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.
Tizhos never spoke of it to anyone, but at times she thought it might be pleasant to be able to disagree with others.
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.”
“I understand. You can refine them as we learn more below. Remember that we come here to learn and understand, and to correct what may have gone wrong, not to judge.”
“Some on board seem to think otherwise,” said Tizhos.
Gishora knew who she meant. “I thought it best to bring Irona on the mission so that the Protectionist faction would not feel themselves excluded. But I think even he would agree that he can do little to help in the gathering of facts. So I have a perfectly valid reason to leave him in orbit where he can do no harm.”
“I do admit to curiosity, Gishora: Did you bring him in order to have something to threaten the humans with? If they do not cooperate with you, they will have to face Irona?”
Gishora sounded pained. “Tizhos, we have not come here to make threats or demands! Such behavior resembles what we wish to avoid. We only wish to learn all the facts of what happened and prevent future mistakes.”
“If the humans refuse to accept our help, what then?”
“In that case, you and I must do our work anyway. And, yes, I do take comfort from knowing I can call upon Irona if force seems necessary.”
For a moment, Gishora seem
ed dominant indeed, and Tizhos felt the warm sexual rush of agreement with a leader.
The pilot called back from the flight station. “Thrusters fire in one dozen seconds.”
“Good,” Gishora replied. “We wait prepared.”
A moment later they heard the hissing sound of the thrusters behind them, and a feeble gravity pushed them into their seats. Then they floated again. “All done,” said the pilot. “We begin braking in three dozen minutes.”
Gishora made the hull next to their seats transparent, and the two of them became absorbed in the view as the vast landscape of Ilmatar pivoted beneath them. The surface below was a smooth plain of white ice, criscrossed by lines and mottled with occasional spots and splotches of dark material. In a few places mountains of rock pierced the ice layer to rise barren and gray, casting long shadows. The moon was virtually airless, with no clouds or haze to block their view.
There! Just at the terminator line, at the intersection of two chasms in the ice, Tizhos saw a tiny flashing light. From this height she could not see the Terran base itself, but the landing strobe showed up clearly. If she peered hard, Tizhos could almost make out a faint smudge around the blinking light, where the humans had disturbed the pristine surface. A stain on the world.
THREE
THE trial is quick and holds few surprises. A good crowd gathers in the commonhouse, about equal numbers of Broadtail’s friends and Ridgeback’s supporters. Half a dozen landowners with their militia bolt-launchers are standing by to keep order. Judge Longfeeler 62 Deeprift opens the proceedings by asking Broadtail to recount his version of events.
“I remember the two of us arguing about the net vote after the meeting. Ridgeback steps onto my property and I order him off. He refuses to leave, and we fight. He nips off the end of my feeler, I stab him with my pincer, and he dies.”
There are no witnesses to the event besides a few children, but the judge calls Cleft-tail 5 Fisher, who describes the position of Ridgeback’s body. Smallbody 19 Doctor confirms that Ridgeback’s fatal injury is exactly the type produced by a downward pincer stab. Finally the judge asks Broadtail to clarify some points.
“Do you remember intending to kill Ridgeback?”
“I recall being very angry and striking out at him without thinking.”
“Do you remember being aware you and Ridgeback are on common ground?”
“I do not. The fight starts on my property and I remember being too busy fighting to notice where we are. I also remember Ridgeback fighting back and refusing to leave. Is that a mitigating circumstance?”
“The law is very clear. You may not kill another adult on common ground, even if the fight begins on your property. Your personal law stops at your boundary.”
“What about his death being accidental? I do not remember intending to kill him.”
“Unfortunately it is too easy to tell lies about intentions. The common law can only govern actions. Do you regret killing Ridgeback?”
“I regret it very much. I do not recall liking him, but I am not glad he is dead.”
The judge asks if anyone has any information to add. Nobody speaks up. The commonhouse gets very quiet as the judge pronounces the sentence.
“The law is clear: killing another adult on common ground is murder. No one disputes Ridgeback’s adulthood, and Broadtail admits killing Ridgeback on the public road. The penalty for murder is equally clear: expropriation and outlawry. The Sandyslope property now belongs to Ridgeback’s second- oldest apprentice, and Broadtail is proclaimed an outlaw within the bounds of this community. Does anyone offer him sanctuary?”
A landowner is the ultimate authority on his own property. If another landowner at Continuous Abundance chooses to take Broadtail as a tenant, he is safe—on his protector’s land, that is.
Nobody speaks up. Former landowners are notoriously bad tenants, and many who remember Ridgeback fondly might make things difficult for Broadtail’s protector. Broadtail is actually a little relieved. He hates the thought of being trapped on someone else’s property, lower than any apprentice or newcaught child.
The judge continues. “Because of the circumstances of the crime, I ask if anyone will safeguard him to the edge of town.”
Thicklegs 34 Sandybottom and Longhead 10 Bareslope volunteer. Neither of them belong to Ridgeback’s faction, and they’re both pretty big and have their weapons. If some tenants or apprentices want to try mobbing the outlaw just for fun, Thicklegs and Longhead can give them a fight.
Expropriation means Broadtail 38 (no more Sandyslope, and for the moment he has no profession-name) can’t even set foot on his old property again. Young Smoothpincer 14 owns it all now, even Broadtail’s beads and debts. The apprentices go with the property just like the livestock.
The hardest thing for Broadtail to leave behind is his library. He has several dozen books, including a few he has made himself. Smoothpincer can sell them, or use them to tie up bundles, or whatever he likes. He has a reputation as a hard worker, not a reader.
With Thicklegs and Longhead flanking him, Broadtail sets out down the road leading to the edge of town. They are joined by some of his friends—Roughshell 74 Westcave, Spineback 22 Coldvent, and Bigfeet 15 Ropemaker—and followed by some of Ridgeback’s old cronies. There are some pings and a few shouts of “Murderer! Split his shell!” but nobody does anything. Broadtail is still trying to get his mind used to the idea of exile. As they pass Sandyslope he suddenly feels afraid and lonely despite the crowd. The urge to hold his property against all comers is very strong. He makes himself keep walking, one step at a time. He keeps his pincers clamped shut and folded against his body.
The crowd around Broadtail thins. Nothing is happening, and the crowd gets bored and loses interest. Ridgeback’s friends are satisfied with the verdict and nobody wants to join a hunting posse to chase the outlaw in cold water. The apprentices have work to do. By the time he reaches the edge of town, Broadtail has only his escort and a couple of friends left.
At the boundary stones they pause for good-byes. Roughshell asks, “Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure,” says Broadtail. “I don’t wish to be a scavenger like Bentpincer 89.” He flicks his tail toward the little hovel where the old outlaw manages a half- starved existence just beyond the boundary.
“What about fishing?”
“No. Not here, anyway. Too many of Ridgeback’s friends are fishers or netmakers. I don’t wish for trouble. For now I will go visit some of my scientific friends and find out if they can help.” Broadtail takes momentary comfort in knowing that even if he is a murderer and outlaw, he is still a scientist, the author of a respected work.
“Good luck to you,” says Thicklegs. Spineback gives Broadtail a bag of roe balls and strips of swimmer flesh. They all brush feelers in farewell, then Broadtail turns and begins swimming steadily out into cold water. The others stand and listen for a moment, then turn and head back toward the warmth of the vent.
ROB was just heading for the galley to meet Alicia for another private breakfast together when the master alarm sounded. All over the station, lights flicked on. The seldom- used public-address system came alive.
“Attention, please, everyone!” said Dr. Sen’s voice from every terminal and comm button in Hitode Station. “I would like everyone to meet in the common area in Habitat Four in ten minutes. The station is not in danger but there is something extremely important I would like to talk to everyone about as soon as it is practical to assemble.”
Rob hurried, and since he was already dressed and halfway to the common room, he and Alicia were the first ones to show up.
“What is this all about?” she wanted to know.
Rob pulled out his computer and did a quick check of station systems. “Everything’s nominal—we’re not about to drown or anything. Supplies look good.”
“Look at orbital tracking page,” said Josef Palashnik, coming in just behind Rob. He had a bad case of bed hair, but was dressed and functional.
Alicia and Rob nearly knocked heads as they looked at his computer. The gas giant Ukko was a big red disk, surrounded by green circles marking the orbits of the moons. Ilmatar was a smaller gold disk creeping along one of the green paths, but Rob could see that there was now a little red circle around Ilmatar, with a red triangle moving along it. He tapped the triangle and his computer obligingly opened a new window.
SPACECRAFT: Sholen (Aquilan) interstellar vehicle, UNICA class identification INFLUX.
Rob skimmed the technical description of the alien vehicle— most of which was guesswork, anyway. One thing was certain: the Sholen craft was a big one, a giant doughnut a hundred meters across, with fuel tanks and motors filling the hole in the middle. It had room for up to a hundred people, two landers, and immense fuel reserves. The intel said it probably didn’t mount any weapons—but of course any spacecraft could carry combat drones as cargo.
Sending a vehicle like that across thirty light-years cost a fortune. What was it doing here? Rob suspected he knew, and began to feel queasy.
The room was filling up. Rob and Alicia had claimed seats at one of the tables, but with all twenty- eight members of the Hitode staff crowding into the room, they soon could see only backs and stomachs. So Rob stood up and helped Alicia stand on her chair.
Dr. Sen climbed onto the big dining table, and stood with his bald head nearly touching the ceiling. “Thank you all for coming here so promptly. First, let me reassure everyone that there is no danger or emergency. We are all perfectly safe.”
Behind Rob someone muttered, “I sure as hell hope he didn’t get me out of bed just to tell me that.”
“Now,” continued Dr. Sen, “some of you may already know that there is a spacecraft in orbit.” The room erupted in clickings and mutterings as people pulled out pocket computers to check. “It is a Sholen interstellar vehicle, and a lander is just putting down at the surface station. I have received a message from the Sholen commander. Apparently they have learned about what happened to poor Dr. Kerlerec, and have come to evaluate the situation and make sure that we have not violated any of the treaties governing contact with alien species and that sort of thing.”
A Darkling Sea Page 5