small, ferocious whirlwinds.
Micro-typhoons plunge back and forth, accelerating the obliteration of the jungle.
All the while the Ly-cilph remain steadfast, their adhesive skirts anchoring them to the ground as the air around them fills
with broken fronds and shredded leaves. The nodes, now saturated with their precious heritage, drop off like ripe fruit. They
will lie hidden amongst the grass and roots for another three years.
Nearside is ablaze with potent lightstorms. High above the tattered clouds, the aurora borealis forms a veil across the sky,
a garish mother-of-pearl haze riddled with thousands of long, lurid scintillations, like giant shooting stars. Beyond that,
the conjunction is joined, three moons sliding into alignment, bathed in an eerie trillion-amp phosphorescence. An epicentre
to one of the gas supergiant’s planet-swallowing cyclones.
The particle jet has reached its zenith. The flux tube’s rain of energy penetrates the tormented lower atmosphere. It is embraced
by the Ly-cilph. Their minds consume the power, using it to metamorphose once again. The nodes brought them sentience, the
supergiant’s surplus energy brings them transcendence. They leave the chrysalis of the flesh behind, shooting up the stream
of particles at lightspeed, spacefree and eternal.
The liberated minds swarm above their abandoned world for several days, watching the storms abate, the clouds reform, the
old convection currents return to their familiar courses. The Ly-cilph have achieved incorporeality, but their perspective,
shaped by the formative material existence, remains unchanged. As before, they deem the purpose of their life is experience,
perhaps eventually to be followed by understanding. The difference is that they are no longer restricted to a single world
and brief glimpses of the stars; now the entire universe is laid out before them, they wish to know it all.
They begin to drift away from the odd planet which birthed them, tentatively at first, then with greater boldness, dispersing
like an expanding wave of eager ghosts. One day they will return to this point, all the generations of Ly-cilph that ever
lived. It will not happen while the primary star still burns; they will travel until they meet the boundary of the universe
as it contracts once more, following the galactic su-perclusters as they fall into the reborn dark mass at the centre, the
cosmic egg regathering all it has lost. Then they will be back, congregating around the black star husk, sharing the knowledge
they have brought, searching through it for that elusive ultimate understanding. And after understanding they will know what
lies beyond, and with that a hope of a further switch to yet another level of existence. Possibly the Ly-cilph will be the
only entities to survive the present universe’s final reconfiguration.
But until then they are content to observe and learn. Their very nature precludes them from taking part in the myriad dramas
of life and matter unfolding before their ethereal senses.
Or so they believe.
3
Iasius
had come back to Saturn to die.
Three hundred and fifty thousand kilometres above the gas giant’s wan beige cloudscape the wormhole terminus expanded, and
the voidhawk slipped out into real space. Sensors mounted on the strategic-defence satellites patrolling the gas giant’s designated
starship emergence zone found the infrared glow straight away, as radar waves tickled the hull.
Iasius
hailed the nearest habitat with its affinity, and identified itself. The satellite sensors slid their focus away, resuming
their vigil.
Captain and crew borrowed the bitek starship’s paramount senses to observe the glorious ringed planet outside, whilst all
the time their minds wept with the knowledge of what was to come. They were flying above the gas giant’s sunlit hemisphere,
a nearly full crescent showing. The rings were spread out ahead and two degrees below them,
Micro-typhoons plunge back and forth, accelerating the obliteration of the jungle.
All the while the Ly-cilph remain steadfast, their adhesive skirts anchoring them to the ground as the air around them fills
with broken fronds and shredded leaves. The nodes, now saturated with their precious heritage, drop off like ripe fruit. They
will lie hidden amongst the grass and roots for another three years.
Nearside is ablaze with potent lightstorms. High above the tattered clouds, the aurora borealis forms a veil across the sky,
a garish mother-of-pearl haze riddled with thousands of long, lurid scintillations, like giant shooting stars. Beyond that,
the conjunction is joined, three moons sliding into alignment, bathed in an eerie trillion-amp phosphorescence. An epicentre
to one of the gas supergiant’s planet-swallowing cyclones.
The particle jet has reached its zenith. The flux tube’s rain of energy penetrates the tormented lower atmosphere. It is embraced
by the Ly-cilph. Their minds consume the power, using it to metamorphose once again. The nodes brought them sentience, the
supergiant’s surplus energy brings them transcendence. They leave the chrysalis of the flesh behind, shooting up the stream
of particles at lightspeed, spacefree and eternal.
The liberated minds swarm above their abandoned world for several days, watching the storms abate, the clouds reform, the
old convection currents return to their familiar courses. The Ly-cilph have achieved incorporeality, but their perspective,
shaped by the formative material existence, remains unchanged. As before, they deem the purpose of their life is experience,
perhaps eventually to be followed by understanding. The difference is that they are no longer restricted to a single world
and brief glimpses of the stars; now the entire universe is laid out before them, they wish to know it all.
They begin to drift away from the odd planet which birthed them, tentatively at first, then with greater boldness, dispersing
like an expanding wave of eager ghosts. One day they will return to this point, all the generations of Ly-cilph that ever
lived. It will not happen while the primary star still burns; they will travel until they meet the boundary of the universe
as it contracts once more, following the galactic su-perclusters as they fall into the reborn dark mass at the centre, the
cosmic egg regathering all it has lost. Then they will be back, congregating around the black star husk, sharing the knowledge
they have brought, searching through it for that elusive ultimate understanding. And after understanding they will know what
lies beyond, and with that a hope of a further switch to yet another level of existence. Possibly the Ly-cilph will be the
only entities to survive the present universe’s final reconfiguration.
But until then they are content to observe and learn. Their very nature precludes them from taking part in the myriad dramas
of life and matter unfolding before their ethereal senses.
Or so they believe.
3
Iasius
had come back to Saturn to die.
Three hundred and fifty thousand kilometres above the gas giant’s wan beige cloudscape the wormhole terminus expanded, and
the voidhawk slipped out into real space. Sensors mounted on the strategic-defence satellites patrolling the gas giant’s designated
starship emergence zone found the infrared glow straight away, as radar waves tickled the hull.
Iasius
hailed the nearest habitat with its affinity, and identified itself. The satellite sensors slid their focus away, resuming
their vigil.
Captain and crew borrowed the bitek starship’s paramount senses to observe the glorious ringed planet outside, whilst all
the time their minds wept with the knowledge of what was to come. They were flying above the gas giant’s sunlit hemisphere,
a nearly full crescent showing. The rings were spread out ahead and two degrees below them,
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