Cloud Dwellers
The Cloud Dwellers once drifted in the cool cloud deck of Venus under living bubbles, until the great storms tore them open. They came down to the plains but never made peace with the ground, where the acid settles: they walk on stilt legs, live on piles and walkways, and rank each other by how high they live. Water is the dearest thing they know, and they greet a guest from Earth — the Dewdrop, as their songs call it — with wonder.
«Oh! Someone walking on the Deep with no stilts and no bubble! I am …. Come up on the walkway, guest — your shell does not look like it enjoys acid, and the acid down there enjoys everything.»
The settlement and its dwellers
Crafts
Looks
Where they live
Cloud Walkways. A village of the Cloud Dwellers: bubble houses wrapped in metal frost on piles high above the acid, joined by walkways and hanging bridges. Over the Mooring Court the last bubble of the Drift still floats on its tether, and the elder stands beneath it, for the most respected live highest.
Tasks
Our Grandmothers' Tanks· ElderGo down into the Acid Deeps under the plains, where the grandmothers of the Cloud Dwellers pumped the sky, and come back up.
«When our grandmothers came down after the Tearing, they did not trust the Deep, so they dug into it: tanks under the plains, where they pumped the acid of the sky to wring the water out of it. There was a chapel down there too, where they asked the sky for rain that reaches the ground. Nobody goes down now — the Mother Below lives in the deepest tank. Go for us, guest. Walk where they walked, look into the chapel and come back up. Up is the part we care about.»
Let the Mother Below Fall Silent· ElderDefeat the Acid Matriarch in the deepest tank of the Acid Deeps.
«Now you know what sits in the deepest tank. We do not say her other name — habit, and fear. Every toad on Venus is her child: when she croaks, they come, and our children dream of falling. Feed her altar the two glands, and when she rises, make her quiet. Not for revenge, guest. For one night of sleep on the walkways.»
The Ring Hums· ElderWake the great ring of stone on Venus: the gate between the worlds.
«The great ring of stone on the plain sleeps and dreams of roads. It wakes for one who quieted the Mother and eight of her children besides. The Mother is silent already; the children are still croaking. It also wants her heart, a heap of stardust, and our lead and bismuth for its frames. Give it everything at once, and the old way between worlds will open on our plain. I would like to feel its draft before my bell goes dim.»
A Cup from the Dewdrop· Condenser Keeper· repeatableBring the condenser keeper two buckets of water from Earth.
«On a good day my tank fills a hand deep; on a bad day, a finger. And every child born on the walkways gets a drop at the throat — every one, good day or bad. Your Dewdrop has water lying about in heaps, they say. Bring me two buckets now and then, and I will pay as a keeper pays: with what the sky gave me.»
What the Old Talker Said· Condenser KeeperFind the Old Probe on the plains and bring the condenser keeper its imaging plate — the plate that remembers what it saw.
«The Old Talker talked for an hour and has been silent for a hundred years, and none of us understood a word. But you are a guest from the Dewdrop — it speaks your people's tongue. They say it kept a plate that remembers what it saw. Find it, bring it here and read it for me. I have always wanted to know what it was asking us.»
Water That Does Not Boil· Condenser KeeperBring the condenser keeper two shards of superionic ice from Neptune.
«You have stood on the deep blue one — and the songs say it is all water. All of it! Here every drop boils away if I only look at it wrong, so tell me: does the water there boil too? When you go back, bring me a piece of the deep blue one's water, whatever it looks like. The songs say it hides in the dark ice. Let me hold it.»
When the Frost Comes Down· Frost ScraperLive through the metal snowfall on Venus in a lead helm of your own and bring the frost scraper six pieces of metal frost.
«Most days we climb to the frost. But sometimes the sky gets generous, and the frost comes down to us — onto every bare stone, right outside the door. Then the young ones run out bareheaded, scrape with both hands and cough for a whole season: frost dust eats the lungs. You will want to run out too; everybody does. So first make yourself a helm of lead, like a scraper's visor. Then stand out in it, scrape me a sack, and come back without a cough.»
A Blade and a Climb· Frost ScraperMake a bismuth halberd yourself, climb the Tessera Steps, and show the blade to the frost scraper who sent you.
«You scrape well, for a guest. But a scraper is made twice: once by a blade and once by a climb. Our blades are frost; yours can be bismuth — grown in a bath until the rainbow sets, on a haft of lead. Make one yourself, then climb the Steps the first ones cut into the ridge, all the way to the top. Then come back to me. Only to me: I want to see the blade that climbed.»
Glands After the Rain· Acid BrewerLive through an acid storm on Venus, quiet four acid toads and bring the acid brewer two of their glands.
«When the storm comes, the rain finally reaches the Deep — acid, all of it — and the toads come out to drink by the dozen. A toad that has drunk the storm has a gland as full as a bell, and my best brews start from those. We pull up the hanging bridges and sit in our bubbles; you have no bubble, and your shell does not seem to mind. Quiet four of them out there, and bring me two glands while they are still full.»
The Golden Beds· Acid BrewerFind the sulfur pools on the plains and bring the acid brewer three pieces of golden sulfide from their beds.
«There are pools on the plain that boil without water, and their beds are gold. Not real gold — golden sulfide — but the purest thing on the Deep. Drop a flake of it into a vat, and the sulfur stops growing into crust and grows into crystals instead, like frost on a ridge. My vats have forgotten how. Bring me three pieces from the beds, and I will show you what a vat can grow.»
Toads Under the Piles· Bridge Builder· repeatableQuiet three acid toads that come to lick the sulfur off the piles of the walkways.
«At night the toads come to the piles and lick the sulfur that drips down them — and they lick the mortar out of the joints along with it. One loose pile a season, and the walkway starts to lean. We do not quarrel with toads, guest; we build. But you could. Quiet three, and I will pay as a builder pays: in good stone.»
Stones from the Sky· Bridge BuilderLive through a volcanic eruption on Venus and bring the bridge builder sixteen blocks of basalt for new pile footings.
«When the volcano wakes, it throws stones across the whole plain — hot ones, with smoking tails — and every third one lands as a fresh mound of basalt. Basalt that flew through the sky and did not crack is the toughest there is: we set our piles on it. But nobody runs out under the bombs to fetch it. None of us. Watch where the runes burn on the ground, stand clear, and bring me sixteen blocks.»
Whose Bridge?· Bridge BuilderFind the bridge over the lava, defeat two lava serpents that hunt in its bed and tell the bridge builder who built it.
«At every feast the builders argue. One half says our grandmothers built the lava bridge over a river of water, and the river boiled away; the other half says the guests built it and the lava came later. I have argued for the grandmothers for forty seasons, and I have never been there: the serpents hunt in that bed. You are a guest — you will know your own people's work. Go and look at it closely, deal with the serpents, and tell me who is right. Let it be me, please.»
Ring to Ring· Bubble WeaverFind the Cloud Harbor in the highlands, see how the last bubble is tethered, and bring the bubble weaver four iron chains.
«In the Drift whole villages flew tethered ring to ring, and the rings held us to each other: let go of your ring, and the wind takes you. At the old mooring mast lies the last bubble that came down after the Tearing, still tethered to its basket the old way. Our copper rings rot in the acid now, and nobody remembers how the old tethers were linked. Go and look, guest — every ring — and bring me rings of your people's metal, linked, four lengths of them.»
A Breath for the Scraper· Bubble WeaverCarry an air filter woven by the bubble weaver to a frost scraper, for the visor.
«Have you heard the frost scrapers cough? All of them do, after a few seasons on the ridges: frost dust gets in under the visor. I have woven a filter — the same weave as a bubble wall, only tighter: breath goes through, dust does not. Take it to a scraper. They will grumble that they never needed one; let them grumble while they put it on.»
A Skin for the Red Wind· Bubble WeaverCarry three sulfur membranes from the bubble weaver to a storm warden of the Martians on Mars.
«You have been to the Rust Drop, the little red one, and you say the people there live in towers and catch the wind in windcatchers — and that in their storms the dust pours down the windcatchers until a tower fills with sand? Oh, I know that wind. A haze manta's skin is the sky's sieve: it lets the air through and keeps the dust out. Our grandmothers wove bubbles from it. Take them three skins — shed ones, mind, not taken — and give them to the one who listens to their wind.»
A Heart for the Cold Grate· Condenser KeeperBring the condenser keeper two compressors and eight copper sheets for a condenser that makes its own cold.
«Stand still, guest — there is frost on the pipe behind your shoulder. Frost, here on the Deep! Something in your shell squeezes the air, and when the air is let go, it comes out cold: I held my hand to it just now — forgive me. All day I turn the valves and chase the cold across the grate, and the cold is quicker than I am. Bring me two of those squeezing hearts, and eight sheets of copper for a new grate. A tower that makes its own cold... the tank would fill two hands deep.»
Water, Upward· Ark KeeperBring the ark keeper sixteen blocks of packed ice and two buckets of water for the garden of the Ark.
«Oh, a guest from the Dewdrop — and so high! Look around: we grew a bubble where no acid falls. But a garden drinks, and up here there is not a cup to squeeze from the sky. Your world is all water, they sing. Bring us ice, sixteen blocks, and two buckets of the living kind. We will count every drop.»
A Rainbow for the Watchers· Ark KeeperCarry two bismuth crystals from the Ark to an orbit watcher of the Stillwatch near the Moon.
«Near your Dewdrop hangs a pale stone, and on it someone lights a ring of lamps and looks at us — we feel it, like wind on the skin. Take them two of our rainbow stones: they grow in steps, like stairs upward. Let those who look so much have something beautiful to look at.»
Flying Water· Ark KeeperCatch up with a comet in your ship and bring the ark keeper twelve pieces of its ice for the Seed Bubble.
«The old songs say: sometimes a white feather crosses the sky, and it is all water — frozen, flying, free. No one from the Deep has ever touched it. You have wings of metal. When the feather comes, fly right up to it and bring us twelve pieces of its ice. The seeds in the top bubble have slept since the Tearing: they will not wake on the sour water of our sky. On the oldest water there is — they might.»
What to talk about
Tell me about Venus.
Up there is the Deck: the cloud layer where the air is cool and soft, and where we were born, long ago. Down here is the Deep. Everything heavy sinks into it — heat, acid, stone, us. The sky is yellow because it is made of sulfur, and it rains all the time, only the rain never arrives.
Why does the rain never reach the ground?
It changes its mind halfway. The acid falls from the Deck, meets the heat of the Deep and turns back into cloud. We call such rain virga. On a virga day it is cooler on the walkways, and flakes of sulfur drift down like snow — the children catch them on their bells.
How do you bear this heat?
Our skin is wax, guest, and wax does not argue with heat: it shines it back. The acid slides off it too. Inside the bell it is cool — that is where we keep our thoughts. Your shell is clever, but I would not trust it on the Deep for long.
Why does the wind always blow to the west?
Because the sky is in a hurry and the world is not. The whole Deck runs around Venus faster than the stone turns beneath it. In the Drift we rode that wind around the world in a few days. Now it only pushes us along the walkways — hold the rail when it rises.
Who else lives on Venus?
The haze mantas are the sky's sieves: they swim through the sulfur and leave the air cleaner — never harm one. The acid toads squat on the tesserae and swallow the fog; leave them be, they spit far. And in the lava rivers live the serpents, who come out for warm bodies. We build high for many reasons.
What were they like?
Tall enough to stand in the Deep and breathe above the clouds — in the song their heads are in the cool air and their feet in the lava, and they mind neither. They tethered the first villages ring to ring with their own hands; the copper rings on our backs are copies of copies. Then, the song says, they went away to blow other skies. It does not say they came back.
Then why did the bubbles tear?
That is the verse we sing quietly. The Tearing came after they left. Nobody was breathing into the sky any more, and a bubble nobody breathes into goes thin and angry: the storms were the sky gasping for air. The young ones say the Sky-Blowers were called away to something worse than a storm. I do not know. I know only that they would not have left us for nothing.
The tablet says the road goes by the stars.
By the stars... and we have not seen a single star since the Drift. Perhaps that is why nobody came back for us: you cannot follow a road you cannot see. But you came by the stars, guest from the Dewdrop, and you came here. Then the road still reaches us, under all this cloud. I am going to sing that verse loudly tonight.
What is the glowing bell on your head?
My bubble. Once it carried our people across the sky; now it carries my thoughts, and a little light for the long nights. It still remembers the Drift: if one of us falls, it swells by itself, and we come down slowly, like a seed. Push me off a walkway and see — no, please do not.
Could I have a bubble of my own?
Of your own? You would have to be born with one, guest. But here — take these. Bladderwort bubbles, full of breath: bite one when your shell runs dry, and think of us.
Why do you live so high?
Acid is heavy, and heavy things settle. The lower you live, the more of it you breathe. So the most respected of us live highest: the elder speaks under the old bubble that floats above every roof, and children are born on the lowest walkways and climb all their lives. To us, "you have risen" means "you have grown wise".
What was the Drift?
The age when no one touched stone. Whole villages floated on bubbles, tethered ring to ring, and rode the west wind around the world. Then came the Tearing: storms that did not stop for a year. The bubbles burst one after another. The ones who held on to the rings came down together. The others... the wind remembers them.
Why is water so precious to you?
Because Venus has almost none. The sky is full of acid, and somewhere inside the acid there is water, the way there is a seed inside a fruit. Our condensers squeeze it out, one cup a day. A drop of it hangs at my throat, see? Every Cloud Dweller wears one. It is the first gift a child gets, and the last thing we let go of.
How do the condensers work?
A copper tower, a cold grate on top and a glass tank below. The acid fog touches the grate, gives up a little water and runs off as sulfur. The keepers turn the valves all day, chasing the cold. On a good day the tank fills a hand deep — and the whole village comes to look at it.
Names
Nimbe · Cirri · Virga · Strato · Lenti · Alto · Arcu · Hoova · Oolim · Fwee · Ploe · Seela