Jag did a four-armed Waldahud shrug. 'Ask it.'
'Did you make many galaxies into spirals?'
'Not us. Others.'
'I mean, did others of your kind make many galaxies into spirals?'
'Yes.'
'But why?'
'Have to look at them. Make pretty. Make — make — a thing for expressions not mathematic.'
'Art,' said Keith.
'Art, yes,' said Cat's Eye.
Having left his chair, Jag now dropped down to all fours, the first time Keith had ever seen him do that. 'Gods,' he barked, his voice subdued. 'Gods.'
'Well, it certainly fills that theoretical hole you were talking about,' said Keith. 'It even explains that bit you mentioned about ancient galaxies seeming to rotate faster than theory suggests they should. They were being made to rotate, in order to spin out spiral arms.'
'No, no, no,' barked Jag. 'No, don't you understand? Don't you see? It's not just an esoteric point of galaxy formation that's been explained. We owe them everything — everything!'
The Waldahud took hold of one of the metal legs supporting Keith's console and hauled himself back onto two feet again. 'I told you earlier: Stable genetic molecules would have an almost impossible time existing in a densely packed mass of stars, because of the radiation levels. It's only because our homeworlds exist far from the core, out in the spiral arms, that life was able to arise on them at all. We exist — all the life made out of what we arrogantly refer to as 'regular matter' — all of it exists simply because the dark-matter creatures were playing with stars, swirling them into pretty patterns.'
Thor had turned around to face Jag. 'But — but the biggest galaxies in the universe are ellipticals, not spirals.'
Jag lifted his upper shoulders. 'True. But maybe shaping them is too much work, or too time-consuming. Even with faster-than-light communications — with 'radio-two' it would still take tens of thousands of years for signals to pass from one side of a truly giant elliptical to the other. Maybe that's too much for a group effort. But for mid-sized galaxies like ours and Andromeda — well, every artist has a preferred scale, no? A favorite canvas size, or an affinity for either short stories or novels. Mid-sized galaxies are the medium… and… and we are the message.'
Thor was nodding. 'Jesus, he's right.' He looked at Keith. 'Remember what Cat's Eye said when you asked it why it tried to kill us? 'Make you. Not make you.' My father used to say that, too, when he was angry: 'I brought you into this world, boy, and I can take you out of it.' They know — the darmats know that their activity is what has made our kind of life possible.'
Jag was losing his balance again. He finally gave up, and dropped back to his four hind legs, making him look like a chubby centaur. ''Talk about an ego blow,' he said. 'This one is the biggest of them all. Early on, each of the Commonwealth races had thought its homeworld was the center of the universe. But, of course, they weren't. Then we reasoned that dark matter must exist — and, in a way, that was even more humbling. It meant that not only were we not the center of the universe, we're not even made out of what most of the universe is made from! We are like the scum on a pond's surface daring to think that we are more important than all the vast bulk of water that makes up the pond.
'And now this!' His fur was dancing. 'Remember what Cat's Eye said when you asked it how long ago dark-matter life had first arisen? 'Since the beginning of all the stars combined,' he said. 'Since the beginning of the universe.' ' Keith nodded.
'He said they had to exist that far back — had to!' Jag's fur was rippling. 'I thought it was just a philosophical position, but he's right, of course — life had to exist from the beginning of this universe, or as near to the beginning as physically possible.'
Keith stared at Jag. 'I don't understand.'
'What arrogant fools we are!' said Jag. 'Don't you see? To this day, despite all the humbling lessons the universe has already taught us, we still try to retain a central role in creation. We devise theories of cosmology that say the universe was destined to give rise to us, that it had to evolve life like us. Humans call it the anthropic principle, my people called it the aj-Waldahudigralt principle, but it's all the same thing: the desperate, deep- rooted need to believe that we are significant, that we're important.
'We talk in quantum physics about Schredinger's cat or Teg's kestoor — the idea that everything is just potentialities, just wavefronts, unresolved, until one of us all-important qualified observers lumbers by, has a peek, and, by the process of looking, causes the wavefront to collapse. We actually allowed ourselves to believe that that is how the universe worked — even though we know full well that the universe is many billions of years old, and not one of our races is more than a million.
'Yes,' barked Jag, 'quantum physics demands qualified observers. Yes, intelligence is necessary to determine which possibility becomes reality. But in our arrogance we thought that the universe could work for fifteen billion years without us, and yet that it somehow was geared to give rise to us. Such hubris! The intelligent observers are not us — tiny beings, isolated on a handful of worlds in all the vastness of space. The intelligent observers are the dark-matter creatures.
They have been spinning galaxies into spirals for billions upon billions of years. It is their intellect, their observations, their sentience that drives the universe, that gives quantum potentialities concrete reality. We are nothing — nothing! — but a recent, localized phenomenon — a spot of mold on a universe that doesn't need us, or care that we exist. Cat's Eye was absolutely right when he said we were insignificant. This is their universe — the darmats' universe. They made it, and they made us, too!'
Chapter XXV
Keith sat in his office on deck fourteen, looking over the latest news from Tau Ceti. Reports were sketchy, but on Rehbollo, forces loyal to Queen Trath had put down the insurrection against her, and twenty-seven conspirators had been summarily executed in the traditional method of being drowned in boiling mud.
Keith set down the datapad. The report strained credulity — it was the first he'd heard of any political unrest on Rehbollo.
Still, maybe it was true — although more likely it was just a government desperately trying to distance itself from a disastrous initiative.
A chime sounded, and PHANTOM's voice said, 'Jag Kandaro em-Pelsh is here.'
Keith exhaled. 'Let him in.'
Jag entered and found a polychair. His left eyes were on Keith, but the right pair were scanning the room in the instinctive fight-or-flight pattern. 'I suppose at this juncture,' he said, 'I must fill out some of those forms you humans are so fond of.'
'What forms?' said Keith.
'Forms for resigning my position aboard Starplex, of course. I can no longer serve here.'
Keith rose to his feet, and permitted himself a stretch.
It had to begin somewhere — maturity, the stage after the midlife crisis, peace. It had to begin somewhere.
'Children play with toy soldiers,' said Keith, looking now at Jag. 'Child races play with real ones. Maybe it's time all of us grew up a bit.'
The Waldahud was quiet for a long moment. 'Maybe.'
'We all have loyalties hardwired into our genes,' said Keith. 'I won't push for your resignation.'
'Your comments assume that I am guilty of something. I reject that. But were it true, you still misunderstand. Perhaps… perhaps your people will always misunderstand mine.' Jag paused. 'And the converse, too, of course.' Another pause. 'No, it is time for me to return to Rehbollo.'
'There's a lot of work left to be done here,' said Keith.
'Doubtless so. But the job I set for myself has been completed.'
