And then they said nothing more. Not enough of them were left to make an articulate entity, and then there were none of them alive at all.
In Jen Babylon's mind there was room for just so many wonders, so long a list of concerns. His senses were saturated and his mind full; and yet something new was clamoring for attention. It took him a long moment to realize what it was.
The T'Worlie lay huddled and broken in a corner. Its wings fluttered feebly, and it exuded a sour, sick reek that grated on Babylon's senses.
"What's the matter?" he demanded, reaching out to the sad little shape. It drew away from his touch, and the odor changed to something like a wet seabeach back on Earth. Babylon looked up to Ben Pertin. "Something's wrong with the T'Worlie," he said.
The creature chirped feebly—more the rustle of a dying cricket than its normal bright sound. The Pmals did not respond at all. "He's in bad shape," Pertin said, his face drawn. "I've seen it before. T'Worlie aren't built for this sort of thing."
Babylon shook his head in puzzlement. "There was a lot of commotion," he said, "but I didn't see him get hurt." He stretched out a hand again, and the little creature shuddered.
"Correction," it chirped faintly. "Not hurt. Harmed."
Babylon nodded, thinking he had understood. "Well, hadn't we better get it to medical assistance?" he demanded, staring around the chamber. Most of the nonhu- man beings were gone now, and only Pertin, Babylon, and the T'Worlie were left in the great chamber.
But the T'Worlie fluttered away. "Negative," it stated. "Harm not physical. Healing required not medical."
Pertin put his hand on Babylon's arm. "I told you," he snapped. "They can't handle this sort of violence, intelligent beings destroying one another—"
"I didn't care much for it myself!"
"No. Neither did I. But you and I can survive it, Jen, and I'm not sure Mimmie can." Pertin bent to look more closely at the little batlike being, and the T'Worlie spoke:
"Further correction. Can survive. Have been harmed most gravely. Require therapy."
"Therapy?" Pertin gazed up at Babylon and shook his head to show that he did not know any more than Babylon.
"Confirmation: therapy. Specific techniques necessary: healing constructive analysis and synthesis." The T'Worlie raised itself gently on filmy wings, as if it did not dare put too much strain on them. "Statement: Depart now for therapy. Will return."
The orbiter had become quieter, though wandering bands of beings still roamed its corridors, and Babylon had actually drifted off to sleep for a few moments when the T'Worlie returned. It seemed much more energetic and strong, and responded to Babylon's queries with confidence.
"Have completed therapy," it stated. "Data developed is of value."
"What data?" Babylon demanded, and listened while the T'Worlie explained what it had done.
And that was nothing more or less than to reason out the explanations of many of the mysteries that had perplexed them: The creature had locked itself in with farlink, seeking escape from the pain of seeing life violated on such a catastrophic scale. And it had come away with what it called a healing hypothesis.
"And what is that?" Babylon demanded.
"Hypothesis: Rings are monatomic structures, e.g., single atoms."
"Single atoms?" Babylon repeated, not comprehending.
"Confirmation. Data examined include reported examinations of individual rings and summarized results from all attempted investigations.
"Physical nature of rings has been unknown and perplexing. Observed sections are extremely thin horizontal rods supporting the entire surface structure of Cuckoo. These rods appear mirror-bright, reflecting all incident radiation unchanged. They are frictionless in motion and absolutely hard, unaffected in any observable way by applied forces. They are reported to be magnetic and superconducting—power required for the operation of Cuckoo is believed to be transmitted through them. No natural substance possesses such qualities, and the nature of the rings has remained a riddle, even to farlink."
"But you've solved the riddle?"
"Hypothesis: Rings are atoms—"
"Isn't everything?"
"Question irrelevant until you know hypothesis." A sharp ammonia scent reproved him. "Convergent evidence suggests high probability that each ring is a single atom. The nucleus is not a point but a phenomenon—"
But Babylon could not let him finish. "Did you say a single atom? That's ridiculous. Impossible! There must be something wrong with my Pmal."
"Negative. Translation accurate. Term 'single atom' correct."
"But it can't be!"
A whiff of orange-blossom amusement, fading fast as the still weak T'Worlie whispered, "Correction: Possibility exists. Evidence supports probability. Nucleus not a point but may be described as a phenomenon previously unknown. Term proposed for this is 'nuclear polymer.' Description: a chain of bound quarks maintaining a positive charge that hold a thick electronic sheath surrounding the chain. Such object would be friction-free and indefinitely strong, thus satisfying requirements observed."
Babylon's mind was spinning. He was no physicist, but he knew enough to be shocked at the notion of an atom of stellar size. "Is that possible, Mimmie?"
"Datum: The rings exist. Alternative hypotheses cannot account for them."
"But—" Babylon shook his head, trying to imagine a single atom stretched into a ring capable of orbiting a star. "But what's it made of?"
"Atomic structure of source material irrelevant to hypothesis. Possibly iron, which is a massive and strongly magnetic element, relatively common."
"How—" He blinked. "How could such things be made?"
"Hypothesis presents few clues. The process of creation must have required enormous mass, enormous energies, and the use of technologies ultimately advanced. Probably not explicable in context of known physics."
The T'Worlie fluttered suddenly closer, and he heard shouting and hissing and hooting in the corridor behind him as a last random fragment of the mob straggled across it.
"Forgive me." A whiff of something like ether. "My ethical trauma not yet entirely healed. I require additional intellectual therapy."
It was fluttering away.
"Mimmie, wait!" Babylon hushed his voice. "If you don't realize it, your life's in danger. I think you've really cracked the riddle of Cuckoo. You've got the secret we all came for. A precious secret, if you don't know that—which places you in more than merely mental danger. People— things—will kill you for it, if you aren't very careful."
"You misunderstand the nature of my psychic trauma if you term it merely mental." An ammoniac tang. "You should know that physical danger and physical death have never mattered to my people."
Yet it came back a little toward him.
"If you don't like violence," he muttered, "remember those plotters. Trying to blow up all Cuckoo!"
"If my hypothesis is valid, such plots can be forgotten." Its chirp seemed almost cheerful. "Known evidence indicates numerous past attempts to damage or destroy ring structure, which have always failed. Hypothesis suggests they will always fail."
"If the rings are atoms—" He frowned, trying to grasp that novel reality. "Some atoms aren't stable."
"Ring stability abundantly proven." The T'Worlie flitted closer, with a scent like hot asphalt. "Cuckoo is supported by several billion rings that have functioned for many million years with no evidence of any breakdown."
"Suppose the ring system collided with something?"
"Experiment untried. Hypothesis suggests rings might survive stresses even more extreme. If ring cores do consist of quarks arrayed in linear chain, protected by dense electronic sheath, known physics indicates that it would be literally unbreakable." A breath of oleander. "Superstructures supported by ring system, however, would not survive experiment."