They stood in a central plaza, and all around them reared the soaring towers. Celestial music came down upon them from the towers, enveloping them so that all the world seemed music. The paving of the plaza was gold, or at least gold color, and the towers were shining white, so shining and so white that they seemed illuminated by a light within them. There was a holiness, or what appeared a holiness, and it all was sanctified.
Tennyson shook his head. There was something wrong. They stood in the center of the plaza and the music filled the place and the towers were white and shining towers, but there was no one there. To one side stood the five equation people, and Whisperer, a small globe of glittering dust, was floating there above them, but there was no one else. The place was empty; they stood alone within it. Heaven, to all appearances, was uninhabited.
'What's the matter? asked Jill. She stepped away from Tennyson and turned slowly to look around the plaza.
'There is something wrong, isn't there? she asked. 'For one thing, there is no one here.
'For another, said Tennyson, 'there aren't any doors. None in the buildings. Not what we think of as doors. There are only holes. Round holes. Mouse holes. Eight feet or so above street level.
It was true, she saw. And there weren't any windows. In all the soaring height of the towers, there weren't any windows.
'There are no windows, she said. 'You'd think there would be windows.
A chill breeze came blowing down the plaza and Tennyson shivered at its touch.
There were, he saw, between the towers, what seemed to be narrow streets. Here, he thought, they must stand at the heart of the city, if it was a city. He looked up at the towers and realized that they were much taller than he at first had thought they were. They rose high into the blue, so high that the last glitter of them was lost in the blueness of the sky. At first, too, he had thought that there were many buildings, each one supporting its individual tower, but now it appeared possible that there might be only one building, enclosing the sprawling square in which they stood, with the towers placed at regular intervals. What he had thought of as narrow streets between the separate buildings might be no more than tunnels, cut at street level through the massive structure.
The building (or buildings) was of flawless white that did not have the look of stone. It had the look of ice, ice frozen from the purest water, ice with no air bubbles or other imperfections in it. That couldn't be, he told himself. If this great structure was not stone, neither was it ice.
All the time the music poured in upon them, engulfing them, seeping into them — an indescribable music that made one think it was more than music, or music raised to a poignancy no human composer had ever quite achieved.
Whisperer spoke to them.
— This place, he said, is not as empty as it seems. There are many here. This place teems with life.
As if on signal, life appeared.
Out of one of the narrow streets (or tunnels?), a massive head pushed out. It was a worm head. The front of it was flattened and heavily armored, a thick and heavy carapace covering the entire front part of the head. Behind the carapace, on either side of it, huge compound eyes looked out. Antennae sprouted from the top of the head. The head stood tall. Tennyson, gagging in distaste, estimated the top of the head stood a good six feet above ground level.
The worm emerged — it continued coming out, the long, thick body tracking behind the armored head. Once a fair length of it was out, it began to elevate its front end higher off the ground. Slender jointed legs that had been flattened to enable it to pass through the tunnel began to straighten up, lifting the body until it stood two feet taller than it had before.
As more of it emerged, it began to turn toward those who were standing in the plaza. Tennyson and Jill began slowly backing away, but the five equation beings stood their ground. Their blackboard sides were blurring in flashing colors as the equations raced.
Then all the worm was out of the tunnel, at least thirty feet of it, standing tall, well supported by the close-set legs.
The worm changed its direction again, angling away, back toward the structure of towering white. Its movement appeared to be purposeful. It gave no indication it had noticed those who were in the plaza.
It cams to a halt under one of the eight-foot-high mouse holes and reared up. Its forward legs caught hold of the edge of the hole and began to lever itself into it. They watched as the worm drew its entire body through the hole and disappeared.
Tennyson let out his breath in relief.
'Let's have a look, he said. 'Let's see what we can see.
They found out very little. The narrow streets did turn out to be tunnels, set at intervals along the structure, which turned out to be one building rather than many separate ones set together. But the tunnels were closed. Inside of them, thirty feet or so in from the opening, the way was blocked by doors. The doors were not white but blue. They filled the tunnels, wedged close against the tunnels' curving sides. There seemed no way to open them. Tennyson and Jill pushed hard against several of them and failed to budge them. It did seem, in a couple of instances, that they could feel some give, but that was all.
'They're tension doors, said Tennyson. 'I'm almost certain of that. Push against one of them hard enough and it will open. But we haven't the strength.
'The worm came through it, said Jill.
'The worm probably is much stronger than the two of us. They may be exclusively worm doors. The worms may be the only things that have the strength to open the doors.
'We're fairly sure, said Jill, 'that this place is not Heaven. But we have no proof. We can't just go back and say it isn't Heaven. Before we go back, we must have proof. If I only had a camera.
— We had to hold down weight, said Whisperer. We knew not what we'd find. We travel light and fast.
— What think our equation friends of this? asked Tennyson.
— They stand much amazed.
— So do we, said Jill.
'Maybe photographs alone, said Tennyson, 'would not be acceptable proof. Photographs you can get anywhere at all. We have to do better than a handful of pictures.
They made a circuit of the square and found nothing else. 'We're trapped in here, said Jill, 'with only one way out, those mouse holes that the worms use. We could have Whisperer float over all of this and see what's on the other side. There must be another side.
'So could the equation folk, said Tennyson. 'They can float in the air, but at the moment I would hate to have us divide our forces. I have a feeling we should stick together.
Far down the plaza another worm came out of a tunnel and came straight toward them, but it swerved to pass them by to reach another of the mouse holes. Rearing, it passed through the hole and disappeared.
'I'm not certain I would want to use one of those holes, said Jill. 'All that ever seems to go through them are worms.
'The worms seem to have little interest in us.
'Not while we're out here. They might pick up an interest if we went inside.
'I wonder, said Tennyson, paying no attention to what she had said. - Whisperer, could you ask one of our equation friends to squat down a bit so I could climb up on him. Then he could float me up' to one of the holes.
'If you are going, I am going, too, said Jill. 'I'm not going to be left out here.
— Any one of them would be happy to, said Whisperer. Which hole do you have in mind?
— Any one of them, said Tennyson. I wouldn't ask it, but those holes are out of reach for us.
— Would that one just behind you be all right?
— It would do just fine.
'I have a feeling, said Jill, 'that we're quite out of our minds.
The rose-red cube had moved up close to the wall, below the indicated mouse hole. The cube began broadening out, spreading itself, squatting down so they could reach its back.