Diaspora

The polis returned to the singularity in order to cut communications time lags to a minimum. There was some talk in Poincare C-Z of quarantining themselves from the "infected" second-macrosphere clone, though this made no sense to Paolo; the Contingency Handler had infiltrated the polis by physical manipulation of the hardware on a molecular level, and no mere software sent back through the singularity would be capable of any such feat. But Paolo was happy enough to let the faction reason their way out of paranoia in their own good time; he could interact with Poincare C-Z as easily as if he was there in person, so he felt no great desire to cross back.

The message itself had passed through; he wasn't needed. The moment an independent check of the Handler's infinite-dimensional Kozuch Theory (carried out in the uncorrupted Poincare polis) had confirmed its perfect fit to the Lac G-1 data and generated the same dire predictions for the core, Orlando had left by maser to spread the news in person, merging with his Swift self along the way. The entire Diaspora, gleisners included, lay within 250 light years of Swift, so unless they were very unlucky with the timing of another singularity slip, everyone would have the chance to escape. If they didn't trust the near-omnipotent Star Striders, as the Handler's creators had come to he called, they could always remain in the first macrosphere. Paolo had no doubt that between Orlando and the Swift versions of Yatima and Karpal, the case would he put forcefully enough to persuade anyone who hadn't lost touch with the physical world entirely. Even the sequence of the Orphean carpets could be brought through, and re-seeded on another world.

It was the best they could have hoped for, but Paolo felt frustrated, ashamed, superfluous. He knew he'd willfully denied the meaning of the Transmuters' map because of Lacerta—because he'd been tired of measuring everything against Orlando's suffering and Orlando's loss. Even on Poincare, it was Orlando who'd made the sacrifice that opened the way to the second macrosphere; Paolo had merely stepped through the singularity, and the truth had fallen into his hands without cost. And now he faced spending the next five hundred years waiting for Orlando to return in triumph, leading the whole Coalition to safety.

The Handler told Paolo about the galaxy's six thousand civilizations. There were organic creatures of various biochemistries and body plans, as well as software running in polises and robots, and a spectrum of unclassifiable hybrids. Some were natives of the second macrosphere, some were from as far away as the Star Striders. Twelve had been born in the Milky Way, and either read the Transmuters' message and followed their path, or reached the same conclusions and invented the same technology themselves.

So there was an abundance of possibilities to contemplate, here, as models for the Coalition's future evolution. If the right protocols were followed, most of these cultures would he open to some form of contact with the newcomers, hopelessly backward as they were.

But the Transmuters had not stayed. They'd entered this universe after the Star Striders, spoken with them briefly, then moved on.

When Paolo heard of Yatima's plan, he went straight to Elena. Her current homescape was a verdant jungle on a tide-locked moon of an imaginary gas giant. The banded planet filled a third of the sky.

She said, "Why? Why follow them? There are people with the same technology here. People with as long a history. Out of six thousand cultures, what's so special about the Transmuters?"

"They weren't just fleeing the core burst. They wanted to do more than escape."

Elena gave him a try-harder look. "Most of the people here have nothing to do with the core burst. There are more than a thousand cultures native to this galaxy."

"And they'll all be here when I get back. Will you come with me?" Paolo met her eyes, imploringly.

She laughed. "Why should I go with you? You don't even know why you're going yourself."

They argued for kilotau. They made love, but it changed nothing. Paolo felt her tolerant bemusement firsthand, and she understood his restlessness. But it did not draw them closer.

Paolo brushed the dew from his skin. "Can I hold you in my mind? Just below sentience? Just to keep me sane?"

Elena sighed with mock wistfulness. "Of course, my love! Take a lock of my mind on your journey, and I'll carry a lock of yours on mine."

"Your journey?"

"There are six thousand cultures here, Paolo. I'm not going to hang around the singularity for five hundred years, waiting for the rest of the Diaspora to catch up."

"Then be careful."

Six thousand cultures. And he wouldn't have to lose her. For an instant, Paolo almost changed his mind.

Elena replied placidly, self-contained. "I will."

20

INVARIANCE

Yatima-Venetti polis, UN*