“There is no way humans would attempt to switch off a barrier. I know the way our governments work. They would have had to fill out eight million forms in triplicate and have the request reviewed by a hundred subcommittees before they were even allowed to read the generator’s instruction manual.”
“They disabled some of the generator functions. I don’t know how. We weren’t paying close attention, and we don’t go whizzing around the galaxy in fancy rocketships to find these things out. But it wasn’t an accident, no fucking way. Those generators should have lasted as long as the stars they closed off, probably longer.”
“What happened after the barrier fell?”
“The Dysons used knowledge captured from you to establish wormholes of their own. Twenty-three Commonwealth planets were invaded in the first stage of their expansion.”
“Son of a bitch!” Ozzie shouted. “Nigel, you total asshole, how stupid are you? I told you this space cadet crap was gonna wind up busting everyone’s balls. I goddamn told you!”
“Did they invade Silvergalde?” Orion asked fearfully.
“No, our world remains untouched.”
“And the rest?” Ozzie asked. He knew it was going to be bad, just needed it confirmed.
“The Commonwealth abandoned them. They suffered enormous ecological damage, and they are still subject to acts of violence between humans and Dysons.”
“Goddamnit. So the Anomines were right?”
“Yes.”
“Are they going to help?”
“Help what?”
“Humans. You said the generator was disabled. Can it be restarted? Can we push the Dysons back inside?”
“Haven’t you listened to a fucking thing I’ve been telling you? We don’t intervene. Never have, never will. And the technologically advanced Anomines are past the time when they interfere in the events of other species. Like us, they now let evolution flow where it may. If you want to restart the generator and shut the Dysons back inside the barrier, do it yourself.”
“You mean you’re just going to let the Dysons attack humans?”
“You’ve already seen the answer to that, Ozzie.” Clouddancer lifted his arms briefly, allowing the thick membrane of his wings to flutter in the gentle breeze. “The death of any species is to be regretted, but we have experienced many. I’ve embarked on pilgrimages to the memory of them myself, and I feel a great sorrow when I know them. We will remember you, should you fall.”
“Well, that makes me feel one whole hell of a lot better, thanks. For a minute there I thought our friendship meant nothing at all.”
Clouddancer peeled back his lips to expose all three rings of teeth. “This is an argument that we ended millennia ago. You let the Dysons out. You are responsible. This is macro-evolution at its worst. Watching it is always painful for us.”
“What about the Anomines, the advanced ones; can I appeal to them directly? Do any of the paths lead to them?”
“Not a path, no. We can talk to them when they wish it. That has not happened for over three centuries now. We thought the fall of their old barrier might stir them. But it hasn’t. We’re not even certain they exist in their primary transcendent state anymore. We have known species such as theirs which have kept on evolving into entities which simply cannot connect with those of us who remain rooted in the physical.”
“All right, instead of a few battalions of Silfen storm troopers, how about giving us information?” Ozzie asked. “Is there something, some weapon, you once built that could defeat the Dysons? Just the blueprints would do.”
“I’m kind of surprised that you of all people ask that, Ozzie. In fact, I’m quite hurt by the implication we’d ever waste our time on crap like weapons.”
“Oh, really? I’d be interested to hear what you say if your species ever gets threatened with extinction. Of course, you wouldn’t go alone. We’d help if you asked, we’d stand beside you.”
“I know. We admire you for that, for what you are. We don’t expect you to change. Do you expect that of us?”
“No. I just thought you were different, that’s all.”
“Different, how? More human? You built legends around us. They were not entirely correct. It’s too late to come blaming us for your mistakes.”
“Screw you.”
“But I’m your friend,” Orion insisted. He held up his pendant. “Look. Other humans are, too. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does, kid. If you stay here with us, we will keep you safe.”
“I want all of us to be safe.”
“That is a wish to be proud of, but it is only a wish. You’re going to make a grand human when you’re all grown up. Best of the species.”
Orion dangled the pendant in front of him, giving it a wretched stare. “Then what’s the point?”
“Life is the point. To have joined with others and to have known them. We know you, Silfen friend Orion. That makes us glad.”
“I used to be glad to know you.”
“Yeah, sorry, kid. We had fun playing in those woods, back then, didn’t we? I hope that one day you will be glad to know us again.”
“Am I right about you?” Ozzie asked. “Is there some SI equivalent you all download into? Is that what I’m really speaking to?”
Clouddancer laughed. “Almost, Ozzie, almost.”
“How do I know you speak with authority?”
“You don’t. But I name you a Silfen friend, Ozzie Fernandez Isaac.” He held up a pendant identical to Orion’s. “You have the freedom of the paths. Go where you will with our blessing. If you think I’m just a lying son of a bitch, seek those who you know will speak the truth.”
Ozzie stared at the pendant, almost ready to throw it back at Clouddancer. That’s what Orion would have done with all his magnificent teenage fury. But then this whole event was being staged for his benefit, not Orion’s; telling him what he wanted to know even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. The pendant was obviously the culmination of that; it was significant in some way even if he couldn’t see how yet. “Thank you, Clouddancer,” he said formally, and accepted the pendant with a small bow.
When he put the chain around his neck, his vision was momentarily wiped out by a foggy emerald sparkle. It was as if every sense were stretched raw. The feel of the air blowing on his exposed skin scraping hard enough to bruise, the heat of the sun threatening to singe his raggedy hair, sound of rustling leaves the cacophony of an orchestra. He could smell the scent of every berry and flower on the reef combining together like volcanic sulphur. And in his mind he sensed the thoughts of the Silfen Motherholme all around him, an immense realm of life whose size alone brought complete comfort to any entity it touched. A size that surely made it invincible. It pervaded the gas halo, twisting through the physical and biological elements like a nuclear spiritual force. Intangible connections slipped away through the smallest interstices of spacetime binding the Silfen wherever they roamed through the universe. A family that surpassed any possible human dream of connectivity and love.
Ozzie envied them for that. But for all the sense of belonging the Motherholme exuded, it was alien. The Silfen really wouldn’t help humans in their struggle against the Dysons. They didn’t see that as a flaw in their character. It was correct, essential, because that was how the universe functioned.
“Wow.” Ozzie was glad he was sitting. The emotional impact wasn’t quite as great as when he’d looked into the memory of the world that had died. Even so, it was a glimpse into a heaven that was achingly beautiful despite its imperfections.
The moment passed, though he would know it forever.
Clouddancer was staring at him, slim face held straight with cheek muscles slightly dimpled, mouth half widened, tongue stilled, an expression Ozzie knew was one of compassion and sadness. “One day,” he promised the alien, “we will forge a bridge across that gulf between our hearts.”