The Towers of Hanoi 

Jungle birds called in alien voices, voices more human than animal, odd, yet strangely familiar. They sat on high branches in high trees, eying the three men who struggled through the thick undergrowth below. A sudden squawk made one man jump and look around through the treetops, startled.

He was Frank Simms, pilot of large flying machines. He trudged slowly behind the others, not speaking, studying his new surroundings with a sharp eye. He did not touch but wanted to touch the twisted tube-trees, covered with moss, that grew up, away, or the parade of creatures that scurried underfoot, beetles big as a fist, and many-legged crawling things that lurked under rocks and in the dark places. He stepped carefully, avoiding roots that scratched at his legs like claws. Once, a vine snaked around his ankle, throwing him forward onto his hands, and he sat like that for a few seconds before he got up, feeling the soft earth between his fingers.

Water dripped down from above into small pools of collected rain, a constant drip-dripping sound. Simms peered into one, saw the scuttle-bugs dance and skim on its surface, darting across his own face, reflected back as a twisted, monstrous shape. He crouched there for a while, resting, then looked up to see that his companions were almost out of sight through the trees. He ran, stumbling, to catch up.

Ahead, Hastings puffed and swore, lumbering like an elephant, kicking roots, snapping twigs with his thick fingers. He stomped through the shallow puddles, sending water and creatures flying. Cursing, he tripped over a root, and stopped to kick the tree, hard. Sometimes he picked up rocks and hurled them at the large slow-motion birds, which complained angrily and flapped away through the forest. He paused to peer up through the treetops at the unseen sun high above them.

Rain fell for a time, large warm droplets that didn't come straight down, but pattered off one leaf, then down to the next, then the next, down to the soft-sponge floor. Simms lifted his face up to the water, let it roll down the tip of his nose, into his mouth. It was like warm tears on his tongue. The sound of it filled the forest, a soft tap-tap-tap that continued for a while after the squall passed.

Their guide, Sung-Hoi, moved with a fluid grace through the forest, never stumbling, never stopping. His priest robes were the earth-colors of jungle mosses, and they whispered softly as he walked. His one lock of dark, braided hair bounced against his bald head. He had dark skin and dark-almond eyes, and when he finally spoke, his words were slow with a strange accent.

"It is here. Just ahead."

The trees thinned suddenly, and ahead streams of sunlight shone through, real sunlight, not the soft-jungle glow of light through leaves and branches. They saw the light shine hard on the trees, on the steamy mist of rain off sun-baked leaves, they saw it glint bright and gold off of something, something odd...

Hastings stepped into the sunlight, blinking, as he craned his neck upward, following his eyes. His jaw hung slack as he stared. He swore once.

"That," he said, "is impossible."

"Yes," said Sung-Hoi. "But it is there."

Leaping up from the ground like a rocket, glinting gold, a spire of melted and pounded and smoothed metal stood silently, waiting, as though daring someone to explain. Bigger around than the biggest tree, it was a spike of pure gold, smooth, featureless. The clearing seemed to bow and pay homage to it, as though no tree nearby would dare to grow up and challenge it.

Sung-Hoi looked at the spire without speaking. There was a sense of quiet awe in his bearing, of worship, almost. He stood facing it for a long time, hands at his sides, staring upward at the top of the spire which towered above the trees.

Simms was dumbfounded. Here was something beyond anything, beyond all things, this was the Damned Thing that stood against science and nature and human reason.

"It's as though," he said, finally, "it was just hammered there. By a god."

Sung-Hoi did not take his eyes off the tower.

"It was," he said.