"Makers converse in patterns of clicks. I can duplicate it, provided these ones have a remotely similar language, after fifty thousand years. They are unlikely to recognize human sounds as speech, so we can talk normally in their presence."
"One is approaching us, coincidentally," she said. "He has no awareness of us; he is merely on an errand."
"Will he fathom our alien origin?"
"Unlikely. His mind is limited."
The Maker came into view around the bend of the path. He came up to Sphere. They touched antennae. Sphere had none, but Gale projected the impression of the touch, and that seemed to work. It was it seemed merely an acknowledgment of presence and identity, purely routine.
"Ancient dialect," Gale said. "I gather it hasn't changed much in millennia. This is not a thoughtful creature."
She was surprised, having expected more of the fabulous Makers.
Sphere made a pattern of clicks. The Maker responded, then moved around them and went on.
"I asked where we are," Sphere said. "He said he is merely a worker, knowing nothing. That seems to be the case."
"Are you sure this is a Maker world? It seems more like a neglected resort."
"That was definitely a Maker, albeit it an uneducated one. Servant class."
"No machines to perform those chores," Gale said.
"No machines," Sphere agreed. "That is their rationale."
"We need a general source of information, without alerting a savvy Maker to our nature."
"Makers had a long-standing system of knot-records on strings. The patterns of knots recorded weather, crops, and significant events. It was crude compared to the sophistication of machines, but they maintain it to the present on planet Maker. There should be something similar here."
Gale spread her awareness. "Found it. There's one in the capital building of a local city."
"I could read it."
They walked and rolled out of the park at speed, seeking the city. They passed several Makers, who touched antenna routinely but did not pick up on anything unusual. Genius species? Something was wrong.
The city was largely deserted. It consisted of the kind of rack-buildings Havoc had described, with multiple alcoves. But they were largely empty, with only a few occupied. Workers went to those few, bringing supplies and carrying away wastes.
"This is very much like what they have on your origin planet," Gale said.
"Agreement. They seem to have replaced the machines with an ignorant laboring class."
"And largely died out. All these alcoves must have been occupied once."
"Agreement."
No one challenged them in the streets, which was another oddity. They came to the pavilion that housed the knotted strings.
"Outrage," Sphere said. "There is mold growing on the record."
"An interesting species," Gale agreed.
"There should be a proprietor. A caretaker. A recorder. None are present."
"And have not been for years," Gale said.
Sphere approached the strings and ran his projected feelers over them. "This record extends back a thousand years. It is a continuation of records extending back to the time of settlement. It has not been amended in fifty years."
"So maybe it will tell us why they quit keeping records," she said. "My guess is that the worker class replaced the machines, catering to a few elites, who went stale just as the original Makers did. They thought that by avoiding machines they could avoid that trap, but they fell into it anyway."
"This may be the case. I am not pleased."
"Doesn't it solve your problem? These Makers are no threat to you."
"They are hardly worth serving."
"But you must serve them anyway"
"The directive will be issued. A contingent will be sent to establish service on this planet."
"What about you personally? Suppose one of these workers tells you to polish his shoes?"
"Request: that you do not solicit such a request."
Whew! She had him by the metal balls. But her baiting seemed increasingly pointless. She was disappointed in this planet too. What had promised to be a wonderful revelation had fallen entirely flat. "Honored."
"Appreciation."
"Let's try to ascertain what happened to them. Read the strings."
"I am doing so." Indeed, his feelers were playing over the strings with increasing competence. "There was a project, overwhelmingly important, requiring the effort of the full planet. It was due for implementation approximately one to two thousand years ago, after a forty thousand year development. It was to be activated by the Dreamers."
"Question?"
"Lack of understanding. Machines do not dream unless appropriate circuits are implemented. The designation seems meaningless."
"Not to me," Gale said. "Living creatures dream to help organize recent experiences and fix them in memory. But there are also larger dreams: for improvement of the cultural situation, for the accomplishment of planetary benefits.
These Makers evidently refined this to the point of developing an entire class of Dreamers. Their aspiration must have been huge."
"What would such as aspiration be?"
"To stop the machines, for one thing. Maybe they sought to invent a weapon that would forever put you in your place."
"Our place is serving them."
"Some other place," she said wryly. "But it's only a conjecture. Maybe it wasn't a weapon at all, but something else. A way to move planets economically to other galaxies, for example, or a universal language."
"This does not seem sufficient to require such an effort."
"Read the damned record and find out," she snapped.
He moved along the strings. "There is no indication of the nature of the project, only that it was guided by the Dreamers. But at the time when it was supposed to be implemented, the Dreamers faded. They became unresponsive to the ministrations of the Workers, and finally died. New Dreamers took their places, but in time these too faded and died. It was as if some illness took them, though there was nothing physical."
"Interest! They had a really significant project in mind, but the ones at the forefront were getting taken out. Almost as if some other force did not want them to succeed."
"We know of no force in the galaxy that could balk active Makers."
"Other than indolence sponsored by too much machine catering."
"This was not done by machines. Bewilderment."
It was indeed a mystery. "Read more record."
"It continues in this manner. Thousands of Dreamers became hundreds, then tens. Today there are only a few remaining, and they are fading."
"Today being fifty years ago," Gale said. "But we saw it on the way in: workers diligently attending to a very few Dreamers. The plague has not been abated."
"There may be an enemy that strikes at their minds," Sphere said. "A disease of thought."
"That's scary. Such a disease could strike us and you. Anything that thinks above a certain level."
"Agreement. Concern."
Gale sighed. "Sphere, I think we are stuck with each other a while longer. If there is a mutual enemy, we need to ascertain its nature."
"Concurrence. Delay may not be wise."
"Especially if it is contagious. We could be infected already. We dare not go home until we know."
"I do not object to associating personally with you, Glamor Gale. You have evoked in me my first true emotion. But I must report this threat to my superior."
"And get him all riled up about a mere conjecture? Let's try to figure it out first. It may be nothing."
"We must be sure."
"Let's go back to the park and ponder."
"Uncertainty. Delay may not be appropriate."
"I don't want to be out here where anyone can see us. I want privacy."
"Question?"
She played her new card. "So we can have another tryst."
Sphere paused. Gale actually saw the near future paths branching and merging as he considered. She wanted something he found unnecessary but she offered something he desired. As a machine he was accustomed to being entirely rational. She had introduced an irrational element.