A Darkling Sea

by James Cambias

  Hernandez didn’t exactly relish being expendable, so the absence of any Sholen spacecraft was the best news he’d had in a while. If it was true, of course. They might be hiding somewhere, possibly behind Ilmatar or one of the other moons. They could even have some supertech way of fooling his sensors.

  Still, better to find out now, before the braking burn, when he still had enough fuel to run for home. “Send a tightbeam to the surface station on Ilmatar. Tell them we’re here and ask for a sitrep.”

  Moss sent the message for five minutes, then shook his head. “I’m not getting any response. Chances are the Sholen took everyone prisoner.”

  “Or bombed the place flat. Keep trying until T minus ten minutes on the burn clock.”

  “Wait a sec! I’m getting something. It sounds like Morse code. They must’ve lost their radio mast.” Moss called up a Morse code cheat sheet. “Here it comes: ’Sho left two weeks ago, took sixteen, four dead, fixing damage.’ ”

  “Ask them what happened! How did they drive off the Sholen? Do they need anything?”

  “It says, ’Sho captured base, Ilmatarans made them go, OK for now.’ Wait, there’s more: ’Send all string cord etcetera on lander, Ilmats want to learn.’ ”

  “Okay,” said Hernandez, utterly baffled. “Flight: go ahead with the braking burn as planned.” In a quieter voice he added, “I’m going down in the first lander. I want to hear the full story.”

  “ADULT swims grasping human on stone,” said Broadtail. He and Rob were floating in the nice warm outflow from the station reactor, watching a mixed team of humans and Ilmatarans load the sub’s power plant onto the cargo rack on top of the elevator. The elevator capsule was all pumped out and reattached to the cable, ready for a trip up to the surface.

  “We can’t stay any longer,” said Rob. “It’s not safe here. The Sholen might come back, maybe with more spacecraft and troops.”

  “Many adults stab Squatters.”

  “Yeah, you guys kicked ass.” Rob wondered idly how his computer was going to translate that phrase. “But it’s not right to expose you to more risk because of us. We’re buttoning up the base, and when the trouble with the Sholen is over, we’ll send back an ambassador.”

  “Human swims downward to house?”

  “Sure. Later. We, uh, swim toward coming back.”

  “Builder 1 swims downward?”

  “No, not me. I can’t come back. I’ve spent enough time under high pressure already. Even with the drugs I’m at risk for nerve damage. The docs will veto that for sure.”

  “Adult swims upward.”

  “What?”

  “Adult swims upward to house with many humans. Adult swims through ice. Adult swims past large spheres.”

  “Broadtail, I don’t know if you can ever leave Ilmatar. There’s the whole pressure thing, and—”

  “Adult grasps many reels. Adult grasps numbers. Adult holds tools. Adult swims past large spheres.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get into space someday. Maybe we could build you some kind of pressure tank to travel in. Lifting all that water’s going to be a bitch and a half, but we’ll figure something out.”

  Broadtail reached into one of his belt pouches and handed something to Rob. It was a box made of stone, about as big as a baseball. He could feel a seam where the lid fit on it. “Is this for me? You want me to keep it or just look at it?”

  “Adult places stone inside human house.”

  “Aw, thank you, Broadtail. This is really nice. Did you make this?” Rob carefully lifted the lid off and looked inside. He was quiet for a long time, and when he spoke again he was trembling despite the warm water. “Where did you get this, Broadtail?”

  A month later, the last lander rose from Ilmatar carrying two passengers, four tons of specimens and artifacts—and ten human and Sholen corpses, packed together in a single cargo pod.

  Alicia still felt a little odd in the thin air on board. Even after an extra-slow ascent in the restored elevator capsule, she was still saturated with argon and trace gases. She could almost feel them oozing out of her body. Her sinuses were completely blocked and her face felt bloated.

  The interior of the lander was wonderfully warm and dry. Alicia ran her hand sensuously over the clean fabric seat cover. She had already vowed to spend her first month back on Earth in Tunis, or maybe Las Vegas, baking herself in the desert sunlight all day and sleeping on clean sheets every night.

  In the seat next to her, Robert sat silently, occasionally looking at the little carved stone box in his hands. He had been nearly comatose since they’d left Hitode. During the elevator ride she had been so tired and hungry herself that she hadn’t minded, especially with six people jammed into the elevator and no privacy. But it would be a very long trip home if Robert was going to be morose the whole way.

  From the flight deck she could hear radio chatter and the occasional terse remark by the pilots. Through the window she could see the white surface of Ilmatar rolling past, marked with lines and faint blotches. A screen above her seat showed the expedition ship, surrounded by a halo of drones and shuttles.

  At last Alicia could stand the silence no longer. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You have been a living corpse ever since we left Hitode. Is something wrong? Traumatic stress?”

  “Broadtail gave me this,” said Rob. “He got it from one of the bandits; where the bandit got it from is anyone’s guess but the surface erosion suggests it’s pretty damn old.”

  “Why does that make you sad?”

  “I’m not sad. I’m just—here. See for yourself.” He handed Alicia the little stone box. She opened it and looked at the object inside, nestled snugly in the little niche that had protected it—how long?

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Look through it.”

  She picked it up carefully by the edges and held it up to the light. It was scratched and chipped, but not yet opaque.

  It was a lens.