Infinity's Shore

They had passed Loocen — the moon still glittering with abandoned cities — and accelerated about a million kilometers beyond when the detection officer declared:

“Enemy cruiser leaving atmosphere! Vectoring after swarm number one!”

The spatial schematic showed a speck rising from Jijo, larger and brighter than any other, lumbering to accelerate its titanic mass.

We could outrun you, once, Gillian thought. We still can … for a while.

Even handicapped by the irksome carbon sheathing, Streaker would spend some time increasing the gap between her and the pursuing battleship. Newtonian inertia must drag down the heavier Jophur — that is, until it reached speeds adequate for level-zero hyperdrive.

Then the speed advantage would start to shift. If only a transfer point were nearer. Gillian shook her head, and kept on wishing.

If only Tom and Creideiki were here. They’d get us away without much trouble, I bet. I could retire to sick bay with confidence, treating dolphins for itchy-flake and spending my copious free time contemplating the mysteries of Herbie.

In a moment of decision, she had elected to take along the billion-year-old mummy, despite the high likelihood Streaker would be destroyed in a matter of hours or days. She could not part with the relic, which Tom had fought so hard to snatch from a fleet of ghost ships in the Shallow Cluster — back in those heady days before the whole Civilization of the Five Galaxies seemed to turn against Streaker.

Back when the naive crew expected gratitude for their epochal discovery.

Never surprise a stodgy Galactic, went a Tymbrimi saying. Unless you’re prepared with twelve more surprises in your pocket.

Good advice.

Unfortunately, her supply of tricks was running low. There were, in fact, only a few left.

The Sages

THE LATEST GROUP OF PILGRIMS UNDERSTOOD more now, about the Holy Egg.

More than Drake and Ur-Chown knew, when they first stared at the newly emerged wonder, glowing white-hot from its fiery emergence. Those two famed heroes conspired to exploit the Egg for their own religious and political purposes, declaring it an omen. A harbinger of unity. A god.

Now the sages have printouts provided by the dolphin ship. The report, downloaded from a unit of the Great Galactic Library, calls the Egg—a psi-active geomorph. A phenomenon observed on some life worlds whose tectonic restoration processes are smoothly continuous, where past cycles of occupation and renewal had certain temporal and technologic traits…

Phwhoondau contemplated this as the newly reassembled Council of Sages approached the sacred site, walking, slithering, and rolling toward the place they had all separately been heading when they heard Vubben’s dying call.

In other words, the Egg is a distillation, a condensation of Jijo’s past. All the dross deposited by the Buyur … and those who came before … has combined to contribute patterns.

Patterns that somehow wove their way through magma pressure and volcanic heat.

To the south, these spilled forth chaotically, to become the Spectral Flow. But here, conditions permitted coalescence. A crystalline tip consisting of pure memory and purpose.

At last he understood the puzzle of why every sooner race settled on the Slope, despite initial jealousies and feuds.

We were summoned.

Some said this knowledge would crush the old ways, and Phwhoondau agreed. The former faith — founded in the Sacred Scrolls, then modified by waves of heresy — would never be the same.

The basis of the Commons of Six Races had changed.

But the basis survived.

A re-formed Council of Six entered the scarred canyon circle, where they spent a brief time contemplating the charred remains of their eldest member, a jumble of frail nerves and fibers, plastered against the Egg’s pitted, sooty flank.

They buried Vubben there — the only sage ever so honored. Then began their work.

Others would join them soon. A re-formed council meant re-formed duty.

At last we know what you are, Phwhoondau thought silently, leaning back to regard the Egg’s great curving mass.

But other questions remain. Such as … why?

Rety

THE CONTROLS REFUSED TO RESPOND!

“Come on!” she shouted, slamming the holosim box with the palm of her hand, then jiggling more levers.

Not that Rety had much idea what she’d do if she gained mastery over the decoy vessel. At first, the stunning views of Jijo and space sent her brain reeling. It was all so much bigger than she ever imagined. Since then, she had left the big visual holo turned off, while continuing to fiddle with other panels and displays.

Wisdom preached that she ought to leave the machinery alone … and finally, Rety listened. She forced herself to back away, joining yee at her small stack of supplies, smuggled off the sled when Chuchki wasn’t looking. She stroked her little husband while munching a food-concentrate bar, pondering the situation.