On awakening, Navigational Officer Evans’s first sensation was of white. A quick glance around showed why. He could see nothing but a soft, diffuse white. He sat up. Other than a headache, he did not feel bad, and the headache felt more like a hangover than an injury. He wondered if he had been drunk. It wouldn’t be the first time he had woken and not known where he was, but there had usually been a woman and the surroundings had at least been comprehensible. This was someplace he had never seen, even in his imagination, and after kicking around the Space Service for twenty years, that was saying something.
As an injured man gingerly touches a wounded limb, he probed gently around the edges of his mind. Images flashed back — the interior of the ship, the commander standing beside him, the video screen. Emboldened, he probed deeper, looking for more specific memories. He saw the fleet spread out in battle formation on the screen. That made sense. They had been going into combat.
He closed his eyes and frowned in concentration. There was a strange image on the screen and the sound of the Commander’s frantic voice. Something big was approaching their ship. After that, there was nothing. That was, he assumed, when he had passed out. He sighed and looked around. The soft white was unchanged. He felt the surface on which he was sitting. It was hard and glassy smooth. He stood up to explore. It soon became clear he was in some sort of enclosure. All sides rose steeply to near vertical.
He sat down to ponder his situation. Jail and a hospital were two ideas that came to mind. He dismissed both, for he had spent enough time in each to know what they were like. The only other possibility he could think of was capture, which seemed equally remote. Throughout the war, there had been no direct contact between the warring races. No one even knew for sure what the enemy looked like or where they were from. Contact close enough to allow capture was not likely. He gave up speculating, assuming his situation would eventually become clear. In addition to wondering where he was, Evans was concerned about water. Although he was only mildly thirsty, there was nothing to drink. Given enough time, the problem would become acute.
Suddenly he noticed a light gray globe suspended in the air above him. He had no idea how long it had been there. He wondered, in fact, if it had always been there. Its color was not that different from the white. As he watched, it slowly grew in size. He was trying to decide whether he needed to defend himself or merely avoid it, when the motion stopped.
A noise swept over Evans. It sounded like a high, discordant note from a violin in an echo chamber. Although it was not uncomfortably loud, it had an annoying discordance. The sound eventually died away, and after a pause, there was a second tone, lower in frequency. He assumed, correctly, the sphere was the source of the noise. The sounds continued, changing slightly each time until finally it stabilized and repeated itself monotonously. Suddenly Evans realized it sounded vaguely like a word. He listened intently. The initial part of the sound approximated “spee” but the rest was lost in the reverberations. He frowned in concentration.
“Speak!” He suddenly recognized the word. “Speak!”
Immediately the reverberations ceased, and the sound changed to a very close approximation of Evans’s voice.
“Speak . . . speak . . . speak.”
“What do you want me to say?” He wondered if he were actually talking to a gray sphere or if he had completely lost his mind and were babbling to thin air.
“Speak more.”
“Where am I? Who are you? What’s going on? Do I get any food? Do I get anything to drink?”
Abruptly the gray sphere vanished.
Evans stared at the space that the gray sphere had occupied. He rubbed his face. Perhaps the idea of capture was not that remote after all.
Outside the white pit, the gray sphere approached two shiny, metallic-colored cubes. It hovered over one and, in a communication based on ultraviolet radiation, related what Evans had said.
“Has it established communication with the enemy entity?” one cube transmitted to the other.
“Yes. The probe has communication-matched with the entity. I have analyzed the data from the probe. The alien entity is a being.”
“A being?” A slight distortion in the ultraviolet indicated surprise, which was remarkable. In their race any suggestion of emotion was highly unusual. “They send beings into battle? Are you sure it is not a probe as we had originally assumed?”
“I am a scientist. I have analyzed the data. It is a being. It has asked thought provoking questions. Only a being can do that. You are a philosopher. You must interpret this information.”
There was silence.
“A being in battle is beyond our comprehension. Perhaps they send a being with each fleet.”
“Why would they do that? It is such a risk.”
“Perhaps their probes are not sophisticated enough, or perhaps they have found the intelligence of a being advantageous in battle. Maybe that is why they have been such a determined enemy.”
“Can you interpret more?”
“No. I must have additional information. Do you have any more data?”
“None that I can analyze.”
The philosopher made no reply.
“Is it time to call the spiritual being?” the scientist transmitted.
“No. I do not have a coherent interpretation to present to the spiritual being. If I have additional information, I can interpret further. In particular I must know more about the being.”
“I will send the probe again, but it cannot stay long. The alien atmosphere which we took from their vessel is poisonous.”
The gray sphere floated into the white pit again. Evans did not see it until it was directly in front of him. He eyed it suspiciously and waited for it to do something. He did not have long to wait.
“What are you?” the sphere asked.
Evans considered the question. If he were a captive, any information could be potentially dangerous to mankind. On the other hand, he did not think it was wise to lie outright. It could come back to haunt him. Generic answers seemed the safest.
“I am a navigator.”
“Where are you from?”
“Home.”
“Are you a being?”
He wondered what was behind the question but could think of no response other than the obvious. “Yes.”
“What is your purpose?”
Evans smiled. “Breeding.” His answer was born half in frustration and half in dissimulation. He had discarded several more colorful words in favor of the generic term.
The sphere vanished and returned to where the two cubes waited. It gave its report and left. Several hours passed before the scientist communicated.
“I have more information.”
“Tell me.”
“The entity, by its own admission, is a being. I will give the original data.”
Something roughly equivalent to Evans’s “yes” modulated to ultraviolet arrived at the philosopher’s cube. The philosopher found the trait, so common in scientists, of giving samples of their original data, annoying. There was, it knew, no use in suggesting that it was unnecessary.
“As I had surmised.”
“It is a special kind of being. It is one who finds the way in the universe.” The scientist dutifully sent over the rendition of Evans’s statement, “I am a navigator.”
The reply of the philosopher was so garbled from surprise that it was incomprehensible, forcing the scientist to ask for a retransmission.
“It is their spiritual being. Their spiritual being goes into battle?”
“You have interpreted the analysis of the data to mean that it is their spiritual being. It was taken in battle; therefore, it computes that they send their spiritual being into battle.”
The philosopher paused for a moment, ruminating on the inability of a scientist to recognize a rhetorical question. Finally it resumed transmission. “Do you have any further information you can give me?”
“It comes from the center of their basic unit.” The scientist transmitted the word “home.”
“That is what one would expect of their spiritual being. Can you give me more information?”
“I have other data but it does not compute.” It transmitted “breeding.” “I must do research before I can analyze. Shall I send in the probe again?”
This was serious. Rarely did a scientist have to research before analyzing. There was such an enormous bank of knowledge in their shared consciousness system, that there was little that was not readily available. “No. Do your research first.”
A day passed and Evans did not see the sphere or anything else for that matter. His thirst was becoming acute. He slept fitfully from time to time.
Outside the white pit a third cube joined the other two.
“There is an existence decision to be made,” the third cube transmitted, “and as the spiritual being I must make the decision. I will need your interpretation, Philosopher.”
“I need more information.”
“I have finished my research,” the scientist transmitted.
“Give me your analysis.”
“The data key is ‘breeding,’ ” the philosopher did the equivalent of a wince, “and my analysis is as follows: their spiritual being is able to reproduce itself.”
Shock overwhelmed the philosopher’s irritation. This was the most surprising information of the whole bizarre episode. It held its response, for it would not do to send a garbled message with the spiritual being present. “It is a fantastic concept,” it transmitted finally, “a spiritual being that can create other spiritual beings. Such a concept, if true, is formidable. In the vessel in which it was taken there were other entities, were there not?”
“There were other entities.”
“Did they not have the same likeness as the spiritual being?”
“They did. At the time of capture we assumed all entities to be probes. We only kept one as an example.”
“It is possible, even probable, that they were also beings, perhaps even spiritual beings. I presume we have no information on that?”
“None. I need more data. Shall I send the probe?”
The spiritual being entered the conversation for the first time. “It is critical for an existence decision that all information be known. I must have a complete interpretation. We must know if there are other spiritual beings and what the aliens want from us.”
“I must have more analyses on which to base an interpretation.”
“I must have more data in order to generate analyses.”
“Send in the probe,” the spiritual being transmitted.
“Send in the probe,” the philosopher transmitted.
“I will send the probe.”
Evans was asleep when the sphere arrived again. The sphere asked a question and waited for a reply for as long as it could safely remain in the alien atmosphere before it departed.
“I have no data,” the scientist transmitted. “The alien gave no phrase.”
“We have angered it.”
The two waited for the Supreme Being to transmit. “Let it be alone for a while. Perhaps it will forgive our provocation with time.”
It was several days before the sphere appeared again. Although Evans was awake, he was drifting in and out of delirium. He raised his head to look at the sphere, which floated in and out of focus. It was a full minute before Evans recognized it.
“Are there many like you?” the sphere asked.
Evans tried to concentrate on the question. With an immense effort of will, he managed to understand the implications. Let them think we’re infinite, he thought. He tried to respond but no words came out of his dry throat. He panted for a moment and tried again. “Stars,” he croaked. “Like stars.”
“What is it that you want?”
“Wat . . .” He worked his mouth, but nothing more would come out. Evans panicked. The gray sphere finally asks what he needs, and he can’t get the words out. “Wat . . . or . . . I . . . die.” Evans dropped his head to the floor in exhaustion, and the gray sphere vanished.
“Compute?” the philosopher transmitted.
“Compute. There are many like it — as many as there are stars.” The scientist transmitted a version of Evans’s words. The philosopher did not even notice the irritating rendition of the alien phrase. “If stars of all magnitudes are considered, this is a number greater than can be easily calculated.”
“Incredible!” the philosopher transmitted. It was past amazement. “They have vast numbers of spiritual beings, and since they can duplicate themselves, they can continue forever.”
There was a pause as though the concept was too much for them.
“Have we established what they want?” the spiritual being finally transmitted.
“Yes.” The scientist transmitted Evans’s broken statement as, “watt or I’ll die.” “This is the most difficult of the transmissions to understand. The most subtle sub-key, ‘watt,’ is a quantification of power.”
“Enough of this gibberish!” the philosopher sent a blast of radiation at the scientist. “Give me the analysis!” Such a display in front of the spiritual being was unthinkable. That the spiritual being transmitted no energy at all in response indicated the magnitude of the crisis.
“The alien spiritual being demands our power. If it does not receive our power, it will cease to exist.”
The concept of ceasing to exist was incomprehensible to them. The scientist, philosopher, and spiritual being had always existed and would always exist in the sense of being part of a colonial intelligence. They could not conceive of individual centers of existence that had finite life spans.
“It is a staggering concept. I interpret its demands for power to mean it wants to add the power of our spiritual being to its own. If it does not, it shall cease to exist. This is difficult to interpret. It is, in fact, probably uninterpretable in a literal sense. I think what is meant is that the war aim of the aliens is to destroy our spiritual being by absorption, and that they plan to take what is our essence for their own and use it to destroy us.”
“Analysis and interpretation are in agreement,” the spiritual being transmitted. “The aliens are bent upon destroying us. If they fuse the powers of the spiritual beings of the two races, they will truly be invincible. And if this spiritual being fails to achieve the fusion, they have many more to send.” The spiritual being paused for a moment. “It truly is an existence decision. As the spiritual being, I decree that we break off all contact with this alien race. Let us go to the far universe, beyond the reaches of their fleets.”
There was no transmission from either the philosopher or the scientist. The spiritual being had made a decision; thus the matter was no longer relevant.
In the white pit, Evans slipped into unconsciousness. As the last wild nightmares of his expiring brain flashed through his mind, the fleets of the aliens were vanishing from the known universe, never to be seen again.
