knew that there was nothing mere about these insects. They had been investigating him with manifest intelligence—and still were, aided now by the voice of his invader...his guest. Like humans, they were sapient; like humans, they were curious. The ether-creature called theirs the True Civilization—and why should it not, given that they could fly through the ether between the worlds, to capture stray etherships and interrogate their crews?
When the insects crowding around his bed began to deploy the bulkier objects they were carrying he flinched and shied away, but they still did not appear to mean him any harm. He could not tell what was happening when the objects were pointed in his direction, but none of the monsters was touching him any longer, directly or indirectly. His own hands had been withdrawn from the face they had been fondling so strangely.
Thomas found time to say aloud: “All’s well, Francis. I don’t understand what’s happening yet, but they don’t mean to do us any injury.”
Drake was touching his face and inspecting the back of his hands. “That confounded itching’s stopped,” he observed. “Have they administered some antidote?”
“Yes,” Thomas told him. “They did not realize that we had been stung. The ether-creature seems to know a great deal more about what is happening here, and what is relevant to our welfare, than we do. If it has not visited the surface of the Earth, it must know others of its kind that have.
Drake actually struck a pose, then, and bowed gracefully to the four attentive monsters. “On behalf of Queen Jane of England,” he said, “I greet you, noble sirs. Shall we be friends, then? You don’t have the look of Spaniards about you, and God forbid that you might be Elizabethans....or the spirits of the dead, come to that. Was it Plutarch, Thomas, who first declared the moon to be a world akin to the Earth, where the souls of the dead reside?”
“Plutarch it was,” Thomas confirmed, “but I don’t think his soul is here before us, gathering material for more Lives.”
“Nor I,” Drake agreed. “Can you believe that Raleigh and de Vere could be as brave as we are being, under similar inspection? Not that it matters—by the time they tell the tale to the queen, they’ll have fought and vanquished whole Selenite armies, if Field can’t keep them honest—and we’ll never convince them that we had the bravado to act as we are while subject to such scrutiny. Please assure me that they’re not merely deciding the best way to cook and season us.”
The ether-creature seemed to know that Drake was joking, and did not trouble to reassure Thomas against this ominous possibility. Nor, however, did it forewarn Thomas that he was about to be seized in the upper arms of one of the unburdened creatures, and very thoroughly palpated, although it did say “Patience, Thomas!” once the assault began. Thomas felt his hands making some sort of reply, although he had no idea what it was—but he had a strange impression, as the creature withdrew again, that it was even more repulsed by the texture of his flesh than he was by the horror of the grip and the probing feelers.
“The neo-Platonists and Aristotelian diehards have a saying,” Drake muttered. “As above, so below—but this seems to me to be a very different world from the one we know. Men of that sort are mostly monists, though, who think that the moon is a mere lamp planted in the skies by providence to ameliorate the darkness of night in suitably teasing fashion, and that the stars are candles disposed to foretell our futures. Master Dee is no monist, is he—despite that he wrote a book called Monas Hieroglyphica?”
“He was converted to pluralism thereafter,” Thomas said. “Propadeumata Aphorisitica is his definitive statement. He is committed to the infinity of space and of worlds—and when I tell him of our adventure, he will also be committed to the infinite variety of form and virtue. These are intelligent beings, Francis—including the thing inside me—and I’m praying hard that they might be more virtuous in their treatment of fellow intelligent beings than the great majority of men. Take care!”
It was not he that had pronounced the final words, although they had been spoken aloud. Thomas was abruptly snatched from his bed, and Drake was seized.
“Have no fear!” said Thomas’ inner voice, silent again but still voluble. “They are doing as I have asked, and taking us to a visitor from the galactic core. With luck, he will order your release.”
Thomas and Sir Francis Drake were dragged from the room then, but they were both being held quite gently. They were no worse than lightly bruised as they were hustled along one winding corridor after another, through an interminable labyrinth. Thomas’ impression was that they were going deeper into the bowels of the moon, but he could not be sure.
“Where are they taking us?” Drake shouted back to him, his tall but slender captor having drawn some twelve or fifteen yards ahead of Thomas’ stouter guardian.
“To a queen’s chamber, I believe,” Thomas replied, retaking control of his own vocal cords.
“I have heard that ants have queens,” Drake said. “None as pretty as my darling Jane, though.”
“Is she your darling?” Thomas called back, although he could fee the ether-creature’s impatience to revert to silent conversation.
“She will be,” Drake said, “if I get out of this alive with the means to return to Earth—always provided that I tell my tale before Ned and Walt tell theirs. There’s naught like a little gooseflesh to animate affection, and I think I have the means now to make her majesty’s flesh crawl prodigiously.”
Thomas was ashamed to feel a sudden pang of resentment at the observation that Drake—who was, after all, five years his senior and no great beauty—had not thought to include him with de Vere and Raleigh in the list of his rivals for the queen’s affection. Such was the burden of humble birth, and perhaps the myth of mathematicians’ disdain for common passion.
Thomas now had the opportunity to see for himself that the giant inhabitants of the moon did not all resemble insects, although its insectile population was exceedingly various; there were, as Drake had briefly mentioned, creatures like slugs the size of elephants, with shells on their backs like mahouts’ turrets, and many other creatures shelled like lobsters, whelks or barnacles. There were legions of chimeras clad in what Thomas could not help likening to Medieval suits of armor designed for the protection of entities with far too many limbs.
“Why, this must be a busy port or a great capital,” Thomas said, though not aloud. “A cultural crossroads where many races commingle and interact. If the moon is hollow throughout, honeycombed with tunnels, how far must its pathways extend, and how shall its hosts be numbered?”
“Very good, Thomas,” his invader said. “I’m assisting you as best I can, but you’ve a naturally calm mind, which makes it a great deal easier. Thank God you have no relevant phobias—they’d be a lot less easy to counter than your allergies.”
“You talk a deal of nonsense,” Thomas said, “for someone using a borrowed tongue.”
“Aye,” the creature replied, “but I’ll make sense of it for you if I can. I must, for we’ve work to do here, now that the True Civilization is aware of your new capability. They must have studied you, I dare say, but they could not have thought you capable of building an ethership for another four hundred years—and study conducted at a distance is always calmer than a close confrontation, where differences stand out that distinguish you from burrowers and ethereals alike. We must convince an influential philosopher that you are harmless still, and likely to remain so.”
“Have you a name, guest?” Thomas demanded. “I feel that I am at every possible disadvantage here. Or will you name yourself Legion, and make things even worse?”
“I am no possessive demon,” the creature assured him. “I shall be as polite a guest as circumstances permit, and will take my leave before I overstay the necessity of my visit. You may call me Lumen.”
“As in light, or cavity?” Thomas retorted.
“A little of both. We are chimerical creatures by nature, and our aims are syncretic.