We awaken slowly once our hibernation is interrupted. Although sensory data are being kept to a minimum, the fact that we have regained consciousness at all indicates that a quintessence fluctuation must have happened. There is no way this early to calibrate the time that has elapsed since our last wake period, but measurements will soon be made by the reviving equipment. We gather that the care-giving machines have run in minimum-energy mode for a long time, since they seem to have stopped everything but essential life-support. They do this when necessary to preserve our precious storehouse of energy. It also means that reviving other functions will take longer, as they check the least costly way to bring needed operations on line.

We are not in a rush. Being awake at all is a rare gift, to be savored slowly, allowing ancient memories to return in an order we have randomized to offer the greatest variety. We contain the memories of a dozen technological species, spanning the local arm of the Galaxy. All the information they gathered is available to us if we need it, but little is needed for simple consciousness. Indeed, too much information would make consciousness unbearable.

An especially poignant memory suddenly returns. We remember suns—yellow, red, blue—great spheres of radiant energy, whose planets basked in their warmth and light. But with that ancient memory comes the sure and sad understanding that the time of those glowing orbs has long passed.

If stars are only dim memories in the universe now, the hunger for them remains strong. This yearning for light is one of the greatest challenges of each awakening, as an understanding of our situation slowly grows. Nothing light-giving will again exist in this epoch of darkness and cold. Those sun-lit times belonged to the youth of the cosmos, and have no relevance to the era in which we now struggle for insight and preservation.

*     *     *
We are not many yet, and perhaps never will be again. The typical fluctuation allows only a few randomly-selected group minds to join in a temporary flash of awareness. We are fortunate to be among them this time, although we can’t know yet how many others had a turn at waking when we were not conscious. The flow of time itself is an uncertain, flickering thing in the accelerating rush toward darkness and entropy.

The point now is to enjoy the moment, to celebrate what we briefly possess of consciousness in all its fragility. To think together in our joined mind is a tender joy, yet like all group-minds who have been together for eons, we soon long for more connection. In forming the group minds that are preserved in our Sector, we tried to mix species and interests in such a way that each group would have a unique “personality.”

Even within our own group, the many minds play different roles. Some are happy to be in the background, seeing to the pleasant routines of memory storage and conscious organization, while others drift toward a leadership role and perform tasks related to enterprises and conversations. In other group minds, the mixtures of species and of preferences are different, giving that touch of unpredictable flavor to communication. After all the time that has passed, when so much has already been thought and discussed by so many intelligent races and confederations, such variety is important. We will presently join with others that have come awake at this fluctuation, and together check in on the Great Project.

Records coming on line indicate that during some fraction of the time we were asleep there was enough power for messages related to the Project to go out from the station’s large automated antennas. Might any important messages have come in? We continue to search, not just for the comfort of other minds that grapple like us with the inexorable darkness, but for news of one that has a way forward to offer. We cannot lose hope that there might be a solution to the problems of the growing cold and smoothing of all variation that infest the universe.

*     *     *
As machines continue to warm up, the answer comes to the time question: it is later than we expected. We have not awakened for a period equal to the full lifetime of the smallest star that once ended its life as a black hole. Yet we know that in the current starless epoch, this span of time is a mere instant, during which little changes in the cosmos at large.

Storage is not what it once was. Some memories and information have been lost, even in our efficiency-maximizing mode, making full use of the quintessence effect. Still, the outlines of our dilemma are ever sharp in our consciousness. The second law of thermodynamics predicts an inevitable “heat death of the universe.” It is an old name, but a perverse name, since the vast empty spaces of the expanding universe guarantee that, at its ultimate temperatures, the cosmos will have almost no “heat” at all. Temperatures are getting ever closer to absolute zero everywhere.

And, to make matters worse, the expansion itself has been accelerating, rushing heedlessly toward a scale of space so vast and empty that no mind can fully take it in. The seething, pulsing, dark energy that drives the acceleration seems built into the very fabric of space and has resisted all attempts by living beings to shut it off. It is the great challenge of these trends that has driven so many species to join with others, with the idea that together we may yet find a solution.

But so far, among all the intelligent species we have ever come into contact with or learned about, not one has had an answer to the relentless flow of time and the extinction of all sources of fresh energy. As more facts return to our consciousness, we recall a legendary group that had its origins much earlier in time and much closer to the center of the Galaxy. It undertook a lengthy investigation of the quantum properties of dark energy—with the hope that uncovering its secrets would help with delaying the on-rushing heat death. Their work now gives life the power to exploit the rare “quintessence” fluctuations inherent in the irregularities of space-time. Yet, as the cosmos becomes colder and emptier, we have come to realize that their discoveries do not offer any hope of a permanent solution.

*     *     *
As we warm up, a small part of us cannot help but wonder if her group is among those who have been awakened this time. So little remains of our individuality now, and yet, somehow, the ancient desire to connect with her still exists in a remote corner of our consciousness. She, who so long ago chose a different group mind to be part of, who thought we could never again be what we once were to each other!

We had repressed those memories for so long, and then, suddenly, she was part of a group mind we interacted with three awakenings ago. And, to our surprise, some part of us still rejoiced to be with her/them. Others in this group have become so infected with these primitive memories of desire, we now long together to have another chance to share consciousness with her group.

Atavistic as such thoughts are, we cannot help encouraging them, as if fanning a flame that seemed blown out long ago. Even today, when life contains neither flame nor wind, nor senses to feel them, when all that remains of memory is preserved in super-cooled circuits by machines whose technical powers we built to try to transcend our own, our thoughts still reach back through the ages to when the universe and desire were young.

But other chores demand our attention … an energy budget for our awake-phase must be made, and prolonging it weighed against the long-term interests of life in general, and our form of preserved life specifically. Is this awakening a luxury we shall one day regret, a meaningless moment of temporary satisfaction on the path to eternal stillness and stasis? Or can we hope to contribute some shred of solution to the Great Project while we are awake?

As more memories and functions come on line, we sift through the interactions that took place while we were asleep. Our group already inherits the thinking of so many species of intelligent life, yet none of them seem to have gone further in solving the problem of life’s ultimate survival. But, just as we stay dormant most of the time, and only occasionally check in on the dark reality of the universe, we hope that another, perhaps more advanced race, new to us, might also be checking in intermittently. And perhaps we can have a remote meeting of minds that leads to a process or step we have not considered.

The most pressing concern of all groups is to understand just how long the fluctuations of quintessence can continue to provide energy for such occasional awakenings? As the universe rushes apart, some monitoring devices that still function have been detecting a lessening of the acceleration. Could this mean that the dark energy that undergirds the evolution of the cosmos is running out? Without it, the fluctuations would cease and there would be no power to awaken us again. What we don’t know is whether there is a deadline looming that we, in our ignorance, cannot see. But perhaps another mind, of a higher order, can help us understand better what the future holds, and whether life’s ultimate destiny is more than our quiet, unsung disappearance from the cosmos.

However, as our increasing memory capability checks over messages the machines have preserved for us since our last awakening, we find nothing there that requires or excites our higher functions. All the messages simply share our despair, as they have ever since the last suns disappeared. The machines highlight a longer message they had to use a more complex algorithm to decode. They summarize the gist for us: It is from a race more ancient than any we contain or have met. They have been engaged in the Great Project far longer than we have, and yet see no viable solution either. Ironically, they had been hoping that a younger race would bring new, creative ideas to the problem that they, with their long-established way of thinking, could not see. We don’t have the heart to reply right away, but direct an intermediate function level to formulate an eventual reply.

Still more memory returns, and we now recall the great virtual edifice with which we once connected our part of the Galaxy, sharing the fruits of life’s thinking in great quantum-computing structures that spanned a whole spiral arm. How triumphant we felt in those days, learning to use the combined computing power of many species and the energy of many suns. Confederations arose that joined together both types of life-forms that had arisen—those from warm rocky worlds close to their suns, where individuality held sway, and those from the icy moons of colder planets, where entire biospheres sang together as one networked organism. Oh, the pride we felt when such divergent species learned to cooperate through the language of mathematical analysis! But that was so long ago …

Electromagnetic feelers go out to neighboring stations, checking on who else is awake at this moment. We suspend function temporarily to give our messages a chance to travel and the replies to be sent. Most other group minds will merely find our messages in their inbox the next time they are roused, but a few who are awake at nearby stations might provide us with real-time communication while we are both awake. We like to share data and even a touch of mutual sympathy with group-minds taking advantage of the same fluctuation. Perhaps even hers, we suddenly remember, for she was not so far away that time we made contact. We must brush such ancient thoughts away, as unworthy of us and taking precious mental space away from the Great Project. And yet …

*     *     *
This fluctuation must be a rich one, for more memories come on board than our directory files indicate are usual. From one remote place, we suddenly extract the concept of music, something not part of our present web of thinking. Yet the idea finds resonance with many of our component species—once, back when there were planets and suns, musical patterns seem to have been an essential part of how we all celebrated our intelligence and consciousness. The patterns, like those of mathematics, gave us a sense of accomplishment and (here another forgotten concept creeps in) “pleasure.”

That thought leads us, in ways that continue to surprise, back to when we found “her.” That was such a strange interaction, not looked for, not addressing any current need, yet making an impact on parts of our mind that are generally held in the historical reserve. We are melded from so many species that small differences of ancient type or behavior have long been suppressed for greater group efficiency. Yet, clearly they are still there, buried somewhere deep, yet with unexpected strength when roused.

When the universe had music, we seem to remember, it had far more room for differences—variations now long eroded by the demands of entropy. How strange that memories of such differences come up now, when our focus should be on survival alone!

*     *     *
And then, after some time passes, they who contain “she” are with us again, connected via a rich-bandwidth signal emanating from a nearby station only a few million light-seconds away. And a revelation—they too had been hoping, at some ancient level of thought, that we would make contact again. In fact, having been restored earlier than we, they had remained semi-wakened for longer than was recommended for the size of fluctuation we are experiencing. Some small part of their consciousness stayed powered, in case we called.

We soon learn, as they use what energy remains to them to awaken more fully, that the long-buried desire to share their state of thinking with us specifically has infected their programming as deeply as ours. Although the sensation is still new to us, we both take “pleasure” in learning this.

Anchored as we are to the arrays of machines that sustain our flickering consciousness, we can only merge our thoughts via remote messaging, limited by the unwavering speed of light. Still, we establish a broader-band connection than strictly necessary, so that we can share more data. Of course, the Great Project must take precedence, but other data, including ancient memories, creep in now and are transmitted.

We have exchanged data with all kinds of group minds over the course of many awakenings. Yet, this seems different in ways we do not fully understand.

The concept of music weaves into the data exchange, and she/they recognize it and respond. She/they have remembered it too, and found it strangely irrelevant yet somehow necessary. Music is mere pattern play, and should be subject to nothing more than the usual mathematical analysis to which we submit all patterns. Yet, we want more …

We do a joint high-level review of the Great Project, and they, like us, find no change in our understanding of the cosmos or our part in it. As energy becomes less and less available, life will find it more and more difficult to obtain sustenance. In all the years and angles of consideration, no mind in their awareness has found any glimmer of an answer to the coming of the cold and the dark either. Is it possible that no solution exists after all, and that the Great Project is doomed to fail?

From a really ancient time, when individual consciousness lived only for a limited period and then flickered out forever, we recall the notion of aging—having to accept the inevitability of the coming end. Our uploaded group minds, protected so far by the efficient self-repairing machinery that harbors us, have never had to face such thoughts of obliteration. It occurs to us that our groups are now dealing with a universe that has aged until it will soon be too old to support life.

When all life dies, and no consciousness remains to illuminate the vast fabric of space and time, physical reality will be unseen and unmourned. We vaguely recall that some ancient philosophers asked whether reality can even exist when no intelligence is there to observe it?

We examine our response to these shared data points, and we (another ancient idea) commiserate. It makes no real difference in outcome, yet sharing data between our two groups is somehow different, more satisfying, than it has been with others.

*     *     *
In some deeply buried recess of memory and thought, it occurs to us (has it occurred before, simply to be buried?) to wonder if perhaps this is the best we can hope for. Some glimmer of communion with minds that have meant something special to us, a recognition of shared feeling, a virtual embrace in the face of the inevitable end. When we uploaded ourselves into these great AI containment units, gladly forsaking our physical bodies, their temporality, and their endless ills and woes, did we perhaps lose some ways of thought so precious that we long to feel them once again before all is lost?

Again, music floats into our consciousness, as if it were connected in some way to this new sense of togetherness. We do not understand, but we also do not exclude the probability that it is relevant in ways our present thinking cannot yet connect. Should we somehow explore it together? We suspend other functions to experience these new sensations more fully. If our inevitable fate is to lose the gift of consciousness forever, it seems we hunger not to enter the eternal darkness alone.