Erwal studied the panel. Now she saw that the surface was coated with buildings: they were all about the scale of the Eighth Room, but they came in every shape Erwal could imagine — domes, cubes, pyramids, cylinders and spires — and there were bowls and cup-shaped amphitheaters lying open to the sky. Arcs and loops of cable, fixed to the buildings, lay draped over the landscape, knitting it all together like some immense tapestry.
Nowhere did Erwal see an open space, a single blade of grass. And nowhere did she see any sign of people.
With immense care she bade the ship settle to the top of one of the broader buildings. Sura wanted to climb out and explore — perhaps see what was inside the mysterious buildings — but the ship’s door would not open.
“I think the ship knows what’s best for us,” Erwal said. “Maybe we shouldn’t go outside. It might be too hot — or too cold — or perhaps it’s dangerous for us in some other way we can’t imagine.”
“But it’s so frustrating!”
Erwal frowned. “Well, perhaps there’s something I can do about that.” She slid her hands into her mittens. “Here’s something I found a few days ago. Come and see.”
The panel over the control table showed the blank exterior of a bubble-shaped building; a circular door led to an intriguing — but darkened — interior. Now Erwal moved her thumbs, raised her wrists — and the field of view of the window panel moved forward. It was as if the darkened doorway was approaching.
She felt Sura clutch the back of her chair. The girl said, “Erwal, are we moving?”
“No,” Erwal said slowly. “But the picture is. Do you understand?” She waited nervously for the girl’s reaction. Oddly, of all the miracles Erwal had encountered, she had found this one of the most difficult to absorb. So she was in a craft that traveled through emptiness: well, birds flew through the air, did they not?… And it was well known that humans had once built such crafts as routinely as Damen now built a fire. Even the Friend’s visions were reminiscent of dreams she had endured before, particularly since the final disappearance of Teal. So these phenomena were just extensions of the familiar.
But a window was just a hole in a teepee, with a flap to gum down when the wind rose. Obviously every time you looked through a window you would see the same scene.
The idea that a window, without moving, could show different scenes — so that it was as if she were looking through the eyes of another — was beyond comprehension.
But Sura stared at the unfolding image, eyes empty of wonder. She said: “Very nice. Can you make it go any faster?”
Deflated, Erwal sighed. Maybe she should give up trying to work these things out, and accept the windows, as Sura evidently did, for what they were.
Useful magic.
For the next hour and more they roamed vicariously through the abandoned streets of the city-world. This had obviously once been a world of people — they recognized chairs, bedrooms, tables, all clearly human-sized. But there was no sign of humanity: no pictures on the walls, no decoration anywhere, no curtains or rugs beyond the severely functional. And building after building was filled with huge devices, quite unrecognizable to the two women: vast cylinders lying on their side or pointing through apertures at the sky, and rooms full of gray, coldly anonymous boxes.
Everywhere was darkness and — Erwal felt — coldness. The building-world had been left neat, perfect — not a chair overturned — and quite empty.
Sura, squatting on the floor, wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. “I don’t think I would have liked to have lived here.”
“Nor I.” Erwal wondered about the purpose of all these banks of machines and boxes. The devices lacked the simple, human utility of the lockers she had found on the ship; these machines were brooding, almost threatening. Perhaps this was a world of weapons, of war.
Maybe, she thought, it was just as well they had found this place empty.
“Erwal.” Sura stood gracefully and pointed at the image in the panel; an array of gray boxes was sliding away from them. “What’s happening? Are you moving the image again?”
Erwal held her hands up before her face. “You can see I’m not. Sura, I don’t understand what is happening.” She thrust her hands into the gloves and changed the images in the panels; she looked below, above, to either side of the ship, half-expecting to espy a group of giant machine-men hauling at the ship…
Then she found something.
A tubular curtain, transparent but stained with blue, had fallen all around the ship. Its walls sparkled. The tube reached miles above the surface of the little world, and, looking up it, Erwal could see that it stretched all the way to the ruined Sun-world.
The ship was rising up this tunnel.
Soon the machine-world shrank to a fist-sized ball beneath them.
“Erwal! Do something! Take us away from here! If we crash into the Sun-thing, we’ll be destroyed!”
But Erwal could only clench her mittened fists. “I can’t,” she said softly, staring at the panel. “I can’t do anything. It won’t respond.”
The walls of the tunnel rushed by, a blur now.
A box had closed around Paul.
Of course it was not possible for Paul to be subjected to a simple physical confinement; nevertheless the wave-function world lines which constituted his being — and his link to Sol — were bent to the point of breaking by the immaterial walls around him.
He couldn’t move.
Shock and surprise surged through him. Of all the strange things he had seen in his travels this was the first to endanger him directly. With a startling shift of perspective he realized that he had come to think of himself as a god, an observer, invulnerable, above interference. Now he felt an overpowering urge to retreat into the cave of a simple quasi-human self-model… but if he went that way, madness and terror would surely follow.
Striving for order he set up limited sub-personalities to study his prison. Data began to reach him, and slowly he came to understand.
He was trapped in the focal zone of a radiation of an enormously high frequency. The zone was a sphere only a few feet across; nonlinear effects causing energy to cascade into lower frequencies must have made the zone glow like a jewel. Individual photons darted through the focus like birds, their wavelength a hundred billion billion times smaller than the radius of an electron; the short wavelength implied immense energy, so that each photon was a potent little bullet of energy/mass… in fact, so massive that each photon was almost a quantum black hole. And it was this that was confining him. Black holes cut the world lines of which he was composed; it was as if a corporeal human were confined by a web of a billion burning threads.
So it was an effective cage. The Qax had taken him.
That left one question:
Calm now, he rearranged the data strung along his wave-function components so that the omissions represented by the question were clear and sharp.
He waited. He did not trouble to measure the time.
…The Qax returned.
Paul rapidly assembled a set of multiple attention foci. There was a more coherent feel to the sleet of singularity radiation now; in a systematic fashion the frequencies, phases and paths of the powerful quanta were being modified by their passage through his being. He was being interrogated, he realized: each photon was taking a few more bits of data from him, no doubt for study by his captor. It was a data dump; he was being read as if he were some crude storage device.
He felt no resentment; nor did he try to hide. What was the point? His captor had to be aware already of the little band of humans skimming their crude ship around Sol’s gravity well. His best hope was to let the Qax learn, wait for some kind of feedback.
But he kept his question representations in place.
Slowly he discerned a further evolution in the hail of photons. He spread his awareness as wide as he dared, and, like a man straining to hear distant fragments of conversation, he listened. He caught glimpses of the Qax itself, elusive impressions of something fast, quick-thinking, physically compact; the radiation cage imprisoning him implied a command of the deepest structure of the physical Universe.
…And he heard hatred.
The brutal fact of it was shocking, overpowering. The Qax hated him; it hated him because he was human, and that loathing warped the path of every photon that tore through him. The hatred dominated his captor’s existence and was harnessed to a determination to expunge every trace of humanity from the Universe.
Paul felt awe at the crime that had caused such enmity across a desert of time.
The unequal flow of data continued for an immeasurable period. Then—
A change. The boundary conditions of his photon cage were being altered, so that the region of spacetime which restrained him was translated…
He was being moved.
Now there was another component to the complex rain of photons. Paul strained. There was another individual out there; something huge, vast, stately, with thought processes on timescales of hours, so that its slow speculations rang like gongs… And yet it too was a Qax; there was such a similarity to the structure of Paul’s captor that the giant surely belonged to, or at least originated from, the same species. And still the drizzle of inferred data was not resolved; there were unattributed overtones, like higher harmonics on a violin string.
There were more of them out there, he realized, too many for him to discriminate as individuals, a vast hierarchy of Qax looming over him, inspecting him like immense biologists over some splayed insect. They existed on every imaginable scale of space and time, and yet they remained a single species — scattered, multiply evolved, but still essentially united.
And they all hated him.
The photon cage disappeared.
Freed, Paul felt like a spider whose web has been cut. Rapidly he assessed the few quantum strands which still linked him to Sol, the Ring. Spiderlike, he set to work to build on those threads.
With a small part of him he looked around.
He was no longer in the Solar System. He saw a brown dwarf, a Jovian world ten times the size of Jupiter; it circled a shrunken white star. His focus of awareness orbited a few hundred miles above the planet’s cloud tops. Studying the clouds he saw turbulent cells on all scales, feeding off each other in a great fractal cascade of whirling energy. A massive brown-red spot, a self-organizing island of stability, sailed through the roiling storms.
He mused over the spectacle, puzzled as to why he had been brought here. The energy for all that weather must come from the planet’s interior and its rotation, rather than the wizened star. This monster world was self-contained and complete in itself: it didn’t need the rest of the Universe. In fact, Paul reflected wryly, this world should be safe even from the depredations of the photino birds. While the dark matter foe turned stars to dust this world and billions like it would spin on, a container of massive but purposeless motion, until the energy dissipated by its huge weather systems caused its core to cool, its rotation to grind slowly down. Then at last it would come to rest, its only function being to serve as a gravitational seedbed for a photino bird Ghost world. The planet was harmless, dull and old; even that cloud spot might be older than mankind, he realized—
Again he was being watched.
A vast speculation thrilled through him. The huge Qax he had detected earlier, with thoughts like hours…
It was here. In the spot system. The whole self-organizing complex contained the awareness of a Qax, and it was studying him.
He opened himself. New data trickled into his awareness.
