A Deepness in the Sky Part 5

SEVEN.

By rights Pham Trinli should not have been on the Fleet Captain's bridge, certainly not during a serious operation. The old man sat at one of the duplicate comm posts, but he really didn't do anything with it. Trinli was Programmer-at-Arms 3rd, though no one had ever seen him behave productively, even at that low rank. He seemed to come and go at his own pleasure, and spent most of his time down in the employees' dayroom. Fleet Captain Park was known to be a little irrational when it came to "respect for age." Apparently, as long as Pham Trinli did no harm, he could stay on the payroll.

Just now, Trinli sat half-turned away from his post. He listened dyspeptically to the quiet conversations, the flow of check and response. He looked past the techs and armsmen at the common displays.

The landings of Qeng Ho and Emergent vessels had been a dance of caution. Mistrust for the Emergents extended from top to bottom among Captain Park's people. Thus there were no combined crews, and the comm nets were fully duplicated. Captain Park had positioned his capital vessels in three groups, each responsible for a third of the planetary operations. Every Emergent ship, every lander, every free-flying crewman was monitored for evidence of treachery.

The bridge's consensus imagery showed most of this. Relayed from the "eastern" cl.u.s.ter, Trinli could see a trio of Emergent heavy lifters coming off the frozen surface of the ocean, towing between them a quarter-million-tonne block of ice. That was the sixth lift in this op. The surface was brightly lit by the rocket glare. Trinli could see a hole hundreds of meters deep. Steaming froth masked the gouge in the seafloor. Soundings showed there were plenty of heavy metals in this section of continental shelf, and they were mining it with the same brute force that they employed when they carved the ice.

Nothing really suspicious there, though things may change when itcomes time to divvy up the loot.

He studied at the comm status windows. Both sides had agreed to broadcast intership communications in the clear; a number of Emergent specialists were in constant conference comm with corresponding Qeng Ho officers; the other side was sucking in everything they could about Diem's discoveries in the dry valley. Interesting how the Emergents suggested simply grabbing the native artifacts. Very un-Qeng-Ho-like. More like something I might do. More like something I might do.

Park had dumped most of his fleet's microsats into near-planetary s.p.a.ce just before the Emergents arrived. There were tens of thousands of the fist-sized gadgets out there now. Subtly maneuvering, they came between the Emergents' vehicles far more often than simple chance would predict. And they reported back to the electronic intelligence window here on the bridge. They reported that there was far too much line-of-sight talk between the Emergent vessels. It might be innocent automation. More likely it was cover for encrypted military coordination, sly preparation on the part of the enemy. (And Pham Trinli had never thought of the Emergents as anything but an enemy.) Park's staff recognized the signs, of course. In their prissy way, these Qeng Ho armsmen were very sharp. Trinli watched three of them argue about the broadcast patterns that washed across the fleet from Emergent emitters. One of the junior armsmen thought they might be seeing a mix of physical-layer and software probing-all in an orchestrated tangle. But if that were true, it was more sophisticated than the Qeng Ho's own best e-measures. . .and that was unbelievable. The senior armsman just frowned at the junior, as if the suggestion were a king-sized headache. Even theones who have been in combat don't get the point. Even theones who have been in combat don't get the point. For a moment, Trinli's expression got even more sour. For a moment, Trinli's expression got even more sour.

A voice sounded privately in his ear. "What do you think, Pham?"

Trinli sighed. He mumbled back into his comm, his lips barely moving, "It stinks, Sammy. You know that."

"I'd feel better if you were at an alternate control center." The PhamNuwen PhamNuwen 's "bridge" had this official location, but in fact there were control centers distributed throughout the ship's livable s.p.a.ces. More than half the staff visible on the bridge were really elsewhere. In theory, it made the starship a tougher kill. In theory. 's "bridge" had this official location, but in fact there were control centers distributed throughout the ship's livable s.p.a.ces. More than half the staff visible on the bridge were really elsewhere. In theory, it made the starship a tougher kill. In theory.

"I can do better than that. I've hacked one of the taxis for remote command." The old man floated off his saddle. He drifted silently behind the ranks of the bridge technicians, past the view on the heavy lifters, the view of Diem's crew preparing to lift off from the dry valley, the images of oh-so-intent Emergent faces. . .past the ominous e-measures displays. No one really noticed his pa.s.sage, except that as he slid through the bridge entranceway, Sammy Park glanced at him. Trinli gave the Fleet Captain a little nod.

Spineless wretches, nearly every one.Only Sammy and Kira Pen Lisolet had understood the need to strike first. And they had not persuaded a single member of the Trading Committee. Even after meeting the Emergents face-to-face, the committee couldn't recognize the other side's certain treachery. Instead, they asked a Vinh to decide for them. A Vinh Vinh ! !

Trinli coasted down empty corridors, slowed to a stop by the taxi lock, and popped the hatch on the one he had specially prepared. I could askLisolet to mutiny. I could askLisolet to mutiny. The Deputy Fleet Captain had her own command, the QHS The Deputy Fleet Captain had her own command, the QHS Invisible Hand Invisible Hand . A mutiny was physically possible, and once she started shooting, Sammy and the others would surely have to join her. . A mutiny was physically possible, and once she started shooting, Sammy and the others would surely have to join her.

He slipped into the taxi, started the lock pumps. No, I wash my handsof all of them. No, I wash my handsof all of them. Somewhere at the back of his skull, a little headache was growing. Tension didn't usually affect him this way. He shook his head. Okay, the truth was, he wasn't asking Lisolet to mutiny, because she was one of those very rare people who had honor. So, he would do the best with what he had. Sammy Somewhere at the back of his skull, a little headache was growing. Tension didn't usually affect him this way. He shook his head. Okay, the truth was, he wasn't asking Lisolet to mutiny, because she was one of those very rare people who had honor. So, he would do the best with what he had. Sammy had had brought weapons. Trinli grinned, antic.i.p.ating the time ahead. brought weapons. Trinli grinned, antic.i.p.ating the time ahead. Even if the other side strikes first, I wager we're the last menstanding. Even if the other side strikes first, I wager we're the last menstanding. As his taxi drifted out from the Qeng Ho flagship, Trinli studied the threat updates, planning. What would the other side try? If they waited long enough, he might yet figure out Sammy's weapons locks. . .and be his own one-man mutiny. As his taxi drifted out from the Qeng Ho flagship, Trinli studied the threat updates, planning. What would the other side try? If they waited long enough, he might yet figure out Sammy's weapons locks. . .and be his own one-man mutiny.

There were plenty of signs of the treachery abuilding, but even Pham Trinli missed the most blatant. You had to guess the method of attack to recognize that one.

Ezr Vinh was quite ignorant of military developments overhead. The Ksecs spent on the surface had been hard, fascinating work, work that didn't leave much time to pursue suspicions. In all his life, he had spent only a few dozen Msecs walking around on the surface of planets. Despite exercise and Qeng Ho medicine, he was feeling the strain. The first Ksecs had seemed relatively easy, but now every muscle ached. Fortunately, he wasn't the only wimp. The whole crew seemed to be dragging. Final cleanup was an eternity of careful checking that they had left no garbage, that any signs of their presence would be lost in the effects of OnOff's relighting. Crewleader Diem twisted his ankle on the climb back to the lander. Without the freight winch on the lander, the rest of the climb would have been impossible. When they finally got aboard, even stripping off and stowing their thermal jackets was a pain.

"Lord." Benny collapsed on the rack next to Vinh. There were groans from all along the aisle as the lander boosted them skyward. Still, Vinh felt a quiet glow of satisfaction; the fleet had learned far more from their one landing than anyone expected. Theirs was a righteous fatigue.

There was little chitchat among Diem's crewmembers now. The sound of the lander's torch was an almost subsonic drone that seemed to originate in their bones and grow outward. Vinh could still hear public conversations from on high, but Trixia was out of it. No one was talking to Diem's people now. Correction: Qiwi was trying to talk to him, but Ezr was just too tired to humor the Brat.

Over the curve of the world, the heavy lifting was behind schedule. Clean nukes had broken up several million tonnes of frozen ocean, but steam above the extraction site was complicating the remainder of the job. The Emergent, Brughel, was complaining that they had lost contact with one of their lifters.

"I think it's your angle of view, sir," came the voice of a Qeng Ho tech. "We can see all of them. Three are still at the surface; one is heavily obscured by the local haze, but it looks well positioned. Three more are in ascent, clean lifts, well separated.. . .One moment. . . ." Seconds pa.s.sed. On a more "distant" channel, a voice was talking about some sort of medical problem; apparently someone had committed a zero-gee barf. Then the flight controller was back: "That's strange. We've lost our view of the East Coast operation."

Brughel, his voice sharpening: "Surely you have secondaries?"

The Qeng Ho tech did not reply.

A third voice: "We just got an EM pulse. I thought you people were done with your surface blasting?"

"We are!" Brughel was indignant.

"Well we just got three more pulses. I-Yessir!"

EM pulses?Vinh struggled to sit up, but the acceleration was too much, and suddenly his head hurt even more than ever. Say something more, d.a.m.nit! Say something more, d.a.m.nit! But the fellow who just said "yessir"-a Qeng Ho armsman by the sound of him-was off the air, or more likely had changed mode and encrypted himself. But the fellow who just said "yessir"-a Qeng Ho armsman by the sound of him-was off the air, or more likely had changed mode and encrypted himself.

The Emergent's voice was clipped and angry: "I want to talk to someone in authority. Now. Now. We know targeting lasers when they shine on us! Turn them off or we'll all regret it." We know targeting lasers when they shine on us! Turn them off or we'll all regret it."

Ezr's head-up display went clear, and he was looking at the lander's bulkheads. The wallpaper backup flickered on, but the video was some random emergency-procedures sequence.

"s.h.i.t!" It was Jimmy Diem. At the front of the cabin, the crewleader was pounding on a command console. Somewhere behind Vinh there was the sound of vomiting. It was like one of those nightmares where everything goes nuts at once.

At that instant, the lander reached end-of-burn. In the s.p.a.ce of three seconds, the terrible pressure eased off Vinh's chest and there was the comforting familiarity of zero gee. He pulled on his couch release and coasted forward to Diem.

From the ceiling it was easy to stand with his head by Diem's and see the emergency displays, without getting in the crewleader's way. "We're really shooting at them?" Lord, but my head hurts! Lord, but my head hurts! When he tried to read Diem's command console, the glyphs swam before his eyes. When he tried to read Diem's command console, the glyphs swam before his eyes.

Diem turned his head a fraction to look at Ezr. Agony was clear in his face; he could barely move. "I don't know what we're doing. I've lost consensual imaging. Tie yourself down. . . ." He leaned forward as though to focus on the display. "The fleet net has gone hard crypto, and we're stuck at the least secure level," which meant that they would get little information beyond direct commands from Park's armsmen.

The ceiling gave Vinh a solid whack on the b.u.t.t, and he started to slide toward the back of the cabin. The lander was turning, some kind of emergency override-the autopilot had given no warning. Most likely, fleet command was prepping them for another burn. He tied down behind Diem, just as the lander's main torch lit off at about a tenth of a gee. "They're moving us to a lower orbit. . .but I don't see anything coming to rendezvous," said Diem. He poked awkwardly at the pa.s.sword field beneath the display. "Okay, I'm doing my own snooping.. . .I hope Park isn't too p.i.s.sed. . . ."

Behind them, there was the sound of more vomiting. Diem started to turn his head, winced. "You're the mobile one, Vinh. Take care of that."

Ezr slid down the aisle's ladderline, letting the one-tenth-gee load do the moving for him. Qeng Ho lived their lives under varying accelerations. Medicine and good breeding made orientation sickness a rare thing among them. But Tsufe Do and Pham Patil had both upchucked, and Benny Wen was curled up as far as his ties would permit. He held the sides of his head and swayed in apparent agony. "The pressure, the pressure . . ."

Vinh eased next to Patil and Do, gently vac'd the goo that was dribbling down their coveralls. Tsufe looked up at him, embarra.s.sment in her eyes. "Never barfed in my life."

"It's not you," said Vinh, and tried to think past the pain that squeezed harder and harder. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could it take so long tounderstand? Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could it take so long tounderstand? It was not the Qeng Ho that was attacking the Emergents; somehow it was quite the reverse. It was not the Qeng Ho that was attacking the Emergents; somehow it was quite the reverse.

Suddenly he could see outside again. "I got local consensus," Diem's voice came in his earphones. The crewleader's words came in short, tortured bursts. "Five high-gee bombs from Emergent positions.. . .Target: Park's flag. . . ."

Vinh leaned across the row of couches and looked out. The missiles' jets were pointing away from the lander's viewpoint; the five were faint stars moving faster and faster across the sky, closing on the QHS Pham Nuwen. Pham Nuwen. Yet their paths were not smooth arcs. There were sharp bends and wobbles. Yet their paths were not smooth arcs. There were sharp bends and wobbles.

"We must be lasing at them. They're jinking."

One of the tiny lights vanished. "We got one! We-"

Four points of light blazed in the sky. The brightness grew and grew, a thousand times brighter than the faded disk of the sun.

Then the view was gone again. The cabin lights died, winked back on, died again. The bottommost emergency system came online. There was a faint network of reddish lines, outlining equipment bays, airlock, the emergency console. The system was rad-hardened but very simpleminded and low-powered. There wasn't even backup video.

"What about Park's flagship, Crewleader?" asked Vinh. Four close-set detonations, so terribly bright-the corners of a regular tetrahedron, clasping its victim. The view was gone but it would burn in his memory forever. "Jimmy!" "Jimmy!" Vinh screamed at the front of the cabin. "What about the Vinh screamed at the front of the cabin. "What about the PhamNuwen?" PhamNuwen?" The red emergency lights seemed to sway around him; the shouting brought him close to blacking out. The red emergency lights seemed to sway around him; the shouting brought him close to blacking out.

Then Diem's voice came hoa.r.s.e and loud. "I. . .I think it's g-gone." Fried, vaped, none of the masking words were easy anymore. "I don't have anything now, but the four nukes. . .Lord, they were right on top of him!"

Several other voices interrupted, but they were even weaker than Jimmy Diem's. As Vinh started back up the line toward him, the one-tenth-gee burn ended. Without light or brains, what was the lander but a dark coffin? For the first time in his life, Ezr Vinh felt the groundsider's disorienting terror: zero gee could mean they had reached designated orbit, or that they were falling in a ballistic arc that intersected the planet's surface. . . .

Vinh clamped down on his terror and coasted forward. They could use the emergency console. They could listen for word. They could use the local autopilot to fly to the surviving Qeng Ho forces. The pain in his head grew beyond anything Ezr Vinh had ever known. The little red emergency lights seemed to get dimmer and dimmer. He felt his consciousness squeezing down, and the panic rose and choked him. There was nothing he could do.

And just before things all went away, fate showed him one kindness, a memory: Trixia Bonsol had not been aboard the Pham Nuwen. Pham Nuwen.

EIGHT.

For more than two hundred years, the clock mechanism beneath the frozen lake had faithfully advanced itself, exhausting the tension of spring coil after spring coil. The mechanism ticked reliably down through the last spring. . .and jammed on a fleck of airsnow in the final trigger. There it might have hung until the coming of the new sun, if not for certain other unforeseen events: On the seventh day of the two-hundred-and-ninth year, a series of sharp earthquakes spread outward from the frozen sea, jolting loose the final trigger. A piston slid a froth of organic sludge into a tank of frozen air. Nothing happened for several minutes. Then a glow spread through the organics, temperatures rose past the vapor points of oxygen and nitrogen, and even carbon dioxide. The exhalation of a trillion budding exotherms melted the ice above the little vehicle. The ascent to the surface had begun.

Coming awake from the Dark was not like waking from an ordinary sleep. A thousand poets had written about the moment and-in recent eras-ten thousand academics had studied it. This was the second time that Sherkaner Underhill had experienced it (but the first time didn't really count, since that memory was mixed with the vague memories of babyhood, of clinging to his father's back in the pools of the Mountroyal Deepness).

Coming awake from the Dark was done in pieces. Vision, touch, hearing. Memory, recognition, thought. Did they happen first one and then another and another? Or did they happen all at once, but with the parts not communicating? Where did "mind" begin from all the pieces? The questions would rattle around in Sherkaner's imagination for all of his life, the basis for his ultimate quest.. . .But in those moments of fragmented consciousness, they coexisted with things that seemed much more important: bringing self together; remembering who he was, why he was here, and what had to be done right now to survive. The instincts of a million years were in the driver's perch.

Time pa.s.sed and thought coalesced and Sherkaner Underhill looked out his vessel's cracked window into the darkness. There was motion-roiling steam? No, more like a veil of crystals swirling in the dim light they floated on.

Someone was b.u.mping his right shoulders, calling his name again and again. Sherkaner pieced together memories. "Yes, Sergeant, I'm away. . . I mean, awake."

"Excellent." Unnerby's voice was tinny. "Are you injured? You know the drill."

Sherkaner dutifully wiggled his legs. They all hurt; that was a good start. Midhands, forehands, eating hands. "Not sure I can feel my right mid and fore. Maybe they're stuck together."

"Yeah. Probably still frozen."

"How are Gil and Amber?"

"I'm talking to them on the other cables. You're the last one to get his head together, but they've got bigger hunks of body still frozen."

"Gimme the cable head." Unnerby pa.s.sed him the sound-conducting gear, and Sherkaner talked directly to the other Team members. The body can tolerate a lot of differential thawing, but if the process doesn't complete, rot sets in. The problem here was that the bags of exotherm and fuel had shifted around as the boat melted its way to the surface. Sherkaner reset the bags and started sludge and air flowing through them. The green glow within their tiny hull brightened, and Sherkaner took advantage of the light to check for punctures in their breathing tubes. The exotherms were essential for heat, but if the Team had to compete with them for oxygen the Team would be the dead loser.

A half hour pa.s.sed, the warmth enveloping them, freeing their limbs. The only frost damage was at the tips of Gil Haven's midhands. That was a better safety record than most deepnesses. A broad smile spread across Sherkaner's aspect. They had made it, wakened themselves themselves in the Deep of the Dark. in the Deep of the Dark.

The four rested a while longer, monitoring the airflow, exercising Sherkaner's scheme for controlling the exotherms. Unnerby and Amberdon Nizhnimor went through the detailed checklist, pa.s.sing suspicious and broken items across to Sherkaner. Nizhnimor, Haven, and Unnerby were very bright people, a chemist and two engineers. But they were also combat professionals. Sherkaner found fascinating the change that came over them when they moved out of the lab and into the field. Unnerby especially was such a layering: hardbitten soldier atop imaginative engineer, hiding a traditional, straitlaced morality. Sherkaner had known the sergeant for seven years now. The fellow's initial contempt for Underhill schemes was long past; they had been close friends. But when their Team finally moved to the Eastern Front, his manner had become distant. He had begun to address Underhill as "sir," and sometimes his respectfulness was edged with impatience.

He'd asked Victory about that. It had been the last time they were alone together, in a cold burrow-barracks beneath the last operating aerodrome on the Eastern Front. She had laughed at the question. "Ah, dear soft one, what do you expect? Hrunk will have operational command once the Team leaves friendly territory. You You are the civilian advisor with no military training, who must somehow be tucked into the chain of command. He needs your instant obedience, but also your imagination and flexibility." She laughed softly; only a curtain separated their conversation from the main hall of the narrow barracks. "If you were an ordinary recruit, Unnerby would have fried your sh.e.l.l half a dozen times by now. The poor cobber is so afraid that when seconds count, your genius will be caught on something completely irrelevant-astronomy, whatever." are the civilian advisor with no military training, who must somehow be tucked into the chain of command. He needs your instant obedience, but also your imagination and flexibility." She laughed softly; only a curtain separated their conversation from the main hall of the narrow barracks. "If you were an ordinary recruit, Unnerby would have fried your sh.e.l.l half a dozen times by now. The poor cobber is so afraid that when seconds count, your genius will be caught on something completely irrelevant-astronomy, whatever."

"Um." Actually, he had wondered how the stars might look without the atmosphere to dim their colors. "I see what you mean. Put that way, I'm surprised he let Greenval put me on the Team."

"Are you kidding? Hrunk demanded you be on it. He knows there'll be surprises that only you can figure out. As I said; he's a cobber with a problem."

It wasn't often that Sherkaner Underhill felt taken aback, but this was one of those times. "Well, I'll be good."

"Yes, I know you will. I just wanted you to know what Hrunk is up against.. . .Hey, you can look on it as a behavioral mystery: How can such radically crazy people cooperate and survive where no one has ever lived before?" Maybe she meant it as a joke, but it was was an interesting question. an interesting question.

Without doubt, their vehicle was the strangest in all history: part submarine, part portable deepness, part sludge bucket. Now the fifteen-foot sh.e.l.l rested in a shallow pool of glowing green and tepid-red. The water was in a vacuum boil, gases swirling up from it, chilling into tiny crystals, and falling back. Unnerby pushed open the hatch, and the team formed a chain, handing equipment and exotherm tanks from one to the next to the next, until the ground just beyond the pool was piled with the gear they would carry.

They strung audio cable between themselves, Underhill to Unnerby to Haven to Nizhnimor. Sherkaner had been hoping for portable radios almost until the end, but such gear was still too bulky and no one was sure how it would operate under these conditions. So they each could talk to just one other team member. Still, they needed safety lines in any case, so the cable was no extra inconvenience.

Sherkaner led the way back to the lakesh.o.r.e, with Unnerby behind him, and Nizhnimor and Haven pulling the sled. Away from their submarine, the darkness closed in. There were still glimmers of heat-red light, where exotherms had sprayed across the ground; the sub had burned tons of fuel in melting its way to the surface. The rest of the mission must be powered by just the exotherms they could carry and what fuels they could find beneath the snow.

More than anything else, the exotherms were the trick that made this walk in the Dark possible. Before the invention of the microscope, the "great thinkers" claimed that what separated the higher animals from the rest of life was their ability to survive as individuals through the Great Dark. Plants and simpler animals died; it was only their encysted eggs that survived. Nowadays, it was known that many single-celled animals survived freezing just fine, and without having to retreat to deepnesses. Even stranger, and this had been discovered by biologists at Kingschool while Sherkaner was an undergraduate, there were forms of Lesser Bacteria that lived in volcanoes and stayed active right through the Dark. Sherkaner had been very taken by these microscopic creatures. The professors a.s.sumed that such creatures must suspend or sporulate when a volcano went cold, but he wondered if there might be varieties that could live through freezes by making their own heat. After all, even in the Dark, there was still plenty of oxygen-and in most places there was a layer of organic ruin beneath the airsnow. If there were some catalyst for starting oxidation at super-low temperatures, maybe the little bugs could just "burn" vegetation between volcanic surges. Such bacteria would be the best adapted of all to live after Dark.

In retrospect, it was mainly Sherkaner's ignorance that permitted him to entertain the idea. The two life strategies required entirely different chemistries. The external oxidation effect was very weak, and in warm environments nonexistent. In many situations, the trick was a serious disability to the little bugs; the two metabolisms were generally poisonous to each other. In the Dark, they would gain a very slight advantage if they were near a periodic volcanic hot spot. It would never have been noticed if Sherkaner hadn't gone looking for it. He had turned an undergraduate biology lab into a frozen swamp and gotten himself (temporarily) kicked out of school, but there they were: his exotherms.

After seven years of selective breeding by the Materials Research Department, the bacteria had a pure, high-velocity oxidizing metabolism. So when Sherkaner slopped exotherm sludge into the airsnow, there was a burst of vapor, and then a tiny glow that faded as the still-liquid droplet sank and cooled. A second would pa.s.s and if you looked very carefully (and if the exotherms in that droplet had been lucky) you would see a faint light from beneath beneath the snow, feeding across the surface of whatever buried organics there might be. the snow, feeding across the surface of whatever buried organics there might be.

The glow was sprouting brighter now on his left. The airsnow shivered and slumped and some kind of steam curled out of it. Sherkaner tugged on the cable to Unnerby, guiding the team toward denser fuel. However clever the idea, using exotherms was still a form of firemaking. Airsnow was everywhere, but the combustibles were hidden. It was only the work of trillions of Lesser Bacteria that made it possible to find and use the fuel. For a while, even Materials Research had been intimidated by their creation. Like the mat algae on the Southern Banks, these tiny creatures were in a sense social. They moved and reproduced as fast as any mat that crawled the Banks. What if this excursion set the world on fire? But in fact the high-velocity metabolism was bacterial suicide. Underhill and company had at most fifteen hours before the last of their exotherms would all die.

Soon they were off the lake, and walking across a level field that had been the Base Commander's bowling green in the Waning Years. Fuel was plentiful here; at one point the exotherms got into a fallen mound of vegetation, the remains of a traumtree. The pile glowed more and more warmly, until a brilliant emerald light exploded through the snow. For a few moments, the field and the buildings beyond were clearly visible. Then the green light faded, and there was just the heat-red glow.

They had come perhaps one hundred yards from the sub. If there were no obstacles, they had more than four thousand yards to go. The team settled into a painful routine: walk a few dozen yards, stop and spread exotherms. While Nizhnimor and Haven rested, Unnerby and Underhill would look about for where the exotherms had found the richest fuel. From those spots, they would top off everyone's sludge panniers. Sometimes, there wasn't much fuel to be found (walking across a wide cement slab), and about all they had to shovel was airsnow. They needed that, too; they needed to breathe. But without fuel for the exotherms, the cold quickly became numbing, spreading in from the joints in the suits and up from their footpads. Then success depended on Sherkaner successfully guessing where to go next.

Actually, Sherkaner found that pretty easy. He'd gotten his bearings by the light of the burning tree, and by now the patterns of airsnow that concealed vegetation were obvious. Things were okay; he wasn't refreezing. The pain at the tips of his hands and feet was sharp, and every joint seemed to be a ring of fire, the pain of pressure-swelling, cold, and suit-chafe. Interesting problem, pain. So helpful, so obnoxious. Even the likes of Hrunkner Unnerby couldn't entirely ignore it; he could hear Unnerby's hoa.r.s.e breath over the cable.

Stop, refill the panniers, top off the air, and then on again. Over and over. Gil Haven's frostbite seemed to be getting worse. They stopped, tried to rearrange the cobber's suit. Unnerby swapped places with Haven, to help Nizhnimor with the sled. "No problem, it's only the midhands," said Gil. But his labored breathing sounded much worse than Unnerby's.

Even so, they were still doing better than Sherk had expected. They trudged on through the Dark, and their routine soon became almost automatic. All that was left was the pain. . .and the wonder. Sherkaner looked out through the tiny portholes of his helmet. Beyond the swirl of mist and the exotherms' glow. . .there were gentle hills. It was not totally dark. Sometimes when his head was angled just right, he caught a glimpse of a reddish disk low in the western sky. He was seeing the sun of the Deepest Dark.

And through the tiny roof porthole, Sherkaner could see the stars. Weare here at last. Weare here at last. The first to ever look upon the Deepest Dark. It was a world that some ancient philosophers had denied existence-for how can something The first to ever look upon the Deepest Dark. It was a world that some ancient philosophers had denied existence-for how can something be, be, that can never be observed? But now it was seen. It did exist, centuries of cold and stillness. . .and stars everywhere. Even through the heavy gla.s.s of the porthole, even with only his topside eyes, he could see colors there that had never been seen in the stars before. If he would just stop for a while and angle all his eyes to watch, what more might he see? Most theorists figured the auroral patches would be gone without sunlight to drive them; others thought the aurora was somehow powered by the volcanoes that lived beneath them. There might be other lights here besides the stars. . . . that can never be observed? But now it was seen. It did exist, centuries of cold and stillness. . .and stars everywhere. Even through the heavy gla.s.s of the porthole, even with only his topside eyes, he could see colors there that had never been seen in the stars before. If he would just stop for a while and angle all his eyes to watch, what more might he see? Most theorists figured the auroral patches would be gone without sunlight to drive them; others thought the aurora was somehow powered by the volcanoes that lived beneath them. There might be other lights here besides the stars. . . .

A jerk on the cable brought him back to earth. "Keep moving, gotta keep moving." Gil's voice was gasping. No doubt he was relaying from Unnerby. Underhill started to apologize, then realized that it was Amberdon Nizhnimor, back by the sled, who had paused.

"What is it?" Sherkaner asked.

". . .Amber saw. . .light in the east.. . .Keep moving."

East. To the right. The gla.s.s on that side of his helmet was fogged. He had a vague impression of a near ridgeline. Their operation was within four miles of the coast. Over that ridge they'd have a clear view of the horizon. Either the light was quite close or very far away. Yes! There was a light, a pale glow that spread sideways and up. Aurora? Sherkaner clamped down on his curiosity, kept putting one foot in front of another. But G.o.d below, how he wished he could climb that ridge and look across the frozen sea!

Sherkaner was a good little trouper right up to the next sludge stop. He was shoveling a glowing mix of exotherms, fuel, and airsnow into Haven's panniers when it happened. Five tiny lights raced into the western sky, leaving little corners here and there like some kind of slow lightning. One of the five faded to nothing, but the others drew quickly together and-light blazed, blazed, so bright that Underhill's upward vision blurred in pain. But out to the sides, he could still see. The brightness grew and grew, a thousand times brighter than the faded disk of the sun. Multiple shadows showed stark around them. Still brighter and brighter grew the four lights, till Sherkaner could feel the heat soaking through the sh.e.l.l-cover of his suit. The airsnow all across the field burst upward in misty white-out brilliance. The warmth increased a moment more, almost scalding now-and then faded, leaving his back with the warm feeling you have when you walk into the shade on a Middle Years summer day. so bright that Underhill's upward vision blurred in pain. But out to the sides, he could still see. The brightness grew and grew, a thousand times brighter than the faded disk of the sun. Multiple shadows showed stark around them. Still brighter and brighter grew the four lights, till Sherkaner could feel the heat soaking through the sh.e.l.l-cover of his suit. The airsnow all across the field burst upward in misty white-out brilliance. The warmth increased a moment more, almost scalding now-and then faded, leaving his back with the warm feeling you have when you walk into the shade on a Middle Years summer day.

The mists swirled around them, making the first perceptible wind they had experienced since leaving the sub. Suddenly it was very cold, the mists sucking warmth from their suits; only their boots were designed for immersion. The light was fading now, the air and water cooling to crystal and falling back to earth. Underhill risked focusing his upward eyes: The fierce points of light had spread into glowing disks, fading even as he watched. Where they overlapped, he saw a wavering and a folding, aurora-like; so they were localized in range as well as angle. Four, close set-the corners of a regular tetrahedron? So beautiful.. . .But what was the range? Was this some kind of ball lightning, just a few hundred yards above the field?

In another few minutes they would be too faint to see. But there were other lights now, bright flashes beyond the eastern ridgeline. In the west, pinp.r.i.c.ks of light slid faster and faster toward the zenith. A shimmering veil of light spread behind them.

The four Team members stood motionless. For an instant, Unnerby's soldier persona was blown away, and all that was left was awe. He stumbled away from the sled, and laid one hand on Sherkaner's back. His voice came faintly across the poor connection: "What is it, Sherkaner?"

"Don't know." He could feel Unnerby's arm trembling. "But someday we'll understand.. . .Let's keep moving, Sergeant."