Now and Forever by Ray Bradbury Page A

beyond the stars, a mission about which as of yet I knew nothing.
    Such a place is a world between: part meadow for mind, part gymnasium for flesh, and part theological seminary, reaching ever skyward in its thoughts. For does space not have the look of a vast cathedral?
    So I walked among shifting shadows and entered the reception foyer of the school’s dormitory. I registered by pressing my hand to an identity panel, which read my sweaty prints like some modern witch of palmistry, and instantaneously chose my roommate for my coming mission.
    There was a buzz, a hum, a bell, and a voice—female, sibilant, mechanical—came from somewhere above: “Ishmael Hunnicut Jones; twenty-nine years; height, five-foot-ten; eyes, blue; hair, brown; bone frame, light. Please attend: floor one, room nine. Cubicle roommate, Quell.”
    And I repeated, “Quell.”
    â€œQuell?” another voice cried behind me. “My God, that’s terrible.”
    Yet another voice added, “God help you, Mr. Jones.”
    I turned to find three astronauts of varying sizes and demeanors, all some years older than me, facing me, holding drinks. One was held out to me.
    â€œTake this, Ishmael Jones,” said the first man, who was tall and thin. “You’ll need it if you’re going upstairs to meet that monster,” he said. “Drink up.”
    â€œBut first,” said the second, holding out his hand to stay my arm, “how do you fly, shallow or deep?”
    â€œWhy, deep, I think,” I said. “Deep space.”
    â€œBy the timid mile or the great light-year?”
    â€œLight-year, yes,” I thought, then said.
    â€œYou may drink with us, then.”
    The third man, who had been silent to this point, spoke up. “I’m John Redleigh. This fellow here,” with a nod toward the tall man, “is Sam Small. And he,” indicating the remaining man, “is Jim Downs.”
    And so we drank. Small declared, “We give you permission to share our space, and also with God’s permission. Do you go to unravel a comet’s tail?”
    â€œI think I do.”
    â€œHave you searched for comets before?”
    â€œNow’s my time.”
    â€œWell said. Look there.”
    The three men turned and nodded toward a vast video screen across the reception hall. As if aware of our regard, it pulsed to life, and displayed an immense photo of a blinding white comet pulling planets in its wake.
    â€œThe lovely destroyer of the universe,” said Small. “The eater of the sun.”
    â€œCan comets do that?” I asked.
    â€œThat, and more. Especially that one.”
    Downs said, “Why, if God should manifest here, He’d come as a comet. Are you one for jumping down the throat of such a holy presence, boy, and dancing in its bright guts?”
    â€œI am,” I said, reluctantly, “if it should be absolutely inescapable.”
    â€œThen let’s drink to him, aye, men? Let’s drink to young Ishmael Hunnicut Jones.”
    At which moment I heard a faint electronic buzz, a pulse, at some distance. I listened, and the buzz grew louder with each pulse, as if it was coming nearer.
    â€œThat,” I said. “What’s that?”
    â€œThat?” said Redleigh. “That sound like a scourge of locusts in flight?”
    I nodded.
    â€œA scourge of locusts?” said Small. “That’s a fine way to refer to our captain.”
    â€œCaptain?” I said. “Who is he?”
    Redleigh said, “Let it be for now, Mr. Jones. You’d best get to your room and meet up with Quell. My God, yes, go meet Quell.”
    â€œFrom beyond the great Andromeda Nebula, he is,” Downs said, in a confidential tone. “Tall, huge, immense, and …”
    â€œA spider,” the first mate interjected.
    â€œYes, yes,” Downs continued. “A vast, tall, giant green spider.”
    â€œBut … ,” said