“I suppose I was part of it, for millions of your years,” Om said. “So? Should I repent until eternity? Or shall I atone as best I can-with this new-improved version of myself-by assisting you humans in your sacred mission to help other cultures survive?”
Hamish felt his ersatz eyelids blink several times as he roiled with questions, objections! “But… but…”
“Look,” Om said. “You wanted help. You wished for a guide. Shall I assist you now, and answer your prudish denunciations later? There will be plenty of time, believe me.
“Moreover, let me point out one central fact. That there is no way to go back to Earth and alter the situation. Our probe is dispatched and on its way, beyond any conceivable recall. As you humans say: what’s done is done.”
A pause. Then Hamish sighed with a shrug of his own. And a nod.
“Very well. Then teach me.”
Om bowed with evident satisfaction, giving Hamish a clear view of the breathing vents, puffing like flexible chimneys atop the alien’s bulbous head.
“What would you like to see first, Mr. Brookeman? I will take you. And along the way I shall explain a thing or two about scale.”
90.
Hamish soon realized why he’d been having so much trouble getting anywhere. As one of the institute boffins once explained it, the inner world of crystal probe was limited, yet there were ways to cleverly maximize its sense of roominess. As an inhabitant, you could adjust yourself down to any number of “fractal levels” of size. The smaller you shrank, the more personal space you had. And the greater your freedom to make things happen simply by wanting them to.
The boffins had warned (while ninety-year-old Hamish half slept through tedious briefings) that entities aboard a crystal probe could “die,” vanishing from any future contact with the universe. One way for this to happen was for the simulated being to dive way down the scale ladder, plunging smaller, ever smaller-into realms where wishes and magic reigned, and where you became too small to matter anymore, to anyone back in the “real” world.
That is, unless a new civilization starts dissecting your probe. Or tries building uncontaminated versions. That’s when we discovered hidden ones are always there, tucked inside the atom-by-atom structure of the crystal itself, but able to rise out of deep scale-dormancy, protecting the virus and its self-serving mission.
No wonder it had taken decades to perfect the Cure.
“Let me show you the way,” Oldest Member told Hamish. “Try to follow me.” And he departed… without traveling or even leaving. Instead, Om started growing larger.
Hamish, who had spent most of his life as the tallest person in almost any room, didn’t like the sensation of tilting his head to stare up at a giant. It added to his sense of motivation-wanting to catch up with the alien. If only there were a bottle labeled “drink me.” There’s got to be a trick to it!
Focusing hard on changing his sense of scale-on growing-he found that the secret was more a matter of looking in a certain way. Expecting to see things that you can’t control. Makes sense, he thought as the blob shrank beneath his feet and he began scaling up to follow Om. If going small gives you power to alter everything around you, then getting large entails coming to terms with what you can’t change.
He could see the logic of it all. Tiny beings would have lots of subjective space around them, to erect their ideal homes, virtual companions, games and distractions, while not interfering with any of the crystal vessel’s other official inhabitants. On the other hand, if you choose to grow big enough to interact with other uploaded passengers, then you must accept the same concept that thwarted most humans-as babes and again in adolescence-the harsh fact that other beings may not want the same thing that you do.
Funny perspective though, Hamish thought. Looking down, he still seemed to be in a vast world of cloudy shapes. But lifting his eyes, Hamish began to discern something up-and-ahead… like a dome of dark color, obscured by both distance and a strange mist. Following Om’s lead, he began walking toward that distant dome, while continuing to grow.
Hamish noticed-it was more difficult to move at this scale. His feet now felt a bit heavy and the surface under them somehow stickier. Progress wasn’t exactly hard, but it took some effort, like striding into a stiff breeze. Or being held by gravity.
At last Hamish could make out some of those other figures that had seemed so distant and blurry before. Two humans and a mantislike alien emerged from a fog bank at one point, sparing him a nod of slight greeting as they hurried by, apparently too busy to stop and chat. Hamish felt a little miffed, but shrugged it off.
Minutes later, he spotted a sleek, gray-blue dolphin suddenly pop out of some nearby clouds. Arching and swimming closer, its flukes thrashed at what seemed to be air, yet the creature moved swiftly and energetically, as if the muscular torso and tail were powering their way through water. Two passengers rode atop the cetacean’s slick back, clinging to its dorsal fin. Blinking in surprise, Hamish noted a monkey and what looked like a very large, grinning, cartoon rat.
The monkey pointed and chattered, prompting the dolphin to veer close toward Hamish and Om, swerving at the last moment before speeding off. For an instant, it felt as if a splash-wave of invisible water enveloped Hamish, chill and wet. Dolphin chattered and monkey shrieked as they receded. Even Om chuckled, while Hamish teetered toward outrage… then instead chose mild, wry amusement.
“Good one,” he admitted. It took just moments for that damp illusion to evaporate as the two of them resumed their forward-upward march.
Soon he realized, all the giant glob-clouds had become a fog of infinitesimal droplets and bubbles, collecting and parting in shreds of haze that swirled around. Especially ahead of them, obscuring vision. Hamish leaned forward against the uphill climb and a resisting pressure, eager to reach that dome he had seen, catching an occasional glimpse of sparkles on satin, somewhere ahead…
… until, abruptly, he and Om finally pushed through cloudy shreds. And Hamish sighed.
There they are, at last.
The stars.
What he had taken for a dome was just one sector of a great ceiling-the curved window-interface between a crystal cylinder’s interior and the universe outside.
Space.
A twentieth century man, Hamish had grown up associating the vast realm outside with romance. Adventure. Even though his own tales about
It’s not the interstellar travel we were promised. The warp drives and grand ships and sexy alien princesses. The star battles and empires and utopian colonies and melding of great civilizations, each learning from the others.
This way is both simpler and more practical, while far riskier on an individual basis. Just one of my thousands of copies may actually meet living beings on some far world, helping them to survive and thrive.
Still, it really is interstellar travel.
Wow. I’m a voyager, crossing the galaxy!
“The friction gets more intense as you approach,” Om commented on how hard Hamish found himself working, as he pushed closer to the barrier-so much like a membrane separating the outer world from the living interior of a cell. “And it can be very cold. Unless you approach with the help and companionship of others.”