Glorious--A Science Fiction Novel

by Gregory Benford

  She shrugged, eyes rolling in a comic what can I do? gesture. “Oh, and we’ve had some kind of revolt near here, against the Folk. I’ve gotta attend to that. Local politics never goes away.” Then she waved good-bye.

  Redwing knew the Diaphanous were intrigued by the grav wave transmitter’s plasma attendants—who were distantly related to the Earth system’s, somehow. Plasma life had flitted across the interstellar spaces, living on the stream of filmy ions streaming eternally there. Maybe such forms of organized matter were immortal, in human terms.

  He shook himself. The scales of space and time here were beyond human comprehension. Maybe the Glorians knew enough to make this whole space-time landscape, this timescape, understandable. Somehow, sometime.

  For now, he focused on Beth’s team. Videos to review, drones to interrogate as they flew a swarm over the team. Small, beleaguered, and already damaged, Beth’s team was still the point of the spear. He hoped she would make it sharp.

  TWENTY-TWO

  BIG BRIGHT SHINY

  Observe how system into system runs,

  What other planets circle other suns,

  What varied being peoples ev’ry star,

  May tell why Heav’n has made us as we are.

  —ALEXANDER POPE

  Rising animal noise woke Beth. She lay in bed, listening to the clicks and chirps, brays and snorts of huge birds she could see flapping by their residence. Animals here seemed boisterous, busy. Which meant they felt unafraid. But she was not.

  They had gotten through another restless sleep with eye masks, adjusting to the lack of night. Daylight kept knocking at her eyeballs still. Plus Cliff snoring, a sound at least familiar. Monumental thuds from the distance, like giant’s footfalls—probably from the gas and grav system that made Honor its high base. She burrowed deeper into the agreeably smooth bedclothes, listening to the rising wind outside, trying to process all that had happened in the dense day before.

  Best to review. Redwing would ask.

  After their breakfast of huge, peppery red-yoked eggs with carniroo slab steaks, Twisty and seven from Beth’s team had hiked around the area, getting the feel of this life-rich moon. It was good to stay in a spot for a day or two, get oriented. She liked the alpine feel here, with vivid splashes of vegetation, scintillant hills, towering trees, its sky of shifting hues skidding over mountains of elephant gray. She at last let Bemor Prime out of his carrier, and the big ominous spidow ambled well in the gravity, lighter than ship grav here. Its eager inhalations boomed like a bass accordion. Her team needed to rest and restore, so they called it a day early—especially since here an Honor day lasted several Earth days.

  She rose, washed, stepped outside on the balcony, feeling better—prepped and pretty, as people said in her training years, back now centuries ago. Cliff gave her a smacky kiss as he passed into the washroom. The balcony area had contracted in the night, as if knowing the dressing-out of the carniroo would not recur today. But now it extended to the side, making room with tremors and pops.

  How smart was the building? Or was it governed by others, Twisty especially? The alien always seemed blithely easy with every turn, and only thinly concerned with human or carniroo deaths.

  She was about to go back inside to get her hiking gear when something made her look up—into a hovering mass. And here came Twisty, peering over the edge of a lowering basket. It dangled below the swelling curve of an immense, pink dirigible shape. The basket came level with the balcony, and Twisty leaped from it to stand, perfectly balanced, on the balcony rim.

  The huge thing made a low, huffing sound like a great, long breath as it moved. Cliff came out onto the balcony.

  Twisty spoke a high, trilling greeting, then, “We invite you to ride, not hike. There are many Honor delights to enjoy from a height.”

  “Uh, this is a surprise.…” Beth was still looking up into the belly of a huge creature. As it eased down, a broad fin unfurled and made contact with the balcony floor, small grapplers grasping with gnarled handlike roots.

  “Our boarding ramp was the tongue,” Cliff remembered. “It’s a tadfish. From the Bowl.”

  Beth watched it maneuver silently, more elaborate fins unfolding to capture wind like a sail. More slender grapplers secured it on the building. It hugged the side of the building and used the lee wind for torque. She guessed the huge creature could trim and tilt by shifting weight inside itself, getting a pivot torque about its center of mass to navigate. It was a buoyant airship sailing at angles to the light wind, tacking well with its big side fan-fins spread with languid, flapping grace. A big eye turned toward her. She felt like a microbe trapped under a microscope.

  Twisty remarked, “I know you humans have seen a distant relative on the Bowl. We have made that ancient battleskyship into … a bus.”

  “You got the basic genes from the Bowl?”

  Twisty shrugged. “Long ago, in an unfortunate era.”

  “And let them go wild?”

  “No, they are living, loving beasts of burden.”

  “And we’re the burden.”

  “Quite. But they enjoy our passage. You might say that we tickle their insides.”

  “Send our team an alert,” she told Cliff. “Get their gear and assemble, pronto.”

  As the big thing turned lazily, she saw more blister pods. Things moved within them: Crew? The elegant gargantuan had evolved and bioteched from some Bowl balloonlike species, yes—Tananarive had seen several in fleets. They knew such bioengineered creatures used to patrol the air above the Bowl.

  Beth recalled to her side-eye view memory-images from the Bowl: A fat skyfish wallowing across the air above a Sil city. Lashing it with flame spouts. Some had forked down green rays that seared buildings and people alike. The great beast had slid down the sky through realms of smoke. Beth brought up from her inboard images the Bowl records. Yes, one such had crashed like a green-fired egg, crumbling in slow motion as it burned into black smoke towers.

  Now Glory’s biotech had engineered this skyfish, a living beast that could float and feed its passengers. It gave a long, rolling bass note that made its skin tremble.

  The creature’s round black eyes watched them, yellow irises flashing in the slanting sunlight. Its face was solemn and slow, its broad mouth wide and salmon-pink and lipless. Bursts of slow song boomed from the mouth. A greeting? Its wide, flat nostrils were veined pink, with fleshy flaps beneath that Beth guessed the beast could close at will. At the top of the smooth head sprouted a vibrant blue crest that flapped, serrated and trimmed with yellow fat, reminding her of a cock’s comb.

  Where had the Bowl gotten the basics? From some airborne floaters, found on some planet where thick air and light gravity made that an optimal path? Big, slow, made invulnerable by its size, like elephants or whales or a brontosaurus? And then somehow those genes got to Glory in the ancient past, when the Bowl passed nearby—a matter Twisty studiously avoided.

  “We have prepared a selection of local delicacies for you aboard,” Twisty said, gesturing toward a gangplank that had unrolled from the creature’s mouth.

  “Gotta get our gear first, bring the team together,” Beth said hurriedly, and went into their room.

  This took a while. The team obeyed orders with frowns and skeptical smiles. Her stomach was growling when they got onto—no, into—the skyfish. The tongue was dry, not slippery, and curled up at the edges.

  Twisty escorted them in, saying, “I thought this would fillibrate your atrium.”

  Beth thought this was an elaborate pun, for the entrance was ornately wreathed in curtains of rosy pink, languidly waving in the beast’s breath. Cliff said, “You mean, thrill us?” and Twisty nodded.

  “Yes, I attempted verbal play, which your kind seem to enjoy. Your tongue is usefully linear, but confusing. I cannot see why, for example, slaughter lies but a single letter away from laughter—you see?”

  Cliff blinked, then said, “We laugh at death because that’s all we can do, I suppose.
” Twisty froze for a moment, then kept moving.

  They walked into a cozy cave of moist membranes, lit by phosphorescent swirls embedded behind translucent tissues, moving like living, illuminated art. A deep bass note rang, ending in a whoosh like an immense sigh. Grav momentarily rose as they lifted off. Ruddy wall membranes fluttered. Warm air eased by them as they entered a large bowl-shaped area. Sunshine lanced through membranes so clear Beth thought at first they were open to the air. Yet the thin skins laced the light with a softening glow, like ivory. The sweet warm breeze swept first one way, then reversed, and she realized that it was the breathing of this great beast. The roomy building that had seemed so ample when they lived there now dwindled away below.

  The team just watched, breakfast forgotten. As the skyfish turned, the sweep of a plain came into view. Clouds stacked like fat blue plates loomed on the shimmering distance. The mountains fell behind into a gray linear rim. She could see the long arc of Honor’s horizon curving away into a pale sky as they rose. The blue of lakes below outlined greens and browns of lands. Below them flapped big-winged angular birds with long snouts and yellow crests atop their bony heads. With a rush of joyful surprise, she knew that this was her last and greatest adventure, that exploring was her engulfing fate. Each day now featured weirdness writ large, a running river of what she once thought of as the prospects of the universe’s immensity, the Big Bright Shiny.

  They were like people riding a larger animal, as she had ridden horses. In the great living volume, a narrow hydrogen arc hissed and lit the translucent furniture in blue light. Did that come from the beast’s lifting storage? She wondered how the huge thing avoided accidental explosions.

  Worrying isn’t thinking, she thought. Just see and try to understand.

  “Your banquet, my friends.” Twisty gestured broadly with all arms. Spindly creatures somewhat like Twisty—slim, many-armed, and quick. They stood with studious green eyes and big, hideous sucker mouths, saying nothing, then set forth an array of curious, sloping dishes. These smaller twisters stepped back from the table and waved to the humans, a welcome.

  Cliff went first. “Brave man,” she saluted him.

  He cracked a steaming yellow carapace and slurped out the warm white flesh of some sea creature. She chose a dish that featured a big insect basted in creamy sauce.

  As she reached for it, thinking it was like a larger version of the crickets they ate on ship, Twisty remarked, “The trick in this delicacy is keeping it alive through the cooking.” The big bug kicked long legs into the air. “That adds a lovely savor to the simmered proteins,” Twisty added helpfully.

  “So I need to kill it?”

  “Your first slice will bring it peace,” Twisty said. “Though there is evidence that it enjoys the cooking itself.”

  She tried to break the thick legs with her hands and snap off the tasty eyestalks. “You’ve chem-sorted all this, so it’s not poison to us, right?”

  Twisty nodded and smiled, getting better at human signaling. She cracked the knobby leg and bit into the slender, pungent meat. Crunchy, too, with a peppery flavor that stung her lips and sent a scent like king crab into her sinuses. A green pudding turned out to be a slime mold that thrust probes out into her mouth as she tried to chew it. The flavor wasn’t nearly worth it. She spat the thing out. The floor immediately formed a rippling pool around it and sucked the morsel down. “Our host enjoys it and thanks for your sharing.”

  “Host?”

  “This craft has elementary politeness, of course. All such vast beings must. It enjoys its carrying you, as with other burdens. Our craft’s detailed direction is left to the smaller and smarter.”

  Twisty gestured at the shorter Twisty-like figures that kept to the huge room’s shadows, like hushed servants in some ancient drama. They whispered among themselves. She strode over to address them, Twisty hastily dancing alongside. “Thank you for your work,” Beth said.

  One of the lesser Twisty-likes said in a high-pitched, soft rasp, “We prefer your direction, as new guests. I am Anarok, the Captain.”

  Twisty said, “I am in command here.”

  Anarok waved this away. “We accept suggestions from you highers, but I command.” It drew itself up and turned pointedly to Beth. “I gather you are female?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “I favor females working together. Do you not?”

  “I have no preference.”

  Twisty said, “Sex is no matter. I prefer to remain neutral. My point—”

  “You have no sex at all?” Beth shot back.

  Twisty made a several-armed shrug. “I am so instructed, to meet with you. Your species assigns great weight to such matters. We of our species typically do not.”

  Beth stepped away from Anarok and whispered, “Why? Isn’t reproduction vital to you?”

  Twisty said, “You are a biologist from a simpler biosphere. Simply accept that many of us need not reproduce.”

  “Why?”

  “We live quite long, by your measures. We lessen population stresses by holding our numbers fixed.”

  Anarok stepped forward and softly said, “Not all of us. I prefer the female form. And to work with females!” She turned to Twisty. “Please to reserve your comments, must less your orders, for protocols. I command this vessel.”

  Twisty’s arms flared forth, as if to grab at Anarok—then stopped. “I see your immersion in female urges has led you to this affront.”

  Anarok waved her arms in cycling circles of exasperation. Her face was too alien to read, resembling a snail’s foot or a remora’s sucker. “I agreed to ferry these guest species, no more.”

  Twisty’s mouth opened, arms hunched together—and then it stepped back, head twitching, obviously with some effort at self-control. Beth was getting used to reading its gestures. “I shall retire.” Twisty turned and was gone.

  Beth looked around at her team, eating. “I’m still hungry, so…”

  Cliff came over, clearly seeing she was getting exasperated, and spoke to Anarok. “I thank you for this feast. Can you tell me how matters work inside this, uh, skyfish?”

  Anarok followed her to the long banquet table. Her team was digging into the alien breakfast with gusto, trading remarks on the odd tastes. Anarok spoke, amplifying on how independent her shipboard crew was from such larger forms as Twisty. Beth picked up a shank of something red and meaty, bit in with relish, and stepped over to a transparent blister in the wall.

  They moved with gravid majesty over snowy peaks, somewhat like a ship sailing at angles to the wind, tacking through flinty stone passages. Plunging verticals, everywhere.

  She suddenly thought of a time when she had climbed mountain cliffs and once made the mistake of looking down, as she was now. That time she had gotten pulled by converging lines of perspective into the tapering-away sight of hundreds of meters below her, and messed herself. She had clung to a rope feeling as weak as beer with ice in it and thought she would never again do anything risky. Somehow that feeling had lapsed over centuries.

  She breathed out slowly, getting her true self back, and bit into the meat. Its savors jerked her back into the ever-present present, which was there whether you thought of it or not.

  The deck swayed and through the blister Beth saw they were tacking before a strong wind. Verdant mesas beckoned.

  In the distance loomed the side spire of the Cobweb. From this angle she could make out the grand upward exponential curve of it. The same swoop, immensely larger across, that she had seen in Paris as a girl. Simple physics dictated that—an exponential arc tapering into Honor’s stratosphere and then beyond, to the spaces where gravity no longer ruled all.

  “Look, let’s go for a walk, explore a tad,” Cliff said. “Chow will be over soon, and those highlands up ahead look good to me.”

  Beth nodded. She gave the ready-up signal to her team and a short memo to Redwing. She had noticed he was following their visual/audio feeds but keeping silent. She went over to Anarok and e
ngaged the alien in conversation.

  “We have upgraded our linguistics of your tongue,” Anarok said. She gave a rattling squawk, which Beth recognized was Twisty’s name in the local sprach. There followed from Anarok an inventory of slights, neglects, and misuses Twisty’s “kind” had exacted from the crews of skyfish. Beth listened intently, nodding, said nothing. For the first time she got a sense of tensions among the various smart aliens here. Gossip and grousing, it seemed, were universals.

  An hour later their party was split, going up a mountain valley on both sides of a river splashing eagerly downhill. Twisty had taken them to a sideways tube that blew them through a gray-green mountain and into a verdant land.

  Beth had scouts out to each side, as did Viviane on the other bank. Each party kept the other in view. They kept careful watch. No sign of the carniroos, much less the backfire dragons who had hit them out in the Cobweb. Still, she felt uneasy.

  Twisty was oblivious to this. As they hiked, Beth noting aspects of the wildlife, it rattled on, “We must remark that, summoning up your entire library of human culture, you are … quite fitting.”

  Cliff asked, “Fitting what?”

  “As a species, you are technologically gifted yet philosophically callow. Alas, a common condition among emergent intelligences. But of late, it is your animal property of physical expression that intrigues our minds. Frequently you are unaware of your actions—which makes them all the more revealing. Your unconscious selves are in many ways more interesting, we Glorians believe. This, too, is a facet of emergent intelligences. That is, those who have not proliferated into variant forms, through artful adjustments of their own genomes.”

  “Our unconscious?” Beth asked, striding forward in the lower grav, feeling strong.

  “Your invention, though others have had such. Like many of the species of the ancient Bowl of Heaven, as we know from history. They who term themselves the Folk abandoned such interior, baroque extravaganzas.”