Just ahead, Hamish could sense the frigid chill of space. He reached out and, for a moment, he felt as large as a virtual being could possibly be, inside this crystal vessel. Briefly, the hand near the wall seemed as big as the rest of him combined. Perhaps even full life-size-twelve centimeters wide at the palm-pushing toward the inner wall of a “ship” that was itself less than two meters long.
Someday I may stand here and press my hand against that wall when it’s warmed by an alien sun. And on the other side will be a living being. A member of some new race, innocent and promising. Bringing close a hand or feeler or paw of its own.
For some reason, pondering that encounter filled Hamish with as much anticipation as he used to get from fame, or sex, or any conceivable accomplishment. Well, that made a kind of sense…
… but stretching toward the interface took exhausting effort and the space-cold was harsh. He let his hand drop and stumbled back a few paces toward the mist, feeling himself shrink in scale.
Hamish turned to his alien guide.
“Well then? Let’s go find some others.”
91.
He saw it soon.
As they traveled together “forward,” striding toward the bow of this great crystal ship, Hamish glanced past the curved wall and spied a rippling arc that crossed the Milky Way at a steep angle. On one side, the vast spray of stars looked normal, untwinkling, and vastly numerous. (I wonder, have the constellations already changed?) But just ahead of that demarcation the pinpoints seemed to waver just a bit, as if reflecting off the surface of a gently curved pool.
Hamish realized, with a thrill.
It’s the sail!
A great sheet of atom-thin fabric, more than a hundred kilometers wide, intelligently reactive and nearly foolproof, it would accept the propulsive push of human-built lasers, reflecting photons, transferring their momentum to its slender cargo, propelling Hamish and his companions ever faster across the great gulf. And, upon arrival, the sail would turn, using the new sun’s light as a counter force to brake momentum. Whereupon-after many elongated orbits and planetary swings-it would finally guide this crystal ship into the warm hearth-zone where living worlds lay. Bearing a message from Earth to its faraway target.
“We will find more people at the very most forward end of the ship, discussing matters having to do with the sail,” Om said.
While Hamish felt eager to speed the pace, he could sense his companion slowing down a bit, as if suddenly reluctant. When he glanced at Om, the alien pursed those thick, expressive lips.
“I should warn you. This vessel was loaded with some… unconventional personalities. Your leaders ignored our best advice about what type of entities should be added to an emissary crew, in order to maximize their individual chances of survival. I’m afraid some of our crewmates will not last all the way to our far destination.”
But when Hamish pressed for details, the creature lifted a three-pronged hand. “I have already overstepped the bounds of propriety. I just felt that you should be prepared for some… eccentricity.”
Hamish refrained from answering. But inside he knew. If they banned human eccentrics from uploading, I would never have been given a single slot, let alone ten thousand, no matter how popular or famous I was. Diversity is our strength. It will remain so, till we stop being human.
The domelike ceiling was starting to curve more, tapering over in front of them as they kept taking giant strides forward. And soon Hamish made out figures-both human and alien-who stood in clusters near an array of holo tanks, flat screens, and instrumentalities.
Of course. If this is a ship, then there must be a control room. A “bridge.”
Hamish picked up his pace, hurrying toward the group… and soon realized that he had better start getting smaller, too. Of course, the people down there would have reduced their fractal scale factor. How else could they wish into existence things like knobs and levers and screens? Anyway, he couldn’t interact with them as a giant, could he? If those people looked up now, they might only see him as a nebulously man-shaped cloud.
Dropping closer, in both distance and size, he began making out details.
The most colorful creature was something like a hybrid between a human and a bird of paradise-two slim legs and a feminine contour were covered with iridescent down. Shimmering flight feathers hung from slim arms, like the folds of a cape, leading back to a magnificent, curved tail. Even the beak melded gracefully into a face that might be a movie starlet’s. The creature was squawking and gesticulating at a human woman, whose good looks were very ordinary by comparison-a nice figure and glossy brown hair, streaked with stylish gray. She wore a snug T-shirt emblazoned with an eye-emblem, inside a giant letter “Q,” rimmed by a bold statement: YOU MAY SOON BE TYPICAL.
There were others nearby, two more humans and an alien whom he knew he ought to recognize. This ET-bipedal with sleek reddish fur-was almost as famous as the Oldest Member, though its name wouldn’t come to mind.
As he both descended and shrank, Hamish felt a strange sense of power starting to form at his fingertips, as if they now contained some kind of magic. Like before, when he changed his bathrobe into a neat suit of clothes. Ah, yes. Smaller scale meant more could happen at whim. The sensation made him feel tempted to just keep going, diminishing past this fractal level to check out the realms of instant wish-fulfillment.
But I always enjoyed being tall.
Hamish slowed down his approach and turned to Om.
“I know that woman. The rich science junky, Lacey Donaldson-Sander. She seems a lot younger than when she passed away, decades before I…”
Hamish realized that he had no idea how to speak of dates and time. Perhaps the control center could bring him up to speed about such things.
“As do you, my friend,” Om commented.
“Hm, yeah. I guess I do. As for the others. They look familiar. But could you help me, before we land among them? That ET who looks like a crimson otter-”
“You refer to M’m por’lock, I presume. Called by some the Traitor… and by others the Loyalist.”
Hamish nodded. “Oh, yeah. He helped us to develop the Cure, didn’t he?”
Om nodded, noncommittally. But he held out a hand to halt their approach. “It occurs to me, Mr. Brookeman, that you appear to be data blind.”
“Data… oh, you mean walking around not linked to the Mesh by aiware. Well, you know I was an old guy and a bit of a techno-grouch. I hated the eye implants young people were getting, to stay hooked in twenty-four/seven. When I had to walk around using augmented reality, I put on tru-vu goggles, like God intended-”
Hamish blinked.
“I see. You’re saying this place has its own equivalent to the Mesh. And I’m wandering around half blind, unable to simply look up info on people I don’t recognize.” He sighed. “All right then. How do I…”
Om performed a hand-flourish, then held something out to Hamish. A pair of tru-vus. The old-style virtuality goggs that Hamish used to employ, way back then. Well, what do you know.
“Until you figure out how to make your own interface,” the Oldest Member explained.
Hamish slipped them on. At which point, looking back at the people below, he now saw them equipped with name tags.
M’m por’lock
Lacey Donaldson
Birdwoman303
Jovindra Noonien Singh