Bowl of Heaven

by Gregory Benford; Larry Niven

  The next two Earth days, they spent moving warily across the strange yet oddly familiar landscape. Trees with limb decks, zigzag trunks, spirals—on low hills with running streams and shallow arroyos. Cliff kept track of how long they all slept and found it was steadily increasing.

  Irma commented on this. “Y’know, they did Earthside experiments while preparing for starship life. People under constant illumination had sleep–wake cycles that got longer and longer. Without the sun, they lost track of time.”

  Terry said, “So that’s why shipboard lighting follows the sun cycle.”

  Aybe asked Cliff, “How does anything get regulated here, then?”

  “I don’t know. Biology without outside timing, no day or night—we have no experience with that.”

  They hunted small game, using spears they made—and got nothing bigger than the pseudo-rabbits. Still, it was fun and they celebrated their rare victories with ragged cheers. They were urban types, and the skills of stalking came hard. Maybe it helped that the rabbity grazers were used to attacks from the sky, so were less adapted to ground predators.

  But there had to be intelligent life somewhere here. They could see fields in the distance—great plains of crops stretching between the forks of two converging river valleys. Grass crops, Cliff guessed. They worked their way closer, staying in the hills and staying within the trees. Still, Cliff was startled when they came up behind a few silent, trudging figures. Not human.

  “Careful,” Cliff whispered. They crouched down.

  The shapes were crossing a foggy slope ripe with thick aromas. Out of the mist came shambling shadows, slow and silent. Cliff switched his distance specs to infrared to isolate movements against the pale background and found the figures too cool to be visible. In the mist they were ghostly, slim shapes. Legs, but no arms.

  “The farmers?” Howard whispered.

  “No.” Aybe peered closely at the ponderous, spindly forms. “Plants.”

  “What?” Now Cliff heard the squish squish as limbs labored.

  In the murky light, they watched as crusty pods popped from the trunks of great trees. Stubby limbs peeled away from their parents and found unsteady purchase on the ground. They were about two hands high and a mottled green. The slow, deliberate birth came moist and eerie in the quiet.

  Cliff watched in awe. Working their stubby legs forward with grave slowness, the roots freshly pulled from soil and then moved onto wetter ground that enjoyed better sunlight. The air brought the scent of their sharp thorns to him, a tinge of acrid poison. The young needed defenses here.

  They watched the animated seeds find new spots and with great, slow care settle down to take root again. To Cliff, this method extended animal mobility to plants, perhaps made easier in lower gravity. The others looked incredulous and uneasy, though Irma nodded when he advanced his idea. Certainly these plants were not dangerous, but their strangeness unsettled. Cliff realized that they had all been thinking of this place as mildly different, just the sort of world you would see in a movie, complete with dinosaurs. Reassuringly ordinary in just the right way. He had to guard against such comfy illusions.

  They moved on warily. Soon they saw spreading below their hill a vast plain of green grain. A heady aroma blew up from the crops on winds that wrote sweeping patterns across the valley.

  Irma pointed. “Look—those farmer folk we saw back at the lock.”

  With time to observe, they could see the farmers were leathery at some joints but otherwise sported plumage that rippled with colors in intricate designs. Clad in loose-fitting coveralls, they formed teams that worked on snaking tubular watering systems, focusing the misty, arcing plumes over great distances. They worked hard in their fields, using four-footed animals to draw and plow.

  “It’s like farming centuries ago,” Terry observed. “Hard work, very little powered machinery.”

  “It’s not as though they can drill for oil, is it?” Aybe said.

  “Plenty of solar power available,” Terry said. “And this has gotta be the most high-tech place in the universe.”

  “Maybe they like manual work,” Howard said. He looked at their skeptical faces and shrugged. “Just because we’ve been living the rugged life for a while and find the idea unappealing doesn’t mean these things do.”

  Irma raised skeptical eyebrows. “Could be, I suppose. But—” She zoomed her vision and stared at the field below. “—they’re coming.”

  Cliff looked closer. “Not the farmers. Something else.”

  Irma added, “Yeah. Fast.”

  These were even bigger, with long necks—something like elongated, feathery racehorses that strode on two legs, with long wiry arms held forward for balance as they cantered. Plenty of rich plumage but a muscular look to them, especially in the legs. Clothed only at the middle, they had thick belts with things like tools dangling from them. As Cliff watched, one of them looked around and eerily looked right at him. It was running hard but held its head fixed, the eyes large and glittering. Not farmers, no.

  “Looks like they’re about a klick away,” Terry said. “We must’ve hit some trip wire or detector.”

  Cliff had wondered how this place could have developed different intelligent species. Specialization for labor or life niches? They probably had genetic technology, so maybe had developed new species from some early root genetics. Humanity had yet to do that.

  Enough thinking; it was hard to avoid it, his head full of questions. The runners, he saw, were perceptibly closer.

  “Let’s get going,” Cliff said, and did so.

  The menacing pursuers were fast and far more than anybody wanted to fight. Terry led the way, running as if devils pursued him—and just maybe, Cliff realized, they did. Humans had invaded this biosphere unannounced. They had not surrendered meekly, but instead fled from the air lock. No negotiation. Now they were ranging around in somebody’s territory, killing local wildlife to eat. The farmers seemed peaceful and simple, but that couldn’t be the whole story here.

  But could they outrun those things?

  On the run they decided, amid hoarse, barked consultation, not to return along their earlier route. There seemed little shelter there. Instead they headed downhill from the next ridgeline. They had learned a long, loping stride that took advantage of the lower gravity. No sign of pursuit yet in the forest behind them. They stopped to listen—panting pretty loudly, then holding their breaths to hear.

  A distant chippering cry. Beneath that, low growling. Coming closer. “And they know the territory,” Cliff whispered.

  They ran. Nobody suggested negotiations.

  They hurried into a broad, low valley of gnarled trees. Some bore fruit, and Cliff felt a pang of hunger as they ran through these. It was moist here and soon they heard the snarl of water over rapids. The river was broad and Cliff wondered whether they could ford it. He glanced left and right and saw a long arched bridge. “That way!” They all veered toward the bridge, puffing heavily now.

  Terry, who had started off fast, now brought up the rear. Not a distance guy, Cliff thought, and knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer, either. He tried to think of something to do. Anything.

  He studied the bridge as they slogged toward it. He could hear the high, skating cry clearly now. Closer.

  The bridge was made of stone cemented together, very old style construction. On the underside, though, were thick metal beams, ribbed and with flanges at each side. Rugged.

  They reached the foot of the bridge. Maybe the lighter gravity gave them some edge here, but it was all gone. He slowed, thinking frantically. Stopped. An idea flashed.

  “Hey. Let—let’s hide.”

  Aybe gave him a sharp you’re crazy look. Irma was so winded, she just bent over and gasped.

  “We’ll get run down,” Cliff said. “I wouldn’t count on our lasers taking these things out, either—they’re big and look pretty damn tough to me. And … they’re clothed. Belts, tools. Maybe they’re armed, too.”
r />   He let this sink in while he puffed, and now they could hear the cries behind them quite well. They all looked at one another, gasping, coughing, and finally Irma said, “I can’t go much more. Let’s try it.”

  The men nodded, looking relieved. Good psychology, Cliff thought—they still felt that they had to protect the woman. He trotted around to the underside of the bridge and grabbed one of the ribs. He hadn’t really thought this through, but when he put his boots on the side flanges, he found they fit, barely. The others watched as he climbed up the ribs. He then turned carefully to face down toward the water that swirled and chattered over rocks. With some effort, he could strain back and support himself against the beam.

  The others looked up at him doubtfully. Aybe said, “Hanging with both hands? We can’t use the lasers from there.”

  Cliff called down, “What else can we do?”

  That decided them. They inserted themselves into the nooks between the beam flanges and with some grunting got pinned into place. It was an effort and he could feel his arm muscles working hard.

  “Hold on as long as we can,” Cliff said. The chippering was close. “Quiet.”

  Pounding of heavy feet. Growls from deep guts, wild shrieks, quick barks like commands. Thumps. Feet hammered at his back, or that’s how it felt, and most of them passed on. But then he heard a huffing from above, heavy long breaths. Feet padded around, slapping on stone. A rumbling bass grunt that seemed to go on forever. His stinging arm muscles had locked solid, his fingers trembling. The thing above wouldn’t leave. Maybe the pursuers had left one here to block their retreat?

  He didn’t like this conclusion, but as moments crawled on he saw that it wouldn’t matter. Irma’s face was white with strain and Cliff wasn’t going to last much longer, either. At least they had caught their breath.

  He didn’t dare whisper. Catching the eyes of the others, arrayed in the beam slots, he nodded down at the riverbank. They frowned, then got it. Cliff listened intently and caught footfalls above, a scraping that moved to the left of the bridge.

  The stream splash might mask any noise they made. He nodded vigorously to them all and jumped down, landing as softly as he could. They followed as he moved to the right. Irma landed off balance, but Aybe caught her before she fell into the stream. Lasers at the ready, they ventured out from the bridge’s shadow.

  The shape above came back toward the high stone railing. It towered above, a long snaky head looking across the river—and Irma hit it clean and sure with a long bolt. The head jerked, looked down at them with those big, glittering eyes—and toppled backwards. They raced around, got on the bridge—and stopped to gaze at the big thing.

  A deep burn at the top of its skull trickled pale blood onto the stones. The eyes blinked, but the eyeballs did not move. Cliff unbuckled the belt from the thick waist and put it around his own. The tools were odd and heavy. He was tempted to take a look at them, but—

  “What’ll we do with it?” Irma asked, beaming.

  “Leave it,” Aybe said.

  “This body will float away pretty quick if we toss it in,” Howard said.

  They looked at one another and without a word lifted the body at several points. Getting it over the stony parapet was not as difficult as Cliff had expected. It was a bird, after all, something like a monster ostrich. They flung it over.

  Irma said, “Its blood—I don’t think we can mop it up easily. There’s a lot.”

  “Let’s get moving,” Aybe insisted.

  “Which way?” Cliff asked mildly, scanning the far riverbank for movement.

  Terry said, “Across—oh, I see.”

  Cliff said, “They left this guy here to block our return. They’re probably trying to cut us off from those hills beyond and drive us back to the bridge. Pin us against the water.”

  “So we stay on this side?” Irma asked. “Move downriver, say? At least it’s downhill.”

  They looked at one another edgily and then all nodded. Collective decisions, Cliff realized, made it much easier to take if things went wrong later. Otherwise, they’d blame it all on him. They ran.

  EIGHTEEN

  Lau Pin hefted an eighteen-pound fish, turning it this way and that, inspecting it. A row of fins ran down each side, eleven on a side, diminishing toward the tail. Yet the fish looked odd, with ventral fins, long and wispy, narrow eyes, mottled green skin. “I’ll have to be careful,” he said. “Parasites.”

  The Astronomer had left Lau Pin a ten-inch knife. He gutted and filleted the creature and cut it in slices. The flesh was pale, like a red snapper, Beth thought. There were angry red spots Lau Pin cut out. “I think I got them all,” he said. “Sushi? Or shall we start a fire?”

  “Fire. Cook it,” Mayra said. “I do not feel lucky. It’s ugly.”

  They broiled the meat on twigs. It was delicious, rich in oils and savory with a strange, tangy flavor. Spirits lifted and there were jokes about finding the right white wine to go with the fish. Or maybe margaritas all round? Beth was glad to get them in a good mood. The meetings with Memor had fascinated them all, but the brute fact was that they were prisoners listening to lectures. The thrill of contact with a real alien, telling them strange new views—even that had to fade. They were not idle scientists or philosophers. They had signed on to explore a new world, make a fresh home for humanity, to sail the stars. Their patience was limited.

  Lau Pin rummaged through his tool belt and then gave a startled cry. “My beamer is live. It’s got signal.”

  They gaped. He showed them that the signal light gleamed on his handheld communicator. “It’s tuned to the Eros systems. I’m picking up data from its onboards.”

  “Any internals?” Tananareve asked wanly.

  “Just status reports. Everything looks normal. It’s on auto-standby.”

  “We must be somehow in line of sight,” Tananareve said.

  Lau Pin scowled skeptically. “We’re an astronomical unit away from it, easily. This Bowl is huge. How could we hear from it?”

  Beth felt a surge of hope. “It’s a smart system. If Eros doesn’t get pinged for a while, it must amp its transmission power to get a response. Maybe Cliff’s group can get it, too.”

  “If we can negotiate our way out of here, we can use homing to find Eros,” Tananareve said.

  “Yes, great.” Beth made herself sound more optimistic than she felt. They had last seen Eros crushed into a bin in a Bird Folk spacecraft. “Lau Pin, can we use your beamer to send signals from Eros to SunSeeker?”

  Lau Pin worked on it for moments, staring intently at the small solar-powered beamer that was barely larger than his thumb. “I’m trying the 14.4 gigahertz band, then the subs.… No, I can’t do over-commands from outside. Some kind of safety precaution.”

  Abduss growled with frustration. They all looked crestfallen.

  Beth couldn’t let that continue. Best to distract them. “Let’s review what we’ve learned, class,” she said with a smile. “Mayra?”

  The normally quiet woman blinked and nodded. “When Memor brought those visuals—big constructs, dazzling perspectives—I got a feeling that she did that partly to impress us. You know, show the visitors some flashy capabilities.”

  Lau Pin said, “I like that it—okay, she—uses voice and gestures. Easier to remember that way.”

  Mayra said, “I liked those visuals it gave us on that screen. One was some kind of macroengineering in a planetary belt. I’ll bet that was their history. How they built this place.”

  “She’s using those as attention getters,” Beth said. “Then she showed us those 3-D keyboards. I think she wants us to manipulate display machines. Only—she just spoke to them.”

  Mayra asked, “So you think she wants us to learn their language, by picking up how to instruct those 3Ds?”

  Lau Pin waved this away. “Maybe. Those images it showed us could be fauxtography, too. A phony story. Distractions, anyway. We’ve got to escape, not just sit and learn language.”

 
Beth nodded. She liked the wildlife around them, wanted to learn about it—and Cliff would love it, might be loving it now—but—“Right. Our bones are getting worse as we speak. We’ve got to get back to gravity.”

  * * *

  Cliff’s troop were doing badly on the basics: sleep and food. After crossing broad grasslands with clumps of trees for shade, they had seen no game worth pursuing for the better part of an Earth day. Some berries helped, and they found fresh water, a tinkling clear stream without signs of fish.

  Following protocols, Irma went upstream and provided cover guard. The four men slipped into the cool waters gratefully. For several days they had all had intermittent dysentery and all needed to soak, a morale booster. In the first days, they had added a chloride pill to the drinking water but now used a solar-powered UV source in the caps of their water bottles to sterilize it.

  Something broad, ribbed, and horned scuttled into a burrow at the shore. It looked to Cliff like an oval-shaped turtle with a razor-sharp crest. The burrow reeked, repulsive and rank, so they let it go.

  Howard floated in a small muddy pool. He lay slack, grinning widely. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking. I figure our getting the runs is from chirality.”

  Aybe asked, “Chirality? Spin?”

  Aybe was an engineer, right. “Direction of rotation of molecules. Handedness. When a molecule isn’t identical to its mirror image.” Howard didn’t talk much and kept getting hurt, which made him even more closemouthed, so Cliff listened carefully. “Most biochemists think it was a historical accident that all our sugars are right-handed and our amino acids are left-handed. I think some of the life here has molecules opposite-handed, versus what we know.”

  “How?” Terry asked.

  “Remember how, two sleeps back, you were all raving about how great that purple fruit tasted?”

  Aybe grunted at the memory. “And got ravenously hungry again in an hour. Pretty much like Chinese food, as the cliché goes—then we all got diarrhea.”

  “That’s why I’m always hungry?” Cliff asked. He wished they had the chirality gear in the SunSeeker landing supplies. They couldn’t bring everything on the first lander.