The Spheres of Heaven tmp-2

by Charles Sheffield

  Tully said nothing, and she looked away from the screens to stare at him. “What is it? What’s wrong now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s a lie, Tully O’Toole. Your face usually looks white as something dredged from the seabed, and now it’s all pink. What did I say?”

  “You said not a word. It’s what I thought.”

  “So tell me what.”

  “It’s so absurd. I thought that you were here because you were Dag Korin’s” — Tully screwed up his face — “well, this only proves what an ass I am. I thought you were Dag Korin’s mistress.”

  “A woman could do worse than General Korin, a lot worse. But me, his mistress? That’s a laugh.” Elke gave a snort that sounded nothing like a laugh. “I couldn’t let him — or any man—”

  Elke turned away and bent her blond head over the control board.

  “I understand,” Tully said quickly. “After the Slither, any touch would be too much. But it’s all right now I know. Do you want me to go?”

  “No, I’d rather that you stay. Two untouchables together. But I must keep on working.”

  “Of course you must. Can I help? I once had a working brain, and a good pair of eyes.” Tully moved so that he could study the screen, being careful to keep well clear of Elke. “Do you know what you’re looking at?”

  “I’m learning. This is the view from one of the orbiters, just before it stopped recording. The smooth dark area is the sea, and the Hero’s Return is about here.” She stabbed at the screen with a long, tapering index finger. “You can’t see us, of course, since we’re down deep. But the little blob you see beside the inlet is the Mood Indigo.”

  “It’s not in the water. It’s on the shore.”

  “I know. The storm might have carried it there.”

  “Is it a wreck?”

  “I don’t know. But the most interesting part of this picture isn’t in the sea area, except maybe for this one spot.” Her finger moved left, to indicate a small white circle. “According to the inertial guidance system on this ship — which I’m going to assume still works correctly, even if the laws of physics are all a bit different here — according to the guidance system, that’s where we first emerged into the Limbo ocean. So my thought is that the little disk is all that’s left of the Link transition point. It comes and goes, and it’s not there now. And don’t ask me how it can be part underwater, instead of in a vacuum or a thin atmosphere, because I have no idea.”

  “And this thing?” Tully reached carefully over Elke’s arm to indicate another part of the scene. “Like part of a great big ring.”

  “It is. The boundary is an exact circle when you make allowance for the look angle.” Elke ran a finger along the smooth arc. “This marks the edge of a zone of destruction. It only shows on the land and not at sea. Inside this region there’s nothing but blackened soil and dark gray rocks. Outside the burned part it’s a mixture of green and orange. I’m betting that this was originally all growing plants. Somebody sterilized the whole inner region, about seven hundred square kilometers. And guess what’s at the exact center of the black circle?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Better than that, I’ll show you.” Elke tapped at the board in front of her, and the picture on the display expanded, zooming in on one small area. “This is the highest magnification the image can take without losing detail. But it’s enough.”

  Tully counted six drab buildings of muddy yellow, running along each side of a long and narrow stretch of white. At each end of the strip, facing each other, sat two tiny tri-lobed shapes.

  “A settlement,” he said softly, “and funny-looking aircraft. I told you that the Bun was reliable. He said he saw one in the sky, and now we know he didn’t lie.”

  “We do indeed.” Tully and Elke had been so absorbed in the image that the voice from behind made them jump.

  “Aircraft, yes,” Dag Korin went on. He had entered the chamber silently and alone. “But I wouldn’t call that a settlement. See the boundary fence, with guard posts all along it? Throw in the scorched-earth perimeter for kilometers in each direction, and you have yourself a classic military camp. Our head-up-their-wazoo Stellar Groupies can preach peace all they like, but whoever made that encampment had war on their minds. This isn’t their home territory, either, or they wouldn’t blast everything for miles around them. And don’t be fooled by thinking this is all defenses. They may have only a few aircraft, but I’ll bet they have other weapons.”

  “More than a few planes.” Tully had been leaning close to the screen as the General spoke, studying the enlarged picture. “Look over here, well outside the camp. It’s not easy to see them because they match the color of the ground. But isn’t that more aircraft?”

  “Six, seven, eight.” The way that Dag Korin counted made each word sound like a curse. “Aye, and there’s another batch of the damned things, farther over. They’re camouflaged to match the background, but not very well. I’d have expected these alien buggers to do a better job, they’re careful enough about other things. Maybe there’s hope for us after all.”

  Elke was working the keypad in front of her. “Well, if there is hope,” she said, “I’d credit our technology more than alien weaknesses. The orbiters had the best sensors that humans know how to build, and they could record signals at wavelengths all the way from ultraviolet to radar. Here’s what the ground would look like if the orbiters only sensed the range of wavelengths that human eyes can see.”

  The picture as a whole remained the same — except that Tully, staring, could now see no details within the burned area. Buildings, boundary fence, airstrips, aircraft were gone. All had been swallowed up within the dark background.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Korin squinted at the image. “Bring it back the way it was, Elke. Ah, that’s better. We’re going to need a couple of printed copies of this, with compass settings marked.”

  “No problem.” Elke did not move, leaving it to the ship’s computer to take the necessary action.

  “Plus any other information we can deduce about what’s down there. For instance, what do you make of that?” Korin was pointing to a pair of oval shapes, close to one cluster of the triple-lobed aircraft but much larger than any. “Can you make those bigger?”

  Elke shrugged her thin shoulders. “I can enlarge the picture, but you won’t get any more detail. We’re at the resolution limit of the orbiter’s sensors.”

  “Pity.” Korin rubbed at his jaw. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough if I’m right.”

  Tully didn’t think that Dag Korin had a high opinion of him. In fact, he had overheard himself referred to by the General, soon after his arrival on board the Hero’s Return , as `that long brain-dead streak of shivering misery.’ Well, Tully had improved a lot since then, and Korin’s favorite had also once been a Slither slave. He risked what might be a stupid question. “Sir, how do you know what those blobs might be? I can’t make out any detail on them at all.”

  “No more can I, son, no more can I.” Korin took a couple of steps away, as though he had said all he was going to, then swung around and added sharply, “I imagine , you see. What my eyes won’t provide, I imagine with eighty years of war experience to guide me. And the more I look at that picture, the more a little voice inside me says, military expedition. Not a full-scale army, mind you, because the scale of operations is wrong for that. This is more like a scouting party, sent out to learn the lie of the land. Maybe sent to find out if Limbo is worth a bigger investment, or decide that the place is a dead loss and not worth another visit.

  “Now, there’s a logic to a scouting expedition, one that I’d suspect is common to all times and all species. First, you need a base of operations. We see that on the image. You also need the aircraft or ground vehicles to make sorties away from base, and you need to have enough of them to stand some losses from accidents or hostile action. That’s what the aircraft are for. And there’s one other must-have. You may be able to live off t
he land to some extent, but you’ll need bigger transports — call them mother ships if you like — to bring you to your sphere of operations in the first place. Little scoutships won’t be enough for that, and they won’t be able to carry everything you need for weeks or months of operations. That’s what I think the two ovals are. They brought them here to Limbo, through a Link point of their making and under their control. And in our present situation, those mother ships represent our own best shot at a way to go home.”

  Korin paused and frowned at the other two. “Now, that’s my thinking. It may be wrong, so feel free to poke holes in it. Ask questions.”

  Elke said softly, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather ask about the other part of what you said earlier.”

  “Other part.”

  “You told us, `we’ll find out soon enough if I’m right.’ What made you say that?”

  “No secret there. We can’t sit here until this ship rots around us. I’m organizing a shore party to explore the land—”

  “That’s terrific! I’ve been analyzing data from the orbiters, and I’ve been wondering about a thousand other things—”

  “ — but you won’t be part of the shore group, Elke.”

  “What! I’m not an engineer. I don’t know how to keep things running on the ship. But ashore, I can—”

  “No. You have other things to do, and they may be a lot more important than going ashore. You were the one who came up with the idea that we’re lost, not just somewhere in our own universe but somewhere in an infinity of universes. You’re our best shot — I’d say our only shot — at cracking the secrets of the multiverse. I want you focused on that, and the properties of the alien Link. I want to know about other universes that we might be able to reach — are they more or less similar to our own, could humans survive in them. I don’t want you distracted by thoughts of Limbo’s other life-forms, or war games, or shore parties. Understood?”

  It was a few moments before Elke turned away and said softly, “Yes, sir. I’ll explore the multiverse, and the Link.”

  Dag Korin nodded. Only Tully, sitting so that Elke had been forced to face him when she swiveled around, saw the look of secret joy — and wondered if this was exactly what Elke had wanted all along.

  25: SHORE PLANS

  Friday Indigo sat on a rock ledge with his legs immersed in water up to the mid-calf. He was inside a long, stone-walled room with a dark pool down the middle. The edge of the pool was marked by a set of tapered columns, conical towers taller than a man. Scores of lumbering Malacostracans, all bigger than Two-Four, scuttled and splashed to and fro at the poolside in what seemed like random motion.

  The One stood motionless behind Friday. The thin snaky fingers had withdrawn little by little from his ears, until now they barely touched the skin.

  “Once more we will test.” The voice that Friday heard did not come from the translation unit. It was inside his head, warm and friendly and infinitely comforting. “Tell us your name.”

  “I am Friday Indigo.”

  “That is satisfactory.” The tendrils withdrew completely, slithering back into the body of The One. “We detect no signal loss. We will later confirm the efficiency of operation over greater distances. Now, however, you will answer questions concerning your universe, your world, and your people. You have said that the universe from which you came has `countless’ suns and many habitable worlds. How many suns? How many worlds? How many habitable worlds? How does your universe compare with this one?”

  Friday struggled to answer. He wanted to do it right, with every nerve, with every brain cell, with every ounce of his strength and concentration. But he could not do it. He lacked information. At last he said, “In our universe, stars are organized into large groups called galaxies. Each galaxy contains many billions of stars. One star in every ten of our own galaxy has planets around it. One planet in a thousand is able to support life like our kind and yours. There are theories to explain why planets converge toward common life-supporting properties, but I do not understand them. We have little knowledge of any galaxy except the one that our own sun is in, but we think that they are all similar in their ability to create planetary systems, and that an equal fraction of planetary systems probably supports life. But I cannot compare with this universe, because I do not know the properties of this universe.”

  “You have provided the information that we need.” The voice of The One soothed and cheered Friday. “You confirm that your own universe, unlike this one or most of the rest of the accessible levels of the multiverse, is hospitable to life. This one, by contrast, is most inhospitable. Based on the observed properties of the sky-globes, we estimate that the nearest star with a planetary train is more than five thousand lightyears away from here. This universe is a disappointment to us.”

  Friday felt inside his brain a new touch that could not translate to words. He shivered with shared sorrow and dissatisfaction, until the One continued, “We intend to link ourselves through to your universe. First, however, we need more information. Tell us of your people, and of this `Stellar Group’ that you mention. Talk of your technology, and list your strengths and weaknesses. Warn us of possible dangers. Give every fact that you know. Our powers of absorption are endless, and no amount of detail is too much.”

  Friday nodded. After a few moments he began to speak. Prompted now and again by The One, he did his best to empty his entire brain.

  Minutes became hours. Occasionally The One interrupted to ask a question. Who in humans was the controlling class? Which one was the disposable class? Was there more than one sessile class? Friday had to answer that question in half a dozen different ways, before The One was satisfied that humans had no sessile class and continued: How is human breeding accomplished? How are offspring culled? In the Stellar Group, how can there be many species, without one being dominant?

  Friday talked on and on, until all the Malacostracans other than The One were gone, and the long chamber was empty. The water that lapped around his calves gradually became freezing cold. The rock that he sat on was ridged and uneven and cut into his flesh. He had not eaten for almost two days.

  He did not mind. He was aware of fatigue and physical discomfort, but they did not matter. He was blissfully happy.

  When at last The One said, “That is enough for now,” he was disappointed.

  The One read his disappointment. “We have proved that your kind can be useful servants,” it said soothingly. “Your life will continue. Lie down now, on your back.” And, after a brief pause, “Sleep.”

  It was as well that Friday had received the order to lie down. Otherwise he would have fallen face forward into the water, asleep instantly. He would have died there, too — but he would have died happy.

  He did not hear The One, mindful of the needs of the underclasses, add, “And after sleep you will be fed.”

  * * *

  Who? Chan struggled with the problem for the rest of the day. Who would go ashore? Who must remain on the ship?

  There was no doubt at all that everyone would want to go, but that was another matter.

  He deliberately avoided Deb during the evening, and he chose a different place to sleep. They had spent the previous night together, but now he dared not allow personal persuasion and closeness to cloud his judgment.

  By morning he had made up his mind. The condition of the Hero’s Return when he awoke helped. The air entering through the ducts smelled stale. It was clammy on the skin, and every exposed metal surface sweated drops of water. The ship’s computer insisted that all life-support systems were well within tolerances, but its sensors could not match a human’s perception of discomfort or of coming problems.

  So Dag Korin was right, and the Bun would have to stay to make whatever fixes he could think of. Chan didn’t fool himself into thinking they would be any more than temporary. The bottom of the sea was simply the wrong place for a space-going ship. The Hero’s Return was slowly dying.

  Chan called for a breakfast
meeting in the ship’s main cafeteria. He made sure he was there first, and he watched their faces as they arrived in ones and twos. He swore to himself. He hadn’t said a word to anyone, but they all knew something was about to happen — and it was his guess that they knew what.

  He scanned the intent faces as they filled trays with food and carried them to the long table where he sat at the head. Danny Casement took a position next to Chan. He was as neatly groomed and debonair as always — and as inscrutable. Danny was a formidable card player, and no one would read his feelings and inner thoughts. Next to him, Tully O’Toole sat down with a loaded tray that he did no more than pick at. Chan could see the tremor in Tully’s hand. He knew that morning feeling, the worst time of day for withdrawal symptoms.

  Bony Rombelle arrived next at the table, carrying a big glass of water and a single slice of dry toast. Was this really the Bun? The Bun, whose idea of an adequate breakfast in the old days included eggs and bacon and sausage and pasta, followed by toast covered with enough butter to grease a locomotive?

  Was the Bun feeling sick? No, it was something else. Chan saw Liddy Morse sit down next to Bony, and knew what it was. With any luck it wouldn’t mess up the Bun’s ability to make useful equipment out of any old bits and pieces that were to hand.

  When Deb Bisson arrived she moved to sit at the other end of the table, facing Chan. Her eye met his accusingly. It said, You’re a coward, Chan Dalton. You know I won’t be going ashore, but you won’t tell me in person. You’ll go, and leave me behind. That’s why you avoided me last night. Don’t I deserve better treatment than that?