by Sean O'Brien
Khadre reached out and grabbed Sirra. The heat from the burning skiff was intense enough to cause Khadre to lose consciousness for a split second. When she came to, she was back at the portside railing somehow, still holding Sirra. She rolled over the side and entered the blessedly cold waters of the Bitter Sea. Instantly, Yallia’s arms were around her granddaughter.
Khadre looked back up at the flyer and saw it slowly lose altitude, as if searching the wreckage. Khadre realized that its infrared sensors were no use in the heat—the craft was forced to use visible spectra to search for survivors.
The fire must have reached some of the diving pressure tanks just then, for a titanic explosion shattered the skiff from inside. Khadre, Yallia, and Sirra were only a few meters away from the port side of the boat when the vessel exploded—much of the debris slammed into them and sent them rushing away from the skiff. Khadre was stunned momentarily when a chunk of the skiff smashed into her head, but she had the presence of mind to hang on and ride the wave. When her head was clear, she searched frantically for Yallia and Sirra and saw them several meters away, amid more wreckage. They were both unconscious but floating in the saltwater. Khadre was about to move towards them when the whine of the flyer’s engines changed pitch. As she watched, the flyer hovered shakily, then began to change configuration. The flyer seemed to be having trouble morphing back into its high-velocity shape, though Khadre could not see any external damage. If the flyer had been alive, Khadre would have called the erratic behavior indecisive. The machine turned unsteadily, then moved back away, more slowly now but still quick.
Khadre did not watch it for long. She made her way painfully through the debris to where Yallia and Sirra floated and checked their vitals. They were both alive and seemed strong, just unconscious. Khadre looked around her at the shattered remains of the skiff and cried, since there was no one to stop her.
Chapter 17
Tann scowled at Nessel when she entered her office. She gasped to find him there, then hardened her features to cover her surprise.
“What is the result?” Tann snapped.
Nessel didn’t answer until she had placed herself behind her desk. Tann was far too seasoned a politician to be deceived at her action—she wanted him to think she was taking her time and establishing herself as the dominant one in the conversation by moving to her official seat, but her stiff posture betrayed her fear. She wanted a desk between herself and this old, gnarled adviser. So be it.
“The flyer destroyed the research ship. There were four people on board.”
“Dead?”
“Presumably.”
Tann’s eyes flashed. “What do you mean? Are they dead or aren’t they?”
“The flyer was damaged in the attack. An explosion on the research craft. The flyer was forced to withdraw back to base for repairs. We’ll send another one out as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
Nessel looked at him quizzically. “To confirm they are dead, of course. Or to pick up survivors.”
“Why would we do that? Leave them be. Dead or not, it doesn’t matter. Our attack on the scientists is enough.”
“They weren’t all scientists, Mr. Tann.”
“Whatever they were,” he said in annoyance.
“One was a child.” She said this with unnatural distinctness, and again Tann saw through her. She had waited to reveal this fact out of some perverse sense of revenge. Hers had been the command to attack, it was true—she saw herself as the final authority in the Domes, no matter what this Carll Tann thought. He met her iron with steel.
“Whatever they were,” Tann said again, clearly and forcefully, “the exiles will seek revenge.” He smiled a crooked half-smile. “And we will be ready for them.”
“But to leave them out there….”
“So? Were you not aware that this is a military action, Nessel? People die in wars, or hadn’t you been told?”
“Not children and civilians.”
Tann shook his head. “Especially children and civilians. That’s what makes war ugly. That’s why we must do this—to stop a greater ugliness. The death of a few innocents now will prevent mass slaughter later.” Tann started to add that only mutant outcasts were dying now, but he refrained. Nessel was not of a mind to hear that line of reasoning.
Tann sighed inwardly as he watched Nessel grapple with what she had set in motion. Again, he thought, I am forced to do my work from underneath a weak, vacillating fool. Left to the likes of her, this colony would be destroyed by internal warfare in a generation. Left to the old, departed Commissar-General Jalen Newfield, the colony would have been torn to pieces by genetic class struggles. And had Tann not acted all those years ago when he first put this plan in motion, the colony would surely be in ruins now. He had to stay alive and keep working until this crisis was past.
He had heard the talk in the Domes from the various left-wing movements preaching ‘integration’ of the outcasts and a reintroduction into Dome society. He had even heard vague talk of ‘reparations’ to them. His spy network had the various leaders and orators of the “People’s Party,” as they liked to call themselves, under surveillance. Aside from the outcast group itself, this proletarian movement represented the greatest threat to society he could imagine. Eliminate the outcasts, and the movement would have to dissolve—there would be nothing to champion except a memory.
He cursed inwardly. Daydreaming like a child! His fifty-seven-year-old brain was still sharp, but it required an exercise of will sometimes to keep it focused. He closed the door on his ruminations about politics and social upheaval, but not before he made a mental note to increase the level of surveillance on the People’s Party leadership.
* * *
Yallia woke slowly. She opened her eyes to slits and winced at the bright midday sun through green clouds. Her eyes became accustomed to the light after a few seconds, and she could make out Khadre and Sirra looking at her intently.
“Grandonly!” Sirra said, her voice a combination of relief and fear. The girl started to move toward Yallia, but the swaying of the makeshift raft the three were on stopped her.
“Easy, sweetie,” Khadre said. She turned to Yallia. “Glad to see you’re back with us, Madame Prime.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.
“Where—” Yallia croaked, then caught herself. She swallowed and began again in a more forceful tone. “Report, please.”
Khadre sighed. “There’s not much to report. The skiff is destroyed. Sirra and I are not seriously hurt. You might have a concussion, you might not. I don’t really know.”
“How long have I been unconscious?”
“Not long. Maybe twenty minutes.”
Yallia absorbed those few facts, her still-foggy brain slow. “What about Viktur?”
Khadre glanced at Sirra, who had begun to cry again. “He’s dead,” Khadre said in the same monotone as before.
“Grandonly,” Sirra said through sobs, “he saved me! When that flying thing shot at us he…he…protected me. He put himself on top of me…and...and….” Sirra’s next few words were indecipherable.
Yallia forced herself to attend to urgent matters first. “Is the skiff completely destroyed? Nothing left?”
Khadre swept her eyes across the horizon where the scattered remains of the skiff still floated. “I haven’t really been able to find much, just some of the larger bits for us to rest on. I had Sirra to look after, and you, too. But now that you’re awake, I’d like to suggest something.”
“Go ahead.”
“The only device that is likely to still be intact is Nimmo. The drone submersible. We might be able to use that.”
“How?”
“If I can find it, I’ll be able to use it to get us motive power back towards the mainland. It’ll be slow—extremely slow—but perhaps we can paddle, too.”
“How far out do you think we are?”
“We found the creatures about one hundred and fifty kilometers out. We haven’t drifted far, if at
all.”
“And we can get back using the sub?” Yallia did not try to hide her doubts.
“I agree, it isn’t much. But it’ll help. It’s all we’ve got.”
Yallia paused before answering. “You’re thinking we should have kept our beacon on.”
Khadre shook her head. “No, Madame Prime, I never—”
“You should be. I was wrong about that.”
“As you say, Madame Prime. I’m going to go look for the sub now.” Khadre rolled carefully off the debris that served as their raft and started swimming in increasingly wide circles around Sirra and Yallia. Yallia watched her go, thankful that the young scientist had proven tough despite her initial impression at the Grand Session. She could have easily fallen into uselessness from the attack and Viktur’s death, but she seemed to understand without explanation why the three of them must return to the mainland. Another flyer was certain to return to the site of the attack.
It was not long before Khadre returned with the submersible. Yallia could tell, however, that it had been a fruitless search when she saw the drone’s sculler—it had been almost completely sheared away from the main body. The sub would never move under its own power.
Khadre gave the sub’s other systems a halfhearted examination and found them in working order. Sonar was on, and had presumably been on since Viktur had lowered it into the water. The drone’s chemical camouflage was on as well. But the drone was useless to them now.
Sirra asked, “Nimmo is broken?”
Khadre said, “That’s right. We’ll just have to paddle our way back, Sirra.” She looked in the debris. “I’ll go find some boards we can use.”
“Khadre,” Yallia said. Khadre turned and waited. Yallia said softly, “We’ll need some way to attach Viktur’s body to our raft.”
Khadre glanced quickly at Sirra, who was listening with wide eyes. “Why?”
“He can still contribute to the Family.” Yallia said it quietly but with determination.
Khadre nodded slowly, and Yallia understood what she was thinking. Viktur’s genes belonged to everyone, and the Family had the right to clone him. Yallia was not being ghoulish, but practical. In her way, she was honoring the fallen scientist. Khadre was thinking that she could still have a child by him after all. Yallia slid into the water and swam to Viktur’s body.
Khadre’s search for paddles and rope turned up three more-or-less straight, lightweight boards and a bit of rigging. When she returned to the raft, Sirra was staring disconsolately into the water while Yallia appeared deep in thought.
“Here we go,” Khadre said. She put the boards on the raft and helped Yallia lash Viktur’s body to the side using the rigging. Yallia tried not to think about what she was doing. She had not known the man for long, but he had obviously been close to Khadre. She was surprised to find the young scientist had managed to attach Viktur’s body without crying.
“Which way do we go?” Yallia asked.
Khadre looked up, Yallia following her gaze. It was midmorning—the sun was moderately high in the sky. Khadre angled the raft slightly, checking the sky as she did so. The expression on her face did not give Yallia a great deal of confidence.
“Grandonly?” Sirra’s voice called out. She was still looking at the water, but her face had a curious expression on it.
“What?”
“Look,” she said, pointing down.
Both women looked into the water and saw figures below them—three torpedo shapes swimming about perhaps five meters under the surface. All three wore the spear-helmets they had seen the farmer use on one of his livestock. The creatures circled below the humans in tight, interweaving patterns.
“What does this mean, Khadre?” Yallia asked, her eyes never leaving the creatures.
Khadre stared for a few moments before answering. “They’re armed but not attacking. Why, then, have they come up to the surface at all? And how?”
“Are they air-breathers, like Terrestrial dolphins or whales?”
Khadre shook her head slowly. “We discovered them about four kilometers below the surface with what appeared to be a farm. If they were air-breathers, they wouldn’t establish a settlement so far down. Or would they?” She looked away from the creatures and stared into the sky, obviously deep in thought.
“Let’s solve that later,” Yallia said, and when there was no answer from Khadre, she barked, “Khadre! Get your paddle and let’s go!”
Sirra spoke up then, in an odd little voice. “No, Grandonly. I want to watch the fish.”
Yallia ignored her and started paddling, inexpertly churning the water but making little progress.
Khadre dipped her paddle in the water and began rowing, then shouted, “Madame Prime! I need to retrieve Nimmo!”
“No. Remain in the raft. We’re going back.”
“I don’t think these creatures will hurt us. And Nimmo…Viktur and I spent a lot of time working with it.” She looked uncertainly at Yallia.
“All right. Get it. But hurry.”
Khadre slid off the raft and started towards the drone. Yallia continued to watch the creatures below. They had been swimming in their complex pattern immediately below the sub, and as Khadre closed in on it she called back to Yallia, “I think they’re attracted to the active sonar.”
“Khadre, get the sub and get back in the raft. You don’t know what those things will do to you.”
Khadre did not need prompting. She started back, towing Nimmo behind her.
“Can you shut off the sonar?” Yallia called.
“I want to see how far they’ll follow me.”
Despite the situation, Yallia accepted Khadre’s position. She had spoken without reverence for the first time in their brief relationship—she was curious and heedless of danger. Yallia could respect that, though she would prefer the scientist showed her courage some other time.
Khadre splashed back aboard the raft and seized her paddle. She and Yallia made slow progress through the debris field, while Sirra hung her head over the back and watched the pursuing animals.
“Sirra! Get back!” Yallia snapped.
“But, Grandonly, they’re curious.”
“They are dangerous,” Yallia corrected.
“No, they’re not,” Sirra said with uncanny confidence.
Khadre glanced at her. “How do you know, Sirra?”
“Just look at them!” Sirra pointed. “The way they swim around and the way they talk to each other.”
Yallia almost dropped her paddle. “Talk to each other? Can you hear them?”
Sirra’s face pinched in puzzlement. “No, but they’re talking. You can tell.” She spread her hands slightly, as if unable to comprehend Khadre’s lack of understanding.
Yallia did not answer but continued to watch Sirra observe the sea creatures. The raft was moving at no better than a meter per second in the debris field, and the sea creatures had no trouble keeping pace. Sirra hung her head over the back of the raft and watched.
Yallia gasped suddenly as one of the creatures changed course and shot upwards, rising at an alarming rate.
“Sirra! Get back!” Khadre shouted as the creature’s lance emerged from the water. It missed Sirra by perhaps a meter and a half. The girl did not draw back but reached her hand into the water.
“Sirra!” Yallia had stopped rowing and reached behind her to grab the girl but lost her balance on the unsteady raft and fell into the sea. Khadre scrambled to the side of the raft to help Yallia back on while Sirra reached down and touched one of the creatures on its smooth back.
When the two touched, Sirra felt a piercing pain in her head, as if someone had stabbed her with micro-thin needles through the inner ear. She slapped her hands over her ears, trying to block the pain, but even as she did so the needles withdrew, and she was left with only the memory. It lasted perhaps a half second. When it was over, she looked at Khadre and knew instantly that she, too, had felt the sensation.
Yallia made her way back onto the raf
t, then lunged forward and grabbed Sirra by the shoulders, almost knocking both of them into the water as the raft tipped crazily. Khadre lifted Sirra’s arm out of the water, watching the creature just below the surface. Its lance was almost perpendicular to the raft now, bobbing gently with the creature’s motion. As they watched, other sea creatures swam to the one Sirra had touched and nudged it back down deeper. The intent was unmistakable—they wanted their fellow sea-creature to have no further contact with the strange organisms floating on the surface.
Khadre looked at Sirra. “Is she all right?”
“Seems so. Sirra? Are you okay?”
Sirra did not answer immediately. She looked at Yallia with a strange expression, as if she were trying to hear something just beyond audible range. “What? Oh, I’m fine.”
Yallia said, “We have to get out of here. If we can’t outdistance them, maybe we can discourage them from following. Perhaps if we beat at the surface of the water with the paddles, we—”
Khadre shook her head. “No. They’re following us because of Nimmo’s sonar, I think.” Khadre leaned towards the drone, her eyes darting back and forth between the drone’s manual switches and the depths to which the creatures had retreated, and turned off the submersible’s sonar.