The ship still flew a few kilometers from the surface. Into their view came a stretch of sea, mottled blue- green, kilometer wide white poker-chips floating motionless amid low, oily waves.
As they watched, a distant section of crust collapsed like an edge of glacier calving on Earth. A thick plume of black smoke arose, splaying out into a low anvil in seconds. Red highlights glowed through the murk.
“We will land on a platform in the ocean in three minutes,” Salamander announced. “This must be very unfamiliar to you. Do you have any questions?”
“Thousands of questions,” Martin said. “There just isn’t time to ask them all.”
“I we have one question,” Eye on Sky said. “Is this planet natural, or artificial?”
“Both,” Salamander said. “Once it was a small star. We have been changing it for thousands of years. First it was used as an energy and fuel source. Now, the easiest answer would be to say that it is artificial. It supplies commodities to the rest of our system.”
The ocean filled more and more of their view, until only a line of black cliffs separated ocean from lurid, cloud-stripped sky.
“We are now on the platform. Your suits are in another room. We will leave the craft when you are prepared. At no time will you be exposed to the actual atmosphere, which is not suitable for your biology, and rich with small organisms that might be dangerous to you, besides.”
Part of the wall moved aside and they stepped carefully, aided by the fields, into another room, this one equipped with a low stage. The skeletal suits hung from the ceiling above the stage.
“Do you think we’re alone?” Paola asked. “Everything projected, remote-controlled?”
“Could be,” Martin said.
Eye on Sky produced a smell of tea and soil. “Useless to make guesses,” he said.
Salamander’s voice instructed them to stand on the stage. Wrapped by their fields, they moved, with some difficulty, to spots marked by faint glows of light. A small, perfect image of each of them appeared next to the appropriate suit, like a nametag. Martin stood before his suit, facing it. “Turn around, please, with your backs to the suits.”
He turned. The suit whispered behind him and his neck hair bristled. Its fluid “bones” wrapped around him, gripping him comfortably.
He moved experimentally. The suit moved effortlessly with him.
“You will be surrounded by invisible barriers when outside. Your breathing should be natural, and you should not worry. We caution against these things only: do not move rapidly, and do not move away from the path or away from your group.”
“Right,” Martin said. He watched the Brothers getting used to their suits, flexing them, raising three fourths of their lengths from the stage. Ariel lifted her arms experimentally, cocked her head, looked at Martin sidewise.
“Comfortable?” he asked. Ariel and Paola nodded; Strong Cord and Eye on Sky put their suits through more tests before concurring. “We’re ready,” Martin told the unseen Salamander.
“The ship will debark you in an open area. You should enjoy experiencing the surface as directly as possible. It is quite beautiful. There is no danger, but if you would like to avoid this, we can remove this part of your journey.”
Eye on Sky answered, “We we would like to see the surface.”
Martin didn’t disagree, but he was not enthusiastic. He had seen enough marvels and spectacle already to be spiritually exhausted.
The spacecraft opened around them and stowed itself like a folding screen, leaving them on the white stage, surrounded by an immensity of gray and black sky, midnight blue ocean, dark cliffs rising thousands of meters above the sea. He could feel the flesh-thumping sound of distant explosions, grindings of crust; hear noise like giants groaning and whistling. The sudden openness was unnerving. His hands trembled within the pliant grip of the skeletal suit.
“Wow,” Ariel said, her face pale. The air within Martin’s field was self-contained, and he could not smell the Brothers. But he could smell his own reaction—rank fear.
The weight on his stomach and lungs gave him sharp twinges of pain, as if strings tied to pins in his organs were being tugged. Martin doubted he would want to spend more than a few hours on the surface of Sleep.
A causeway reached across the sea to a broad white disk. Salamander’s voice spoke in his right ear: “Your suits will walk you over this distance. The disk is a kind of ferry. You will be taken to a shore station, and there will meet with more of our representatives. Are you experiencing discomfort?”
“I’m fine,” Martin said.
The suit nudged him and he tried to walk but it resisted. Finally he relaxed and the suit did all his work for him, moving him like a puppet, a sensation he did not enjoy. They were all guided over the causeway to the disk, which promptly disengaged and moved smoothly through the thick, rapid waves.
Martin’s vision coarsened and the landscape became more vivid. This might have been an effect of gravity; it also might have been an effect of the field containing his atmosphere.
The ferry skirted a thick mass of green covering a few hundred square meters, undulating on the seas, large bubbles rising and breaking through like explosions in fibrous mud.
“One of our types finds these waters comfortable,” Salamander said. “An individual would enjoy seeing you. Is this okay with you?”
“Acceptable,” Eye on Sky said.
Seconds later, a bright red nightmare of jointed arms pushed through the water and heaved part of itself onto the ferry. Paola gave a little squeak and backed close to Martin. The Brothers seemed frozen in place, making no comments, weathering this surfeit of experience.
The nightmare’s arms parted with a motion combining the curl of a squid’s tentacles and the up-and-down pistoning of a spider’s legs. A remarkable “face” appeared, four glittering egg-shaped eyes in a mass of glossy black flesh, surrounded by alternating fleshy rings of yellow and gray.
“This type serves a capacity like a farmer in these seas, but makes many decisions in our political framework,” Salamander explained. “Its kind denies the value of artificial enhancements. Like you, it eats, and is very strict about what it eats, and when, and how. Perhaps in the future you may hold discussions. You may share sympathies.”
“Sure,” Martin said dubiously. He very much wanted it to go away.
The simple expansiveness of sea and sky bothered him more than he could have imagined. He was so used to the confines of the ships, enclosed universes…
To his relief, the creature pushed away from the raft and vanished into the waves.
“It had at least thirty arms,” Paola said. “I couldn’t count them all!”
Another voice spoke in his ear: Erin Eire on
He stuttered for a moment, surprised by the communication. “We’re healthy,” he said. “It’s
“Sounds lovely,” Erin said. “You look a little tied up in those suits. We’re all watching here—both crews. The transmissions are clear. We’re overhead now. Look up and you might see us.”
Martin looked up but saw nothing in the muddy blackness. “No visual,” he said.
“Too bad. Don’t feel lonely.”
Salamander’s voice returned. “We will pass around this promontory.”
Waves slid up against jagged blocks of crust with tremendous force but little spray, rivulets of water fleeing quickly back to the ocean. The ferry came within a hundred meters of the turmoil, and passed around a high point of black and brown rock rising like a squat tower.
Beyond the promontory, at the far side of a deep harbor, three rocky tunnel mouths opened, each about fifty meters high and perhaps forty wide. Square tongues of polished gray stone pushed out of the tunnels into the harbor.
Even from a few kilometers, Martin heard the deep breath of the tunnels, felt the airborne shudder of water rushing in, pushing out.
