Sheffield, Charles - Heritage 3 & 4 - Transvergence - Converg

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Transvergence
Transvergence
Book 3 in The Heritage Universe
by Charles Sheffield
Table of Contents
Trancendence
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three: Miranda
Chapter Four
Chapter Five: Sentinel Gate
Chapter Six: Bridle Gap
Chapter Seven: Torvil Anfract
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine: Genizee
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
EPILOGUE
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Convergence
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trancendence
Book III of the
Heritage Universe
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Chapter One: Sentinel Gate
The Builder artifact known as Paradox lies deep in Fourth Alliance territory (Bose Access
Node, G-232). The fact that Paradox contains a Lotus field has been known for almost
three thousand years, since the Ruttledge expedition of E.1379 (Reference: Parzen,
E.1383). Although such a field destroys both organic and inorganic memories, it does not
invariably inhibit the passage of electrical signals along a neural cable conductor. At least
one counter-example is known. (Reference: . . .
Reference?
Darya Lang's hands hovered over the input coder, while she stared at the display in total frustration. What
could she write next? It was a point of pride with her that the entries in the Lang Universal Artifact
Catalog (Fifth Edition) be as accurate and up-to-date as possible. It was not her fault that some of her
recent proposed entries were being criticized because of the ignorance of other editors. She knew, even if
they did not, that in certain circumstances an electrical signal could travel along a neural cable from inside
a Lotus field to a computer outside. Although she had not seen it herself, she had the word of the
councilor who had observed it, and councilors did not lie.
Not to mention the word of the embodied computer, E. Crimson Tally, to whom it had actually happened.
She chewed at her bottom lip, and at last made the entry.
Reference: private communication, Councilor Julius Graves.
It was the best that she could do, a far cry from the usual form of academic references that Professor
Merada would consider satisfactory. But in this case, the less said, the better. If Darya were to add that the
cited incident with the Lotus field had taken place on an artificial planetoid known as Glister, just before
Graves and Tally and Darya herself had been thrown thirty thousand light-years out of the spiral arm by a
Builder transportation system, to a location where they had encountered . . . well, don't go any further.
Merada would just lose his mind. Or more likely tell Darya that she was losing hers.
Maybe she was—but not for that reason.
It was late in the evening, and Darya had been working outside in the quiet of a little leafy bower. The
calm air of Sentinel Gate was filled with the perfume of the planet's night-scented flowers and the faint
cooing of nesting birds. Now she stood up from the terminal and moved to push the vines aside.
She knew exactly where to look: east, to where Sentinel itself was rising. Two hundred million kilometers
away and almost a million across, that shining and striated sphere dominated the moonless night sky.
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Since childhood, it and the mystery of the Builder artifacts had also dominated Darya's thinking. She
would be the first to admit that it had shaped her whole life.
And the artifacts shaped her life still—but in a quite different way. Darya stared at Sentinel, as she had
stared at it a thousand times before, and marveled at how much she had changed in so short a time. One
year ago she had been a dedicated research scientist who asked nothing more than her library and her
work, cataloging and analyzing data on the thousand-plus Builder artifacts scattered around the spiral
arm. The discovery of a statistical anomaly involving all the artifacts had persuaded her to leave her quiet
study on Sentinel Gate, and travel from the civilized region of the Fourth Alliance to the rough outpost
worlds of Quake and Opal.
There she had found her anomaly—and more. She had found danger, excitement, despair, terror, pain,
exhilaration, and companionship. Half-a-dozen times she had been close to death. And returning at last to
Sentinel Gate, the place she had longed for so hard and so long, she had found something else. She had
found herself to be—to be—
Darya stared at Sentinel, and struggled to admit the truth.
To be bored.
Incredible, but that was the only word for it. The life of a successful archeo-scientist, once so rich and
satisfying, was no longer enough.
It was easy to see why. The disappearance of the Builders from the spiral arm five million years ago had
provided for Darya the most fascinating mystery imaginable. She could think of nothing more interesting
than exploring the artifacts left behind by the long-vanished race, seeking to understand them and perhaps
to learn where the Builders had gone, and why.
Nothing more interesting, that is, so long as the Builders remained vanished. But once one had met
constructs who explained that they were the Builders' own representatives, who still served the Builders'
interests . . . why, then the past became irrelevant. What mattered was the present and the future, with the
possibility of encountering and studying the Builders themselves. Even the most interesting parts of her
old life, including her cherished catalog of artifacts, could not compete.
Darya's communication terminal was sending a soft piping sound in her direction. She walked back to it
in no particular hurry. It was going to be Professor Merada—these days it was always Professor Merada,
at any hour of the day or night.
His serious, heavy-browed face had already appeared on the screen, overwriting her catalog inputs.
"Professor Lang." He began to speak as soon as she came into his field of view. "Concerning the proposed
entry on the Phages."
"Yes?" Darya had an idea what was coming.
"It states here—I quote—'although Phages are generally considered to be slow-moving free-space forms,
shunning all forms of gravity field, there are exceptions. In certain circumstances Phages may be induced
to move into a gravity field, and move with considerable speed.' Professor Lang, I assume that you wrote
those words."
"Correct. I wrote them."
"Then what is your authority for the statement? You quote none."
Darya swore at herself. Even when she had made that addition to the Phage entry, she had known it would
cause trouble. It was the old problem: Should she parrot conventional wisdom on the Phages and the
Builder artifacts? Or should she tell what she knew to be the truth, even though it could not be supported
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by anything but her own word and that of a few other people in her party? She had seen Phages, moving
far faster than any Phage was supposed to be able to move, dive-bombing the ship she herself rode in.
Others had seen those same Phages—supposedly indestructible—smashed into fragments on the surface
of a high-field planetoid.
She felt angry with Merada, and knew she had no right to. He was doing exactly what a conscientious and
first-rate scientist should do—what Darya herself would have done one year ago: ruling out hearsay and
shoddy research, by insisting on complete documentation.
"I will send you a reference, as soon as I have approval to release it."
"Make it soon, Professor Lang. The official closing date for changes to the catalog is already past. Are
you sure that you will be able to obtain approval?"
"I'll do my best." Darya nodded to indicate that the conversation was over and moved away from the
terminal. Merada assumed that the approval she referred to was no more than the consent of another
researcher to make known a preliminary finding, perhaps in advance of official publication. The truth was
insanely more complex. Approval for this information would have to come from the whole interclade
Council.
She had moved no more than half-a-dozen steps when the communications terminal issued another soft
whistle. Darya sighed and turned back. Persistence was a prime virtue in any research worker; but
sometimes Merada took it to extremes.
"Yes, Professor?" She spoke without looking at the screen.
"Darya?" a faint voice queried. "Is that you?"
Darya gasped and stared at the terminal, but all it offered was the white-noise display of a sound-only
link.
"Hans? Hans Rebka? Where are you? Are you on Miranda?"
"Not any more." The tone was faint and distorted, but even so the bitterness could be heard in it. "There
was no point in staying. The Council wouldn't even listen. I'm at the final Bose Network node before
Sentinel Gate. I can't talk now. Expect me on Sentinel Gate in half a day."
The space-thinned voice faded and the connection was abruptly broken. Darya walked forward to the easy
chair in front of the terminal and collapsed into it. She sat staring at nothing.
The Council did not believe them. Incredible. That meant that it had rejected the sworn statements of one
of its own Council members; and of the embodied computer, E.C. Tally, who did not know how to lie;
and of Hans Rebka, recognized as one of the most experienced and canny troubleshooters in the whole
spiral arm.
Darya roused herself. She ought to call Professor Merada and tell him that many of the references that she
wanted to cite had been dismissed by the highest authority in the spiral arm. What the Council did not
accept, no one else would consider reliable. But she did not move. The Council rejection was certainly
bad news, since it meant that nothing that she, or anyone else in their party, said about the events of the
past year would have credibility.
But what the rejection implied was far worse, the worst news of all: Zardalu were at large in the spiral
arm—and no one in authority believed it.
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Chapter Two
"Allow me to introduce Captain Hans Rebka."
Darya had steeled herself for the looks she would receive when Hans was ushered into the institute's
dining room. Even so, they were hard to take.
"Captain Rebka is a native of Teufel, in the Phemus Circle," she went on, "although most recently he has
been on Miranda."
The score of research workers sitting at the long table were doing their best not to stare—and failing.
Darya could easily put herself in their shoes. They saw a small, thin man in his late thirties, dressed in a
patched and dingy uniform. His head appeared a fraction too big for his body, and his bony face was
disfigured by a dozen scars, the most noticeable of them running in a double line from his left temple to
the point of his jaw.
Darya knew how her colleagues were feeling. She had experienced an identical reaction when she first
met Hans Rebka. Courage and skill were invisible; it took time to learn that he had both.
She glanced down the table. Professor Merada had made one of his rare excursions from the den of his
study to the senior dining room, while across from him at the far end Carmina Gold sat peering
thoughtfully at her fingernails. Darya knew both of them well, and fully appreciated what they could do.
If someone was needed to perform an excruciatingly detailed and encyclopedic survey of any element of
spiral arm history, flagging every tiny inconsistency of data or missing reference, then the thoughtful,
humorless Merada could not be surpassed; if someone was needed who could follow and tease out the
most convoluted train of logic, simplify it to essentials, and present so that a child—or a
councilor!—could grasp it, then Carmina Gold, moody and childish herself, was the absolute best.
But if you found yourself in deep trouble, without any hope of escape and so close to Death that you
could smell his breath in your own terrified sweat . . . well, then you closed your eyes tight and prayed for
Hans Rebka.
But none of that showed. To the eye of anyone from a rich world of the Fourth Alliance, the newcomer
was nothing but an ill-dressed hick from the back of nowhere. He fitted not at all into the genteel,
leisurely, and cultured frame of an Institute dinner.
The others at the table were at least making an effort at politeness.
"You were recently on Miranda?" the woman next to Rebka said as he sat down. She was Glenna Omar,
one of the senior information-systems specialists and in Darya's view quite unnecessarily beautiful. "I've
never been there, although I suppose that I should have, since it's the headquarters for the Fourth Alliance.
What did you think of Miranda, Captain?"
Rebka stared blank-faced down at his plate while Darya, sitting opposite him, waited anxiously. If he was
going to be rude or sullen or outrageous, here in her own home . . . there had been no time to brief him,
only to give him a hug and a hurried greeting, after he had been decanted from the subluminal delivery
craft and before the Immigration officials were ushering them into the dining room to meet her
colleagues.
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"Paradise," Rebka said suddenly. He turned to Glenna Omar and gave her an admiring smile packed with
sexual overtones. "I'm from Teufel, of course, where the best road you can find is said to be any road that
takes you somewhere else; so some might argue that I'm easily impressed. But I thought that Miranda was
wonderful, my idea of paradise—until I landed here on Sentinel Gate, and learned that I was wrong. This
has to be the most beautiful planet in the whole Fourth Alliance—in the whole spiral arm."
Darya took a deep breath and relaxed—for half a second. Hans was on his best behavior, but Glenna
Omar's response was a good deal too warm.
"Oh, you're just being nice to us, Captain," she was saying. "Of course, I've never been to any of the
worlds of your Phemus Circle, either. How would you describe them to me?"
Dingy, dirty, dismal, and dangerous, Darya thought. Remote, impoverished, brutish, backward, and
barbaric. And all the men are sex-mad.
"I haven't been to all the worlds of the Phemus Circle," Rebka was replying. "But I can tell you what they
say in the Circle about my home world, Teufel: 'What sins must a man commit, in how many past lives, to
be born on Teufel?'"
"Oh, come now. It can't really be that bad."
"It's worse."
"The most awful planet in the whole Phemus Circle?"
"I never said that. Scaldworld is probably as bad, and people from Styx say that they go to Teufel for
vacations."
"Now I'm sure you're joking. If the whole Phemus Circle is as horrible as you say, no one would stay
there. What job do you have, when you're back home?"
"I guess you could call me a traveling troubleshooter. One thing the Phemus Circle is never short of, that's
trouble. That's how Professor Lang"—he nodded to Darya—"and I met. We ran into a spot of bother
together on Quake, one component of a double planet in the Mandel system."
"And she brought you back here, to the Fourth Alliance? Wise Darya." But Glenna did not take her eyes
off Rebka.
"Not right away." Rebka paused, with an expression on his face that Darya recognized. He was about to
take some major step. "We did a few other things first. We and a few others—humans and aliens, plus an
Alliance councilor and an embodied computer—went to one of the Mandel system's gas-giant planets,
Gargantua, where we found an artificial planetoid. We flew through a bunch of wild Phages to get there,
and rescued some of us from a Lotus field. Then a sentient Builder construct put our party through a
Builder transportation system, thirty thousand light-years out of the spiral arm, to a free-space
extragalactic Builder facility called Serenity. When we arrived there, Professor Lang and I—"
He was going to tell it all! Everything! All the facts that the whole party had agreed must remain dead
secret until a high-level approval to discuss them had been granted. Darya tried to kick Rebka's leg under
the table and hit nothing but empty air.
"We found a small group of Zardalu—" He was grinding on.
"You mean, you found people from the territory of the Zardalu Communion?" Glenna Omar was smiling
with delight. Darya was sure that she thought Rebka was making up the whole thing for her benefit.
"No. I mean what I said. We found Zardalu, the original land-cephalopods."
"But they've been extinct for ten thousand years!"
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"Most have. But we found fourteen living ones—"
"Eleven thousand years." Merada's high-pitched voice from the end of the table told Darya that everyone
in the dining room was listening.
Bang went a lifetime's reputation for serious and sober research work! Darya kicked again at Rebka's leg
under the table, only to be rewarded with a pained and outraged cry from Glenna Omar.
"Or rather more than eleven thousand," Merada went on. "As nearly as I can judge, it has been eleven
thousand four hundred and—"
"—Zardalu who had been held in a stasis field since the time of the Great Rising, when the rest of the
species were killed off. But the ones we met were very much alive, and nasty—"
"But this is disgraceful!" Carmina Gold had awakened from her dormouse trance and was scowling down
the table at Darya. "You must know of the fearsome reputation of the Zardalu—"
"Not just the reputation." Darya gave up the attempt to stay out of it. "I know them from personal
experience. They're worse than their reputation."
"—we managed to send them back to the spiral arm." Rebka had his hand on Glenna Omar's elbow and
seemed to be ignoring the uproar rising from all parts of the long table. "And later we returned from
Serenity ourselves, except for a Cecropian, Atvar H'sial, and an augmented Karelian human from the
Zardalu Communion, Louis Nenda, who remained there to—"
"—a dating based on admittedly incomplete, subjective, and unreliable reference sources," Merada said
loudly, "such as Hymenopt race memories, and the files of—"
"—living Zardalu should certainly have been reported to the Alliance Council!" Carmina Gold was
standing up. "At once. I will do it now, even if you will not."
"We already did that!" Darya stood up, too. Everyone seemed to be saying "Zardalu!" at once, and the
group sounded like a swarm of angry bees. She did not think Carmina Gold could even hear her. "What
do you think that Captain Rebka was doing on Miranda before he came here?" she shouted along the
table. "Sunbathing?"
"—about four meters tall." Rebka had his head close to Glenna Omar's. "An adult specimen, standing
erect, with a midnight-blue torso supported on thick blue tentacles—"
"—living Zardalu—"
"My God!" Merada's piercing tenor cut through the hubbub. His worries over the dating of Zardalu
extinctions had apparently been replaced by a much more urgent one. He turned to Darya. "Wild Phages,
and an Alliance councilor, and an embodied computer. Professor Lang, those entries for the fifth edition
of the catalog, the ones for which you promised to provide the references. Are you telling me that the only
reference sources you will offer me are—"
There was a loud crash. Carmina Gold, hurrying out of the dining room but turning to glare back at
Darya, had collided with a squat robot carrying a big tureen of hot soup. Scalding liquid jetted across the
room and splashed onto the back of Glenna Omar's graceful bare neck. She screamed like a mortally
wounded pig.
Darya sat down again and closed her eyes. With or without soup, it was unlikely to be one of the
Institute's most relaxing dinners.
"I thought I handled things rather well." Hans Rebka was lying flat on the thick carpet in the living room
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of Darya's private quarters. He claimed that it was softer than his bed on Teufel. "You have to understand,
Darya, I said all those things about the Builders and the Zardalu on purpose."
"I'm sure you did—after we all agreed to reveal absolutely nothing to anyone about them! You agreed to
it, yourself."
"I did. Graves proposed it, but we all agreed we should keep everything to ourselves until the formal
briefing to the Council. The last thing we wanted was to throw the spiral arm into a panic because there
are live Zardalu on the loose."
"And panic is just what you started at dinner. Why did you all of a sudden do the exact opposite of what
we said we'd do?"
"I told you, the briefing to the Council was an absolute fiasco. We need to get people worked up about the
Zardalu now. Not one Council member would believe a word of what we had to say!"
"But Julius Graves is a Council member—he's one of them, an insider."
"He is, and yet he isn't. He was elected one of them, but of course his interior mnemonic twin, Steven
Graves, as someone pointed out early in the hearing, was never elected to anything. No one expected a
simple memory extension device to develop self-awareness, and that happened after Julius was elected to
the Council. The integration of the personalities of Julius and Steven seems to be complete now—the
composite calls himself Julian, and gets upset if you forget and still call him Julius or Steven. But there
were more than a few hints by other councilors that the development of Steven had sent Julius off his
head while the integration was going on. You can see their point: although councilors do not lie or
fabricate events, Julian Graves is not, and never was, a councilor."
"But what about E.C. Tally? A computer, even an embodied computer, can't lie. He should have had more
to say than anyone—his original body was torn to bits by the Zardalu."
"Try and prove that, when you don't have one tangible scrap of evidence that all the Zardalu didn't
become extinct eleven thousand years ago, and stay extinct. A computer can't lie, true enough—but it can
sure as hell be reprogrammed with a false set of memories."
"Why would anyone want to do that?"
"That's not the Council's worry. And old E.C. didn't help his case at all. Halfway through his testimony he
started to lecture the Council about the inadequacies of the Fourth Alliance central data banks, and the
nonsense that had been pumped into him from those banks about the other clades of the spiral arm before
he was sent to the Phemus Circle. The Council data specialist interrupted E.C. to say that was ridiculous,
her data banks contained nothing but accurate data. She insisted on doing a high-level correlation between
E.C.'s brain and what's in the central banks. That's what convinced the Council that Tally's brain had been
tampered with. His memory bank shows that Cecropians believe themselves superior to humans and all
other species, and that a Lo'tfian interpreter for a Cecropian can when necessary operate quite
independently of his Cecropian dominatrix. It shows that Hymenopts are intelligent too—probably more
intelligent than humans. It shows that there exist sentient Builder constructs, millions of years old but able
to communicate with humans. It shows that instantaneous travel is possible, even without the use of the
Bose Network."
"But that's true—we did it, when we traveled to Serenity. It's all true. Every one of the statements you just
made is accurate!"
"Not according to your great and wonderful Alliance Council." Rebka's voice was bitter. "According to
them, Serenity doesn't even exist, because it's not in their data banks. The information there is holy writ,
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something you just don't argue with, and what's not there isn't knowledge. It's the same problem I've
suffered all my life: somebody a hundred or a thousand light-years from the problem thinks they can have
better facts than the workers on the spot. But they can't, and they don't."
"But didn't you say all that to them?"
"Me say it? Who am I? According to the Alliance Council, I'm a nobody, from a nowhere little region
called the Phemus Circle, not big or important enough to have clout with either the human or the
interspecies Council. They took less notice of me than they did of E.C. Tally. I began to describe the
Zardalu's physical strength, and their phenomenal breeding rate. Do you know what they said? They
explained to me that the Zardalu are long-extinct, because if that were not the case, then certainly their
presence would have been reported somewhere, in the Fourth Alliance, or the Cecropian Federation, or
the Zardalu Communion. Then they mentioned that the Fourth Alliance has evolved techniques unknown
in the Phemus Circle 'for dealing with mental disorders,' and if I behaved myself they might be able to
arrange for some kind of treatment. That's when Graves lost his temper."
"I can't believe it. He never loses his temper—he doesn't know how to."
"He does now. Julian Graves is different from Julius or Steven. He told the Council that they are a bunch
of irresponsible apes—Senior Councilor Knudsen does look just like a gorilla, I noticed that myself—who
are too closed-minded to recognize a danger to the spiral arm when it's staring them in the face. And then
he quit."
"He left the Chamber?"
"No. He resigned from the Council—something no one has ever done before. He told them that the next
time they saw him, he would make them all eat their words. And then he left the Chamber, and took E.C.
Tally with him."
"Where did he go?"
"He hasn't gone anywhere—yet. But he's going to, as soon as he can get his hands on a ship and recruit
the crew he needs. Meanwhile, he's going to tell anyone who will listen about the Zardalu, and about how
dangerous they are. And then he's going to look for the Zardalu. He and E.C. Tally feel sure that if the
Zardalu came back anywhere in the spiral arm, they will have tried to return to their cladeworld,
Genizee."
"But no one has any idea where Genizee is. The location was lost in the Great Rising."
"So we're going to have to look for it."
"We? You mean that you'll be going with Graves and E.C. Tally?"
"Yes." Rebka sat upright. "I'm going. In fact, I'll have to leave in just a few hours. I want to make the
Council eat their words as much as Graves does. But more than that, I don't want the Zardalu to breed
themselves back to power. I don't frighten easily, but they scare me. If they're anywhere in the spiral arm,
I want to find them."
Darya stood up abruptly and moved across to the open window. "So you're leaving." It was a warm,
breezy night, and the sound of rustling palm leaves blurred the hurt in her words. "You travel four days
and nine light-years to get here, you've been with me only a couple of hours, and already you want to say
good-bye."
"If that's all I can say." Hans Rebka had risen quietly to his feet and moved silently across the thick pile of
the carpet. "And if that's all you can say, too." He put his arms around Darya's waist. "But that's not my
first choice. I'm not just visiting, love. I'm recruiting. Julian Graves and I are going a long way; no one
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摘要：

TransvergenceTransvergenceBook3inTheHeritageUniversebyCharlesSheffieldTableofContentsTrancendenceChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThree:MirandaChapterFourChapterFive:SentinelGateChapterSix:BridleGapChapterSeven:TorvilAnfractChapterEightChapterNine:GenizeeChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteen...

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