trade. With its help, Dwer might cease living, but he would never die. He could become one with the glorious past, and join the spider on a voyage into time.
Now, while sloshing under starlight through a murky bog, Dwer tried again for that feeling, that opening sensation. He could tell from the texture of this place — from its smell and feel — that mighty spires had also pierced the sky, only here they were much grander than at any mountain site. The job of demolition was far advanced — little remained to tear down or erase. Yet somehow he knew what stood where, and when.
Here a row of pure-white obelisks once greeted the sun, both mystical and pragmatic in their mathematically precise alignment.
Over there, Buyur legs once ponderously strode down a shopping arcade, filled with exotic goods.
Near that translucent fountain, contemplative Buyur minds occupied themselves with a multitude of tasks beyond his reckoning. And through the sky passed commerce from ten thousand worlds.
Down the avenues were heard voices … not just of Buyur, but a myriad of other types of thinking beings.
Surely it was a glorious time, though also fatiguing for any planet whose flesh must feed such an eager, busy civilization. After a million years of heavy use, Jijo badly needed rest. And the forces of wisdom granted it. All the busy voices moved on. The towers tumbled and a different kind of life took over here, one dedicated to erasing scars — a more patient, less frenzied type of being.…
…?
Yes?
Who … goes …?
Words slithered through Dwer’s mind, hesitantly at first.
Who calls … rousing me from … drowsy musing?
Dwer’s first urge was to dismiss it as merely his imagination. Had not his nervous system been palped and bruised from carrying the robot across icy streams? Delusions would be normal after that battering, followed by days of near starvation. Anyway, his habitual defense against One-of-a-Kind had been to dismiss the mulc spider’s voice as a phantasm.
Who is a phantasm?
I a being who serenely outlasts empires?
Or you, a mayfly, living and dying in the time it
takes for me to dream a dream?
Dwer held off acknowledging the voice, even casually. First he wanted to be sure. Wading cautiously, he sought some of the vines he had glimpsed earlier, from the dune heights. A nearby hummock seemed likely. Despite covering vegetation, it had the orderly outlines of some ruined structure. Sure enough, Dwer soon found his way blocked by cables, some as thick as his wrist, all converging on the ancient building site. His nose twitched at the scent of dilute corrosive fluids, carried by the twisted vines.
“Hey, this is a mulc swamp! We’re walkin’ right into a spider!”
Dwer nodded, acknowledging Rety’s comment without words. If she wanted to leave, she knew the way back.
Spiders were common enough on the Slope. Youngsters went exploring through mulc dens, though you risked getting acid burns if you weren’t careful. Now and then, some village child died of a foolish mistake while venturing too deep, yet the attraction held. High-quality Buyur relics were often found where vine beasts slowly etched the remains of bygone days.
Folk legends flourished about the creatures, whose bodies were made up by the vines themselves. Some described them talking to rare members of the Six, though Dwer had never met anyone else who admitted that it happened to them. He especially never heard of another mulc spider like One-of-a-Kind, who actively lured living prey into its web, sealing “unique” treasures away in coffins of hardening jell.
You met that one? The mad spider of the heights?
You actually shared thoughts with it? And escaped?
How exceptionally interesting.
Your mind patterns are very clear for an ephemeral
That is rare, as mayflies go.…
How singular you are.
Yes, that was the way One-of-a-Kind used to speak to him. This creature was consistent. Or else Dwer’s imagination was.
The words returned, carrying a note of pique.
You flatter yourself to think you could imagine an entity as sublime as myself! Though I admit, you are intriguing, for a transitory being.
So you need verification of my objective reality? How might I prove myself?
Rather than answer directly, Dwer kept his thoughts reserved. Languidly, he contemplated that it would be interesting to see the vines in front of him move.
As if at your command? An amusing concept.
But why not?
Come back in just five days. In that brief time, you will find all of them shifted to new locales!
Dwer chuckled contemptuously, under his breath.
Not quickly enough, my wanton friend? You have seen a mulc being move faster?
Ah, but that one was crazed, driven mad by isolation, high altitude, and a diet of psidrenched stone. It grew unwholesomely obsessed with mortality and the nature of time. Surely you do not expect such undignified haste from me?
Like One-of-a-Kind, this spider could somehow tap Dwer’s human memory, using it to make better sentences — more articulate speech — than he ever managed on his own. But Dwer knew better than to bandy words. Instead, he willed himself to turn around.
Wait! You intrigue me. The conversations our kind share among ourselves are so languid. Torpid, you might say, featuring endless comparisons of the varied dross we eat. The slow-talk grows ever more tedious as we age…
Tell me, are you from one of the frantic races who have lately settled down to a skittering life beyond the mountains? The ones who talk and talk, but almost never build?
Behind Dwer, Rety murmured, “What’s goin’ on!” But he only motioned for her to follow him away from the mulc cords.
All right! On a whim, I’ll do it. I shall move for you!
I’ll move as I have not done in ages.
Watch me, small flickering life-form. Watch this!
Dwer glanced back, and saw several vines tremble. The tremors strengthened, dura after dura, tightening and releasing till several of the largest bunched in a knotty tangle. More duras passed … then one loop popped up out of the water, rising high, dripping like some amphibious being, emerging from its watery home.
It was confirmation, not only of the spider’s mental reality, but of Dwer’s own sane perception. Yet he quashed all sense of acknowledgment or relief. Rather, Dwer let a feeling of disappointment flow across his surface thoughts.
A fresh shoot of lesser boo moves that much, in the course of a day’s growth, he pondered, without bothering to project the thought at the spider.
You compare me to boo?
Boo?
Insolent bug! It is you who are a figment of my imagination! You may be nothing but an undigested bit of concrete, or a piece of bad steel, perturbing my dreams.…
No, wait! Don’t leave yet. I sense there is something that would convince you.
Tell me what it is. Tell me what would make you acknowledge me, and talk awhile.
Dwer felt an impulse to speak directly. To make his wishes known in the form of a request. But no. His experience with One-of-a-Kind had taught him. That mulc beast might have been mad, but it clearly shared some
