The Spheres of Heaven tmp-2

by Charles Sheffield

  Three more hours and it would be dark. He couldn’t bear to wait any longer. The waves seemed smaller, and once he got close to the buildings on the shore they would surely present no danger. He clambered awkwardly into the lock. Operating it when everything was turned through ninety degrees was not easy, but finally he had it open and could look sideways and down at the water below.

  Smaller they might be, but the waves still hit the hull of the Mood Indigo with frightening force and speed. He guessed the peak-to-trough distance as three meters. Much bigger than he’d thought when staring out of a ship’s port. But that was only here, near the ship. Ahead, by the buildings on the shore, the waves damped down to one-third the size.

  A darker cloud across the already hidden sun made up his mind. He must go now, or give up the idea until tomorrow. He waited for a calm patch between two waves, then dropped easily into the water.

  Within a few seconds he realized his mistake. He had gauged the suit’s internal pressure correctly, so that he bobbed comfortably in the water with his head and suit helmet clear. But he had misjudged his direction of travel. The waves tended to carry him forward, along the river valley and toward the buildings, but at the same time a strong crosscurrent wanted to take him sideways. He used the suit’s thrustors to compensate, and found himself rotating helplessly in a complicated interaction of waves, current, and thrustors. He was still moving sideways, toward a place where head-high breakers met the shore among a jumble of boulders.

  It would be a terrible place to land. Friday increased the force of the suit thrustors, only to discover that pushed him off balance and drove him face-first into the waves. He switched the thrustors off completely. As he came upright again, he felt his feet touch bottom. He immediately released air from his suit. As his buoyancy decreased, his footing became more firm. He should be able to walk parallel to the shore, until he reached the small breakers and calmer water near the buildings and jetty.

  Confident again, he let out more air and turned to pick out the place where he would land. He was unlucky in his timing. While he was still searching for a preferred landing point, a great mother wave came sweeping in silently from behind. It picked him up effortlessly, turned him in midair, and crashed him headfirst down on the stony bottom. His helmet took the impact, as it was designed to do, but it left his head ringing. As he staggered to his feet again, a sister wave hit.

  This one finished the job. Friday was lifted, carried forward, and deposited in a crack between two boulders. The wave retreated and left him there, breathless.

  He was ashore — but still in danger. Another wave could soon be on its way. He forced himself to wriggle forward, grabbing at rocks and thinking of nothing but the next few inches of pebbles and stone. He kept going, forward and upward, for what felt like hours. Finally he saw that the boulder in front of his face was bone-dry.

  He was safe.

  He rolled over and lay on his back, staring up at the sky. The clouds were racing, but they seemed less thick and ominous. The storm was definitely coming to an end. If he had waited another few hours …

  But if he had waited, although the sea would be calmer it would also be dark, and he would not have tried to make it ashore. And here he was. He took a deep breath, sat up, and looked to his right. From his point of view his arrival on the beach had been filled with noise and violence; however, during a storm the whole shore must be such a chaos of wind and breaking waves that the arrival there of one human could pass unnoticed.

  The beings over by the buildings had apparently seen nothing, and most of them had gone inside or about other business. A couple were still standing outside. He could see them more clearly now that blown spray no longer obscured the picture. They were multi-legged, with long, flat, bodies. They seemed to possess some kind of blue-black shell, but he was still too far away to tell which end was which, or if they had such things as eyes and ears.

  Well, that would change soon enough. Friday struggled to his feet and checked that his backpack and the translation unit at his waist were in position and intact. The translator was in a case. The case was supposed to be waterproof, but you never knew when some crooked supplier would sell you another piece of junk. He turned the unit on, and heard the beep that indicated it was ready to go to work.

  Maybe this time the damn thing would perform as advertised. Friday was going to have a few bruises after his rough landing, but he smiled to himself as he opened the front of his helmet and headed off along the pebbled beach. Maybe it was time for a little bit of luck.

  He waved. Still the creatures over by the buildings did not notice him. Well, they would become aware of Friday Indigo soon enough.

  First contact, here we come.

  * * *

  There is no training manual, “Ten things to remember in first contact with an alien species.” Even had there been one, Friday Indigo would not have opened the data file. You learned things by hiring other people to sort out what was important and tell you what you needed to know and when you needed to know it. In any case, there was no big mystery about first contact.

  Friday was making no attempt to walk quietly, but the wind was blowing hard and the surf still ran high. He came within ten meters of the two aliens and still they had not noticed him.

  He had been studying them as he approached. They were like nothing he had ever seen or heard of. That was good. The worst thing after all his efforts would be to learn that they were already members of the Stellar Group.

  Not these babies, though. They were low-slung, with a long, horizontal body and what seemed like an inordinate number of jointed legs. He counted five pairs, each with a carrying pouch on its outer side. That total didn’t include four at the front end terminating in pincers like lobster claws and surrounded by bristly projections capable of independent movement. The blue-black, hard-cased body was about a meter and a half long, so the creatures would be at least as tall as humans if they ever reared up onto their hind legs — which so far they showed no signs of doing. The two just seemed to be talking to each other, making chittering, clicking sounds and waving long stalky antennas.

  One of those antennas finally turned in Friday’s direction. There was probably an eye at the end of it, because he could see a dark-blue gleam there — and the alien in charge of that particular antenna at once changed its clattering to a high-pitched squeak. Apparently the squeak meant something to the second alien, because they both swung round instantly to face Friday.

  This was it, the big moment.

  He raised his hand in a formal gesture. “Greetings, alien strangers. I, Friday Indigo, captain of the Terran ship Mood Indigo , and the representative of all Terrans and all species of the Stellar Group, seek your friendship and am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Of course, they would not understand him. That was too much to hope for. The translating machine had to listen to a bit of chat from both sides before it did anything useful. But his words would be recorded, and that was what counted. That was what went into the historical archives.

  He lowered his hand and waited for their response.

  It came in unison, and with astonishing speed. Two claws moved to two leg pouches, dipped in, and came out holding short black canes. The canes pointed at Friday. He heard sharp popping sounds like the bursting of small party balloons.

  He didn’t see anything, but suddenly he felt as though his brain had turned to boiling liquid and was fountaining out of the top of his head. That was impossible — he had opened the faceplate of his helmet, but surely the rest of it was still in position. He tried to reach up to check, but before he could get his hand past shoulder height he was falling backwards.

  As he fell he decided that he had been wrong. The worst thing that could happen was not that the aliens would prove to be members of the Stellar Group. The worst thing that could happen to him was what was happening right now.

  19: THE HERO’S RETURN ARRIVES ON LIMBO

  Chan Dalton knew within half a sec
ond that something had gone wrong. Subjective time inside a Link transition — the only time that had meaning there — was the single dizzying moment when your head turned inside out. After that you were back in the real world. In this case the real world was supposed to be the gauzy starlit splendor of the Geyser Swirl; that’s not what he was seeing. The forward observation chamber of the Hero’s Return revealed a murky green gloom, and hovering within its depths sat a gigantic alien spaceship.

  The alien ship moved, jerking forward. Chan’s eyes refocused. Suddenly he was looking not at a distant behemoth but at a small fish-like creature, inches away from the transparent wall of the observation chamber. As Chan watched, the little animal darted away and disappeared.

  Half a second in human terms was an eternity to the ship’s computer. While Chan was still peering after the vanished fish, the audio outlet in the observation chamber sounded an alert and continued with a message: WARNING. ANOMALOUS ENVIRONMENT. CURRENTLY CHANGING SENSOR OBSERVATION SUITE, RECALIBRATING INSTRUMENTS, TAKING READINGS. THIS SHIP IS ON EMERGENCY STATUS.

  In the pause that followed, Deb Bisson gripped Chan’s hand harder than ever. “What’s happening? Where are we?”

  All her previous Link experience had been within the solar system. She didn’t know just how unusual this one was. Chan tried to speak with a confidence that he didn’t feel. “We completed the transition. I assume that we’re somewhere in the Geyser Swirl. But we’re in a gravity field when we expected to be in free fall, and we’re under water when we thought we would emerge into open space. We won’t know more than that until the computer has taken and interpreted sensor readings.”

  He was still staring outside. There was no light inside the observation chamber itself, but light shining out from other ports of the Hero’s Return illuminated the cloudy water for a few meters. The outside view was a uniform green, broken now and then by faint glints of silver.

  Apparently the ship’s sensors had the same problem as Chan at visible wavelengths. A calm voice said, SWITCHING TO ULTRASONICS AND ULTRA-LONG FREQUENCY ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION AS PRIMARY SENSING MODES. PERFORMING PHYSICAL AND CHEMICAL ANALYSIS OF SHIP STATUS AND OF IMMEDIATE ENVIRONMENT.

  And then, after a pause too brief for any human analysis, THE FOLLOWING STATUS REPORT IS RANKED ACCORDING TO PERCEIVED HUMAN SURVIVAL PRIORITIES.

  ITEM ONE: THE SHIP’S HULL REMAINS INTACT, ALL INTERIOR SYSTEMS ARE OPERATING NORMALLY, AND THERE IS NO IMMEDIATE DANGER TO PERSONNEL OR EQUIPMENT.

  ITEM TWO: THE SHIP’S EXTERNAL ENVIRONMENT IS RADICALLY DIFFERENT FROM PRE-TRANSITION ESTIMATES. THIS MAY LEAD TO LONG-TERM PROBLEMS.

  ITEM THREE: THE SHIP FLOATS IN A CLEAR LIQUID OF DENSITY 1.156. THE LIQUID’S REFRACTIVE INDEX, DENSITY, CONDUCTIVITY, AND GROSS CHEMICAL PROPERTIES ARE CONSISTENT WITH THOSE OF DEUTERIUM OXIDE CONTAINING A SMALL FRACTION OF MINERAL SOLVENTS.

  ITEM FOUR: THE SHIP SITS IN A GRAVITATIONAL FIELD OF 0.154 GEES. THIS IS TOO SMALL TO BE CONSISTENT WITH THE VALUE OF SURFACE GRAVITY ON ANY KNOWN HABITABLE PLANET POSSESSING A LIQUID WATER SEA. ALSO, THE PLANETARY RADIUS AS INFERRED FROM LOCAL HORIZON SENSING IS TOO LARGE TO BE CONSISTENT WITH THE OBSERVED SURFACE GRAVITY. NO EXPLANATIONS ARE AVAILABLE FOR THESE ANOMALIES.

  ITEM FIVE: THE SHIP’S ESTIMATED DEPTH BELOW THE WATER SURFACE IS 161 METERS. THE ESTIMATED WATER DEPTH BELOW THE SHIP IS 1.52 KILOMETERS. THE CURRENT RATE OF DESCENT IS 1.1 METERS A SECOND. WARNING . IF THE PRESENT RATE OF DESCENT WERE TO BE MAINTAINED, HULL STRESSES WOULD EXCEED TOLERABLE LEVELS IN 13.8 MINUTES. AUTOMATIC REMEDIAL ACTION WILL BE TAKEN IN 9.4 MINUTES UNLESS HUMAN OVERRIDE COMMANDS ARE PROVIDED.

  “Remedial action?” Deb glanced at Chan.

  “I don’t know. But the computer knows what it’s doing. It will keep us safe unless we tell it not to.” He stood up. “We’re getting just the summary over the address system. If we really want to know what’s going on we have to be in the control room. Come on, let’s go.”

  Progress through the interior of the Hero’s Return was slow. Walkways and handholds had been designed for free fall or for uniform fore-to-aft acceleration. In its slow watery descent the ship was canted far away from the vertical. That tilt seemed to affect Deb Bisson very little. She floated from chamber to chamber without effort and with no wall contact other than an occasional foot or hand. Chan, lacking the balance and sense of body position that made Deb unbeatable in single combat, floundered along behind.

  The ship’s computer continued to offer its summary from every audio outlet. ITEM SIX: THE SHIP’S OVERALL LOCATION WITH RESPECT TO KNOWN MARKER STARS IS UNKNOWN. THE ANALYSIS OF AMBIENT SUNLIGHT SUGGESTS A NATURAL STELLAR ORIGIN, BUT THE RECONSTRUCTED STELLAR SPECTRUM MATCHES NO KNOWN STAR AND NO POSSIBLE STAR TYPE. THIS DISCREPANCY HAS NO EXPLANATION.

  Nopossible star type, Chan thought, struggling vainly to catch up with Deb. Not just lost, way lost. We’re near a star of a type that can’t exist.

  She had turned in midair and was resting with her back against a bulkhead. “What does it mean?” She was not even out of breath. “I thought this ship’s computer knew everything. How can we be near a star with no stellar type?”

  “I don’t know.” Chan was eager to reach the control room, but he could use the breather. “The Geyser Swirl is one big mess of stars and dust and gas. Maybe we’re close to a star whose light is being filtered through the rest of it.”

  “But shouldn’t the computer know that, too?”

  It should. Chan shrugged. They started out again as the steady voice came once more over the audio system: ITEM SEVEN: ULF RETURNS INDICATE THE PRESENCE OF THREE OTHER SHIPS WITHIN TEN KILOMETERS OF OUR PRESENT LOCATION. EACH ONE HAS PROVIDED AN ID RESPONSE TO OUR CODED SIGNAL. THE SHIPS ARE:

  ONE, THE FINDER , WITH A REPORTED CREW OF ONE PIPE-RILLA AND AN UNSTATED NUMBER OF TINKER COMPONENTS. CAMERON’S DREAM WAS ITS LAST PORT OF CALL, IT ENTERED THE FOMALHAUT FOUR LINK BOUND FOR THE GEYSER SWIRL LINK ON 79/03/07 STANDARD DATE, AND IT HAS NOT BEEN HEARD FROM SINCE. ITS SLANT RANGE DISTANCE FROM OUR CURRENT POSITION IS THREE KILOMETERS, AZIMUTH IS 81 DEGREES, AND IT SITS STATIONARY ON THE SEABED AT A DEPTH OF 110 METERS.

  TWO, THE MINISTER OF GRACE , WITH A REPORTED CREW OF ONE OR MORE ANGELS OF SELLORA. AMBROSIA WAS ITS LAST PORT OF CALL, IT ENTERED THE SKYRILLAN LINK BOUND FOR THE GEYSER SWIRL LINK ON 79/05/11 STANDARD DATE AND HAS NOT BEEN HEARD FROM SINCE. ITS SLANT RANGE DISTANCE FROM OUR CURRENT POSITION IS EIGHT KILOMETERS, AZIMUTH IS 151 DEGREES, AND IT SITS STATIONARY ON THE SEABED AT A DEPTH OF 52 METERS.

  THREE, THE MOOD INDIGO , WITH A REPORTED CREW OF THREE HUMANS. THIS SHIP WAS LAST OBSERVED IN THE VICINITY OF THE VULCAN NEXUS ON OR ABOUT 79/08/02. THIS SHIP IS IN MOTION, AND ITS SLANT RANGE DISTANCE FROM OUR CURRENT POSITION IS SEVEN KILOMETERS, AZIMUTH 37 DEGREES. THIS SHIP’S CURRENT DEPTH IS 29 METERS.

  “Nothing about the Mood Indigo being sent here.” Chan and Deb had reached the control room, but he paused on the threshold. “I wonder what idiot decided that the first expedition was so secret that the next ship going in couldn’t be told. The Hero’s Return computer is no different from the rest of us — it only knows what’s fed to it. What else didn’t they bother to mention?”

  The control room of the Hero’s Return was in keeping with the ship’s size. In its heyday three dozen officers had occupied the banks of communications and fire control consoles. Now the weapons had been removed, but the array of desks remained. Just three of them were occupied. Tully O’Toole sat over in one corner, staring at the lanky figure of Elke Siry. Next to him the physicist was curled up in a too-small seat like a praying mantis, ignoring everything except a quartet of data displays in front of her. A lock of blond hair hung over her forehead and she was gnawing at her lower lip.

  Dag Korin sat in front of the main control console, his head slumped forward on his chest. He had one gnarled forefinger poised over the button that opened the circuit for oral commands to the ship’s computer.

  “Hey, Dalton!” He had seen Deb and Chan at the threshold. “Got a question for you. Your team is sup
posed to come up with bright ideas once we’re in the Geyser Swirl, but I’m damned if I know whether we’re there or some place else. Anyhow, I figure you should have a say in this. Did you hear what the computer said about remedial action to stop us sinking?”

  “I heard it.” Chan came across to Korin, Deb Bisson following. “But I don’t know what the computer is proposing to do.”

  “That display shows the plan.” The General nodded to one of the screens. “Reduce the ship’s mass so the average density of the ship becomes lower than the water density, and we start ascending. I like that — I just don’t like the way the computer’s proposing to lower the density. See the listing? A lot of our mass is in the external defensive shields. Every one of them would have to be dumped into the sea. Even with that it’s touch and go, but without the shields I’ll feel as naked as a soft-shell crab. Anyone who feels like taking a potshot at us can blow the Hero’s Return to pieces.”

  “All the ships that the computer has located are Stellar Group members.”

  “I know. And isn’t that bad news? You know the Angels, it will be more of their `Violence is never the only alternative’ line of bullshit.”

  “But we know they won’t shoot at us.”

  “So what? I learned a long time ago that it’s a bad habit to waste effort counting your friends. It’s your enemies you need to look out for. We don’t know who might be just over the horizon. Anyway, what do you think? Let the computer do what it wants and dump the shields, or override it?”