Sitting at my desk in my quarters, I dialed the comm address Dr. Merced had given me and waited for it to connect. It rang several times before a synthetic neuter voice came on the line and said, “The party you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after—”
I hung up before the tone. I hadn’t prepared to leave a voicemail message, but I should have realized that having Leviathan’s private access code was no guarantee that she would actually answer when I called. So I spent a good ten minutes writing out the message I would leave her on voicemail.
Satisfied that I had something that expressed my position firmly yet respectfully, I dialed the number again.
After two rings, a bass voice answered, “Who are you?”
Startled because I had expected the voicemail again, I stumbled over my words. “I’m . . . this is President Malan, of the Church . . . of the Sol Central Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Dr. Merced gave me this comm address so I could talk to you about one of my . . . a swale member of my branch.” Uncertain because the bass voice didn’t strike me as particularly female, I added, “Are you Leviathan?”
“Religions interest me not.” Her voice synthesis was good enough that I could hear the dismissiveness in her tone.
“Are you interested in the rights of swales in general?” I asked.
“No. The lesser concern me not.”
I could feel all my carefully laid-out arguments slipping away from me. How could I have even thought to relate to a being with no consideration for the rights of lesser members of her own species?
Before I could think through a response, I blurted out, “Do the greater concern you?”
During several long seconds of silence, I thought I had offended Leviathan to the point that she had hung up on me. Dr. Merced would be annoyed.
When her voice returned, it almost thundered from the speakers. “Who is greater than I?”
This had not been part of my planned approach, but at least she was still talking to me. Maybe if I could get her to understand that she would not like being manhandled—swale-handled—by larger swales, I could convince her of the need to respect the rights of smaller swales.
“From what I understand, swales get larger with age,” I said. “So wouldn’t your parents be larger than you?”
“I have no parents. None is older than I; none is larger; none is greater. I am the source from which all others came.”
Stunned, I was silent for a few seconds before I could ask, “You are the original swale?” Since they didn’t seem to die of old age, it just might be true.
“I am the original life. Before there was life on any planet, I was. After eons alone I grew into a swale, then gave life to others. Where was your God when I was creating them?”
A verse from the book of Job sprang to my mind: Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding.
Nothing in my research had prepared me for this. Speculation about the evolution of swales generally assumed that swales were descended from less complex plasma beings in another star, since no simpler forms had been found in the Sun. But if what Leviathan claimed was true, there were no simpler forms—she had evolved as a single being.
I was out of my depth and but shook my head to clear my thinking. All this was beside the point. “What matters is that Neu—” I caught myself before breaking confidentiality. “One of my swale church members believes in a God who has commanded against sexual activity outside of marriage. It just isn’t right for larger swales to force smaller ones to have sex. I appeal to you as the first and greatest of the swales: Command your people against coerced sexual activity.”
Seconds of silence ticked away.
“Come to me,” she said. “You and your swale church member.”
The call disconnected.
“‘Come to me’?” Dr. Merced’s voice was incredulous.
“It was pretty much an order,” I said, settling into the chair across from her desk. “I suppose it’s easy enough for swales, but it’s not like I have access to a solar shuttle.” The solcetologists did, so I hoped I could sweet-talk her into giving me a ride.
“Beginner’s luck.” Her tone was exasperated. “I’ve been here five years, and I’ve never had a chance to observe a Class 10 solcetacean up close.” She sighed. “Not that we can directly observe them, anyway, but there’s just something about actually being there, instead of taking readings remotely.”
“Well, now’s your chance,” I said. “Take me to Leviathan.”
“It’s not that easy. Our observation shuttle is booked for projects months in advance.”
“Oh.” There went that idea. How was I supposed—
“Did Leviathan say why she wanted you to go to her?”
“No. Just told me to come, then hung up.”
She pursed her lips, then said, “It’s just very unusual. There isn’t really anything that Leviathan can say to you in person that she can’t say over the comm.”
“I thought about that, and I think it’s size. Maybe she thinks that if my church member sees how small I am compared with Leviathan, it will give up Mormonism.”
“That’s actually a good theory.” Dr. Merced looked at me with apparently newfound respect. “Size does matter to the solcetaceans. And your church members are among the youngest, least powerful, and therefore most likely to be awed into obeying a larger one. And they probably don’t come any larger than Leviathan.”
“According to her, she’s the largest.”
Leaning forward in her seat, Dr. Merced said, “She told you that?”
“Not just that. She claimed to be not only the original swale, but the original plasma life form. She said she became a swale.”
In a tone of amazement, Dr. Merced took the Lord’s name in vain. She reached over to her comm and punched in an address. When a man responded, she said, “Taro, I think you need to come hear this.” Looking at me, she said, “Dr. Sasaki specializes in solcetacean evolutionary theory.”
When Dr. Sasaki, a gray-haired Japanese gentleman, arrived, I relayed to him what Leviathan had told me about her history. When I finished, he said, “It’s not impossible. I always suspected the Class 10s knew more about their origins than they bothered to tell us. But forgive me, Mr. Malan, how do we know Leviathan actually told you she was the original life-form? Why would she choose to tell you and not one of us?” He motioned toward himself and Dr. Merced.
I decided to not be offended at the implication that I was a liar. “I can’t say I know why Leviathan does anything, but . . . You scientists who study the swales have strict rules about interfering with swale culture, and you try to avoid offending them. To me that smacks of condescension—you presume that swale culture is weak and cannot withstand any outside influence. Well, maybe the swales tend to think the same about human culture, so they avoid interference and try not to offend us.”
Dr. Sasaki frowned at me. “I disagree with your interpretation of the motives for our rules regarding interference in solcetacean culture. And I don’t see how it’s relevant.”
“I apparently offended Leviathan.” I glanced at Dr. Merced and said, “Sorry, but I didn’t realize that implying there were swales greater than her would cause offense. Her response was to tell me I was wrong, that there could be no swale greater, and that’s when she explained she was the first. Because I made her angry—something you guys avoid, thanks to rules—Leviathan responded without worrying whether she would offend me or interfere with human culture.”
“How would this information interfere with human culture?” asked Dr. Merced.