Infinity's Shore

The robot descended, its spotlight narrowing to a slender, cutting beam. One by one, straining mulc cables parted under the slashing attack. But it was too little, too late. Something or somebody must already have undermined the muck beneath the ship, for it began sliding into a slimy crypt, gurgling as a muddy slurry poured in through the hatch.

“Found it!” Rety cried, rare happiness invading her voice. She joined Dwer at the door, cradling her reclaimed prize. Her metal bird. Since the first time he laid eyes on it, the thing had gone through a lot of poking and prodding, till it could hardly be mistaken for a real creature anymore, even in dim light. Another damned robot, he thought. The Ifni-cursed thing had caused Dwer more trouble than he could count. Yet to the sooner girl it was an emblem of hope. The first harbinger of freedom in her life.

“Come on,” he muttered. “This wreck is the only shelter hereabouts. The survivors’ll be coming this way. We’ve got to go.”

Rety had only agreeable smiles descending back into the swamp. She followed his every move with the happy compliance of one who had no further need to rebel.

Dwer knew he ought to be pleased, as well. His plan had worked beyond all expectation. Yet his sole emotion was emptiness.

Maybe it’s on account of I’ve been wounded, beat up, exhausted, and starved till I’m too numb to care.

Or else, it’s that I never really enjoyed one part of hunting.

The killing part.

They retreated from both ruined sky boats to the nearest concealing thicket. Dwer was trying to select a good route back to the dunes, when a voice spoke up.

“Hello. I think we ought to talk.”

Dwer was grateful to the mulc spider. He owed it the conversation it desired, and acknowledgment of its might. But, he felt too drained for the mental effort. Not now, he projected. Later, I promise, if I survive the night.

But the voice was persistent. And Dwer soon realized — the words weren’t echoing inside his head, but in the air, with a low, familiar quality and tone. They came from just overhead.

“Hello? Humans in the swamp? Can you hear me?”

Then the voice went muffled, as if the speaker turned aside to address someone else.

“Are you sure this thing is working?” it asked.

Bewildered, and against his better judgment, Dwer found himself answering.

“How the hell should I know what’s working, an’ what ain’t? Who on Jijo are you?”

The words returned more clearly, with evident eagerness.

“Ah! Good. We’re in contact, then. That’s great.”

Dwer finally saw where the words were coming from. Mudfoot squatted just above, having followed to pester him from this new perch. And the noor had his new companion — the one with green eyes.

Rety gasped, and Dwer abruptly realized — the second creature bore a family resemblance to Rety’s bird!

“All right,” Dwer growled, his patience wearing thin with Mudfoot’s endless games. “We’re footprints, unless you tell me what’s goin’ on.”

The creature with green eyes emitted a low, rumbling sound, surprising for one so small. Dwer blinked, startled by the commonplace resonance of a hoonish umble.

“Hr-r-rm … Well, for starters, let me introduce myself.

“The formal name my folks gave me is Hph-wayuo—

“But you can call me Alvin.”

PART SEVEN

A PARABLE

“MASTER,” THE STUDENT ASKED. “The Universe is so complex, surely the Creator could not have used volition alone to set it in motion. In crafting His design, and in commanding the angels to carry out His will, He must have used computers.”

The great savant contemplated this for several spans before replying in the negative.

“You are mistaken. No reality can be modeled completely by a calculating engine that is contained within and partaking of that same reality. God did not use a computer to create the world. He used mathematics.”

The student pondered this wisdom for a long time, then persisted in his argument.

“That may have been the case when it came to envisioning and creating the world, Master — and to foreseeing future consequences in revealed destiny — but what of maintenance? The cosmos is a vast, intricate network of decisions. Choices are made every femtosecond, and living beings win accordingly, or else lose.

“How can the Creator’s assistants carry out these myriad local branchings, unless they use computer models?”

But once again, the great savant turned his gaze away in rebuke.

“It is Ifni, the chief deputy, who decides such things. But she has no need for elaborate tools for deciding local events.

“In the Creator’s name she runs the world by using dice.”

Streakers

Kaa

THE SUBSEA HABITAT FELT CROWDED AS FIVE DOLPHINS gathered before a small holo display, watching a raid unfold in real time. Images of the distant assault were blurry, yet they stirred the heart.