Ash offered his companion’s name. Which wasn’t a word, but a smell. Each 31-1 had a distinct, birth-given odor never replicated by others, and Ash released the odor twice, for emphasis. Then he said, “This is my reason. Your body is more likely than most to exist outside this habitat.”
A truth, yes. The alien’s mind and the front leg agreed with Ash.
“And your memory isn’t your only talent,” the human continued. “Those eyes see much more than my two light-eating pits.”
Praise for the obvious wasn’t praise. Yet the creature was quite pleased with the words.
“I will pay you,” Ash said. “I need to show you a certain face, and then you’ll go out into the Ship and look for that face.”
“The Ship is rather large,” his friend mentioned.
Not only was the Great Ship bigger than worlds, it was full of vast caves and tunnels and oceans and wilderness.
“I can narrow down the possible universes. Because I know where he lives.”
“This is a human face?”
“Very much so, yes.”
The alien applied what he knew about the tea-drinking creature. “Is this human face attractive?”
“Some would find him quite handsome, yes.”
The silence stretched out while the 31-1 imagined a breeding tale about his friend and this unknown human. At least that’s what Ash assumed. Despite experience and this very sophisticated equipment, he still lacked the power to see anyone’s detailed thoughts.
Perhaps that magic always would be impossible.
“No,” said Ash. “The situation isn’t what you imagine.”
“I’m imagining quite a lot,” the alien warned.
The fire was growing quickly, but Ash didn’t like its shape. That’s why he shoved both hands into the flames, burning his fingers while he restacked the white and red coals.
“What is the truth?”
“The man happens to be lovely, but that doesn’t matter,” Ash said. “He recently arrived on the Great Ship, and his only purpose is to find me. My sources have warned me about that. And his business is very simple.”
The alien’s front leg stiffened.
“He wants to kill me,” said Ash, charred fingers hanging the pot and water on a convenient hook. “My death is the singular focus of his life.”
“You want me to find him,” the alien said.
“Yes.”
“And study his motions?”
His friend was a remarkable 31-1. Just mentioning the possibility of motion proved that much.
“No,” said Ash. “What I want is for you to deliver a message. ‘The man you want is ready to die for his crimes.’”
There was a pause. Then his friend said, “Death is impossible.”
“So you claim.”
The alien was odd among the 31-1s. But the obvious still needed to be shared. “There are countless realms where we do not exist. Does that mean we are dead? No, that’s nonexistence. But there are also countless realities where we are eternal, free of seconds and free of every fear.”
What a horrible, dangerous notion, thought Ash.
Watching the old copper pot, and wishing his tea would hurry. Just a little faster, please.
The human made ten thousand teas across the Ship, and the same human had also just arrived inside the World. Which was not the genuine World. This was a carefully sculpted room buried inside a starship found empty and claimed by humans as their own possession. Owning the Great Ship meant humans were a fabulously wealthy species, but this single man owned little. The 31-1s paid quite a lot to live under this false, convincing sky, and this human gave the 31-1s most of his meager funds for the privilege of sharing their home.
The human’s scent meant nothing.
“Ash,” was the simple sound worn on all occasions. And it was a useless sound before the 31-1 purchased a translator wise enough to interpret both languages. Unfortunately, not every word could be made into its perfect reflection. That limitation was noticed early on. “Early on.” There. The concept of time insisted on finding its way into conversation and into his thoughts, and the largest surprise was how impossible thoughts gave this 31-1 so much pleasure.
“Ash is the residue of fire,” the 31-1 declared.
“I certainly am,” the human agreed. Then he laughed, although his companion didn’t yet understand that sound or the expression on the face.
In another reality, perhaps. But not now.
“Now,” he said.
“What did you say?” asked Ash.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. My translator is cheap and foolish.”
The false World was one deep canyon and a very steep river with glass roadways strung between homes and the public places. The native plants were dark gray and unlovely, resembling fans and walls and other efficient, sun-obsessed shapes. The larger animals were proteinaceous jewels riding an odd number of legs, and like the 31-1s, their physiologies made them immune to normal aging and normal instincts. And there were always a few alien visitors who paid to see the oddness and stare at the illusionary sun. And there was a point on the river where a human and the cold water would end up touching.
In a sequence of realities, Ash’s hands went into the river and out again, and some of what he caught found its way to his mouth.
“Delicious,” the human declared.
It was pleasure hearing your water praised. Was that true for every other species?
“I’m here to learn,” the human said.
“About my kind,” the 31-1 guessed.
“Everything is interesting,” Ash claimed. “Your species, yes. And in particular, those exceptional minds.”
Fresh praise, another pleasure.
“I’ve heard explanations,” Ash said. “But maybe your answer is different. So I’m asking. What does the name ‘31-1’ mean?”
Nobody asked this question. This was a silly question with only one answer. The 31-1’s nervous system was robust and swift, its physiology close to unique. Thirty-one redundant singholes lay inside that long, spectacular body. Each singhole existed for no purpose but remembering everything. And in his center, perfectly meshed with those relentless memories, was a mind that took the smallest question seriously.
Wishing to be generous, the 31-1 began to explain that simple name.
But Ash was ignoring him, his two tiny eyes watching a screen held in his two ridiculous hands.
The 31-1 interrupted himself. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Almost nothing,” said the human. The screen was dropped, and he looked up at a great face covered with jeweled eyes and jeweled teeth. “There’s no such creature as ‘happens,’ and actions are not possible. I know what we are. We’re matter and energy arranged in a sequence of fixed existences, and events are the products of illusion. The same way that time is an illusion.”
“I don’t believe you,” said the 31-1.
The screen changed colors, yet the human continued staring at the creature standing before him.
“Your species is quite stubborn when it comes to time and motion,” the 31-1 continued. “Freedom from time isn’t your opinion, but it is mine. No seconds, no strides. This is where I exist, because this is my place, where I belong, and I am glad for all of it.”