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Why couldn't they have been artists?
Chooser knotted up her eyestalks, away from Scout's awful first report. It was still there, floating malevolently between her two heads, but at least this way she wouldn't have to look at it. The pretty blue-and-white planet was clearly visible through the viewport, so Chooser turned her stalks away from that too. She studied the blank, grey walls of her little ship, trying to recapture the pleased excitement she'd felt when they'd ported in eight days ago.
It had been such a promising dimension...
A big, old, universe, but empty, with only one planet of teleologic significance. One species, likewise. Fairly late Awakeners, to judge by their technology, with short, spindly bodies and a fascinating half-ring of manipulators on the ends of each of two long arms. Chooser had had high hopes for those manipulators, post Awakening. She'd hoped that their racial magic would turn out to be something creative: art, illusion, or perhaps something mechanical, to go with their technological base. It didn't always work that way: one would never guess Pilot's [Linear Drive] magic by looking at his stumpy body. But Chooser always felt a little responsible for the magic of races that she and her crew Awakened, and so she had hoped...
Instead, they're the new Empty Sorcerers.
Well, maybe. That was the kind of thought that demanded action, and proper action could come only from proper knowledge. Chooser unwound two eyestalks, just enough to re-read the left-side summary, and began.
I possessed six humans, all different genders[*] and ages[*]. All from the same physical area, that little island off the major land mass[*], but I read enough on their communication net that I don't think I need another insertion: it's the same everywhere[*]. In particular, I managed to get in touch with some people on that minor third continent down south, and we're not going to need a third impact; we definitely hit those guys too.
As for their racial magic...I don't know where to start. Humans can all see numbers now, abstract ones like Level[*] and Hit Points[*] that kinda summarize everything. Those all work the same way for everybody, but then there are Classes[*] and Skills[*] that vary: different humans get different loadouts.
Classes are pretty varied: my six humans got six different Classes. I know of 74[*] so far and I'm sure that isn't all of them...
Chooser unknotted a third eyestalk, just barely enough to follow the context links in the second paragraph. Humans now had Levels, measures of overall potency. They could increase their levels through battle, or by performing services for one another. Levels unlocked Skills, Skills had levels of their own that increased with use, Skills unlocked more Skills. There was a whole other ability, shared by all, that let them banish and summon owned objects somehow. And they'd gained a natural, always-on resistance to fear and pain.
It was an outrageously versatile piece of magic. Versatile, yes, versatile was a good way to think about it. Chooser unwound another stalk, and fixed her attention firmly on the sheer variety of potential applications. Thus bolstered, Chooser began to feel real curiosity, browsing Scout's appendices. The Classes were all so evocatively named, and there were so many of them. She deliberately shied away from violent-sounding entries like "Gunmage" or "Berserker", but even with that limitation there was plenty to see: Philosopher, Thief, Beastmaster, Cleric, Alchemist, Sage, Time Mage, Abjurer - wait. Time Mage? Chooser double-checked the translation, then followed the context link:
A sorcerous type who aspires to control reality's fundamental structure. They cast spells that change the flow of time, that warp distance and geometry, or to help exploration of other dimensions.
Other dimensions. So much for that fragile good mood.
Chooser was used to having plenty of time for analysis, post-Awakening: a leisurely month or two spent watching cultures adjust to their new powers, then a measured introduction to the wider multiverse. A well-conducted Awakening, followed by contact, could easily take years. But this time, if we wait, they'll come to us. Bleak void.
Chooser called on her link to Speaker, reached outward to the rest of her little crew. Speaker, Scout, Pilot, Builder. Speaker, Scout, Pilot, Builder. Attend, please. We will have our first meeting now. Scout will present from his report, detailing the human racial magic, after which I would like to hear your opinions.
She felt their wordless acknowledgements feeding back through Speaker's link, and shivered.
The central meeting space was a custom job, designed by Builder for the comfort of each of the five species of the crew. Chooser's space was a padded bowl, deep set into the floor. During the voyage from their insertion point in the asteroid belt she'd found it relaxing, but today the pillows weren't comfortable. It's not the pillows, lady.
Builder had settled onto her perch on the ceiling, Pilot was sprawled by the door, and Speaker just stood; her species even slept standing up, Chooser had heard. The room was quiet as only space could be; if anyone was speaking, they were doing it through their private links. You're stalling. Stop it. She turned all her stalks to Scout, who was floating in his astral form as a whirling ball of chaos at the head of the room, and whistled low for attention. "Scout, if you'd please begin?"
"Sure, ma'am." He wobbled a little in her direction, a gesture of maybe-respect, then steadied. "You've seen the pictures, so I'll skip straight to the magic. It's a little fiddly, but basically..."
Chooser let her minds wander, and watched the rest of the room. Everyone was confused, understandably enough, but no one was showing any fear. Does that make them braver than me, or just less alert?
The Empty Sorcerers' race magic, [Imposition of Desire], was the most powerful and flexible magic ever discovered. Every Sorcerer, no matter how young or weak, could conjure soulless servitors, enslave minds, and strike their enemies dead with bolts of terrible black lightning. Their power grew and multiplied through the sacrifice of sentient beings: each other or, more frequently, "lesser races" from other parts of the multiverse. Physically, they were huge and scaly, with fierce claws and vicious teeth - at least until they used their magic to transform themselves into even deadlier forms. They were the Great Enemy, the most powerful force in the multiverse, driven by their power to seek out lesser beings to sacrifice.
And now here were humans, who could do almost anything and gained Experience Points by killing their enemies. Chooser deliberately stilled her stalks, before they could start to knot themselves up again.
Back at the front of the module, Scout was wrapping up:
"...is basically it. Last I heard they were planning to bring their astronauts back, so if we want a look at a pre-Awakening human we need to snatch them pretty soon. I'll leave that up to the Chooser, though. Anyway: questions? Comments?"
Chooser let the silence stretch, and deepen. She'd wanted an independent perspective from her crew, so she had to wait until someone asked the obvious question...
"Are you drunk?" asked Builder, from her perch.
...or an obvious question, anyway. Scout had an answer ready: "I can't get drunk without a host body."
"That sounds awful," Builder said. Scout just whirled at her, so she continued:
"Ok, but, listen, race magic is never this complicated to talk about. Maybe the details are tricky, but there's always some unifying thread, right? Listen, I can do you guys in one sentence each, here: 'Pilot's race, the Rawgli, can accelerate anything close to them to arbitrary velocities. It's called [Linear Drive]'. Or try this on: 'Chooser's race, the S'rit, can detect and activate naturally-occurring portals between dimensions. It's called [Bending Arrow]', for some reason."
"It's a pun, in our native language," Chooser put in, then forced herself back on track. "What is your point, Builder?"
"That we're gripping the wrong end of this. There's gotta be some kind of simple way of looking at it, that we just don't know about yet."
Scout's body flashed blue, a sign of satisfaction. "I think I can help," he said. "I left it out because I wanted to focus on the magic itself, but I think I know where it came from. It goes back to a particular kind of human storytelling, invented about 50 local years ago..."
And then they all got a second presentation, this time about human entertainment. Scout had clearly planned it this way, confusion followed by enlightenment, and he pulsed deeper and deeper blues as he elaborated his explanation. It was interesting, in a bizarre cross-cultural sort of way, and yet:
"I still don't understand," Speaker said slowly. "Humans had weird, complicated games before they had weird, complicated magic. It's clearly related, but it doesn't explain anything. In fact, it makes things worse: why does the whole race have powers based on something that half of them have never done, that most of them through history never did?"
"It's probably the other way around: the magic isn't based on the games, the games are based on the magic. The racial magic was impending, inspiring people to create things like itself ahead of the actual Awakening." That was Pilot, sounding more thoughtful than usual. And for good reason: only strong magics expressed a unified will, and to do that even before the Awakening was unprecedented.
Well, probably. [Imposition of Desire] had done that, some people thought, to get the Sorcerers out of their home dimension. Chooser didn't know of any other examples. From his tone, Pilot didn't either.
Speaker shook herself. "I don't think it matters. Chooser called this meeting to decide whether or not we would contact the humans, but it seems to me that we don't have a choice. If we leave them alone, sooner or later they'll find us, under uncontrolled conditions." She paused delicately. "I can see why one might wish to simply leave them alone, and hope that they never find their way to civilized society, but in the long term it's simply not sustainable."
"We don't know that," Builder disagreed. "They might have one Class that might give them access to our Multiverse, and which might let them bring passengers along. That's a lot of 'mights', and they've got a lot of might themselves," she paused, snapping her beak at her own joke. "We only know of one portal into this place, right, out in the asteroid belt? Maybe we just put that rock on a collision course with the sun, then go home and tell Central to forget the whole thing."
That finally lured Scout into the conversation: "What about the humans? They'd be stuck in one cold universe, forever! If their power can't get them out-"
"-probably it can-"
"-maybe it can, and even if so-"
Pilot spoke again, startling the other three into silence. "Scout, when you were down there, did you give the magic a name?"
The blue drained out of Scout's whirling form, back to his base off-white, then further into a grey that Chooser had never seen in him before. When he answered, his voice was faint and sober. "I did, Pilot. I called it [Imposition of Structure]. Its central purpose, I thought, was to create order in a chaotic world: Hit Points summarizing injuries, Skills numbered to show expertise, and so on."
So Scout had seen the connection too, even if he didn't want to talk about it. Pilot continued to press. "And most of all, Experience Points summarizing levels of mastery. Experience points gained through conflict."
Scout flashed yellow. "Not always. Some of their quests are peaceful. I gained a level, in my first host, by cleaning up his house while his parents were away."
"And were quests like that the most efficient way to gain experience points? In your experience."
Scout hesitated, but once again his essential honesty pushed him forward. "No, Pilot. No, they weren't."
A little pause, while everyone processed that.
Chooser whistled high, then cut herself off as Builder flinched. Multi-species crews were so very tricky. She breathed in, instead, to center herself and keep her voices even. "There's one more piece of evidence I want, before I decide anything. We know that the human magic is reflected in their art, in the video games they created before the Awakening. I want to experience some of those games myself. Scout, please phase back to the planet and prepare a selection. Pilot, please stand by to convey me to the surface."
Their little ship didn't have any landing craft, so first Builder had to make one. It was basically just a rock, split off from the spare mass they'd brought from the asteroid belt and hollowed out just enough to be livable for the hour or two that it would take to reach the planet.
Builder had labored heroically for almost two hours to form and shape it, installed an airscreen out of the ship's stores for a door/navigation window, pronounced it "good enough", and gone off to her quarters to crash. Chooser had sat by the viewport and watched the whole thing; she liked seeing [Maxwell's Denial] in action.
"I could not possibly miss," Pilot had said, when she'd suggested that he sit by the window while he drove. "Hitting planets is easy, especially at this distance." Then he hesitated, head cocked. "Even so, let me try it out first, just to make sure the mass is well-distributed."
He bounded ahead of her into Builder's little flying cave, already wearing his breath suit. Chooser perforce remained outside, watching through the ship's airscreen, as Pilot delicately detached his new ship/rock from its host vessel. He spun it on its axis once, slowly, and jerked it a bit from side to side. Then she felt him reaching out to her, through Speaker's link. Puzzled, she welcomed it.
Thank you, Chooser. I wasn't sure there'd be enough air, but this is fine.
Before she could reply in any way, the rock disappeared.
Her first, crazed thought was that he'd somehow hit an open portal. [Linear Drive] sent him into the sun, I opened a portal without noticing, the humans found us and they're attacking... But no, their link through Speaker was still active. At once, she drew on it. I - Pilot, report! What happened?
I'm sorry about this, Chooser. But once I knew what I was going to do, there wasn't any point in waiting. I'll pick you up when I'm done, I promise.
Alive! And in control, apparently. But then - of course. She felt him break the link, and her stalks bunched. Beside her, Speaker stamped a hoof. "Chooser, I just lost Pilot's link! Is he hurt? Can you reach him?"
Pilot's rock wasn't visible through the viewport, but only one direction made sense. "He's going to the asteroid field."
"To the portal? No, that makes no sense, he can't use it without you. Will he come back? What can he do alone?"
Chooser whistled amusement, despite herself. "Yes, he's coming back. As to what he can do..." Chooser paused, thinking. It might take fifty hours for Pilot to reach the asteroid belt, and then thirty or so to return. She had time to explain. "Speaker, why does the Awakening project exist? Why not just leave the races of multiverse alone, let them develop by themselves?"
Speaker followed this seeming non sequitur without complaint. "To steal food from the Empty Sorcerers, of course. Their best rituals draw on unrealized racial magic, they can't use Awakened power. Now that we've Awakened the humans, the Sorcerers will leave them alone. Well, as much as they leave anyone alone. Which isn't much. But relatively speaking..."
She trailed off, waving her head uneasily. Chooser pushed again. "And why else?"
"To broaden the multidimensional community. To make sure that they know about the danger, open up cross-dimensional trade. Um, for tourism..." Speaker had lost the thread, or maybe thought her Chooser had lost her mind. Chooser pressed forward.
"And why else?"
"To...I don't know, aren't those reasons enough?"
"The Empty Sorcerers developed on their own, in a dimension much like this one. Before they wiped out the Atami no one had heard of them at all. Our understanding is that the original Sorcerers were very weak by modern standards: able to travel through dimensions, but without any of the summoning or elemental evocation which makes them so difficult to confront today."
A long pause, while Speaker picked that clean. Then: "So what?"
Speaker was not stupid; this obtuseness was thus an oblique form of stalling. Chooser whistled low, and spoke slowly: "The other purpose of the Awakening project is to identify dangerous racial magics at the moment of Awakening. If they can be quarantined, we do so. If they can't be...we destroy the species altogether."
"I - Chooser, no, that's impossible. There's a billion of them for every one of us. Even if Scout-"
"The physics of this universe include a concept called 'Conservation of Momentum'. Most B-type universes do; your home C-type works a little differently. Pilot can use this principle, combined with his [Linear Drive], to destroy the human planet. All he needs a big rock, and time to accelerate. The asteroid belt gives him both."
"No one ever - my training never - "
"I know." Chooser turned all her eyestalks away, toward to the empty airscreen; would Speaker know that that was meant as sympathy? "I know. I know it, and Pilot knows it, and our Doctor would know it if we had one. The other roles aren't told. The kind of person who can be a Speaker, or a Builder, can't make a choice like that. That's why my role exists."
Even without moving a stalk, it was easy to imagine Speaker's body language: rocked back on all four hooves, tail stock-still. Frightened. Wanting to disbelieve. Understanding for the first time why Awakener teams never learned each others' names, and why they were such small groups, why they were funded by a secret, private organization instead of a great council of races...
"Pilot thinks that needs to happen here, and he's not waiting for my Choosing. I'll try to get him to turn back. Meanwhile, talk to Builder and Scout. I need to get down to that planet somehow." Chooser relaxed, and looked back at Speaker, who was eying her warily.
"I-Chooser, I don't-"
"We have some time, but not a lot. Go!"
Speaker bounded away. Chooser settled herself, emptied her minds, focused on her Speaker's link. Pilot. Pilot. Pilot. Attend, please. Hear me. Speak to me. Hear me. Speak to me...
The connection formed. Chooser, don't do this. My mind's made up.
Chooser's breath caught with outrage. I should say that to you! Return at once! I have not Chosen the fate of this species.
Did Pilot's imaginary voice sound a little wistful, through the link? They told me about this when they trained me, how in some kinds of dimensions my [Linear Drive] could wipe out a whole planet. And I asked myself, could I really do it? What if a Chooser told me to, but I didn't agree? Could I kill a whole race, just because someone said I should? I decided that I couldn't, that I'd have to make up my own mind.
So don't do it! Come back! I'm ordering you to come back!
That's just it, Chooser: that logic goes both ways. You haven't made up your mind yet, but I have. It was never your choice, not really. You have the title, but the real Chooser is always the one who does the work.
What is this? She'd known Pilot as a gentle, friendly sort of person: quiet, but pleasant. Where is this coming from? Imagine it, Pilot! Seven billion sapients! Try to think about what you're destroying!
Pilot's voice was harsher now; Chooser shied away from imagining his expression. Seven billion people, yeah. Every one of them as real as you or me. But the Empty Sorcerers are people too, Chooser. Being people isn't enough.
Bleak void, Pilot!
Yeah, exactly! The multiverse is too big to imagine, but every year it gets a little smaller, right? A little emptier . The Sorcerers are fighting the whole rest of reality, and they're winning . A second threat like that, the two of them dueling for dominance with the rest of us as the arena, is not survivable .
You don't know-
I do know, and so do you! The humans have powerful magic that gets stronger when they kill people . It doesn't matter that you can get a few levels by cleaning houses, the ones who come out on top will be the fast, ruthless ones who love to crush their enemies. They'll get power, they'll use that power to get more power, and they'll use it to scourge the rest of us! The nice, gentle housecleaners will be weak , and when you're weak your opinions don't matter.
Chooser tried once again. At least wait, let us find out more-
They're already getting stronger. They had spaceflight even before the Awakening; a month from now this probably won't work. Even a week might be too late.
Not just "they", Pilot! The Humans . At least say the names of the people you're killing!
A long silence, somehow emptier than a broken connection. For a moment Chooser thought she might have reached him, but then Pilot sighed. This is hard enough as it is, Chooser. Don't make it harder.
The connection broke. Maybe distance had finally overcome Speaker's powers. Yeah, sure.
Chooser turned all her eyes to the viewport, watching a speck too small to see.
Builder's second plan was much crazier than her first.
"So at first we thought we'd have to tell you to sit in your hat; without Pilot we're just floating here, we've got nothing, no way to move at all." The crew was back in the conference room, this time watching Builder present her, quote, "completely stupid idea that I'm only even telling you about because you ordered me to", unquote.
"But here's the thing: there is that one group of humans floating around above the planet with us, right? They were there even before the Awakening, so there must be some non-magic way to get up here. I had Scout take a look at their 'net, see what people knew about that. Turns out they use liquid oxygen and hydrogen, plus some other bits and bobs, to make a carefully controlled explosion that pushes you where you need to go. They call it a 'rocket'."
"And you think you can build one, with the materials you have here?"
Builder scoffed. "Void, no. I can't make the fuel, and if I did it would just blow up and kill you. No, the trick is, they're sending one of those 'rockets' up to the space humans, to bring them back down just in case. Scout'll go astral, possess the pilot, and steal the rocket for us." Chooser sputtered a bit, and Builder snickered.
"Yeah, I warned you. Scout won't know how to fly the thing, so we'd better hope it's mostly automatic. And I don't know if you'll fit, or if your extra mass will mess things up somehow. You still up for this?"
Chooser hesitated. It wasn't the danger that was stopping her, exactly. She tried to put it to words. "The humans will definitely know that someone interfered with their ship. Sooner or later, we'll have to admit that we stole it, and either explain why, or...not."
Speaker put in worriedly, "It might be time to tell them anyway. If we warned them right now, maybe they could defend themselves. Stop Pilot somehow."
Chooser warbled dismay. "It's not likely, not yet. If they had even weeks, then maybe, but they don't. And...I don't want their first contact experience to be attempted genocide. If we tell them, we might create the kind of disaster that Pilot thinks he's preventing." Chooser turned her stalks back to Scout. "Maybe I shouldn't go myself, after all. If Scout went down, and sent a really complete report, then maybe that would be enough."
Scout pulsed yellow. "Pilot isn't accepting my link; I don't think he'd listen to my arguments through your mouths, either. Anyway, there's no substitute for direct experience. Until you've been down there, you can't possibly imagine it."
"And maybe having you down there will make Pilot change his mind all by itself," Builder added.
Chooser scoffed. "I doubt it. But Scout's right that there's no substitute for direct experience. We only get one try it at this, so we have to make it as good as possible."
Everyone contemplated that. Builder shifted and stretched sleepily, Scout had gone off-grey again, and Speaker's tail was twitching. Pilot's empty place by the door pulsed like a wound. Maybe the rocket theft idea wasn't so bad?
Chooser drew breath to say that, but Scout overrode her. "There is another way."
He'd shifted green, another new color. "[Desire's Great River] lets me possess other living things, sentient or not. Basically I entangle my soul with that of my target, inserting myself between them and their brains and nerves. That's why they always glow; it's the same effect that you get when you overdo a spirit infusion, except it doesn't fade with time."
He paused, whirling inscrutably, but he clearly wasn't done. Even Builder was patient, for once. Finally he continued. "When I leave a subject, their own soul naturally reasserts itself. But I think that, if I held the connection between souls, that it would be possible to return to my astral form and carry my subject with me, essentially stealing their soul from their body. If I carried it with me to a new body, it's possible that they could possess it much as I do, or at least share my experiences.
"I've never done it, and I've never heard of anyone who's done it. But everyone back home thinks it's possible. I can take you to Earth, Chooser, and for a while I can probably give you a body. I don't know what will happen after that."
Oh, Scout. The things we learn during first contact. Chooser broke the mortal silence, before the rest of her crew could think too much. "Thank you for that very brave offer, Scout." "I-" am horrified, am frightened, do not want to do this "-accept your generous offer."
"How stupid are-" "You can't possibly-" Chooser whistled, high and sharp. "Scout thinks it can work, and I trust him. What's more, it's the one idea we've had that doesn't risk interdimensional war. We're in a hurry, so let me ask you, Speaker, Builder. Do you have a better idea?"
Speaker shook her head. "What's going to happen to your body, Chooser? What will-"
"Do you have. A better. Idea?"
Timidly, Speaker tried again. "Can we just drop you? With a parachute, I mean. Have you jump out of the ship and just...fall toward the planet?"
Builder snapped her beak. "Wouldn't work. It's another conservation of momentum thing. If Chooser left the ship, she'd just keep orbiting on her own. To get her to fall, we'd have to slow her down a lot first."
Speaker snorted. "I don't think I like conservation of momentum."
"It gets under your claws, yeah, but it does make the math easy."
Chooser sighed, abruptly too weary to whistle. "Gentlethings, I thank you all." She turned her eyestalks toward Scout. "Please begin immediately."
He flickered, green to white to green again. "Thank you, Chooser." The roiling ball of him stuttered, and started to spread outward. Chooser felt herself falling, eyestalks whipping, moving at impossible speed away from
everything was suddenly too bright.
It was sight, and it was chaos, a mass of jagged angles and impossible colors that seemed to pierce her from every possible direction. The world pulsed and flickered, and then blessed darkness returned.
Oh dear.
Scout? She tried to take a shaky breath, and found she couldn't, without a body. Focus. What was that?
That's human vision, ma'am. When they see, they see...that. It's different from your eyesight, and very much worse.
Of course. Humans had two eyes, almost completely immobile, mounted on one head. She'd been so worried about her body that she hadn't thought about what the human one would be like.
So...did we fail? Is this plan doomed?
Maybe. He sounded embarrassed. I forgot how hard the first few possessions are, how you have to learn to understand what your new body is telling you. The body and brain know what they're doing, but you don't, not yet.
Can you teach me?
Maybe. I...hm. Try this. Imagine having all your eyestalks knotted up, all at once, so you can't see anything at all.
Chooser regarded the perfect darkness around her. Done
Now imagine pulling out just one of them. What's that like?
It's awful, you always want at least two. Everything's flat, the colors aren't right, and it's hard to focus on things that are holding still.
Well, please imagine it anyway. Hold that visualization.
Chooser did, for some timeless time. Now I'm going to open one eye. Let the human brain help you; it knows what it's seeing.
Light and chaos returned, poured directly into her waiting soul through one narrow tube. But this time Chooser was ready, and accepted it all without flinching. Our eyes are different, our brains are different, but we must both organize the things we see, group lines and edges into shapes and figures. Come on, human brain, figure this out for me!
It was like standing under a waterfall, until suddenly it wasn't. The slashed black lines were a box, oblong, seen at an angle. The thing atop it was a second, narrower box - a viewscreen, probably. More details came clear. The mound to her right was a flat surface, a bed, seen with human eyes, with a second different thing on top of it, a pile of bedding. The riot of color to her left was really a dozen different things, all sitting on a single shelf. Above it and below it were more shelves. The whiteness behind them was a wall. She was in a room. Light streamed from behind her, casting shadows.
Scout opened their body's other eye. The world disintegrated around her, then re-integrated itself. They were standing on a floor made of wiry, soft-looking material. The ceiling was far above her. Everything was huge, in fact; humans liked to build to scale, it seemed. Chooser became aware that her human eyes were shifting, as she focused on different parts of the scene in front of her. She couldn't move the rest of the body, but the eyes at least responded to her. She tried to look down at her own body, but couldn't, without moving her head.
The thing on the bed shifted, and she suddenly realized that it was more than a pile of cloth. There was cloth, yes, but it was wrapped around a human body. A living human. First contact.
She tried to speak and couldn't, of course. Scout, please greet that human.
He knows who we are; I explained the situation to him earlier, during my scouting trip. I'll give you access to our hearing now, so that you can follow our conversation.
So that what? But then suddenly he'd done it, and the eerie silence was replaced by, it turned out, quite ordinary sound. At least human hearing is sensible. Chooser thought to herself, perfectly aware that she was being ridiculous.
"-little disoriented at first," Scout was saying, "but she's getting over it now. You can say hello now, if you want." Speaker's [Eternal Meaning] was handling the translations, and would last for so long as Chooser kept her link open.
The human shifted, leaned forward, and bared his teeth at her. That's a friendly gesture, Scout interpolated. You get used to it. "Hi! I'm Sota. You're wearing my little brother's body, so be nice to it, ok?"
Chooser wanted to laugh. Scout, tell him this: 'We definitely...
"We definitely will, Sota. I don't have a name right now, but you can call me Chooser."
"Yeah, Scout explained that a little. And, uh, I guess you need my help to save the world?"
Scout took over their shared voice. "How do you know about that?"
"I got a quest popup earlier. It didn't really explain anything, but it said I could help you out, and if I failed the penalty would be, uh, let me call it up." Sota made a few swiping gestures at empty air, calling on his magic. "Yeah, here. 'Penalties for failure: death, the destruction of the world, ultimate ruin'."
So the [Imposition of Structure]...knew what was going on? And was trying to help, but only very indirectly? I do not understand this. Well, that was what she'd come to fix, but first: "Does the quest description say what you're supposed to do?" Or what we're supposed to do?
Sota shook his head. "No, it just says to help you out. And if I do I'll level, like, six times, so for now I'm at your service." He tilted himself toward her a little, still seated.
"In that case, let's begin. Tell me, Sota, how long does it take to play a role-playing game?"
The answer was complicated, but it boiled down to "far too long". A good game, of the kind the magic had inspired, might easily take 60 hours to play - if it could be finished at all, and didn't just continue forever. They might have time for exactly one of those, before Pilot returned, but then again they might not.
"We'll have to follow a combined strategy," Chooser concluded. "Scout and I will play one game, on one of those fast-forwarding 'emulators', and you'll just have to tell us about the others. The idea is to understand them as much as possible, as quickly as possible."
Sota nodded. He'd moved off his bed, and was now sitting in front of his computer viewscreen, controlled with an array of buttons fitted to those delightful manipulators of his. "Yeah, I get it. I guess you want something pretty short, no grinding, lots of plot, probably not that difficult?"
Scout nodded their head. "We're beginners, so I'm sure we'll make lots of mistakes."
Sota bared his fangs again - smiled, rather. "Sure, sure. It's emulation so the games won't be quite state of the art, but it's fine, we can start with one of the classics. In fact, I know just what to do." The wash of color on the screen disappeared, and was replaced by a simple graphic of a swinging pendulum.
"Chrono Trigger?" Scout read.
Let's begin.
Chooser couldn't control the game herself - fingers, it turned out, were even more complicated than eyes. So she just watched Scout, and told him what to look at and where to go. During the more repetitive parts - of which there were surprisingly many - she just listened as Sota told her about the other games in his collection. "Xenosaga", "Dragon Quest", "Disgaea", "Final Fantasy", and a dozen more.
They stopped only once, when Sota went to fetch food for himself and his brother (who turned out to be named Koji). "Achievement unlocked," Sota said, "alien fast food delivery! Anyway, like I was saying, that finally let them get to Zanarkand, but it turned out that..."
And then, forty-one hours after it had begun, Sota startled to his feet, from his place on the bed.
"Guys, I just got a quest popup. It just says, 'Now rely on your new allies and pray for the best!' And there's a smiley face."
Chooser was getting a feel for this, she thought. "The current...quest stage...is complete. The magic thinks we should stop doing what we're doing, and start doing something else."
"Yeah. And I guess I can't help anymore." Sota sat, then stood up again, and scratched the back of his neck. "Did it...work? Did you get what you needed, whatever it was?"
Had she? The one game they'd played had been boring, exciting, poignant, and sometimes just incomprehensible, even with Sota's eager annotations. They'd spent most of their time fighting and exploring strange places. They'd gained power with shocking speed, changed from beginners to demigods in just two or three in-game weeks. That had to be a narrative convention, but still, there was nothing reassuring there.
What if Pilot isn't wrong?
"She's thinking," she heard Scout say. "Give it time."
She didn't have to worry about that, she realized, bemused. There'd be no way to trick or cheat Pilot into giving up, not without lying outright; she had to really convince him. Any argument good enough to reach him would be good enough to rely on. But the reverse isn't true. She'd have to say something that could reach him specifically, something that was true and that fit into whatever maze his brain was in.
He won't care that I'm down here, that I'll die. Or, no, that isn't fair, he'll care, but he won't let it stop him. The stakes are too high, he's too focused on doing the right thing. And he'll be right, as far as it goes; my life shouldn't weigh against seven billion.
But there was something there, maybe, a thread she could pull. He's been thinking about this ever since Awakener Pilot's training, however many years ago. They must have told him, just like they told me: you might meet a new threat someday. Most of us just put that out of our minds, since it's never actually happened, but he didn't. He thinks of it as a test, and the only way he can pass it is by moving forward in spite of the horror. By making the hard choice that no one else can make.
That felt right. But was it useful? It won't work to tell him that he'll be stranded here when I die, that the others will be stranded alongside him. That just makes the challenge harder, makes it more important to persevere. That's why ordering him off didn't work before.
I need to give him another choice, a second hard thing to do.
And then she saw the answer. More, she saw [Imposition of Structure] for the first time, really saw it, understood where it had come from and what it was for. But that isn't the right name, is it? You should be called... No time.
She wanted to go back to her own body, wanted to have her own stalks and mouths for her conversation with Pilot. Wanting didn't make it so, unfortunately.
Scout, I'm going to call Pilot now. Cut me off from this body, please, it's distracting.
Wordlessly he did so. She felt centered, at the heart of an empty place blacker than space. Good.
She called up her link. Pilot. Pilot. Pilot. Give me one last conversation. Speak to me once more. Pilot. Pilot. Pilot...
The link formed, and held.
Pilot spoke at once. I told you before, Chooser, my mind's made up.
Well, that certainly didn't sound promising. But if his mind were really made up, he could have just ignored me. He still needs something, he's not completely sure!
I know. But I've learned something new, since the last time we talked, and-
Learned what? That the humans don't learn by killing? That they won't grow too powerful to stop? His voice in her head was ragged. He's been accelerating the whole time, constant [Linear Drive] for almost three whole days. How hard was that, how fatiguing? Chooser didn't know. Coming in, he'd moved the ship in little half-hour bursts.
Chooser stilled her minds, kept her mental voice as even as she could. It will take a little while to explain, I'm afraid. Will you listen?
You can't distract me, Chooser. If that's all this is, I'm done. But he didn't break the link.
No, that's not it. I went down to the planet. I can't get off it again, of course.
Bleak void, Chooser! What about the others? They'll all be trapped!
I don't expect that to stop you, and I don't want to die. In other words, I'm betting my life that you'll be moved by what I have to say. Will you listen?
A pause. Then: We've got another hour, I think. Hard to tell at this speed.
Acceptance? As good as you're going to get, anyway. Forward.
I've been thinking about the will of the magic. All magics want to be used, but there's more than that here, isn't there? Human magic is full of desire, such powerful desire that it inspired generations of humans who hadn't even Awakened to it yet.
Right, it's powerful and dangerous, that's the point, that's why I - Pilot snarled, and let the sentence die.
Powerful things are always dangerous. Look at the [Linear Drive]. Chooser winced. Now is no time for cheap shots. Focus! What matters is control, and intent. There's a strong desire here, a strong will, but desire for what? What will it push its inheritors to do? That's the answer I learned, down here.
Chooser let that hang in the miles of empty space between them. No snappy answer this time. Come, Pilot. Bite on my hook...
Finally: You can't possibly know that yet, Chooser.
Gotcha. I can. We don't understand their society enough to understand how it's changing, and we've only seen a few of these Quests, through Scout. But there's another source: the folk art, the games, that this magic inspired.
Each one tells a story, Pilot, the same story, every time. A normal person is thrown into a deadly conflict against an overwhelming enemy, something that can destroy their whole world. Maybe they have some special powers, the gifts of a goddess or a science experiment, but maybe they're not even that lucky. Everything looks hopeless, but they don't despair: they keep traveling, and trying things, and building up power, until they can overcome any challenge and save everyone.
Humans have other stories, but they're obsessed with that one. They tell it to each other again and again. I've seen it for myself, down here on Earth.
Chooser paused, to give Pilot a moment to react. Their link held pure empty silence; whatever he was thinking, he was keeping it to himself. Chooser forged ahead.
If you permit it, Pilot, here is what I plan to do. I will go to these people, and speak to them all at once. I will tell them about the multiverse, about the billions of little worlds beyond their own. I'll tell them about the Great Enemy, the [Imposition of Desire], and the race that spreads it. I will tell them about the long war, and I will tell them that we are losing.
That startled an answer out of him. You'll tell them that we're weak! You'll tell them they can invade!
They might. But that's not what the hero of a video game would do, Pilot. That's not how the plot would go, it's not what the magic wants. The protagonist , the focus of the game, is the one who slays the dragon, who breaks the empire, who protects the world. The human racial magic, which I name [Protagonist], wants to save the multiverse. It wants its chosen people to find the space dragon wizards who are terrorizing reality, and it wants them to save us !
I... Chooser could feel him fumbling for a counteragument. And then what? What happens when all these heroes run out of Sorcerers to kill?
Chooser wished she were back in her own body; she wanted to warble. Never mind, keep going. Listen to you! Yesterday you were sure the Empty Sorcerers could never be beaten. The multiverse is vast, Pilot. Even if they beat the Sorcerers, there'll be no end of dragons to slay. If they produce villains, they'll produce heroes, too. Not because they're a race of saints, but because that's what their magic means.
It's reckless. Pilot whispered, at last. You can't be sure.
We're at the top of a mountain, Pilot. No matter which way we step, we'll fall into an unknowable future. All life is chance. You'd sacrifice seven billion humans on the chance that they'll be dangerous. I'd let them live, for the chance of saving everyone. Mine is the bigger gamble, and I don't think it's any less certain.
Chooser softened her voice even further. It isn't an easy choice. Bleak void, when I think of all the possible futures it terrifies me. But this choice was given to us. We can't refuse responsibility, we can't give it away to someone else. We have to choose, and when we do, we choose for everyone.
Was it working? Was he listening? How much time is left?
Make the brave choice, Pilot. Try to-
The link broke.
The human space agencies saw the whole thing, of course. A large, nameless asteroid had detached itself from the asteroid belt, picked up impossible speed, hurtled toward the earth...and then bent itself away, down and out of the plane of the ecliptic, still accelerating. No one understood it. People made Final Fantasy 7 jokes, and chuckled nervously.
Chooser tried to open a link to Pilot, as she'd done once per hour since the end of their final conversation. Pilot. Pilot. Pilot. Come back. You did the right thing. Come back to us. Nothing, of course.
She was back in her body, more or less; her left head, and most of the left side, hung limp and nerveless. It was unsettling, having things she'd thought of as part of her self suddenly turn themselves into strangers. At least it's better than a human body. It could be fixed when she got home, probably, maybe.
She felt a little disturbance, in her remaining mind; Scout was calling her. Yes?
Jin says she's finished, ma'am. Once she hits the switch, we're on the air. Just look at the box and say what you plan to say. She thinks coverage will be about 60% of active devices. I know you said you wanted everything, but-
It's fine, Scout. It's more than fine, it's very well done. And impossible, Chooser gathered, without the assistance of Scout's new Technomancer friend. Yet another new human class, another world of possibilities. Give me a countdown.
You've got it. She's hitting the switch in 5...
Pilot could still be right.
...4...
But you can't insist on certainty.
...3...
No matter how high the stakes are.
...2...
You just think through your choices.
...1...
You make your best guess.
Live!
And you follow through with everything you have.
"People of Earth! We come in peace..."