*The fateful cast of genes. We incorporated facets of that ancient race; they surface perpetually in us.*
<I would rather be a pure and rage-filled fighter!>
*You cannot be purely anything, Quath. That is the legacy of that lost species—to see each aspect of life as mitigated.*
<But I do not like it so!>
*No matter. Your pain, your indecision, your questing after higher answers—that is your trial and labor and destiny.*
<I would rather be sure!>
*Certainty is the lot of those who do not ask questions. Such are nearly all the podia. We have mastered the material world, we ken its workings. But we do not puzzle at the questions you do, Quath.*
<Would that I were like you!> Quath shouted in a strange lonely anger.
*As a Philosoph you should now know that the traits long ago genetically implanted will manifest themselves in you in ways that are unpredictable and disturbing. Further, they shall increase with age. You may display the inborn traits of ancient beings, or a combination of podia nature and theirs.*
<I see no way to answer my questions.>
*There are other, perhaps even grander issues, Quath. Of such matters I bring news. The slabs you brought to me contain enough information for the Illuminates to contemplate a daring adventure, something the podia have never dared brave: a voyage to the very center of the galaxy.*
<But all the texts say that is impossible—you remarked so yourself. The mechs muster enormous forces there.> Quath clambered through a mire of muck and ripped soil. Great quakes had torn these mountains savagely.
*The slabs tell of a time when organic beings—the ones who wedded their genes to ours, perhaps—ventured close to the black hole at the very center. There may be a way in, free of mech interference. It will require all our resources, however.*
Quath stopped beside a ravine. In the forest beyond were the humans she was tracking. The telltale she had planted flashed for a microsecond; her own Nought was among this company. But she could not think of the hunt now.
<I volunteer my sinew and soul to such an enterprise.>
*That may indeed be necessary.*
Something in the Tukar’ramin’s tone made Quath inquire, <We…could learn much at the Galactic Center?>
*One hopes. The mechs disguise their activities in the inner few light-years. For millennia the Illuminates have wondered at their incessant collecting of pulsars, their veiled experiments. We can scarcely hope to extinguish such beings if we do not know their deepest, perhaps most dangerous abilities.*
<I have only meager abilities. I know of nothing of—>
*You have something we must possess.*
<What? How is that possible?>
*Your Nought.*
<I…I do not…>
*I sensed your small passenger while you were still in the Hive.*
<I…I intended to…>
*Know that I fathom your crosscurrents and dark broodings, Quath. We have not had a Philosoph in the Hive for a great while. I decided to let you follow your inner compass.*
<My Nought…>
*Perhaps you kept it as a pet; podia have done such before. It is no crime. Indeed, your secret keeping of this mite is ample evidence of the mysterious wisdom that comes, often unbidden, to a Philosoph. Care for your pet well.*
<No, I…>
*Yes?*
<I do not have it.>
*What?*
<I am using it to track the other Noughts.>
Alarm shot through the Tukar’ramin’s projected aura. *The Illuminates themselves now need it! It was a principal on the ship that brought them here—a vessel we must have.*
<But I—>
*Find it!*
With that command the Tukar’ramin’s aura blew away as though a breeze had taken it. Quath had the sense of the Tukar’ramin’s hurrying to convey this information to some distant place.
She should have felt some elation at this sudden turn. The slabs she and Beq’qdahl had found now proved more important than any fabulous dream. Her Nought was somehow a key because of its ship. Quath’s transgression—hiding the Nought and lying by omission to the Tukar’ramin—had been lightly passed over.
Yet she felt somber and vexed as she quick-stepped toward the forest ahead. If the Illuminates did not know how to answer Quath’s questions, what authority in all the podia could? Was it possible that the terrible vision of an utterly empty and meaningless universe was unquestioned, even at the highest levels?
Restless, Quath cast forward with her aura, hoping to pick up some pinprick taste of her Nought. Finding it would not be easy if she relied on the few quick flashes its telltale emitted in a day. She had slipped it into the crude equipment it wore, elemental augmentations like a crude parody of the podia’s sleek lags.
