A Darkling Sea

by James Cambias

  Shortlegs bangs a stone to call them to eat. She has mixed a fresh egg from the towfin with some shredded jellyfrond and the last of the vent- cured roe. Sharphead is already eating when Broadtail swims up. They don’t follow any order of pre ce dence out here.

  “Eggs and roe,” says Sharphead. “No more meat?”

  “Do you recall catching any?” says Shortlegs. “If there is any here I don’t taste it.”

  Since it is Sharphead’s job to catch meat for them, he sensibly quiets down and eats.

  “This is a small town,” says Broadtail. “But I remember you saying there is a larger one a few cables along?”

  “Yes,” says Sharphead. “A huge city, or ruins anyway. Three or four old vents—one of them makes a little warm water.”

  “Good hunting there?”

  “Oh, yes! I remember catching a spinemouth there—twice your size, at least! I—”

  “Excellent!” Broadtail cuts him off before another old hunting story can begin. “I plan to move there after sleeping. I hope to find many old things and take many notes, and you can hunt good food for all of us.”

  “I think we must tell them now,” said Gishora when Tizhos returned to their room. After the long swim in the cold ocean, she was hungrier than she had ever been in her life. As fast as the foodmaker could produce balls of high- energy food, she gobbled them down. To speed up the process, she had turned off the textures, aromatics, and psychoactives, and just ate calories like a human.

  “They appear likely to become angry,” she said between bites.

  “I know that. I expect them to become angry no matter when we tell them.”

  “Then perhaps we should do so at the last possible moment.”

  “I don’t feel certain about the wisdom of that. Tizhos, you know a great deal about human psychology and cultures. Describe their attitudes about deception.”

  “All their cultures condemn it, to a greater or lesser degree.”

  “Now explain to me how the humans here may react, based on that.”

  “I understand now! You feel that waiting may be perceived as deliberately misleading them, and that this may provoke unfavorable reactions. Very well, let us tell them as soon as possible.”

  “After they have rested and eaten. Tell me if you ever served as a Guardian.”

  “During my youth I worked as a forester.”

  “We may face violence. Let me know if you feel ready for that.”

  “I do,” she said, although in truth she did not.

  WHEN they got back from their long swim with Tizhos, Rob and Alicia got out of their suits layer by layer and combined their hot water rations for a shower together. By the time they dressed and made their way to the dining room, most of the others had eaten already, so the two of them stir-fried a pan of whatever bits and scraps they could round up, and ate it over a huge mound of mashed potatoes.

  “I’d kill for some butter to go with this,” said Rob. “Real butter and maybe some cream.”

  “Don’t talk about things like that. Besides, don’t you like artificial grease?”

  “I just wish it tasted like something. Hey, when the Sholen leave, let’s see if we can steal their foodmaker. It can make all kinds of stuff, not just synthetic fat and sugar.”

  “That would be an interesting way to commit suicide.”

  “How come? They eat regular food, right? It’s not like they’re based on chlorine or something.”

  “Oh, true—their DNA is different, but that all gets broken down anyway in your GI tract. No, I was thinking about toxins and allergies. A lot of the flavorings we put in food are really poisons the plants make to defend themselves. We’ve evolved to tolerate some of them, but only from Earth plants.”

  “Well, maybe we could just use it to make bland stuff. No poison flavors.”

  “There’s also the chiral sugars issue, getting the right amino acids, vitamins . . .”

  “Spoilsport,” he said. “I was just dreaming of having it make me a cheesecake. A real one, without a lot of weird fruit or chocolate. Or a big tender steak. Hey, maybe we could reprogram it! Have it make anything we want!”

  “Do you know anything about programming Sholen equipment? Does anyone?”

  “From what I’ve read their systems really aren’t much better than ours. A whole different technology path; they like to build very sophisticated single-purpose analog systems instead of just slapping digital processors into everything the way we do. We could slip into their room and take a look at it.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “When did this stop being just a joke?”

  “When I thought about cheesecake,” he said. “I think I could probably kill someone for a cheesecake right now.”

  “You need a distraction.” She put a hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “Is this working?”

  “Not yet. I’m still thinking of cheesecake.”

  “How about this?”

  “I’m wavering. Cheescake—sex. Sex—cheesecake. Tough call.”

  “What if I do this?”

  “Okay, now I’m officially distracted.”

  But afterward, lying on her bunk, he couldn’t sleep. The idea of getting his hands on the Sholen foodmaker and fooling with it was just too appealing. It wasn’t really the food issue; he was just curious. He also had some vague idea about maybe learning how the thing worked and passing some technical tips back to researchers on Earth. Maybe even pick up a patent. Could you patent alien tech? Probably not.

  Alicia was sound asleep. When they shared her bunk, she insisted on being between him and the wall. “I would rather be crushed than fall on the floor,” she explained. So it was simple enough for Rob to slip out of the bed, grope around for his clothes, and creep out into the hall.

  He was halfway to the Sholen’s room when he realized he was being an idiot. They didn’t sleep! There was no way he could sneak in there; no matter how late it was the aliens would be wide awake. And during the day shifts when the Sholen were out of their room, Rob would be stuck tagging along with them, recording interviews. Alicia was right—it was a dumb idea all along.

  Rob stopped off at the bathroom, mostly to have an excuse for getting up. Then he decided he was thirsty and headed for the dining room to see if there was any tomato juice. To his surprise the room was occupied. Dickie Graves, Josef Palashnik, Pierre Adler, and Simeon Fouchard were sitting around one of the tables drinking vodka Bloody Marys.

  “Am I interrupting something? Sorry.”

  “No, have a seat,” said Graves. “We were just talking about the Sholen problem. What’s your position?”

  “My position? Uh—I mean, I wish they’d go away again so things can get back to normal. And I guess I hope they don’t make a big deal out of what happened to Henri.”

  “Naturally. Of course, the only reason they’re here at all is that Sen’s being an utter doormat,” said Dickie. “They’ve got no right to be here, no right to come meddling in our affairs, and certainly no right to sit in judgement on us.”

  “They came a long way. It would be rude to send them home again,” said Pierre.

  “Well, it’s rude to drop in unannounced, too.”

  “Also very expensive,” said Josef. “Do the math. For them to arrive so soon after we sent message drone—”

  “Means they’re eavesdropping!” said Graves.

  “Naturally, but that is unimportant. We also eavesdrop on their message traffic, or at least I hope we do. No, it is cost of getting a vehicle that big from Shalina orbit, through gimelspace, and then to Ilmatar insertion. You saw plot of their orbit after emergence—very high- energy trajectory, fantastic waste of propellant. Whole voyage must have been like that. This single mission must have used more fuel and boosters than Sholen space program in six months!”

  “I wish we could afford missions like that,” said Fouchard. “I hate long voyages in space.”

  “You miss the point. Scientific expeditions do not travel that way. Even diplo
mats do not. Only military missions look like that.”

  Everyone thought about that for a moment.

  “I still say Sen should’ve called their bluff,” said Dickie at last. “Tell them good day, terribly sorry, no tours without an appointment.”

  “We must assume they have enough power to make us comply,” said Josef.

  “How? Drop bombs on the surface? Bad luck on Castaverde and his team, but we’ve got four kilometers of water and ice for protection. And supposing the Sholen did go all out and blow us up—what does it get them? The Big Six stop pretending those black-budget interstellar military vehicles don’t exist, and it’s war.”

  “Oh, surely not,” said Pierre. “The Sholen are a very peaceful species.”

  “So peaceful they have blown their own civilization to bits every few centuries,” said Fouchard. “They are peaceful because the alternative is extinction.”

  “I think they’re all bluff,” said Graves. “Look at the way they talk to each other—posturing and puffing out smells. This is the same thing writ large. Dominance displays—it’s how they think. If Sen had any balls, he’d stand up to them. They’d leave us alone quick enough.”

  “They can cause trouble for us back on Earth, though,” said Pierre. “A lot of people still think of the Sholen as the wise space brothers. If they say we should leave Ilmatar, you’ll have demonstrations in Brussels and Washington demanding our return.”

  “And are other ways to use force against us,” added Josef. “A vehicle that size could carry troops. Sholen could occupy base, or evacuate us by force.”

  “Force only works if you’re willing to pull the trigger,” said Dickie. “They won’t go that far. All we have to do is refuse. If they want to start a fight, then poof, it’s war. And if they’re the ones who start it, then even the lunatic fringe back on Earth will turn against them.”

  “All right, Dickie. You’ve said it a dozen different ways, but the fact is you’re not Dr. Sen, and neither are any of us. He’s not going to try to face them down. So why are we here?” asked Pierre.

  “I think we ought to be making some contingency plans. Get ready in case the Sholen do make a move,” said Graves.

  “Doesn’t that depend on what they can do to us?” asked Rob. “I mean, if they’ve got guns and bombs and stuff all we can really do is get ready to die.”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. You can only kill an enemy you can find. We could wage asymmetrical warfare.”

  FIVE

  ROB woke Alicia just before 2400. “I’ve got breakfast,” he said. “You want some tofu chili?”

  “I do, but it disgusts me to say it. On Earth I would never eat chili at all. It is nothing but a ragout with too much pepper.”

  “You want plain tofu instead?”

  “I am almost hungry enough to say yes, but because we are in love I will eat your chili.”

  Their long swim the previous day meant they were still ravenous, so they polished off the pot of chili, generously laced with synthetic oil and hydroponic tomatoes. They were still sitting together as the others began to drift into the common room.

  When just about the entire complement of Hitode Station were having breakfast, Tizhos and Gishora came in. Gishora gave a kind of loud bark to get everyone’s attention.

  “I wish to speak to all of you,” he said. “I consider the subject of great importance.”

  Dr. Sen popped up from the table where he was breakfasting with Simeon Fouchard. “If it actually is of great importance then I think it would be a rather good idea to wait and announce it after all of us have finished eating our breakfasts and can give you our full attention.”

  “I do not wish to wait any longer. Allow me to speak.”

  Sen sat down and made a go-ahead gesture. “I certainly can’t stop you.”

  Gishora stood on his two hind legs, raising his head to the ceiling. “My colleague and I have reached a conclusion. It appears to us that Henri Kerlerec died as a result of accident and carelessness. We do not believe anyone at this station intended to violate the contact agreements.”

  Rob realized he was all tensed up, and gave a sigh as he relaxed. He wasn’t the only one, either.

  “However,” Gishora continued, “we cannot avoid the conclusion that other errors and unauthorized contact attempts may occur in the future, as long as Hitode Station remains an active facility.”

  Alicia’s face was white. “No,” she whispered.

  “I discussed the matter with my colleagues here and in orbit, and we have reached consensus. We cannot allow you to remain. The risk of further contamination appears too great. We request that everyone here prepare to evacuate the station. Our spaceship can transport all of you to Earth, with fifty kilograms of mass per person for baggage. You may leave other items on the surface for future transport. We plan to return the dismantled station to your space agencies.”

  Dr. Sen broke the silence before the crowd could erupt in protests. “This is—this is a most unexpected and, I must say, a most unfortunate proposal for you to make. I’m afraid it’s quite out of the question. I suggest you take the matter up with the UNICA council back on Earth. I’m certain they will consider the whole matter with great seriousness.”

  “We have made a large number of similar requests in the past,” said Gishora. “I cannot believe this will produce a different result. As I said, we have reached consensus: you should leave at once, and then we can discuss a new set of acceptable protocols to prevent any more incidents like the death of Henri Kerlerec.”

  Sen was on his feet again, standing in front of Gishora. To Rob he looked like a child arguing with a bear. “Before we give you an answer I would like the opportunity to discuss it privately with the rest of the station crew.”

  “I do not understand what you need to discuss,” said Gishora. “Tell me if you understood my words.”

  “Well, we—” began Sen, but Fouchard cut him off.

  “Tell him no, Vikram! He has no right!”

  Sen gave Simeon Fouchard a nod. “Dr. Fouchard is essentially correct. You don’t have any sort of authority to order us to leave.”

  “The situation seems too important for any delay,” said Gishora. “To protect the inhabitants of Ilmatar you must leave now.”

  “And what if we don’t want to go?” yelled Dickie Graves.

  Gishora turned to face him. “Then we must remove you.”

  For a moment the room was silent. Then half a dozen people started yelling at once. Sen said something quietly into Gishora’s ear and ushered the two of them out of the room. The shouting continued. Dr. Sen let the noise go on for a couple of minutes, then used a tray as a gavel to bang for quiet.

  “I understand that you are all angered by this unreasonable request they have made of us. But we will not accomplish anything of substance by standing here and making a great deal of noise!”

  “We’re not leaving!” said Graves, and Fouchard followed up by banging an open palm on the tabletop and shouting “Never!”

  But Una Karlssen stood up with a completely horrified look on her face. “You’re all mad!” she said. “I don’t agree with the Sholen either, but this kind of macho posturing isn’t going to solve anything. Even if we don’t like it we have to do what they ask, and let the diplomats work it out later.”

  “And what if they’re right?” said Antonio Diaz. “Maybe we should leave before something else happens.”

  That prompted another round of shouting, and Dr. Sen had to use his tray gavel again. “Please!” he said. “Everyone deserves a completely fair hearing. But I do not wish to turn this into a philosophical discussion about the ethics of interstellar travel or the wisdom of the contact rules. We need to concentrate our attention on how we are going to respond to this ultimatum.”

  “What choices do we have?” said Alicia.

  “That is a very good question for us to consider,” said Sen. “Once we have determined what we can do, it will th
en be easier to decide what it is that we should do.”

  “Kick their asses back to Shalina!” yelled Graves.

  “For the sake of simplicity we will refer to that option as ’Active Resis tance’ for the time being, if you don’t have any objections,” said Dr. Sen. “Others?”

  “This is madness! I think we have to do what they say,” said Una.

  “Let us call that option ’cooperation,’ if the term is acceptable.”

  “Collaboration is more like it,” said Graves.

  “And your suggestion should be labeled ’Suicide,’ ” Una shouted back.

  “Please! We are not going to accomplish much of anything if our discussion keeps breaking down into arguments and wrangling. Are there any other proposals that anyone would like to make?”

  “What about passive resis tance?” asked Alicia. “It’s probably true they can force us to go, but we don’t have to help them clear the place out. We can’t fight, but we can peacefully refuse to leave.”

  “Satyagraha,” said Dr. Sen. “We will refer to this option as ’passive opposition.’ Are there others?”

  “Run away!” called Pierre Adler. A few people laughed, but he shook his head. “I’m serious. We’ve got a whole planet to hide on. They can’t make us leave if they can’t find us.”

  “That is tactics, not strategy,” said Josef.

  “I think Lieutenant Palashnik is correct,” said Dr. Sen. “Let us decide what we wish to accomplish and then discuss how to go about it.”

  “What about Castaverde and the surface crew?” asked Pierre. “They deserve to be part of this.”

  “I think that you are quite correct in pointing that out,” said Sen. “Before anyone makes any additional statements let us set up a link with the surface habitat.”

  But even while Pierre was establishing the link and setting up a screen the debate went on.