Epilogue

Epilogue

By Poul Anderson

There was no soil, only sand, rusty red and yellow. But outside the circle which had been devastated by the boat's jets, Darkington found the earth carpeted with prismatic growth, a few inches high, seemingly rooted in the ground. He broke one off for closer examination and saw tiny crystals, endlessly repeated, in some transparent siliceous material: like snowflakes and spiderwebs of glass.

It sparkled so brightly, making so many rainbows, that he couldn't well study the interior. He could barely make out at the center a dark clump pf wires, coils transistors? No, he told himself, don't be silly. He gave it to Frederika, who exclaimed at its beauty.

He himself walked across an open stretch, hoping for a view even vaguely familiar. Where the hillside dropped too sharply to support anything but the crystals – they made it one dazzle of diamonds – he saw eroded contours, the remote white sword of a waterfall, strewn boulders and a few crags like worn-out obelisks. The land rolled away into blue distances; a snowcapped mountain range guarded the eastern horizon. The sky overhead was darker than in his day, faintly greenish blue, full of clouds. He couldn't look near the fierce big sun.

Kuroki joined him. “What d'you think, Hugh?” the pilot asked.

“I hardly dare say. You?”

“Hell, I can't think with that bloody boiler factory clattering at me.” Kuroki grimaced behind his faceplate. “Turn off your sonic mike and let's talk by radio.”

Darkington agreed. Without amplification, the noise reached him through his insulated helmet as a far-off tolling. “ We can take it for granted,” he said, “that none of this is accidental. No minerals could simply crystallize our like this.

“Don't look manufactured to me, though.”

“Well, said Darkington, “you wouldn't expect them to turn out their products in anything like a human machine shop.”

“Them?”

“Whoever... whatever made this. For whatever purpose.”

Kuroki whistled. “I was afraid you'd say something like that. But we didn't see a trace of – cities, roads, anything – from orbit. I know the cloudiness made seeing pretty bad, but we couldn't have missed the signs of a civilization able to produce stuff on this scale.” 

“Why not?” If the civilization isn't remotely like anything we've ever imagined?”

Frederika approached, leaving a cartful of instruments behind. “The low and medium frequency radio spectrum is crawling,” she reported. “You never heard so many assorted hoots, buzzes, whirrs, squeals, and whines in your life.”

“We picked up an occasional bit of radio racket while in orbit,” Kuroki nodded. “Didn't think much about it, then.”

“Just noise,” Frederika said hastily. “Not varied enough to be any kind of... of communication. But I wonder what's doing it?”

“Oscillators,” Darkington said. “Incidental radiation from a variety of – oh, hell, I<ll speak plainly – machines.”

“But - “ Her hand stole toward his. Glove grasped glove. She wet her lips. “No, Hugh, this is absurd. How could any one be capable of making... what we see... and not have detected us in orbit and - and done something about us?”

Darkington shrugged. The gesture was lost in his armor/  Maybe they'r bidding their time. Maybe they aren't here at the moment. The whole planet could be an automated factory, you know. Like those ocean mineral harvesters we had in our time” - it hurt to say that - “which Sam mentioned on the way down. Somebody may come around periodically and collect the production.”

“Where do they come from?” asked Kuroki in a rough tone.

“I don't know, I tell you. Let's stop making wild guesses and start gathering data.”

Silence grew between them. The skeleton towers belled. Finally Kuroki nodded. “Yeas. What say we take a little stroll? We may come on something.”

Nobody mentioned fear. They dared not.

Silence grows. Photograph by Elena.