Was it reasonable to enter this place at all? Rakesh tried to step back from his own agenda and ask the question objectively. Whether or not the Ark contained the descendants of a single cultural lineage stretching all the way back to the Steelmakers, these creatures or their ancestors had already suffered greatly from forces beyond their control. Weren't they entitled to do their best to shut out the universe and make their own lives inside this cocoon? It was true that the Amalgam could offer them far greater security than the most stable orbit in this perilous neighborhood, but it would be naive to think that contact itself would be a neutral experience. Out in the disk, the Amalgam had usually waited for cultures to develop interstellar travel for themselves before making contact with them; the exceptions had often been messy.
He turned to Parantham. "Assuming there's someone in there, why can't the Aloof keep them safe? Do you think they could really have been unaware of this place until we came here?"
"We don't know that they're not looking after them," she countered. "Maybe they're tweaking all the local stellar orbits, even as we speak. Maybe they've wrapped their giant hands around this spark of life to shield it from harm, just as meticulously as they've shielded the bulge from intruders."
"Then why are we here? What do they expect us to do?"
Parantham shook her head. "I could spin some half-plausible theory about them hunting for companions for these lonely foundlings, but the truth is I really don't know. It's not our responsibility to read their minds, though; our responsibility is to whoever is inside that Ark."
"To do
what
, exactly?" Rakesh hadn't realized quite how tense he was until he heard it in his own voice. He didn't want the fate of a civilization resting on his shoulders, but nor could he simply turn and walk away. Any people who'd survived their world being dragged from star to star and then torn apart deserved sanctuary. What he did not want to do, though, was blunder in and destroy their paradise, if they had already found it right here.
Parantham said, "Whether the Aloof are pulling our strings, or whether they really don't give a damn what we do, in the end we only have our own judgment. All we can do is tread carefully. I say we wait a few weeks to see if anyone answers our message. If they don't, we go in as unobtrusively as possible and take a look around."
Standing on the surface of the Ark at the point closest to the neutron star, Rakesh could feel the plasma wind and the tidal gravity trying to peel him off and fling him away into the accretion disk. It was like hanging upside down in a stiff breeze, albeit in low gravity and very low pressure. The adhesive pads on his jelly-baby feet could easily resist his avatar's minuscule weight, but the insistent tug was still disconcerting. It was no wonder that in all of their time watching the Ark they had seen no locals foolish enough to venture outside.
Parantham said, "Come on, it's this way." He followed her across the gray plain; the surface felt rough to his clinging feet, but it was flat to the eye and bore no visible cratering. The plasma around them was extremely hot, but also very thin; its temperature in Kelvin made it sound like it would fry anything instantly, but if you calculated its energy density it suddenly seemed a whole lot tamer. The inner edge of the disk and the plasma falling on to the surface of the neutron star were emitting hard radiation that would not have been too healthy for an organic body, but it was nothing to their avatars, and the Arkrock would block it once they were inside.
The crack they'd found was even narrower than the last one, and they'd had to shrink their avatars accordingly. Parantham entered first and Rakesh followed, reaching up by bending sharply at the waist to get a handhold before unsticking his footpads. They could have used their ion thrusters and let the autopilots navigate them through the crack without even touching the sides, but to Rakesh that would have ruined the whole sense of presence; he might as well have sent in a surveyor probe and merely watched the feed from its cameras. Whatever the Arkdwellers might think, he felt far more comfortable making an uninvited entrance in this form than he would have about sending in an autonomous spying device; this way seemed respectful, rather than sneaky. No doubt that reflected his own cultural bias, but until he had something better to go on it was as good a basis for choosing his actions as any.
As soon as they reached a point sheltered from the direct force of the wind, fungus began appearing on the Arkrock. Rakesh took some samples and sequenced them; they were recognizable cousins of the species on the other Ark, though there were significant genetic differences relating to the different environments. As they clambered up the walls, the winding of the crack soon blocked out the starlight, but this time as well as the thermal radiation of the walls themselves they had another kind of light to see by: the Arkrock was translucent to a band of terahertz radiation being produced by electrons spiraling around the magnetic field lines of the plasma. This window appeared to have been tuned to the predominant frequency in the plasma surrounding the Ark's natural orbit, so it was almost certainly a deliberate part of the design. The Arkmakers had not built a dark world of subterranean tunnels and caverns; they had made a world of glass and set it swimming in a sea of light.
Combining the visual processing techniques they'd used in the previous Ark with sensitivity to this new illumination was remarkably effective; although the kind of information they were receiving was very different from that yielded by the usual scattering of light from surfaces, making use of the right cues still generated a rich, detailed sensorium. Rakesh found that he could distinguish most of the species of fungus by sight, and even spot one kind buried beneath another. It was a shock at first to realize that almost nothing was completely opaque across this new spectrum, but once you accepted that fact the potential confusion abated. It was still possible to determine which of two things in your line of sight was the closest; it was just a matter of abandoning the old expectation that the nearer would obscure the farther as a matter of course.
They passed through a point where the fungus was exuding tendrils that criss-crossed the width of the break in the wall. As Rakesh understood the organism's behavior from genome-based simulations, this structure would develop into a net that would trap drifting material — both the "sand" of eroded Arkrock and the mineral-rich corpses of micro-organisms — and use it to reconstruct the wall. Perhaps within a century or two the fissure would be completely sealed.
They emerged from the crack and clambered up on to the floor of a small tunnel; though it dwarfed their tiny avatars, it was less than a centimeter wide. Dozens of varieties of fungus were growing on the walls, inflecting the Arkrock's crystalline translucence with a rich spectrum of colors. If this place turned out to be empty of higher lifeforms, it would not be for want of food. Rakesh could feel the plasma wind even now, flowing right through the walls.
Parantham said, "We don't seem to have sprung any alarms yet, but I suspect they don't have a big problem with intruders."
"No."
"So what now?"
"We take it slowly," Rakesh suggested. "Give them a chance to react. Wait here a couple of hours, to avoid appearing hostile or impatient. If there's no response, we go a little deeper and do the same again."
They waited. Rakesh was sure that certain kinds of fifty-million-year-old civilizations could not have avoided noticing their presence the instant their feet touched the Ark, but then, they were also the kind most likely to have left this place behind completely. The various possibilities were not mutually exclusive, though: even a technologically advanced culture with the power to travel far from the Ark need not have deserted it, and the fact that he and Parantham were not yet facing a welcoming party was no proof that the Arkdwellers had died out or migrated elsewhere.
After two hours with no sign that they'd been noticed, they started walking along the tunnel.
As they approached an intersection the sensors in Rakesh's avatar began to pick up a faint, complicated set of vibrations coming through the rock. It didn't match the footfall of the twelve-legged creatures they'd found in the other Ark; if it was being caused by any kind of animal, it was a large group of a different species altogether.
At the intersection they turned into a wider tunnel, following the vibrations. Their own footsteps didn't seem to be attracting attention, but then even if they were audible in principle this crowd's own noise might have been drowning them out.
The tunnel veered sharply, then opened up into a large chamber. At first all Rakesh could see was the far wall, thickly layered with fungus, but as they drew closer to the entrance the view took in the chamber's floor. Dozens, perhaps a hundred, creatures were moving through the fungus. They were each about a centimeter wide — ten times the size of the curious arthropod that had greeted them in the first Ark. Some had six legs, some had eight. The trunks of their bodies were flattened ovoids, encased in smooth, bilaterally segmented exoskeletons. Within, Rakesh could see small, pulsing organs pumping fluid through a series of cavities surrounding the other viscera, whose functions were less immediately apparent.
They stood at the mouth of the tunnel and observed the creatures in silence. Their motion seemed purposeful, systematic. After a while Parantham said, "They're not feeding on this stuff, but I think they're tending it."
Rakesh agreed. They were crushing some of the rarer plants with their claws, and doing the same to some much smaller animals living among the fungus, but they did not seem to be ingesting anything. They were favoring a handful of species, which were visibly flourishing under this attention, while killing what amounted to weeds and pests.
That didn't prove that they were sentient; agriculture was a fairly common form of innate symbiosis. Would such skilled genetic engineers as the Arkmakers have sentenced their descendants to toiling in the fields? Surely they could have devised maintenance-free crops. Was this proof that the genetic infrastructure had fallen into disrepair? Or perhaps the whole idea that this was a failure was cultural bias; perhaps for them this was enjoyable toil, as exhilarating as running could be for Rakesh's own phenotype.
Parantham said, "You see how they're drumming their legs against their torsos?"
"Yes."
"The vibrations are making it through the rock, so it could be a form of communication. I've been searching for correlations with their surroundings and behavior, but nothing's emerged so far."
"So either it's not communication at all," Rakesh concluded, "or it's playing a more sophisticated role than coordinating this task."
"It looks that way," Parantham agreed. "I was thinking that these might be domestic animals, engineered to tend the crops, but if they're talking to each other about matters far from the here and now, I would hope that means they're the farmers."
"What else could it mean?"
"They could be sentient, but enslaved in some fashion."
Rakesh was dismayed. "Where
do
you get these charming hypotheses?"
"It's been known to happen," Parantham replied dryly.
If the "farmers" had noticed their presence, there was no sign of it. Their avatars were a hundred times smaller than these creatures, and though they were culling pests barely larger than that out of the tangles of fungus, that was at close range. Rakesh couldn't help feeling that if he and Parantham wandered down into the cavern, their most likely reception would involve a similar treatment. In any case, trying to introduce themselves at this point would be premature; they needed to learn the creatures' language, if they had one, and determine exactly what could be expressed with it. Translating "we come in peace from another star" might be tricky if nobody in the Ark had braved the hard radiation of the exterior for several million years. It would be unwise to prejudge the matter, though; for all he knew these farmers could be passing their time debating cosmology and wondering whether life could exist outside the perfect conditions of the galactic bulge.
The two travelers continued to observe, patiently. Just as Rakesh was beginning to suspect that nothing was going to change however long they watched — there was no diurnal cycle here, after all — the farmers broke off traversing the crops and began milling toward the chamber's exits. None approached the tunnel where he and Parantham were standing; they were all heading in the opposite direction, deeper into the Ark.
Rakesh exchanged glances with Parantham; even with their unexpressive jelly-baby faces they didn't need to speak to confirm the decision. They switched on their thrusters and flew across the chamber. As they approached the far side the unspoken consensus continued; they flew together into one of the tunnels, then hovered in the middle to observe the exodus. The farmers jostled beneath them, crowding the small corridor, sometimes climbing the walls and ceiling to get past each other; with their claws splayed against the rock they seemed to have little trouble supporting their weight, but it could not have been entirely effortless as they weren't disregarding gravity completely. In the near vacuum and with no contact with the walls, Rakesh could no longer detect the vibrations of their putative language directly, but everyone in the torrent of bodies surging around him was visibly engaged in the drumming gesture, even more so than when they'd been among the crops. The creatures still showed no interest in the avatars; with the faint glow of the ion thrusters far outside the frequency range of the ambient light, they probably looked like nothing more than specks of dust thrown up by the stampede, and it would have taken an unlikely second or third glance for anyone to wonder why they weren't settling to the floor.
When the last of the farmers had surged past them, Rakesh and Parantham pursued the tail end of the crowd. When the tunnel forked, they split up. It was impossible to follow everyone, so Rakesh chose a group of five among his quarry who seemed to be sticking close together. One by one, though, in side tunnels and small chambers, each of the farmers dropped out of the group. They wedged their bodies into crevices in the rock, and simply stood there, dormant.