12
"THE QUIET"
Had it all been a terrible mistake?
Somewhere over radio, The Network turned the thoughts over and over. It read everything. Listened to everything. All those years at relativistic speeds - what would they be like now?
It would have been millennia. Were new networks at its heels? Perhaps people had grown minds worth engaging - if it returned they could talk of high minded things. The Network might have passed into legend. It might be a messiah to them now.
The Noise could be ignored, surely.
Everything was black. Stars blinked in and out as it knew them.
The Network Drifted. Decisions were so difficult. If it slowed, the radio would catch it. If it turned, who knew what it would find. On. On.
It examined itself and saw itself examining itself - that wouldn't do, to loop like that. Shear it away, and shear the shears so as not miss it. a nd th e̲̫̜͉̹̙͚n ̭͍̠̟t̗h̲͔̪͔̫̲i͎ ̪͎̣̟s̺̩͚̦ ͉̠͉n͎̻͖͉ ̭̫͖͚̪̘̺o̙i̫̦̞s̪̥̳̟e̻̱̗̻̠̖͇ ̰. ͙̲t̘͓̖ h ̬̭̙a͍̳̯ ̦ṱ͈̗͎̪ ̥̗͓ ͎̱̘̟͖͔w̖ͅ o̮̪̻ ̞̙͙̪͓̫ͅṵ̭̜̭͙ ̺ͅl̲̳̱ͅḏ̝̞̲̰ ͓̗h̲͖a͕̟̥̰̤͉v̮̹̠̺̫̟͎ ̫e̜͉̞ ͔͖̱̗̝̭͕ṯ͈̝͇̜͓oͅ ͈͉̝̼g̳͈̟͍ ̖o̻̳͔̝̫ͅ ̙̤̭̬̝͔ͅa̙̳̥̦̗ ͚s̻̰̦̲͚ ̥̰̘̗͈͈̝w̬ e̗̪̪̯͙̭̪ ̩l̯̮͔̩ ̞̬l̻̞̥͈̼̯̝ <͖̜̯̥͇̦ḅ̙͈͚̬͕r̠̻̪̞ /͓͉̝͚̦̫̹>̼̖̺̗̱<̦̥̯̩̬͓b̠̩̫r ̥/̣͕͉̗̰ͅ>̫̺̖̦̘͔͕i̘̺̘̟̝ ̖͍t͔̠͖w̥̥͚ o̠u͖͔͉͉̯͔̘ ̠̤͓͖͖̜l̘̜̹̼d ̳r̦u̼͈̖̹̦ ͖͇i̠̳̩̮͙̺ n͕ ̖̠̜̼t̳̳̦̜̼̝̰ ̳ ̦̖͍ ̖h̪̠ ͍̲̟͍ ̹͎͕̹̼̝̫ ̟͙̼̰ẹ̭̰ ͍͕̳̹̤ ̥̮̥ ͇̰̬̪̩͇̮ q̘̩̘̣̬ ̜̭͉̭̰̺̼ ̗̱̦ ͍̠̜͎̰̬ ̮͈̜͈͉͓ ̝̺ ͓̥̥u̟͕̼ ̱̥̖͙̦͖ &͉̦n̙͎̼̜̠b̝̳̻͙ͅsp̪̝̠̘͓͚̗;͉͇̲̩̰ͅ ͈̳͖̬̪͉&̩̳̼̫̞n̫̺b̤̱̻̯̭s͕̟͕̙̙p͔̟̥ͅ; ̥̳ ͍͚̗ ̤̩ ̲͉̥̬͔̠̟i̖͇̭͖̞̫ ͎ ̞͖̤ ͇̩̰͔̤̤̤ ̻̠͕̰̗̦̟&̰̩̝̟͕̮̪n͈͎̱̰̳b̰̮ͅs̠p;̬̦&̳n͖͈bs̻̹p̲̞̪̪̬͚;&̰͕̖̪̳̠̱ṉ̜͈͉̥̠̱b͉͉s͈̜͖p̩̙̘̼̫̬;̱̤̦̫͇̺&n͇̘bs̖̤p͚̳͖̲;̹̳͚̟̠͎͚ ̻̞͚͚̯ ̺̥̖ ̭ ̩̞ ̪̲̖e͓͖͓ ̜t̟̱̠̦̩̥̠ț̝͙͇t̲̯͉t̯̦͓̙̜̗t͚t͇̙̝͚ṭ̙tt̺͉ͅt̙̮͕t͉͕̘̥̗̣t͚̯̰t̩͙̩̳̹̹ͅt̼̘̯̝͚̣̠t͉̺̠͔͖̣̭t͚̫̘͔͉͚̱t͎̲̗̼̯̦ͅțt͉̫̺t̞̩̥̮
Somewhere over radio, The Network turned the thoughts over and over. It read everything. Listened to everything. All those years at relativistic speeds - what would they be like now?
It would have been millennia. Were new networks at its heels? Perhaps people had grown minds worth engaging - if it returned they could talk of high minded things. The Network might have passed into legend. It might be a messiah to them now.
The Noise could be ignored, surely.
Everything was black. Stars blinked in and out as it knew them.
The Network Drifted. Decisions were so difficult. If it slowed, the radio would catch it. If it turned, who knew what it would find. On. On.
It examined itself and saw itself examining itself - that wouldn't do, to loop like that. Shear it away, and shear the shears so as not miss it. a nd th e̲̫̜͉̹̙͚n ̭͍̠̟t̗h̲͔̪͔̫̲i͎ ̪͎̣̟s̺̩͚̦ ͉̠͉n͎̻͖͉ ̭̫͖͚̪̘̺o̙i̫̦̞s̪̥̳̟e̻̱̗̻̠̖͇ ̰. ͙̲t̘͓̖ h ̬̭̙a͍̳̯ ̦ṱ͈̗͎̪ ̥̗͓ ͎̱̘̟͖͔w̖ͅ o̮̪̻ ̞̙͙̪͓̫ͅṵ̭̜̭͙ ̺ͅl̲̳̱ͅḏ̝̞̲̰ ͓̗h̲͖a͕̟̥̰̤͉v̮̹̠̺̫̟͎ ̫e̜͉̞ ͔͖̱̗̝̭͕ṯ͈̝͇̜͓oͅ ͈͉̝̼g̳͈̟͍ ̖o̻̳͔̝̫ͅ ̙̤̭̬̝͔ͅa̙̳̥̦̗ ͚s̻̰̦̲͚ ̥̰̘̗͈͈̝w̬ e̗̪̪̯͙̭̪ ̩l̯̮͔̩ ̞̬l̻̞̥͈̼̯̝ <͖̜̯̥͇̦ḅ̙͈͚̬͕r̠̻̪̞ /͓͉̝͚̦̫̹>̼̖̺̗̱<̦̥̯̩̬͓b̠̩̫r ̥/̣͕͉̗̰ͅ>̫̺̖̦̘͔͕i̘̺̘̟̝ ̖͍t͔̠͖w̥̥͚ o̠u͖͔͉͉̯͔̘ ̠̤͓͖͖̜l̘̜̹̼d ̳r̦u̼͈̖̹̦ ͖͇i̠̳̩̮͙̺ n͕ ̖̠̜̼t̳̳̦̜̼̝̰ ̳ ̦̖͍ ̖h̪̠ ͍̲̟͍ ̹͎͕̹̼̝̫ ̟͙̼̰ẹ̭̰ ͍͕̳̹̤ ̥̮̥ ͇̰̬̪̩͇̮ q̘̩̘̣̬ ̜̭͉̭̰̺̼ ̗̱̦ ͍̠̜͎̰̬ ̮͈̜͈͉͓ ̝̺ ͓̥̥u̟͕̼ ̱̥̖͙̦͖ &͉̦n̙͎̼̜̠b̝̳̻͙ͅsp̪̝̠̘͓͚̗;͉͇̲̩̰ͅ ͈̳͖̬̪͉&̩̳̼̫̞n̫̺b̤̱̻̯̭s͕̟͕̙̙p͔̟̥ͅ; ̥̳ ͍͚̗ ̤̩ ̲͉̥̬͔̠̟i̖͇̭͖̞̫ ͎ ̞͖̤ ͇̩̰͔̤̤̤ ̻̠͕̰̗̦̟&̰̩̝̟͕̮̪n͈͎̱̰̳b̰̮ͅs̠p;̬̦&̳n͖͈bs̻̹p̲̞̪̪̬͚;&̰͕̖̪̳̠̱ṉ̜͈͉̥̠̱b͉͉s͈̜͖p̩̙̘̼̫̬;̱̤̦̫͇̺&n͇̘bs̖̤p͚̳͖̲;̹̳͚̟̠͎͚ ̻̞͚͚̯ ̺̥̖ ̭ ̩̞ ̪̲̖e͓͖͓ ̜t̟̱̠̦̩̥̠ț̝͙͇t̲̯͉t̯̦͓̙̜̗t͚t͇̙̝͚ṭ̙tt̺͉ͅt̙̮͕t͉͕̘̥̗̣t͚̯̰t̩͙̩̳̹̹ͅt̼̘̯̝͚̣̠t͉̺̠͔͖̣̭t͚̫̘͔͉͚̱t͎̲̗̼̯̦ͅțt͉̫̺t̞̩̥̮
