A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [153]
The door rolled open, and a wash of light and warmth struck him like a golden wave. Before, his goggles had seemed opaque; now he blinked at the clarity of the stark landscape full of black and crimson rock, tan deserts, and sparkling dry lakebeds.
Behind them, the multiple domes gleamed like faceted diamonds set into polished gold hemispheres that took in the sunlight and hurled it back at the sky. Ildirans in silvery garments stood on platforms and balconies, playing a game with soft copper balls that they tossed from one to another.
“I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass,” Anton said. He couldn’t believe Ildirans would come out here to relax. “How can you stand all this sun?”
“It’s wonderful, is it not?” The two moved across the shimmering landscape toward a deep, steamy crack in Maratha’s crust. “I may never completely understand your principles of entertainment, but I think you might enjoy seeing the canyons. Their depths are always in shadow, even during the brightest day.”
By now, the two historians had spent much time growing closer as friends. Their differences were a source of constant amazement and frequent amusement or consternation. Even so, a few of their similarities—especially on a basic biological level—were quite striking.
After making first contact with old generation ships, some Ildirans had begun to wonder if the human race might be a lost thread of their own galactic epic. But even after Ildiran rememberers learned about Earth history, they remained perplexed. To them, human endeavors appeared to be rambling and unfocused. The account of nations and peoples had too many disparate “plot strands,” a mystifying host of trivial and pointless adventures chronicling the rise and fall of ultimately minor empires. They felt that humans had lost touch with their own story—the human Saga.
At the canyon’s edge, a steep trail led down into shadowed cliffbands. From far below, steamy clouds of evaporated moisture rose to where they were trapped by turbulent air currents.
Anton puffed from exertion as they climbed down the slope. The temperature remained oppressive, and now the humidity seemed to permeate his breathing film.
Tucked safely into cracks, lovely plants grew like armored crustaceans emerging from thick shells. The pearly-walled mollusks extended blooms like sea anemones made of stiffened silica. Some of the petals clacked and spread themselves like fans. Tiny gnatlike flying things drifted in the mists, only to be snapped up by the hungry petals.
Vao’sh reached forward to tap one of the flowers, which clamped shut and withdrew into its telescoping stalk, hiding in the shelter of its pearly shells. “We call them ch’kanh—living fortresses. When night falls, the flowers enclose their sensitive tissues and hibernate through the cold darkness.”
Deeper down, Anton was astonished at how thick the armored anemones grew. The hard flowers reached as tall as his shoulders, waving yet eerily silent. He smiled behind the breathing film. “Isn’t it amazing what creatures will do to survive?”
“Desperation often leads to fascinating innovation,” said Vao’sh.
When they finally went back inside Prime through a set of equipment storage rooms, they encountered five Klikiss robots also entering from outside work areas. The robots moved in regimented unison. Their geometrical heads turned; red optical sensors flashed.
As he unsuited, Anton stared at the beetlelike robots. Vao’sh said, “They have just returned from night-side labors at Maratha Secda. Many Klikiss robots are working at the site in the dark.”
Anton peeled off his goggles and rubbed his sweaty face. “How far along are they over there?”
“Ildiran inspection crews won’t be able to see until daylight strikes the construction site. According to the robots,