“And that’s what the colonists did. Their settlements were mostly subsurface, with deep stalks going down hundreds of kilometers in search of water. Such settlements are always going to be cramped, confined…”

They all knew the story, the fate of such enclosed societies. And they knew what the mounds must conceal.

The shuttle hovered over one of the larger mounds. Commonwealth monitoring posts ringed it in a loose circle. There were no landing facilities, no docks, but Alia could see the scars of previous landings splashed over the dirt. The breeze of the shuttle’s descent blew sand in snaking ripples over the surface of the mound. Alia thought she saw hands, small human hands, push out of the mound to pat the dirt back into place.

“This mound will do,” Reath said. “Coalescences are different in detail, but all essentially the same. I don’t think it makes any difference which we pick.” To Alia’s surprise he started handing out face masks. “You’ll need these.”

Alia had never worn such a thing; she had to be shown how to put it on. “Why? The Mist—”

“The Mist doesn’t work in a Coalescence,” Reath said. “The air in there is special. Many Coalescent types use the air to communicate. Biochemicals. Scents, pheromones.”

Bale adjusted Drea’s face mask for her, making sure it fit snugly all the way around. “And you don’t want stuff like that in your lungs,” he said, his voice muffled by his own mask.

They faced each other, Alia and her sister, Reath, the three Campocs, their faces obscured by their translucent visors. Drea said, “We look like bugs!”

They stepped out onto dirt that crunched softly under their feet. The gravity was low, only about a third standard, and Alia felt comfortably light on her feet. The pale brown sky was cloudless, and the stale air didn’t stir. Alia had the impression that there was little weather here. Theirs were the only footsteps to be seen.

The mound rose up before her, as if growing out of the dirt; the Commonwealth monitoring stations, boxes of bright blue and yellow, sat impassively before it. “How do we get into this thing?”

Reath said, “I don’t imagine it’s hard.” He faced the mound, spread his hands, and called into the empty air, “This is Alia, a Transcendent-Elect. You are here to serve her. She wants to speak to you.”

For long heartbeats nothing happened. Then the curved surface of the mound dimpled, and sand hissed away. A doorway opened up, a low archway, revealing a corridor that led off into darkness.

Reath glanced at Alia. “Will you take the lead?”

Alia could think of nothing she’d rather do less than walk into that mouth of strangeness. But she had her duty — or maybe it was just that she didn’t want to lose face.

She stepped forward, into the archway. Loose sand trickled down over her, pattering on her faceplate.

The dark corridor led to an inner door, like an airlock. When all five of them were inside the outer door closed. Alia glanced back at the closing door; she saw nothing but sand shifting into place, an unobtrusive technology.

For an unpleasant heartbeat the six of them were locked in darkness, the silence broken only by the scratch of their breathing behind the masks. Then the inner door slid open. They all crowded through the hatch.

They emerged into another corridor, low-roofed and with rounded walls of what looked like ceramic. Illuminated dimly by lamps inset into the walls, the corridor curved out of sight. They had to duck to avoid the low ceiling, even the squat Campocs.

A few paces from the door a figure was waiting to greet them.

Alia stepped forward. This was a woman, she thought — but slim and sexless, and dressed in a bland white robe. She was without hair; the naked skin of her face and scalp was blotchy. It was hard to tell how old she was, though her smallness and a certain delicacy about her features made her look young. Her eyes were her most striking feature, large, watery orbs with wide, watchful pupils: eyes adapted to twilight, Alia thought. She was expressionless.

Reath nudged Alia. “Ask her who she is.”

“I am Alia. Tell me your name.”

The woman had to think it over. “My name is Berra.” Her accent was strong, but easily comprehensible. But she spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable separately: Be-rra. It was as if it were the first time she had heard the name herself. “You are the Transcendent-Elect.”

“Yes. My companions are—”

Berra wasn’t interested. “I am an Interface Specialist,” she said. “I will answer all questions.”

“I’m sure you will—”

“Please do not speak to anyone else you meet. Or any thing.Please speak only to me. You need not doubt my veracity.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“What is it you want to know?”

Alia took a breath. “I want to learn about the Redemption.”

Berra nodded. “Ah, yes. We all serve that mighty cause. Then you will want to see the Listeners.”

“I will?”

“Please come.” Berra turned and led them away, along the corridor.

Reath walked beside Alia and Drea. The Campocs clustered behind. Curious, watchful, they seemed to be enjoying the adventure.

“Power must be scarce,” Bale said. “Not too warm, not too bright, cramped corridors.”

Seer whispered, “And it’s been this way a long time. You see how small she is? And those big pupils: she is adapted for these dingy passages.”

Denh asked, “What do you think the power source is?”

Bale shrugged. “Geothermal? But on a planet like this you’d have to dig deep.”

Reath looked back. “The details don’t really matter. Every Coalescent colony is like this, more or less. And the crowding isn’t just for economy. It’s purposeful. You stay cramped; that way you stay locked into the eusociety.”

“Yes, but—”

Reath snapped, “Stop your chattering!”

Alia said to Reath, “We can only speak to her, she will only speak to me. I suppose it’s fair.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Reath said. “This is not a human society, Alia. The protocol here has nothing to do with human manners.”

Berra led them deeper into the complex. The corridors were all empty, save for themselves; there was no noise, no disturbance — no dirt. Most of the walls were unbroken by doors. The corridors branched and bifurcated at forks and T-junctions and complex intersections. The party even changed levels, climbing ladders and descending down staircases. It was a three-dimensional maze through which Berra led them confidently.

The Campocs started to seem lost: “Have we just come around three sides of a square?” “Haven’t we been here before?…”

But Alia and Drea, born on a starship, shared a good innate sense of direction. Alia always knew where she was in relation to the outside; it was a comforting thought that she and Drea could Skim out of there in an instant, if need be.

And she could picture the path they were following; though tortuously, Berra was leading them deep into the heart of the mound.

At a confluence of corridors they came upon activity. High on one wall a recessed light was flickering. Creatures clung to the wall, a tangle of long limbs, three or four of them evidently working on the light. Berra clearly wanted to go on, but all the visitors slowed to a halt, staring up curiously, and she had to wait.

In the dim light Alia had trouble seeing the workers clearly. Their hands and feet had five splayed digits each, but each finger or thumb was tipped by a broad pad that clung easily to the wall’s smooth surface. Their limbs were very long and thin, longer than their skinny bodies, giving them the look of spiders. They seemed to be licking the broken light, with long pink tongues that unrolled from their mouths.

Their skulls were small, their brain pans shrunken, Alia thought. But their faces, especially their eyes, were their most human feature, and even as their tongues worked at the lamp they glanced down at the visitors with fear.