Ascending

3: WHEREIN I AM SWALLOWED BY A LARGE CREATURE

The Diversity Of Spaceships

The spaceship was three blocks away, still well within the snow zone. Uclod had set it down in a wide intersection where two streets met; there was not so much landing room as if he had chosen the central square, but I suppose he had not wished to disturb the Explorer evidence back there.

Uclod’s vessel was nothing like the spaceship the Explorers had been working on when I arrived in the city. The Explorers’ ship had been shaped like a large glass fish… except Festina told me it was not a fish at all but a mammal called an orca, or killer whale. The whale shape was not the Explorers’ choice — many of them thought it barbaric for a starship to look like an animal instead of an abstract geometric object — but the Explorers were using the hull of an old space vessel built by ancient inhabitants of Oarville, and beggars cannot be choosers.

As for me, I thought a fish was an excellent form for a spaceship; one could picture it diving into the great blackness and plunging past whirlpool galaxies. Also it would be very good at orbiting, for fish are constantly swimming in mindless circles. Uclod’s ship, on the other hand, was not so easy to imagine speeding through The Void — it was nothing more than a huge gray ball, five stories high and powdered with snow. One could picture such a thing avalanching down a mountain, but it certainly did not fit the image of a Graceful Nomad Of The Space Lanes.

"Isn’t she a beauty?" Uclod said as we walked toward the ship. "Isn’t she the loveliest little girl you’ve ever seen?"

"It is quite spherical," I answered with tact. "You do not think the snow on top will cause problems, do you? Sometimes when machines get damp, the electric bits go fizz."

"Lucky for us," Uclod said, "she doesn’t have electric bits. Bioneural all the way."

I had not made the acquaintance of the word "bioneural," but I assumed it was a boring Science concept that would only vex me if Uclod tried to explain. Besides, I had greater concerns on my mind. The closer we got to the ship, the more I saw it was not just a plain gray sphere; it was, in fact, a whitish sphere, covered with snarled-up threads of gray string. As for the white undersurface, it looked all wet and gooey, glistening as damply as the snow falling around it. To get the exact picture, imagine the egg of some slimy creature that breeds in stagnant water, then wrap gray spiderwebs all over the egg’s jelly so the strands sink into the goo.

In short, the ship was very most icky… so when I got close enough, I touched it to see if it felt icky too. It felt quite appalling indeed — like bird poop just after it falls from the sky.

"What are you doing?" Uclod asked.

"I wished to see if your craft feels as vile as it looks. Which it does."

"Hey!" he said sharply, "don’t insult Starbiter!"

"If you have named your ship Starbiter," I said, "there is little more I can do in the way of insults." The Nature Of A Creature Which Bites At Stars

I began to circle the ship’s exterior, wondering why alien races always make their machinery unattractive. Surely the universe does not require space vehicles to be large gooey balls wrapped in string; a sensible universe would not even approve of such a design. If you constructed your starship out of nice sleek glass, I believe the universe would let you fly much faster, just because you had made an effort to look presentable. But one cannot suggest such things to Science people — they will laugh at you in a very mean fashion, and make you feel foolish even when you know you have an Astute Perspective On Life.

"Why is it like this?" I asked Uclod, who was following at my heels, "Why is it all stringy and damp? The spaceships of the human navy are not so awful — I have heard they are big long batons, covered with pleasantly dry ceramics. They are also white… which is not as good as being clear, but much better than a sodden gray."

"Well, missy," he said, "when humans joined the League if Peoples, they were given a different FTL technology than my ancestors. Humans got baton-ships; we Divians got Zaretts."

"This is a Zarett?"

"It is indeed." He reached up to pat the ball’s gluppy exterior, "A sweet little filly, only thirty years old… but smart as a whip and twice as frisky."

I stepped back a pace. "It is alive?"

"Absolutely. The daughter of Precious Solar Wind and Whispering Nebula III… which would impress the nads off you if you knew anything about thoroughbred Zaretts. This baby is worth more than a minor star system; I’d be the squealing envy of rich men and gorgeous women, if only I could tell the world what I’ve got. Which I can’t: Starbiter wasn’t exactly born with the blessing of the Bloodline Registry Office. A slight irregularity in the breeding procedure."

"In other words, you did something criminal to procure her."

"Not me personally," he replied. "Someone else pulled the actual heist: a load of fertilized ova went missing under unconventional circumstances. My family simply acted as go-betweens, finding buyers who’d provide good homes for the misplaced little tykes… and we took several ova off the top as our consulting fee." He patted the ship again. "You can’t imagine how long I had to suck up to Grandma Yulai before she let me have this one."

I continued to stare at the Starbiter creature. Uclod called it smart and frisky, but I could see neither quality in evidence. It did not frisk at all; and one does not display much intelligence by sitting in the middle of an intersection. "If this is an animal," I said, "what does it eat?"

"Oh, this and that. We feed her a mix of simple hydrocarbons, calcium nitrate, small quantities of heavier elements. She doesn’t have much of a digestive system for breaking down complex nutrients, so you need to keep the diet pretty basic."

"I am not so much interested in what she can digest as what she might swallow—"

"Well, as to that…"

Uclod walked farmer around the base of the Zarett, then reached up to touch a bleached-out spot on the creature’s skin. He planted his palm firmly and began to rub with strong circular motions, the way one scours hard at one’s body when one has slipped and got grass stains. The goop beneath Uclod’s fingers made soft slurpy rounds as his hand moved; slowly, the sounds grew louder, until he pulled back and the slurping continued without him. The skin bulged in and out, like a person’s jaw as she chews. Moments later, an enormous patch of the Zarett’s gooey exterior opened wide to reveal a dark throat leading into a darker gullet.

A giant mouth loomed before me, big enough to gobble me up!

Facing A Hellish Maw

The Zarett’s breath smelled exactly like the breath of an animal that eats simple hydrocarbons, calcium nitrate, and small quantities of heavier elements. It was particularly hydrocarbons… and I suspect many of those hydrocarbons had not been sufficiently fresh. Starbiter’s breath was, in short, quite the Fetid Reek. My stomach lurched at the odor, and the only thing that prevented a regurgitory incident was that I had not eaten solid food in the past four years.

Uclod gestured to the creature’s mouth. "After you, toots."

"You wish me to go inside?"

"There’s plenty of room. A big girl like you should scrunch down going past the epiglottis; but it’ll be clear sailing after that."

As far as I could see, he was telling the truth: the Zarett’s mouth was big enough for me to enter, provided I ducked under the lips. The throat was very large too — pink and gummy-looking, but with ample room to let me pass. On the other hand, I was not such a one as would calmly proceed into a large creature’s stomach on the invitation of a man who admitted to being a criminal.

"You first," I said.

Uclod shrugged. "If you want." He moved to the creature’s lower lip, which was level with his own waist. Planting his hands on the edge, he hopped up and half-twisted, so that he ended sitting on Starbiter’s bottom palate with his legs dangling out of the mouth. The little man swung his feet around and stood up; his backside was damp with saliva. He held out his hand to me. "Coming?"

"To be consumed by this creature?" I asked. "I am not such a fool as you think."

"Look, missy," he said, squatting on the Zarett’s lip so his eyes were on my level, "there’s no way my sweet baby can hurt you. She’s engineered to the last little enzyme, perfectly safe and harmless. Here on Melaquin, I guess you’re used to gadgets being electronic or mechanical; but we Divians have a long history of going the organic route. Back where I live, my home is a macro vegetable pod, kind of like a big Terran cucumber; its lighting comes from fireflies and its air-conditioning comes from a friendly old worm the size of a tree trunk, whose innards are designed to exhale cool air into the house and fart out hot through a hole in the wall.

"So you see," be continued, "riding in Starbiter is perfectly natural to me. She’s a lovable little gal who won’t hurt a hair on your head. And if you don’t believe me, believe the League of Peoples. They let her come to your planet, didn’t they? Which means she can’t be dangerous. And even if she was dangerous, I’d be crazy to feed you to her… because if I deliberately tricked you into becoming dinner, the League would get after me."

I stared at him as I thought very hard. Festina had spoken of this League of Peoples: a group of aliens millions of years advanced beyond human technology. These aliens were too lofty to bother themselves with the affairs of lesser species, but they did enforce a single law throughout the galaxy. They never let murderous beings travel from one star system to another; if any such creature made the attempt, it simply died as soon as it left its home system. Festina did not know how the League managed such executions, but she assured me no one ever avoided this death sentence when it was deserved.

Since the League infallibly exterminated "pests" trying to spread into other people’s homes, this small Uclod person (who had just traveled through space without dying) might be an awful lawbreaker, but he was not so wicked as to kill me in cold blood.

"Very well," I told him. "I shall see what this Zarett looks like inside. But if she does not behave, I shall kick her hard in the stomach. Or wherever I happen to be."

"Starbiter is always a perfect lady," Uclod said. He gave me a look that implied he could not say the same about me.

Hmph!

A Question Of Sentience

I was still carrying the Explorer jacket and my lovely silver ax. I laid them inside the Zarett’s mouth, preparing to jump in myself… but Uclod said, "Leave the ax behind."

"I do not wish to leave the ax behind. I wish to bring it with me, in case there are trees to clear or evil persons to behead."

The little man sucked in his breath. "You can’t take a lethal weapon into space — the League of Peoples will fricassee us both as soon we go interstellar."

"My ax is not a lethal weapon. It is a useful tool for chopping wood."

Uclod made a face. "If you truly thought that, you could probably keep it: the League are such bloody great mindreaders, they can tell peaceful intentions from nasty ones. Good thing, too — otherwise, nobody could take so much as a toothpick from one system to another. A weapon is only a weapon if you think it’s a weapon." His eyes narrowed. "And since you just mentioned beheading evildoers, we all know what’s on your mind." With the annoying air of someone taking the role of your mother, Uclod pointed sternly toward the pavement at my feet. "Sorry, toots. You gotta leave the hatchet."

I wanted to argue with the little man; but it occurred to me, this was not just about my ax. This was a pivotal test of my civilization-hood. The League of Peoples would not want me venturing into space if I was such a one as enjoyed hacking others into small screaming pieces… and if I was prone to fits of violence, Uclod would get into serious trouble for transporting a person possessed of homicidal impulses.

Therefore, this small orange criminal was waiting to see whether I was moral enough to set my ax aside. If not, he would consider me a Dangerous Non-Sentient, unfit to mingle with more polite species. He would say, "Oar, I have reconsidered, and have decided you would be happier remaining on Melaquin."

But I Would Not Be Happier

I did not wish to remain on Melaquin.

My planet was the most beautiful place in the universe, but it had become exceedingly lonely. There was nobody here except Tired-Brain sleepyheads, and not one of them would be your friend, no matter how desperately you begged them.

In my whole life, I had only known two awake persons of my own kind. One was my mother, who forced dozy men to couple with her until she got pregnant, in the hope that children would keep her from Fading Into Indifference… but her stratagem did not work. By the time I reached my teens, Mother spent all her days in an Ancestral Tower, impossible to rouse with any, "Mommy, please look, please listen to me!" The last time she had stirred was many years ago, when the first Explorers arrived at our village; and even the appearance of aliens only held her interest for a few hours. Then she went back into hibernation.

The other person I had known on Melaquin was my sister, Eel. She was several years older than I, born from another of my mother’s desperate attempts to keep her brain from the Glassy Sleep. Eel was my best friend, my teacher and my second mother… until the Explorers came. Then she became my rival, always clamoring for their attention and ignoring me.

It is strange how the presence of additional people can make you feel more alone.

But Eel was gone now, murdered by a wicked Explorer — so there was nothing to keep me on Melaquin. Why should I not accompany Uclod to opaque lands, where I could astonish those worlds with my crystalline beauty? And what about my dear friend Festina? She must have been devastated believing me to be dead. Should I not go to her and lift her from the depths of despair?

Yet it was still very hard to leave my home… and to leave my ax as well. It was only an object, but it was mine: my sole possession, the thing I had held in my hands through many solitary nights of chopping trees, hoping someone would notice how I cleared land in the manner of civilized persons.

Now the test of civilization was not using my ax but abandoning it. This sounded very much like what humans call "irony"… and I do not like irony at all.

With great reluctance, I removed my ax from Starbiter’s mouth and laid it on the pavement. A snowflake fell on the blade. I did not brush it off.

"There," I said… speaking loudly and firmly, so no one could claim my voice trembled. "I am going now; and I shall willingly leave behind my ax, though it is my sole belonging — because I am a person of peace and never kill others unless they really truly deserve it."

Uclod rubbed his eyes as if they pained him. "You scare me, toots. You honestly do." Then he reached to help me into the ship.

Fondling The Inner Cheek

Since my skin was already damp with snow, I could not feel the wetness of the Zarett’s mouth. However, I could see it glistening moistly beneath my feet — and it looked very slippery indeed. I resolved to walk most carefully, for fear of sliding on a slick patch and Falling Precipitously. (The fall would not damage me, but it might make Uclod think I was clumsy. I did not want that, not even a little bit)

So I stood unmoving on the ribbed floor of Starbiter’s mouth, staling forward at the creature’s yawning throat.[2] Since we had entered the Zarett at ground level, the throat ran upward, further into the center of the ball. Proceeding forward would require a difficult ascent, all slippy and slidy like scrabbling up a muddy riverbank; but the throat was too dark to see how steep the slope might truly be.

[2] — I do not mean Starbiter was yawning as a bored person, does. She could not have been bored at all — it must be very interesting to have a beautiful glass woman enter your mouth. But it is a time-honored figure of English speech to say that darkened cavities "yawn"… and I am excellent at reproducing others’ cliches.

"What do we do now?" I asked Uclod.

I turned and saw the little man had gone to the side of Starbiter’s mouth, where he was rubbing a patch of the Zarett’s inner cheek. Most of the tissue around us was pale pink, but the patch he touched showed a redder tinge. I remembered the way he had massaged the creature to get it to open its lips; apparently, one communicated with Zaretts through fondling.

This struck me as most inefficient "When a machine has buttons," I told Uclod, "you press a button and something happens right away. That is how machines ought to work. I do not think much of a spaceship you must rub to get its attention."

"Not to get her attention," the little man replied. "Sweet baby girl is checking out my taste: making sure I’m her real daddy. Can’t be too careful with a Zarett this valuable. So the cells in this part of her mouth can do a complete DNA analysis on my hand, not to mention verifying my palmprint and fingerprints — all to make sure she doesn’t open up to strangers."

"That is foolish," I told him. "If criminals wished to impersonate you, they could simply cut off your hand. Then they could rub the detached member against the wall."

"Whoa!" Uclod interrupted. "Just whoa," He swallowed hard. "What is wrong with you, missy? How can such grisly ideas pop into such a pretty head?"

"I am simply practical," I said. "Unlike your Zarett’s security precautions, which seem to encourage villains to amputate—"

"Hush! Right now. Not a word."

I hushed. He was clearly a squeamish alien.

A moment later he muttered, "You left your ax behind, right?"

I did not dignify that with an answer.

Past The Teeth And Over The Gums

The little man stepped back from rubbing the Zarett’s mouth. "She’s recognized me," he said, quickly putting his hands behind his back. "We’re ready to go."

I looked at the shadowy throat slanting upward. "It appears to be a difficult climb."

"Climb?" he said. "We don’t have to climb."

"Then how—"

I did not finish my question, because two distractions occurred. First, Uclod dropped to his stomach, lying flat on Starbiter’s lower palate. Second, the Zarett’s lips clamped shut and sealed themselves, plunging us into blackness.

"Get down, toots," Uclod said.

I did not obey. "Why?"

Without the slightest warning, Starbiter lurched. I had time to think, Oh, it is a big ball and it is rolling along the street: then the floor beneath me tipped to the vertical and I fell down hard.

Down

The impact of my fall made a splash in the Zarett’s spittle. Though I could not see, I had the impression the creature’s mouth was flooding with saliva. I did not have long to think about that, because the rolling soon reached the point where the throat was no longer up but down. With nothing to hold on to, and nothing but slippery oral tissue under my body, I slid helplessly forward, tobogganing head-first: bouncing blindly off the walls of the mouth, until I was funneled into the throat and hurled downward.

Zoom.

Saliva whooshed me on my way, like a stream of mucousy water, very slick and oily. I could not slow myself at all; when I flailed my arms, I only managed to roll onto my side. Then onto my back. Then onto my side again. But of all the positions, it felt the most pleasing to whiz along on my front, so I worked over to that.

At one point, something brushed against my spine — a thinning in Starbiter’s throat, perhaps the epiglottis Uclod had mentioned. I did not have time to grab it; anyway, it felt as slippery as everything else around me, so I doubt that I could have managed to stop myself.

The ride continued, but not in a direct line down. Soon after the epiglottis, the path veered to the right, rolling me high up on the throat wall before the route straightened again. That sent me see-sawing back and forth, up the left wall, down to the bottom, up the right… which would have been most enjoyable, except that the slide leveled out quickly after that and my motion began to slow. Apparently, the Zarett had come to rest in a position that left this part of the throat horizontal. I saw light glimmering ahead; and with my last momentum, I slid into a small room whose walls shone as yellow as buttercups. Uclod was there, already on his feet. As I came to a stop, he bent over and asked, "How’re you doing, missy?"

"I am exceedingly vexed," I said, elbow-deep in spittle. Though the fluid was rapidly seeping away through the porous tissues around me, I was still soaking wet in every particular. That is not a nice feeling, especially when one does not know if Zarett saliva is the type of liquid that leaves stains or crusty patches when it dries. Therefore, when Uclod offered me his hand as an aid to standing up, I scowled and did not take it; I rose on my own (with magnificent grace) and told him, "It was very most rude not to warn me what would happen."

"You weren’t keen on being swallowed," he said. "I figured it would cause less fuss if I didn’t explain ahead of time."

"Because you thought I might flee? Or make trouble?" I glared at him. "From now on, you can best avoid trouble by keeping me well-informed. Do you understand?"

The only answer I received was a slight shudder under my feet. "Starbiter doesn’t like it," Uclod said, "when people threaten her dad. You might remember that, missy, if you want to avoid trouble."

"What will she do? Eat me? She has already succeeded in that."

"We didn’t get eaten," Uclod replied, "we got inhaled. Back where the throat curved, we got shunted away from the stomach and into the lungs… which are set up as living quarters. There’s eighteen rooms in here, bedrooms, bath, the works, all made from enlarged alveoli: cells for air storage. The old gal’s got real alveoli too, tiny little buggers like the ones in your own lungs, but these special eighteen cells were engineered big enough for people our size to live in."

"So we were not swallowed but instead Went Down The Wrong Way. When that happens to me, I cough."

"Starbiter’s not going to cough!" Uclod answered most snappishly. "Just…" He glared at me. "Just forget she’s alive, okay? Think of her as a normal spaceship, nothing fancy, nothing strange. Now come with me down this bronchial tube to the bridge."

He walked to the far end of the room and stomped his foot once on the floor. A section of the wall opened like a sphincter to reveal a passageway leading onward. The passage was lit with me same buttercup-yellow as the room we were in.

"If you can have light down here," I said, "why not in the throat too?"

"That’d be nice," Uclod admitted, "but it’s not practical. The light here comes from a phosphorescent fungus growing on the alveolar membrane — a symbiote that absorbs nutrients from Starbiter’s bloodstream. You can’t get the fungus to root in the throat: the saliva tends to dissolve… umm… well,saliva is like water, right, and fungus won’t grow under water."

He could not fool me — he had intended to say the saliva would dissolve items passing into the digestive system. And here I was, still damp with spittle, and beginning to get unpleasant runnel trails where the liquid was drying.

Fortunately, my Explorer jacket had washed down the same route as Uclod and me. It was soaking wet too, but I picked it up and began to mop myself as I followed the little man forward.