“Okay,” said Rob. “We’re staying, at least for now. But I think it would be really dumb for us to do any more attacks against Hitode or the Sholen—especially solo missions. If we are going to do anything, we have to agree on it and plan it out in advance. Does that sound good to everybody?”
“I’ll try to come up with a list of objectives in the next couple of days,” said Graves.
“I figured you’d want to spend time with the Ilmatarans,” said Rob, not without a little malicious pleasure.
Dickie’s face was a study in conflict. Finally he nodded. “All right. Good idea. We’ll lie low for a while.”
BROADTAIL is hungry. The rocks for a cable around are scoured clean, and even with the Builders’ help he and Holdhard cannot catch enough swimmers, unless they do nothing but hunting, which is the last thing Broadtail wants.
He reaches a decision, and finds Holdhard digging for larvae in the soft bottom. “I must go to Longpincer.”
“Your friend?”
“I hope so. I remember him lending me servants and a towfin, and all are dead or lost now. But this discovery of ours is important and must be shared.”
“How can you share the Builders?” she asks. “You do not own them.”
He remembers being surprised several times by her mix of cleverness and ignorance. “Share the knowledge about them. This is the most important discovery I can think of. I imagine dying by accident or violence, and all I know about the Builders lost. I must go to Longpincer.” That is the easy part to say. He pauses before the hard part, then surges ahead. “And I invite you to accompany me as my apprentice.”
She considers the offer. Broadtail knows he is a poor choice for a mentor—no property, no wealth at all but his notes and what is in his mind. Does she understand the value of that?
“Is it far?” she answers at last.
“Yes—we swim across- current to the rift, then follow it to the Bitterwater vent. The first part is hardest, with nothing but coldwater hunting as we go. At the rift there are swimmers and rocks to scour.”
“Here. I have six larvae. We need food for the trip.”
IN the morning the Ilmataran was gone. Alicia and Dickie swam out from the Coquille in opposite spirals, but they found no sign of it within half a kilometer. While the two of them were out searching, Rob took the opportunity to have a talk with Josef in the privacy of the submarine.
“I think the Sholen are going to come looking for us,” he said. “It’s a big ocean, but the longer we stay out here the better the odds get that they’ll find us. You’re the Navy guy—what can we expect when they show up?”
Josef stared off above Rob’s head. “Depends on weapons,” he said. “Simplest is knives, maybe spears. Good underwater, easy to make, and Sholen are stronger than humans. We fight by keeping hidden, setting ambushes, and running away before Sholen stab us.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“Possibly firearms. Many Special Forces on Earth have guns modified to work underwater. Very short range, though: only five or ten meters. Also maybe handheld micro-torpedo launchers.”
“Is that those funny guns they have? With the big barrels?”
“Most likely. Microtorps are like little drones with grenadesize warheads. Usually self-guided, not very smart. Can be dodged, but explosions are dangerous several meters away.”
“Jesus! How can we fight against any of that? We don’t have guns or anything.”
“As I said: keep hidden, set ambushes, run away.”
“If we assume they’ve been bringing down more troops by elevator, then there could be at least nine Sholen soldiers at Hitode. It would be dumb to send out all of them, so assume they keep back a third as a garrison. That leaves six who can come looking for us. Even if they don’t have guns or torpedoes I don’t like those odds at all. Sholen are big.”
“You are both right, you and Graves.”
“What do you mean?”
“You say we cannot fight against guns and microtorps. True. He says we must fight. Also true.”
“You sound like the guy in Robot Monster. ’Must! Cannot!’ So tell me, Great One, what are we supposed to do?” Rob demanded.
“Not sure. First task is survival. For now do nothing foolish. But at some point that changes.”
LONGPINCER and about half of the Bitterwater Company are gathered in the dining room. Broadtail enters, with Holdhard helping him carry reels of notes. Longpincer makes a sound of dismay as he realizes all that line is from his own store-holes.
“So, Broadtail,” he says, “tell us this amazing discovery of yours. We are all eager to hear you.”
Broadtail seems almost larger than usual. When he speaks there is none of his customary hesitation and overpoliteness. He crawls briskly to the end of the room and begins to speak, occasionally pausing to get a new reel from the pile beside him.
“I announce a discovery,” he says. “A very important discovery. There exist creatures capable of adult speech, the use of tools, and the construction of buildings and waterways. But they are not adults, or children, or any creature known in the world. They come from outside the world. A group of them are camped no more than a hundred cables from here, in the ruins of the City of Shares. These reels record my impressions of them, and some conversations with them.”
“Are you inventing stories?” asks Sharpfrill. “How can something come from ’outside the world?’ ”
“I recall similar confusion myself. Think of swimming up to the very top of the world, where the ice is. Now think of chipping off some ice. This is something which is done, correct?”
“Correct,” Smoothshell puts in. “In the highlands they use nets filled with ice to lift weights.”
“Now imagine chipping, and chipping, tunneling up and up into the ice. Where does it end?”
“Many reels speculate on that,” says Sharpfrill. “They say the ice extends infinitely far, or that the ice supports impenetrable rock.”
“More to the point,” says Roundhead, “the archives of the Two Rifts Kingdom recount a project to do just what you describe. In the reel the workers tunnel nearly six cables into the ice before abandoning the task as pointless.”
“According to the beings I speak of, the ice extends twenty cables. And beyond it is—nothing. Emptiness, like the interior of a bubble. And that emptiness does extend a great distance. I am not sure how far. Possibly infinite.”
“Then where do these beings come from?”
“Within the vast emptiness are other worlds. They pass through the emptiness in things like moving houses.”
“Broadtail,” says Longpincer. “This is all quite incredible. Have you any proof?”
“Here!” Broadtail takes an object from his belt and passes it to Longpincer. “A tool made by the strangers. Can you even identify its substance?”
“I remember something tasting like this,” says Longpincer tentatively.
“You do! Remember the specimen at the vent? Remember our dissection in this very room? These are the same type of creature. But they can speak! And they make tools! They are adults.” He passes out more objects. “More samples of their work. Can any animal do this?”
“Broadtail, this claim is most extraordinary,” says Sharpfrill. “You are surely aware that it requires more proof than a few strange artifacts.”
“Of course. My studies are by no means complete, and I plan to make another trip to the site. I invite all to come with me.”
“I suppose you must go ahead and prepare?” asks Sharpfrill.
“Not at all. Let us all go at once if you wish.”
“There is no need to rush off unrested and unfed,” says Longpincer. “Let us listen to the rest of Broadtail’s findings— reserving our comments and questions for another time—and let him show us the site after sleep and a meal.”
Broadtail awakens and for a moment is unsure of where he is. Then the flavor of the water reminds him: Longpincer’s house. Someone is standing nearby.
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“Broadtail,” says Longpincer. “Come outside with me. We must speak privately.”
Broadtail follows his host out of the house via a small passage, not the grand entrance- chamber he remembers using. Once outside they swim to one of Longpincer’s boundarystones. Neither speaks until they stop.
“Broadtail, your account of the strange creatures worries me.”
“In what way?”
“I have two worries. The first is for you. Are you absolutely certain these creatures are as you describe? They really exist? Intelligent beings capable of speech and the use of tools? You are sure this is not a mistake or a hoax?”
“I am sure. It cannot be a hoax. There are the artifacts, and the creatures themselves—you remember dissecting one. It requires a hoaxer much wealthier than yourself, with experts in all the sciences. The Bitterwater Company cannot create such a hoax. Is there a greater company of scholars with more resources?”
“Perhaps the Long Rift confederation of scholarly companies.”
“And can you think of a reason for them to travel thousands of cables just to trick one landless adult?”
“I cannot,” Longpincer admits. “Well, if you are certain of what you remember finding, then I have no more fear for you. But that leads to my second worry. If—as you maintain—these things are real, and come from someplace beyond the world, why are they here? What do they want?”
“I do not know,” admitted Broadtail. “I propose that we ask them.”
“I recall thinking about this before coming to you,” says Longpincer. “Do you remember them fishing, or quarrying? They are at the Sharers ruins. Is the vent active again? Do they claim the land for themselves?”
“The city vent does not flow,” says Broadtail. “And I do not know if the strangers even need ventwater. You recall the great heat of the specimen at the dissection? Their house gives off warm water. I believe they somehow generate their own heat.”
“Well, they must want something,” says Longpincer. “Otherwise why come here?”
“I do not know. I cannot remember discussing it.” Broadtail feels slightly embarrassed for not thinking of it.
“I suggest you do so at your next meeting with them. Bitterwater is the nearest vent to the Sharers ruins. If these creatures claim territory, I must know of it.”
“I understand.” Broadtail does sympathize with Longpincer’s concern. Even villages fear invasion, and Longpincer’s property is smaller than most villages. He is vulnerable.
“There is one other thing to discuss,” says Longpincer. “I am reluctant even to speak of it, but—what is your attitude toward these beings?”
“I am curious about them, of course.”
“Are you their friend?”
“Longpincer, I remember you taking me in and supporting my studies despite my being landless and outlaw. I am your guest and your ally. I do not imagine that changing.”
“I am glad. Your announcement is so strange it makes me wonder about, well, everything.”
“I remember thinking the same way.”
“I suppose we should rest now, before we eat and travel.” Longpincer leads the way back into the house.
THE company dines in Longpincer’s house before setting out. The food, as always, is delicious and abundant. Bags of roe, a rockscraper with the shell removed, and stimulating venomous threads from cold water. Broadtail explains a few more things as they all eat.
“I recall saying the creatures speak. Actually it would be more accurate to say they tap. They know a few dozen words from the dictionary, and can tap out the numbers for them. But they do not seem to understand actual speech. One of them can make out a little, but not reliably.”
“They tap to each other?”
“No, not that I remember hearing. Rather they communicate among themselves with simple howls and grunts, which I believe represent words to them, much the way numbers do in the dictionary.”
Sharpfrill is skeptical. “But to organize words by numbers in order to tie reels—or tap shells—one must have the words in the first place! How can creatures incapable of speech understand that it even exists?”
“I cannot explain it. I only report my own experiences. Come hear for yourself.” But Broadtail wonders: is he tricking himself? Are the creatures no more than imitative animals, repeating his movements and shell-taps? Their narrative could be nothing more than Broadtail’s own brain finding patterns in random noise.
He recalls reading of such things, like Blunthead 40 Hotvent’s famous attempt to decipher ancient carvings by including cracks and growths to produce the desired meaning. Now Blunthead is remembered only for his foolishness rather than his genuine accomplishments.
For just a moment Broadtail is tempted to call it all off; find some excuse to cancel the trip and salvage his reputation. But that passes. He is sure the creatures are intelligent, and if he is wrong, who better than the Bitterwater Company to test his conclusions?
“I am aware of how fantastic my statements are,” he tells the group. “Therefore I beg all of you to be as rigorous as you can in testing what I say and examining all the evidence I present. I prefer to be proved wrong than to live in error.”
There are murmurs of approval from the others. Broadtail decides that it is better to be thought an honest fool than a liar or a crazy adult.
TEN
ROB was in his hammock catching up on sleep when his computer started beeping urgently. The hydrophone was picking up a large group of moving sound sources approaching the Coquille.
“A l icia?”
“Down here,” she said from the little worktable. Always trying to fit in a little work, even though she was wearing down to a stick figure. “I see it, too. It doesn’t look like Sholen. Do you think it is our Ilmataran friend?”
“I hope so. Looks like he’s brought along at least a dozen others. This could be trouble. I’ll suit up and—”
“And what? Let me sit in here and listen to everything by drone? Don’t be absurd.”
The two of them suited up. The slimy, clammy feel of the thick neoprene made Rob shudder. It had been—how long?— since the suits had been properly cleaned, or even completely dry. It was like putting on a secondhand condom.
They emerged from beneath the shelter to find eleven Ilmatarans scuttling about the camp, poking the anechoic coating on the Coquille, tasting the outflow from the portable generator, feeling Alicia’s catch nets and chattering among themselves in a concert of creaks, clicks, and crackling sounds.
An individual approached them. It looked like the one they’d spoken with before, but Rob wasn’t sure. He stood still as it came close enough to touch him, then clicked out 38. That was the identifier the other had used. Rob looked through the little lexicon Dickie had put together and tapped once—“Ilmataran,” or at least that’s what he thought he was saying.
The alien turned and spoke to its companions. A couple of them came clattering forward and began running their feelers and feeding tendrils over Rob and Alicia’s suits. They chattered among themselves a bit, then the first one addressed Rob again: “49-91-16,” which worked out to “Ilmataran extend-pincers touch (human?).”
“I think it is asking if they can touch us,” said Alicia.
“It’s a little late to ask permission. Do you have any problem with letting them run their feelers over you?”
“Only if it will not make you jealous.”
“Okay, I guess.” Rob tapped one of his hanging tools with his screwdriver. A moment later all the Ilmatarans surged forward. Rob stepped back nervously, wondering if maybe he’d agreed to get dissected or something worse this time.
About half of the group began touching him all over, chattering together all the time. They felt the material of his suit, probed the neck joint where the helmet attached, and gently moved his arms and legs to see how the joints worked. One became interested in his backpack, and Rob could feel it gently tugging on his air hoses and feeling the bubbles emerging from
the hydrogen vent. Alicia had her own little circle of admirers.
“I think we should ask them what to call body parts,” said Alicia. “It would be wonderful to learn what they know about their own physiology.”
So for an hour Alicia and Rob sat within a clump of Ilmatarans, touching body parts and recording the tap- codes for each. They spent a couple of hours with the Ilmatarans before the natives began nodding off. It was kind of comical. Rob would be demonstrating his fingers or the sampling tongs to one of them, and suddenly the Ilmataran would go silent and curl up into an armored ball for about half an hour.
The first one who’d found them hung on the longest, but when he finally needed a nap, Rob and Alicia were alone for a while.
“Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested.
“Not yet. I don’t know how long they will sleep like this. I should hate to waste time getting undressed and suited up again.”
“So, what do you think? Are we communicating?”
“A little bit. I think Graves is right—their eidophones are imitations of sonar echoes. Unfortunately, what they consider important elements of an echo are not what our sonar devices use for imaging. The computer can recognize some of their words but not interpret them.”
“So for now we’re stuck with tapping.”
“Yes. The first one—the one with the wide flukes—he is a good teacher.”
“You can tell them apart?”
“You cannot?”
“Not really. There’s the one with all the crap growing on him, and the really big one. The rest all kind of blur together.”
“The one with the encrustations also seems to be a high- status individual. I don’t know if you noticed, but the others initiate conversations with him almost twice as often as they do with each other.”
“How the hell did you have time to notice that?”
“I dug up some chimp-behavior software and modified it to track interactions. I think I can create a social model with some more observations.”
“Jesus. You never stop collecting data, do you?”
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