But what choice is there? We of Polkjhy must pursue the dolphin-crewed ship! Its secrets may shed light on a time of changes, now convulsing the Five Galaxies. If Earthlings truly did find Progenitor Relics in a shallow globular cluster, what might that say about the way Galactic Civilization has been run for a billion years? Could it imply that our entire religious-and-genetic hierarchy is upside down?
WHAT IS THAT YOU SAY?
Our second ring of cognition asks — so what?
• so what if ancient beliefs about the Progenitors prove wrong!
• so what if we were lied to about the Embrace of Tides!
• so what if some other clan manages to seize Streaker, and read its information first! Why should any sensible sapient get into a grease-lather over matters so obscure and trivial?
I … hesitate to answer.
The question seems so jarringly incomprehensible … like asking why we breathe oxygen, or metabolize food, or procreate, or express loyalty to kindred and posterity! It disturbs Me gravely that you/we could even raise such doubts!
PERHAPS I/WE SHOULD NOT HAVE FLED THE CONTROL ROOM, AFTER ALL.
(Seeking sanctuary in this dim/familiar hiding place.)
Indeed, our shared core roils with mad, provocative thoughts, questioning central Jophur beliefs. Moreover, since becoming a fugitive, I no longer seem to have the Masterful force of will that once let me squelch such ponderings.
PERHAPS IT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER TO LET THE FOLLOWERS OF THE HIGH PRIEST DISASSEMBLE US/ME FOR SPARE PARTS.
That might have been My greatest service to Polkjhy, and to the great Jophur clan as a whole.
The chief advantage of this refuge is that ship sensors will be unable to detect our body traces, masked by row after row of transparent growth cabinets, filled with juvenile rings of all types. Of course, there are robot nurses here, tending the young. These slave-drones would report me, but only if someone on the bridge asks. Unless or until a specific enquiry is made, I/we can probably remain safe here, emitting authority pheromones, giving the machines orders, pretending to be in charge of the caretaking facility.
There is another danger. At random intervals, various Jophur ring piles come to the door demanding spare parts.
Mostly, these are soldiers. Tall, formidable warrior stacks, bearing wounds and horrid stains from their ongoing struggle to expel Zang invaders from the battleship. That infestation currently blights a third of Polkjhy’s decks and zones. Some recent progress has been made against it, but our fighters show the cost, seeking replacements for rings damaged in close combat with the hydrogen breathers.
Fortunately, none of their caste seems inclined to question our/My presence here … and we mostly stay out of sight.
Yes, my rings. It is only a matter of time till we/I are caught. Soon we will face disassembly. I wonder if they will bother salvaging any of our toruses or waxy memory beads for use elsewhere.
Probably not.
During long, idle moments, we/I linger before vision-odor displays, captivated by events that have enveloped Polkjhy since our captain-leader was killed.
Do you recall, my rings, how our great ship swooped through the twisted bowels of the transfer point, following the Earthship so closely, and with such skill, that they could never get away?
From the Research Department, crew-stacks reported progress understanding the Streaker’s strange protective layer — the coating that prevented our rays from stopping the dolphins earlier. That veneer seemed to offer invincibility, but according to our onboard Library we learn the technique was abandoned by most Galactics long ago! The tactic is quite easily defeated, once an opponent knows how. Only surprise made it effective back at the Fractal World.
The librarians promised a recommended countermeasure, shortly.
Meanwhile, the transfer nexus grew crowded with refugee ships, not only from the dissolved retirement community behind us, but from hundreds of others! Each emigrant vessel decided among three choices — to remain in Galaxy Four and seek room in some other cloistered shelter, or else to change life orders. To go back to the starfaring Civilization of Five Galaxies … or possibly forge deeper into the Embrace of Tides. It was enthralling, and a great honor, to watch so many exalted Old Ones make this fateful judgment, though it did not affect our tenacious pursuit of the Earthlings.
That was when we encountered the Harrower.
A thing of legend.
A rare phenomenon of destiny.
A cloud of light that sorted through the agitated, thronging vessels. Choosing some. Sending others along their assigned ways.
DO YOU RECALL OUR SURPRISE, MY RINGS, WHEN THE HARROWER PLUCKED UP THE EARTHLING SHIP, AND GENTLY PLACED IT AMONG THOSE AIMED FOR TRANSCENDENCE?
Stunned amazement filled Polkjhy’s halls and chambers. Who could have imagined this would happen? Dolphins are the youngest licensed sapient race in the Civilization of Five Galaxies. Whether by trickery or merit, this was the last thing any sane entity would expect!
At that point, our new captain-leader gave in to the inevitable. Commands were given. Polkjhy must give up the chase!
Instead, we would aim for Galaxy One, toward a Jophur base, to be cleansed of infesting Zang, and to report all we had learned. Even without the Earthship in our grasp, we would be able to tell its fate, and that data should be valuable.
Moreover, there is Jijo, an excellent consolation prize! When we reveal its location to the home clan, that little sooner world will make an ideal outpost for genetic experimentation/exploitation. A source of wealth for the race. Final destruction of the g’Kek, alone, would make our travails worthwhile.
Perhaps the clan would be so joyful over those achievements that allowance would be made for this crude, hybrid stack — for this Ewasx — if we/I manage to avoid capture-disassembly till then.
Thus the crew rejoiced, despite apparent failure of our central mission. Although the Streaker had escaped, it seemed to be no fault of our own. We had accomplished more than any other ship in known space. Now we could go home.
Only then the truly unexpected happened.
Do you recall, my rings? Or is the wax-of-surprise still too fresh and runny for true-memory to congeal?
We faced our own turn before the Harrower, expecting to be conveyed routinely, like so many others, on a swift path toward Galaxy One.
Strange light filled the ship, and we/I felt scrutinized. Some of our/My rings — former parts of Asx — compared it to communing with Jijo’s wonder stone, the Holy Egg.
Then, to our/My/everyone’s amazement, Polkjhy was lifted off the transfer thread and placed amid a row of the elect! The chosen! Those whose emblems marked them for great honor and enlightenment, far down amid the Embrace of Tides.
Thus we learned the wondrous glory of our new honored state … and the pain yet to be endured.
What no one could explain, from our senior priest-stack on down to the lowest warrior, was why?
Why were we chosen for this honor?
One we never sought.
One that brings no gladness to any Jophur stack aboard this noble ship.
I/we stand corrected.
ONE STACK EXPERIENCES GLADNESS.
Some of the cognition rings left over from Asx rejoice at the news!
