Gathering his courage, Lark pushed off the floor with his scalded right arm, rolling onto his back.
It stood a few paces behind him, just this side of the hole it had made in the bulkhead. A glowing ball, roughly three meters across, barely able to squeeze through the corridor. Though it had the color of bronze metal, the intruder seemed to ooze and ripple as it rolled slowly forward, more like a fluid-filled bag than a balloon. Lark recalled the living cells he used to watch through his beloved microscope, back when he and other sages had the time to pursue knowledge, doing what passed for science on the primitive Slope.
A cell, many times his size. Living.
And yet, all at once, Lark knew—
This is like no life I ever saw before.
The thing made sloshing sounds as it crept languidly toward Lark, swarming over his foot, climbing upward, rendering him immobile, then causing a chill numbness to spread along his bones.
PART TWO. THE ORDERS OF LIFE
FOR AGES — ever since the blessed Progenitors departed — some contemplative oxygen-breathing races have wondered about the question of “plenitude.”
If life is so common and vibrant here in the Five Linked Galaxies, they ask, should we not expect to see signs of it elsewhere? Astronomers have counted seven hundred billion other galactic pinwheels, ovals, and other vast conglomerations of stars out there, some of them even bigger than our own Galaxy One. It seems to defy all logic that ours would be the only nexus where sapiency has arisen.
What a waste of potential, if it were so!
Of course, this opinion is not universally shared. Among the many social-religious alliances making up our diverse civilization, some insist that we must be unique, since any other situation would only mock the ultimate greatness of the Progenitors. Others perceive those billions of other galaxies as heavenly abodes where the august Transcendents go, once they complete the long process of perfecting themselves on this plane of reality.
Many have tried to pierce the veil with scientific instruments, such as vast telescopes, aimed at studying our silent neighbors. Indeed, some anomalies have been found. For instance, several targets emit rhythmic noise pulsations of towering complexity. Other galaxies seem burned out, as if a recent conflagration tore through them, destroying nearly every planetary system at the same time.
And yet, the data always seems ambiguous, allowing a variety of interpretations. The Great Library is filled with arguments that have raged for aeons.
Are other galactic groups linked together by hyperspatial transfer points, the way our own five spirals are, despite huge separations in flat spacetime? Our best models and calculations do not give definitive answers.
FROM time to time, some young race gets impatient and tries posing these questions to the Old Ones — those sage species who have surrendered starships to develop their souls within the Embrace of Tides, passing on to the next order of life.
Depending on their mood, the ancients either ignore such entreaties or reply in frustrating ways.
We are alone, answered one community of venerable ones.
No we are not, countered a second. Other galaxies are just like ours, teeming with multitudinous sapient species, taking turns uplifting each other as a sacred duty, then turning their attention toward the duties of transcendence … as we are doing now.
One cluster of Old Ones claimed to know a different answer — that most island universes are settled quite suddenly, by the first race to achieve spaceflight. These first races then proceed to fill every star system, annihilating or enslaving all succeeding life-forms. Such galaxies are poor in diversity or insight, having lacked the wisdom that our blessed Progenitors showed when they began the great chain of Uplift.
That is wrong, claimed yet another assembly of venerables in their spiky habitat, huddled amid contemplative tides. The unity of purpose that we sense in such galaxies only means that they have already evolved toward united oneness! A high state wherein all sapient beings participate in a grand overmind …
FINALLY, it grew clear that these conflicting stories must mean just one of two things.
Either the Old Ones really have no idea what they are talking about, or else …
Or else their varied answers together comprise a sermon. A basic lesson.
Other galaxies are none of our business! That is what they are teaching. We should get back to the proper tasks of young races — struggling, learning, uplifting, and striving with each other, gathering experience and strength for the next phase.
Answers will be forthcoming to each of us who survives the testing, when we ultimately face the bright light of the Great Harrower.
Harry
IT SEEMED THAT E SPACE WAS NOT THE ONLY realm where ideas had a life of their own. On his return, Harry found Kazzkark Base teeming with hearsay. Strange rumors roamed like ravenous parasites, springing from one nervous being to the next, thriving in an atmosphere of contagious anxiety.
Steering his scoutcraft to the planetoid’s north pole, Harry docked at a slip reserved for the Navigation Institute and cut power with a sense of relief. All he wanted now was to sleep for several days without having to endure relentless exhausting dreams. But no sooner did he debark and begin the protocols of reentry than he found himself immersed in a maelstrom of dubious gossip.
“It is said that the Abdicator Alliance has broken into several heretical factions that are fighting among themselves,” murmured a tourmuj trade representative standing in line ahead of Harry at immigration, chattering in hasty Galactic Four. “And the League of Prudent Neutral Clans are said to have begun mobilizing at last, combining their fleets under pargi command!”
Harry stared at the tourmuj — a lanky, sallow-skinned being that seemed all elbows and knees — before responding in the same language.
“Said? It is said by whom? In which medium? With what veracity?”
“With no veracity at all!” This came from an oulomin diplomat whose tentacle fringes bore colored caps to prevent inadvertent pollen emission. Slithering just behind Harry, the oulomin expressed disdain toward the stooped tourmuj with sprays of orange saliva that barely missed Harry’s arm.
“I have it on good authority that the eminent and much respected pargi intend to withdraw from the League — and from Galactic affairs entirely — out of disgust with the present state of chaos. That noble race will shortly move on to blessed retirement, joining their ancestral patrons in the fortunate realm of tides. Only a regressed fool would believe otherwise.”
It was hardly the sort of speech that Harry would associate with “diplomacy.” The tourmuj reacted by irately unfolding its long legs and both sets of arms so swiftly that its knobby head bumped the ceiling. Wincing in pain, the trader stomped off, sacrificing its place in line.
Oh, I get it, Harry thought, glancing once more at the being behind him, whose grasp of other-species psychology was evident.
Just don’t try the same on me, he thought. I’m not budging, even if you call me a dolphin’s uncle.
The diplomat seemed to recognize this and merely waved two tendrils in a universal gesture of placid goodwill, as they both moved forward.
Harry took out his portable data plaque and stroked its command knobs, swiftly accessing the planetoid’s
