made a rumbling sound. “Intrrrud-errrs!”
“And you came—?”
“Seek-k help-p.”
Bandicut shook his head. “I don’t understand. What can we do to help? We don’t even know where your world is.”
Ed rumbled again, but the sound was softer, and Ed was becoming thinner under Bandicut’s hand. “Neeed-d help-p.” And then he twinkled and vanished.
Bandicut straightened up, blinking. He rubbed his tingling hand. “Did you all see—?”
“Ed is gone,” Antares said quietly. “I no longer feel his presence.”
“That’s because it— he —whatever—was making a stretch to become visible here, and he couldn’t do it for long,” Li-Jared said, blinking like an owl.
A pale column of light appeared, and turned into Jeaves. “Your suppositions are correct. Now that you’ve met Ed-gone-to-get-help, you probably have even more questions. May I try to explain?”
Bandicut drew a deep breath. “All right. Let’s have it.”
The robot’s gaze took in each of the company. “Please sit.” Jeaves gestured, and behind them, a glint of blue light expanded horizontally, then vanished. In its place was a flat bench. “Let’s start with the long view...”
*
Jeaves displayed Starmaker, the Orion Nebula, overhead. “Under any circumstances, a stellar nursery is a dangerous place. The birth of a star releases enough energy and radiation to destroy just about any inhabited world in the vicinity. Of course, there usually aren’t civilizations in stellar nurseries—not by your standards, where biolife such as you would have evolved. Ed’s world may be exceptional; we think it is located in the Starmaker Nebula. But it is apparently in grave danger.”
“Is that why you got involved with the nebula?” Bandicut asked.
“Not initially. Long before we encountered Ed, or started experiencing hypergrav disturbances here, we knew that something out there was killing stars. It was happening deeper in the galaxy, and has been marching steadily outward.”
“Killing stars?” Antares echoed. “How can you kill a star? And what’s killing them?”
“We don’t know. But when you kill a star in a nursery like this—well, let me show you.” The image changed slightly. “This is a recording made about three hundred years ago.” Jeaves’s pointer moved to the edge of the nebula, where a star suddenly flared to a brilliance that turned the sky to daytime.
“Hrahh, supernova,” murmured Ik.
“Exactly. A young star named Blue Hope died, hundreds of millions of years before its time. And then—” Jeaves pointed out smaller, cascading explosions “—it took several other stars with it. And who knows how many planets with fledgling life, in outlying areas.”
Antares squinted in puzzlement. “You speak of the stars as if they were...uhll...what exactly do you mean by...star life ?”
“What do I—?” Jeaves’s gaze flickered for a moment. “Oh, dear. You know, don’t you—that stars, most of them, are living beings?”
Antares shook her head.
Jeaves’s gaze swept the company. “Living—sentient—?”
“Okay, hold on,” Bandicut said. “Just wait a minute, okay?” He looked around at the others, then back at Jeaves. “Are you saying, sentient, like thinking ? Like we could communicate with a star?”
Jeaves seemed to consider his words carefully. “In principle, yes. Communication would be very difficult. However, I myself did once, under most extreme circumstances, brush the living thought of a star. It was an astonishing experience.”
Air hissed from Antares’s lips, as Bandicut whispered to the quarx, /I feel you twitching, Charlie. Do you know something about this?/ Was he about to tap into the crazy-quilt of the quarxian memory? Charlie/Charlene existed in a series of brief, closely connected
“And you came—?”
“Seek-k help-p.”
Bandicut shook his head. “I don’t understand. What can we do to help? We don’t even know where your world is.”
Ed rumbled again, but the sound was softer, and Ed was becoming thinner under Bandicut’s hand. “Neeed-d help-p.” And then he twinkled and vanished.
Bandicut straightened up, blinking. He rubbed his tingling hand. “Did you all see—?”
“Ed is gone,” Antares said quietly. “I no longer feel his presence.”
“That’s because it— he —whatever—was making a stretch to become visible here, and he couldn’t do it for long,” Li-Jared said, blinking like an owl.
A pale column of light appeared, and turned into Jeaves. “Your suppositions are correct. Now that you’ve met Ed-gone-to-get-help, you probably have even more questions. May I try to explain?”
Bandicut drew a deep breath. “All right. Let’s have it.”
The robot’s gaze took in each of the company. “Please sit.” Jeaves gestured, and behind them, a glint of blue light expanded horizontally, then vanished. In its place was a flat bench. “Let’s start with the long view...”
*
Jeaves displayed Starmaker, the Orion Nebula, overhead. “Under any circumstances, a stellar nursery is a dangerous place. The birth of a star releases enough energy and radiation to destroy just about any inhabited world in the vicinity. Of course, there usually aren’t civilizations in stellar nurseries—not by your standards, where biolife such as you would have evolved. Ed’s world may be exceptional; we think it is located in the Starmaker Nebula. But it is apparently in grave danger.”
“Is that why you got involved with the nebula?” Bandicut asked.
“Not initially. Long before we encountered Ed, or started experiencing hypergrav disturbances here, we knew that something out there was killing stars. It was happening deeper in the galaxy, and has been marching steadily outward.”
“Killing stars?” Antares echoed. “How can you kill a star? And what’s killing them?”
“We don’t know. But when you kill a star in a nursery like this—well, let me show you.” The image changed slightly. “This is a recording made about three hundred years ago.” Jeaves’s pointer moved to the edge of the nebula, where a star suddenly flared to a brilliance that turned the sky to daytime.
“Hrahh, supernova,” murmured Ik.
“Exactly. A young star named Blue Hope died, hundreds of millions of years before its time. And then—” Jeaves pointed out smaller, cascading explosions “—it took several other stars with it. And who knows how many planets with fledgling life, in outlying areas.”
Antares squinted in puzzlement. “You speak of the stars as if they were...uhll...what exactly do you mean by...star life ?”
“What do I—?” Jeaves’s gaze flickered for a moment. “Oh, dear. You know, don’t you—that stars, most of them, are living beings?”
Antares shook her head.
Jeaves’s gaze swept the company. “Living—sentient—?”
“Okay, hold on,” Bandicut said. “Just wait a minute, okay?” He looked around at the others, then back at Jeaves. “Are you saying, sentient, like thinking ? Like we could communicate with a star?”
Jeaves seemed to consider his words carefully. “In principle, yes. Communication would be very difficult. However, I myself did once, under most extreme circumstances, brush the living thought of a star. It was an astonishing experience.”
Air hissed from Antares’s lips, as Bandicut whispered to the quarx, /I feel you twitching, Charlie. Do you know something about this?/ Was he about to tap into the crazy-quilt of the quarxian memory? Charlie/Charlene existed in a series of brief, closely connected
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