There was writing there, all right, but only one of the large paragraphs was Lasa. The other paragraph, Michael recognized as the dense, multilayered and multicolored lines of Chicxulub script.
And now he remembered how, on board the Spirit of Luna, he had been literally unable to see any part of the ship that he was not authorized to visit. Doors had been invisible; stairs had looked like walls, all due to an override on his inscape. What if… Michael called up an inscape search interface and tried to connect to the camera through it. He got no reply. Like most simple mechanisms manufactured in the halo worlds, this camera was not connected to the inscape network.
The only way that he and the others could have had the complete sensory experience of seeing Lasa writing instead of what was really there was if inscape had overridden their senses whenever they looked at the outside of the habitat.
The thought was disturbing. How could he know what was real about this place and what fake? No— everything couldn't be faked, that would place too great a burden on the inscape system. Even on the Spirit of Luna, only key items had been disguised. Nothing so magnificent as this space he was now in could be completely constructed for everyone's senses without some signs that it was unreal. But strategic information could be hidden, essentially in the open, if everything else was left alone.
Nobody could mess with inscape without massive computing power and direct control of the inscape system. Only Crisler had that control. So Crisler knew about the Chicxulub writing. Crisler— and how many of his people?
Michael quickly replaced the camera in his pocket and turned toward the camp.
As he did there was a great splashing sound and the steady light that had been ever-present in the habitat since yesterday, went out.
People started shouting. He could see the luminous inscape windows where the scientists had been working, but of course they cast no real light since they existed only in his visual cortex. After a few seconds the marines had their spotlights operating and began shining them around, casting columns of light that were multiply reflected back from the metal walls.
"Bequith!" Herat flew up just as Michael made it back to the constellation of windows. "The doors. They've all closed!"
He turned. It was true: The dozens of open portals had reverted to being solid black disks.
Something about those disks looked strange, but it must be a trick of the wobbling lights. Michael blinked and looked again.
"Professor…"
"What triggered it? Where's that damned mesobot."
Michael grabbed Herat's arm. "I think you'd better look at this, sir."
Herat looked where he pointed. "What, I… oh. Oh!"
The black airlock disks on the inner sphere were growing. Where before each had been separated from its neighbors by a good four meters, now the distance had shrunk to three. And the disks were continuing to grow, in liquid tendrils like a stain spreading through fabric— or the arms of an amoeba absorbing a meal.
"The magnetic liquid's overflowing— or being redirected," said Herat. "It's going to cover the whole surface…"
As they watched, the white metal of the inner sphere slowly vanished under an advancing tide of black. After several minutes they were left in a space with the same dimensions as before, but the beams from their lights were now absorbed by what had come to look like a vast drop of black oil. The outer hull of the habitat was still there, still mirror-bright, but what it mirrored was as dark as a starless sky.
"Is it growing? I think it's growing," somebody said.
"Everyone fall back to the main lock," ordered Crisler. "Now!"
With a sinking feeling, Michael realized what must have happened. He counted heads, then checked the view from the mesobot just to be sure.
Then he said, with some hesitation, "has anybody seen Rue?"
THE BIG QUESTION had been, was she acting from impulsive anger like she had when she ran away to the plow sail— or was Rue right when she thought that they should open the next chamber now? She perched outside the entrance to the green ball for a long time, tugging back and forth at the issue.
She was still a bit ashamed of how she'd acted after the sabotage. Rue couldn't decide whether she'd been right about Crisler; logic and, well, everybody else said she had overreacted. He hadn't been about to lock her up with her crew, that was just a paranoid fantasy.
But it wasn't paranoia now that made her think they were at the limit of what they could do. The Banshee's life support was continuing to degrade and in a day or so it would all be over. Rue would have to go into that terrible half-sleep stupor along with Max and the others and when she awoke they would be decelerating into the empty Maenad system, from there to return to Chandaka. And Rue would be poor again and there would never be another chance to return to Jentry's Envy, or in all likelihood the halo either.
So Herat's caution be damned. I'm right, she thought as she swung herself into the narrow cylindrical chamber that held the chlorophyll-green cabbage thing.
Edging around the tangle of leaves/vanes, which looked ready to pounce, she found herself at the black disk of the chamber's inner airlock.
There were two switches here. In the earlier chambers there had only been one; logic suggested that they should open the inner airlock door, but when tripped they had made the other outside chambers open and close. Here were two switches— but one of them was right next to the door itself, the other several hand-spans distant. This time, she was sure, she could open the inner door if she wanted.
But why would she want to? Rue looked back at the giant cabbage, wondering what question she was supposed to be answering by tripping the switches here. These living things were obviously not attempts to re-create humans from their DNA; unless the Lasa mind behind this place was an idiot, it could see that its productions didn't resemble people. Its previous questions seemed to have been about human preferences in environment— what kind of water they liked and what kind of soil. By that logic, this time the question was 'what kind of food do you like'?
Tentatively, she broke a small piece of leaf off the cabbage and nibbled it. Herat would kill her if he saw her doing this— but the mesobot had investigated this thing and said it wasn't poisonous.
It had no real taste, which was reassuring, actually. She chewed and swallowed.
"Okay." Of all the weird life-forms in these chambers, this one seemed most benign. That made her answer clear, at least on a gut level. It was increasingly clear to her that it was the gut-level answer that the Lasa were looking for.
She reached out, hesitated, and pressed the switch next to the inner airlock door.
With a splash the door irised open, really before she could register the fact that she had made an irreversible and maybe critical, decision. Rue found herself staring into a new chamber, one level further into the inner sphere of the habitat.
"Well, well, what have we here?" She pulled herself in.
This chamber was spherical, about four meters across. It had eight airlock doors in its walls. Floating in front of each airlock was a model, like the ones in the interhull. These models, however, were made of something transparent and each one held a tiny ball of leaves and earth, lit by tiny pinprick lamps inside it.
"Oh boy." This was major. She glanced back up the cylinders, wondering whether she should get the others in here now. Like as not Herat would want her locked up for what she'd just done— but damn it, this was her ship…