"I think I do."
"Have you searched for comets before?"
"Now's my time."
"Well said. Look there."
The three men turned and nodded toward a vast video screen across the reception hall. As if aware of our regard, it pulsed to life, and displayed an immense photo of a blinding white comet pulling planets in its wake.
"The lovely destroyer of the universe," said Small. "The eater of the sun."
"Can comets do that?" I asked.
"That, and more. Especially that one."
Downs said, "Why, if God should manifest here, He'd come as a comet. Are you one for jumping down the throat of such a holy presence, boy, and dancing in its bright guts?"
"I am," I said, reluctantly, "if it should be absolutely inescapable."
"Then let's drink to him, aye, men? Let's drink to young Ishmael Hunnicut Jones."
At which moment I heard a faint electronic buzz, a pulse, at some distance. I listened, and the buzz grew louder with each pulse, as if it was coming nearer.
"That," I said. "What's that?"
"That?" said Redleigh. "That sound like a scourge of locusts in flight?"
I nodded.
"A scourge of locusts?" said Small. "That's a fine way to refer to our captain."
"Captain?" I said. "Who is he?"
Redleigh said, "Let it be for now, Mr. Jones. You'd best get to your room and meet up with Quell. My God, yes, go meet Quell."
"From beyond the great Andromeda Nebula, he is," Downs said, in a confidential tone. "Tall, huge, immense, and..."
"A spider," the first mate interjected.
"Yes, yes," Downs continued. "A vast, tall, giant green spider."
"But...," said Small, frowning slightly at his companions, "most benevolent. You will like him, Mr. Jones."
And I replied, "I will?"
Redleigh said, "Get along. We'll meet again. Go meet your spider roommate. Good luck."
I tipped back my glass to take a last swallow. And then I turned, eyes shut, and said to myself, Luck. My God!
I touched a button beside a door panel that slid open, and I walked along a dimly lit corridor till I came to room number 9. I touched the identity pad and the door glided open wide.
But wait, I said to myself. I can't go in. Look at my hands. Great God, they're shaking.
I stood there, unmoving. My roommate was inside, I knew. He had come from a far world and was a giant spider, or so they had said. Hell, I thought, step in.
I took three steps into the room and froze.
For in the far corner of the cubicle there was a huge shadow. Something was there, but not there.
"It can't be," I whispered to myself. "It simply can't be."
"A spider," something whispered from the far side of the room.
The large shadow trembled.
I flinched back into the doorway.
"And," the whisper continued, "a shadow of a spider? No. Stand still."
I stood still as commanded and watched as the room was illuminated and the shadow fell away and there before me was a great figure, a creature some seven feet tall and colored the most peculiar shade of green.
"Well," came the whisper again.
I replied as steadily as I could. "What can I say?"
"Anything," came the whisper.
"Once," I replied, "I went to see Michealangelo's David. It was tall. I circled it."
"And?"
"You look to be at least as big around as that great work."
I moved forward and began to circle the creature, which didn't move. I was, nevertheless, trembling.
The shadows continued to melt, and the shape of the creature became more apparent.
"Quell," came the whisper again. "That is my name. I have come a long way, some ten million miles and five light-years. Here on your world, judging by your size, I'd say your god has just one half-cracked eye awake. On our world, God jumped with a shout of creation, thus our great height."
And the creature stood, even taller.
I stared at the face and said, "You-your mouth hardly moves."
The thing named Quell replied, "But my thoughts move as do yours. So," said the creature, "tell me, Jack, would you slay the giant?"
"I-" I stammered.
"I read the beanstalk in your mind."
"Damn!" I cried. "Forgive me," I said. "This is my first meeting with a telepath."
"Let me save you from damnation," said my roommate. "Once more, my name is Quell. And yours?"
"You know my name," I said. "You read minds."
"But out of politeness," Quell replied, "I pretend otherwise."
The great creature reached down with one of his appendages. I put forward my hand, and we touched.
"Ishmael Hunnicut Jones," I said.
"Well," said Quell. "That name has traveled out of your Bible and into this age of space."
"Which is much the way you've come," I said.
"Five light-years off," said Quell. "I was in deep freeze for five whole years, as cold as death. I slept the time away. It is good to be awake again. Am I not strange?"
"Oh, no," I said.
"Oh, yes," said Quell, with something like a laugh. "If thoughts fly, I catch them. That must be strange to you. And you must also be thinking that I have too many eyes, too many ears, far too many fingers, greenish skin-certainly strange. And yet I look at you and see that you have only two eyes, two tiny ears, five little fingers on each of only two hands. So then we are both-look at us-quite amusing. And both, finally...human."
"Yes," I said, seeing the truth in this. "Oh yes, that is human."
Quell was provoked to some sort of humor, for he went on and said, "So now, Ishmael, shall I grind your bone to make my bread, or shall we be friends?"
I flinched, prepared to back off, but I caught myself and laughed instead, and said, "Friends, yes friends, I think."
And Quell repeated, "Friends."
Later we left our cubicle and went exploring, down into the lower levels of the immense academy.
We walked among the philosophical robots who sat silhouetted among firefly lights to speak in tongues from ancient times.
"Plato," I said. "Aristotle," I went on. "Behold us. What do you see?"
And the Plato robot said, "Two terrible and fine, ugly and beautiful children of nature."
And Quell asked, "Ah, but what is nature?"
Socrates answered, sparks showering, "God surprising himself with odd miracles of flesh."
And Aristotle, a strange little plastic robot, continued: "And theirs is nothing odder or miraculous, then."
Quell reached out and touched my forehead with one of his long, finely tufted finger-legs and said, "Ishmael."
I responded warmly, and touched the downy chest of my new friend. "Quell, from the far islands of the great Andromeda Nebula. Quell."
"We shall study together," said Quell.
"Listen together, learn together, explore together," I added.
And we did indeed listen to the voice of our robot philosopher teachers, who continued to speak in tongues various and strange during the next days, weeks, and months of our training. No one told us where we'd be going, what would be asked of us, or how long we would remain Earth-bound in these vast caverns of learning.
But finally the day came that the robot instructors' talk, their babble, their murmurs, faded. We arrived at the lecture hall one morning and everything was still. On the video screen were our names, and the words, "Orders received. Report for duty."
Quell observed, "Our studies appear to be at an end."
"If so," I said, "our life begins. Let us find our rocket."
We returned to our room, where our orders were awaiting us. We collected our gear and, donning our jet-packs, rose into the air and flew. The clouds gave way, the birds parted, and at last we landed at the great launching area of Cape Kennedy. We were surrounded by skyscraper gantries, gleaming rockets, the persistent buzz of intense activity.
I stared around me, stunned by the immense size of it all.
"Look, Quell, there, and there! Rockets! At least two dozen. Listen to the names: Apollo 149, Mercury 77, Jupiter 215. And there..."
Quell finished for me. "The Cetus 7."
I stared at the gleaming cylinder, towering above all the other craft. "The largest interstellar ship ever built," I said, in awe.
Quell mused, "I wonder if, in their dreams, your Bach and Beethoven ever built such as these?"
A voice broke our reverie. "They did, oh yes they did."
We turned to find an old man in a faded astronaut's suit emerging from the shadow of a gangway. He spoke, saying simply, "Hello, friends."
Quell must have scanned the stranger's mind, for he replied, "We are no friends of yours."
The old man chuckled mirthlessly and continued. "You're quick to judge me, telepath. Be quicker still. Is the Cetus 7 to be your ship?"
"It is," I replied.
The old man groaned. "Ah, you tread the rim of the Abyss. Pull back, if you know what's good for you."
Quell uttered a curse from his far world and pulled at my elbow. "Let's go, Ishmael. No need to listen to this one's false warnings."
The old man pursued us. "You, young man, do you know that spaceship's captain?"
"Not eye to eye," I said, turning back, curious.
"Eye to eye! My God, you've touched the nerve. For when you meet him, do not look into his eyes. Be warned-he has none."
"None?" I asked. "Blind?"
"No, stricken's more the word. Burnt blind in space some years ago. Ah, but you knew it," the old man said, turning to Quell.
"No, I did not," said Quell, tugging at my arm again. "And we'll hear no more from you."
But the old man would not be silenced. "You've already heard it, my friend, for you have just read the whole inside of my mind. You've seen. Now tell your young friend what you've learned. Tell him what's in store."