Limits by Larry Niven Read Free Book Online Page A

levitation. “I’ll show you around.” He led the way out of the airlock into the sphere itself.
    We were at the center of rotation. All around, above and below, were fields of dirt, some plowed, some planted with grass and grains.
    There were wings attached to hooks at the entrance. McLeve took down a set and began strapping them on. Black bat wings. They made him look like a fallen angel, Milton’s style. He handed me another pair. “Like to fly?” he asked.
    I returned the grin. “Why not?” I hadn’t the remotest idea of what I was doing, but if I could swim in the air with my hands, I ought to be able to handle wings in no gravity. He helped me strap in, and when I had them he gave some quick instructions.
    “Main thing is to stay high,” he said. “The further down the higher the gravity, and the tougher it is to control these things.” He launched himself into space, gliding across the center of the sphere. After a moment I followed him.
    I was a tiny chick in a vast eggshell. The landscape was wrapped around me: fields and houses, and layout yards of construction gear, and machinery, and vats of algae, and three huge windows opening on blackness. Every direction was down, millions of light years down when a window caught my attention. For a moment that was terrifying. But McLeve held himself in place with tiny motions of his wings, and his eyes were on me. I swallowed my fear and looked.
    There were few roads. Mostly the colonists flew with their wings, flew like birds, and if they didn’t need roads, they didn’t need squared-off patterns for the buildings either. The “houses” looked like they’d been dropped at random among the green fields. They were fragile partitions of sheet metal (wood was far more costly than sheet steel here), and they could not have borne their own weight on Earth, let alone stand up to a stiff breeze. They didn’t have to. They existed for privacy alone.
    I wondered about the weather. Along the axis of the sphere I could see scores of white puffballs. Clouds? I gathered my courage and flapped my way over to the white patch. It was a flock of hens. Their feet were drawn up, their heads were tucked under their wings, and they roosted on nothing.
    “They like it in zero gravity,” McLeve said. “Only thing is, when you’re below them you have to watch out.”
    He pointed. A blob of chicken splat had left the flock and moved away from us. It fell in a spiral pattern. Of course the splat was actually going in a straight line—we were the ones who were rotating, and that made the falling stuff look as if it were spiraling to the ground below.
    “Automatic fertilizer machine,” I said.
    McLeve nodded.
    “I wonder you don’t keep them caged,” I said.
    “Some people like their sky dotted with fleecy white hens.”
    “Oh. Where is everybody?” I asked.
    “Most are outside working,” McLeve said. “You’ll meet them at dinner.”
    We stayed at the axis, drifting with the air currents, literally floating on air. I knew already why people who came here wanted to stay. I’d never experienced anything like it, soaring like a bird. It wasn’t even like a sail plane: you wore the wings and you flew with them, you didn’t sit in a cockpit and move controls around.
    There were lights along part of the axis. The mirrors would take over their job when they were installed; for the moment the lights ran off solar power cells plastered over the outside of the sphere. At the far end of the sphere was an enormous cloud of dust. We didn’t get close to it. I pointed and looked a question.
    “Rock grinder,” McLeve said. “Making soil. We spread it over the northern end.” He laughed at my frown. “North is the end toward the sun. We get our rocks from the Moon. It’s our radiation shielding. Works just as well if we break it up and spread it around, and that way we can grow crops in it. Later on we’ll get the agricultural compartments built, but there’s always five