"I will," Lek said. "We have continued in ignorance too long. We must know the true nature of purple, and its meaning in the scheme of things. We must know why it governs our lives." For this speech Lek switched to Ilgret, the language of incipient-knowledge.
Ilm and the others didn't try to argue, even in the tongue of arguments. They knew that the knowledge was important. Ever since the dawn of time, Lek, Ilm and the others had gathered purple. Now it was time to know the ultimate answers to the universe — what purple was, and what the mound was for.
And of course, there was the Answerer to tell them. Everyone had heard of the Answerer, built by a race not unlike themselves, now long departed.
"Will you ask him anything else?" Dm asked Lek.
"I don't know," Lek said. "Perhaps I'll ask about the stars. There's really nothing else important." Since Lek and his brothers had lived since the dawn of time, they didn't consider death. And since their numbers were always the same, they didn't consider the question of life.
But purple? And the mound?
"I go!" Lek shouted, in the vernacular of decision-to-fact.
"Good fortune!" his brothers shouted back, in the jargon of greatest-friendship.
Lek strode off, leaping from star to star.
Alone on his little planet, Answerer sat, waiting for the
Questioners. Occasionally he mumbled the answers to himself. This was his privilege. He Knew.
But he waited, and the time was neither too long nor too short, for any of the creatures of space to come and ask.
There were eighteen of them, gathered in one place.
"I invoke the rule of eighteen," cried one. And another appeared, who had never before been, born by the rule of eighteen.
"We must go to the Answerer," one cried. "Our lives are governed by the rule of eighteen. Where there are eighteen, there will be nineteen. Why is this so?"
No one could answer.
"Where am I?" asked the newborn nineteenth. One took him aside for instruction.
That left seventeen. A stable number.
"And we must find out," cried another, "Why all places are different, although there is no distance."
That was the problem. One is here. Then one is there. Just like that, no movement, no reason. And yet, without moving, one is in another place.
"The stars are cold," one cried.
"Why?"
"We must go to the Answerer."
For they had heard the legends, knew the tales. "Once there was a race, a good deal like us, and they Knew — and they told Answerer. Then they departed to where there is no place, but much distance."
"How do we get there?" the newborn nineteenth cried, filled now with knowledge.
"We go." And eighteen of them vanished. One was left. Moodily he stared at the tremendous spread of an icy star, then he too vanished.
"Those old legends are true," Morran gasped. "There it is." They had come out of sub-space at the place the legends told of, and before them was a star unlike any other star Morran invented a classification for it, but it didn't matter. There was no other like it.
Swinging around the star was a planet, and this too was unlike any other planet. Morran invented reasons, but they didn't matter. This planet was the only one.
"Strap yourself in, sir," Morran said. "I'll land as gently as I can."
Lek came to Answerer, striding swiftly from star to star. He lifted Answerer in his hand and looked at him.
"So you are Answerer," he said.
"Yes," Answerer said.
"Then tell me," Lek said, settling himself comfortably in a gap between the stars, "Tell me what I am."
"A partiality," Answerer said. "An indication."
"Come now," Lek muttered, his pride hurt. "You can do better than that. Now then. The purpose of my kind is to gather purple, and to build a mound of it. Can you tell me the real meaning of this?"
"Your question is without meaning," Answerer said. He knew what purple actually was, and what the mound was for. But the explanation was concealed in a greater explanation. Without this, Lek's question was inexplicable, and Lek had failed to ask the real question.
Lek asked other questions, and Answerer was unable to answer them. Lek viewed things through his specialized eyes, extracted a part of the truth and refused to see more. How to tell a blind man the sensation of green?
Answerer didn't try. He wasn't supposed to.
Finally, Lek emitted a scornful laugh. One of his little stepping-stones flared at the sound, then faded back to its usual intensity.
Lek departed, striding swiftly across the stars.
Answerer knew. But he had to be asked the proper questions first. He pondered this limitation, gazing at the stars which were neither large nor small, but exactly the right size.
The proper questions. The race which built Answerer should have taken that into account, Answerer thought. They should have made some allowance for semantic nonsense, allowed him to attempt an unravelling.
Answerer contented himself with muttering the answers to himself.
Eighteen creatures came to Answerer, neither walking nor flying, but simply appearing. Shivering in the cold glare of the stars, they gazed up at the massiveness of Answerer.
"If there is no distance," one asked, "Then how can things be in other places?"
Answerer knew what distance was, and what places were. But he couldn't answer the question. There was distance, but not as these creatures saw it. And there were places, but in a different fashion from that which the creatures expected.
"Rephrase the question," Answer said hopefully.
"Why are we short here," one asked, "And long over there? Why are we fat over there, and short here? Why are the stars cold?"
Answerer knew all things. He knew why stars were cold, but he couldn't explain it in terms of stars or coldness.
"Why," another asked, "Is there a rule of eighteen? Why, when eighteen gather, is another produced?"
But of course the answer was part of another, greater question, which hadn't been asked.
Another was produced by the rule of eighteen, and the nineteen creatures vanished.
Answerer mumbled the right questions to himself, and answered them.
"We made it," Morran said. "Well, well." He patted Lingman on the shoulder — lightly, because Lingman might fall apart.
The old biologist was tired. His face was sunken, yellow, lined. Already the mark of the skull was showing in his prominent yellow teeth, his small, flat nose, his exposed cheekbones. The matrix was showing through.
"Let's get on," Lingman said. He didn't want to waste any time. He didn't have any time to waste.
Helmeted, they walked along the little path.
"Not so fast," Lingman murmured.
"Right," Morran said. They walked together, along the dark path of the planet that was different from all other planets, soaring alone around a sun different from all other suns.
"Up here," Morran said. The legends were explicit. A path, leading to stone steps. Stone steps to a courtyard. And then — the Answerer!
To them, Answerer looked like a white screen set in a wall. To their eyes, Answerer was very simple.
Lingman clasped his shaking hands together. This was the culmination of a lifetime's work, financing, arguing, ferreting bits of legend, ending here, now.
"Remember," he said to Morran, "We will be shocked. The truth will be like nothing we have imagined."
"I'm ready," Morran said, his eyes rapturous.
"Very well. Answerer," Lingman said, in his thin little voice, "What is life?"
A voice spoke in their heads. "The question has no meaning. By 'life' the Questioner is referring to a partial phenomenon, inexplicable except in terms of its whole."
"Of what is life a part?" Lingman asked.