up in feelings of self-importance. This cosmic pattern we participate in is but one of countless many being run, in parallel, with only minute differences from each to the next. Like a chess program, working out every move, and all possible consequences, in extreme detail.
That was how some of the other Mother-components explained it to Lark and Ling. Even the Jophur-traeki converts seemed to have no trouble with this notion, since their mental lives involved multiple thought experiments, flowing through the dribbling wax that lined their inner cores.
Only the human and dolphin members of the consortium had trouble reconciling this image — for different reasons.
Why? Lark asked.
Why would anyone expend vast resources doing such a thing? To calculate the best of all possible worlds?
Once they find it … what would they do with the result?
And what will they do with all the myriad models they have created along the way?
What will they do with us?
That question seemed to startle the Zang components, but not the machines, who answered Lark with strangely earnest complacency.
You oxies are so obsessed with self-importance!
Of course, all the models have already been run, evaluated, and discarded. Our feelings of existence are only an illusion. A manifestation of simulated time.
To Lark, this attitude seemed appalling. But Ling only chuckled, agreeing with the dolphins who had recently joined the onboard community, and who clearly considered this whole metaphysical argument ridiculous.
Olelo, a leader among that group of former Streaker crew members, summed up their viewpoint with a burst of Trinary haiku.
Lark felt glad to have the newcomers aboard, in several ways. They seemed like interesting folks, with a refreshing outlook. And they helped keep up the oxy side of the ongoing debate. There would be plenty of time for give-and-take discussions over the course of many subjective years, until the transformed Polkjhy finally reached journey’s end.
With a flicker of awareness, he cast his remote senses through one of the external viewers, taking another look at the cosmos. Or what passed for one.
It was a perspective few others had ever witnessed. A blankness that was quite distinct from the vivid color, black. None of the great spiral or elliptical galaxies were visible in their normal forms — as gaudy displays of dusty white pinpoints. From this high standpoint, no stars could be seen, except as mere ripples, brief indentations that he could barely make out, if he tried.
Everything seemed flattened, ephemeral, tentative — almost like a crudely drawn rough draft of the real thing.
In fact, Polkjhy was no longer quite part of that universe. Gliding along just outside the ylem, the modified vessel rode atop a surging swell that was composed not of matter, or energy, or even raw metric. The best he could figure — having discussed it with others, and consulted the onboard Library — Polkjhy was riding upon a swaying fold of context. A background of basic law, from which the universe had formed long ago, when a perturbation in Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle allowed the sudden eruption called the Big Bang.
An emergence of Something from Nothing.
What he saw now was not things or objects but a vast swirl of causal connections, linking one set of potentialities to another.
Behind the hurtling ship, diminishing rapidly with each passing dura, several of these junctions could be glimpsed twisting away from a recent, shattering separation. A splitting apart of ancient ties.
He felt Ling’s mind slip alongside his own, sharing the view. But after a while, she nudged him.
All of that lies behind us. Come. Look ahead, toward our destiny.
Though nothing tangible existed on this plane — not matter, or memes, or even directionality — Lark nevertheless got a sense of “forward” … the way they were headed. According to the Transcendents, it was a large cluster of galaxies, lying almost half a billion parsecs away from Galaxy Two. A place where enigmatic signals had been emanating for a long time, hinting at sapient activity. Perhaps another great civilization to contact. To share with. To say hello.
Its sole manifestation — to Lark’s subjective gaze — was a swirl of faintly glowing curves and spirals. Vague hints that another domain existed where hyperdrive and transfer points and all the conveniences of spacefaring might be found in abundance.
We’ll live to see that, Ling pondered. And much else. Are you glad we came?
Unlike the dolphins, no transcendent had ever asked Lark about his wishes. Yet, he felt pretty good.
Yeah, I’m glad.
I’ll miss some people. And Jijo. But who could turn down an opportunity like this?
In fact, some already had. Gillian Baskin, striving to remain where her duty lay. And Sara, whose love he would carry always. In sending a dozen dolphin volunteers, Baskin had included other gifts to accompany Polkjhy’s voyage — Streaker’s archives, the genetic samples accumulated during a long exploration mission.
Plus another item.
Lark glanced at the most unique member of the Mother Consortium, encapsulated in a golden cocoon of toporgic frozen time. An archaic cadaver, possibly a billion years old, that had traveled with Streaker’s luckless crew ever since their fateful visit to a place called the Shallow Cluster.
Herbie was its name.
The mummy’s enigmatic smile seemed all-knowing. All-confident.
“Isn’t this your most precious relic?” Lark had asked during those frenetic moments leading up to the supernova explosion, as the Streaker samples were stowed and Polkjhy’s protective shell closed around it.
“Herb and I have been through a lot together,” Gillian answered. “But I figure it’s more important that he ride with you folks. He may tell some distant civilization more about us than a whole Library full of records.”
The Earthling woman had looked tired, yet unbowed, as if she felt certain that her trials would soon end.
“Besides, even if Streaker somehow survives what’s about to come, I figure old Herbie’s not irreplaceable.
“I know where we can get lots more, just like him.”
That cryptic remark clung to Lark as he and his mate let their senses roam, watching a soft luminance sweep by — the loose threads and stitching that always lay hidden, behind the backdrop of life’s great tragicomedy. For some reason, it seemed to imply a story still unfolding. One in which he kept playing a part, despite an end to all links of cause or communication.
Someone could be felt sliding alongside the two floating humans. A dolphin — long, sleek, and scarred from many travails — jostled their bodies slightly with backwash from its fins, slipping a strong mental presence near theirs, sharing their view of the austere scenery beyond Polkjhy’s glimmering hull.
Soon, their new companion sang a lilting commentary.
