A Darkling Sea (5 page)

Rob wasn’t any good at sculpting, but he was a decent freehand artist. He sacrificed a page from his personal journal and drew a little cartoon of himself surrounded by tiny figures. The caption read
Sure.
He stuck it on his door and went to bed. The station used a twenty-four-hour clock, and for simplicity the day began at the start of the first “day” shift. So 2200 was an hour before even the early risers would be up and about. Rob finished rebuilding the flex linkage on one of the drones at 2130, and spent the next half hour fretting about what to do. Should he go meet the mystery person? Should he shower and change?

At 2145 he decided to go ahead and meet whoever it was. If this was some elaborate plan to give him crap about Henri’s death, then whoever was doing it was an asshole and Rob could tell him that face to face.

He wound up sitting in the galley at 2150, wondering if this was all some kind of joke. But at 2200 exactly, Alicia Neogri came in and flipped on the lights.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” she asked.

“Oh, I—”

“Lying in ambush to see who would come?” She put a little

Figuring out what to cook at Hitode was always difficult. For a team of scientists who had grown up in a world of agricultural oversupply, with even the most obscure ingredients available at any market, being limited to what the hydroponic farm could produce was almost intolerable. Everyone brought along personal supplies, and hoarding and bartering were a way of life.

Rob, being an American, had used most of his ten-kilo personal food allotment for sugar and caffeine. But one of the few vivid food memories he had from childhood was eating scrambled eggs on a camping trip with his cousins, so on a whim he had packed a hundred grams of egg powder.

“What about an omelette? I have cheese and there are some fresh mushrooms.” When Rob looked uncertain, she laughed. “I will do the cooking.”

So Rob grated cheese and sliced mushrooms while Alicia put some synthetic oil in the pan and got it hot.

Cooks on Ilmatar had to follow an entirely different set of rules. The tremendous pressure at the bottom of the ocean affected everything. Water didn’t boil until it was hot enough to melt tin, bread didn’t rise, and foods like rice and pasta practically cooked themselves at room temperature. Added to that were the limits on what was available. The hydroponic garden produced plenty of greens, tomatoes, potatoes, and soybeans, but no grains. They had shrimp and a few catfish but no meat. Dairy products and eggs existed only in powdered form.

For bulk, the staff could always fall back on the pure glucose and synthetic lipids produced by the food assembler. You could have them separately, or combined in a kind of greasy syrup which sounded utterly nasty until you came in from a day in freezing water and wanted nothing but calories in their purest form. Without the hydroponic farm morale would suffer; without the assembler the crew of Hitode would starve.

Alicia was a good cook, at least on Ilmatar. Rob watched admiringly as she flipped the omelette out onto a plate one-handed. It was by far the best thing he’d eaten since leaving Earth.

“So what’s up?” he asked after getting a few mouthfuls into himself. “Why the little statues?”

She looked a little embarrassed. “I thought they might cheer you up,” she said. “But I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Rob tried to make sense of the situation. They weren’t friends—at least, he didn’t know her any better than anyone else at Hitode. Why was she being nice to him?

“Thanks,” he said. “It was really nice of you.”

They met again for breakfast the next day, and as they finished their toasted bean cakes, Rob cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. “You know, you don’t have to get up early. We could meet at 0100 tomorrow if that’s better for you.”

“Everyone else will be up.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard to flirt when there’s an audience,” she pointed out.

“We’re flirting?” he asked, startled. She laughed, and he joined in, trying to pass it off as a joke.

They agreed to keep having breakfast together early, but that eve ning at 1500, when most of the staff were relaxing after dinner, Rob sat with Alicia in the lounge playing cards. There were half a dozen others in the room, and aside from a few furtive glances, nobody reacted to Rob’s presence.

Encouraged, he started joining Alicia earlier and earlier in the eve ning, until they were dining together with the “second seating” in the galley at 1300. Rob realized he looked forward to spending time with her, and rearranged his work schedule to let him see more of her. In the process, he wound up spending more of his time out of his room when others were about, and he found he didn’t mind it so much after all. A week passed, and then another; Rob hardly noticed.

He was just starting to wonder if she would sleep with him when the aliens arrived.

THE braking burn was brutal. Tizhos lay strapped to her bed, which for the occasion had extruded itself from what was normally the aft wall of her cabin. The fusion motors roared, and the force mashed Tizhos down into the cushions. She tried to estimate how hard—twice Shalina-normal gravity? Three times as much? How much could the ship stand before it broke apart?

The entire voyage had a distressingly thrown-together feel to it. Just to get out of orbit they’d used half a dozen strap- on boosters, and there were drop tanks attached to the drive section to allow faster transit in Otherspace. The expense of getting all that lofted into orbit on short notice was simply staggering— this one mission seemed likely to cost more than a year of interstellar probes.

Instead of popping out on a long, cleverly plotted minimumfuel rendezvous orbit, they’d drained the drop tanks for a high- speed pass dangerously close to Ilmatar’s sun, and now were using half the ship’s internal fuel for this punishing deceleration.

She watched the display projected in the center of the cabin. At the moment the ship was passing low over the cloud tops of the giant planet the humans had named Ukko. It would swing out again, matching orbits with the moon Ilmatar, and do a final burn to start circling the moon. All these extravagant maneuvers would leave the ship with just enough fuel to get back to Shalina on a four-month low-energy trajectory through Otherspace.

The motors shut down, and Tizhos unstrapped herself. She rather liked zero gravity. She called up a window, and watched the red and yellow swirls of Ukko’s atmosphere beneath the dark sky. Ilmatar was already visible as a little white crescent, rising steadily above the giant planet’s cloud tops.

According to the display, Tizhos had about two hours before she needed to strap in again. The perfect time to work on her little personal project.

She had joined the Space Working Group in order to learn about alien life. But until now, she had never left Shalina. The Ilmatar voyage was a wonderful opportunity to study two different alien species: humans and the natives of Ilmatar. The visit would be short, so Tizhos wanted to be able to gather as much information as she could in the time available. After a little thought, she had come up with a clever plan.

The humans spent a lot of time studying the Ilmatarans, so if Tizhos could spend time with one of the human researchers and examine the raw data, she could effectively study both species at once. It seemed like a very efficient way to do things. So she spent her free time practicing English and Spanish, two of the most common human languages.

She was fluent enough to read some of their scientific documents. They had an oddly conflict-based method of disseminating information. Researchers wrote up their findings in stand-alone documents, and others tried to disprove the statements in the document. Somehow, out of conflict came consensus.

Sometimes the ongoing consensus changed dramatically, and Tizhos thought it was significant that the humans used the same term, “revolution,” to describe both a shift in scientific theory and a violent social upheaval. Everything the humans did seemed to be the result of competition or rigid logic. How unlike the compassionate, nurturing consensus of the Sholen, she thought.

STRONGPINCER and the others crouch hidden beneath an overhanging rock, listening carefully. The rock sits in a barren part of the seafloor, but it is in a good place to wait for travelers. Traders and messengers going from the Deepest Rift communities to the Three Domes hotspot pass nearby, but here it is hundreds of cables to safety in either direction. Robbers can pounce on the unwary and there is no one to help.

The gang has eight members now, all fierce fighters. Strongpincer remembers chasing away a gang of twelve, with only three others to help him. That the larger gang consisted mostly of half-grown children is something Strongpincer tries to forget.

He listens again, hoping to hear prey, and feels a surge of joy. It sounds like a whole train—three or four towfins and probably half a dozen adults. As they come closer he hears the adults clicking away to one another, not caring if the whole ocean knows where they are. This train is too big for a band of children or half- starved outcasts to attack; evidently they don’t know this is Strongpincer’s territory.

To his left, Shellcrusher starts to move, but Strongpincer halts her and says very quietly, “The last one. Pass it on.” The others are silently getting into position for a fast climb and some quick, brutal fighting.

Overhead, the first towfin passes. From the churning of its fins, it sounds like it’s hauling something big. Two of the chatty adults are trailing behind the towfin. The next one sounds smaller and lightly loaded—Strongpincer suspects a young towfin ready to be sold. Then another, with what sounds like three or four adults hanging on its line.

Strongpincer tenses. The last one is passing now. It sounds like an old towfin with ragged fins, laboring a bit to keep up with the others. Silently, Strongpincer rises from the seafloor and then begins swimming up toward the towfin using powerful strokes of his tail. When he’s half a cable away he starts pinging, to get a better idea of what he’s up against. There is one adult riding on the towfin’s back, and two nets of jars trailing behind it. The adult hears Strongpincer’s pings and calls those ahead for help.

Headcracker and Tailcutter are going for the cargo bundles; even if the merchants get away, Strongpincer and his gang get the loot. Shellcrusher and Weaklegs are in formation with Strongpincer, gaining on the towfin and the panicky adult. Halftail is lagging behind, of course.

Ahead he can hear the other towfins coming about, but they are clumsy and can’t turn fast. Where are Onefeeler and Hardshell?

He hears them ping up ahead and imagines them walking on the bottom before rising up to attack. Clever—surely Onefeeler’s idea. Sometimes Strongpincer wonders if maybe Onefeeler isn’t too clever.

The panicking adult abandons his towfin. Fool. Strongpincer gives a couple of powerful strokes with his tail and catches the wretch. A town-bred adult, that’s for sure, with his shell all covered with weed and parasites. Big, though. He probably doesn’t remember going hungry. Strongpincer grabs him from behind and tries to get a grip on his pincers, but the coward tries to curl up, folding his legs and pincers against his belly. Strongpincer doesn’t have the time to waste prying this one open, so he works a pincer point between a couple of the fellow’s back segments and forces it in until he can feel the soft membranes give way.

He looks up and pings. Onefeeler and Hardshell are fighting tail to tail against three angry adults behind the third towfin. Shellcrusher and Weaklegs are going to help. Tailcutter’s down on the bottom trying to cut open the cargo nets from the fourth towfin. Greedy fool; he could be helping get more stuff. The young towfin is bolting, dragging its rider helplessly on the towrope, and the two adults on the first ’fin decide to run for it as well, prodding their beast until it breaks into a ponderous sprint.

When they notice Shellcrusher and Weaklegs, the other three adults scatter, trying to catch up with their fleeing buddies. Shellcrusher overtakes one of them and gets her massive pincers around the poor fool’s body right where the tail joins. There’s a burst of panicked clicking and then a crack, and Shellcrusher lets the leaking body tumble down to the seafloor.

The haul is good. The two cargo nets from the last ’fin hold jars of iceshaver roe and skin bags full of smokeweed pith. The other beast has only a small net full of personal baggage and some food for the merchants. Still, the beasts themselves are certainly valuable.

Only one of the gang is hurt—Hardshell lost a feeler, but they grow back, and it won’t affect his fighting ability. Strongpincer imagines recruiting some more fighters, maybe even buying some fierce children from a school. For a big gang, there are so many possibilities. Strongpincer dives down to get some roe before Tailcutter eats the whole jar by himself.

TIZHOS joined Gishora at the lander hatch as soon as the ship had established orbit about Ilmatar. Gishora was leader on this voyage, which meant that he had to do a lot of nuzzling and stroking Tizhos as part of the normal bonding. Neither of them particularly enjoyed it. Gishora was naturally somewhat shy and solitary, almost as reserved as the humans. He was in charge of this voyage only because of his unmatched knowledge of human social rules and languages.

Consequently, their contact up to now had been perfunctory and brief, enough to satisfy the formalities without really establishing a hormonal leader-follower bond.

The two of them suited up and climbed into the lander after the pilot. There was a delay of some twenty minutes before launch, and Gishora took that opportunity to have a talk with his subordinate.

“Tizhos. I have set up a private channel so we may speak frankly. Tell me if you have finished all your preparations.”

“I believe so. I made estimates of how contact could affect the Ilmatarans. My notes may lack precision—I had very little information other than the bulletin from Earth.”