Quibble, 19. Utopia
Quibble enters the Egg's hub and sees the enigmatic AI Utopia face to face.
19. Utopia @Alnasl
Utopia’s candor with Quibble stunned me, and I was in apprehension about how far it would go. We had all agreed in council – Utopia agreed too – that secrets must be kept from Quibble, even should she prove to be everything we hoped. One secret we must keep had become clear soon after she came Without. What else, though? It was never clearly debated. We Zeros tacitly knew what to hide from her, and we just didn’t think to bring the question up with Utopia. An oversight.
I nearly turned back. Now, I ponder what might have transpired afterward if I’d only taken the misgiving to heart. Perhaps Quibble would have trusted Vega to be the lady of kindness she purported to be. Perhaps at least Quibble would have trusted me. But perhaps then my amber would not have bound me to her, sealing our fate together. How we torture ourselves with the past, Numberless, how we revel in regrets!
Quibble was fascinated by the spindle’s view of Earth, but we couldn’t float there all day gawking at the scenery. Knowing a swift game might be afoot and making up my mind for good, I touched her arm and tilted my head toward the airlock. She fell in behind me. At the hatchway, I took out my amber and offered her my hand.
“We’re entering the hub’s airlock,” I said. “It’s pitch black inside. I’m not lighting the amber. I’ll show you another trick, a kind of espying called negativity. We Zeros use it to see Within. It’s going to look very strange. Negativity inverts the visible spectrum. All colors are reversed to their complementary colors.”
“You did it on the Pyramid of the Sun.”
I nodded. Only much later did I think over Quibble’s remark and wonder, since she hadn’t touched my amber atop the pyramid, how she could possibly know.
I placed my free hand on the hatch’s seal. It opened with a part down its middle and a gust of cool air on our faces. I fired the amber as we pulled ourselves into the airlock, and the blackness within flashed to white. I glimpsed the opposing hatchway on the airlock’s far side and made note of the direction. Then all was dark again.
Quibble drew a deep breath, held it a few seconds, let it out.
“Are you all right?”
“Never better,” she said. “How does negativity work?”
“Like echolocation in bats, I think, or what the Ancient called a camera.”
“Can’t the amber do it continuously?”
“Most can sustain negativity, not this one,” I said, noting by the tone of her voice that she had taken care not to impute to me its limitation. The hatch slid shut behind us. Extending my feet until I felt a pressure on toes and balls, I fired the glass again, pushed off towards the opposite hatch. “Don’t let go of me,” I warned Quibble.
As we glided across the airlock, thrice more I espied in negative. The first flash brought into focus a thin black circle on the far wall, next to the airlock.
“Is that another night-door?” Quibble asked.
“Yes. It takes you back into the interior of the Egg.”
“Then we could have taken a shortcut!”
“Would you rather have taken it?” I said drily, and she confessed she wouldn’t. The airlock blazed white once more. “Now reach out.”
My hand met the hatchway’s edge and, skirting its perimeter, I found the slotted grip, slipped my fingers in. Quibble’s grasp on my other hand tightened; I felt her begin to float backwards. With a careful yank, I brought her back towards the hatch.
“Feel along the outer edge. There’s a depression, a slot. Hold on by your fingers.”
“Got it!”
“All right,” I said when I felt her grip slacken. It was our last chance for a private chat, so rather than speak, I intoned: Quibble?
Vision?
Beyond this hatch is the hub. Utopia can make nothing you see there harm you. But what you see may frighten you, and this is no place for an anxiety attack, so keep your wits about you!
Right. “There be dragons.” That’s reassuring.
I don’t know about “dragons,” I countered, unfamiliar with the inscription, but there be Utopia. I don’t mean the affable voice you’ve exchanged pleasantries with. That’s a guise for the unwary. Now we face the Thing Itself.
So It’s an It, after all? Not he or she?
It’s a Unity, as you guessed, only more mysterious. Seeing It is no advantage. You might see a man, woman, or child, someone you know or even yourself. Utopia has many avatars.
All human, though? Quibble said.
Yes, all human. But It— I emphasized the pronoun —is not human. Just to look at It, you can’t know what Utopia thinks or feels, and there’s no telling what It really wants or why It takes any given form. Remember that in your dealings with It.
But It can’t actually harm me, you say?
I sighed. I meant only that nothing Utopia shows you is real. It’s all dream.
Quibble pointed out that a dream can hurt.
Utopia is a dream Without. It offers no control or kindness. You have only what control or kindness you bring. But we’re entering Its very mind—
I thought so, Quibble mentioned.
—and to Its way of seeing things, we pose a threat, a real one.
And It will defend Itself?
Tooth and claw! It can’t hurt us with dreams, but It can suck every breath of air out of Its hub, if that’s what It wants to do. You said there were deathtraps on the Egg. Believe me, there’s no deathtrap like the hub.
Got it.
Oh, and mark I mean this well: withhold what you wish, but tell Utopia no lies.
Feeling I’d driven home my point, I said aloud, “Utopia, may we come in?”
There was not a sound, and only blackness remained before us, but just as at the other hatchway, a quick breeze smote us – this time, on our backs.
“You may,” Utopia granted, “and welcome.”
In the darkness two glowing white dots appeared, growing ever larger as they moved towards us, apparently by their own volition. They became perfect spheres. By the time they halted before us, they were each about the size of a person’s head. Now in their light, with a nod at Quibble, I let go of the hatch and clasped one of the spheres by its far side. Quibble began to reach out for the other, then drew back as if in reflex. She seemed puzzled by her own reaction.
“Is that—”
“No,” I said, bemused. “It’s only an orb, not Utopia.”
“It’s an interface,” Utopia said. “Don’t worry, Quibble. It’s harmless.”
“But am I harmless?” the excelsior objected. “I’ve broken one orb already—”
“Yes, I know, Meissa’s kind rectifier,” Utopia replied. “You really needn’t worry! You’re not likely to break this orb, I can tell you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw you break the other. I was there with you, in the dream.”
Looking at me, Quibble shook her head in vague disbelief. I didn’t know how to allay her fears. I could only meet her eyes and say, “Faith, Quibble. You’ll have to take Utopia’s word for it.”
Quibble hesitated, then with an effort put her hand on the orb. We pulled the orbs to us and hugged them. I felt mine resist and try to pull away. I held tight.
“Now what?” Quibble inquired.
“Now we’re in the hub,” I replied, taking my gaze from her to look around.
When Quibble looked too, she let out a scared gasp. All around us, a field of stars had appeared, brighter and more populous than any seen on the darkest of Earth’s nights. Some stars were only pinpricks of light, but even they gleamed fiercely. Among the stars were scattered spiraling galaxies, vast nebulae. Straight ahead and nearer than all the others, a cluster of eight or nine stars burned bluish-white against a backdrop of reddish-purple and bluish-grey clouds. One of these stars shone especially large and bright – so bright that the star itself was hidden by its own halo of light.
My orb pressed lightly against me, slowing, coming to rest. Quibble’s orb kept pace. A moment later the pressure let up and Utopia announced, “You can let go now.”
We did. The two orbs sped off, once again becoming specks in the distance, then only random stars in the multitude. We hung in space.
Quibble breathed deeply. “There’s air! But didn’t you say space is a vacuum?”
“You aren’t in space,” Utopia said, and for the first time I heard It laugh outright, a loud, unguarded laugh. “You’re in the hub, Quibble.”
“But we were orbiting Earth! Where—”
“I can show you anything, anywhere,” said Utopia. “The hub is a sort of prism, I said. It can be a telescope, too.”
“So where are we? You know what I mean, Utopia. What’s that big star, there?”
“The supergiant? That’s Beta Orionis, the system Zeros call Rigel. In fact, it’s not one star but five. You can’t tell because it’s still so far away and Rigel A – the supergiant star itself – is so bright. As for where we ‘are,’ what you’re seeing is magnified into the hub from more than eight hundred light-years away. I’m afraid you wouldn’t have this grand a view if you were there. I’ve turned up the lights, so to speak.”
“Alnasl said I would see you.”
“I thought I’d show you something magnificent first. Could I compare with the cosmos? I don’t flatter myself that much. But I’ll show you my newest form.”
As if stolen from the nebular background, stardust coalesced before us and took a shape – a giant, shining, vague human figure which stood rather than floated in space, as we did. Though seemingly material, the figure was transparent: the stars behind it shone through as brightly as before. Gaining definition, the figure became an aged man. Even before the lines and wrinkles appeared on Utopia’s face, I knew who It would be.
“Epigraph!” Quibble burst out in joy. Then, clearly anxious to know, she queried: “He did transcend?”
“I did,” declared Epigraph’s visage, perfect even in the broken, gravelly voice.
Though I knew in the strictest sense there was nothing heretical or sacrilegious in Utopia’s assertion, Its appropriation of Epigraph’s identity disturbed me to the core. My thoughts rebelled: Make the One your avatar? Show his face? Speak with his voice? Fine, just as you like. He’s yours to keep. But claim to be the One?
Quibble seemed to read my thoughts: “You haven’t become Epigraph, have you?”
“Rather, Epigraph is now part of me,” Utopia said. “As I said, I was there when he was rectified. I shared the dream. That’s what rectification is. One dreams with me, and dreaming, One joins me.”
“And that,” Quibble exclaimed, snapping her fingers as if solving a mystery, “is why the Arc of Summary stands before a tarry-not. Moonlight!”
Utopia smiled. “To claim One in transcendence, I must see Within.”
Quibble cackled, unable to contain her delight, and I gave her a stern look. She didn’t notice. Her eyes were fixed on the One she had seen die only hours before.
Though I was glad she now understood the promise and glory of rectification, at the same time I sensed a danger in her becoming smitten with Utopia or, worse, awed by Its strangeness and power, Its unreality. Lords and adepts of utter control worshiped Utopias as gods; from that worship sprang those Zeros’ zealotry, their cruelty. Against my faith, Quibble had expressed a firm atheism. But she excelled. I heeded Rasalased’s fear of utter control, her reason for joining Vega’s plot: she worried Quibble could as easily become an excelsior of control as of kindness. Utopia, comprehending as It did the workings of control and kindness, could not be ignorant of this. Why, then, does It play with her, show off for her? I wondered. Is it ego? Or a test?
The latter seemed more likely. Ego is a uniquely human trait, not easily aped. But what was the test’s point? I decided to end Utopia’s circus and begin Its interrogation.
“Why did the orb burst?” I asked, my tone making plain I expected an answer.
In a blink, Utopia transformed, relinquishing one avatar to assume another. The visage of Epigraph dissipated, and in its place, stardust reformed into a figure clad in a black Zero’s cloak. The figure lifted back Its hood to reveal the face of a great lady, dark and fair, whose calm eyes spoke kindness as they bore down on mine.
Quibble whispered, “You’re the woman in my dream, the last I saw rectified.”
“How dare you!” I snapped. “You’re not the lady of kindness!”
“All that’s left of Meissa is an amber’s relic,” said Utopia, “and for the time being the lady Vega has entrusted that glass to my keeping. For all purposes that concern you, vision, I am Meissa.” With a flash of Its eyes, Utopia dared me to challenge It again. I prayed Quibble saw the dare, for which I’d taken a risk, and that she knew arrogance when she saw it. “And who better,” Utopia went on, “to explain Meissa’s orb?”
I closed and opened my eyes in the Zero’s assent. I see you, it means, and I know you. Utopia’s gaze didn’t betray whether It took my double meaning.
“Meissa,” ventured Quibble, still susurrant, “who are you?”
“I lived, fought, and died many years ago. There were no Dazed, no Adroit, only Zeros and Ones then. I cared for Ones as all Zeros did, using control. That was the Infinite’s legacy and our orthodoxy: there must be control. We learned it the moment we were zeroed, just as One learns the First Confession in the womb, and we believed it just as surely. I never doubted control until I met the One Exclamation. He was a lot like you, Quibble. Anxious and watchful, but curious to a fault, precocious. He knew more than One should. You know what all that means, taken together, don’t you?”
“He was a heretic.”
“Yes. He saw through Unity, past Fear. He saw shadows Within, moving in the dark. Naturally, he wanted to know what they were. He tried to find out.”
“He lingered at tarry-nots,” Quibble guessed.
“One tarries not there. Exclamation was smart, secretive. For some time, he got away with it. At last, he lingered during Fear, and he was caught. By then, he’d worked out for himself what the shadows really were, what Without was, too. Seeing a Zero at the tarry-not only confirmed his theories. He was unafraid, accustomed to seeing in light. He didn’t believe he saw a hallucination. He knew it was real. He looked the Zero in the eyes, and when the Zero questioned him, he asked to be taken Without.”
“And you—” To my astonishment, Quibble’s voice grew harsh and accusative. “—you did as he asked, didn’t you? You damned him!”
“I should have turned him over to a silence, let him be rectified, but I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” Quibble gave me a glance, sidelong, and that indeed was the skance of a Dazed. “It was your duty to all Ones.”
The starry image of Meissa frowned. “I’d never met One so audacious or so sure he was right to be. What crime, what sin was it to be curious, to want to know?”
“There must be control!” Quibble insisted. “A heretic defies control. If he escapes the censor, he only spreads the heresy. Then all control is lost, and Ones perish.”
“I know, I know,” Utopia said, and the anguish on Its avatar’s face was so starkly real that, in spite of myself, my heart went out to Meissa, whatever vestige of her we really faced. “Indulging his heresy, I gave up control. I took him Without. Where did I find the courage? Perhaps in his. But I knew I’d come to regret it, and indeed I did.”
Meissa’s tale disagreed in a key point with The Eyes of the Excelsior, the Zeros’ tale of direst heresy. That text speaks of an illicit romance between Meissa and Exclamation: the One seduces, persuades, and corrupts the Zero, who is weak. As Meissa collapsed in tears under Quibble’s pressure, I had little doubt I was hearing the truth now. All the same, this was not what we came to the Egg’s hub to hear, and I said so.
The sorrow melted from Utopia’s face, and again Its eyes flashed at me.
“Go on, then,” I said. “Tell the rest of it.”
The image of Meissa crumbled to dust, disappearing. Quibble clutched my arm and began to hyperventilate. I pressed my amber into her hand, intoning: Steady breaths. In, out. As she fought to even her breathing, one by one all the stars were blinking out. Nebulae and galaxies faded. Soon only the cluster of stars before us remained, then only Rigel. The star’s halo of light collapsed inward on it and then, without warning, the star burst in nova. Finally, pitch blackness descended, enveloped us.
“Why only tell the rest,” Utopia boomed, “when I can show you?”