A Deepness in the Sky

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 hoarse 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. The first to ever look upon the Deepest Dark. It was a world that some ancient philosophers had denied existence—for how can somethingbe, 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 glass 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 glass 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 God 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—lightblazed, 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 shell-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?