Charles Sheffield - The Spheres of Heaven

“I must go.” Friday limped toward the door. “Have your talks. I can find my own way to the airlock and back to the shore without assistance. Tomorrow, you will send two people with your answer. One will be your representative, who will be privileged to meet with The One. The Malacostracans would prefer that you, General Korin, as group leader, be that representative, but they do not insist on it since you must enforce discipline here.” He pointed to Deb Bisson. “She will be the other, to serve only as guide. She will lead you to the place on the shore where we left, and we will meet at midday exactly. Now I must go.”

“This is ridiculous,” Chan said. “At the very least—”

His words were drowned out by the powerful voice of the Angel’s synthesizer. “Let Friday Indigo go. Do not seek to delay his departure.”

“That is right. I must go ,” said Friday, and left the chamber.

“Do not try to accompany him.” Gressel was at maximum extension, fronds unfolded and wildly waving. Chan, all set to chase after Friday Indigo, jerked to a halt.

“Why not? What’s going on?”

“We just had a meeting with a low-down, treacherous swine,” Dag Korin said. “That’s what’s going on. He sold out the whole human race.” Korin stood up and walked across to bang his fist on the wall. “The bag of slime, in my day he’d have been put up against a wall and shot.”

He glared at the Angel. “Yes, he damned well would, and should, and good riddance to him, and I don’t care what you and the rest of the Stellar Group think. There’s nothing worse than somebody who betrays his own people. Surely even you can see that.”

“We can.” Gressel spoke at normal volume. “Angels and humans may be very different, but we are alike in this: We find it difficult to abide one who turns loyalty away from its own kind, and offers that loyalty toward another.”

“Well, that’s exactly what Friday Indigo is doing.”

“No. Friday Indigo did not betray humans—”

“Of course he did!”

“ — because the being who came here tonight was not human.”

“Of course he’s human! He wasn’t on an official human expedition, but he came here from Earth with Bony Rombelle and Liddy Morse, on the Mood Indigo . Ask them.”

“We see no reason to doubt that. But Friday Indigo is not human. He is alien.”

“You’re mistaken. He’s as human as I am.”

“No. We are completely sure. It takes one to know one . The being who spoke to us tonight is as different from humankind as any Angel. We say again, Friday Indigo has become alien .”

Liddy gasped and said, “I told you so!” Dag Korin stood frozen against the wall. Elke Siry clutched convulsively at Tully O’Toole, her fingernails cutting into his arm. The rest of the room sat like statues.

“How is that possible?” Korin said at last.

“We are less sure of this. However, we suspect that a scan of Friday Indigo’s brain would reveal the presence of something which is found in no other human. A type of Malacostracan, perhaps an embryonic form, resides there.” The Angel turned slowly and clumsily on its base, so that the speech unit faced the wall where Bony Rombelle and Liddy Morse were sitting. “You spent many Earth weeks with Friday Indigo. Did he display any special talent for alien languages?”

“None at all,” Bony said. Liddy added, “He despises aliens. To him, aliens are bugs or vegetables — I’m sorry, but that’s what he said. I can’t imagine him learning any alien language.”

“And yet, the being who spoke to us understands the needs and desires of the Malacostracans, well enough to be trusted to negotiate on their behalf. In evaluating what was said tonight, do not think of the Malacostracan proposal as presented by a human. Call him Friday Indigo if you wish, but recognize that he is now no more than a communications device. We believe that literal truth was spoken, with the words, I must go . The creature in this room was obeying an overriding imperative which could not be denied.”

“Orders from The One — whatever that is.” Chan had learned something long ago in his dealings with the Angels. When an Angel said it was sure of something, that implied a level of certainty beyond anything offered by a human. “And The One wants our answer tomorrow. By that time, we’d better have a plan of our own.”

“Not very smart.” Tarbush Hanson squatted on the floor, holding his head. “Deb tells us not to go near the camp, so what do we do?”

“I think she might have done the same.” Chrissie was feeling her right shoulder, which had taken most of the impact when she pitched forward unconscious onto rocky ground. “I mean, when you see a man grinning and waving to you, and you are pretty sure that you know who he is …”

They were speaking in whispers. The room was half dark, shaped like a long teardrop with a keyhole opening, eight feet tall and half as wide, at the far end. In the chamber beyond, crab-like figures clicked across the floor and seemed to take no notice of Chrissie and Tarbush; but two of them carried black canes, and neither human was keen to risk another jolt. Muscls spasms from the last time still resonated in every limb.

They had awakened at almost the same moment and spent the first few mindless minutes staring up at a ceiling spangled with flecks of light. It was just as well that they were faceup, because shallow water lapped at the back of their heads. Tarbush’s groan, when first he tried to move, told Chrissie that he was just a few feet away with his head down near her feet. They sat up slowly, shivering, moving closer together and leaning against each other for support.

“Thank God for the suits,” Chrissie said. “Otherwise we’d be soaked and freezing. It’s cold in here. Any idea where we are? The last thing I remember, we were outdoors and it was bright daylight.”

“It’s night, unless my helmet readout is on the blink. And we’re inside a building. But not too far inside, because there’s fresh air coming from somewhere. I can smell those plants. Do you still have your stuff on you?”

Chrissie felt inside her suit to her pockets and the hidden pouches. “Yeah. Either they didn’t know I had it, or more likely they don’t care. I’m not sure a few magic tricks would be much use against those zapper canes. Even if they are, this is the wrong time to try anything. It’s going to be up to you, Tarb. Are you getting anything?”

“Nothing that we can use so far.” He was staring intently through the keyhole-shaped doorway at the creatures beyond. “Three different sizes, but all with the same body type. I was right about the definite pecking order. Postures give it away. There’s an inferior/superior relation among them, with the smallest ones at the top of the heap.”

“You’re getting that out of their behavior pattern?”

“Yeah. Not too difficult, though. The black sticks must have more than one mode of use. The little ones touch the middle-sized ones on the underside, and they jump like they’ve been jabbed with an electric prod. Then they go off and take it out on the big ones, and they jump. Looks like the big ones do all the actual work. But you know what?”

“Only if you tell me.”

“The little ones aren’t the king of the hill, either. They’re scuttling around like they’ve got the fidgets, waiting for something.”

“Will you be able to talk to them?”

“They won’t understand me if I do. I can read general behavior, but they’re too alien for anything more than that. For talking you’d need Tully the Rhymer. Hold on. They’re getting real excited. Hear them chittering away there? I’m going to sneak a bit closer.”