“Sort of,” says another. “But it’s unlike any other planet in the galaxy. I mean, except for the thousands of others up there.” It waves toward the blue ceiling—or sky, Sarya is rapidly realizing. “It’s a whole fleet of planets, if that makes sense. All come together, for the first time in history, in a hole carved into the brain of Network Itself—at a Blackstar, of all places!” The Observer sighs happily. “My Blackstar,” it says. “I’ve always wanted one.”
“I mean…I’m on the outside of something, though?” Sarya’s knees feel suddenly weak. “That’s…there’s no ceiling up there?”
“This baby’s a billion cubic kilometers!” says an Observer, kicking the undergrowth. “Big ol’ cube, about a thousand kilometers on a side. If there was no forest, you’d be able to see four giant mountains from here—which are of course the corners of this face. There’s a big sea in the middle too, because that’s where the water gathers—and if you think about it, that’s why everything seems either slightly uphill or downhill. The weather gets super weird around the edges too. Come to think of it, there are a lot of downsides, but—gosh darn it, laws of nature—I wanted cubes.”
“But to answer your earlier question?” says one, patting her leg paternally. “Yes, you’re on the outside of it.”
And that does it. Instantly, Sarya’s eyes flick upward and she feels herself sinking. “So then—”
“Yep!” says a cheerful Observer. “Nothing but empty space up there! More space than your adorable little mind can conceive of. You could fall for centuries and never hit anything bigger than a— Oh, right. You’ve never been on a planet before.”
Sarya has sunk into a crouch, breathing hard. The stream of Observers parts around Left and Right, who stand protectively to either side of her.
“I got a little excited,” says a passing Observer. “But never you fear! Even if I didn’t have artificial gravity—and I do, and it’s better than Network’s—this thing’s got enough mass to make you stick.”
“I just—I don’t—”
“You’ll be okay,” whispers Left in her ear, its hair tickling her cheek.
“It really is safe,” whispers Right. “I mean, as safe as anything here.”
The flow of Observer does not halt. “Just pretend it’s a ceiling up there!” He calls from somewhere in the crowd of Him. “Pretend we’re still on My brand-new Blackstar.”
She concentrates on the words so she doesn’t have to concentrate on not throwing up or not passing out. The Blackstar, there we go. It’s big, but it’s enclosed. It has ceilings, billions of them. Ceilings are great, aren’t they? They divide reality into nice little chunks. They contain it. They separate you from the endless void, the empty space that lies on the other side of that big blue thing…That’s ceiling up there, not sky.
Trembling, mouthing the word ceiling over and over, she allows Left and Right to wedge themselves under her hips and heave her to her feet. She keeps her eyes on the undergrowth, one hand gripping each guide’s small shoulder. “Okay,” she says through her teeth. “I’m good.”
They say nothing, but she feels a pat on her leg from each direction.
By the time she has traveled another half kilometer, the stream of Observer has turned into a river, with new tributaries joining every dozen meters. From her vantage point nearly a meter above their heads, she can see they cover the forest floor in all directions. They move identically, are dressed identically—and all of them, without exception, give her golden once-overs with identical eyes when they join the flow.
“I can’t help but think that this whole experience would be more dramatic at dusk,” says an Observer bouncing past.
“Dusk?” says Sarya, curiosity pricked. To someone who grew up in artificial environments, dusk is a minor event. It’s the transition time when the lights fade from day color to night color. As to what it could mean here…she has no clue.
“Close your eyes,” says another figure with a smile.
She does so, slowing her steps so she doesn’t trip over her own feet. Instantly, a flash of light blazes red through her eyelids. For a moment she would swear she could count her own veins—and then it’s gone.
“Open,” whispers His voice in her ear.
Observer controls the heavens. She knows that because she has just opened her eyes to a sky that is a dark pink–to–navy gradient, with a brilliant strip of orange in one direction. And as if the color change were a cue, bright orange and yellow lights crackle into life in all directions and begin bobbing around the crowd. They throw sparks into the air above them and trembling shadows across the bouncing mass of Observer. Sarya feels heat on her face as one passes by in the grip of a dancing Observer, and then a whole chain of questions about climate and sunlight on a fleet of cubes instantly flies out of her head because she has just realized what she is seeing.
“That’s fire,” she says. “You have fire on a spacecraft.”
“Planet,” says Observer. “Sort of. But yes.”
She swallows and glances around at the plant life. “Do these things, um…what’s the word?”
“Do trees burn?” says a gleeful passing Observer. “Do they ever!”
“Want a torch?” asks another, thrusting a flaming mass toward her.
She pulls back, blinking, her hands instinctively pulling her hair away from the sputtering heat. Tiny glowing specks leap from it, trailing dark vapor, and fall on nearby Observers. They don’t seem to mind; they laugh and shake them out of their hair or off their tunics.
“Um, no,” she says. “Thank you, but definitely not.”
“Suit yourself,” says the Observer, skipping on in an extremely unsafe way.
Her cognitive dissonance has increased, if anything. This gigantic person doesn’t share her value system, as Right would put it. Except…He does. He, more than anyone—or Anyone—she has ever met, appreciates the right now. He finds pleasure in the mundane. He dances instead of walking, He shouts instead of speaking, He built thousands of cubic starships covered with forests because why the hell not, and now He is taking her…
Where?
At the front of the horde, a rhythm has begun. It sounds like Observer’s spastic selves are striking things, resonant things. Together the sounds create a repeating pulse of clicks and booms, and Sarya finds herself taking smaller and faster steps to walk to the cadence. She peers into the cheerful chaos on all sides to find the sources of those sounds, and then more sounds begin filtering out of the darkness. Low ones, high ones, as rhythmic as the clicks and booms but longer and less explosive. They blend together, creating combinations that reach deep inside her.