Donald Moffitt - Genesis 01

Skybridge is an arm of our own galaxy, and those stars you see aren’t really in it. They’re closer to us than Skybridge or the Bonfire— close enough to see them as individuals. A long, long time ago, we think, the Bonfire brushed past our own galaxy and pulled it out of shape and tore millions of stars away from us. Millions more young stars were born because of that encounter, and that’s why Skybridge seems blue.”
    It was a marvelous idea. “Does our galaxy look like the Bonfire?” Bram said.
    There was a startled twitch from Voth. The tentacle that rested lightly on Bram’s forearm under the wide tunic sleeve generated a sensation of respect.
    “That was a very big leap of the imagination, Bram. No, our galaxy managed to keep its shape better than the Bonfire did. We think it’s a spiral—somewhat elongated and with sprung arms. But it must be a beautiful sight from outside.” He hesitated. “We know that because the humans, long ago, had a name for it. They called it M—51, the Whirlpool. It was prominent among the sky objects described by them in their great message, part of a sort of orientation chart to help the recipients of that message pinpoint the human galaxy.” He hesitated again. “You see, the message was not aimed directly at us. It was aimed at a great cluster of more than a thousand galaxies, to improve their odds. We happened to be in its path.”
    Bram hardly noticed the last part of what Voth had told him. A great rush of excitement had driven all thoughts but one from his head. He struggled with the new idea. “If—if they can see us, then we can see them! ”
    “Not can see us, Bram,” Voth corrected. “ Could see us. More than thirty-seven million years ago. And we can see them only as they were, thirty-seven million years ago. And not their suns or their worlds, only their galaxy—just as they, no matter how mighty their science, could not have seen any of the suns or worlds we now dwell on but only the object they called the Whirlpool. You remember what I told you about that before?”
    The tremendous thought swirled round in Bram’s head. “What does the human gal—galaxy look like?”
    “Very much like ours. It’s a spiral too.”
    Outside the crystal dome of the bubble car, full night had fallen. The lesser sun was finally below the horizon, and the three visible moons shed nowhere near as much light. The world had turned into a carpet of dappled silver overhung by a great black bowl pierced by stars.
    “You’re going to see it tonight, Bram,” Voth went on. “Now that we’re approaching the season when the lesser sun moves to the daytime sky, it’s possible to see man’s galaxy from a planet-based observatory. That’s where I’m taking you now.”
    They had reached the mountains. The bubble car slowed on its gossamer cable as it drew near to the thick, squat pylon anchored in the slopes. There was a rustle of movement as the passengers began to uncoil their limbs and flow toward the exits. The bald-headed human with the holo portfolio slid from his cupped pedestal and stood up, glancing around the car to see if anyone had noticed his brief lapse of dignity.
    Bram’s attention was elsewhere. He was still looking out at the stars. They held a new meaning for him now.
    The director hurried on arched legs toward them over the vast darkened expanse of the observatory floor, giving a welcoming hoot in the Small Language as he came.
    “It is good of you to have us here, Director,” Voth said aloud, for Bram’s benefit, as the two decapods touched tentacle tips. The amount of fleshy interface was small, just enough surface area for the social amenities.
    “Nonsense,” the director said obligingly in the Small Language after a moment of silence in which he must have been speaking to Voth solely in the tactile mode. “We’re always augmented by your presence, Voth-shr-voth. Is this the young person you spoke to me about?”
    Bram politely presented his palms as the director, without moving physically, shifted his body-face toward Bram. The Nar never actually had to turn around the way humans did, though most of them had a preferential front. Bram, unlike a lot of human grown-ups he knew, could always tell which of the five sides of a Nar was facing “forward.” The eyes in that direction seemed to have more expression, and, of course, there was more limb activity.
    “Yes, this is Bram,” Voth said, again supplementing his speech with words.