The Spheres of Heaven

shoreline.

He wondered how far they had carried him. How long had he been unconscious? How long until dawn? And had the Mood Indigo survived its battering by wind and water?

Well, for every question he had, they must have one about him. The trick was to make sure you got more information than you gave.

He was still walking, and now there seemed rather more light than the lamp provided. He stopped, leaned back his head, and stared straight up.

The heavy overcast of the storm had gone, to leave a cloudless night. He opened his visor for the clearest possible view, aware that he would be the first human ever to observe the night sky of Limbo.

The pre-mission briefings he had received before leaving the solar system had been sketchy, but they had told him pretty much what to expect. The Geyser Swirl was a compact mass of dust and gas in which stars lay strewn at random. The thick dust would scatter starlight, producing a sky in which an overall glow like an aurora was broken by the veils and dark bands of denser absorbing dust.

Well, so much for what he had been told. He might have guessed it, the briefers were like all briefers: screwed up. The sky here was no gauzy, aurora-like veil. The heavens were filled with glowing globes, many of them so faint that you had to look slightly away to see them at all. They were of different sizes, from faint sky- pearls to swollen balls seemingly close enough to reach out and touch. Even the brighter ones were too dim to possess definite colors, but he imagined that he saw a hint of green in one to the left, a touch of pink in the globe next to it. The sky was full , more globes than dark regions between them.

Friday heard the clicking of claws and brought his gaze back to ground level. The Indigoan was moving on ahead, up a rocky incline that threw back points of glitter in the light of the lamp. The creature was finding it hard going, scrabbling its way forward and up. Friday bent low and saw a surface so smooth and bare that it seemed to have been scraped clean. What was it Rombelle had said? That there was no life on the surface of the planet. Well, the idiot had been wrong about animal life, but he seemed to be right about the plants. There was no sign of them. What did the Indigoans eat? From the look of them they were more at home in water than on land. Maybe they found their nourishment in the sea. Apparently they thought he was like them, amphibious, if that “we you same, live air, live water” had been translated correctly by the unit.

The lamp lit a circle only four or five meters across, and the star-globe light was too faint to provide illumination. Everything on the ground beyond the lamp’s circle apparently didn’t exist. Friday had no choice but to trudge on after the Indigoan and hope the other knew where it was going. The pain of returning circulation was less in his legs, but they felt wobbly and with the continuing uphill walk his lungs were aching.

“How much farther?” he said at last. “I’ve got to stop and take a rest if it’s going to be much farther. It’s easy for you, you’re not the one who got shot and knocked unconscious and just woke up.”

That used up what little breath he had left. He paused and panted. He couldn’t tell if the Indigoan had understood what came out of the translator, but it too halted and turned. In the lamplight, the creature with its cruel pincers, stalk eyes, and multiple mouth slots seemed like a gigantic and deformed crab.

The eyestalks waved. “Soon top, top flat like water flat, place you we end.”

That wasn’t exactly a model of clarity. “You mean, when we get to the top of this rise, we come to a place that’s flat in the same way that the surface of water is flat? And when we get to it, we’ll be where we want to be?”

“ We think you speak back we say. Top flat like water flat, place for you and we.”

The trouble with the translator was that it had to work both ways to be of any use. He didn’t know if the Indigoan’s speech had been garbled, and he also didn’t know if what he had said in reply was just as garbled in translation. If it was, then no matter what the Indigoan replied he couldn’t be sure of the meaning.

He nodded and took a couple of paces up the hill. “All right. I’ve had my break, and with any luck I’ll find out soon enough where we’re heading. And if we don’t get there soon, I’ll have to take another rest. My legs don’t feel right. I’ll need a drink too.” The creature said nothing. Friday groaned. “All right, then, let’s go.”

Actually, he had another piece of evidence that despite all the uncertainties the two of them were somehow communicating. With the light of the Indigoan’s lamp no longer in his eyes, some way ahead he could sense more than see a horizontal line, a boundary curve separating black rock from a slightly paler region above. It was too bright to be star-sphere light. Rather, it was just how you would expect things to look if the area beyond the crest of the hill was lit by more of the yellow-green lamps.

The Indigoan overtook him with a frenzied clatter of claws on smooth rock and led the way up the final slope. Quite sharply, that incline ended on a broad shelf so flat and uniform that it did not appear natural. Friday stopped again, but this time it was not because of shortage of breath.

What lay ahead had all the markers of a military camp. Maybe thirty meters in front of him stood a tall metal lattice at least three meters high. Bright lamps placed every twenty meters along the top of it threw blue-white searchlights onto the ground inside and out, and the lattice fence ran all the way around a rectangular area maybe two hundred meters long and eighty wide. More significant still, an Indigoan was stationed like a sentry guard at the only two places where Friday could see anything like a gate. It made him wonder, what was being protected, and who was it being protected from?

Inside the guarded enclosure he counted six buildings. From the outside each one was identical, a twenty- meter cylinder cut in two along its axis and placed flat side down on the ground. The buildings were windowless and featureless, and they shone a uniform dull yellow in the light of the lamps. Every one had a new and unfinished appearance, fitting with the idea that this was more like a temporary camp than a place for permanent living.

Beyond the buildings lay a narrow airstrip. Evidence that it was an airstrip came from the sight of two tri-lobed winged vehicles, one sitting at each end. Friday saw them and thought, jackpot! Not just civilization, but technological civilization. Weapons and lamps suggested it, but aircraft like those were a final proof. He had never seen anything remotely like them. With those peculiar shapes it seemed improbable that they could ever leave the ground, but apparently they did. Alien technology was different . Alien technology could be the key to unimaginable personal wealth and power.

He was so excited by the thought that he reached an entry point to the compound before he noticed that the sentry guard held a black cane in one pincer, exactly like the one that had knocked him out on the shore. He stopped in his tracks. Suddenly it felt less like first contact, more like he was being taken prisoner.

“ You go. We not go. You talk, she talk.” The Indigoan who had brought him held a weapon in its pincer, too. Had the creature been holding it ever since they left the watery chamber? It was waving it now, urging him forward.

“I’m willing to talk, more than willing. But who will I be talking to? Does your leader have a name?”

“You go. You talk, and” — there was a pause, while the translation unit buzzed to itself — “you listen big little one — leader? — talk. You go.”

Clear as mud. But the black cane was pointing at his head, and if Friday recalled little after it was used before, he did have the strong and unpleasant memory of his brain seeming to spout gray matter out from the top of his head. It was not an experience that he wished to repeat.

He allowed himself to be led through the gate and on into the compound. The sentry remained at his post, but at a high-pitched squeak from his companion, that the unit translated mysteriously as “Call high servers,” three more Indigoans came scuttling out of one of the buildings. At the sight of Friday, a chorus of clucks and chirps came all at once. The unit at his belt was confused or overloaded. It produced only a squawk of its own. More weapons came out of side pouches.

Think of it as an honor guard. And don’t do or say anything that might annoy or be misinterpreted. They lined up, two on either side of him, and Friday walked cautiously forward. Maybe he didn’t want these brutish creatures named for him after all. If they preferred to be called Malacostracans, which was what the translator kept offering, he wouldn’t argue.

They led him to a low arched doorway in the flat semi-circular end of one of the buildings, lined up outside, and urged him through with gestures of the black canes.

He said to the Indigoan who had brought him from the shore, “What about you? Won’t you be coming in, too, to help translate? We’re beginning to understand each other.”

The Indigoan pointed with the black cane toward the doorway. The translator said, “To the big