by Hal Clement
Bert seemed startled, no doubt because he hadn’t thought of that himself. That was my suspicion, anyway. But he promptly agreed; and so it was settled. He went off to get help in towing the subs and to arrange for the operating room, and I took advantage of his absence to write a remark to Marie.
“You seem to have been wrong about Bert. He certainly took you up fast enough on that test suggestion.”
“So I noticed.”
I waited for further comment, but got none. I suppose I should have known better than to expect any. When she did speak again, it was on a wholly different subject—I thought.
“Be sure you check the bitts on both subs very carefully.”
I nodded, surprised; that was too standard a procedure to call for special comment.
“And the lines, too. You’ll use mine; they’re newer.” I agreed silently, wondering and perhaps hoping a bit. Anything from Marie that sounded like interest in my welfare was enough to make me hope. I was still several miles behind her reasoning, only partly because I hadn’t started out with the same set of prejudices. She wanted it that way, I guess; She firmly changed the subject by asking about the people who were floating beside me.
“Who are your friends? Is the lady one of the reasons you decided to stop breathing air?”
“No!” I wrote emphatically. “I never saw her to my knowledge before I made the change.” I couldn’t understand why Marie was laughing. “I can’t introduce you, because I’ve never heard their names. With this language, I’m not sure what a personal name would be like. Maybe they haven’t any.”
She grinned for the first time since I’d seen her down here.
“That accounts for your staying, then. No, don’t bother to point out that you didn’t know about the language till afterward. I know you didn’t. It must be a strong recommendation for the place, though, now that you do know about it.”
As it happened, I hadn’t thought of that. She was quite right, though. That was one nuisance of my life which couldn’t possibly follow me down here. Marie was watching my expression and, I guess, reading it like a book. She laughed even louder than before. The sound wasn’t much like laughter under the circumstances, but it was different enough from ordinary speech to catch the attention of my attendants. They looked from me to the sub and back, but could make nothing of it. The girl smiled again though.
Marie was right, in a way. If I did have to stay down here for any reason—
I killed that thought firmly. Where Marie went, I was going sooner or later.
XXII
The party grew almost gay for a while as we waited for Bert. Both Marie and I tried more communication experiments with the girl and her friends, but only the most elementary signs made sense to them, and not always even these. We even tried to get the idea of a phonetic alphabet across, Marie providing the sounds and I the symbols. But it was hopeless.
This wasn’t entirely due to their own background deficiencies; sounds were modified enough in this combination of media so that basic letters no longer abstracted the same parts. For example, ‘p’ and V didn’t sound as different as they should, and when you put them together in a word like ‘speak’ the combination of symbols had even less resemblance, or I should say recognizable relation, to the combination of sounds. About all that was accomplished before Bert came back was to convince even Marie that there was a genuine, serious problem in communication to be solved.
She wasn’t even yet convinced that it was worth solving. She was willing now to think of these people as a whole separate culture rather than a group of criminal fugitives from our own, but she still thought of the culture rather as a dignified lady of mid-nineteenth century Boston probably regarded the South Sea cannibals her missionary society had told her about.
At least, she was polite to them.
The politeness faded a trifle when Bert came back with bad news. The Council, it seemed, would hear nothing of letting both Bert and me go back to the surface at the same time. Either one was all right, but not both.
I was dumbfounded and unable to fit this into my picture of the situation. Marie didn’t actually say ‘I told you so,’ but the look she gave me carried the thought completely. It was unfair, since she hadn’t. She might have guessed it for herself, but she hadn’t told me.
Maybe it was that look that stiffened me up again. I reminded myself that the main thing was to get Marie back to the surface safe and sound. After she’d reported in, the Board would certainly open communication with this place, no matter what Bert thought, and there’d be all sorts of other chances to get back myself.
I still, you must remember, didn’t believe Bert’s claim that the Board had ignored or buried earlier reports of this installation. My feeling was based mostly on my personal prejudices as a long-time Board official; I just couldn’t imagine the organization’s doing such a thing.
So it still seemed sensible for me to let the other two go back together while I stayed on temporarily. I said so, without all the background thoughts, on the pad. Bert agreed at once.
Marie seemed a little less enthusiastic now, but finally decided that this was acceptable. Bert suggested that he go off once more to report the new situation to the Council and find help for towing the sub, but she countered with the idea that she drive it herself with one of the natives swimming ahead as a guide. Bert could tell the guide where she was supposed to go.
I was a little surprised that she was willing to take the boat anywhere without Bert along, in view of her stated plan, but I realized that she might have thought of several new aspects of the matter since then. I hoped she might want me to go with her to the conversion lock instead, but she made no mention of such a thought. Once again I felt way outside as far as her plans and ideas were concerned. We waited until Bert had finished waving at one of the men, which took quite a while. Then the fellow set off along the main corridor outside the room, and Marie lifted her boat from the floor and followed in his wake—that’s not a very good word, since he couldn’t leave a visible wake under the circumstances, but you know what I mean.
Then Bert started off to make his arrangements with the Council.
He had almost disappeared when I thought of something and had to hurry after him. Fortunately he wasn’t being very hasty himself or I’d never have caught him; it was a major nuisance, having no way to call out to get someone’s attention. It occurred to me that there ought to be clickers or tappers or something of that sort for the purpose. It then occurred to me that maybe there were, and I simply hadn’t learned about them yet. Anyway, I did catch Bert and quickly wrote a question.
“Shouldn’t someone let Joey know where you’re going? He’s going to be in almost as bad a mess as I am without you.”
Bert thought for a moment, and nodded.
“Probably best, yes. You’d better do it while I see the Council. Only for Pete’s sake don’t let it slip that Marie is here.” I looked properly indignant. “I’ll have one of these folks show you the way. He ought to be off shift right now, though he often stays longer than anyone expects. Anyway, you can try his quarters, and then the farms, before going back to Power Control.” He turned to the others and began gesturing again. He finally managed to get his wishes across, though it was still evident that he had spoken the truth about knowing only a little of the gesture-speech.
I wasn’t disappointed to have the girl touch me on the arm and beckon me to follow. We still had company, but things could have been worse.
Bert must have got across with his gestures just about what he’d written. We went first to what was obviously a private residence—at least, it was obvious after we were inside. Its door was just another of many along one of the tunnels. The girl used the first audible signal I’d heard since arriving—a very ordinary, though very gentle, knock on a round panel beside the door.
When this went unanswered for half a minute or so she opened the door and swam in. Evidently standards of privacy were different here. The apartment wa
s divided into three main rooms, seemingly on a basis of use; one seemed to be for sleeping, one for reading and similar solo activities and the largest for more public gatherings. Joey wasn’t in any one of them, and the girl led us out again and off in a new direction. A short swim took us to another of the upward-slanting tunnels leading to the farm area. I was more alert this time and caught the change in slope.
Out in the open, she stopped and looked around to see whether Joey was in sight. I spent some of the time she was looking in trying to calculate the size of the farm area from what I knew of the population size and the number visible eating at one time. I decided I’d need a better estimate on how long the average citizen spent both at meals and between them before my results could mean much.
It took about five minutes of looking and questioning others for the girl to find Joey. I spent some of that interval writing my message to him, so that when we did catch up with him I was able to give it to him without delay. It merely said that Bert was taking a trip to the surface, and that I understood I was to start working with Joey as soon as he could use me.
Elfven nodded his head, took the pad, wrote, “All right, I’ll be going back to work in a few hours. I have to sleep after I finish eating. Can you find your way to the control room yet?”
“I’m not sure, but I seem to have a good guide,” I replied. He glanced at the girl and nodded again.
“I wish I could make something out of one or the other of these communication methods,” he wrote. “We’re going to have an awful time without Bert. Why is he going himself, instead of sending you?”
“He seems to feel that he can make a more complete report than I can,” I answered. “I suppose he’s right. As long as we’re working mostly with each other we won’t miss the language too much.”
Joe shrugged, suggesting that he wasn’t entirely in agreement but didn’t feel strongly enough about the matter to write an argument. He resumed his eating.
I took a few mouthfuls myself, but was more concerned with getting back to Marie; so I touched the girl’s shoulder—she was eating, too—and pointed toward the tunnel mouth from which we had come. I had managed to keep track of its direction. She nodded and led the way. At least some signs were understandable to both of us, I guessed.
It took us ten or fifteen minutes to get back to where we had left Marie. She wasn’t there, of course; I got the impression that my guide had forgotten that the sub had left ahead of us, though I may be doing her an injustice. At any rate, she promptly set off in the direction the boat had gone, and in another quarter of an hour we had reached a place I could remember—the corridor with the big valve which had admitted my tank when I had taken the pressure treatment.
Knowing more of the general situation now, I paid more attention to the smaller lock. A close look showed that it had a heavily armored extensible collar, now retracted, which could be mated easily to the entrance hatch of any ordinary work sub.
I was a little surprised that Marie’s boat wasn’t already there. I think the girl was, too. At least, she looked around as though she didn’t quite know what to do or where to go next, and then looked at me as though expecting some further request.
All I could do was nod; I was quite sure that this was the right place. It occurred to me that tunnel size might have forced the others to take a longer route than swimmers would need, or even to go outside, but I could think of no way to make this suggestion to my companions. For that matter, I could imagine no reason why they shouldn’t think of it themselves; they certainly knew this place better than I.
It was Bert who showed up first, accompanied by a man of middle age and alert appearance. He didn’t exactly introduce the fellow to me, but used the writing pad to tell me that he was the doctor who would manage the heart-lung equipment and make sure that cavities such as sinuses and middle ears were taken care of during the pressure change.
They had been with us ten minutes or so when the sub appeared from the direction of the ocean entrance. At almost the same moment another swimmer joined us from the opposite direction. I took a casual glance at him, supposing he must be another of the technicians who would be needed for the job; then my eyes closed as I tried to clear my retinas of what I hoped was a false image.
When I opened them again, though, it was still Joey Elfven. I had to admit that the stage manager, whoever he was, had done a good job.
XXIII
I also had to admit that we should have foreseen it. Joey should never have been told of the departure plans until Marie and Bert were safely away.
Nothing was more likely than that he would think of some final questions he wanted to ask Bert, and he would certainly know where to meet him. Evidently Bert was no better a schemer than I was, but that was very little comfort at the moment.
Marie saw him before either Bert or I could think of anything to do; the sub suddenly left its swimming guide behind. Seconds later its water jets sent us spinning as it came to halt in front of our group. Yes, Marie had seen Joey. Her politeness with the savages had evaporated.
I had been hearing my own heartbeat and those of people near me for some time now, but I hadn’t realized until this moment how loud that beat could be.
Marie’s voice, though, turned out to be louder. Her first words weren’t just the ones I would have expected, but I’ve already admitted that she thinks a good deal faster than I do. Not always in the same direction, or even in the right one, but faster.
“Joey!” It ought to have been a howl of surprised welcome, but even the peculiar acoustical situation left me pretty sure it wasn’t. It’s hard to believe that a girl known to have gone so completely overboard for someone could address him in the tone of a stern aunt, but the resemblance was there. “Joey, how long have you known that I was here?”
Joey looked around for the writing pad; I was delighted to hand it to him and in no hurry to get it back.
“I didn’t know until this moment,” he wrote.
“How long have you known that Bert was here?”
“A few weeks. I don’t remember exactly. Within a day or two of the time I got here myself.”
I could guess what was coming next, but fortunately for me I was wrong.
Marie was not a technician. She can run a sub in the ordinary course of duty, naturally, but she is not really familiar with all the handling and operating gear carried by a work sub. For that reason, I’m still completely mystified how she managed to coordinate her next move so perfectly. One of the smaller handling tongs popped out of its recess and caught Bert neatly around the neck, and only when he was firmly gripped did she follow the action with words.
“You dirty liar! You slimy piece of trepang! I ought to twist the head off your crooked neck! If it were possible I’d throttle you here and now! You knew why I came and who I was looking for. You knew he was here. You didn’t tell him I’d come, and you lied to me about having seen him. You twisted poor Tummy so that he followed your own crooked line!”
I somewhat resented the implication that I hadn’t brains or initiative enough to be held responsible for my own actions, but I was able to resist the temptation to break in and insist that part of the plan was mine. I didn’t even object to her use of one of my more odious nicknames. I just let her words run on.
I won’t quote any more of them; as I’ve said already, I promised her not to. I was a little sorry for Bert, since the grip on his neck must be hurting, but as Marie herself had said she couldn’t very well strangle him under the circumstances. I was sure she wouldn’t if she could have. Not Marie. The others seemed rather concerned, though. The girl and her regular companion flung themselves at the extension arm and wrenched at it uselessly. The doctor tried with equal lack of success to pry the tongs from around Bert’s neck. Joey knew better than to do either, but he was clearly bothered; he waved and shook his head at Marie in an effort to convince her that she should stop. It was the sort of scene which should have been accompanied by lively music, screams, the thum
p of fists, and the crash of broken glass; but it all went on in ghostly silence.
No screams, which were impossible; no fists, which couldn’t move fast enough in this medium to make much of a thump anyway; no apparatus within reach which was fragile enough to be damaged by the gracefully thrashing bodies.
It was Joey who managed to bring it to an end. He was still holding the writing pad, and he hastily printed on it in the largest letters that would fit, “YOU’RE KILLING HIM!”
He held this against the conning part so Marie could see practically nothing else.
It took a few more seconds, but she suddenly got her senses back and released the tongs. Bert’s face was purplish, and he had lost consciousness; the doctor grabbed his wrist, I thought to check pulse, but in fact simply for a tow bar. The two of them disappeared into the operating room.
I hesitated for a few seconds, unsure what was most important, and then went after them. The girl and her friend followed me; Marie’s guide stayed outside with the sub. Joey, after looking as though he would come along, changed his mind.
In the operating room Bert was quickly fastened to the table, and the doctor got to work.
Strictly speaking he wasn’t a doctor, as even I realized; there can be no doctors in a population of a few thousand people which has been separated from the mainstream of human knowledge for three or four generations. He was a darned good technician, though, and fortunately was working right in his own field. He did know that heart-lung machine cold, and he knew the general run of troubles involving the human breathing and circulatory systems. Interfering with the coughing reflex, as these people had had to do for their pressure-survival system, had produced some fallout along those lines. There were controls for the machine and its auxiliary gear inside the room, presumably in parallel with the remote ones. Quite evidently depressurization wasn’t the only purpose of the apparatus.