Charles Sheffield - The Spheres of Heaven

The small one advanced to stand in front of Chrissie. It waited. Finally it chittered into the translator unit, which said in one rush of words, “ Why is this used — What is the problem — Was there no meeting with The One? ”

Chrissie could answer the last question. “If Big Rocky is the same as The One, we had a meeting.”

“ But there was no transfer? ” The eyestalks of the little animal swiveled and seemed to be staring at Chrissie’s ears. “ Ah, I see it is true. There was in your case not yet a transfer. What do you want? ”

“We would like food.” Chrissie did not feel in the least like eating, but it was the only thing that she could think of.

“ The rest period is here. It is not food time .”

“The One told us we could have food.”

Apparently she had said the magic words. The creature in front of her clacked and whistled, and the translation unit said abruptly, “ You will be given food, the same food as the converted one. Then you will remain quiet until day comes, or you will be punished. Go back into your room .”

Chrissie retreated. As soon as she was beyond the ledge, a curtain of mist seemed to close across the keyhole opening. It gradually solidified, until in half a minute it looked exactly like a brighter version of the rest of the wall.

“I guess that didn’t work,” Tarbush said softly. He went across and rapped on the new wall. “Quite a trick. Perfectly solid. I thought you were promised food?”

“Maybe it changed its mind.” But a few moments later, the part of the wall nearest the floor rippled. An object shaped like a small sled came floating through into the room and stood six inches from the floor unsupported. Tarbush bent down to lift the lid of the oblong container that sat on top of the sled, and recoiled.

“Sweet Lucy! If that’s what they call food …”

He clapped the lid back on the box, but not before Chrissie had seen dozens of purple tentacles reaching and wriggling out over the edges.

“I wasn’t hungry anyway,” she said. As she watched, the new wall slowly began to darken. It was the only source of light, and within a minute she could not make out Tarbush’s outline. “That little effort didn’t help at all, did it? We’re worse off than we were before.”

“Not really.” Tarbush again turned on the little spotlight in the helmet of his suit. “They’re not watching us any more. We’re free to fiddle around any way we like so long as we don’t make a lot of noise.”

“So what do we fiddle around with all night long?” Chrissie advanced, until she stood in front of him and could tilt her head back to look at his frowning face, shadowed by the lamp above it. “Do we take that sled apart and try to understand how it floats in the air with no support? Or do we sit in the corner and play with ourselves? I don’t have any ideas. Do you?”

The scowl that he gave her was its own answer.

After the Angel’s pronouncement on the nature of the changed Friday Indigo, Dag Korin couldn’t wait to get everyone away from his private quarters.

“Go on,” he said. “Get out of here. It’s far too late for an old man like me, and you must be tired, too. Go get a good night’s sleep.” And to Gressel, “A good night’s transpiration for you, or whatever you do in the dark.”

And then, one by one, Dag Korin contacted every human and told them to come back.

“I had to do it this way,” he explained, when the bewildered group was reassembled. “You know how the Angel would react if I told him I planned to take Friday Indigo and use his guts for suspenders. We need a private planning session without any aliens. What’s the status on the Pipe-Rilla?”

“Still curled tight,” Tully O’Toole said. “She’s in the cool medical unit near me, and every time I go past I sneak a peek. How long can a Pipe-Rilla stay frigid rigid?”

“Months.” Elke was the only one in the room who didn’t look the least bit tired. “It’s not a big deal, they always curl themselves that way when they estivate. In fact, I suspect that stress may simply induce an unplanned estivation. If so, Vow-of-Silence will be hyperactive when she wakes.”

“Then the longer she sleeps, the better. Let’s leave her that way.” With every seat taken, Korin perched on the liquor cabinet. “All right, first question. How much of that guff about the superior science of the Malacosties do we believe?”

“All of it.” Elke replied at once. “I’ve studied our space images a lot more since last time we talked. The buildings around the airstrip morph every few hours, in their numbers and their sizes. An area of seven hundred square kilometers was cleared and sterilized, with no sign of radioactivity. And their aircraft and ships, from everything I’ve seen of them, ought not to be able to fly. They possess technology we’ve never dreamed of.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Anyone disagree?” Korin glanced around at the circle of gloomy faces. “All right, so I have to believe it. The Mallies have science and weapons different from and maybe superior to ours. What they did to Friday Indigo shows that they regard us as expendable. That tells me there’s no way we can allow them into our universe. The Angels and the Pipe-Rillas may think those bastards can be nice guys, but even a nice guy who can do anything he likes tends to do things you won’t like. If we want to live — and I assume we do — we’d better find a plan of action that lets us.”

“Easier said than done.” Elke was biting her fingernails, already chewed down to the quick. “The Angel and I have a good idea of the structure of the multiverse, and we think we know how to set coordinates to go to any universe — including the one we came from. But we’ve beaten our brains out for a way to get there. Our only chance would be to talk the Malacostracans into lending us one of their ships, and it’s pretty clear they aren’t about to do that.”

“I never said it would be easy, Elke. But any plan, even a terrible one, is a lot better than no plan at all. So I’m going to throw out ideas. You can all chip in or disagree any time you want.

“First, and this one’s a no-brainer: somebody has to go ashore tomorrow morning with Deb Bisson. We have to talk to the Mallies, no matter how much we hate ’em. We’ve been told that they can blow this ship up any time they feel like it, and if we don’t cooperate with them we’ll automatically be considered an enemy. We need to leave here soon — we’d better, because this hulk is dying around us — but right now we’re a sitting duck.

“So who goes with Deb Bisson? Well, I’m not inviting discussion, because this one I’ve already decided.” Korin turned to Chan. “You’ve been itching to go and look for trouble ashore for days—”

“I accept.”

“ — so here’s your chance. You and Bisson seem to work well as a team.”

“We do. Any other instructions?”

“Not without breaking one of my own golden rules. In an unpredictable situation, the man or woman on the spot should make the decisions, not the general sitting on his ass a million miles away from the action. But I’ll tell you what I expect from you. I need time . Time to organize ourselves to leave this ship and establish a base on shore. And time for Elke and the Angel to nail a way to get us through the Link and off this dump of a planet.” Korin waved his hand at Elke. “I know, I know. We don’t have a ship, and I don’t see any half-rational hope of getting us one. We need time for that, too. Yes?”

His question was addressed to Tully O’Toole, who was holding up his hand.