Then the dust swept away. Remaining in place was the shining silver cylinder that had once formed part of a Luculentus nervous system, a plexcore that extended the organic brain. It was so heavy and large. Rashella’s plexnodes were tiny, webbed throughout her body, and she normally thought about them only as often as she mused on the mitochondria that powered each of her cells, like those of every other Earth-derived animal in the universe.

‘It must be a hundred years old,’ said Rashella2.

‘I can use backwards-compatible protocols.’

‘So you are going to interface with it.’ Rashella2 stared up, then allowed a flock of tiny shapes to form around her head. ‘My netSprites cannot identify the likely owner, but they can deduce that there is legally secure data related to this whole area. Historic data. At too high a security level for me to even identify it.’

‘I’m glad I instantiated you, darling.’

‘And I have your propensity for talking to myself, so thanks from me. It’s been the highlight of my existence.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes.’

Sadness made both their voices heavy, their words somehow viscous.

‘I’ll be going now,’ said Rashella2.

‘I—’

‘Good luck.’

Rashella2 dissolved into a virtual blizzard of shards and facets that whipped and rotated through the air and out of existence. Her constituent code would be scattered and absorbed in Skein, as a human’s atoms spill into the universe on death.

‘So,’ said the original. ‘Time for that interface.’

She stared at the shining cylinder.

<<cmdIf::Devices.register(here + fwd(2), new Watcher(

{init(){handshake(getProtocol())})>>

Somewhere - all around, or deep inside her: she could not tell - a hot glow intensified, a growl became like thunder, and the whole world became a maelstrom of stomach-dropping vertigo and whirling sensations, a tornado of chaos.

Just for a second, spinning fragments of light tried to coagulate, to reform; and a broken, jagged outline of Rashella2’s hand reached out toward her creator, virtual cracked lips attempted to cry a warning; but then the blizzard hit and Rashella2 was gone, dissolved in Skein forever.

The real Rashella spun then toppled to the polished floor.

Blackness.

Except, perhaps, for the distant part of her awareness that tracked the progress of her house drones, who slid from their wall-caches and drew near, then stopped, trembling where they stood, unable to come closer.

As her universe became a howl of madness.

TWELVE

EARTH-CLASS EXPLORATORY EM-0036, 2146 AD

Sharp retreated into cover, but not far, sure that the fragrant bushes would hide him.

He had seen the creature, and remembered every detail: clothed (therefore intelligent), slim and tiny, no antlers, and only a single thumb on each hand. It had made a campsite of sorts, with shining objects that looked crafted. Nothing in his memory indicated that his ancestors had ever come across such a thing.

And it was alone. Could it be an outcast, a casteless one like himself?

Casteless.

So it was time to confront that thought. He had run away, placed himself beyond friends, beyond codes of conduct. Thinking that, he felt his childhood drop away. His northern nomadic forebears had survived; and so would he.

Strangely without fear, he stood straight up, and headed back directly to the interloper’s camp.

The creature rose, its head reaching barely halfway up Sharp’s chest. Yes, those coverings were clothing for sure. As the creature’s mouth moved, Sharp’s interior ear detected faint sound, not unpleasant.

From a shining box, several small insects took flight, and joined their fellows who were hovering above the creature. Were they under its thrall somehow?

Sharp broadcast his name, pointing at himself with all four thumbs.

Then he waited.

Possibly the creature’s face wrinkled. It took a step back. Perhaps it was sick; perhaps it needed time to think. Then suddenly it leaped to the shining box that had produced the insects, and began to gesture at it, using intricate flickering finger movements, while its mouth worked.

Patterns of light shone above the box. Sharp drew closer. Then a blast of scent made him stumble backward.

~SHARP!

The box had emitted his name. Astounding. It meant the creature could communicate, or might learn to, and that was the answer to everything.

His answering scent was simple, the fragrance of happiness.

For here was his opportunity. Casteless and untouchable, he might yet taste knowledge far beyond the long-digested traditions of the Council Elders. The power of novelty was his.

The thought made him salivate profusely.

For Rekka, the alien was a brooding ursine presence with watchful amber eyes. It wore a short sleeveless robe, hood thrown back. Seated, its head was level with hers when she stood. It kept still, not because of her beeswarm flying overhead - the alien probably did not understand how dangerous they were - but because it understood her fear, and wanted to reassure her.

At least, that was how she interpreted its posture and gestures. But how anthropomorphic could her thinking be? This planet’s lifeforms approximated the division between animal and plant kingdoms; and many animal species had a close analogue of spines and jointed limbs, along with bilateral symmetry. In the context of xenoevolution, that made this world almost identical to Earth.

Still, this alien’s cells bore no DNA - of course - so however Earthlike it looked, she had fundamentally more in common with a centipede or jellyfish, even a fungus.

Except that intelligence is an emergent property, arising from many kinds of substrate.

And I’m the alien here.

Light rain, softer than tears, began to fall. Rekka wiped drops from her forehead, then slowly approached the creature and touched its cheek. Damp fur over hard bone. Then it took her hand in its double-thumbed grip, turned it palm-up, and gave a soft, darting lick, its tongue rasping. She closed her eyes, shuddering, remembering MacDuff: her adoptive parents’ collie, shaking himself indoors after a rainy walk.

Finally, she opened her eyes and backed away, then returned to her biofact. Light-headed, she worked on the displayed codeframes, evolving aggregates and subtypes, initiating two evolution threads. Soon she would be able to transmit to . . . Whiff, she would call him in her journal. Arbitrarily, she had decided the creature was male.

I’ve made first contact.

She hadn’t sought it out; but now it had happened, she needed to work properly. Permanent comms with the rest of the team were forbidden - ever since the disaster of Watson’s World, where thousands of enraged creatures, their nervous systems enflamed by radio-wavelength energy, had fallen on the exploratory team - and her reports would be zipblips, delivered nightly, their duration a matter of picoseconds.

For the rest of the day she worked, taking no breaks, save for several quick trips behind the bushes to her latrine. Her progress was incredible, and by nightfall she had the beginnings of conversation in place.

‘Rekka,’ Whiff told her, his voice emanating from the biofact’s speakers. ‘Sit.’

And she did, obeying the command.

‘Whiff? Stand.’

So Whiff did as she asked, rising from his stool.

Success.

This was more than a day’s work, and she had yet to report on it. Her stomach growled. For hours she had been pushing herself; now it was time to eat. On Earth, sharing food with any animal builds trust; but her biochemistry was too different to allow her to share with Whiff.