The Temple Trees

1.  The Glass Giant

 The Veetol skimmed the edge of space, high within the vacuous ionosphere, scratching a groove of piercing white across the early morning sky. More ballistic missile than plane, it came streaking southward along the turbulent rim of an anticyclone, crossing the equator in the blink of an eye. Its streamlined fuselage glowed like molten copper as it plummeted through the thickening atmosphere, shedding waves of shimmering heat as it fell.

            To anyone watching from the ground it must have looked like a white-hot meteor was tearing through the sky, trailed by thinning streamers of condensing vapour. Its descent was fearsome, almost vertical. Impact looked inevitable. It bubbled off heavy atmospheric molecules as it screamed towards the ground, almost faster than the eye could follow. And yet, astonishingly, at some point far out across the turquoise ocean, the vehicle’s breakneck dive suddenly bottomed out. Now it was shedding momentum as well as heat, fast; its belly glimmering like a stoked ember. As it burrowed deeper into the troposphere, the vehicle promptly sprouted inverted wings and decelerated sharply to a more pedestrian Mach 1.

            Cynthia Bryant forced herself to breathe.

            The inertia couch had softened most of the gee, but it had been quite some ride nevertheless. From freefall to six gravities in a matter of seconds. No wonder she felt nauseous; her stomach had just been sucked out through her naval.

            She freed herself from the cloying gee-foam and glared at the ceiling. "You trying to kill me?"

            “If I had intended to terminate you,” the ceiling replied in the cold and condescending manner that automatons possess, “you would not be asking such a rhetorical question. Rather, my nano-cleaners would now be vacuuming you off the upholstery. At least, what was left of you, that is.”

            “Smug little bastard,” she breathed.

            “Your comments are appreciated. Now please relax and enjoy the remainder of your flight. Destination forecast is for sunny pink skies and a pleasant forty-five degrees Celsius – with a slight chance of heat haze mid afternoon. Thank you for travelling with Zip-2. We hope you will fly with us again.”

            Cynthia ground her teeth. She hated robots. They were altogether too aloof for her liking. In fact, she was sure they took pleasure from being deliberately arrogant. For a moment she debated lodging a complaint with Humbotic Resources once she was back onboard the orbiting slip-ship. But she knew it wouldn't do her any good. Who would she sue, the government?  She was a thousand light-years from home and the highest authority this end of the Arm. In this neck of the woods, she was the government!

            Quietly, she ticked herself off for not insisting on a Human chauffeur.

            The cabin lights blinked off and, in the same instant, the cabin walls disappeared as the heat-shielding molecules coating the hull realigned themselves to permit the passage of daylight. All at once, Cynthia found herself surrounded by a wrap-around window and an extremely vertiginous view. Her sense of up and down veered a little as she gaped at the drastically tilted horizon.

            “Welcome to Cathedra.” Said the ceiling. “Landfall in two minutes.”

            Ocean.

            Everywhere she looked.

            A tract of endless aquamarine dotted with horsetail crests and small twinkling islands. Stretching away to a distant sea horizon framed with anvil-shaped clouds.

            It reminded her of the Bahamas – or at last how she imagined they had looked two centuries before Earth’s rising sea levels had completely immersed them.

 It all looked serene and peaceful. Harmless. Just another water world with barely a smidgeon of life. But Cynthia knew otherwise. Beneath that seemingly benevolent surface, the clear seas of Cathedra swarmed with danger. They were home to an innumerable variety of cephalopods, crustaceans and corals. All engaged in a frenzied food chain of survival. And all very deadly to Human Beings.

            Cynthia pressed herself against the cool window, straining to get a better look.

            Unlike on Earth and the many other Earth-like planets now tamed by Humankind, none of Cathedra’s life-forms so far discovered were either carbon-based or calcium rich. According to the logs, the indigenous Cathedral life had constructed itself entirely out of silicon- and sulphur-based building blocks. This odd combination gave the flora a glasslike beauty and filled the fauna’s veins with poison. In fact, it was said that to swim in that seemingly tranquil ocean was like swimming in powdered glass suspended in sulphuric acid. This was what made Cathedra unique in the eyes of the scientists currently engaged in studying its every facet. The planet was a biologist’s dream and a colonist’s nightmare. Incredibly aesthetic and yet incredibly lethal.

            Cathedra was the planetary equivalent of  a Venus Flytrap.

            Out of all the vid-logs she’d pored over during their ascent from Earth, this had been the one impression that had stood out and captured her curiosity the most.

            Beautiful, yet deadly.

            Technically, Cathedra couldn’t even be called a water world – since its oceans were mostly acid. Stocked with silicon fish and topped by acid rain. The planet’s vast surface was split in to two distinct hemispherical seas – Quartz Ocean in the north and Diamond Ocean in the south. Other than the proliferation of small crystalline islands poking through the shallow seas, Cathedra’s main land mass was restricted to a relatively narrow belt completely encircling the planet's equatorial girth, suitably labelled the Emerald Isle. Everything here was like glass. From the quartz mountains to the crystal crabs.

            The Veetol passed through a thin yellow cloud and Cynthia withdrew slightly from the window.

            Although bountiful in oxygen, Cathedra’s atmosphere was toxic to carbon-based life-forms. Laced with lethal vapours and fatal if inhaled. That was why all Humans visiting Cathedra had to imbibe nano-scrubbers before descending to the planet. The miniscule machines would scrub the harmful toxins out of the system at a furious rate, enabling freedom from clumsy breathing apparatus. Without them, a person would die within minutes, their lungs burned away. As for exposure to Cathedra’s corrosive atmosphere itself, too long outside unprotected would result in skin degradation and eventual death, even with the nano-scrubbers doing their damndest. To avoid erosion by the acidic elements, Human explorers were sprayed with protective agents before venturing outside. Even so, the maximum safe exposure time was limited to three hours – after which it was advised to return to base or risk serious dermal damage.

            The Veetol’s nose dipped and Cynthia caught sight of a long greenish line drawn across the horizon.

            The Emerald Isle was coming up fast.

            She pressed a stud behind her left ear, "Phoebe, access Cathedra dossier. Security code Tabernacle. Regurgitate concise description on catalogue reference known as the temple trees."

            The molecular computer implanted within her skull whispered in her ear:

            "The temple trees is a term used by Cathedral colonists to describe the planet’s dominant land growths. They are unlike Earth trees in the respect that they do not manufacture chlorophyll from sunlight. Nor do they convert carbon dioxide into matter. In fact, the term trees is loosely applied in this case – since they have very little in common with arboreal growths. Preliminary tests indicate their complex silicon structures are thousands of years old, and are a result of cumulative condensations of silicon crystals, cooled from the atmosphere. These crystalline growths cover the entire length of Cathedra’s main land mass, and have an average height above sea level of two kilometres.”

            Cynthia watched as the greenish band covering the horizon rushed towards her. Within moments it became a towering cliff of tall, multifaceted crystals, capped with vast umbrella-like structures. Although predominantly greenish in hue, the closer she got the more she could make out other colourful bands. In the last second before the Veetol banked over the impressive barrier, she saw turquoise waves crashing over huge translucent boulders. Then the rippling ocean was replaced by the undulating canopy.

            It was like flying over a rolling landscape of solidified syrup.

Greens dominated, but there were other hues, she saw; running through the unbroken canopy like multi-coloured veins. This continuous sheet of mosaic glass was two hundred kilometres wide and ten thousand kilometres long. A belt of hard candy wrapped around Cathedra's waist.

          The Veetol braked, sharply, and the blurred canopy resolved into an intricate jigsaw of glittery colour.

            Up ahead she glimpsed a bright orange dot sitting on the treetops.

            Outpost 319.

            This was her destination. It was one of three Human constructs floating on the vast Cathedral canopy. The locals called this one Vatican City – she suspected in keeping with the ‘church’ references – and it was home to over a hundred or so scientists, plus maintenance people.

            As the Day-Glo habitat grew nearer, it took on the shape of an enormous spider’s web. An inflated spokedwheel, lying flat against the crystal surface. Vatican City was a concentric network of modules connected via tubular corridors encircling a larger central hub, all in all some three hundred meters in diameter. According to the logs, the habitats had been specially designed to accommodate Cathedra’s alien disposition, including able to resist the planet’s inclement climate. Their inception had been inspired by inflatable canopy rafts pioneered by the French in the latter end of the twentieth century. After four weeks slipping through the infrastructure of space Cynthia was itching to make landfall – even it was only a raft perched on top of a tree.

            The Veetol slowed to a crawl as it approached the landing pad.

            “Hope you had your vaccinations.” The ceiling said. “Have a pleasant stay.”

            The vehicle touched down on the mark and a hatchway opened up in the wrap-around window.

            Hot air, tinged with sulphur, poured into the compartment. Cynthia grabbed up her duffel bag and climbed out into Cathedra’s sauna-like day.

            “And who might you be? Cinderella?” A white-haired black woman in sky-blue coveralls was waiting for her, hands planted firmly on hips. “You don’t look like any regular freight handler we get round these parts.”

            Cynthia found herself having to shout over the whine of the Veetol, “My name’s Cynthia Bryant.” She extended a hand. “I’m with FEBIE.”

            The woman hesitated, expression dropping. “No shit. You’re a Fed?”

            “I’m here about the murder.”

            The woman gave her a lopsided grin, “Well, honey, looks like you’ve come to the right place. Murders aplenty hereabouts. Come on inside and I’ll make you some iced tea. Could murder one myself.”