A Darkling Sea (8 page)

Longpincer considers this. “Describe the crime.”

“I remember a dispute in the commonhouse over nets. The leader of the other faction tries to recruit me to his side. We argue. I am tired and hungry. He refuses to leave. I believe myself to be on my own land and fight him. I kill him, and then learn we are on neutral ground.”

“A sad mistake. I am certainly surprised, but I repeat that you are welcome here. At Bitterwater you are under my protection.”

“Thank you,” says Broadtail. Longpincer is a stickler for the old forms, and when he calls someone his guest he means it.

Broadtail can relax for the first time since the trial. He is no longer an outlaw, he is the guest of a sovereign landowner.

Within Longpincer’s boundary stones he is safe.

Longpincer pings at Broadtail. “Enough chatting—get to the house and eat something at once. You sound all hollow! I expect us to speak a great deal after this task is done.” Longpincer turns his attention to one of the hired workers. “You wild child! Feel that pipe joint! Half the flow is going out through the seam. Put it together properly.”

ROB slept nine hours, ate a huge meal, and worked another shift packing up Henri Kerlerec’s belongings so that Una Karlssen could switch into Henri’s old room. That way the two aliens could have adjacent quarters.

Alicia volunteered to help him pack up Henri’s stuff, but Rob told her he could do it himself. “It’s easier for one person in these tiny cabins,” he said. “And I promise I won’t slit my wrists in some outburst of delayed grief.”

Nevertheless, it was weird going through Henri’s things. All the items that had seemed so affected and annoying were sad and kind of pathetic now. The ankh pendant that Henri claimed he’d found in the harbor of Alexandria. The French navy diver’s shirt he wore when he wanted to look macho. The flight suit with mission patches for Titan, Europa, and Ilmatar. Rob tried to be reverent, folding things up and packing them neatly into the Betacloth bags. He found himself wondering: if someone had to pack up Robert Freeman’s gear, what would they find? Some faded T-shirts with the names of bands or brands of beer on them. Some imaging software manuals.

A Caltech class ring. Two crew shirts from feature films he’d worked on.

Henri had been an egotistical pain in the ass, but people would at least remember him after he died. If Rob got lost in Ilmatar’s ocean and never went home to Earth, who would notice? Five relatives, maybe a dozen acquaintances, and whoever was in charge of cutting names into the astronaut memorial at Kennedy Space Center.

When Henri’s room was empty, Rob spent another couple of hours doing general clean-up, getting rid of the mildew in the bathroom nearest the aliens’ rooms.

The sad truth, as Rob looked about the station with a critical visitor’s eye, was that space explorers were terrible slobs. They might be fanatics about putting things away properly, but nobody had the time or inclination to do the boring daily chores like scrubbing walls or sweeping corners. The Japanese Space Agency designers had done their best, packing Hitode with self- cleaning toilets and smart plastic walls laced with antifungal chemicals, but ultimately one simply tuned out the stains and smells, lumping them together with the low gravity and constant chill as just another feature of life on Ilmatar. With only four hours to go, he made the mistake of lying down for just a few minutes of rest, and didn’t wake up until ten minutes before the aliens were due to arrive.

He dressed in his one clean set of coveralls and hurried through the connecting tunnel to Hab 4, where most of the twenty- eight inhabitants of Hitode Station were packed into the common room. Dr. Sen was waiting by the airlock door, dressed in an immaculate white silk outfit that was certainly the most comfortable and elegant-looking thing on the planet. Not a very handsome group otherwise, Rob thought as he looked around the room. Most of the crew were all pale and pasty-looking after so long without sunlight, and even the naturally dark- skinned ones had acquired a weird grayish tint.

The only ones who looked at all healthy were the Ishikawas, who spent all their time in the farm section under the grow lamps. All of them were squeezed into their astronaut flight suits, many of which were getting quite tight across the shoulders and chests as the crew bulked up with swimming muscles.

They had insignia from half-a-dozen space agencies, but all had the United Nations Interstellar Cooperation Agency patch prominently displayed on the right shoulder. One big, happy space-going family.

“I can see the elevator,” Una Karlssen called from the docking module. “It’s just at the last safety stop now. Three minutes!”

It was odd how excited they all were. The elevator had been making its way down the cable from the surface for thirty- six hours, but everyone was counting down the seconds until it docked. To fill the anxious silence, Dr. Sen cleared his throat and spoke. “Let us all try to make sure this visit goes smoothly.

If the Sholen do not find anything to complain about, there is less chance of their trying this kind of surprise inspection again.”

“I still think we should file some complaints of our own,” said Maria Husquavara. “They’ve got no right to keep coming in here and interfering with our work.”

Sen smiled tolerantly. “I have already prepared a message to UNICA addressing that subject at length, but we can hardly turn them away now.”

“Besides, the designers forgot to put a lock on the front door,” said Pierre Adler in a stage whisper.

There was another nervous pause, and then Una called out “One minute!”

From outside came the sound of scraping metal as the elevator caught the guide rails and began to slide down to mate snugly with the docking hatch. It landed on the support brackets with a heavy thump, and then the docking latches clanged shut one after another. There was a pause while the pumps forced air into the space between the two hatches. Una swung the inner door open and checked the pressure gauge on the elevator hatch. The difference was minor, so she turned the equalizing valve set in the hatch. When it stopped hissing she opened the door to let the aliens out of the elevator. There were two of them. The Sholen were bigger than humans, covered with sleek dark-gray skin, and wore no clothes other than belts with storage pouches. In the cramped station they walked on their four rear legs, peering about nearsightedly and flicking out their purple tongues to taste the air. The horizontal posture and curiously mammalian faces made them look like giant hairless otters.

“Welcome to Hitode Station. I am Vikram Sen, the director of the facility.”

“I call myself Gishora; I present Tizhos,” said the leader, indicating his companion. Gishora was a male, with wicked- looking claws on his forelimbs and brightly colored genitalia.

The female, Tizhos, was bigger and had a pouch barely visible on her chest.

Among themselves the Sholen gesture of greeting was an embrace that verged on foreplay; with humans they contented themselves with a hug and a few tongue flicks to pick up the scent. Dr. Sen submitted to the process with tolerant grace, like a man who doesn’t really like dogs putting up with having his face licked.

Rob hadn’t seen any Sholen in the flesh before, and he found himself studying the way they moved. The body could never be mistaken for a Terran vertebrate’s, even if you ignored the extra pair of limbs. When the aliens turned, Rob got a glimpse of their segmented spines, a series of jointed bones like femurs. Dr. Sen was still playing host. “Why don’t I show you to the rooms I have selected for your use? We can make sure that all of your belongings are stowed away properly and then perhaps discuss your plans for how to proceed with this investigation.”

“I agree,” said Gishora.

“Then please follow me this way,” said Dr. Sen. He motioned to Rob, who helped carry the Sholen luggage—mostly food and dive equipment, since they didn’t wear clothes. Sen put them in Hab One, right next to his own room.

A small group of Hitode staffers followed along. Rob could see some unhappy looks. Simeon Fouchard was the one who broke the silence as they reached the aliens’ quarters. “We would like to know the purpose of your visit,” he said. “This is a serious interruption of our work and we want to know why you are here.”

Gishora turned and looked at Fouchard, then at Sen. “We came because of the incident involving the death of a human.

He violated the contact rules.”

“I know that! Kerlerec was foolish and died for it. It is sad and a nuisance, but it is done. Why are
you
here? What can you do that we cannot?”

“We must investigate how the violation came to happen, and what effect it had on the inhabitants of this world.”

“That is intolerable! Dr. Sen is preparing a full report, and you will get a copy. Do you think we will not tell the truth about the Kerlerec incident?”

“Please, Dr. Fouchard,” said Sen. “This is not at all a good time to be having this sort of argument. I am sure our guests are quite tired from their journey and would like some time to rest and unpack their belongings.”

“No! I will not be silent! They say they are here to investigate, as if they are the police and we are criminals. I say they have no authority here and no crime has been committed.”

“Simeon!” said Dr. Sen, tugging the bigger man’s arm. He bent close to Fouchard and spoke quietly, but Rob could hear what he said. “I do not like this situation any more than you do, but getting angry and starting confrontations like this will not make things any better.”

“Pah! You are too accomodating, Vikram. Remember what planet you come from.” He stomped away, muttering in French. Sen turned back to the aliens. “I do hope you will pardon Dr. Fouchard’s outburst just now. He is understandably upset about what is going on.”

“I do not understand what angers him,” said Gishora. “Well, I think it is simply that he objects to being investigated. I am preparing a report on Dr. Kerlerec’s death and the events leading up to it, and let me assure you that it will be entirely truthful and accurate. This desire of yours to conduct your own inquiry implies that you don’t believe we will tell the truth. Among humans that is an insult.”

“I understand,” said Gishora. “And I apologize if we give offense. But I fear I must continue with my assignment. I must speak privately with Tizhos now, and then we would like to question the witness of the event.”

BROADTAIL wakes in a hallway of Longpincer’s house. He recalls dragging himself inside and dozing off from the effort. There is a good flavor in the water, and he follows it to the dining room, where Longpincer and the work crew are having a whole young towfin.

“I am pleased that you can join us,” says Longpincer. “I remember finding you passed out in the hall and thinking perhaps to have some apprentices carry you to a room.”

“I’m sorry,” says Broadtail. “It is a long swim here from Continuous Abundance.”

“Well, tear off some,” says Longpincer. “There’s plenty for all. I may work my people like a coldwater schoolmaster, but nobody leaves Bitterwater hungry.”

“May I ask the purpose of that curious machine I remember you installing at my arrival? Is it some kind of circulator?”

“The principles are similar, but this device measures flow. I remember discovering the idea in a piece by Longlegs, quoting some ancient writings of the Cold Rift ruins. The flow through the pipe turns in the circulator blades, but the axle is attached to a bundle of ropevine secured to a block. So the turning circulator winds up the ropevine until the force of the flow cannot overcome the resis tance of the bundled cords. A rod inserted into the bundle near the block shows how much the bundle is twisted, and thus how strong the flow is.”

“Remarkable!”

“I plan to install them in all my pipes, and then adjust the pipe size accordingly. My hope is to reduce leakage and overflow. Already it reveals inefficiencies.”

“I remember a landowner back in Continuous Abundance who wishes to apportion flow rights more accurately. This is exactly what she would need!” Then Broadtail remembers that he can’t go back to Continuous Abundance and falls silent.

Longpincer tactfully changes the subject. “Do you remember the four-limbed creature? The one full of hot bubbles?”

“Of course. I can’t recall finding anything stranger in my life.”

“My studies of it reveal many curious features. I suspect the outer hide may actually be an artificial covering. Parts of it come apart into distinct fibers like woven cloth.”

“Artificial? But who could make such a thing, and why put it on a weird creature like that?”

“I remember wondering the same things. And now I have an idea: you can go and find their origin.”

“Me?”

“It all fits together perfectly. In your—situation—you must avoid towns and settled places, but in the cold waters you are the equal of anyone.”

“Where there is no law, it doesn’t matter that I am an outlaw?”

“Exactly! There are other reasons, as well. You know as much about these strange creatures as anyone else in the Bitterwater Company. Unlike some of the other scientists, you are strong and fit.”

“And I have nothing else to do. I hear you, Longpincer, and I think it is a splendid idea. If you are willing to supply an expedition, I am willing to lead it.”

“Excellent! I propose meeting to make plans after we finish eating and sleep.”

THE humans assigned them two rooms, putting each Sholen in a separate container in their orderly way. Tizhos and Gishora didn’t even have to discuss changing their living arrangements. One chamber became a workroom, where they could gather information and look at rec ords. The other became their bedroom, where the two of them could curl up sociably to rest and bond with each other.

The two Sholen could easily see that the humans wanted them to finish quickly and leave, so Tizhos didn’t have a lot of time to study their findings about Ilmatar. She skimmed through all their data to see if there was any evidence of contact.

What Tizhos saw seemed tantalizingly incomplete. There were sound recordings of the Ilmatarans, made using drones, and a few blurry long-range video images. The humans did have a large selection of Ilmataran artifacts recovered from abandoned settlements. But Tizhos could only look over the catalog of items and glance at images. She could only hope to find an opportunity to actually see and touch some of the artifacts herself.

They interviewed the only survivor of the Kerlerec incident a day after arriving at Hitode. The others called him Rob Freeman, and he narrated the whole event, from the time the dead human recruited him to the journey back from the vent.

Tizhos found the story fascinating, and pressed the human for details about the Ilmatarans and what they had done to the dead human. “Tell me what purpose you think they intended to accomplish,” she asked him.

“Purpose? They were killing him.”

“The method seems overly elaborate. Explain why they would carry him to a shelter, hold him captive for nearly an hour, and then kill him before a large gathering. Tell me if you recognize a ritual purpose, perhaps.”

“Uh, I’m not really much of a xenologist.”

“Tell me if you have observed this kind of behavior before.” Gishora let her question him about the Ilmatarans for a time before interrupting. “Tizhos, I fear this adds nothing to what we wish to learn. Save your questions for one more knowledgeable.” He switched back to the human language. “Explain again why you and Henri Kerlerec wished to approach the native beings.”

The human expelled air loudly before speaking. “Henri wanted to get some cool video of the Ilmatarans to show the folks back home. That’s what he does. Used to do.”

“We would like you to tell us who would have access to this information on Earth.”

“Geez, pretty much everybody. I mean, I guess some obscure tribe in the Amazon without net access might have to wait for print media, but everyone else could see it. That’s how Henri made his living, you know. Go to strange places, film strange stuff, go home and talk about it.”

“Tell me what persons other than Henri Kerlerec would gain benefit from the data you and he collected,” asked Gishora.

The human touched his fingers as he spoke. “Whoever his publishers are back on Earth, and the net services, and the science journals, and everyone interested in Ilmatar, and the guys who make alien action figures, and all the comparative biochemists, and I guess the space agencies and their contractors. And probably a couple of million other people I’m forgetting.”

“I want to know if this means there was a large economic interest in Henri Kerlerec’s activities.”

“Well, I guess indirectly, yeah, there must have been. He always used to brag about it, and I guess he was right.”

“Tell me if this affected your decision to accompany him,” said Gishora.

The human was silent for a moment. “Maybe a little,” he said. “I mean, that’s how Henri got the suit and that’s how come we both figured we wouldn’t get into any big trouble. But it wasn’t like he tried to bribe me or anything.” The human looked around the room, then back at Gishora. “I went along because I thought it was a cool project. Nobody made me go.”

“You said everyone could have access to your findings. Tell me if that includes military planners and government leaders.”

“Well, yeah, I guess. They can go to Henri’s site or watch his videos like everyone else. And all our data is technically property of UNICA or whoever, so I guess the Pentagon or the PLA could see whatever they want. Henri was French, so he was plugged into the whole Euro bureaucratic- corporate-intellectual network.”

It surprised Tizhos when Gishora asked about military planners. The question seemed obviously pointless. She spoke quickly to get in a question before Gishora could continue. “Tell me what you did to prevent contact with the native beings.”

“Well, like I said, we had the stealth suit and the camouflaged drones. I just had a regular suit, so I stayed way back with the impellers and watched Henri on video through a laser link. It would have worked, too—he got right up to them without being noticed. I guess he just got cocky and waded right into a group.”

Tizhos wanted to ask about the behavior of the Ilmatarans, but Gishora cut her off. “This suit,” he asked. “I would like you to tell us more about it.”

“I don’t know a whole lot. It was Russian navy surplus, I think. Henri said his pals back in Paris got it for him and shipped it out with the last supply payload. I don’t know if they bought it right from the Russians or whether it fell off the back of a truck.”

“Confirm for me that the word ’navy’ means a military organization,”saidGishora.

“Yeah. They sail around in ships and stuff. You know, on the ocean.”

“I do not understand why you ask these things,” Tizhos said to Gishora in their own language.

“Irona would ask them. A military force specialized for ocean warfare gave them this device, and major economic organizations stood to profit. We should not ignore this.”

“I lack your certainty. You may see connections where none exist.”

“If I fail to ask about such things, Irona’s faction will demand to know why not.”

“IT sucked. Big time.” Rob flopped down on his bed. Alicia began to massage his shoulders. “You are very tense.”

“That’s no surprise. I just spent four hours getting grilled by those two, and we’re not even finished yet. They want me back tomorrow. When am I supposed to sleep?”

“The Sholen don’t sleep, why should you?”

“They don’t? Bastards.” He tugged off his shirt so that she could get at the stiff muscles better.

“What did they ask you?”

“Jesus. Everything. I told them all about what happened with me and Henri, and then they started in like a couple of six-legged lawyers drinking espresso. One of them—the boss guy—was getting totally paranoid. All kinds of insinuating little questions, like the whole thing was part of some huge conspiracy.”

“Perhaps it is just the language barrier. They don’t know how to say things politely.”

“Maybe. But I swear it sounded like they were trying to pin something on me. Like they had an
agenda.
”

“Robert”—she stopped kneading his neck—“I just had a horrible thought. What if you are right?”

“First time for everything.”

“No, I mean what if they have a—a mission to discredit the work we are doing here? The Sholen have always opposed our presence on Ilmatar.”

“Do a little media hit job on us? I can believe it. Dr. Sen’s been afraid of that all along, I think. Hey, you’re naked! I hadn’t noticed.”

“Stop it, not now. This is serious: if they do wish to discredit us, what can we do to stop them?”

“When my dad was doing some work for a timber company, I remember him saying the golden rule for talking to media was always have your own camera going. That way if they try any funny editing you can show the original.”

“Did that happen very often?”

“I don’t know, but they sure worried about it. Anyway, you put up your raw video on a public site right away. Even if you did something really embarrassing.”

“You should be photographing yourself when you meet with them. Did you do anything embarrassing?”

“Not really. That’s a good idea, though. In fact, let’s pass it on to Dr. Sen—put a camera on them every goddamned minute, except when they’re in the bathroom or fucking or something. Which reminds me . . .”

“Not yet. I don’t want to forget about it.” She used her terminal to send a note to Dr. Sen. Rob made it very difficult, but she managed.

BROADTAIL attacks the task of planning the expedition with enthusiasm that surprises even himself. Part of it may simply be the pleasure of having Longpincer’s vast library to consult. He skims through accounts of other scientific expeditions, taking special note of the equipment and supplies they describe. He carefully reads every bestiary and compendium of animals for mention of anything resembling the creature he is seeking.

Longpincer’s kitchen is also a luxury. Broadtail doesn’t even have to go and ask for meals. They simply appear beside him as he studies, brought by inconspicuous servants. The steady supply of food means he needs little rest, so Broadtail makes good progress, filling a whole reel with notes and lists of items to take along.

The first setback comes when Longpincer runs the reel through his feelers and stiffens with shock at the expense. “My dear fellow, I know I have a large establishment, but even I can’t arrange this many towfins. It’s more than my entire herd.”

“But cutting down the amount of supplies reduces the distance we can cover! Each member of the expedition needs one jar of food for every twenty dozen cables we travel.”

“That’s something else—the number of staff. I can understand taking along a scout and someone to tend the towfins. But six guards? A cook? Two assistants for yourself?”

“Very well,” says Broadtail. “How about just one assistant?”

“How about just going alone? I recall Narrowhead 99 Farswimmer charting the entire Deep Rifts vent system all by himself.”

“His own account refers to Narrowhead almost starving and nearly being killed by bandits and hostile landowners.”

“I think that is just his attempt to make the narrative more exciting.”

“Perhaps, but I am certain that I cannot manage alone. How many adults are you willing to send?”

Longpincer considers this. “Three. Yourself, to handle scientific matters and command the party; a skilled coldwater hunter as your guide; and a menial to tend the beast and prepare food. One towfin for supplies. That would let you travel some six thousand cables. A considerable range.”

Broadtail decides he can make do with the reduced expedition. “My plan is to search along the old rift stretching from here toward the cold shallows. I remember those strange creatures approaching from that direction, and it seems reasonable that they might follow the line of old vents along the rift.”

“Six thousand cables along the rift takes you very nearly to the cold shallows. An excellent plan. Of course, the ancient rift settlements may have old inscriptions for you to examine.”

“I recall thinking of that,” says Broadtail blandly.

“Try not to forget the purpose of the trip.” Longpincer pushes up from the floor of his study. “Very well, I approve. Now I propose we celebrate with a good meal.”

“As you are my sponsor, I cannot oppose you,” says Broadtail, and the two of them head for the dining room.

WHEN the humans slept, Tizhos spent hours looking over the video of the incident, going over the images of the native beings in complete fascination. She envied the humans. They could work here, doing all kinds of fascinating research on Ilmatar and its creatures. She considered herself Shalina’s foremost expert on Ilmatar, and had never even visited the world before.

Sholen robot explorers had discovered Ilmatar, and tunneled through the ice layer to the subsurface ocean. Sholen probes had returned images of life in Ilmatar’s waters before humans ever ventured beyond the atmosphere of their homeworld. But the study of Ilmatar by Sholen ended there.

For probably the ten-thousandth time Tizhos cursed her people. They had ventured forth from a ruined planet, rediscovered how to enter Otherspace and explore the Universe, made contact with Terrans and others—and then decided they preferred to spend all their time blowing glass and planting gardens in little woodland villages. Without the conve nient menace of the humans to stoke fears of conquerors from space, Shalina probably wouldn’t have any spaceships at all.

In a way, it seemed almost cruel for her to see all this information and know that no more would ever come from Ilmatar. This mission would ensure that. She remembered the outrage from Irona’s faction when the account of the humans’ unauthorized contact reached Shalina. It seemed impossible that the Consensus would launch such a huge and expensive mission to Ilmatar only to confirm the existing arrangement. Soon all spacefarers would leave Ilmatar forever.

DR. SEN approved Alicia’s proposal quickly enough, and that turned out to be a problem for Rob. He was an expert with recording systems, he was spending a lot of time with the aliens, and he didn’t have much else to do, so Rob Freeman was the natural choice to watch the watchers and take video of everything they did and said. Which meant that all his free time suddenly vanished.

It was a chore, but Rob actually found it kind of fun. It was just like filming wildlife—forget all the externals, concentrate on getting the video. The best cameras at Hitode were all built for underwater use, but Rob managed to scrounge up a few spare keychain cameras and rig them up with suction mounts so that he could record both the aliens and their interview subjects at the same time.

The social part of it was utterly baffling. Tizhos and Gishora didn’t seem to mind a bit that Rob was monitoring them. Sholen weren’t big on privacy, and the two of them probably understood the reason for his presence. But Rob’s fellow humans seemed almost insulted that Dr. Sen wanted him to record their interviews with the aliens. Even when he explained why, they still griped.

“Do not worry about me,” said Simeon when the Sholen came to talk with him about the archaeology program. “I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“This is just a precaution,” said Rob. “To make sure there’s no disagreement over what somebody said.”

“Or a way to assign blame if someone does make a mistake. Have you thought of that?”

Rob couldn’t think of an answer, so he shut up and stuck to his recording. Simeon’s interview went relatively well; despite his prickly temper, Dr. Fouchard had a good grasp of public relations, and had done plenty of media in the past. With the Sholen he was frank but polite. “I think it is an absurdity that you come here presuming to judge us. But I will answer all your questions honestly. Let us begin.”