The Spheres of Heaven tmp-2

by Charles Sheffield

  Did she have any idea what he was getting at? He had no experience with the aliens, no way of knowing how to read their body language. As for facial expressions, you could forget them. The Pipe-Rillas had rigid exoskeletons.

  He pointed upward again. “I’m going there now. You operate the airlock.” More turning of his hands. “And I will come in.”

  Had there been a movement of the narrow head, a tremble of understanding? Bony watched. At last, when the imagined movement was not repeated, he left the port and rejoined Liddy. She was still waiting by the airlock.

  “Did they understand?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  He probably sounded as discouraged as he felt. His talent, if he had any, was for improvising. A more logical man would have prepared the ground thoroughly in advance, making sure through written signals that the Pipe-Rilla inside knew what he had been doing. As it was, he and Liddy might be forced to wait here until their air was running out, then return to the safety of the Mood Indigo with nothing to show but failure.

  From somewhere, near or far, came a strange, creaking rumble. Liddy grabbed his arm. “Bony.”

  “I don’t know what it was. Wait a few seconds.”

  It took considerably more than that. Maybe two whole minutes passed before the grinding rumble came again. But this time Bony recognized it for what it was: A motor at work, irising open a sealed hatch. It was another few seconds before the gap was visible, but now the wait did not seem long. Soon they heard a hiss of air.

  Half a minute more, and the hatch was fully open. The water level in the vertical part of the L-section dropped a meter, then steadied. Bony and Liddy stepped through the hatch, and waited until it closed.

  Liddy reached out and gave Bony a nervous hug. The inner hatch still had to go through its cycle, but the hard work was over. They were, at last, about to enter a Pipe-Rilla vessel.

  They were going to meet Stellar Group aliens.

  16: LINKING TO THE GEYSER SWIRL

  The Hero’s Return was no longer a military ship, yet Chan Dalton assumed its affairs would run with at least a semblance of military precision.

  He had been watching the clock. The time for leaving Ceres orbit was set for midnight. As soon as that departure took place, Deb Bisson would be unable to leave the ship. She would be forced to travel to the Link entry point, and from there to the Geyser Swirl.

  He had checked that Deb was aboard and in prime living quarters, but to avoid meeting her he had moved hundreds of meters away, hiding far forward in an empty region once occupied by a major weapons system. As soon as the ship was heading out he planned to go aft and find her.

  But midnight had come and gone, and the Hero’s Return floated in space as silent as a ghost ship. After ten frustrating minutes Chan started aft. Something had gone wrong, and he needed to find out what.

  The first person he met was Elke Siry. She was heading forward, though he knew of nothing that lay in that direction. She would have moved past him had he not stood in her way.

  He spread his arms wide to block the narrow passageway. “Do you know why departure has been delayed?”

  She frowned at him, pale brows shadowing her icy blue eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “We were supposed to leave at midnight. It’s almost twelve-fifteen, and we haven’t moved. Why?”

  Instead of answering his question, she ducked under his arm and eased past him in the corridor. “Come with me.”

  Chan, baffled, followed. In seventy meters they were at the extreme forward end of the ship. Elke led him on, through a narrow round hatch into a bubble of transparent plastic.

  “This is where I was going anyway,” she said. “It’s the bow observation port. There’s no better place to look at the stars, and see what’s ahead of the ship.”

  She spoke as though her words provided some kind of explanation. Chan was about to voice his frustration when he followed her pointing finger.

  “Ceres,” she said. The biggest of all the asteroids loomed large to the right of the Hero’s Return . It was sliding rapidly backward, as though its orbital motion took it in that direction. But its sunlit hemisphere was also to the rear. That implied Ceres was dropping directly toward the Sun.

  Chan turned to Elke, and found her watching him with a superior expression. “No, Ceres isn’t moving sunward,” she said. “We’re moving away from the Sun. We’re heading for the Asteroid Belt’s closest Link entry point, three and a half million kilometers farther out. The drive was turned on precisely at midnight.”

  “But I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “Because the Hero’s Return was designed as a military ship. The engines can produce acceleration bursts of up to twenty-five gees. That would kill the crew if you didn’t do anything about it, so anywhere that the crew might be was equipped with inertia shedders. We’ll never reach those levels of acceleration, of course, but even two gees would be uncomfortable. General Korin thought we might as well get the benefit of the shedders.”

  “I can’t hear the drive. Surely we ought to, even this far forward.”

  “Do you know what engine noise signifies?” When Chan merely shrugged, she went on. “Engine noise — noise of any kind — is a warning flag for inefficiency . Noise doesn’t help the drive to work. It doesn’t provide useful information on engine status. It’s not something a designer aims to produce. Quite the opposite. In a mechanical system, noise and excess heat tell you that you are wasting energy. In a military ship it is worse than that. Noise and heat can also announce the ship’s presence to an enemy. Hence, the engines of this ship were made as efficient — and noise-free — as possible. If you do hear anything, it’s a sure sign that something is going wrong.”

  Her manner was so loaded with condescension and cool contempt that the temptation to argue was almost irresistible. Was she looking for a fight? Or was this her normal way of dealing with mere mortals?

  Just now, Chan did not have the time to find out. He had asked Danny Casement to say nothing until he, Chan, had the chance to talk to Deb Bisson. But silence became harder for Danny as time went on and other team members wondered why they had not yet seen the Bun on board.

  “Thank you, Dr. Siry. I promise I’ll come back later and take a better look.” Chan managed a smile and hurried out of the observation chamber. At the hatch he turned to ask, “Do you know when we are scheduled for transition?”

  “Of course.” Raised eyebrows, at so elementary a question. “Link entry will take place seven and a half hours from now.”

  “Thank you.” After the first show of gratitude, the next one came easier. Chan resisted the urge to say more and began the long trip aft. The trouble with Elke Siry’s superiority complex was that it appeared to be justified. Chan had wondered after their last meeting if she might be some sort of ringer, planted on the team as a supposed scientist because of her relationship to General Korin. He had done a data download, and decided that if Elke were a plant the job had been done thoroughly. The records showed a full life story, from child prodigy in mathematics and music, to original discoveries in theoretical physics by the time she was seventeen. Now, at twenty-five, her list of important contributions spilled over into three digits.

  What was so valuable a scientist doing on this high-risk expedition? Maybe Korin had talked her into it, but Chan doubted that. There were hints in the record not only of a formidable brain, but just as formidable a will. What Elke wanted, Elke got. She was here because she was interested in the Geyser Swirl, and the mystery of the new Link entry point.

  Chan was coasting along the corridor that ran as a central axis for the full length of the Hero’s Return . It was the main artery for personnel movement back and forth along the ship, and in the vessel’s military past there must have been people bustling through the thoroughfare all the time. Today he heard nothing and saw no one. About the halfway point he came to the old fire control room that sat at the protecte
d heart of the ship. It too was empty, and he passed it by. This was where the ship’s navigation system would take care of all actions on the way to Link entry, swapping flight data with stations on Ceres and the Jovian moons; only the final choice would require a human decision: enter the Link, or decline to do so? It occurred to Chan that perhaps this was the choice that humans were least qualified to make. He recognized in himself the tendency to say, we’ve come so far, we can’t possibly change our minds now. People following that philosophy died climbing mountains, they signed disastrous contracts, they flew into hurricanes, and they embarked on lifelong commitments to the wrong mates. Perhaps they headed to the stars for the same reason.

  The width of the ship narrowed as he moved aft. It was down from a maximum of seventy meters in its central part to maybe forty. He was beyond the old captain’s quarters, beyond Dag Korin’s chosen suite, into the region which had in the old days been reserved for visiting VIPs. Korin himself had placed Chrissie Winger and Tarbush in suites there, and the other team members had asked to be close by. Team members. Let’s hope you could still call them that after his meeting with Deb Bisson.

  He slowed down and examined the glowing numbers that identified each corridor. It was well past midnight, and unless Tully O’Toole was suffering bad withdrawal symptoms Deb should be alone. She would probably be asleep, and if he had to he would wake her. He had to get this over with as soon as possible, or he himself would never sleep.

  This side branch. This door. Not locked — it was even slightly open.

  He hesitated. On Europa he had entered Deb’s apartment without permission and she had almost broken his neck. If she had known who he was, she probably would have.

  He was encouraged by a flicker of light from within. She was awake, and she was watching some sort of display. He gave a token knock, slid the door wide, and entered.

  Deb was awake all right, dressed in a black skintight suit and black slippers and sitting quietly on her bed. Unfortunately she was not alone. It was not just Tully, suffering from night shivers. Chan did a quick head count. Danny — Tully — the Tarbush — and, on the other side of the bed, Chrissie. They were all absorbed in a display on the far wall, and no one had seen him enter. Chan glanced at the imaging volume, and stood staring.

  It was the Geyser Swirl, in three dimensions and in more detail than he had ever seen it. Gas clouds, twisting like a rosy triple braid inside and outside a necklace of stars, orange and green and blue, showed how the Swirl had gotten its name. The image was striking enough, but it was the prerecorded voice accompanying the picture that really grabbed the attention.

  “In the words of one of humankind, the Geyser Swirl is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma .” It was the flat, computer-generated tones of an Angel. “We are certain, beyond doubt, that a Link network point exists within the Geyser Swirl. We are equally confident that no member of the Stellar Group placed it there. At that point, knowledge becomes speculation. A test probe reported that it was entering the Link, but there was no standard return signal to report a successful transit, nor did the probe itself return.

  “Meanwhile, contrary to the evidence of the probe, a recent remote survey indicates no evidence of a Link point’s existence within the Swirl. The survey did define the stellar types present in the Swirl, as follows: F-type stars predominate, and there are seven of them. There is one blue giant star, one A-type, one K-type cool giant, and one G-type dwarf of mass similar to Sol. Detailed spectra are available. Five of the stellar systems possess planetary retinues. However, of the twenty-three planets in these systems, none is able to support life of any form resembling a member of the Stellar Group. Nine are massive gas giants, five possess hydrogenous or methane atmospheres, while the remaining five lack volatiles and an atmosphere of any kind. Note that this distribution violates the widely accepted principle of homeostatic convergence, whereby worlds able to support life tend to a common limit of atmospheric pressure and composition, temperature, and humidity. In the Geyser Swirl, all surface temperatures lie in the lethal range… .”

  Since entering, Chan had not moved or made a sound; but Deb Bisson possessed the heightened senses of a weapons master. Without warning she rolled off the bed and came to her feet poised ready to spring. Chan held his hands wide, to show that he was unarmed.

  “Only me. I didn’t say anything, because you were all watching.” He nodded at the display. “Doesn’t look good for the teams that went there already, does it? No habitable planets. At least we’re forewarned.”

  He tried to sound relaxed and casual. It didn’t work. The others glanced at him, then at once turned their eyes to the woman standing by the bed. Chrissie held out a restraining hand. Danny Casement said, “Easy, Deb, easy.” And then to Chan, “I’m sorry, but I told her. A few minutes ago. I had to, because we were on the way.”

  Chan nodded, but he did not take his eyes away from Deb. “I understand. Don’t blame Danny for this, Deb. I asked him not to say anything until we left parking orbit.”

  “I don’t blame Danny for anything.” She was still in the fighting posture that made the hair stand up on the back of Chan’s neck. “You think you’re smart, Chan Dalton, tricking me into being part of the team. But you don’t know a thing. I was going anyway, with or without the other team members.”

  “I’m glad. This team wouldn’t be the same without you. And I’m very glad that when I came in you weren’t carrying weapons.”

  “Oh, cut the crap. You just want to use me, the way you used me before. The way you use everybody. As for having no weapons, try this.”

  She hardly moved, just the flick of her left index finger. Chan saw nothing, and for about five seconds he felt nothing. Then there was a curious sensation of something crawling up his chest.

  He looked down and saw that a round white patch about five centimeters across had appeared in the middle of his long-sleeved shirt. While he watched, it spread rapidly. He realized that the white patch was part of his undershirt, and the outer garment was simply vanishing. The torso went, then the neck and finally the sleeves, creeping down his arms to his wrists until he was standing in a sleeveless white top. An odd smell of acetone filled his nostrils.

  “I used a fabric version.” Deb’s face was stony. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to get out of my room. If you’re not gone by then, we’ll see how the skin version works.”

  “Deb.” But he saw her eyes. “All right, I’m on my way. I’ll say it again, I’m glad you’re with us.”

  He left, carefully closing the door after him. There was a long silence, broken surprisingly by Tully O’Toole. He had been staring, mouth open, first at Deb and then at Chan.

  “Well, there’s a surprise.” He rubbed at his arm, with its line of purple dots. “Now we know why he always wore long sleeves. And where he got the words for me. He knows it can be done, you see.”

  Deb glared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Chan told me that you can break the Paradox habit. He knew, because he did it. Didn’t you see his bare arms when your potion dissolved his shirt away?”

  “Of course I did. We all did.”

  “But I was nearer than you. I saw the marks. He’s a Paradox addict himself — or I should say, he used to be. The stigmata have faded to little white dots; but still they show, from long ago.”

  “Long ago,” Danny Casement added. “Tully has it right. Not any more, though. Not for a long time. Chan’s over it.”

  “ When?” Deb’s voice would cut glass.

  “You mean, when was he on it? Oh, I’m not sure.”

  “I know.” Tarboosh Hanson stirred from his cross-legged position on the floor. The head of Scruffy the ferret peered out from a gap between the fastenings of his shirt. “I was there when it happened. It was right after the beginning of the quarantine when Chan came by Lunar Farside. He had found out that we wouldn’t be allowed to go to the stars and he was in despair. He said he had let everybody down, and he coul
dn’t stand that. He swore he was going to do something about it. You must know all this, Deb. He was with you on Vesta right before he came to Lunar Farside.”

  “He was. But the two of us had just had a big fight. He never said anything like that to me when he left.”

  “The Tarbush is right, though.” Danny Casement stood up. “Chan was feeling so low — I didn’t know about your argument, so I assumed it was about the quarantine — that I wondered if he’d ever come back to normal. And I know what happened next, though I didn’t hear it until a long time afterwards. Chan left Lunar Farside and went down to Earth. He was in contact with people there who said they had worked with aliens, and he thought he might be able to make a special deal. Isn’t that right, Tarb?”

  “It is. He had some tricky plan worked out, something involving Pipe-Rillas operating in the basement warrens that could made an end run around the quarantine. But somebody was trickier than he was. A pusher slipped him a dose of Paradox during dinner, and that was it. You know what they say, one shot and you’re gone.”

  Deb Bisson sat down suddenly on the bed. “I thought it had to be injected.”

  “For maximum effect, it does. Regulars always take it that way. But most people get hooked orally, the way Chan did.”

  “The way I did,” said Tully. He had closed his eyes. “Oh, yes. That’s the way it’s done. One shot in your cup, and you never come up. That would still be true for me if you and Chan hadn’t taken me from Europa.”

  “What happened after that?”

  At Deb’s question the others looked at each other.

  “To Chan?” Danny Casement said at last. “He never came back. You can buy Paradox most places now, but right after the quarantine all the suppliers were down on Earth. So he didn’t leave.”

  “He couldn’t leave.” Tully sat rocking to and fro, his eyes still closed and his arms folded across his chest. “You have no idea how good you feel when it hits, or how frightened you get when you don’t know where the next shot is coming from. You want to follow your supplier twenty-four hours a day, just to make sure. Get a shot, you’re red hot; miss a hit, you’re in the pit.”