He unzipped his sleeping bag and stretched lazily. A long shiver ran down his body; all he wore in the bag were shorts and his last decent T-shirt. They were enough while he was sealed up, but the air temperature here was that of early autumn. His guess was that Island Two was currently in some convection current that was cycling back from the outward section of the gas halo to the warmth of the inner edge. He scrambled around for his patched and worn cord pants, then pulled on his checked shirt, giving it a dismayed look as more stitches popped along the sleeve. The old dark gray woolen fleece prevented the chill air from getting to his chest.
Ordinarily a cool morning outdoors would be quite invigorating. The time he’d spent trekking and camping across worlds in the Commonwealth added up to over a century now. But he was mistrustful of the reef and its eternal orbit through the gas halo; and all the cold did nowadays was trigger memories of the Ice Citadel planet.
His sleeping bag was in one section of the small shelter they’d rigged up from the broken segments of the poor old Pathfinder. Wood from the decking and flotation bundles had been adapted into low walls; the tatty old sail stretched across it formed the roof. Bunches of dried leaves from local trees had been stuffed into the bigger holes, helping to maintain a reasonable screen, although the sunbeams cut through in hundreds of places. They hadn’t built it to provide protection from the elements; it was just to give them all some privacy. After the extremely close confines of clinging to the Pathfinder, a little private space of your own worked wonders for morale.
He pulled on his boots, which although scuffed were still in pretty good shape. Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for his socks; he really needed a good darning session. His packet of needle and thread had miraculously stayed with him. He’d found it again the other day when he went through his rucksack. It was times like that when you began to appreciate what true luxury really was.
Ready to face a brand-new day, he pushed the crude door curtain aside. Orion had already rekindled the fire from yesterday’s embers. Their battered metal mugs were balanced on a slatelike shard of polyp above the flames, heating some water.
“Five teacubes left,” Orion said. “Two chocolate. Which do you want?”
“Oh, what the hell, let’s live a little, shall we? I’ll take the chocolate.”
The boy grinned. “Me, too.”
Ozzie settled on one of the rounded ebony and maroon polyp protrusions they used as chairs. He winced as he straightened his leg.
“How’s the knee?” Orion asked.
“Better. I need to do some exercises, loosen it up. It’s stiff after yesterday.” They’d walked all the way to the tip of the reef, where the trees ended abruptly and the bare oyster-gray polyp tapered away into a single long spire. They’d edged out cautiously onto the long triangular segment, feeling uncomfortably exposed. Gravity reduced proportionally the farther they went. Ozzie estimated it would finish altogether about five hundred meters past the end of the forest. They turned around and scooted back to the enclosure of the trees.
The spire was a landing point, Ozzie decided, the aerial equivalent of a jetty. Should any of the flying Silfen choose to visit, they would simply glide down onto the far end of the spire and walk in long bounds toward the main part of the reef, their weight increasing as they went.
Other than that, gravity on Island Two was constant. On the third day after the Pathfinder had reached the reef they’d traveled to the other side, which was a simple duplicate of theirs. The rim of the reef was a narrow curving cliff covered in small bushes and clumps of tall bamboolike grasses. Gravity warped alarmingly as they started to traverse the cliff, making it seem as if they were vertical during the whole transition.
Halfway around, Ozzie had looked back to see he was now standing at right angles to where he’d been a hundred meters before. Coming to terms with that was even more disconcerting than orienting himself in freefall.
While Orion dropped the chocolate cubes into their mugs, Ozzie started peeling one of the big bluish gray fruits they’d picked from the jungle. The pulp inside had a coarse texture, tasting like a cinnamon-flavored apple. It was one of eight edible fruits they’d discovered so far. Just like every other environment the Silfen paths led to, the reef was quite capable of supporting life.
Tochee emerged from the jungle, its manipulator flesh coiled around various containers it had filled with water. A small stream ran across the rumpled polyp ground fifty meters from their shelter, its water so clean they barely needed to use the filter.
“Good morning to you, friend Ozzie,” it said through the handheld array.
“Morning.” Ozzie took a drink of the chocolate.
“I have detected no electrical power circuit activity with my equipment.” The big alien held up a couple of sensors it had brought with it. “The machinery must be very deep inside the reef.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Even after all this time spent together, Tochee hadn’t quite grasped the fact that Ozzie liked a bit of peace and quiet at breakfast.
“Where did you go?” Orion asked as Ozzie munched stoically on his fruit.
“Five kilometers in that direction.” Tochee formed a tentacle out of its manipulator flesh, and pointed.
“I think the middle is that way.” Orion pointed almost at right angles to Tochee’s tentacle.
“Are you sure?”
“I dunno. Where is it, Ozzie?”
Ozzie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There, nine kilometers.”
“I apologize,” Tochee said. “My instruments do not possess a navigation function like yours.”
“Did you see anything interesting?” Orion asked.
“Many trees. Some small flying creatures. No large or sentient life.”
“Too bad.” The boy cut a big slice out of a purplish fruit with his penknife, and bit into it eagerly. Juice dribbled down his chin, getting caught in his wispy beard. “Were there any caves?”
“I did not see any.”
“There’s got to be a way in to the core somewhere. I wonder if it’s right on the tip of the spires. There can’t be any gravity along the axis, that’s where it all balances out, Ozzie said so. I bet that’s just one long tunnel the whole length of this thing.”
“Logic would dictate the shortest distance. An access passage to the core would surely begin on the surface at the middle.”
“Yeah. I bet there’s a whole load of caves and stuff. It’ll be where the reef’s inhabitants live, like the Morlocks.”
Ozzie took another drink of chocolate, not making eye contact. He was already regretting telling that story.
“Do you still think something lives here, friend Orion?” Tochee asked.
“What’s the point of it otherwise?”
“I have seen no sign of any large creature.”
“No, ‘cause they’re underground.”
Ozzie finished his chocolate and retied his hair with a small band of leather so that it didn’t flop down over his eyes. “They are not underground,” he said. “You do not build islands in something like the gas halo, and then populate them with troglodyte species. Nothing lives here.”
“What’s a trogodite?” Orion asked.
“Someone who lives underground.”
“Excuse me, friend Ozzie,” Tochee said. “But this whole gas halo is lacking in logic. We might yet find some life belowground. Why else would you build islands in the sky?”
“Carbon sinks,” Ozzie said. “It’s all a question of scale, which is admittedly difficult to get your head around. Even I’m having serious trouble with this when I look up and see sky that goes on forever. But we know that there is a lot of animal life flapping around inside the gas halo. As it’s a standard oxygen-nitrogen mix it’s pretty safe to say they all breathe oxygen, and exhale carbon dioxide, or some other waste product. Now I’m sure it would take billions of years for all those animals to poison something as gigantic as the gas halo, but it will happen unless the opposite process
is active. You can either do it artificially, with machines; or the green way, with plants. And that’s what this reef is, a part of the ecosystem. It probably doubles as a food garden and watering hole as well. The air-desert equivalent of an oasis.”
“You said there was machinery inside it,” Orion said, his tone accusing.
“There is some kind of gravity generator, certainly, man, and that probably has a steering function; I’m pretty sure it was put on a collision course with us. The rest of it is all biological.”
“What’s the point if they can clean the air with machines?”
“I suspect they built all of this just for the hell of it, man, the enjoyment of living in something so utterly fantastic. I know I would if I could. I already did something like this on a minuscule scale back home.”
“Did you?”
“Very small scale, yeah.”
“What?”
“It’s an artificial environment; nothing special, not important. Look, the reason I’m interested in trying to locate the gravity generator in this reef is because I might figure out how to use it to steer us somewhere.” He held a hand up to stall both of them. “And no, guys, I don’t know where yet, but a degree of control would be useful at this moment in time, okay? We really are out of all other options.”
“You said that back on the water island.” Orion’s grin was pure disrespect.
“Shows you how little I know. Come on, Tochee’s probably right about the inspection hatch being close to the center. Let’s go see if we can find it.”
The intricacy of the reef’s jungle fascinated Ozzie; it was a work of art. There was a near-uniform gap between the ground and the first level of branches of about four meters. Just right for a human or a Silfen to walk comfortably in the low gravity without hitting their head on branches. In fact, if you happened to push off too hard the lacework of branches and twigs was dense enough for a simple slap of the hand to help flatten out the arc of your glide-walk. An overhead safety net, basically. Ozzie was convinced that was deliberate. So if the trees weren’t pruned, and he’d seen nothing to indicate they were, they must have been configured at a genetic level to grow like that. Even for a society with the resources to build the gas halo, that was a lot of work.
There was plenty of variety, too, ranging from trees that could have come direct from the forest of any H-congruous world, to the bizarre purple chimneylike tubes, as well as a host of alien species like the flexible globular lattice that Orion had landed in. Ozzie half expected to see a ma-hon growing amid the profusion of exotica.
Covered by the thin layer of loam was an equal diversity of polyp strata, dull ash-gray bands interlocked with stone-brown bulbs and creamy intestinal clusters, knobbly gentian ropes and open-ended maroon cones with puddles of dank water lying at their base. Blue-speckled hazel protrusions in the shape of button mushrooms were common, although they were all over two meters in diameter.
Johansson had been right to call these creations reefs, Ozzie thought. The trees, as they swiftly realized, lived in perfect symbiosis with the polyp. There was no deep layer of soil to support the roots; instead they were supplied with water and nutrients by the coral itself. In return it must slowly absorb the loam formed by their fallen, rotted leaves to regenerate itself.
There were glades, wide patches where no trees grew, filled with bright sunlight. Here the thin sandy soil sprouted a few tufts of grass, or straggly plants giving a curious impression of lifelessness amid the luxuriant growth of the jungle. Each time they came across such a feature they stayed close to the fringe of trees, as if they’d grown afraid of the empty sky.
Ozzie was pretty sure he knew where such uncertainty rose from. Anything could exist in the gas halo, descending on them without warning out of that infinite blue expanse.
“Do you think there are paths here?” Orion asked. “You said Johansson walked back to the Commonwealth from a reef.”
“There could be,” Ozzie admitted. Indeed he was carrying his rucksack in case they did wander onto the start of a path. He’d insisted on the boy and Tochee carrying their essentials as well. They had so little equipment and supplies left they simply couldn’t afford to lose any more. Deep down, he was hoping they really would start the long walk off the reef midway through one of these expeditions. That yearning was a direct reaction to his circumstances. All he was focusing on these days was simple survival. He’d been traveling for so long now he had grown terribly weary of it. The starship had surely flown to the Dyson Pair and returned by now. It was a depressing thought that the answer would be waiting for him when he returned home, a brief historical note within the unisphere.
When he did catch himself indulging in such wistful speculation he grew angry. After enduring so much he deserved to find the adult Silfen community.
“I know when we’re on a path these days,” Orion said. “I can feel it.”
“I believe I may share that awareness,” Tochee said. “There is no logic to the knowledge, which is difficult for me, but I sometimes find an inner certainty.”
Ozzie, who had possessed that particular trait for some time, kept quiet. The really good thing about getting home would be dropping Orion and Tochee off in a decent hotel and getting the hell away from their constant inane chatter.
The handheld array reported they were drawing near to the geometrical center of the reef; it was hard to define the exact point outside of an area a couple of hundred meters in diameter, although they were certainly halfway between the tips of both end spires. A good visual clue was in the size of the trees, which were getting a lot taller. Why, though? Is the center the oldest part? That doesn’t make a lot of sense. Nonetheless, their trunks were massive here, several meters across, leaving the ground directly beneath them arid and dusty. The surrounding polyp had cracked, with long dead flakes lifting up like jagged teeth around the bark. Overhead, the ceiling of branches and leaves was so dense that the light had reduced to a pale uniform gloaming.
“It’s lighter up ahead,” Orion said. A glare of sunlight was filtering past the trunks. They walked toward it, squinting after so long in the gloomy silence of the great trees.
The light came from a clearing over a kilometer wide. For once there was a blanket of greenery covering the ground, a plant as tenacious as ground eldar but with slim ankle-high jade-green leaves that rustled like rice paper. A fence of the purple polyp tubes formed a neat perimeter, towering above the thick trees, each one curving around high above them so their ends were aligned horizontally out across the reef.
“They’re chimneys!” Orion declared. White vapor was oozing out of each one, twirling away above the treetops. Ozzie recalled the odd riverlike ribbons of cloud they’d seen on their approach.
Orion immediately dropped down and pressed his ear to the ground.
“Friend Orion, what are you doing?” Tochee asked.
“Listening for the machines. There must be factories in the caves down there.”
“I do not detect any electrical or magnetic activity,” Tochee said.
“Calm down, man,” Ozzie said. “Think about this: Factories to make what?”
Orion gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Okay, then. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“There is something in the middle of the clearing,” Tochee said.
Ozzie used his inserts to zoom in. A squat black pillar stood by itself in the middle of the rustling sea of leaves. “Now that’s more like it.”
Orion got there first, leaping on ahead, each giant step sending him gliding three or four meters through the air. Ozzie took more cautious steps, keeping a wary eye out on the sky above, while Tochee slithered along at a modest speed.
The pillar was three meters tall, standing on a broad patch of bluish polyp devoid of any soil or plants A ring of symbols had been engraved halfway up, made from long thin strokes curving at all angles, with several orbital dots. All the grooves and indentations had been filled with a
clear crystal. Ozzie scanned them with the handheld array, and whistled at the result. “Diamond. That’s one mother of an expensive anticorrosion application.”
“What kind of runes are they?” Orion asked. The symbols bore a slight similarity to ideograms, but not in any human language. “Is it like a signpost for paths?”
“I don’t have any reference,” Ozzie said. “How about you, Tochee?”
“I regret not.”
Ozzie began to scan the ground, which was solid enough. None of his sensors could detect any kind of cavity beneath the pillar. Nor was there any electrical activity, no circuits buried just below the surface. He gave the pillar an aggravated look as an excited Orion hurried around it, the boy’s eager fingers tracing the lines on all the symbols. Then Ozzie looked back across the open expanse of the glade, an unwelcome conclusion dawning in his mind.
“Shit!” Ozzie spat brutally. “Shit shit shit.” He aimed a kick at the base of the pillar. It hurt his toe, so he kicked it again, harder. “Ouch!” Kick with the other foot. “I do not fucking believe this, man.” All the frustration, all the rage that had been building inside him, was rushing out; vented on this one simple artifact. He hated it for what it was, everything it represented.
“What’s wrong, Ozzie?” Orion asked quietly. The boy was giving him an apprehensive glance.
“What’s fucking wrong? I’ll goddamn tell you what’s wrong.” He kicked the pillar again, not quite so hard this time. “I have spent months in the wilderness, eating crappy fruit when all I wanted was a decent steak and fries; actually, I don’t just want it, I dream of it. I’m walking around in rags like something out of the stone age. I haven’t had sex in, like, forever. I’ve been sober so long now my liver is feeling healthy. I’ve been flushed off an ocean in the biggest cosmic joke there ever was. But I put up with it, all this crap, because I know you—yes YOU—are watching and guiding me along, and manipulating the paths so that in the end we’ll meet up. But, oh no, you’ve got to have one more go at making me feel humble, one more time making me the butt of your stinking lame-ass, so-called humor.” He thrust a finger out toward the pillar. “I do not think this is funny! You got that? Are we clear on the meaning of NO, here?”
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