the very flush of your victory, at the moment you’ve fantasized about for your entire life—”
“Boom!” shout a hundred thousand voices in an explosion like a thunderclap. Through her peripheral vision—which now extends over kilometers—Sarya sees millions of terrified eyes turn toward the great sphere in the darkness.
The illuminated Observer smiles as the rumble dies away. “Network might let you live, once you have no chance of reproducing. I’m sure it doesn’t much care. But your species? No. Just a few handfuls of atoms who have no idea they were ever stuck together.”
Remember that He is a murderer and a liar, says a memory in her mind, that He would love nothing more than to see the galaxy perish in fire and chaos. “And you know this…how?” she says.
“I know Network’s nature,” says Observer. “I also know quite a bit about your life. As you no doubt have found by now, We higher minds have a certain talent for putting two billion and two billion together. The most damning evidence, in My humble opinion is this: you’ve been quite the lucky little Human, haven’t you?”
“Lucky,” she says, staring. “Are you being serious right now?”
“I didn’t say it was good luck,” says the second Observer with an identical smile. “But you have to admit: you’ve led an unusual life. You’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of unlikely events. It’s almost as if someone—or Someone—noticed you the moment you entered Network space. It’s almost as if that person went to great lengths to ensure that you reached maturity in one piece…so It could bring you to Itself. This Someone gave you helpers. It gave you tools. To a mind the size of Mine, all this can only mean one thing. You have a dark purpose, Sarya the Daughter, and it is one you cannot escape.”
Remember that He is a murderer and a liar, that He is a murder and a liar, that He is a—
The third Observer laughs a bitter laugh. “Even when you were actually, literally, honestly killed,” it says, “you didn’t stay dead, did you? Sarya the Daughter, you cannot even die without Network’s permission. What makes you think you can live?”
Sarya’s eyes flick from one Observer face to the next as she fights the sudden doubt that has sprung up within her. All meet her eyes with the same sorrowful gaze. And then Observer sighs, as if all the weight of the galaxy is upon Him, and phrases begin to sprout from all over His massive mind.
“A maintenance drone never thinks to ask: why do I want to clean?”
“A transport never wonders: why do I love to carry things?”
“Does a pressure suit question its enthusiasm for keeping passengers safe?”
“What about every sanitation station you’ve ever used? Do they wonder why they love their job?”
“Has that little intelligence in your unit ever asked you: why do I love telling a good story?”
And again thunder rolls through the Visitors’ Gallery, as Observer’s bitter laugh emerges from a hundred thousand mouths. Millions of intelligences tremble at the sound. The few that are still drifting in the neighborhood of the sphere redouble their efforts to swim through air, frantically trying to put distance between themselves and this massive mind.
“Just like you, Sarya the Daughter,” says the illuminated Observer. “You have never once asked: Why would I do anything to find my people?” It smiles sadly. “You manipulate lower minds all the time, little one. Why has it never occurred to you, in a galaxy where you are a lower mind, that the same must be happening to you?”
An unpleasant feeling is growing in Sarya’s stomach. It’s leaking through the cracks in the confidence she felt only moments ago, when she was filled with purpose and that purpose was pure. “But why?” she asks. “I mean…why—”
“Why you? Because you are motivated, to say the least, and isn’t that how Network works? It doesn’t create, It simply uses the tools at hand. It is watching you. It’s protecting you. It’s giving your fiery motivation every chance to do its job. It’s giving you what you need as you need it, slowly transforming you into a Human-seeking missile. You cannot choose not to seek your people, Daughter; it is simply who you are.”
Sarya stares at the nearest Observer; He has almost done the impossible: He has, very nearly, convinced her of the truth of His argument. “So if I live, I find my people,” she says slowly. “And if I find