Майкл Бишоп - The Final Frontier - Stories of Exploring Space, Colonizing the Universe, and First Contact

Which all of them did—except for the Godspeed .

As they were climbing up the Tulip Stairway to the Dream Halls, Adel and Kamilah came upon two men making their way down, bound together at the waist by a tether. The tether was about a meter long and two centimeters in diameter; it appeared to be elastic. One side of it pulsed bright red and the other was a darker burgundy. The men were wearing baggy pants and gray jackets with tall, buttoned collars that made them look like birds.

“Adel,” said Kamilah, “meet Jonman and Robman.”

Jonman looked like he could have been Robman’s father, but Adel knew better than to draw any conclusions from that. On some worlds, he knew, physiological camouflage was common practice.

Jonman gazed right through Adel. “I can see that he knows nothing about the problem.” He seemed detached, as if he were playing chess in his head.

Kamilah gave him a sharp glance but said nothing. Robman stepped forward and extended his forefinger in greeting. Adel gave it a polite touch.

“This is our rookie, then?” said Robman. “Do you play tikra, Adel?”

—who’s a rookie?—buzzed minus .

—we are—

Since Adel didn’t know what tikra was, he assumed that he didn’t play it. “Not really,” he said.

“He’s from one of the farm worlds,” said Kamilah

“Oh, a rustic.” Robman cocked his head to one side, as if Adel might make sense to him if viewed from a different angle. “Do they have gulpers where you come from? Cows?” Seeing the blank look on Adel’s face, he pressed on. “Maybe frell?”

“Blue frell, yes.”

—keep talking—plus buzzed—make an impression—

Adel lunged into conversation. “My uncle Durwin makes summer sausage from frell loin. He built his own smoke house.”

Robman frowned.

“It’s very good.” Adel had no idea where he was going with this bit of family history. “The sausages, I mean. He’s a butcher.”

—and we’re an idiot—

“He’s from one of the farm worlds,” said Jonman, as if he were catching up with their chitchat on a time delay.

“Yes,” said Robman. “He makes sausages.”

Jonman nodded as if this explained everything about Adel. “Then don’t be late for dinner,” he advised. “I see there will be garab tonight.” With this, the two men continued downstairs.

Adel glanced at Kamilah, hoping she might offer some insight into Robman and Jonman. Her eyes were hooded. “I wouldn’t play anything with them if I were you,” she murmured. “Jonman has a stochastic implant. Not only does he calculate probabilities, but he cheats.”

The top of the Tulip Stairway ended at the midpoint of Dream Street. “Does everything have a name here?” asked Adel.

“Pretty much,” said Kamilah. “It tells you something about how bored the early crews must have been. We’re going right.” The ceiling of Dream Street glowed with a warm light that washed Kamilah’s face with pink. She said the names of bedroom suites as they passed the closed doors. “This is Fluxus. The Doghouse. We have room for twenty pilgrims, twice that if we want to double up.”

The carpet was a sapphire plush that clutched at Adel’s sandals as he shuffled down the hall.

“Chrome over there. That’s where Upwood lived. He’s gone now. You don’t know anything about him, do you?” Her voice was suddenly tight. “Upwood Marcene?”

“No, should I? Is he famous?”

“Not famous, no.” The medallion around her neck showed a frozen lake. “He jumped home last week, which leaves us with only seven, now that you’re here.” She cleared her throat and the odd moment of tension passed. “This is Corazon. Forty Pushups. We haven’t found a terrestrial in ages, so Speedy isn’t as popular as she used to be.”

“You call the threshold Speedy?”

“You’ll see.” Kamilah sighed. “And this is Cella. We might as well see if Sister is receiving.” She pressed her hand to the door and said, “Kamilah here.” She waited.

“What do you want, Kamilah?” said the door, a solid blue slab that featured neither latch nor knob.

“I have the new arrival here.”

“It’s inconvenient.” The door sighed. “But I’m coming.” It vanished and before them stood a tiny creature, barely up to Adel’s waist. She was wearing a hat that looked like a birds nest made of black ribbon with a smoky veil that covered her eyes. Her mouth was thin and severe. All he could see of her almond skin was the dimpled chin and her long elegant neck; the billowing sleeves of her loose black dress swallowed her hands.

“Adel Santos, this is Lihong Rain. She prefers to be called Sister.” Sister might have been a child or she might have been a grandmother. Adel couldn’t tell.

“Safe passage, Adel.” She made no other welcoming gesture.

Adel hesitated, wondering if he should try to initiate contact. But what kind? Offer to touch fingers? Shake hands? Maybe he should catch her up in his arms and dance a two-step.

“Same to you, Sister,” he said and bowed.

“I was praying just now.” He could feel her gaze even though he couldn’t see it. “Are you religious, Brother Adel?” The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

“I’d prefer to be just Adel, if you don’t mind,” he said. “And no, I’m not particularly religious, I’m afraid.”

She sagged, as if he had just piled more weight on her frail shoulders. “Then I will pray for you. If you will excuse me.” She stepped back into her room and the blue door reformed.

plus buzzed—we were rude to her—

—we told the truth—

“Don’t worry,” said Kamilah. “You can’t offend her. Or rather, you can’t not offend her, since just about everything we do seems to offend her. Which is why she spends almost all her time in her room. She claims she’s praying, although Speedy only knows for sure. So I’m in Delhi here, and next door you’re in The Ranch.”

—Kamilah’s next door?—buzzed minus.

—we hardly know her don’t even think it—

—too late—

They stopped in front of the door to his room, which was identical to Sister’s, except it was green. “Press your right hand to it anywhere, say your name and it will ID you.” After Adel followed these instructions, the door considered for a moment and then vanished with a hiss.

Adel guessed that the room was supposed to remind him of home. It didn’t exactly, because he’d lived with his parents in a high rise in Great Randall, only two kilometers from Harvest’s first MASTA. But it was like houses he had visited out in the countryside. Uncle Durwin’s, for example. Or the Pariseaus’. The floor appeared to be of some blondish tongue-and-grooved wood. Two of the walls were set to show a golden tallgrass prairie with a herd of chocolate-colored beasts grazing in the distance. Opposite a rolltop desk were three wooden chairs with velvet upholstered seats gathered around a low oval table. A real plant with leaves like green hearts guarded the twin doorways that opened into the bedroom and the bathroom.

Adel’s bed was king-sized with a half moon head and footboards tied to posts that looked like tree trunks with the bark stripped off. It had a salmon-colored bedspread with twining rope pattern. However, we should point out that Adel did not notice anything at all about his bed until much later.

—oh no—

“Hello,” said Adel.

—oh yes—

“Hello yourself, lovely boy.” The woman was propped on a nest of pillows. She was wearing a smile and shift spun from fog. It wisped across her slim, almost boyish, body concealing very little. Her eyes were wide and the color of honey. Her hair was spiked in silver.