intrigued by military hardware. So he watched a steady stream of ships plunging into the planet’s clouds. Nilis said that the ships were descending to Saturn’s rocky heart, itself a planetoid about the size of the Earth and immersed in a hydrogen ocean thousands of kilometers deep. In the atrocious conditions of that deep murk, out of sight even of the rest of humanity, huge machines were being built.
Earth, this remote speck of rock at the Galaxy’s rim, was still the logical center of humanity. The Interim Coalition of Governance exerted a tight control on a Galaxy full of human beings, and the epicenter of that control was here, on Earth. If worst came to worst—if the Xeelee ever broke out of the Galaxy’s Core and struck at Sol system itself—Saturn would be the bastion of the last defense of Earth, and those mighty engines would come to life.
The corvette was here because the Xeelee nightfighter captured by Pirius Blue had been hauled across the Galaxy and placed in orbit among Saturn’s moons.
“There was really no other choice,” Nilis murmured. “Bringing back a Xeelee has been enough of a sensation as it is. At least here it will be under Navy guard. If we took it deeper into the inner system we’d be asking for trouble.”
Pirius said, “You mean the risk to Earth would be too great?”
“Oh, no, Pirius, not that. We have come here not to protect mankind from our Xeelee, but to protect the Xeelee from
us.
” He winked.
After six hours, the corvette slid cautiously away from Saturn and its cordon of technology. As it was carrying celebrities of various degrees of reluctance, the corvette’s crew were granted permission to shorten the remainder of the trip by using their FTL drive within the boundaries of Sol system.
So Pirius saw Saturn wink out of existence, to be replaced immediately by a wall of light, blue-white, that flooded the corvette with dazzling brilliance.
At first Pirius and Torec couldn’t understand what they were seeing. It was an immense shield of blue-gray, almost like metal, that curved smoothly away on all sides. It even looked polished, for Pirius saw a dazzling highlight from the sun. And yet the surface was subtly textured, and there were flaws, darker masses scattered irregularly across the shining surface. Each such mass was surrounded by a fringe of paler blue, flecked with white. Other objects crawled across the shield, trailing arrow-shaped wakes behind them.
Nilis seemed to have anticipated their difficulty. Rather than explain, he encouraged them to use the corvette wall’s magnification facility, to explore the view and figure it out for themselves. Slowly the strange truth of what they were seeing opened up in Pirius’s mind.
He was looking down at a planet, a hemisphere dominated by a single great ocean—an ocean of water,
open to the sky.
It was kept liquid not by technology, but by thermodynamic equilibrium; its curved surface not shaped by human design, but following a simple gravitational equipotential. Even the wispy clouds he saw were water vapor. Although humanity had by now mapped the Galaxy, this was still, remarkably enough, the largest open-water ocean encountered anywhere.
This was Earth.
Those crawling forms were ships, scudding like insects over the ocean’s surface. But some of the larger forms looked oddly familiar. They turned out to be Spline, which had themselves evolved on a watery world, and now gamboled ponderously in the deep-ocean waves of the Pacific. After millennia of war, the seas of Earth had become a nursery for living starships. But the Spline schools weren’t the strangest thing Pirius saw.
He focused on an island, one of the irregular masses of rock that protruded into the air from the ocean’s patient hide. He peered down at buildings, docks, landing strips. He could even see people moving between the buildings. One little girl, skipping down a path to a beach, glanced up at the sky, as if she could see him staring
Earth, this remote speck of rock at the Galaxy’s rim, was still the logical center of humanity. The Interim Coalition of Governance exerted a tight control on a Galaxy full of human beings, and the epicenter of that control was here, on Earth. If worst came to worst—if the Xeelee ever broke out of the Galaxy’s Core and struck at Sol system itself—Saturn would be the bastion of the last defense of Earth, and those mighty engines would come to life.
The corvette was here because the Xeelee nightfighter captured by Pirius Blue had been hauled across the Galaxy and placed in orbit among Saturn’s moons.
“There was really no other choice,” Nilis murmured. “Bringing back a Xeelee has been enough of a sensation as it is. At least here it will be under Navy guard. If we took it deeper into the inner system we’d be asking for trouble.”
Pirius said, “You mean the risk to Earth would be too great?”
“Oh, no, Pirius, not that. We have come here not to protect mankind from our Xeelee, but to protect the Xeelee from
us.
” He winked.
After six hours, the corvette slid cautiously away from Saturn and its cordon of technology. As it was carrying celebrities of various degrees of reluctance, the corvette’s crew were granted permission to shorten the remainder of the trip by using their FTL drive within the boundaries of Sol system.
So Pirius saw Saturn wink out of existence, to be replaced immediately by a wall of light, blue-white, that flooded the corvette with dazzling brilliance.
At first Pirius and Torec couldn’t understand what they were seeing. It was an immense shield of blue-gray, almost like metal, that curved smoothly away on all sides. It even looked polished, for Pirius saw a dazzling highlight from the sun. And yet the surface was subtly textured, and there were flaws, darker masses scattered irregularly across the shining surface. Each such mass was surrounded by a fringe of paler blue, flecked with white. Other objects crawled across the shield, trailing arrow-shaped wakes behind them.
Nilis seemed to have anticipated their difficulty. Rather than explain, he encouraged them to use the corvette wall’s magnification facility, to explore the view and figure it out for themselves. Slowly the strange truth of what they were seeing opened up in Pirius’s mind.
He was looking down at a planet, a hemisphere dominated by a single great ocean—an ocean of water,
open to the sky.
It was kept liquid not by technology, but by thermodynamic equilibrium; its curved surface not shaped by human design, but following a simple gravitational equipotential. Even the wispy clouds he saw were water vapor. Although humanity had by now mapped the Galaxy, this was still, remarkably enough, the largest open-water ocean encountered anywhere.
This was Earth.
Those crawling forms were ships, scudding like insects over the ocean’s surface. But some of the larger forms looked oddly familiar. They turned out to be Spline, which had themselves evolved on a watery world, and now gamboled ponderously in the deep-ocean waves of the Pacific. After millennia of war, the seas of Earth had become a nursery for living starships. But the Spline schools weren’t the strangest thing Pirius saw.
He focused on an island, one of the irregular masses of rock that protruded into the air from the ocean’s patient hide. He peered down at buildings, docks, landing strips. He could even see people moving between the buildings. One little girl, skipping down a path to a beach, glanced up at the sky, as if she could see him staring
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