World of Water (19 page)

As near as he could tell, the female was quizzing the kid, her interrogation shot through with anger and concern. He was answering hesitantly but truthfully about his capture on Dietrich’s boat and subsequent ordeal at the hands of McCabe and friends in Llyr.

A couple of times the female aimed what appeared to be suspicious glances at Dev and Handler before resuming her grilling of the boy. The kid eventually got round to explaining that one of these hybrid humans had helped him get away from his captors. Dev saw embarrassment and conflict on his face, as though he was having trouble reconciling his appreciation for what Dev had done with his resentment of humans as a whole. It seemed he couldn’t fathom why one of the enemy had treated him with compassion and not the cruelty the others had shown. It was confusingly unexpected.

Dev wondered why the kid hadn’t simply lied and accused him and Handler of being his torturers. It would have been easy enough to do so, and the other Tritonians would have no reason to disbelieve him. The idea of landing the two humans in trouble must at least have crossed his mind. If he hated the species that much, he could have overcome his scruples and framed Dev and Handler. Vengeance from the other Tritonians would have followed swiftly and been total. The anglerfish sub alone, with its palisade of jutting, spiny teeth, could have made mincemeat of them.

Then it dawned on Dev that the kid
had
to tell the truth. All Tritonians did. An emotion-based language made lying impossible. Each of them could tell at a glance if another was being evasive or insincere. It would be literally written all over their faces.

Tritonians, by that logic, were the most honest race in the known universe. They had no choice in the matter. Whatever they communicated, they had to feel, and whatever they felt, they had to communicate.

Now the female was looking at Dev and Handler, Dev particularly, with newfound admiration. Or so Dev thought. Those round black eyes of hers were hard to read, and her facial expression varied only minutely. A stone might have been less inscrutable.

That was until her photophores flared green, with veiny pulses of pink trending outward from the corners of her mouth.
Thanks and congratulations
, it said, unmistakably, clear as day.

Dev beamed back a smile in incandescent form. He had the impression that he had earned more than the female’s esteem. He had in some way justified a judgement she had made about him; passed a test he hadn’t even known he was taking.

Handler propelled himself forward. With tensions de-escalating, he became more confident. His ambassadorial side asserted itself.

He insinuated to the female that he and the other humans were on an important mission which would benefit everyone on the planet, settlers and indigenes alike.

No one here bears any ill will towards your people
, he said.
The rescue of the boy is surely proof of that.

He begged her, in the name of peace, not to instigate an assault on Llyr. The perpetrators of the boy’s kidnap and abuse had been punished. Retaliation against them was not necessary and would only add to the breakdown in relations between her race and humans.

Dev chipped in with a plea of his own. Would the female mind assisting him? He needed to show her something, up on the boat. Something she might be able to clarify for him.

Wariness flickered yellowly on her face.
I suspect a trap
, she said.

He assured her it was no trap.

She wavered. Pondered.

Then she replied that she had no alternative but to agree to his request. She touched the young Tritonian on the shoulder, indicating that she owed Dev a debt.
I’m putting my trust in you to continue to act with the forthrightness and integrity you’ve demonstrated so far. These are qualities that are uncommon in your kind but prized by mine.

Is that why you’ve been following me?
Dev asked.
Why you took my side against the people in the cuttlefish submarine? Because I behave like a Tritonian?

More so than an ungilled, yes.

Ungilled
carried derogatory connotations. But it was no worse than sea monkey, Dev thought, and was biologically accurate if nothing else.

You intrigue me
, she continued.
The way you dealt with the reptile.

The thalassoraptor.

You had no weapon
, she said.
You ought to have died. You are either insane or foolish.

I’ve been called both
, Dev said.

But you might also be exceptionally courageous. I feel that you are someone we can work with. Someone who may serve as a bridge between us and your kind. Am I wrong?

I hope not.

I have persuaded others to join me in trailing you, so that we may all of us assess your worth.

That explains this lot
, said Dev, indicating the other subs.
Friends of yours?

Likeminded individuals.

And your... husband?
He was referring to her manta sub co-pilot.

Cousin. I am unpartnered. Now, shall we float here all day talking or shall we go to your boat so that I can see whatever it is you wish to show me?

Of course.

She instructed the boy to board the manta sub and wait there. As he swam off, she projected a message to the other Tritonians present.
I’m accompanying the humans, heading above the surface. I won’t be gone long.

Within the cockpits of the manta subs, the anglerfish sub and the eel sub, faces glowed, offering reluctant acquiescence.

If I fail to return
, she added,
you know what to do.

It was a threat, and not a very thinly veiled one. If these ungilled imprisoned or harmed her, they should be destroyed.

29

B
ARELY HAD THEY
broken the surface – Dev, Handler, and the Tritonian – and climbed onto the dive deck of the
Reckless Abandon
than they heard Lieutenant Sigursdottir calling across from the
Admiral Winterbrook
.

“Harmer, what the actual fuck is going on? There are Tritonian craft below, and you’re inviting one of the occupants onto your boat? I’m sure there’s a rational explanation.”

“There is,” Dev yelled back. He could just make out Sigursdottir at the starboard rail of the catamaran, flanked by Milgrom and Blunt.

“Message me and tell me about it.”

“Can’t. Commplant’s down.”

“I can see she’s got a shock lance. If you’re acting under duress...”

“We’re not.”

“But if you are, I can have men over there in seconds.”

“No need. Really. Handler can fill you in on the details.” Lowering his voice, Dev said to the ISS liaison, “Fire her a quick message, will you? Say everything’s okay, nothing to get her panties in a bunch about.”

“I’ll phrase it a little more tactfully, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I would. Main thing is she backs off and stays backed off. I’m not going to get much useful out of our fishy friend here if a herd of Marines comes stampeding in.”

Handler’s gaze defocused as he composed the message to Sigursdottir. Dev meanwhile ushered the Tritonian up to the
Reckless Abandon
’s main cabin. She walked with little of the grace that she swam with. The steep staircase from the lower deck to the upper gave her particular trouble. She stumbled flat-footedly at the top, and Dev sprang reflexively to catch her before she could fall. She shrugged off his hand with a pale flare of irritability, insisting she could manage on her own.

Dev apologised.
I meant no insult.

She tripped as she stepped over the raised threshold of the cabin door, and this time Dev left her to fend for herself. She managed to recover her footing with as much dignity as she could muster. Dev could imagine how clumsy she must feel, going from the supportive buoyancy of water to the unforgiving emptiness of air. She was out of her element, in a realm where you were obliged to hold yourself vertical when moving and where gravity was all at once a treacherous foe, always ready to undermine you.

He showed her to a chair, inviting her to sit, and she sank into it with some relief. He begged her patience.
I need to prepare something.

His commplant was status-signalling that it had insite connection and could be restarted. He ordered a complete restore, with all cached data to be downloaded from remote backup.

While he waited for the mental
beep
that would tell him the commplant was back online, Dev watched the Tritonian surveying her surroundings. The cabin furniture, with its sleek, rounded lines and artificial fabrics, seemed to fascinate her, as did the small galley nook and the recessed ceiling lighting. She remained on her guard, however, warily fingering the coral handle of her lance, as if drawing security from it.

“Dev,” said Dev. He accompanied the word with the facial colouration that meant he was introducing himself formally.

The sound of his voice startled her, and her grip on the lance tightened.

“Dev,” he repeated, injecting friendliness into his voice and smiling.

“Doesn’t mean a thing to a Tritonian, tone of voice,” Handler said, entering. “They can’t differentiate kindness from anger, sadness from amusement, anything from anything. Spoken speech in general is just noise to them. You might as well be oinking like a pig. Same with facial expressions. They don’t use them so they have no idea what yours are for.”

Dev persevered anyway, offering his name a third time, projecting the friendliness now in lights.

The Tritonian responded with a complex configuration of swirling geometric patterns.

Dev frowned at Handler. “Am I right in thinking that’s her name?”

“Yes.”

“But it feels more like... an attitude. Determination. Resolve. With a sense of justice thrown in.”

“That’s who she is and what she is,” said Handler. “The patterns she just used are unique to her, like a fingerprint. She’ll have refined and developed them over the years as she matured. They’re her perception of her own personality, the image she portrays to others. It’s not a name in sense that you or I understand. It’s deeper than that, an emotional autograph, a declaration of her inner self.”

“I was hoping for something a bit more practical, something I can use when referring to her out loud. She can’t just be ‘that Tritonian over there.’ How about Ethel?”

“Ethel?”

“There was a singer, Ethel Merman, a century or so Pre-Enlightenment.”

“Merman. I get it. Did you happen to have that fact at your fingertips?”

“No. I ran a search earlier, after I first met her. Mermaid, merman, that sort of thing. Just in case. ‘Ethel Merman’ cropped up, and I made a mental note.”

“Well, you can call her what you like, verbally. It’ll be just a meaningless burble to her. But if you want to address her by name in a way she’ll understand, reproduce the light patterns she showed you a moment ago. That’s how it works.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Yes, it’s tricky.”

“I’ll give it a shot anyway.”

Dev concentrated, summoning up what he hoped was the same cocktail of emotions that the Tritonian had displayed, each ingredient in the correct proportions.

If her show of scornful amusement was anything to go by, he failed dismally. She repeated the patterns, and he tried again to replicate them. He still didn’t get it right, but her amusement was no longer quite as haughty this time around, so he assumed he had made a better job of it.

He then lobbed a question at her.
The scar tattoo on your chest – what does it represent?

At first he thought he hadn’t expressed himself clearly enough, since the Tritonian he had chosen to name Ethel looked blank.

What came next, however, was a slew of concepts that lit up every corner of her face. The regularity of the nautilus shape, the mathematical progression in the size of the chambers within the shell, the spiralling steady growth of it, the sturdiness, the rigidity, the support it provided, the pride it instilled in her...

Dev looked at Handler. “I’m not sure I got all of that. Did you?”

“Think so. The nautilus is a badge of some sort, an emblem of a social movement. It’s all about evenness and solidarity – strength in numbers. The more of you there are, the greater you are. You augment one another.”

“And you all stem from a common point of origin. You all share the same core ideal.”

“That’s it. Fairness. Reasonableness. Interdependence.”

Dev turned back to Ethel and asked if she was the leader of this Nautilus Movement.

Her answer was curtly negative.
It doesn’t have leaders, only members. We work together towards a mutual goal. No hierarchy is necessary when everyone is in agreement about their aims.

Dev would have pressed her for details, but Ethel began to display impatience.
My time in the air is limited. What is the reason you have brought me up here, other than to ask your fumbling questions?