life. There had been talk of disbanding colonies even then, for fear of other
discoveries… but no terror on Downbelow, never here, where hisa walked
empty-handed to meet humans, and infected men with trust.
“We’ve got to persuade them to get out of here,” he said.
“I’m with you,” Miliko said.
“Help you?” a hisa asked, touching Miliko’s hand, for she was limping as she
leaned on him. They both shook their heads and kept walking together, at the
back of the flow now, for most of the others had gone ahead, caught up in the
general madness, even the old, borne in the hands of the hisa.
They rested in their long descent, while the sun passed zenith, walked and
rested and walked more, while the sun slid down the sky and shone beyond the low
rounded hills. A cylinder gave out in his mask, ruined by the moisture and the
forest molds, ill augury for the others. He gasped against the obstruction,
fumbled after another, held his breath while he did the exchange and slipped the
mask back on. They walked, slowly now, on the plain.
In the distance rose that indistinct fish-shaped mass, an irregular pillar, out
of a sea of hisa bodies… and not alone hisa. Humans were there, who rose up from
where they sat and walked out to meet them, as they came through. Ito of base
two was there, with her staff and workers, and Jones of base one, with his, who
offered hands to shake, who looked as bewildered as they were. “They said come
here,” Ito said. “They said you would come.”
“Station’s fallen,” he said; and the flow was going on, passing through toward
the center, hisa urging at him, at him and Miliko most of all. “We’ve run out of
options, Ito. Mazian’s in control… this week. I can’t speak for next.”
Ito fell behind, and Jones, staying with their own people; and there were other
humans, hundreds upon hundreds gathered there, who stood solemnly, as if numb.
He met Deacon of the wells crew; and Macdonald of base three; Hebert and Tausch
of four; but the hisa swept him on, and he held Miliko’s hand so they should not
be separated in the vast throng. Now there were hisa about them, only hisa. The
pillar hove up nearer and nearer, and not a pillar, but a cluster of images,
like those hisa had given to the station, squat, globular forms and taller ones,
bodies with multiple hisa faces, surprised mouths and wide, graven eyes looking
forever skyward.
Hisa had made the like, and it was old. Awe came over him. Miliko slowed at last
and simply gazed up, and he did, with hisa all about them, feeling lost and
small and alien before this towering, ancient stone.
“You come,” a hisa voice bade him. It was Bounder who took his hand, who led
them through to the very foot of the image.
Old Ones indeed sat there, the oldest hisa of all, those faces and shoulders
were silvered, who sat surrounded by small sticks thrust into the earth, sticks
carved with faces and hung with beads. Emilio hesitated, reluctant to intrude
within that circle; but Bounder led them through, into the very presence of the
Old Ones.
“Sit,” Bounder urged. Emilio made his bow and Miliko hers, and settled
cross-legged before the four elders. Bounder spoke in the chattering hisa
tongue, was answered by the frailest of the four.
And carefully then that Old One reached, leaning on one hand, to touch first
Miliko and then him, as if blessing them.
“You good come here,” Bounder said, perhaps a translation. “You warm come here.”
“Bounder, thank them. Thank them very many thanks. But tell them that there’s
danger from the Upabove. That the eyes of Upabove look down on this place and
that men-with-guns may come here and do hurt.”
Bounder spoke. Four pairs of aged eyes regarded them with no less tranquility.
One answered.
“Ship come upabove we heads here,” Bounder said. “Come, look, go away.”
“You’re in danger. Please make them understand that.”
Bounder translated. The Eldest lifted a hand toward the images which towered
above them and answered. “Hisa place. Night come. We sleep, dream they go, dream