Stephen Baxter - Raft

At this depth each whale was a slender missile, its deflated flesh an aerodynamic casing around its internal organs. Even the great eyes had closed now, so that the whales plummeted blind into the Core — and there were row upon row of them, above, below and all around the Bridge, so many that at infinity the air was a wall of pale flesh.

Rees murmured, “If I’d known it would be as spectacular as this I wouldn’t have got off last time.”

“You’d never have survived,” Hollerbach said. “Look closely.” He pointed at the nearest whale. “See how it glows?”

Rees made out a pinkish glow around the whale’s leading end. “Air resistance?”

“Obviously.” Hollerbach said impatiently. “The atmosphere is like soup at these depths. Now, keep watching.”

Rees kept his eyes fixed on the whale’s nose — and was rewarded with the sight of a six-foot patch of whale skin flaring into flame and tumbling away from the speeding animal. Rees looked around the school with new eyes; throughout the hail of motion he could see similar tiny flares of burning flesh, sparks of discarded fire. “It looks as if the whales are disintegrating, as if air resistance is too great… Perhaps they have misjudged their path around the Core; maybe our presence has disturbed them—”

Hollerbach snorted in disgust. “Sentimental tosh. Rees, those whales know what they’re doing far better than we do.”

“Then why the burning?”

“I’m surprised at you, boy; you should have worked it out as soon as you climbed aboard that whale and studied its spongy outer flesh.”

“At the time I was more interested in finding out whether I could eat it,” Rees said drily. “But…” He thought it through. “You’re saying the purpose of the outer flesh is ablation?”

“Precisely. The outer layer burns up and falls away. One of the simplest but most efficient ways of dispersing the heat generated by excessive air resistance… a method used on man’s earliest spacecraft, as I recall from the Ship’s records — records which are, of course, now lost forever—”

Suddenly fire blazed over the hull’s exterior; the watching passengers recoiled from a sheet of flame mere inches from their faces.

As soon as it had begun it was over.

“Well, that was no planned ablation,” Rees said grimly. “That was one of our steam jets. So much for our attitude control.”

“Ah.” Hollerbach nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. “That’s rather earlier than I expected. I had entertained hopes of retaining some control even at closest approach — when, of course, the ship’s trajectory may most easily be modified.”

“I’m afraid we’re stuck with what we’ve got, from this point in. We’re flying without smoke, as Pallis might say… We just have to hope we’re on an acceptable course. Come on; let’s talk to the navigators. But keep your voice down. Whatever the verdict there’s no point in starting a panic.”

The members of the navigation team responded to Rees’s questions according to their inclinations. Raft Scientists pored over diagrams which showed orbits sprouting from the Core like unruly hair, while the Boneys threw bits of shaped metal into the air and watched how they drifted.

After some minutes of this, Rees snapped, “Well?”

Quid turned to him and shrugged cheerfully. “We’re still too far out. Who knows? We’ll have to wait and see.”

Jaen scratched her head, a pen tucked behind her ear. “Rees, we’re in an almost chaotic situation here. Because of the distance at which we lost control, our final trajectory remains indeterminately sensitive to initial conditions…”

“In other words,” Rees said, irritated, “we have to wait and see. Terrific.”

Jaen made to protest, then thought better of it.

Quid slapped his shoulder. “Look, there’s not a bloody thing we can do. You’ve done your best… and if nothing else you’ve given old Quid a damn interesting ride.”

Hollerbach said briskly, “And you’re not alone in those sentiments, my Boney friend. Jaen! I presume your use of the Telescope is now at an end?”

Jaen grinned.

It took thirty minutes to adjust the instrument’s orientation and focus. At last Rees, Jaen, Hollerbach and Nead crowded around the small monitor plate.

At first Rees was disappointed; the screen filled with the thick black cloud of star debris which surrounded the Core itself, images familiar from observations from the Raft. But as the minutes passed and the Bridge entered the outermost layers of the material, the sombre cloud parted before them and the debris began to show a depth and structure. A pale, pinkish light shone upwards at them. Soon veils of shattered star stuff were arching over the hull, making the Bridge seem a fragile container indeed.

Then, abruptly, the clouds cleared; and they were sailing over the Core itself.

“My god,” Jaen breathed. “It’s… it’s like a planet…”

The Core was a compact mass clustered about its black hole, a flattened sphere fifty miles wide. And, indeed, it was a world rendered in shades of red and pink. Its surface layers — subjected, Rees estimated, to many hundreds of gravities — were well-defined and showed almost topographical features. There were oceans of some quasi-liquid material, thick and red as blood; they lapped at lands that thrust above the general spherical surface. There were even small mountain ranges, like wrinkles in the skin of a soured fruit, and clouds like smoke which sped across the face of the seas. There was continual motion: waves miles wide crisscrossed the seas, the mountain sheets seemed to evolve endlessly, and even the coasts of the strange continents writhed. It was as if some great heat source were causing the Core’s epidermis to wrinkle and blister constantly.

It was like Earth taken to Hell, Rees thought.

Hollerbach was ecstatic. He peered into the monitor as if he wished he could climb through it. “Gravitic chemistry!” he croaked. “I am vindicated. The structure of that fantastic surface can be maintained solely by the influence of gravitic chemistry; only gravitic bonds could battle against the attraction of the black hole.”

“But it all changes so rapidly,” Rees said. “Metamorphoses on a scale of miles, happening in seconds.”

Hollerbach nodded eagerly. “Such speed will be a characteristic of the gravitic realm. Remember that changing gravity fields propagate at the speed of light, and—”

Jaen cried out, pointing at the monitor plate.

At the center of one of the amorphous continents, etched into the surface like a mile-wide chessboard, was a rectangular grid of pink-white light.

Ideas crowded into Rees’s mind. “Life,” he whispered.

“And intelligence,” Hollerbach said. “Two staggering discoveries in a single glance…”

Jaen asked, “But how is this possible?”

“We should rather ask, ‘why should it not be so?’ ” Hollerbach said. “The essential condition for life is the existence of sharp energy gradients… The gravitic realm is one of fast-evolving patterns; the universal principles of self-organization, like the Feigenbaum series which govern the blossoming of structure out of chaos, almost demand that organization should arise.”

Now they saw more gridworks. Some covered whole continents and seemed to be trying to buttress the “land” against the huge waves. Road-like lines of light arrowed around the globe. And — at the highest magnification — Rees was even able to make out individual structures: pyramids, tetrahedra and cubes.

“And why should intelligence not arise?” Hollerbach went on dreamily. “On a world of such violent change, selection in favor of organizing principles would be a powerful factor. Look how the gravitic peoples are struggling to preserve their ordered environments against the depredations of chaos!”