Now there is an actual crowd churning in the corridor. Through the holograms in the center of the space, she watches them ignore Mer and Roche entirely, their eyes fixed on her. Mer’s fur is on end and his talons are clearly visible, but Roche appears to be doing everything he can to take up less space.
“I want what everyone wants,” says Observer with several smiles. “I want to remake the universe.”
“That is not what everyone wants,” says Sarya. She is vaguely aware that her good hand is gripping its armrest to the point of pain, but her focus is elsewhere.
“Oh, whatever,” says Observer, dismissing her sentence with multiple identical waves. “Like anyone thinks things can’t be improved. I know it’s what you want. I’ve watched you your entire life, and I know exactly how you think. The first thing you did, when you got a little power, was to remake this little corner of the galaxy.”
“I tried to make it better,” she says softly.
“No,” says Observer. “You tried to make it better for you. You are a Human. Humans want a place where they are free to do what they want. Where the strongest are free to make the rules. Which is, of course, exactly what you’ve created here.” Observer points upward, through the control room ceiling, and Sarya knows exactly what He is pointing to. He is pointing toward the curtain of fire that surrounds this Blackstar in all directions, and through it to the eight hundred newly freed solar systems. Eight hundred stars, each with their planets, their millions of stations, their trillions of ships and uncountable intelligences—
“No,” she says.
“No what?” asks Observer pleasantly. “No, you don’t like what you’ve made? No, because your dream turned out different than you imagined? Daughter, here’s a bit of wisdom for you: just because a dream involves a bit of death and chaos, that doesn’t make it any less beautiful.”
But Sarya has spent a long walk in a dark forest thinking about this very thing. This is not just death and chaos, this is the beginning of something far worse. Those hundreds of star systems might be slowly regathered into Network’s fold, sometime in the next millennium. The Network could heal, because they would want it. They would send sub-lightspeed envoys to the Network, spending centuries just to ask the Network to come back, to send a new construction fleet for a new corridor, maybe not to reconnect this generation but the one five or six or ten centuries hence. These systems are made of Citizen members, after all. They are made of species who legitimately hatched from their various solar system–sized eggs, people who crave order and peace—
Except for one. One species, who could keep the entire sector off the Network. Who could have access to a Blackstar. Who could create a war machine to spread itself across Network like a disease—
“Ship,” Sarya says, and her voice is almost steady.
“Awaiting order.”
Observer watches her curiously, all His heads tilted to the same angle.
“Do you see a cylindrical object near us?” she says. She has only Observer’s vague description to go on, and she can only hope this ship can interpret it. “It’s spinning, like a habitat, and has faster-than-light capabilities.”
“Searching…this ship has found one object that meets that description.”
Observer rolls several sets of eyes. “Did I not just go over this?” He says. “Do you think there aren’t more of Me up there? You can go there—I’ll take you there Myself. Even now, I’m willing to insert you into that society, at any level you want. You’ll be a legend. You can have a mate—more than one, if you want. Family, children, the whole shebang. But stealing the whole thing? Right underneath My many noses?” Observer smiles with every mouth she can see. “I’m afraid not.”
“Ship,” says Sarya, still meeting Observer’s gaze. “Target that object. On my command—” And then her voice breaks. “On my command…destroy it.”
And then for the second time, Observer does something that gives Sarya the tiniest flutter in her heart.
He blinks.
“This ship has a variety of options for destruction,” says the ship. “Would you like to use—”
“Use your best judgment,” she says, her eyes still on Observer’s. “Total destruction.”
“Understood. Please confirm when ready.”
There are a few seconds of silence. One of the Observers coughs. Another one gives her a gentle, understanding look. “You spent your life dreaming of the moment when you would be reunited with your people,” it says. “Now, when the opportunity is right in front of you, I’m supposed to believe that you’re going to…destroy them?”
Hearing it is worse than thinking it, and thinking it was the worst thing she’s ever done. “Yes,” says Sarya softly.
Observer laughs again, this time more confidently. “Oh, little one,” He says. “You’re not fooling anyone. I know you, Daughter. In a manner of speaking, I created you.”
“Then—” Sarya says, then swallows, hating her body for its weakness. “Then You should know that I’m serious,” she says.
“I know that you’re not. I’m not some ethereal being, like Network; I’m flesh and blood, like you! Your drives and motivations are not strange to Me. They are not abstract puzzles to be theorized about. I share them! You are my daughter, in more ways than one. I, personally, am the reason your species came out of the trees! I taught you agriculture, I taught you warfare, I gave you technology. I knew your parents—your real parents—and their parents, and their parents, up and up and up for thousands of generations. I know, better than anyone, how Humans think—and you in particular. I know that this is not what you want.”
“No,” whispers Sarya. “It’s not.”
Observer stares at her from every one of His bodies.
Sarya can feel her own body trembling; from the corners of her eyes, she can see the holograms around her good hand try to track its spastic movement. She is at the end. She hasn’t thought at all for the last few minutes, she has just done. She has followed her instincts, and they have dropped her off right here. But her instincts don’t control her emotions, and those are what are tearing at the inside of her chest. “We are not worth eight hundred solar systems and trillions of deaths,” she says. She treasures the pronoun, because this is the last time she will ever get to say it. We. “We won’t keep this sector off the Network for You. We won’t be Your…tool. Or Your weapon.”
Now she can tell that Observer is beginning to take her seriously. “And you are going to make that decision for your entire species, are you?” He says.