Harta followed his suggestion, and soon their thoughts were moving among and within the striped creatures. The insides of their bodies consisted of fundamentally the same taffy substance; but it had been modified by various organic structures. All, though, were built of the same fundamental units: elongated, thin cells which readily aligned themselves in semi-crystalline patterns.
“Enough,” Creno said, “back to the hill.”
Their rows of thin limbs rested on the ridge crest once more. “We have seen such cell crystals before,” she sighed. “The inefficiencies in such a poverty of dimensions! Do you still think we have looked at it backwards?”
“Of course we have. They did not bring the machine or make it—the machine made them!”
“That is not possible, Creno, great as you are in these matters. We have never seen life created by a machine before. No one ever has, from the millions of reports I have seen at home.”
“Maybe we have and not known it. The life we have seen always evolved through enormous eons and we could not see its origins clearly in most cases. Here we are dealing with something that has taken comparatively little time.” He stopped, shocked that he, an elder, had said so much. “No, disregard such theories. You are still too young to bother with them. Here is the important thing—this machine was left by an earlier race that disappeared. Everything else was destroyed but it went right on producing its substance.”
“The substance is not life.”
“It is only four-dimensional matter, right. But over a long enough time—you know this as well as I do—random factors will eventually produce a life form. By some trick of radiation this process has been speeded up here. The substance the machine produces has in turn produced life!”
Creno sensed with a tremor some dangerous shifting in Harta’s consciousness. As an elder it was his duty to prevent a premature insight in the young. It had been a mistake to bring this up. He must go no further.
It was not necessary. Harta took it up for him.