Clarke, Arthur C - Fall of Night 02 (46 page)

 
          
 
"We're moving," she said.

 
          
 
"We must." Seeker was carefully
picking the briars from a pretty bunch of red berries. It assured her that the
thorns were quite tasty, whereas the berries were poison; the bush was a master
of sly deception.

 
          
 
"Where to?"

 
          
 
"Jove.
Events
accelerate."

 
          
 
"Is the Leviathan dying?"

 
          
 
"No, but its pain is vast. It seeks
succor."

 
          
 
"From this Jove
thing?"

 
          
 
"No, though it expends its fluids to take
us there. It can receive the aid of its many friends as we travel."

 
          
 
"Us?
We're so
important?"

 
          
 
When Seeker said nothing, Cley scrambled away.
After getting lost three times she found a translucent bubble that gave an aft
view.

 
          
 
Long pearly plumes jetted from Leviathan. They
came from tapered, warty growths that Cley was sure did not poke from Leviathan
before. They had been grown with startling speed, and somehow linked to a
chemical system which was fed in turn by the Leviathan's internal chemistry.
Her nose prickled at the scent of peroxide, and the thunder of steady
detonations made nearby boughs tremble.

 
          
 
Even as the immense bulk accelerated, Cley
could see groups of spacelife detach themselves and spurt away. Some species
seemed to be abandoning ship, perhaps sensing that something dangerous lay
ahead. They spread broad silvery sails which reflected images of the shrinking
sun. Others had sails of utter dull black, and Cley guessed that these might be
the natural prey of skysharks. Reflections would attract unwanted attention, so
these oddly shaped creatures deployed parachute-shaped sails which absorbed
sunlight, and then contrived to shed the build-up of heat through thin, broad
cooling vanes.

 
          
 
Such adaptations led to every conceivable
arrangement of surfaces. Creatures like abstract paintings were quite workable
here, where gravity had no hand in fashioning evolution's pressures. Their
struts, sheets, tubes and decks made use of every geometric advantage. Pivots
as apparently fragile as a flower stem served to turn vast planes and sails.
Transparent veins carried fluids of green and ivory.

 
          
 
Yet as these fled the wounded giant, others
flocked in. Great arrays swooped to meet the Leviathan, things that looked to
Cley like no more than spindly arrays of green toothpicks. Nonetheless these
unlikely-looking assemblies decelerated, attached themselves to the Leviathan,
and off-loaded cargoes. It struck Cley that the Leviathan played a role with no
easy human analogy. It cycled among worlds, yet was no simple ship. Fleets of
spaceborne life exchanged food and seeds and doubtless much more, all by
intersecting Leviathan's orbit, hammering out biological bargains, and then
returning to the black depths where they eked out a living. Leviathan was
ambassador, matchmaker, general store and funeral director, and many other
unfathomable roles as well.

 
          
 
Yet the vast beast was deeply damaged, and a
fevered note of anxiety layered the air around Cley. She idly turned away from
the sunlit spectacle of the aft zones and just had time to glimpse a small,
ruddy disk coming into view. Then the hackles on her neck rose and she whirled,
already knowing what she would see.

 
          
 
You brought this upon me, the Captain sent.

 
          
 
It towered above her. Its thumb-sized
components hovered as though full of repressed energy, giving the stretched
human shape the appearance of a warped statue across which dappled light fell,
like the shadows of leaves stirred by fitfull breezes.

 
          
 
"I didn't know the skysharks even
existed. You've got to understand, I—"

 
          
 
I understand much. Toleration is what I lack.

 
          
 
Cley ached to flee. But how could she elude
this angry, swift swarm? Better to keep it talking. "It wasn't my idea to
come here."

 
          
 
The elongated human form bulged. Its left arm
merged with the body. She sensed a massive threat behind these surges,
underlined by spikes of anger that shot through the murky talent-voice of the
Captain. Nor mine. I shall rid myself of you.

 
          
 
"I'll leave as soon as I can."

 
          
 
The Mad Mind sends tendrils everywhere. They
snake into me.

 
          
 
"Do you think it can find me?"

 
          
 
The constantly shifting form curled its legs
up into the body, as though its components had to be brought closer to ponder
this point. Soon, yes. It probes me.

 
          
 
"How much time do I have left?"

 
          
 
It would have tracked you by now, were it not
opposed by another and similar skill. I cannot predict the outcome of such
large collisions.

 
          
 
Cley tried to make
herself
think of this thing as a community of parts, not simply an organism. But the
moving cloud seemed to purposefully make
itself
humanlike enough to send disturbing, atavistic fears strumming through her. And
she wondered if that, too, was its intention.

 
          
 
"What other 'skill'?
Another
magnetic mind?"

 
          
 
Similar in power, and
winging on the fiexings of the fields.
It is called Vanamonde.

 
          
 
"Is it dangerous to you?" Despite
herself Cley edged away from the shifting fog of creatures. She resolved to
stand straight and undaunted in the slight pseudogravity of Leviathan's
acceleration, to show no sign of her inner fear. But how much could the Captain
sense from her unshielded thoughts?

 
          
 
I do not know. I despise all such human
inventions.

 
          
 
This startled her out of her apprehension.
"Vanamonde—we made it?"

 
          
 
In typical human fashion, as a corrective to
your earlier error — the Mad Mind.

 
          
 
"Look, even Leviathans must make
mistakes," Cley said giddily.

 
          
 
Ours do not remain, encased in the lace of
magnetic fields, while the galaxy turns upon itself again and again. Our errors
die.

 
          
 
The cloud-Captain buzzed and fretted with
agitation. Its head lifted into the air, its mouth gaping like a bullet hole
that ran completely through the head, so that Cley could see the vegetation
beyond. Angry waves roiled up and down the torso.

 
          
 
"So we build things to last," Cley
said with airy abandon. She was not going to let this talking fog intimidate
her. "Can't blame us, can you?"

 
          
 
Why should we not?

 
          
 
"We don't last long ourselves. Not
ur-humans, anyway. Our creations have to do our living for us."

 
          
 
Nor should you endure. Time once honored your
kind. Now it drags you in its wake.

 
          
 
Despite her fear, this rankled Cley.
"Oh, really?
You seem pretty scared of stuff we
made."

 
          
 
The Captain lost its human shape entirely,
exploding like shrapnel into the air. Components buzzed angrily around Cley.
She stood absolutely still, remembering the time on Earth when she had sealed
her nostrils against a cloud. But that would be of no use here. She stared
straight ahead and kept her mind as steady as she could. Small and limited her
brain might be, but she wasn't going to give the maddened cloud any
satisfaction. The Captain's flyers brushed her like a heavy moist
handclasp—insistent, clammy,
repulsive
. Tiny voices
shrieked and howled in her mind and slapping her hands over her ears would be
no help.

 
          
 
"You will kindly go about your
task," Seeker's voice came cutting through.

 
          
 
Cley jumped, startled by the smooth, almost
liquid quality to the sound. Seeker hung by one claw from a strand, peering at
the center of the ire-fog. "Now," it added.

 
          
 
Slowly the components steadied, whirling in a
cyclone about both Seeker and Cley, but keeping a respectful distance. I suffer
agony for you!

 
          
 
"As you should," Seeker replied,
"for you must."

 
          
 
Be gone!

 
          
 
"In due time," Seeker said.

 
          
 
With that the components streaked away, as if
called by numberless tasks. Cley felt a spark of compassion for the strange
things, and their even stranger sum. She supposed in some way she was also an
anthology being, and her cells suffered in silence for her. But the Captain was
a different order of thing, more open to both joy and agony in a way she could
not express but felt deeply through the talent.

 
          
 
"Thanks," she said in a whisper, her
throat still tight.

 
          
 
Seeker coasted to a light landing near the
transparent bubble. "Even a great being can harm in a moment of
self-loss."

 
          
 
"Getting mad, that's self-loss?
Funny term."

 
          
 
"For Leviathan, the pain is of a
different quality than you can feel. Never think that you can sense its
sacrifice."

 
          
 
Cley did not know what to say to that. She had
seen the terrible damage, the shriveled zones,
the
creatures which had died as their blood boiled, and worse.

 
          
 
"Meanwhile," Seeker said in the way
it had of changing the subject without notice, "enjoy the view."

 
          
 
The ruddy disk was much larger now. It was a
planet of silver seas and rough brown cloud-shrouded continents. As they
approached it rapidly Cley saw that a circle hung over the equator like a belt.
It seemed to be held aloft above the atmosphere by great towers.

 
          
 
These thin stalks were hke the Pinwheel she
had ridden, but fixed. Their centers orbited, with feet planted in the soil,
while their heads met the great ring that girded the planet. Each tower could
remain erect by itself, and perhaps they had stood alone once. Now the ring
linked each to the others, making the array steady.

 
          
 
Leviathan was intended to sweep by the great
circle, Seeker told her. Even at this distance Cley could see compartments
sliding up and down the towers, connecting the spaceborne to the worldborne.
And larger shapes shot along the ring itself, bringing their stores to the
tower nearest their eventual destination. This was how the Leviathan and its
myriad passengers merged their fortunes with the spreading green surface below.
Some towers plunged into the silver seas, while others stood at the summits of
enormous mountains.