The Smoke Ring t-2

by Larry Niven

  “About thirty seconds…twelve to fifteen breaths. I think faster than you do, Jeffer.”

  Carlot’s voice held doubt, not anger. “It’s mutiny—”

  “We steal nothing,” Kendy said. “We won’t harm the Admiralty at all. The information doesn’t disappear, but I can read it, and then it becomes available to Jeffer the Scientist. Rather, Debby, don’t you see? We came to learn. Clave and Jeffer won’t leave until they know what to tell Citizens Tree about the Admiralty. This way we’ll learn everything we want in half a day.”

  Rather said slowly, “You say you can tell me how to do this.”

  “I’ve taken neudar readings. I can see the gross structure of Headquarters. It’s most of a CARM surrounded by a concrete shell.” The neudar shadow of the CARM was splayed around its aft end, and the back third was missing. The explosion must have pulped any passengers. It had ripped away the outer door of the airlock too. “The Library must be the control room. I’ll guide you. We’ll time it so I’m in contact the whole time. Even if someone sees something funny, it’ll be too funny. He won’t believe it. Afterward you take Logbearer home.”

  Carlot looked at Rather. “I don’t owe you this.”

  “Losing contact,” Kendy said. There might have been time for three words more, but what would they have been? He’d simply have to wait.

  The redhead found Booce as he was returning from Market. She looked funny, flying. Her legs chugged faster than a normal woman’s and made shorter strokes. She wouldn’t have caught up if Booce hadn’t been pushing baggage.

  She wasn’t breathing hard, though. She had a charming smile. “Booce Serjent, do you remember me?”

  “Bosun Sectry Murphy. We met when Gyrfalcon came to collect customs. How do you do. Bosun?”

  “I do okay. Rather’s been accepted for training. I’d like to tell him.”

  Rather wouldn’t like that. “He’ll be at the house.”

  “I’ll come. Shall I help with those?”

  They kicked slowly along. Behind them the Dark moved in uneasy turgid patterns, out and east; the sun crept toward Voy; western rain clouds crawled in long curves. To fill the silence Booce said, “We’ve finished repairing Logbearer. After breakfast we cruised past the Market—”

  “Moving slow. I saw it.”

  “Clave went for the rest of his seeds, and I picked up some clothing and toothbrushes. Can’t have my crew looking like savages.”

  “My superiors may be wondering where you found the money.”

  “It’s not easy. The Navy’s taking its own sweet time to bid a decent price for our metal. But I’ve got some orders for wood, and my crew is going Dark diving.”

  “Did Rather say anything about…yesterday?”

  “Not to me. He didn’t seem to want to talk. It must have been a strange experience.”

  She laug’hed, then grew pensive. Presently she said, “Isn’t that Serjent House?”

  “Yes, but…” Logbearer wasn’t there.

  Booce invited her in. The Navy woman waited while he made the circuit of the rooms. He found nobody. There were no seeds: Clave hadn’t arrived yet.

  “They must have left already,” he told her. “I stayed to bargain for wood. Clave should have come back well ahead of me.” It was puzzling. “Was Rather going with them?”

  “No. He should be back soon, wherever he is.”

  She accompanied him to the kitchen and watched while he made tea. They returned to the common room and passed the pot between them, all in near-silence. Booce wondered if Jeffer had noticed the Navy woman. What they really needed right now was a metallic voice bellowing out of the door.

  “You’d think he’d leave a message,” she said. Booce nodded. But they’d have left it with Jeffer! Murphy was frowning. “Is it normal for Rather to do…something like this?”

  Booce was quick on the uptake. “He’s never done this before. Well, he’s been worried about whether the Navy’ll take him. Maybe he got terminally antsy. A trip to the Dark—” And Booce knew he was right. If they think you’re undependable — Rather had gone into the Dark.

  “ — could be just what he needs,” he finished.

  “It’s not what we need.” Murphy rejected the offered teapot. “How long do you expect them to be gone?”

  They weren’t seriously hunting treasures such as fringe or blackbrain. All they wanted this trip was mud, so — “Thirty, forty days.” But they wouldn’t have left without Clave, so they must have taken the seeds he was carrying too. Why?

  “Tell Rather we’re unhappy. Booce, I’ve got to be leaving.”

  Booce hovered at the door to watch Murphy depart. He whispered, “Jeffer?”

  Nothing.

  Of course, they took the helmet too. He waited until Sectry was no more than a speck before he opened the compartment in the door.

  The whole damn illegal pressure suit was gone.

  For one magical moment he was nothing but relieved. But something was going on here, and Booce didn’t like it at all.

  Carlot made her burn with the bow pointed straight into the Dark. East takes you out, out takes you west. That a rocket might go where it was pointed was contrary to Rather’s experience; but he didn’t want to argue with Carlot.

  The Market passed them at impressive speed. A few citizens turned to watch, and were gone.

  Raym Wilby had never kept silence in his life. “This first part of a trip is fun, but you can still get hurt. Carlot, the tank’s near dry, stet? Turn us. Cut the water flow. Go in facing sideways.”

  Carlot looked at him.

  “See, if something comes at us, you run the last of the water in. Doesn’t matter what way you’re facing, long as it isn’t forward. Something’s ready to hit us, you change course. If it’s gonna miss, you don’t.”

  “Oh.” She and Clave tilted the nozzle. Log bearer started its turn as she cut off the water flow. The slow turn continued as the sky began to darken.

  “Birds are the worst. A pond, a glob of mud, a jungle, they don’t follow you if you dodge. Everybody got harpoons? Stet. Hey, smell that. First whiff of the Dark. State, it’s good to be back!”

  Logbearer fell straight in. It was like entering a huge storm cloud…a granular-looking storm cloud. The air smelled of wet and rot and mustiness.

  They strung line, using beams on the nose as mooring points. Raym watched and frowned and told them to put the lines closer together. “It’s got to hold the mud while you make the burn.” When they finished, Logbearer’s nose was the center of a great web. “I always string my extra clothes across the middle of the web. That way you know the mud won’t go through and all over the cabin. You bring any extra clothes, Carlot?”

  She spoke through gritted teeth. “You didn’t tell me to. But yes, I brought extra clothes, and I don’t much like getting them covered with mud.”

  “So wash them after. You do it when you’re ready to leave. Then you use what’s dirty. Look there, aft of center. Kerchiefs!”

  Kerchiefs looked like a score of scraps of pink and green cloth afloat on the wind. “Those’re flowers,” Raym said. “Not fungus. They’ll—”

  “Could you spread those to hold the mud?”

  “Carlot, they’re not strong enough. Touch them and they shred. Hey, you don’t mind dirty clothes when you’re Dark diving!”

  They took turns sleeping. The sky thickened and darkened over five or six days. Then Voy and the sun were hidden and it was impossible to know day. Rather’s eyes adjusted. He saw colors emerging from the dark: blue tinges, green, orange. Behind them the murky sky was a blaze of light, suddenly bluer as Voy passed, too bright to look at.

  Raym was forward, inspecting the web again. Or maybe he only liked the view.

  Clave said, “It isn’t the risk that bothers me. It’s the fact that I’m not taking it. Feels like this should be my job.”

  Rather didn’t answer, but Carlot did. “Oh, you’re taking a risk. If Rather gets caught, the Navy’ll want us all. Cla
ve, it’s not too late to change our minds!”

  “Yeah. I know how persuasive Kendy is. And I think I should have been consulted.” Rather started to speak.

  Clave snapped, “Yes, Rather, it couldn’t be done. Besides, Kendy’s right. It gets us everything we came for. Rather, if you don’t come back in a decent time, we’re leaving. I’ve got the seeds. We’ll just bum straight out and let Jeffer find us in the sky.”

  “Stet,” said Rather.

  “And what about Dad?” Carlot demanded. “Why should the Navy believe him when he tells them he didn’t know?”

  “I won’t get caught. One big risk and we go home.”

  “I don’t owe you this,” Carlot said, as she had said before. This time nobody answered. (But Jeffer had said, “You owe Citizens Tree for your life,” and it was true.)

  “I think we’ve gone far enough,” Clave said. “Nobody’s going to see us from the Market.”

  Rather nodded. “But there’s still Raym.”

  “He’s easily distracted.”

  The rocket had slowed considerably. They were drifting, not flying. The murky sky was busy with soft, shadowy shapes. Once there was a jagged rock the size of Logbearer, half covered by…Rather stared. That had to be a fungus. But it was convoluted like the moby’s brain Half Hand had tried to serve them.

  Raym pointed through the net of lines. “You can eat that.”

  Clave said, “Treefodder! I mean literally. That’s a tuft off an integral tree!”

  It could have been, Rather thought. There was the curved blade of the branch. But where foliage should have been, now there was a great misshapen lump of soft gray curves. “I pushed one of those home once,” Raym said. “Had to. My nets were torn up. It was all the food I had left, and I barely made a dent in it getting home. Half Hand served slices of it for the next twenty days, but he didn’t pay much…”

  Rather tuned him out.

  The orange tinge ahead grew gradually stronger. Orange light shining through shadows. Rather had grown used to the wet, musty smell, but something else was in it now. “Raym, what’s that?”

  “I’ve been living with Exec ever since the accident. My son, Exec Wilby. He only went into the Dark but once — What?”

  “That.”

  “That’s the fire. Carlot, we have to turn.”

  Carlot jerked around. “Fire?”

  Now Rather knew that smell. Fire burning in something wet and rotten.

  “It’s been burning down here since…I don’t know when. All my life, anyway. Never gets much bigger, never gets much smaller. Now, don’t hurry. Look around and find a pond and steer for that. We need more water anyway.”

  They looked. There was no mistaking the shape of a pond, of course, even in darkness. Rather found no spheroids in evidence. Carlot said, “I don’t see anything!”

  “There.”

  “But that’s…oh.” Raym was pointing to a fungus jungle, a maze of thick white threads…and the orange light glinted off something reflective inside. The mass, in fact, was mostly pond, but it was laced with fungus.

  Clave used the bellows. The pipefire that had been estivating in the windless murk now blazed up. Carlot blew the last of their water into the pipe while Rather and Clave tilted the rocket.

  The fungus jungle drifted across the orange light. Logbearer impacted softly against resilient fungus fingers, and recoiled.

  “What kind of pump you got? Good. Boy…Rather, you want to pump?”

  “You pump, Raym,” Carlot said. “Debby, you go with him. Keep your harpoon handy.”

  “Stet, that’s good thinking, Carlot. No guessing what’s lurking in there.” The imaginary horrors didn’t diminish Raym’s enthusiasm as he flapped away with the pump. The hose slowed him. Debby kissed Rather’s cheek before she picked up a loop of hose and flew after him.

  Raym disappeared among interlocked white strands that broke where he touched them.

  Clave said, “Now, Rather.”

  They entered the cabin together. The bags of seeds nearly filled one compartment. Rather pulled them out, reached further, and had the silver suit.

  Debby saw only kicking wings among finger-thick white pillars of fungus. “Nothing dangerous yet,” Raym called cheerfully. “Watch for stinkbirds. Great State! Girl, get me a bag, a big one!”

  Debby dropped the hose and worked her way in. “What—”

  “Fringe!”

  “Oh. Here.” She’d taken to carrying the big bags they’d used to collect honey while logging. She passed one in. She couldn’t see what Raym was doing in there, but the air had turned dusty. She sneezed.

  Raym wriggled out in a cloud of dust motes. There was something shapeless in the bag. “Sixty, seventy chits worth,” he said. “I’ll just take this back—”

  “I’ve linked up the hose. What have you got?” Carlot had come at his shout.

  Raym showed her the bag.

  “Dammit, Raym, that’s sporing fringe! Debby, get away from it.”

  “Yeah.’’ Debby kicked out into the air. She was feeling dreamy…light-headed…happy. But if she’d breathed spores, Raym must have breathed more.

  Keep him away from the ship! Debby pulled on the hose until she had the pump. “Raym, take this around to someplace else and start pumping.”

  “I’ll take this back,” Carlot said. “Raym, you shouldn’t get near sporing fringe! Sure it’s worth money—” She gave up. Raym was laughing.

  Clave had stuck the helmet to a wall with a dab of glue. It watched him in stoic calm. “Try to do the circle in one sweep,” it said.

  “Is that how the original was done?”

  “First painting was probably a template, but templates wear out. The suits must be painted over and over. Every so often the junior Guardian has to paint it. I’m guessing, of course, but the original looks a little sloppy in Kendy’s pictures.”

  Clave pointed the brush like a pencil and moved in a single graceful sweep. The resulting greenish-white circle wasn’t half bad. “Bring it close,” said the helmet. “Too narrow and also a little small. Go around again and add some bulk to the outer rim. Rather, when you leave, drape a cloth over yourself. We don’t want to get it dirty while it’s wet…Stet, Clave. Now the dot in the middle. Stet, leave it tiny. Give me another look at the shoulder—”

  “Raym found you something, Silver Man.”

  Clave jumped. “What? Carlot, don’t do that.”

  “Rather, take it. It’s sporing fringe. Bring it back if you can. It’s worth money.”

  Rather took the bag. “What’s it for?”

  “If you’re in trouble, throw it. Everyone around you will have a wonderful time while you get away. Make sure you don’t breathe it.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m ready to go.”

  There was something more that he ought to say, something she expected, but he couldn’t for the life of him think what it was.

  “You get tired, I’ll take over,” Debby said. “No, no, the tank must be nearly full by now.” Sweat slicked Raym wherever his skin showed. He was grinning and panting and pumping his legs with the vigor of a much younger man.

  The tank must be full already, Debby thought. They wouldn’t let Raym stop until—

  Raym stopped. “What was that?”

  Debby turned to where he was looking. “I don’t see anything.”

  Tiny twin flames burned in the Dark, receding.

  “Huh.” Raym resumed pedaling. “Hope that isn’t the fire getting closer. You never know where it’s gonna be. It doesn’t just drift like everything else, it spreads in spots and goes out in spots—”

  Carlot called from the rocket. “Raym! Enough. Let’s go find our mudball.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Library

  from Discipline’s records, year 926 State:

  YOUR ORDERS ARE AS FOLLOWS.

  1)…YOU WILL VISIT EACH OF THESE STARS IN TURN. OTHER TARGETS MAY BE ADDED. WHERE A
PPROPRIATE YOU WILL SEED THE ATMOSPHERES OF PROTO-EARTH WORLDS WITH TAILORED ALGAE USING THE CANNISTERS YOU CARRY. THE STATE EXPECTS TO SETTLE THESE WORLDS, SPREADING HUMANITY AMONG VARIABLE ENVIRONMENTS, AGAINST DANGERS THAT MIGHT AFFECT ONLY SOL SYSTEM.

  2) THE STATE IS AWARE THAT YOU DO NOT REQUIRE A CREW TO OPERATE.

  THE HUMAN SPECIES IS NOT INVULNERABLE. THERE IS FINITE RISK THAT THE CREW OF ANY INTERSTELLAR SPACECRAFT MAY FIND, ON ITS RETURN, THAT IT HAS BECOME THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE. YOUR CREW AND THEIR GENES ARE YOUR PRIMARY CARGO. CLASSIFIED.

  3) YOUR TERTIARY MISSION IS TO EXPLORE. IN PARTICULAR, ANY EARTHLIKE WORLD WITH POSSIBILITIES FOR COLONIZATION MUST BE INVESTIGATED AND REPORTED IMMEDIATELY.

  — LING CARTHER, FOR THE STATE

  MATTER WAS TOO THICK IN HERE TO USE BOOT JETS.

  Rather used them to get clear of Raym’s sight, then donned his wings. He wanted to fly straight north, along the axis of Clump and Smoke Ring both. Matter should thin out rapidly in that direction.

  There were no ponds; but sometimes you could catch a glint of light from one of the fuzzy-edged fungus jungles. There were white pillow shapes, and flat white lenses streaked with yellow and crimson, and networks of interwoven pale stalks. He took care to avoid touching anything; he flew around clouds of dust or spores. The paint on him would still be wet.

  Rather began to understand the beauty Raym found in the Dark.

  Straight lines, rare in a tree, were unheard of here, save (rarely) for long beams of blue-white or yellow-white sunlight breaking through the murk. Where he saw these, he corrected his course to cross them. This close to crossyear, north would be at right angles to Voy and the sun. After what felt like a couple of days he was seeing many more. The Dark had grown rarified. Now there was room for jets.

  He fired a burst of five breaths’ duration. Mist flowed past him as he coasted out of the Dark.

  The day brightened. Too bright. His eyes were slow to adjust.