gives him the same vibes as the Network equipment he used to work on: something so far above him it might as well be magic. He extricates his talons from the underside of his table—which he seems to have wrenched out of the floor—and drops the whole mess with a clang that would have been ear-punishing if this thing were not flowing by outside. He makes his way to the front of the establishment, standing in the doorway as it pours by. He marvels, with the rest of the bystanders, as the entire bridge resonates.
A small highlight appears in his vision, up near the front of the silver wave. In it, bobbing about as if drowning, is a tuft of fur.
Sandy.
And suddenly Mer is at peace.
This, he knows without a doubt, is the thing he has been waiting for. This is what his instincts have been warning him about. Sandy and the Human and a Network response and a tier four, coming together in the same place at the same time—after spending so long feeling like he’s in danger, it’s an actual relief to actually be there.
Watch the Human.
He is out on the bridge in seconds. He has no plan; he barely has conscious thoughts at all. His instincts have focused. They scream go, and Mer goes. Call it destiny, call it instincts, call it the galaxy itself. Mer can’t stay away.
His gait is thrown off by an impact he can feel through the floor, but still he comes. He hears the perfectly spaced clatter of his talons on the floor as he picks up speed. Other intelligences scatter as he careens through their midst. He prepares himself as he gallops, dropping himself into that near-trance he always uses when diagnosing Network issues. It’s easy, once you’ve learned. You ignore your intellect. You spread your senses out, give your instincts every piece of data you can, and then you listen to them. Something is happening in that arboretum, something far above him, something his small mind will never understand—
And then something else happens, something Mer didn’t know was possible. The entire Visitors’ Gallery, kilometers of brightly lit open space, is plunged into darkness. He stumbles, feeling his talons scrape and then leave the floor entirely. His stomachs rise. He slashes out, desperately, feeling for the floor, but there is nothing. Gravity’s out, say his instincts. Gravity, lights, everything. The only thing he can see is a single glowing phrase stamped across his view.
[Network not found.]
She stands under a dead sky, her feet lost in an infinite plane of surf. In her hand lies a stone the size of her palm, a jewel that sparkles in whatever passes for light here. It’s smoother than glass, weighs more than a trillion trillion suns, and it’s warm to the touch. Its slick surface refracts the sky into impossible colors.
Behold, says Network. The universe.
Huh, she says, hefting it. I always thought it’d be a little heavier.
She knew this, somehow. She understands, in some abstract way, that she is elsewhere. Elsewhen. Else-everything. She is breathing, but goddess knows that this is not air. She can feel water on the skin of her bare feet, but she is fairly certain that neither the skin nor the water actually exists. She can see, but that doesn’t mean that there are actual eyes involved—or light, for that matter. But the lie is comforting—more so, after spending the last few nanoseconds bodiless.
She wraps her fingers around the thing in her hand. Why do I want to throw it so bad? she asks. It’s just the perfect size.
I should not have to tell you this, says Network, but do not throw the universe.
What about just a little toss? Like this? She flips the universe from one hand to the other.
You are, without a doubt, the most— Network breaks off, with obvious effort, and begins again. Look around. Do you see anything you would like me to explain?
I’m good, she says, now tossing the universe from hand to hand. Strange how she’s never thought about how incredibly satisfying it would be to annoy a mind the size of a galaxy.
How in the— Again, Network stops. I am honestly trying to be civil here and you are being difficult.
Really? This is You being civil? Because I mean, You literally killed me.
I thought we were past that. And also, I believe it was Librarian who did the killing.
She laughs. That might have worked on me, before You told me all