In the midst of this sickening realization, he received a signal.
“Boarmus here,” said a shaky voice out of nowhere. “Can you hear me?”
“Sepel794DZ here,” the dink replied, uncertain where the message was coming from. All communication with Tolerance had been blocked for some time.
“… lash up …” cried Boarmus, his voice fading and returning. “Put togeth … scraps and bits. Can … tell … what ship?”
What ship? What was Boarmus speaking of. What did he mean, what ship?
“Something approaching,” suggested Files in an insect hum. “Coming toward Elsewhere. Unknown origin. Coming very fast.”
“I heard that,” said Boarmus, suddenly clear as a bell. “Don’t suppose it’ll make any difference. Don’t know how long we’ve got. The gods have left us alone here for the last few days. Can’t tell where they are because all the monitors are gone. Committing a destruction somewhere else, no doubt.”
“Panubi,” Sepel confirmed. “Yes.”
“Oh, damn,” sighed Boarmus. “Oh, hell. I’d hoped … Well, so there’s a few of us left here trying to get as many out through the Door as we can, only nobody knows how to set it, and we can’t find the information. Evidently the Brannigans deleted it from Files. So, we’re just sending people through, hoping they’re coming out at the other end….”
“I have settings,” snapped Sepel. “Prepare to receive,” and it blurted the sequences and instructions in a blare of noise, leaving them at the other end to sort it out.
Boarmus was still speaking. “… nyhow, picked up this ship coming in. Is it coming here?”
“No idea,” Sepel said, “no idea at all.”
Fringe was stumbling with weariness when she perceived a change. It was in the quality of light, perhaps. Or the smell of the air. Mist, there was certainly, and a musty smell as of old rooms. She staggered, leaning against her companion, breathing deeply as she looked ahead. Not far away the corridor ended abruptly in a railing above an effulgent and spherical cavern. They went there, slowly, leaned on the railing, gasping at the smell, the mistiness that hid and then disclosed what lay below: a giant target, concentric rings around a dark center. She blinked, translating what she saw. The bottom quarter of the cavern had been carved into level rings, like an amphitheater. The center was a level floor, bare and empty. On the rings were the Arbai, all of them who were left, a few hundred perhaps, crouched in concentric circles, facing the center, their faces hidden in their hands as though entranced or asleep.
“Yes,” said Great Dragon. “There they are. I know them. They are old and tired. They intend to sleep until all cause for confusion has passed.”
“They must wake for a while,” she said. “They must tolerate being confused. Can you translate for me?”
“They learned to understand Jory; they will understand you.”
She leaned across the railing and took a deep breath. It rattled in her throat, catching there. She had no voice left. Her mouth was dry. She grimaced, trying to set her feet solidly and finding nothing below her that felt like feet. She fought down terror and imagined herself possessed of a mighty voice. A huge voice. A voice like thunder.
“Awaken!” she shouted.
The voice reverberated, its echoes running around the place once and again, like the gathering of an avalanche, which fell at last upon those crouched below. They jerked and started. They stirred. They moaned. They raised their heads and looked about themselves.
“Here,” she cried imperatively.
They looked up and saw her. They spoke querulously.
“Why are they being disturbed?” the great voice whispered in translation.
“You have not earned repose!” shouted Fringe. “You have a duty to perform!”
They moved sluggishly, as though they were too cold to move. Slowly, slowly they spoke again.
“What duty?” whispered Great Dragon.
“It is your duty to achieve your destiny,” Fringe cried. “Which is to relinquish all your decisions, to let them go. Decisions are a cause of anguish to you. It is your destiny to lay down this anguish and sleep.”
Much murmuring below. She saw bodies bend, heard voices raised, as though in complaint.
Great Dragon whispered, “They have outlived their strength. Decision is impossible for them. They cannot even understand what you ask.”
“Tell them, in their own language, I do not ask. I do not pose a question. I simply tell. They are interfering with the destiny of man. The only way they can stop interfering is to relinquish all response, even that of inaction.”
Great Dragon spoke.
Silence. No answer.
“If they will not relinquish it, then I will take it from them. It is a simple choice.”
Great Dragon spoke again.
Those below returned sluggishly to their circles.
“Nothing” said Great Dragon. “They are not capable of responding.”
Fringe held out her hand, trying not to see what hung there at the end of her wrist. It was not her hand, not even a human hand. It was what she needed now, she supposed, but not herself. Ignore that! She imagined that the appendage held within it a device that caused sleep. She had used such devices. This sleep would be so deep and lasting, however, that those caught in it could not wake; could not wake and could not form or keep any intention whatsoever.
The fibers spun, troubled. She felt them roiling inside her. Her will moved them, but there was another will, close and manifest, the will that had created the device, the will that had not been able to use it. She insisted, using the last of her strength in the effort. What little remained of that other will was diffuse, strained, indifferent. It had no strength. It had no determination. It was passing away. It had gone. Fringe’s will burned hot. It did
