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Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

       In the forests of the night,

       What immortal hand or eye …

      ‘What is the last line, Mallory? The one the poet wrote, not the one printed in your book.’

      I wondered if the ancient academicians, in their transcribing the poem from book to book (or from book to computer), had made a mistake? Perhaps the mistake had occurred during the last days of the holocaust century. It seemed likely that some ancient historian, in her hurry to preserve such a treasure before the marrowdeath rotted her bones, had carelessly altered a single (though vital) word. Or perhaps the mistake had been made during the confusion of the swarming centuries; perhaps some revisionist, for whatever reason, had objected to the single word and had changed it.

      However the mistake had been made, I needed desperately to discover – or remember – what the original word had been. I tried my little trick of listening for the words in my heart, but there was nothing. I applied other remembrancing techniques – all in vain. Far better that I should guess which word had been changed and pick at random a word – any word – to replace it. At least there would be a probability, a tiny probability, that I might pick the right word.

      Katharine, with her eyes tightly closed, licked her lips then asked, ‘What is the last line, Mallory? Tell me now, or must I prepare a pocket of my brain in which to copy yours?’

      It was the Timekeeper who saved me from the Entity’s caprice. In my frustration and despair, as I ground my teeth, I happened to think of him, perhaps to revile him for giving me a book full of mistakes. I remembered him reciting the poem. At last, I heard the words in my heart. Had the Timekeeper spoken the true poem? And if he had, how had he known the more ancient version? There was something very suspicious, even mysterious, about the Timekeeper. How had he even chanced to speak the same poem as the goddess? Had he, as a young man, journeyed into the heart of the Entity and been asked the very same poem? The poem, which had passed from his mouth like a growl, was indeed different from the poem in the book, and it differed by a single word.

      I clasped my hands together, took a deep breath, and said:

       Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

       In the forests of the night,

       What immortal hand or eye

       Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

      ‘Dare frame,’ I repeated. ‘That’s the altered word, isn’t it? Dare frame.’

      The imago of Katharine remained silent as she opened her eyes.

      ‘Isn’t it?’

      And then she smiled and whispered:

       ’Tis evening on the moorland free,

       The starlit wave is still:

       Home is the sailor from the sea,

       The hunter from the hill.

      ‘Goodbye, my Mallory. Who dares frame thy fearful symmetry? Not I.’

      As soon as she said this her hologram vanished from the pit of my ship, and I was alone. Oh, where, oh, where, I wondered, does the light go when the light goes out?

       You are almost home, my sailor, my hunter of knowledge.

      – The poem … I remembered it correctly, then?

       You may ask me three questions.

      I had passed Her tests and I was free. Free! – this time I was certain I was free! In my mind, one hundred questions danced, like the tease of a troupe of scantily dressed Jacarandan courtesans: Is the universe open or closed? What was the origin of the primeval singularity? Can any natural number be expressed as the sum of two prime numbers? Had my mother really tried to kill Soli? How old was the Timekeeper, really? Why was the Vild exploding? Where does the light go when … ?

       The light goes out.

      – That was not my question. I was just thinking … wondering how –

       Ask your questions.

      It seemed I had to be very careful in asking my questions, else the Entity might play games with me. I thought for a long time before asking a question whose answer might hint at many other mysteries. I licked my dry teeth and asked aloud a question which had bothered me since I was a boy: ‘Why is there a universe at all; why is there something rather than nothing?’

       That I would like to know, too.

      I was angry that She hadn’t answered my question, so without thinking very carefully I blurted out, ‘Why is the Vild exploding?’

       Are you certain this is what you really want to know? What would it profit you to discover the ‘why,’ if you do not know how to stop the Vild from exploding? Perhaps you should recast your question.

      – All right, how can I – can anyone – stop the Vild from exploding?

       Presently, you cannot. The secret of healing the Vild is part of the higher secret. You must discover this higher secret by yourself.

      More riddles! More games! Would She answer any of my questions simply, without posing riddles? I did not think so. Like a Trian merchant-queen guarding her jewels, She seemed determined to guard Her precious wisdom. Half in humour, half in despair, I said, ‘The message of the Ieldra – they spoke in riddles, too. They said the secret of man’s immortality lay in the past and in the future. What did they mean? Exactly where can this secret be found?’

      I did not really expect an answer, at least not an intelligible answer, so I was shaken to my bones when the godvoice sounded within me.

       The secret is written within the oldest DNA of the human species.

      – The oldest DNA of … what is that, then? And how can the secret be decoded? And why should it be –

       You have asked your three questions.

      – But you’ve answered with riddles!

       Then you must solve your riddles.

      – Solve them? To what end? I’ll die with my solutions. There’s no escaping an infinite tree, is there? How can I escape?

       You should have thought to ask me that as your last question.

      – Damn you and your games!

       There is no escape from an infinite tree. But are you sure the tree is not finite?

      Of course I was sure! Wasn’t a pilot weaned on the Gallivare mapping theorems? Hadn’t I proved that the Lavi set could not be embedded in an invariant space? Didn’t I know an infinite tree from a finite one?

       Have you examined your proof?

      I had not examined my proof. I did not like to think that there could be a flaw in my proof. But neither did I want to die, so I faced my ship-computer. I entered the thoughtspace of the manifold. Instantly there was a rush of crystal ideoplasts in my mind, and I began building the symbols into a proof array. While the number storm swirled, I made a mathematical model of the manifold. The manifold opened before me. Deep in dreamtime, I reconstructed my proof. It was true, the Lavi set could not be embedded in an invariant space. Then a thought occurred to me as if from nowhere: Was the Lavi set the correct set to model the branchings of the tree? What if the tree could be modelled by a simple Lavi set? Could the simple Lavi set be embedded in an invariant space?

      I was trembling with anticipation as I built up a new proof array. Yes, the simple Lavi could be embedded! I proved it could be embedded. I wiped sweat from my forehead, and I made a probability mapping. Instantly the trillions of branches of the tree narrowed to one. So, it was a finite tree after all. I was saved! I made another mapping to the point-exit near a blue giant star. I fell out

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