Seas of Ernathe (14 page)

An atmosphere of tension, of deliberation, of uncertain and confused perceptions pervaded all of the headquarters. Partly to combat this aura, the afternoon planning session was called to order early. Kenelee Savage, with several aides, summarized the findings of the Jamean Sea expedition:

The aerial sonic sweep had identified two large and two small clusters of hollow, hard structures along the seafloor, thereby confirming the earlier drone reports. There existed on the seafloor a fabulous complex—what amounted to an entire undersea city—an assortment of air-filled domes and globes and cylinders of undeterminable construction, all of which were linked, with humanlike figures clearly visible inside. All of this had been captured on senso-record, including the amazing sight of individual Nale'nid moving freely about,
outside
the protection of the domes, using no visible life-support apparatus whatever. The Nale'nid, even those swimming in the open, gave no indication of noticing the probes.

The senso-recordings were replayed for the group in edited form; they were clear and impressive—stunningly so. The overall estimation, based on the number of structures observed, was that perhaps half a thousand or a thousand Nale'nid lived in the city—and they were apparently socially, or scientifically, advanced in ways heretofore unsuspected.

The question, now, was what to do with that knowledge.

Mondreau took the floor. He briefly reviewed the two principal suggestions as to course of action. "The first, essentially, is inaction. That is, hold tight and try to learn, if possible, how to negotiate with the Nale'nid. To determine of this colony is materially impinging upon the sea-community. To learn if plankton-utilization is detrimental to the ecology in a hitherto-unknown fashion. In short, to devote all our energies to studying the matter, and to hope that meanwhile the sea-people desist from what I think can fairly be called hostile activities. In essence, to do what we have been doing." He paused, his expression making it clear how he felt about this first proposal.

"The alternative—forceful and positive action. As you know, weapon-launchers are now being installed on selected ships, and when practicable will be installed on the submarines and the aircraft. We are taking every available precaution to tamperproof the systems, including the addition of multiple simultaneous-safety switches. The proposal is for a show of force at the site of the Jamean Sea community—force sufficiently persuasive to end the immediate threat, that is, to plankton harvesting and production. Discussion?"

Response from the floor was immediately and fiercely argumentative. A substantial number of persons considered the proposal for force to be hazardous, provocative, unwise, unnecessary, and in almost all respects thoroughly reprehensible. Several took the floor to add that any initiation of violence would almost certainly endanger the two (presumed) Nale'nid captives, Perland and Bonhof. Holme was relieved to hear others making this protest; he had already spoken to the point too many times for his voice to be effective now.

Kenelee Savage responded, with obvious distaste for what he had to say. "I think most of you know how I feel. That the use of force carries a great risk of being counterproductive, and should be avoided if at all possible. The fact remains, though, that if the colony is to be sure of survival, we must resume harvesting before the peak of the plankton-bloom. There is no other reliable source of food, or of raw materials for synthetics. Probably we could last for a season, through strict rationing. But there would be no guarantee of freedom to harvest again next season, and at that point we would have no reserves. We must face facts—this colony is in serious danger, and that consideration overrides all others."

Mondreau backed him up quickly. "Let's not forget that there is danger here from more than one quarter. Need I remind the people of Ernathe of the importance of their world to the growth and security of
all
the Cluster Worlds. Your
mynalar-g
may well be one of the keys to better starflight and to the breaking of those barriers that hold our worlds apart, and which also make them vulnerable. The Lacenthi and the Querlin are preying races. With the supply of
mynalar-g
we may well achieve techniques that were lost to us in the entropy wars. But without it, our hopes would dim, and the future of all the worlds would become uncertain—and that includes the future of Ernathe. You are the only supplier of
mynalar-g
. You know that, it was why your fathers came to this world.

"Please do not forget it. The Querlin will not, should they learn of the fact. The Lacenthi will not. More than one Cluster starship has already been lost in battle to keep this part of space clear of those enemies.

"But it may all be lost if we allow a race of
this
planet to interrupt us; a race that ignores even the most unmistakable attempts to communicate. We do not propose aggression, we do not propose war. We
do
propose a simple demonstration of our urgency and our determination.

"And that is what we will do. Should the opportunity present itself, we will send envoys into the Nale'nid city itself—but not without some assurance for their safe conduct. We have lost two valuable men already, who came too closely into contact with the sea-people."

The discussion did not end there, but it was clear that belief in the necessity of action was to prevail. Even Andol Holme, concerned as he was about the possible threat to Seth and Racart, was forced to admit privately that he could offer no better plan. The colony could not afford to risk further delay. Nevertheless, he was far from happy in his own mind with the inevitable decision.

* * *

He took the news, later, to Mona. She listened quietly as he talked; it had come as no surprise. But Holme was left wondering how much longer she could hold her emotions somberly in check. She continued moving about her kitchen—thoughtfully, unperturbedly preparing her dinner.

"
Ardello
is to be flagship," he said. "And I'll be going along aboard one of the ships, though in what capacity I don't know. Captain Gorges insisted upon that—said I should be there. I don't think he approves of the plan, really, either. But he has no authority in that regard, and I suppose he knows how far to push his advisory status without losing it."

He realized that Mona had hardly heard a word. She was staring at him and nodding, but her gaze was somewhere else entirely.

* * *

For what seemed an eternity Racart had waited, frozen in open-mouthed agony, with a fire in the cortex of his brain. He had waited, and not been able to scream and not dared think of relief. But to his huge surprise relief did come; it came as a startling psychic implosion, a crazed storm of random stimuli, marvelous shocks of light and a war of exploding colors behind his eyelids, breezy aromas of red fruit and mintleaf and the sea, and the tang of sour acid and ozone, washed with spume and mist-borne salt. Iced droplets of music sputtered and choked the quick hurtful violet, the burning flame, and drowned it in a chorus of thunder, of drowsing rainfalls and sheets of pummeling cool rain . . . which in time faded to white noise, gray sunshine, and no-pain. The confusion wound slowly down, giving way to quietude, and recovery.

In time, he opened his eyes and became, after a fashion, aware. He was lying inside a cavern; location unknown. (Had he been here before?) His trial, if that was what it was, was turning into a lengthy affair. Since his emergence from the labyrinth he had seen locations uncounted and unimagined; he had been shocked, broiled, frozen, sprayed, battered, and drenched by the elements in a dozen or a hundred ways—and he was utterly and incontrovertibly exhausted. He was numb. He had long since lost track of time and was only vacantly aware that day and night in any case had no meaning, so many times had he been skipped around the globe. Twice—(or was it three times, four? One?)—he had dazedly looked to discover his own town before him, his people, and once even the sound of Mona's voice. Could they have been real? No, far likelier hallucinations. The town, or the vision, had winked out like an extinguished light and he had traveled on to other lands, and thoughts unknown.

* * *

He heard a tapping sound,
tink tink tink
. He gathered his wits sufficiently to realize that he was lying on a smooth, cold rock slab, that the only illumination around him was a shimmering watery blue from somewhere beyond his feet, and that the tapping sound was being made by one of the sea-people farther back in the cavern. Despite aching, bone-deep weariness, he forced himself to sit up and look around. The cavern recesses were gloomy, shadowy; he could just discern the outline of a Nale'nid, the smaller of his two captors, he thought, rapping with a tool against something in the rock wall.
Tink tink tink
. The "something" broke away from the wall with a
crick
, and the Nale'nid picked it up and carried it to Racart.

He seemed mildly surprised that Racart was watching him.

"What's that?" Racart asked dully. At one time he might have felt outrage, or even mild annoyance—but all that had been drained from him, and he felt little beyond wondering where he was, and what was happening.

The sea-man gave his question no immediate notice, which did not particularly surprise Racart. It was unlikely that the Nale'nid could understand his language, but he tried again, hoping at least to get some attention. He failed.

The object was a large piece of raw crystal, perhaps silica, and the sea-man was placing it carefully at the end of the stone slab. "What is that? What are you doing?" Racart demanded.

This time he got a response. The Nale'nid spoke, or whistled, and was quickly joined by the other, the larger of the two captors. The two sea-men looked at him with what he took to be curiosity, with sharp, steady eyes that seemed not merely to acknowledge him, but to burrow into his gaze, to brush the fine nervous tracings behind his eyes and touch something within. He felt a curious twinge, a heady sensation of energy, and then the thought grew in his mind—not as from another source, but as a conclusion from some intuitive, deductive process—
You are alert. That is interesting; unexpected
.

That shook him a little. It was communication, for real, and for the first time. He was surprised by the cold impersonality behind it. .

"Yes," he said loudly. "Yes, and I would like to know what it is you plan to do with me."

Wordless amusement, not his.

That angered him, but before he could speak or move, the smaller Nale'nid stepped up and pushed the crystal in front of him. He resisted looking at it, and stared instead at the two Nale'nid faces; but he felt a quick pressure in his head, a sensation that was neither quite physical, nor quite mental, urging his gaze lower, a steady magnetic coercion forcing him to turn his eyes to the rock, to stare—to stare without focus or definition, to lose his attention in the facets of the rough crystal and to lose himself . . .

He was wandering bodiless in a refractory maze, of elements, of planes, of lights. A great hall of mirrors and lenses—clear or broken or smoky or silvery. Tripping, skipping, he wound farther and deeper until he had forgotten his origin, or purpose if there was one . . . and then he realized that he was not alone. Two others, moving bodiless as he, shadowed him with a muttering kind of insistence and, when he glanced quickly enough, laid bare parts of their souls in flickerings and flashes of light. Curiosity, curiosity. Animosity? Perhaps, perhaps no. Uncertain. Stumblings, probings, testings and trials.
Curiosity
. Angling his attention sneakily closer, but not too close, he saw more of their souls, and clearly—and he was thunderingly bewildered.
There was no other motive
 . . . .

The vision in the crystal crumbled to powder, and Racart looked up in wonder into the eyes of the Nale'nid, probing and hypnotic. He relaxed.

And then, slowly began the chill, the freeze. Even as he met the gaze of the Nale'nid he sensed distance, their distance. Quite suddenly he was alone, trapped within thoughts that were slowed—sluggish, stiff, missing a part of the life-force, the field. At first it was merely confusing; he saw the Nale'nid but they were not there, he felt no
presence
, they were dead things shifting in the wind, and whistling. But the change was in him, and he knew that it was not of his doing. There was a draining of his energy, a seeping of life from his cells; or perhaps it was a closing, a sealing in. He could not be sure. Synapses closed. Opened. Chattered, uncertain. Colors, rhythms, voices in his soul were being forcibly and mercilessly subdued. There was light around him, but he was imprisoned within himself, surrounded by darkness.

He tried to speak but his voice failed as a moan in the dying reality around him. A final journey was beginning, it seemed, and from this one he could see no return. He felt a queer numbness in his toes and legs, his arms, his chest and throat; and then he was no longer aware.

Seth was beginning to understand the Nale'nid. At least the explanations he had come up with made sense to him, he decided, watching Lo'ela pucker and pop her lips, a nervous habit she had picked up from him. The problem at first had been his failure to realize the extent to which this
perception-focus
was a totally integral element of the Nale'nid makeup, both physiologically and psychologically. It comprised far more than just a set of perceptual viewpoints; it was more than an extreme case of specialized personal world views.

Nale'nid survived freezing cold climates without protection, without discomfort.
Focus
: upon the heat, the molecular kinetic energy, the radiant warmth of the sun to whatever extent it was present. Upon drawing heat from the surroundings,
even if the surroundings were colder
. This was not a trick to be accomplished without a rather fancy sidestepping of the laws of thermodynamics of normal-space.

Nale'nid lived and breathed in water without air-carrying apparatus, without gills, and with no obvious strain.
Focus
: upon the oxygen richness of the water, upon efficient use of body energy.