like a cabinet door. She searched through the folded clothing until she found the clothing she had worn to the world of the Transcendental Machine that had been returned by the third suitor, and slipped them on. Below, on the floor, were her old sandals. She put them on her feet.
She walked to the far wall, turned on the mirror/receiver, and switched to the Monster and Princess puzzle. Quickly she redid her solution, only this time she completed it: the Monsterâs best search strategy always found the Princess, and the Princessâs best avoidance strategy always enabled her to escape. Like all such puzzles, if both parties used their best strategies the situation was a standoff.
As she completed the last entry, the door clicked. The solution to the puzzle, apparently, was the recognition of her equality, and as a citizen she was no longer to be confined. Asha moved to the door and took one last look at her sleeping attendants. âSorry, guys,â she mouthed, and moved silently through the open door.
The big room was empty, as she expected, and the massive doors to the plaza opened as she approached. She stopped in the entrance. Unexpectedly, the night was almost as bright as day. As she moved farther into the plaza and looked up, she understood why: the sky was ablaze with starsânot the few thousands she had been accustomed to in Federation Central and certainly not the few hundreds of Terminal or the scattered few of the Great Gulf, but tens of thousands shedding their baleful light on the planet of Squeal.
No wonder the little people of Squeal were terrified of the sky. Rather than a position farther out on the spiral arm, Squeal was close to the center of the galaxy with all its clustered suns. One of them, looking much like the rest, might be the central black hole, no more than a pinprick in the tapestry of night but surrounded by an accretion disk of dying suns and their doomed planets, and spewing deadly radiation, absorbed now by Squealâs atmosphere. But always looming over Squeal was the threat of some supernova explosion, some terrible brightness in the night sky, that would release a cascade of cosmic rays for which the atmosphere would be no protection. And going out into that hostile space beyond the atmosphere without the protection of radiation-proof ships would be suicide. Even travel through the air of Squeal would risk fatal exposure at upper levels of the air that covered the planet.
The only sounds as she crossed the plaza toward the structures on the other side were her muffled footsteps and the splashing of the central fountain. The air was mild and tinged with the characteristic sandalwood odor of Squeal itself. She looked up at the indestructible Machine in its place of honor on the fountainâs peak and reflected on all it implied: ancient technology reconceived as sacred symbol, long-forgotten plans and dreams reborn as contemporary mythology. Nothing endured; everything is renewed. And yet we struggle on, she thought, hoping to make a difference, attempting to make our brief existences mean something.
The buildings on the plaza differed in size and decoration, but they were constructed up against their neighbors, with no space between, like pictures she had seen of big cities on Earth and the cities built by the people of the Transcendental Machine. The only one that stood isolated on the plaza was the palace in which she had been kept. Avenues at each corner of the plaza allowed the Squeal people to come and go, although she had never seen vehicles there. Perhaps delivery wagons came to the rear.
Asha arrived at the front entrance of a building that was a bit larger and more colorful than its neighbors, with a front expanse of green paint or tile, perhaps reminiscent of verdant Dorian plains. The stairs did not turn into a welcoming ramp. In fact, there was no welcome at all. Double doors were stubbornly closed. Asha looked for some indication of a bell or knocker.
She walked to the far wall, turned on the mirror/receiver, and switched to the Monster and Princess puzzle. Quickly she redid her solution, only this time she completed it: the Monsterâs best search strategy always found the Princess, and the Princessâs best avoidance strategy always enabled her to escape. Like all such puzzles, if both parties used their best strategies the situation was a standoff.
As she completed the last entry, the door clicked. The solution to the puzzle, apparently, was the recognition of her equality, and as a citizen she was no longer to be confined. Asha moved to the door and took one last look at her sleeping attendants. âSorry, guys,â she mouthed, and moved silently through the open door.
The big room was empty, as she expected, and the massive doors to the plaza opened as she approached. She stopped in the entrance. Unexpectedly, the night was almost as bright as day. As she moved farther into the plaza and looked up, she understood why: the sky was ablaze with starsânot the few thousands she had been accustomed to in Federation Central and certainly not the few hundreds of Terminal or the scattered few of the Great Gulf, but tens of thousands shedding their baleful light on the planet of Squeal.
No wonder the little people of Squeal were terrified of the sky. Rather than a position farther out on the spiral arm, Squeal was close to the center of the galaxy with all its clustered suns. One of them, looking much like the rest, might be the central black hole, no more than a pinprick in the tapestry of night but surrounded by an accretion disk of dying suns and their doomed planets, and spewing deadly radiation, absorbed now by Squealâs atmosphere. But always looming over Squeal was the threat of some supernova explosion, some terrible brightness in the night sky, that would release a cascade of cosmic rays for which the atmosphere would be no protection. And going out into that hostile space beyond the atmosphere without the protection of radiation-proof ships would be suicide. Even travel through the air of Squeal would risk fatal exposure at upper levels of the air that covered the planet.
The only sounds as she crossed the plaza toward the structures on the other side were her muffled footsteps and the splashing of the central fountain. The air was mild and tinged with the characteristic sandalwood odor of Squeal itself. She looked up at the indestructible Machine in its place of honor on the fountainâs peak and reflected on all it implied: ancient technology reconceived as sacred symbol, long-forgotten plans and dreams reborn as contemporary mythology. Nothing endured; everything is renewed. And yet we struggle on, she thought, hoping to make a difference, attempting to make our brief existences mean something.
The buildings on the plaza differed in size and decoration, but they were constructed up against their neighbors, with no space between, like pictures she had seen of big cities on Earth and the cities built by the people of the Transcendental Machine. The only one that stood isolated on the plaza was the palace in which she had been kept. Avenues at each corner of the plaza allowed the Squeal people to come and go, although she had never seen vehicles there. Perhaps delivery wagons came to the rear.
Asha arrived at the front entrance of a building that was a bit larger and more colorful than its neighbors, with a front expanse of green paint or tile, perhaps reminiscent of verdant Dorian plains. The stairs did not turn into a welcoming ramp. In fact, there was no welcome at all. Double doors were stubbornly closed. Asha looked for some indication of a bell or knocker.
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