The Spheres of Heaven tmp-2

by Charles Sheffield

  “What about the Malacostracans?”

  Tarbush sat up for a moment, felt the thresh of the wind across the top of the plants, and lay back down. “If they can move around and find us on such a bad night, they’re entitled to do what they like with us.”

  Chrissie opened her visor. “At least it’s not raining. If we can’t go anywhere I’m going to try to sleep. I didn’t get any sleep earlier — not like some people.”

  She was looking for a response, maybe an argument. But he said only, “You do that. You need your rest. I won’t talk any more, but I’ll stay awake and keep watch.”

  Tarbush settled in at her side, one arm around Chrissie and his face close to hers. Within ten minutes she knew from his steady breathing that he was asleep. It was tempting to nudge him, but she didn’t.

  She lay, listening to the wind. Was it her imagination, or had it eased, just a little? The canopy of plants above her head became faintly visible. Another ball of lightning must be drifting through the atmosphere of Limbo. This one was far off, and Chrissie watched and waited until the moment of its sudden extinction.

  She closed her eyes. If Tarbush could sleep, why couldn’t she? She deliberately turned her mind back two months, to a time when the embargo against stellar travel seemed permanent, with no chance of ever meeting again the members of the old team; to the time when she and Tarbush had toured with her bag of magic tricks and his animal-talking act, to amaze the colonists of the wide-scattered mini-worlds of the Oort Cloud; to the time — God, why didn’t a person know when she was well off? — the time when a “bad night” meant only a poor audience for the second performance of your magic act, and not being pursued by malevolent aliens across the scarred surface of a lost world in an alternate universe.

  * * *

  Chrissie felt herself being shaken, and tried to curl into a ball.

  “Sorry, love, but we can’t have that.” It was Tarbush, shaking her again. “The early bird catches the worm, and we don’t want the early Malacostracan catching us.”

  Chrissie yawned, stretched, and sat up. Light, pale and yellow, streamed in horizontally through the leafy roof above her head. The broad fronds were moving, but gently. She heard no sound of wind.

  “About half an hour after dawn,” Tarbush said. “The wind died down about the same time. I would have let you sleep, but I think we have to get moving. So far as I can tell from looking at the layout of the Malacostracan buildings, our camp lies in that direction.” He pointed through the undergrowth. “We have to get to it. Question is, do we go back to the edge of the cleared area, where travel is easy, but we risk being seen; or do we try to tunnel straight through the plants? We know from yesterday that we might come across various sorts of nasties.”

  Chrissie was finally awake. “I don’t like either option. Which way is the sea?”

  “If I’m right about where our camp is, and I remember correctly what we did yesterday, I’d say it’s that way.” He swiveled his body through forty-five degrees.

  “I think that’s the way we ought to go. Once we reach the shore we can follow our own trail inland. I can’t imagine any reason why Deb and Danny would move the camp, but if they did they’d surely find a way to tell us where they were going. And if that doesn’t work, we can simply close our suits, go into the sea, and walk back to the Hero’s Return the way we came.”

  Tarbush started crawling without another word. He went first and didn’t complain, but Chrissie could tell from their miserable rate of progress that he was having problems. It took half an hour to cut and slash and scramble less than thirty meters. She was ready to suggest that they turn around and try a different route when he paused and said, “There’s something funny ahead, a sort of long crack in the ground. Stay well back while I take a look at it.”

  He fought his way slowly forward another few meters, then abruptly vanished. Chrissie waited nervously, until suddenly just his head popped into view.

  “Good news.” He gestured to her to join him. “It’s a streambed, almost dry but with a trickle of water in it. All we have to do is follow the direction of flow and we’ll reach the sea.”

  Chrissie eased herself down the steep bank to join him at the bottom. The bed of the stream was a mixture of mud and gravel, dry enough to provide a firm walking surface. The plants on the stream banks grew right across, so that the channel would be invisible to any overhead surveillance, and they were high enough to allow even Tarbush to stand almost upright.

  A slow and arduous crawl became a slightly uneven walk. In just a few minutes they were at the place where the rock fracture along which the stream ran came out onto the shore. Chrissie heard a loud and changing roar ahead of them. Tarbush, walking slightly in front, paused and peered out from the sheltering fringe of plants.

  “The wind has died, but I don’t think the sea knows it yet. Look at that.”

  Chrissie, moving to his side, saw the origin of the unknown roar. The surface of the sea was covered in foam and gigantic white-capped breakers that rolled in endless array to batter the shore. The shore itself was diminished, its fifty meters of shingle reduced to a narrow strand between turbulent water and tangled vegetation. Nowhere, on sea or shore, was any sign of animal life.

  “Well, with waves like that we can’t go back to the Hero’s Return any time soon,” Tarbush said. “We’d be smashed to pieces before we got beyond the line of breakers. What now?”

  Chrissie pointed to the left. “That way. I wasn’t paying particular attention, but if we had landed farther to the right surely we’d all have noticed that reddish hump.”

  Tarbush nodded. “I think so. Left it is, then.”

  They set off along the strip of shore, alert and ready to jump for the cover of the shoreline plants if anything moved. Chrissie glanced out to sea. If she had her sense of direction right, the Link entry point that had brought their ship to Limbo lay in that direction. She could see no sign of it. That seemed to confirm what the Malacostracans had said, that the Link opened and closed under their control. So how could humans or Stellar Group members possibly escape?

  She was staring to the east, and the cloudy sky in that direction glowed a lurid and unpleasant yellow. Weather on Limbo was too alien and unfamiliar for her to read its indicators. Was the storm over, or did the present calm represent no more than a lull? It was tempting to use her suit communicator and try to reach Deb, Danny, or the ship, but the rule of radio silence applied more than ever now. The Malacostracans had advanced technology, different from anything Chrissie had ever seen or heard about.

  At her side, Tarbush halted. He was on the shoreward side, scanning the plants there while she looked out to sea.

  “This looks like the place where we went into the jungle when we first came ashore. If it isn’t, somebody else has flattened the plants.” He had turned, to walk carefully into the waist-high growth. “Yes, I’m sure of it.”

  “Should we call to them?” Chrissie was stepping close behind. “You know Deb. If we come out on them unexpectedly she might blow us away.”

  “What about the Malacostracans?” But it was Tarbush who raised his voice as he moved forward. “Deb? Danny? It’s us, Tarb and Chrissie. We’re fine, and we’re alone.”

  In the past few minutes the wind had died completely. His voice was swallowed up by the silent sea of vegetation ahead.

  “Deb? Danny?” And to Chrissie, in lower tones, “I don’t like this. We’re not far from where we left our supplies. They’d answer if they could.”

  “Do you think the Malacostracans have taken over the camp?”

  “I don’t know. But maybe we should have kept quiet. You stay here.”

  “While you get caught and leave me on my own? Forget it.”

  They advanced together through an unnatural morning stillness, following the faint line of the onshore party’s advance. When they came to the little cleared area surrounded by waist-high ferns, Chrissie bent to examine the supply cases.

  “These lo
ok the way we left them. Except that somebody took something out of this one.”

  “No signs of a struggle, no signs that the Malacostracans have been here.” Tarbush was prowling the perimeter of the camp site. “It looks as though Deb and Danny just upped and left us behind. Not very nice of them.”

  “Where would they go?”

  “Back to the ship. Look, suppose they made a trip to the Hero’s Return , to tell the others there what was going on.”

  “Both of them?”

  “You didn’t want to be left on your own. They expected to come right back here, but then the storm came up. They wouldn’t have been able to come ashore, any more than we could get past the breakers this morning. I bet that’s it. If we just settle down and wait here, they’ll be back. And if they don’t come by the time the sea is calmer, we can take off ourselves for the Hero’s Return.”

  “No.” Chrissie had been nodding her head to agree when she noticed a familiar shape drifting across her field of view. “Get down, Tarb. Somebody’s looking for us.”

  They left the clearing and crouched together under the mat of ferns. The tri-wing aircraft passed far off to the south, heading out to sea.

  Tarbush slowly stood upright as the craft vanished in the distance. “It’s certainly one of their planes. But what makes you think it’s looking for us?”

  “What makes you think it isn’t ?” Chrissie stood up, too, and headed for the supply cases. “I think we made a mistake by coming here. Our plan sounded good when we thought that Deb and Danny would be waiting for us, but they weren’t and now we don’t know what’s going on. The one thing we can be sure of is that the Malacostracans will look for us. When they do, they’ll find this campsite. It’s the worst possible place for us to stay.”

  “Maybe. But do you know a better place?”

  “I’m looking for one.” Chrissie had been rummaging, and she pulled out of a supply case one of the maps that Elke Siry had prepared from the orbital images. “Look, here’s the Malacostracan encampment. There’s where we came ashore. So here” — she placed her finger on the sheet — “is about where we must be now. What I’m suggesting is that we go back to the shore and find the stream channel. It doesn’t show on this image, because the plants grow right across and cover it. But from our point of view, that’s good. We can head upstream , and we’ll be hidden from anybody who flies over looking for us.”

  “Suppose they use radar? That sees right through a canopy of vegetation.”

  “Then they’re too smart for us, and we’re cooked. But if we can get far enough into the highlands, way over to the east, we should find all kinds of places to hide. You can see that the ground looks like a great mixed-up jumble of bare screes and rocks and cliffs.”

  Tarbush was bending over the map and seemed less than enthusiastic. “So we go there — uphill all the way. And then we do what?”

  “Wait. We send periodic signals from our suit radios until Deb or Danny calls us back. Until that happens the only danger will be if the Malacostracans triangulate on our signal and it leads them to us.” Chrissie was digging into the big supply case. “We need to take enough food and water to last for a few days. And I want something comfortable to sleep on. I’m getting sick of living inside this suit. Medicines, too, just in case. It’s going to be quite a load.” She glanced over to Tarbush, who was still frowning down at the image. “Come on, don’t make me do this all by myself.”

  Tarbush slowly folded the map, rose, and walked across to where Chrissie was picking out an assortment of boxes and packages. He looked wistfully around him. Not a sign of Scruffy, and they dared not hang around to look for her. He decided to remain silent on one other point. The decision was made, and it wouldn’t help Chrissie’s peace of mind to point out to her what she had apparently not noticed. That the region of the image where they proposed to go had been marked, in Elke Siry’s precise and careful hand, Badlands.

  * * *

  33: ASHORE AGAIN

  By dawn, Chan and Deb were ready and waiting. They would have left, preferring to wait on the beach for Friday Indigo rather than pent up and restless on the seabed. But Dag Korin vetoed any such move.

  “Smash on the rocks trying to get ashore, and then how much use would you be to anybody?” Korin was red-eyed and pale. He went on, “You take your marching orders from Dr. Siry. She’s been monitoring weather and sea state all night long. When she says the breakers are down to a reasonable size and it’s safe to walk through them, you leave. We’re all willing to take risks, but I won’t lose people if I don’t have to.”

  It was a logical order, though not an easy one to follow. Chan and Deb donned their suits and went to the airlock; and there they stayed, hour after endless hour, listening to Elke Siry’s ominous pronouncements on surface weather.

  Two hours before noon, Chan placed a call to the ship’s main control area. “General Korin,” he said, as soon as the General’s image appeared, “Friday Indigo was quite specific with us. We have to meet him at midday. He didn’t say what would happen if we weren’t there, but the Mallies can probably destroy this ship any time they want to.”

  Korin sniffed and traced with his forefinger the pattern of scattered droplets of water that beaded the desk in front of him. “This place is doing a pretty good job of disintegrating without any help from anybody. What’s your point, Dalton?”

  “Deb Bisson and I ought not to wait any longer. The wind has dropped and the waves are less. We should risk a landing.”

  “Dr. Siry?” Korin turned to someone out of the camera’s field of view.

  “Wind velocity is close to zero,” said Elke Siry’s voice.

  “So why not—”

  “But there’s still a strong sea-swell. I would estimate that the breakers are well over two meters.”

  “Everywhere on the shoreline?”

  “No. I am referring to the place where our party is to meet Captain Indigo. It’s better farther south, on the inlet where the Mood Indigo was lifted ashore.”

  “Very good.” Korin turned back to Chan and Deb. “Give it a shot. Try to the south if you have to, and if it’s too rough—”

  “General.” Elke Siry’s voice broke in. “I recommend against any such attempt. The chance of being caught in an undertow—”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Korin said mildly. “Not your call, I’m afraid.” He spoke again to Chan and Deb. “I don’t need to tell you what to do. You’re no use to anyone dead. If it’s too rough, wait in deeper water, head more to the south, or come back. I’m not going to second-guess you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Chan cut the connection at once. Deb was already heading for the lock. She said, “Once we’re in the water, if he changes his mind he won’t be able to tell us about it. Come on.”

  They waited impatiently while the lock filled, then opened the outer hatch and dropped together to the seabed. Their landing stirred the fine bottom silt into an opaque cloud.

  Deb’s voice carried faintly to Chan’s helmet. “Set your suit’s inertial guidance unit for fifty meters due east. The sediment will die down by then. We’ll be able to see each other, and I’ll take us from there.”

  Chan paced steadily forward into darkness, keeping the yellow arrow in his helmet display exactly in line with the green one. When the guidance unit had reduced to zero distance, he halted. He turned on his helmet lamp, and saw only gray opacity.

  “Deb?” His voice vanished to nothing, as though he stood alone in an empty universe. “Deb, I can’t see a thing.”

  “Nor can I.” She sounded close by. “Visibility was fine when I brought Friday Indigo to the Hero’s Return.”

  “It must be the storm. The wind has died down, but the water here is shallow enough for the swell to disturb the bottom mud. How far are we from the shore?”

  “Three to four kilometers. We’re on the coastal shelf so it will be shallow all the way in. We can’t be far apart now, but if we keep moving independently we’ll get separated. Stand
still. I’m going to walk in a spiral pattern until we meet.”

  Chan waited. It seemed a long time, standing rigid and hearing only the sound of his own breath, until Deb’s hand was grasping his arm. His helmet display told him that it had been less than three minutes.

  Deb said, “So far so good,” and without releasing her grip she moved until they were visor to visor. “We hang on to each other and use just my suit’s inertial navigator. I’m going to angle us south of east. That will bring us ashore too far to the right, but Elke says the waves will be less there. Once we’re on land we can walk back north to meet Indigo.”

  “Let’s go.” Almost before he spoke, Deb was moving away across the sea floor. She didn’t need Chan to tell her that Friday Indigo’s deadline was less than an hour and a half away.

  It was difficult to walk fast across the silty seabed. Chan had reset his own helmet distance indicator, and before they had moved half a kilometer he knew they were in trouble. He held Deb’s arm and forced her to halt.

  “This won’t do. We’ll never make it in time.”

  “I know. But there’s nothing we can do about it. We have to keep going and hope that Indigo won’t mind that we’re late.”

  “There’s another answer. I talked to Liddy Morse, and when they first went ashore they rose up to the surface and used their suit jets from there.”

  “That was in a calm sea. If we try that close to shore we’ll be smashed to pieces.”

  “Not if we wait for the right wave, and ride in on it.”

  “We’re lost in the multiverse, and you want to go surfing ? All right. Tell me what to do first — and don’t let go of me.”

  “Increase your suit’s internal pressure by ten percent. That will inflate you enough to carry you up.”

  Chan followed his own advice. His ears popped as the pressure increased, and a few seconds later he felt his feet lift clear of the bottom ooze. As he rose the water became clearer. Faint green light bled in from above. He could see Deb at his side, her suit bulging larger than usual. Their heads broke the surface at the same time.