He sensed confusion in the hierarchy of the Qax, but Paul ignored them.
At last the response he was waiting for came. Spectral ships miles wide coasted through the Jovian’s system.
The presence of the antiXeelee might signify to an alert observer that the Xeelee had returned to the cosmos, and — as Paul had hoped — the Xeelee nemesis, the dark matter photino birds, had come to find out what was going on.
Paul, straining, maintained the illusion/substance of the antiXeelee. At length the dark matter ships departed with, as Paul intended, a new purpose.
He relaxed and the antiXeelee outline subsided into the quantum hiss of the Universe.
The photino birds, convinced that the Xeelee might reinvade the Universe from which they had been driven, would abandon their projects and focus their energies on Bolder’s Ring. They’d already set in place long-term mechanisms to destroy the Ring. But now the closure of that gateway had to be accelerated; the Ring must be closed before the Xeelee could use it to return.
…But if the Ring were closed the Qax would be trapped in a dying Universe, their dream of species immortality threatened. So, Paul calculated, the Qax would have to get to the Ring and stop the photino birds from destroying it. With a sense of amusement and fascination he watched the urgent debate of the Qax, data and propositions chattering across all the scales of space and time.
Forgotten, Paul allowed himself to exult. His scheme seemed to be working. If so he had not only afforded the remnants of humanity a chance: he had also changed the species imperatives of two great races.
He slid along the quantum net to his little band of humans.
Across the Universe vast forces began to converge on Bolder’s Ring.
The Friend had returned. And the visions were so vivid she could hardly see.
…A place, unimaginably far away, where a Ring, sparkling and perfect, turned in space; a place where all the starlight was blue…
“Erwal? Are you all right?”
The fantastic pictures overlaid Sura’s concerned face. Erwal rubbed the leathery skin around her eyes. Her sight clouded by other worlds, she clung to comforting fragments of reality: the sound of children’s laughter, the sweet, milky scent of the mummy-cow. “I’m all right. Just a little dizzy, perhaps. I need to sit down…” With Sura’s help she touched the warm, soft wall of the Room and, as if blind, worked her way to the floor and sat down.
…She soared over the vast, tangled Ring; her fingers trembled in the glove-controls…
She opened her eyes, shuddering.
Sura sat down beside her, still holding her hand. “It isn’t just dizziness, is it?”
“…No.” Erwal hesitated, longing to unburden herself. “Sura, I think we have to travel again. Go away from here.”
Sura’s grip tightened. “Brave the snow again? But—”
“No, you don’t understand. In the ship. We have to travel in the ship.”
“But where to?”
Erwal said nothing.
Sura said slowly, “Why do we have to go? I don’t understand. How do you know all this? You’re frightening me, Erwal.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. But I don’t think I can explain. And…” And I’m frightened, too, she told herself. Not by the mysterious visions — not anymore — but by what they represented: a journey the likes of which no human had undertaken for a million years.
She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay here, in the warmth; she didn’t want to face anymore danger and uncertainty. But the visions were powerful, much more so than before; it was as if the Friend were screaming into her face.
The Friend was frightened, she realized suddenly. And what could such a godlike creature be fearful about?
“We have to go,” she said. She could feel Sura’s hand grow stiff in hers. “You think I’m mad, don’t you?” she asked gently.
“No, Erwal, but—”
“For now you’ll have to trust me,” Erwal said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “Look, I’ve been right in the past. About the healing panels, and the food boxes. Haven’t I?”
“…Yes.”
“Well, now I’ll be right again. We’re in great danger. And to escape it we have to go to this other place.” The visions cleared briefly — miraculously — and she was afforded a glimpse of Sura’s wide eyes. “Sura, we’ll be safe in the ship. We’ll be warm and dry.”
Slowly the girl nodded. “It can’t be worse than the snow.”
“That’s right,” Erwal said firmly. “Not as bad as the snow.”
After a time Sura said: “What do you want me to do?”
It took the fattened, slow-moving villagers several days to organize themselves to Erwal’s satisfaction.
Not everyone was willing to come, of course. Some decided to stay behind in the Eight Rooms, unwilling to gamble their security and warmth on Erwal’s unexplained visions. The ship’s food lockers would provision the travelers, and so Sand, the last mummy-cow in the world, was left behind to sustain the rest.
Erwal found it hard to blame the stay-behinds.
After so much hardship together the leave-taking was protracted and difficult, each villager sensing that there would never be a reunion. Erwal stroked the stubby hairs at the root of the mummy-cow’s trunk; huge, absurd tears leaked from Sand’s eyes.
At last it was over. The stay-behinds gathered in the Eighth Room. Arke was among them, and Erwal studied his round face, trying to imagine his future, locked up in these tiny Rooms. The children would grow, of course, and perhaps have children of their own — why not? The bones of the dead would be laid in the snow outside, in rising heaps, and time would pass without incident; until finally the faithful mummy-cow would succumb to age, and the last people would die with her.
Abruptly Erwal felt restless, anxious to depart. Surely the human story was not meant to end like this, with the last of them hiding away in a box.
Arke pushed at the door control; the crystal panel slid across the face of the Eighth Room. The ship was cast free. Erwal’s group gathered in a nervous huddle at the center of the ship’s chamber. Erwal, self-conscious, walked across the cabin to her familiar seat and slipped her hands once more into the magical gloves.
The ship unfurled its night-dark wings. She closed her eyes, feeling a surge of exhilaration. The Friend was with her: the barrage of visions had mercifully ceased, but she could sense his presence, as if he were standing behind her, grave and quiet.
It was time.
She summoned up a memory of the shining Ring—
— the ship quivered—
— and abruptly the Friend flooded her memory-picture with color and detail; determination flowed through her into the gloves and—
— jump—
It was like a stumble, a fall. There were screams behind her. She looked up, startled, at the panel-windows: the pale lines of the Eighth Room had vanished, to be replaced by a ball of fire, vast, red, brooding; flames as big as worlds licked out at the ship and—
— jump—
— and another jolt and the fire was replaced by nothing, nothing at all, and—
— jump—
— there was a tilted disc of color; she saw reds and browns and golds and it was so lovely it made her gasp but—
— jump—
— it was gone and—
— jump — jump — jumpjumpjump…
Images battered against the screens like gaudy snowflakes.
She switched off the screens. The panels emptied and turned silver-gray, and there was a sigh of relief from her companions. But the jumps continued; she could feel them as a soft flutter in her stomach.
Cautiously she withdrew her hands from the gloves, stared at the mittens as if they had betrayed her. She had thought she understood the ship; now she had been humbled, a child at the feet of the adults. She sensed the Friend’s strained reassurance but took little comfort. I hope you know what you’re doing, she thought savagely. Maybe we’re more stupid than you know. Or… more fragile.