Flinx Transcendent_ A Pip & Flinx Adventure - Alan Dean Foster [162]
“No.”
Everyone's attention shifted to Truzenzuzex. The philosoph was standing on his four trulegs, rising as tall as he could.
“I refuse. So long as consciousness remains, so long as cognizance holds sway, so long as I can function as a thinking being, I repudiate the notion of capitulation.” Gleaming compound eyes fixed on his longtime companion and fellow researcher. “However fruitless the effort may appear, we will continue to search for possibilities, my old friend. We will do this not because we must, or because we see avenues that may lead to success, but because it is what we do. Evolution has given us the ability to reason. If we choose to abjure it, we surrender the one thing that makes us worthy of continuance.”
A somber Tse-Mallory stared down at his wholly inhuman, chitinous counterpart. Then he nodded, once.
“Up the universe,” he murmured, and broke out in a wide grin.
“Up the universe,” the philosoph echoed, not at all solemnly.
While the moment was inspiring for the two scientists, it had less effect on their younger companions. By the time they had all returned to the landing deck and their waiting shuttlecraft, a sense of dour inevitability had settled over Flinx, Clarity, and Sylzenzuzex.
“At least we won't see the stars go out in our lifetime,” the padre whistled softly. “With luck, it won't happen during the life terms of my own offspring.”
“There's no way of telling.” Flinx was helping to sort their remaining supplies that had been laid out next to one of the shuttlecraft's landing skids. “Every time Tru and Bran's contacts in Commonwealth Science think they have its velocity verified, it keeps accelerating.”
Clarity wore a contemplative expression. “Life must have been so much easier and more relaxing before Amalgamation, back in primitive times when people were confined to one world and believed it constituted the whole universe.” She shook her head mournfully. “They never had reason to be afraid of the stars. Their only concern was first to look out for their own survival, then that of their tribe, then their village or nation. They never had to worry about the survival of a civilization composed of dozens of star systems and species.”
“True,” Flinx agreed, “but they also believed that shape, or smell, or language differences or belief systems were important. They didn't know that all that matters is sentience and sensibility.”
“None of it will matter for long.” Tilting back her head, Sylzenzuzex looked up toward the sweeping roof of the immense airlock. “When that thing gets here, it will all disappear. Everything. No more consciousness. No more exploration and explanation.” She eyed Flinx. “According to what you've told us, there'll be nothing but—nothingness.”
It was too depressing a précis on which to terminate the conversation. He nodded over to where Truzenzuzex and Tse-Mallory were conversing.
“Tru's not ready to give up. If he's not, then I'm not either.”
“You saw what's coming,” Clarity commented from nearby. “You, more than anyone, know what it's like. Dark and emotionless and horrible.” She held back the hysteria that threatened to rise and engulf her. “I know you, Flinx. I know that you're a realist. Your life has made you that way, more so than most people. Given all that you've been through and all that you know, after all these years how can you find even a shred of optimism to cling to now?”
He considered briefly. “Old habit,” he finally confessed. “Maybe