and here they've got the heating turned up just right."
"I keep telling you, it's not the heating," said Angalo, straining his eyes for any sign of a descending Ship. "And the wind isn't the air conditioning, either. It's the sun that makes you warm."
"I thought that was just for lighting," said Gurder.
"And it's where all the heat comes from," said Angalo. "I read it in a book. It's a great ball of fire bigger than the world." Gurder eyed the sun suspiciously.
"Oh, yes?" he said. "What keeps it up?"
"Nothing. It's just kind of there." Gurder squinted at the sun again.
"Is this generally known?" he said.
"I suppose so. It was in the book."
"For anyone to read? I call that irresponsible. That's the sort of thing that can really upset people."
"There are thousands of suns up there, Masklin says."
Gurder sniffed. "Yes, he's told me. It's called the glaxie, or something. Personally, I'm against it."
Angalo chuckled.
"I don't see what's so funny," said Gurder coldly.
"Tell him, Masklin," said Angalo.
"It's all very well for you," Gurder muttered. "You just want to drive things fast. I want to make sense of them. Maybe there are thousands of suns, but why?"
"Can't see that it matters," said Angalo lazily.
"It's the only thing that does matter. Tell him, Masklin."
They both looked at Masklin.
At least, where Masklin had been sitting.
He'd gone.
Beyond the top of the sky was the place the Thing had called the universe. It contained, according to the Thing, everything and nothing. And there was very little everything and more nothing than anyone could imagine.
For example, it was often said that the sky was full of stars. It was untrue. The sky was full of sky. There were unlimited amounts of sky and, really, by comparison, very few stars.
It was amazing, therefore, that they made such an impression.
Thousands of them looked down now as something round and shiny drifted around the Earth.
It had Arnsat-1 painted on its side, which was a bit of a waste of paint since stars can't read.
It unfolded a silver dish.
It should then have turned to face the planet below it, ready to beam down old movies and new news.
It didn't. It had new orders.
Little puffs of gas jetted out as it turned around and searched the sky for a new target.
By the time it had found it, a lot of people in the old movies and new news business were shouting very angrily at one another on telephones, and some of them were feverishly trying to give it new instructions.
But that didn't matter, because it wasn't listening any more Masklin galloped through the scrub.
They'd argue and bicker, he thought. I've got to do this quickly. I don't think we've got a lot of time.
It was the first time he'd been really alone since the days back when he'd lived in a hole and had to go out hunting by himself because there was no one else.
Had it been better then? At least it had been simpler. You just had to try to eat without being eaten. Just getting through the day was a triumph. Everything had been bad, but at least it had been a kind of understandable, nome-sized badness.
In those days the world ended at the highway on one side and the woods beyond the field at the other side. Now it had no kind of boundaries at all, and more problems than he knew what to do with.
But at least he knew where to find electricity.
You found it near buildings with humans in them.
The scrub ahead of Masklin opened out onto a track.
He turned onto it, and ran faster. Go along any track, and you'd find humans on it somewhere.
There were footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw Pion. The young Floridian gave him a worried smile.
"Go away!" Masklin said. "Go on! Go! Go back! Why are you following me? Go away!"
Pion looked hurt. He pointed up the track and said something.
"I don't understand!" shouted Masklin.
Pion stuck a hand high above his head, palm downward.
"Humans?" Masklin guessed. "Yes. I know. I know what I'm doing. Go back!" Pion said something
"I keep telling you, it's not the heating," said Angalo, straining his eyes for any sign of a descending Ship. "And the wind isn't the air conditioning, either. It's the sun that makes you warm."
"I thought that was just for lighting," said Gurder.
"And it's where all the heat comes from," said Angalo. "I read it in a book. It's a great ball of fire bigger than the world." Gurder eyed the sun suspiciously.
"Oh, yes?" he said. "What keeps it up?"
"Nothing. It's just kind of there." Gurder squinted at the sun again.
"Is this generally known?" he said.
"I suppose so. It was in the book."
"For anyone to read? I call that irresponsible. That's the sort of thing that can really upset people."
"There are thousands of suns up there, Masklin says."
Gurder sniffed. "Yes, he's told me. It's called the glaxie, or something. Personally, I'm against it."
Angalo chuckled.
"I don't see what's so funny," said Gurder coldly.
"Tell him, Masklin," said Angalo.
"It's all very well for you," Gurder muttered. "You just want to drive things fast. I want to make sense of them. Maybe there are thousands of suns, but why?"
"Can't see that it matters," said Angalo lazily.
"It's the only thing that does matter. Tell him, Masklin."
They both looked at Masklin.
At least, where Masklin had been sitting.
He'd gone.
Beyond the top of the sky was the place the Thing had called the universe. It contained, according to the Thing, everything and nothing. And there was very little everything and more nothing than anyone could imagine.
For example, it was often said that the sky was full of stars. It was untrue. The sky was full of sky. There were unlimited amounts of sky and, really, by comparison, very few stars.
It was amazing, therefore, that they made such an impression.
Thousands of them looked down now as something round and shiny drifted around the Earth.
It had Arnsat-1 painted on its side, which was a bit of a waste of paint since stars can't read.
It unfolded a silver dish.
It should then have turned to face the planet below it, ready to beam down old movies and new news.
It didn't. It had new orders.
Little puffs of gas jetted out as it turned around and searched the sky for a new target.
By the time it had found it, a lot of people in the old movies and new news business were shouting very angrily at one another on telephones, and some of them were feverishly trying to give it new instructions.
But that didn't matter, because it wasn't listening any more Masklin galloped through the scrub.
They'd argue and bicker, he thought. I've got to do this quickly. I don't think we've got a lot of time.
It was the first time he'd been really alone since the days back when he'd lived in a hole and had to go out hunting by himself because there was no one else.
Had it been better then? At least it had been simpler. You just had to try to eat without being eaten. Just getting through the day was a triumph. Everything had been bad, but at least it had been a kind of understandable, nome-sized badness.
In those days the world ended at the highway on one side and the woods beyond the field at the other side. Now it had no kind of boundaries at all, and more problems than he knew what to do with.
But at least he knew where to find electricity.
You found it near buildings with humans in them.
The scrub ahead of Masklin opened out onto a track.
He turned onto it, and ran faster. Go along any track, and you'd find humans on it somewhere.
There were footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw Pion. The young Floridian gave him a worried smile.
"Go away!" Masklin said. "Go on! Go! Go back! Why are you following me? Go away!"
Pion looked hurt. He pointed up the track and said something.
"I don't understand!" shouted Masklin.
Pion stuck a hand high above his head, palm downward.
"Humans?" Masklin guessed. "Yes. I know. I know what I'm doing. Go back!" Pion said something
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