Free Heaven by Ian Stewart Page B

“They are reproductive. For
     good or evil, they multiply. Assuming they take hold at all. Most do not . . . but the few that do make up for all the failures.”
    “According to Cosmic Unity’s records, its memeplex has proved itself a fount of goodness on more than ten thousand worlds.”
    “According to
their
records, yes . . .” Stun could
feel
May’s skepticism. It matched her own. “And what does Ship say, Will?”
    “Ship reckons that the total number of affected worlds is 14,236, provided you count plasmoid stars and magnetotorus trails
     as worlds. Plus seventeen more, currently in the process of conversion to true believers. Information on converted worlds
     is remarkably scarce, almost as if it has been subjected to self-censorship. They are all closed worlds—no trading, few reasons
     for anyone outside Cosmic Unity to visit them. What information there is about them is benign, possibly unbelievably so. ‘Banal’
     is a better word.
    “Hardly any ansible transmissions have been detected from worlds that were undergoing the conversion process. No one except
     Cosmic Unity would have been able to decrypt them anyway, but there were none to decrypt. The communication blackouts appear
     to have been voluntary, triggered by the need to concentrate on conversion.” Did he really believe that? May doubted it. “But
     one thing is definite. Every one of those fourteen thousand worlds has been totally peaceful ever since adopting the creed
     of Cosmic Unity. There have been no interplanetary wars and no international or civil wars. Not so much as a riot. The Community
     of the United Cosmos is a haven of peace and tranquillity.”
    Second-Best Sailor gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”
    “Our new visitors.”
    “Are they willing to
trade
? What goods’ve they got?”
    Stun wrinkled her nose at him. “Do not ask me to help a potential competitor, Second-Best Sailor.”
    “Surely ya c’n give me a few
hints
—” He broke off. His apprentices were splashing in the sea next to the boat, jabbing excitedly at something in the water.
     To the amusement of the Neanderthals, he shot off down the well instead of just jumping into the sea. A few moments later,
     he appeared between the two apprentices, just visible in the polluted dockside swell.
    He had taken this sudden action because he’d noticed that Fat Apprentice had found a jellyfish. Short Apprentice was trying
     to spear it with a bilgehook. They obviously thought it was a jelloid, whose stings could be fatal, but Second-Best Sailor
     recognized it for what it was. And he had an idea why it was there.
    “No!” he bellowed. The sound waves generated by his speech-siphon were strong enough to be audible from the air, despite the
     ripples that broke along the boat’s hull. “Leave it out, boys! That could be a letter from
Mother
!”
    If it was a message from the reefwives, it had either been dispatched long ago or it had traveled unusually quickly—probably
     piggybacking on a messenger hawk flying at high altitude to catch the fastest air currents, and dropped into the ocean near
     its destination. By its size, the jellyfish must have endured an arduous journey, much of it out of water, for its substance
     was almost entirely dehydrated. If it
was
a message, had it survived? Would it rehydrate without serious molecular damage?
    Leaving the apprentices to quiet the creature and make sure it did not get washed away by the current, Second-Best Sailor
     returned to his cabin. There, he slipped out of the sailor suit and swam back outside. Even though the jellyfish was starting
     to rehydrate, it seemed on the point of expiring.
    He reached out one of his more sensitive tentacles, to stroke the animal’s gelatinous surface. . . .
    “Ooosh!”
The expulsion of water through his siphons was involuntary. That
hurt
. The little beast had stung him.
    According to plan, then.
    Now he must wait while the toxins coursed through his circulatory