A Darkling Sea (16 page)

“Atmosphere test,” he said, then switched off his APOS and cracked his helmet.

The smell nearly knocked him out. It was a powerful newcar smell of fresh plastic, a hint of ozone, and something unfamiliar that, after a moment, Rob realized was simply fresh, clean air. He’d been breathing his own and everyone else’s funk for so long the absence of any stench was shocking.

The two of them got to work unpacking. They peeled up the shrink-wrap layer and began stowing all the items where they belonged. Everything had a helpful little label telling where it should go. It was like a tremendous birthday present. There was a compact life- support unit with its own radiothermal generator, four hammocks to go in the upper section of the shelter, a little aluminum worktable, a stove, a dehumidifier/potable water extractor, a freezer for food and specimens, a medical kit— everything a small team would need for extended field operations.

The interior was a single space. They stacked the equipment against the walls and unfolded a table in the center. The hatch in the floor was off center, so that a fourth person could sit at the table as long as nobody needed to go in or out. The hammocks hung overhead, just above an average astronaut’s head—which meant that Josef had to stoop.

The Coquilles had been designed to serve as temporary bases for exploration beyond the immediate surroundings of Hitode. The mission planners had imagined that archaeologists might set one up at a particularly good site for intensive digging, or biologists establish themselves at a rich vent to study the native life. Thanks to Sholen (and some Terran) concerns about “colonization” the Coqs had never been used.

“What do you think?” Josef poked his head into the hatch and called out, making them jump in surprise.

“It’s great! Sen couldn’t pay me to leave!” said Rob. “It’s going to be a little cramped with three of us, but not too bad. I don’t snore.”

“And I’m certainly going to spend as much time as possible outside, observing and collecting,” said Alicia. “This site is a good example of a relatively rich current-fed ecosystem.”

“You do that,” said Rob. “I can keep the hab running, Josef’s got the sub to tend, and we’ve got a month’s worth of food. When we get tired of each other we can go check out the other Coquille. It’s like a little vacation.”

GISHORA only noticed the missing humans at the eve ning meal. He counted those present, and the count came up six short.

“Tizhos!” he called over their private link. “Gather the Guardians and search the habitat. Six of the humans have gone missing.”

While Gishora made sure nobody entered or left the common room, Tizhos and the four Guardians made a systematic sweep through the habitat modules. They could not account for six of the humans. A search of the dive room revealed that their suits were gone as well, and when Tizhos led two Guardians outside, they found no trace of the submarine.

She reported back to Gishora in person. “I believe they have left the station.”

Gishora motioned Vikram Sen over. “Doctor Sen, I would like you to tell us where the missing people have gone.”

“I am very sorry but unfortunately I have no idea where they are,” said Sen. “Nobody at the station knows.”

“I want you to tell me what purpose they intend to accomplish.”

“As to that, you must understand that I did not order them to leave, so this is entirely speculation on my part. But it may well be that they have left Hitode because they don’t want to be dragged to the elevator, hauled up to the surface, and forced aboard your space vehicle. But, as I say, that is just speculation.”

“It seems a foolish act,” said Gishora. “They can remain outside in their suits for a dozen hours, possibly as long as two dozen, but no longer. They will accomplish nothing.”

Tizhos had been consulting her personal computer, and rubbed against Gishora to get his attention. “I see a problem,” she said in their own language.

“Tell me.”

“The humans brought along two temporary shelters, to aid in exploration. I did not see either of them outside when I searched. According to the mission plan, each one can support three humans for several weeks.”

Gishora turned back to Vikram Sen and spoke in English. “Tell me if they have taken the temporary shelters.”

“What a clever idea!” said Sen. “With the submarine they could take the Coquilles a considerable distance. You are going to have a very difficult time finding them.”

“Tell me if you have a way to communicate with them. You must ask them to return.”

“Sadly, no. They are undoubtedly beyond hydrophone range. Perhaps if you stop removing people from the station they will return.”

Gishora was silent for a moment, then spoke to the whole room. “I must state that this action represents a very uncooperative attitude,” he said, then beckoned Tizhos to follow him back to their room.

At first he walked slowly, but halfway there he seemed to brighten up, and his pace became almost jaunty.

They gave Irona the bad news over a secure link to the ship in orbit. Tizhos thought the whole idea of encrypting their conversation seemed rather silly—after all, the humans could listen to what they were saying by simply putting an ear to the door of their room. But serious matters demanded the formality of pointless security.

“It saddens me to report that some of the humans have fled the station,” said Gishora.

“I don’t think I understand,” said Irona. “Explain how they can survive.”

“Consult the original exploration plan: the humans brought along two small portable shelters.”

“Yes, I remember now. We used diplomatic pressure to prevent them from expanding across the planet with these so- called ’temporary’ bases.”

“They have now deployed them, and six humans now hide somewhere on the ocean floor. Vikram Sen claims they do this to protest our actions here,” said Gishora. “He says they acted without his permission.”

“It surprises me that you believe such a statement,” said Irona. “You often describe humans as rule-bound and hierarchical. It seems more reasonable that they have a plan. They challenge us to take action.”

“I prefer to wait them out,” said Gishora. “They cannot have an indefinite supply of food.”

“We can assume nothing. Our own supplies cannot last forever, and those of us in orbit will eventually get too much radiation exposure. The humans may wish to keep our ship here until Terran military forces can arrive. You may not have considered that.”

From his sudden change in posture Tizhos could see that, indeed, Gishora had not thought of that. The notion seemed ridiculous—did the Terrans even
have
military forces that could reach Ilmatar and fight a Sholen ship? But the idea appeared to disturb Gishora a great deal. “I wish to avoid conflict if we can,” he said.

“Then I believe we must capture these hiding humans as quickly as possible,” said Irona. “Get all of them aboard and then leave this world. If you remember, I said at the very beginning that the success of this mission depends on rapid action.”

“Above all we must avoid violence,” said Gishora. “The humans may return on their own.”

“I doubt that,” said Irona, and Tizhos could almost smell the scent of scorn through the video link. “We must retain the initiative and send out searchers.”

“If you think we can do that without provoking greater conflict, I agree,” said Gishora.

“I do. Tell me if you need more Guardians. I can send more down with the elevator, now that we control it.”

“No,” said Gishora quickly. “This station can barely accomodate the six already here. Wait until more of the humans leave. Tizhos and I will try to find where the humans hide. It may take a little while,” said Gishora, and broke the link.

“Tell me if you really believe we have enough Guardians,” said Tizhos as soon as she was sure Irona couldn’t hear.

“I do. Vikram Sen has said the humans will not cooperate, but will not fight us, either. The six Guardians already here seem sufficient. And we still have no idea where the missing humans have hidden themselves, so they may yet return.”

“Oh, but I do know their location!” said Tizhos. “One of the shelters, at least. Remember that I have explored the station computer network. Their submarine automatically joins that network whenever it comes within laser link range. The station system keeps a copy of the submarine’s log, including position and time rec ords. Look here!” She happily manipulated her terminal, connecting to the Hitode system and calling up the submarine logs. “After taking away the first shelter the submarine returned and the log automatically updated. You can see the complete profile of its voyage.”

Gishora looked disappointed. “Explain why we still have access to the station’s network at all,” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, we don’t. Vikram Sen locked us out shortly after you asked the humans to leave Ilmatar. But as part of our investigation I got copies of the dead Henri Kerlerec’s files, including his codes and passwords. They still work. Sen has not deleted him yet.”

“Well done, Tizhos,” said Gishora, though he still did not sound pleased. “But I feel we can wait a few days before sending these results up to Irona. I don’t want to rush if I can avoid it.”

Tizhos’s sense of triumph faded and she cringed. “I have bad news, then. I have made it my habit to send up copies of all my notes and logs every few hours. Irona already has this information, if he chooses to look.”

Gishora cuffed her, but not hard. No more than a token gesture. “I fear that means we can’t delay too long in telling him about your discovery. Someone may compare times and dates later on. Tomorrow, then—but not too early.” He slumped on his cushions and looked beaten. “I hoped to use this delay to spend more time studying Ilmatar. Instead we must continue to act like warriors. I hate it.”

Tizhos moved to lie beside him, and they cuddled and stroked one another, and after a time both could at least pretend to feel better.

AT Coquille 2, Rob, Alicia, and Josef settled into a comfortable exile. Rob had been worried that the three of them crammed into the tiny habitat would soon be at each other’s throats, but in fact the biggest problem for him was loneliness.

Alicia was in a frenzy of data gathering. If and when the Sholen finally dragged her up to orbit she’d have terabytes of new information about Ilmatar and its native life. She concentrated on collection rather than analysis, which meant she spent about ten hours a day suited up, making video recordings of organisms she ran across, gathering specimens to freeze, and collecting hydrophone recordings. She went over the whole vent complex with a camera, documenting everything. Most evenings she climbed back into the habitat so tired she could barely make it into her hammock.

Josef, on the other hand, was keeping tabs on the Sholen. He didn’t dare take the sub too close to Hitode, but he did spend hours sitting in it, powered down on the sea bottom with a laser link to a drone at the extreme limit of range, listening on the hydrophone for any sound of activity at the station.

Rob looked after the habitat. Since it was brand new, that should have meant he had nothing to do except watch cartoons. But Theory, where everything works as intended, turned out to be a long way from Ilmatar. Rob had to fix systems that had been improperly installed back on Earth—or improperly designed in the first place.

The dehumidifier posed the biggest problem, especially given that it was also their main source of drinking water. It started out producing just a tiny trickle, and then quit entirely on the second day. Rob took the whole device apart and rebuilt it, and in the process discovered that the compressor wasn’t compressing. That eventually turned out to be the fault of a loose shaft on the turbine pump, which Rob secured with a generous glob of epoxy.

When the thing finally began to produce a steady trickle of water and a nice flow of warm air, Rob felt justifiably proud of himself. Human survival on Ilmatar depended on Rob Freeman.

“We have water again,” he told Josef when the lieutenant climbed up through the hatch and unfastened his helmet.

“Good,” Josef grunted. “Only one bottle left aboard
Mishka.
Sholen are more active today. Sounded like they are training.”

“Training for what?”

“Good question.”

Alicia came through the hatch half an hour later.

“We’ve got water,” said Rob, handing her a cup of instant tea.

“Ah, warm. I think I have located a nest of some large pelagic swimmer. There are half a dozen eggs, about a liter each. I am going to set up a camera to watch them develop. We may get to see them hatch!”

“Great. Did I mention we aren’t going to die of thirst because I fixed the water extractor?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “When will there be enough to wash?”

“Sweetie, I do miracles every day but that’s just crazy talk. You can take a shower when the Sholen capture you, or when a relief ship gets here from Earth. Until then, you get two antiseptic wipes per day. Use them wisely.”

She shrugged. “A little dirt will not kill us. What do we have to eat?”

“Nothing but emergency food bars. If this was a proper expedition we could have brought along supplies from Hitode. There’s a little kitchen and a fridge. But since taking a big bag of food out of Hitode would have attracted some attention . . . we get food bars. Take your choice: chicken flavor, beef flavor, or vegetarian flavor.”

“Make soup,” said Josef. “Stretch the bars that way, too.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Rob. “I’ll make us a pot of beef flavor food bar soup, with water from the extractor. Which I fixed today.”

“Thank you for fixing the water extractor, Robert,” said Alicia, almost managing to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“Damn right you don’t,” he said, and began cutting up a food bar with his utility knife.

TIZHOS felt uncomfortable leading a squad of Guardians, but Gishora had convinced her that he had to remain at the station. She did her best to establish the right sort of rapport with the fighters, but she only had a short time and could not overcome the tremendous differences in outlook and background that separated her from the Guardians.

She did achieve a basic level of sexual attraction, since the unit included three males and only one other female. That required her to flirt outrageously and pretend to find them attractive. Of course, they did have the appeal of youth and health, but she couldn’t really discover any common interests to share with them. All their real affection still went to Irona.

So when Tizhos set out from Hitode Station leading four Guardians to capture three humans, she hoped she could accomplish the job without any fighting. She didn’t bring along any obvious weapons of her own. Her Guardians had nothing but knives—and about twice as much mass as any human.

The humans at Hitode still refused to repair the impellers, and the fugitive humans had the submarine, so Tizhos and her team had to swim all the way out to the temporary shelter. After the grueling five-kilometer swim even the healthy young Guardians needed a long rest and some food, so they paused about two hundred meters from the rubble field that concealed the habitat.

Long before Tizhos wanted to continue, the timer clicked softly. “We must end our rest now,” she said to the Guardians. “Use your stimulants.”

All of them, herself included, swallowed a wafer laced with high- energy compounds and neurotransmitters. In a moment Tizhos felt clearheaded, energetic, and a trifle aggressive.

She passed the edge of the rubble field and switched her sonar unit to active mode. The high-pitched pings created an image of the ruined Ilmataran city around her, and about half a kilometer away she could make out a large blank area where something absorbed the sound waves instead of reflecting them. The shelter.

Her unit detected one large moving target near the void. The sound of the breathing apparatus identified it as a human. When the Sholen approached within about two hundred meters the human reacted, hurrying to the shelter entrance and saying something indistinct by hydrophone.

They’d been spotted. No point in trying to be stealthy, then. Tizhos activated her own hydrophone, at maximum volume so the humans could hear. She spoke in English. “We have arrived in order to take you back to Hitode Station. Cooperate in a peaceful way.”

She heard no reply until her party reached a hundred meters from the shelter. Then a hydrophone, tinny and shrill, broadcast: “We refuse to leave! Go away!”

Tizhos noticed the Guardian nearest her unsheathe his knife. Interesting: she had not known anyone on the expedition but herself and Gishora understood any human languages. “No need for that,” she said. “Put it away.”

He hesitated. “Their statements sound aggressive. They may have weapons.”

“Remember what we discussed. If they resist, you may use force, but only use weapons if they do.”

Thanks to the stimulants, Tizhos felt not at all tired when the squad reached the shelter. The tiny entry hatch was located underneath, so only one Sholen at a time could enter: a very bad situation, tactically.

She selected the biggest Guardian. “Nirozha, you first, then Shisora. I will follow. Gizhot, I want you and Rigosha to remain outside and receive the prisoners as we send them out. Tell me if you all feel ready.”

The Guardians gave aggressive hoots, like dancers ready for a competition.

“Then go inside now.”

The humans had tried to lash the hatch shut, but Nirozha braced himself in the entry tube and used his midlimbs to shove it open far enough to cut the cord with his knife. The hatch popped open and he surged inside. Shisora followed swiftly in case of trouble.

Tizhos struggled up the tube, her life- support pack scraping the side as her belly pressed against the ladder. She wondered briefly how a bulky Guardian like Nirozha had managed to fit.

Then she pushed through the hatch into the shelter. The humans had turned off the lights so she could see only the jerky beams from the Guardians’ shoulder lamps.

She aimed her light up. Three humans dangled in hammocks in the upper section. Nirozha had also seen them and began climbing the flimsy ladder up to them. They made no aggressive moves, which pleased Tizhos.

A sudden screaming made her jump. All three humans began shrieking as Nirozha approached. He tried to pull one of the human males out of his hammock, but the human started struggling and kicking. Tizhos recognized him as Richard Graves. For some reason he did not use his arms.

“Wait here. I will go up to assist Nirozha,” she told Shisora. The ladder felt as if it could barely support her weight. In the upper section she could hardly find room to move with three humans and Nirozha crowded in. The Guardian and Richard Graves still struggled. Nirozha grabbed his legs with all four arms and pulled, but he still did not come out. His shouting increased in volume. Tizhos found it hard to think.

She could see something around Richard Graves’s wrists attaching him to the ring supporting the hammock. Tizhos wondered why the humans had restrained themselves.

“Please quiet yourselves!” she called out, but the humans continued shouting. She could not make out anything they said, but their tones sounded angry.

Nirozha used his knife to cut the restraint holding Richard Graves to his hammock. The human struggled free of Nirozha’s grip and danced around the upper part of the shelter, swinging from handholds and jumping over the other two humans. Finally the Guardian got his midlimbs around the human and half-passed, half-tossed him to Tizhos.

She had to use three of her arms to hold Richard Graves, and could barely get down the ladder to the lower level, especially with him struggling and kicking his legs. Shisora and Tizhos held him down and tried to get him into a drysuit, but he continued kicking and struggling, still shouting.

They got him suited and tossed him into the water for Gizhot and Rigosha to deal with.

Next Nirozha captured the human female. Despite her smaller size she proved even more difficult for him to handle than the male. Twice he got her in his grip only to have her wriggle free. She struck and kicked him repeatedly, and finally Nirozha backhanded her with his left midlimb, knocking her down to the lower level where Shisora could pounce on her.

Getting her into a suit felt worse than trying to wash an uncooperative infant. Infants didn’t kick as hard and scream insults. Infants didn’t grab at your own suit hoses, or throw equipment across the shelter, then break free when you had to let go to retrieve it.

And then, when they had her legs into the suit for the third time and were trying to capture her arms, she punched Shisora in the ribs once too often.

He hit her back, a powerful blow with his midlimb. And then he hit her again. He held her down with his upper arms and began hitting her with his midlimbs, over and over again. Her screams changed in pitch, getting higher and louder.

Tizhos still held the female’s legs down. I should stop this, she thought. Before she gets badly hurt. But it felt so satisfying to watch the human being pounded. Tizhos’s suit reeked of anger and frustration, and watching Shisora work the human over felt almost as good as doing it herself.

The screams stopped, and suddenly Tizhos snapped back to reality. “Shisora, stop. I order you to stop!”

He got in one more blow, then sat back on his four rear limbs, breathing heavily. The human didn’t move. Circulatory fluid leaked from her mouth and nostrils, and Tizhos could see sections of skin changing color.

The female human’s suit included a medical monitor, and when they turned it on the readouts showed lots of blinking red alert signals. Gizhot had the most medical training, and Tizhos knew enough first aid and human physiology to assist, but neither had ever tried to aid an injured human before. The little medical kit in the shelter contained a manual and some emergency drugs, but they didn’t do much. Eventually her heart stopped and she stopped breathing.

The remaining male offered no resis tance. The one outside slipped away during the confusion. Tizhos led her little team back toward Hitode, towing the dead human’s body herself. Nobody spoke much.

BROADTAIL is teaching the youngsters how to speak properly. Each student is kept in a pen, and Broadtail moves along the row with a bag of clinger meat. They strain against the netting of the pens, snatching at him, but he keeps behind the row of little stones marking the limit of their reach.

He stops before each pen and conducts a little lesson. The student doesn’t get any meat until it can say “Give me food.” Half of them fail. Broadtail recalls Oneclaw’s advice.

“Most of them fail at new lessons, but I expect improvement. Hunger is a good teacher.”

The female at the end of the row, Smoothshell, can only snatch feebly. Broadtail doesn’t remember her eating anything in the pens. She fails all her lessons. Is she too stupid to learn? In that case she is nothing but food for the others.

But she sounds clever enough. Her pings are rare but sharp. Broadtail recalls her almost getting herself untied from one of Oneclaw’s clumsy knots. Perhaps she is simply stubborn. He decides to try something he dimly remembers from his own youth.

“Food,” he says, and loudly eats a bit. Then he places a chunk of clinger flesh where she can reach it. “Food,” he repeats as she grabs the bit. “Food.”

“I give you food,” he says, putting out another bit. He listens as she gobbles it. He waits.

She strains against the netting, clacking her pincers, but she can’t reach the bag.

“Speak to me,” he says. “Speak or starve. Choose now. I think you understand me.”

He waits. She stops struggling, tries one last surprise lunge, which brings her extended pincer almost close enough to touch him, then is still. He waits some more.

“Food,” she says quietly.

“Good. What do you want?”

Another long pause, then she says “Give me food.”

Broadtail shoves half a dozen clingers toward her. “Very good. I give you food. I give Smoothshell food.”

“Holdhard,” she says a little more loudly. It is not a name he recognizes.

“Where is Holdhard?”

“I am Holdhard.”

“You are Smoothshell.”

“I am Holdhard.”

This is a curious development. Normally children her age don’t have personal names. They can barely comprehend themselves as individuals.

“Very well, Holdhard. I give Holdhard food.” He gives her the last two bits of clinger. “Broadtail gives Holdhard food.”

He waits a little longer, then turns to go. As he leaves he just catches her saying “Broadtail gives Holdhard food” very quietly.

ROB and Josef found Dickie Graves about half a kilometer from Coquille 1. Actually he found them—they were making a very stealthy approach to the Coq with Rob listening on all the external microphones for any hint of Sholen presence when a rescue strobe started flashing nearby. The sudden light made Josef cry out in surprise, but his hands on the thruster controls were perfectly steady, and he swung the sub around for a sudden getaway before Rob heard Dickie’s voice and told him to wait.

Dickie had been in the water in his suit for two days, so during the voyage back to Coq 2 he gobbled down a couple of emergency food bars while telling his story.

“The Sholies have gone utterly feral,” he said between bites. “They killed Isabel. Four or five of them came to drag us back to Hitode. We tried passive resistance—the old activist public theater script. Tied ourselves in with cable ties. Look what that bastard did to my wrists! Chanted at them. ’We will not be moved! We will not be moved!’ ”