Charles Sheffield - The Spheres of Heaven

Friday Indigo led him past the line of ships and aircraft, toward a jumble of low buildings. Half a dozen dark figures stood guard outside the nearest one. Indigo walked confidently to and past them. Chan hesitated for half a second, then did the same. He stared at them as he walked by. The crustacean shapes were familiar from Deb and Danny’s description, but nothing could prepare you for the strange forward hunch of the flat carapace, or the click of pincers and whistle of breathing tubes.

They find you every bit as strange as you find them. Chan stared straight ahead and followed Friday Indigo into the long dark archway, almost like a tunnel, that led into the building. But he remained very aware of the short black canes carried by two of the Malacostracan guards. According to Deb, those innocent-looking sticks were the weapons that had felled and paralyzed Chrissie Winger and Tarbush Hanson.

The floor of the tunnel descended. Daylight faded. Chan kept his gaze on Friday Indigo, but he felt and heard the splash of dark liquid. They were walking in water — if it was water — that rose steadily to the level of his knees. A right turn, another archway, and he saw light ahead. They emerged into a domed chamber illuminated by the diffuse gleam of melon-sized globes in the ceiling. More water, still knee-deep. In the center of the room, on a flat surface like a low table, sprawled a miniature version of the Malacostracan guards with its many jointed legs spread over the edges.

Friday Indigo paused.

“The One?” Chan said hesitantly.

Indigo gave him a scornful look. “Of course not. This is just Two-Four.” To the creature, “Here is the negotiator. Permission to enter?”

The little Malacostracan raised its black cane and emitted a series of clicks and clatters.

“ Permission is granted by The One. She is within. ” The words came from a translation unit — a human-built translation unit, from the look of it — on the front part of the table.

Friday was walking forward. Chan said, “That translator. Won’t we need it?”

“Unnecessary.” Friday did not break stride. “All we need with The One is present in me.”

Chan’s tension increased. Here was direct proof of the Angel’s assertion: Friday Indigo could say anything that The One wanted said, and in gaining that capability he had ceased to be human. To the Malacostracans, humans were expendable .

He followed Friday Indigo, up a gently inclined ramp to still another room. This one was smaller, dry, and apparently deserted. A huge lumpy rock sat at its center. Its lower part was riddled with fist-sized holes. It looked like an ugly and primitive sculpture.

“We have permission to advance,” Indigo said. “Walk forward. Follow me.”

Chan approached the silent rock. As he did so, two black hoses emerged from the upper ring of holes and snaked through the air toward him. He started to take a step back, but halted at Friday’s urgent, “Stand still! There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Chan froze. The ends of the hoses were divided into fine bundles of thin filaments. They had reached his body and were feeling their way up it.

Friday Indigo said, as casually as if he was suggesting that Chan take a seat, “Unseal your helmet all the way. This is part of your negotiation.”

Chan took a deep breath. He opened his visor. The thin bundles of filaments moved up, to rest one below each of his ears.

“Now,” Indigo said. “You will be permitted the privilege of free speech. Tell how you and your party can be of service to The One and to the People.”

“We understand your wish to explore our universe. We can lead you to it.” Chan did his best to remain calm and organize his thoughts. He suspected that he was talking for his life — more than his life. It would be worse than death to become a zombie like Friday Indigo, a walking dead who existed only to serve the object sitting in front of him. He went on, “I do not know how to fly your ship, that would require long training. But I am able to work with your pilots, to generate a transition sequence that will carry you through the Link.”

“Ah.” Indigo was frowning. “First you say we , as though speaking for all your party. Then you say, I , as though speaking only for yourself. The One asks, does that change have meaning?”

“It does.” Chan was very aware of the thin tentacles touching below his ears. He had seen the dried blood on Friday Indigo’s neck, and heard the Angel’s assertion that some form of Malacostracan life existed inside Friday’s brain. “I say that I , and I alone, will do this thing for you, because I do not trust others in my party to act in my interests. Which is to say, I do not trust others to do the thing which is best for me.”

“And what is best for you?”

“To provide service to you, and so avoid my own destruction.”

“And that service is?”

“To lead you to another universe, the human universe, that is hospitable to life.”

“And your reward for doing this?”

“My life. My freedom. Perhaps, power as a servant of the Malacostracans.”

“And for the others of your party?”

“That is of little interest to me. I care only about my own life and future.”

“You are willing to do anything to save that life?”

“I am. I understand self-interest, as perhaps you also understand self-interest.” Chan felt the first touch of delicate tendrils, moving into the openings of his ears. He had to talk fast. He said, “My job in leading you through to my universe will be a difficult one, even with help from your pilots. It requires that I have full possession of all my faculties. My brain cannot be drugged, or exhausted. It cannot be changed in any way.”

The tendrils stopped moving. Friday Indigo said, “We understand self-interest. It is our impression that most humans comprehend such a thing only weakly. Give proof that you are different from them.”

“How?”

A third hose emerged from the rock. Its prehensile end held one of the black canes. The hose swayed forward until it was a foot from Chan’s chest.

Indigo said, “Do you know what this does?”

“I think so. It is a weapon.”

“Correct. At one setting, it stuns. At another, it kills. This one is now set at a level fatal to humans.”

Chan looked down at the cane, pointed straight at his heart. He could think of nothing else to say or do. Had he made some fatal mistake, missed some vital cue?

Friday Indigo said, “Take it.”

Chan reached out and grasped the cane. It was smooth, and slightly sticky to the touch.

Friday said, “It is activated by pointing at the target, and squeezing anywhere along its length. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Now prove that you are different from others of your party. Give the evidence of your own self-interest.” Indigo’s voice was calm and relaxed. “Point the weapon at the being standing next to you. Activate it. Kill the human you know as Friday Indigo.”

Chan raised the cane. A dozen jumbled thoughts seemed to race through his head at once. If I kill Friday, The One will have nobody to serve as a translation unit. Maybe Chrissie and Tarbush were intended for that fate, but they’ve escaped. But I’m here, and available for conversion. So if I kill Friday, I’m probably dooming myself. Suppose I don’t kill Friday? Then I’m still doomed. Anyway, I can’t kill a human in cold blood. But Friday isn’t a human, so I can kill Friday. No? Very well, then admit the truth. I can’t kill Friday, human or not. So my whole plan fails, unless The One accepts that I’ll need all my faculties intact to guide a Malacostracan pilot through the Link to a human universe. If so, then The One will want to keep my brain intact, and she will still have a use for Friday Indigo as translator. So The One won’t want Friday Indigo dead.