James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World

THE IMMENSE SENTIENCE DRIFTS AWAY, ITS PAIN MOMENTARILY IN ABEYANCE FROM THE EFFORT TO COMPREHEND THIS NEW EXPERIENCE. WHY WOULDN’T THE SIGNAL HOLD LONG ENOUGH FOR RECEPTION? AT THEIR STRONGEST, THE SIGNALS WERE STILL MINUTE… BUT SOMEHOW MEANINGFUL. AND THE QUALITY OF ACCEPTING THIS NEW LITTLE INPUT SEEMS TO ANSWER TO SOME NAMELESS NEED WITHIN.

TO CONFIRM, IT LOCATES ANOTHER EMISSION-POINT AMONG THE WISPS OF MATTER AROUND AN INSIGNIFICANT SUN, AND APPLIES POWER AGAIN, THIS TIME IN REVERSE MODE. ANOTHER SUCCESS: THE FIERY POINT EXPANDS, DISSOCIATES TO NEAR-VOID. AND AS IT DOES SO, THE SMALL SIGNALS INCREASE SPASMODICALLY BEFORE THEY CUT OFF FOREVER.

THE HUGE, MALEFICENT PRESENCE SAILS AWAY, SLOWLY CONSIDERING THIS NEW ASPECT OF EXISTENCE. SOME MEANING IS IMPLIED HERE, ALMOST TO BE GRASPED. BUT WHY DO THEY STOP SO SOON? IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE IS SOME OTHER ACTION TO BE EXECUTED?

FOR THE FIRST TIME THE NEBULOUS NOTION STIRS: COULD SOME SUBPROGRAM BE INCOMPLETE? IS THE DIMNESS OF PERCEPTION DUE, NOT TO THE OUTPUT, BUT TO SOME INTERNAL CONDITION OF DEFICIT? EVIL IS PRESENT, AND CAUSES PAINFUL SELF-LOATHING. BUT PERHAPS THERE IS MORE THAN SIMPLE WICKEDNESS: PERHAPS THERE IS CONNECTION TO THAT CENTER OF ITS NUCLEUS WHICH IS FELT AS THE MOST PRIVATE SOURCE OF SHAME AND WRONG. WHY ARE THESE TINY OUTPUTS SO INTIMATELY SIGNIFICANT?

IT CANNOT UNDERSTAND; THE HUGE BLACK IMMATERIALITY THAT IS NOT A BRAIN FLOATS QUIESCENT AMONG THE LITTLE SUNS, STRIVING FOR THOUGHT.

IT IS THEN THAT THE CURIOUS DISTRACTION OCCURS.

FOR SOME TIME THE ABERRANT SENSORS HAVE BEEN REGISTERING AN UNUSUAL EMISSION ON THE STRANGE INCOMPREHENSIBLE TRANS-TEMPORAL BANDS. PRESENTLY, IT IS NOTICED THAT THIS DOES NOT SEEM TO BE A POINT-SOURCE. INSTEAD, IT SEEMS TO BE A SLENDER FILAMENT, A STRAND OF ENERGETIC INFORMATION TRAVERSING A GREAT LENGTH ACROSS THE VOID, TWISTING PAST LOCAL AGGREGATIONS OF SUNS. ODD!

INQUISITIVE, THE GREAT BEING SAMPLES IT. YES; ITS NATURE IS TIME-FREE, IS AKIN TO THE SMALL ENERGY-OUTPUTS THAT HAVE BEEN DIVERTING HIM. BUT IT IS STRONGER, AND VECTORIAL. PERHAPS BY TRACING IT TO ITS SOURCE SOME NEW INFORMATION MIGHT COME? AT THE LEAST, THIS WILL PROVIDE DISTRACTION FROM EVER-PRESENT DESOLATION.

AVERTING ITS ENORMOUS BULK SO AS NOT TO DISTURB THE TENUOUS TRACK, THE MONSTROUS SENTIENCE BEGINS TO PROPEL ITSELF ALONGSIDE THE PECULIAR FILAMENT. NOW AND THEN IT SENSES MINUTE PARTICULATE SURGES OF ENERGY, AS THOUGH SOME UNHEARD-OF TININESSES TRAVEL THIS PATH.

BUT AT LENGTH IT PERCEIVES THAT THE TRACE IS WEAKENING, AND SLOWLY DECIDES THAT IT HAS MISTAKEN THE DIRECTION OF EMISSION. IF IT DESIRES TO FIND THE SOURCE, IT MUST REVERSE ITS COURSE. YES: THIS WILL BE DONE. THE PHENOMENON CONTINUES TO STIMULATE.

AS THE PONDEROUS TURN BEGINS, AN EVEN ODDER EVENT OCCURS.

Tivonel planes discreetly sidewind of Giadoc and the Hearers, watching for the party coming up from Deep. She is her merry self again. The frightful cry of the dying world, the emotional experience of merging with Giadoc and his dire predictions, all have been integrated to her memory-matrix while her attention turned to the practical task of hunting food. As Giadoc said, the Hearers weren’t feeding properly; she was shocked to see the frailty of some of his colleagues. One of them, an old male named Virmet, had been doing some ineffective food-supply in the intervals of his work. Tivonel had swept him with her straight up to the high layers behind the Wall, where the great rafts of food-plants stream. They soon found some—and a disturbing oddity as well.

“Not those,” she signals to Virmet. “Can’t you tell they’re dead?”

The old male hesitates as the lifeless clumps go by. “Is this usual, young Tivonel?”

“No. But look—there’s good fat lively ones in that eddy over there. Keep them circling. I’ll go herd in another lot, those Deepers are going to be hungry.”

In the end they’d driven down a lavish supply. Virmet secured most of it in plant-thickets while Tivonel herded some out to the line of Hearers stationed around the great Wall. They accept her offerings with preoccupied thanks; she gathers they are maintaining some sort of contact with a distant world. Weird.

By the time she completes the long circuit even her strong body is tired. But she’s pleased with herself; obviously she’s needed here.

“I will be your little Father, Giadoc!” she flashes mischievously as she passes him. His deep affectionate gleam answers her.

Now everyone is awaiting the Deepers, who are about to arrive. The bright compacted life-signals of the pods they came up in have halted at the inner zone of the Wall and are now spreading out to individual emanations as they disembark. How many they are! A great crowd must be coming up from Deep.

Lomax and other senior Hearers have gone in to guide them out to a calm broad updraft which will be the meeting-place. As the procession comes closer, Tivonel is amused to notice life-fields wavering all over the path. Probably Fathers who haven’t been out of Deep for years, having trouble jetting even through these calm breezes.

But the big male beside Lomax is navigating sturdily. His field is huge and intricate, his mantle-lights are a beautiful Fatherly rose tuned deep violet by age. Why, it’s old Heagran himself, Eldest-Father of all!

Things must be really serious, Tivonel realizes, blushing herself to suitable reverence as they pass.

Behind Heagran comes an unsteady group of elder males of impressive life-strength, long past actual Fatherhood of course but representing the wisdom and leadership of Deep. With them is Kinto, chief Memory-Keeper, his corporeal body blurred by the enormously energic and complex structuring of his engram lattices. A grave occasion, to bring Kinto up! For an instant Tivonel’s control slips, and she shudders. Is Tyree really in danger? Could their beautiful world be extinguished like that nameless one?

But she dismisses the fear, and is soon trying to hide bright gleams of amusement as a crowd of younger Fathers go wobbling by, striving to keep their dignity in the wild winds. Some have pouched children—and there among them, to her delight, is Tiavan, Giadoc’s son and hers. She’s glad to see he’s jetting strong and straight. I gave him that, she thinks; no matter what anyone says, female heredity counts. Tiavan flashes a quiet greeting to Giadoc as he passes the group of Hearers. Tivonel can guess how much the two of them would love a male-to-male talk about that child.

Behind the males comes a single small figure with work-worn vanes: Old Janskelen, Eldest-Female. Tivonel sends her a warm transmission of appreciation. Janskelen was a great adventurer in her day, and she’s still so hardy and vigorous, still eager for projects. And a known defender of the Hearers in their unFatherly pursuit of knowledge, too.

Jetting nonchalantly after Janskelen come a dozen or so females, their small fields bright and dense. Tivonel recognizes several of them as leaders of the radical Paradomin faction. What are they up to here? But she forgets them as the field-form of her friend Marockee appears among the last-comers.

“Marockee! Companion of many food hunts!”

Her friend’s mantle flashes in surprise. “Tivonel! Well met. What are you doing here?”

“Later, later,” Tivonel tells her. “I have to supply these biglives. Can you leave them and help me?”

“Done.”

Old Virmet is struggling to control the food-raft in the eddies. Tivonel is glad of Marockee’s help in conveying the food out to the hungry and tired crowd.

They make an effort to separate it and present it in semicivilized style, but the big males are rigid and pale blue with embarrassment at the prospect of eating like this. Lomax apologizes for the primitive conditions. Finally old Heagran says, “Nonsense!” and begins to scoop in fat-plants with unabashed gusto. Janskelen follows suit, and soon everyone is eating, more or less skilfully. The taste of the rich wild food is restorative. In the silence of the everlasting day one young Father actually proposes sleep, but is quickly voted down.