Rocket to Limbo

Above and below them the fog grew thinner, breaking in patches to let the orange light down. More and more frequently Fox signaled a stop as he studied the gray mists below with field glasses. There was no sound but the scrape of their boots, yet the air seemed charged with tension as they moved on. And then they saw Jerry Klein stop, wave his hand violently and peer down the slope.

They froze in their tracks. The fog below had broken, momentarily, and something had appeared, far below them, for the barest instant. At least they thought they saw something.

“Did you see it?” Lambert asked Lars.

“Something—I couldn’t tell what.”

“We’ll stop here,” Fox said. “Stay down. That fog bank is breaking. There’s something down there.”

Even as he spoke, Lars felt a breeze pass down the valley, ruffling the grass, and quite suddenly the fog was gone, sunlight streamed down, and they saw the whole valley revealed before them.

They stared, unbelieving, wordless.

When Lars described it later, he knew exactly the impression he got that first strange moment when the fog passed. It was as though they had been standing in a darkened theater, and suddenly the curtain had been raised to reveal an incredible stage, a fantastic wonderland. But now he stood rooted like the rest, not thinking, hardly able to comprehend the thing in the valley below them.

It was a city—there was no doubt of that. Towers and spires rose one above the other, wildly, higgledy-piggledy, in utter defiance of gravity. The place was a blaze of flickering color, a confusing, shifting, changing assembly of buildings, arches, spires, bridges—tier upon tier of buildings rising with no semblance of order or harmony, a colorful, incredible riot of architecture.

And as they watched it, it changed.

A glistening tower of blue shifted to glowing pink, became misty, spread and sank, and in its place was a needle-pointed spire. Suddenly a great curving bridgeway sprung up from one side, moved swiftly in a graceful arch to the top of the spire. There was constant movement, constant change. Lars rubbed his eyes, and heard Commander Fox’s hoarse voice saying, “It can’t be. It can’t possibly be.”

Lars knew what he meant. The colors, the spires, the shifting buildings, the tiny moving figures they could see on the bridges and causeways were only a part of the unbelievable scene before them. A city, yes; even a strange city they could have believed, but this city in the valley was beyond credibility.

Because the entire city, with no visible support of any kind, was floating gently two hundred feet off the ground.

Once when Lars had been very small, he had seen a traveling magician draw yard upon yard of brightly colored silk from a tiny vase the size of a thimble in his hand. He remembered the day very clearly, and he remembered how frightened he had been, for his reason had told him that that much silk could not possibly come from so small a space, yet his eyes insisted that it had. Years later he understood that both his eyes and his reason had been right. The silks had only appeared to come from the tiny vase, but understanding had never restored his broken faith in traveling magicians.

That was the feeling he had now as he stared at the incredible city floating high above the valley floor. It couldn’t be true, yet he was seeing it. It was there before his eyes. When he closed his eyes and reopened them, it was still there.

He saw now why Kennedy had been so confused. He understood why Kennedy had said that nothing human could have built that city.

“So these are your aliens,” Lambert said as Fox pulled

the field glasses from his eyes. “The messages from the Planetfall were right. They did contact an alien race here.”

Fox said nothing. His eyes were very bright as he stared at the city in the valley.

“But whatever they contacted destroyed their ship,” Lambert continued.

“We don’t know that!” Fox snapped. “We haven’t found it but we don’t know these—creatures—are hostile.” He looked from man to man. “We have to know that. That means we have to go down there. But not all at once. I’ll go down alone, while the rest of you keep under cover.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Lambert.

“Suppose they simply destroy anything that comes near?” Tom Lorry cautioned.

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Keep covered.” Fox nodded to Lambert. “Let’s go.”

Slowly, Fox and Lambert started down the slope. The sun was high, burning away the last vestiges of fog. Lars sat stone-like, gripping his knees as the two men disappeared behind a knoll of rock, reappeared farther, moving toward the city.

Then, suddenly they stopped, appeared to be conferring; they took a few more steps, and stopped again.

Something was wrong. Their steps seemed to be labored, as though they were wading through knee-deep mud.

“Can you see anything?” Marstom whispered.

Lars shook his head. “Something’s holding them back. They’re trying to hail the city.”