Finally, a cocktail of new senses was grafted onto the utterly helpless soul, and with those senses came a little mouth.

“I know nothing,” the prisoner declared. “But waste your time, please. Interrogate me as much as you wish.”

Its captors wished to soften its will, dispensing visions of a dark watery world and it adorned with wings again. It soared above the world’s body, the new eyes sensitive to heat and the newborn mouth able to sing out, parabolic ears absorbing the reflected sounds while a new talent, reflexive and swift, drew sonar images of its cooler surroundings. In many ways, the scene was familiar and endlessly soothing. The captors were clever and eager to show their cleverness. This nonplace was very much like the She, speaking to the prisoner in a multitude of ways, reassuring even while reminding that nothing here was real.

“I am not real,” the prisoner called out, believing passionately in its ultimate nonexistence.

Existence was no more than shadow, it remembered.

Only beyond shadow, in that realm yet to be born, would existence and life become something lovely and true.

“I am helping make the real,” it vowed.

“Perhaps you are,” a voice replied, using the human language. “Let us talk about that a while.”

Suddenly the soaring wings had vanished.

In an instant, the prisoner was deposited inside a long chamber, cold and hard and empty save for itself and an assortment of odd bodies, human in shape but otherwise nothing at all like humans. A rubbery face broke into a wide show of plastic teeth, and from between the teeth came the odd, unexpected words. “We have a few little things to say, and then you may ask questions.”

“I will ask nothing,” the mind declared.

But in the next instant, it felt considerably less sure. The long dreamy flight above the illusionary world had served to distract the prisoner, and horrible things had been done to it. Sample neurons must have been studied and cultured, and fresh masses of brain had been woven together and linked to its existing mind. Unopposed, the enemies had tripled its intelligence, creating a great sloppy mind lying naked in a bath of salt water. Molecular oxygen was supplied by a heavy bluish blood, cobalt-centered and ancient in design, and the blood was pumped by a peculiarly familiar heart. What kinds of toxic memes had been implanted, ready to subvert its most critical beliefs? The prisoner braced itself for the onslaught, but nothing seemed to change. The new mind, built in a rush of wild genius and desperation, was apparently empty. A void. But like any empty neural net, it was hungry, eager for every whiff of newness within its reach.

“What do you intend to say?” the prisoner blurted.

The AI sages smiled together, each expression a little different. Each masklike face hinted at personalities and philosophies shared by no one else. In a fierce rush, they spoke about high mathematics and obscure dimensions. Each entity drew a unique and elaborate image of the universe’s creation, and then with the Creation described, each told a hundred different stories about both the present and the most distant futures.

“Nothing is known,” they claimed.

Then together, they said, “Everything is known.”

Suddenly the prisoner was expert in everything that it deplored. Suddenly it found itself able to think about reality in new ways, and about life, and with a cold terror, it realized that a fresh-born sliver of itself was happy to believe that there were no shadows and everything was real, and what it had been born into was nothing but the crippled dream of a lost child.

THE POLYPOND STOPPED flowing into the port.

Alone again, O’Layle stared out through the diamond window, watching as the turbulent waters managed to slow themselves, connective tissues and mangled organs glowing as they began to heal themselves. Once, a metallic body brushed against the window, glowing fins rubbing against diamond, creating a sound not unlike a child screaming. Then everything went dark outside, and the polypond seemed to do nothing for a very long while.

Twice, the ship shivered as black holes dove through its heart.

And twice, the ship survived the onslaught, again proving its durability to any foolish doubters.

“She doesn’t care about me,” O’Layle whispered.

Washen had promised to keep watch over him, listening to whatever he had to say, but she didn’t find reason to respond now.

“Maybe she doesn’t notice me,” he muttered.

He wanted encouragement, but none was offered.

What should he do?

With a courage born from simple weariness, he walked forward. Once again, he placed his face flush to the window, and as he felt an electric prickle against his damp skin, he saw motion. He watched a pair of wide eyes opening, emitting a deep blue light that illuminated a familiar face.

The face, womanly and beautiful, pressed against the thick pane, and in response, the window began to melt away and vanish.

Riding the pressure of many kilometers of living water, the face flowed inward, forcing itself inside the long chamber and then stopping. If the polypond wished, she could flood the room in an instant, crushing O’Layle’s body to a scattered scum. But she chose not to come farther. Perhaps she knew that the captains had taken every precaution. All she could accomplish was O’Layle’s death, and until that served a clear function, it would not be worth the effort.

The face grew a woman’s body.

An endless spine reached back into the polypond, and a voice born from some great neural mass said, “Hello, my old friend.”

O’Layle couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you know what your captains are attempting?”

He said, “I think so.”

“Do you know how many chambers like this are occupied? By souls like yourself? By scared little voices?”

He had no idea.

“Thousands,” she assured.

The beautiful face showed a dismissive scorn. And a deep voice added, “The captains and passengers are pleading with me. They wish me to stop doing the only thing that can matter to me.”

O’Layle swallowed.

With a slow hand, he reached for the face. Its surface was hard and very warm, composed of a diamond hybrid or an odd ice. Either way, it was too stubborn to explode into his room.

“What does your little voice wish to tell me?”

He couldn’t remember anymore.

“After all of our time together,” she continued, “I can’t believe you could offer one original thought now.”

O’Layle saw the insult. In reflex, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and said, “I abandoned this ship. I was wrong, but that’s what I did. I was afraid and stupid, and then I was lost.”

The glowing blue eyes brightened.

“In the middle of nothing, my fears grew worse,” he continued. “I was this scared little man, and there was nothing around me but emptiness. The cold. And so I began to talk, to scream … anything that I thought might help save me … to save a life that had told lies from the womb, practically … but no lie as big as the lie that I gave to you …”

With a tight little voice, he laughed.

“I would have said anything to save myself,” O’Layle admitted. “I was this little monster inside a ball of hyperfiber, and with every mouth at my disposal, I claimed to know great things. I promised everything to whoever might hear me, and who would come rescue me …

“And if you think about it, maybe that’s what the Great Ship is. Someone’s ugly little lifeboat, maybe. Maybe?

“And this thing that you’re trying to set free at the core … maybe what it is … maybe all it is … it’s just some little scared son of a bitch, like me … a natural liar and a coward … a pretender trying hard to make himself look important …”

He hesitated.

Suddenly, the face changed. A shifting set of expressions passed across the hard surface, and the first hint of alarm appeared in those bright blue eyes.