The Lower Deep

by Hugh B. Cave

  The sea floor could not be at too great a depth here, he decided, or he would be feeling some pressure. How much pressure could the human body endure? He didn't know. Perhaps his "training" had equipped him to endure more than others could. Swimming along just above a carpet of sand dotted with a Dali-world display of shells and starfish, he forgot his fears for a moment, forgot the naked shape in front of him leading him to God knew what fate, and for a moment surrendered to the pure beauty of his surroundings.

  But suddenly his mind—that precious part of his mind that was still his—heard a voice crying out, "Look behind you, George! Behind you!"

  Slashing the opal-hued water with both arms, he flung himself around and saw coming at him a great gray torpedo. Mouth agape and full of teeth, it had swept past Dannie and was no more than ten feet from him on a collision course. Though a commercial fisherman for most of his adult life, never before had he seen a tiger shark so huge and frightening.

  The voice reached him again through his terror. "George! Oh, George, look out!" Was he hearing it or imagining it? Hearing it, he was sure—at least in his mind—though it was barely strong enough to get through to him. Then another voice, this the one he had been receiving without difficulty for a long time now, came through calmly and clearly, saying, "No need to be afraid, George darling. It won't attack you."

  Alice. Dear Alice. And amused.

  The mouth of the shark was a gaping tunnel as the monster turned on its side and came racing at him. He found himself looking straight into the yawning maw behind that forest of teeth, too scared even to lift a hand in defense. He could almost have touched it when with a violent twist it unexpectedly shot off to one side, missed him by inches, and was gone.

  And again Alice's voice mocked him, saying, "You should have more faith in me, George. I told you back at the beach the repellent would protect you."

  Slowly the effects of the terror passed and he could think again. His part of his mind could think again. And he thought not of the shark or of what Alice was saying—for she was still mocking him—but of the other voice.

  He did own part of his mind, then. Yes, by God, he did! Maybe Alice was leaving it free for her own amusement, but so long as she continued to do so, it was his. Because, of course, the voice that had tried to scream a warning had been Dannie's. Faint, yes. Almost no voice at all compared with Alice's trumpeting. But he had heard it and recognized it.

  Dannie, too, still owned some part of her mind, then.

  Loud in his head, the voice of his wife was jeering at him-for his display of fear. "Really, George, I thought you were much braver than that." And that other voice, that mere ghost of one from seemingly far away, said with concern, "Are you all right, George?"

  He wondered. If he answered Dannie, would Alice home in on it? Could she hear Dannie communicating with him? He had to know.

  "Dannie," he projected, "can you hear me?"

  The answer came back, "Just barely, George, but yes," while Alice continued to mock him for his cowardice.

  "Dannie!" he sent. "We can talk and she doesn't know!"

  "Are you sure she doesn't know?"

  "She's talking to me right now. I'm getting both of you at the same time."

  "If only we don't slip up somehow," Dannie said tremulously. "George, she's telling me we have to go up."

  She was telling him, too, George realized. In fact, she was swimming back toward him. Watching her naked body glide through the dark water almost as swiftly as the shark had come, he felt nearly the same panic he had experienced when the fish attacked.

  She swam close to him and pointed upward, telling him at the same time, "Come, George. Time to go."

  He followed her back up through layers of changing color into sudden brilliant sunlight, and all that had happened in the depths was like a dream. All but the shark. Still shuddering at the memory, he knew he could never have dreamed a monster of that size. And what of that fellow from the alcoholics' place, Lindo? Had he been dead when he was attacked, or had he—God forbid—known what was going to happen to him?

  What time was it?

  How much longer would the ordeal continue?

  He looked around. The fishing boat they had evaded was still visible as a faint gray shape in the distance. A ghost ship. There was nothing else but water, all aglitter with sunlight, sluggishly heaving as though the sea were one vast living body breathing in its sleep.

  He swam on, following Alice, looking back to be sure Dannie was behind him. There was no talk for a while.

  Then he heard a voice that belonged to neither Alice nor Dannie. It was a man's voice, saying, "You're doing very well, Benson. Very well indeed. I expected to catch up with you long before this."

  "Who are you?" George replied. "Where are you?"

  "Your advisor, friend. Your leader. Just under you."

  George looked down and saw a human shape, naked, effortlessly swimming along with him about six feet below. It was no one he knew, he decided. The swimmer rose at an angle and cleaved the sea's surface just a few feet to his right, turning its face toward him while matching his forward motion.

  No, he didn't know the man. Had only seen him around town a time or two. It was the Cuban fellow from the Azagon. Juan Mendoza.

  "You?" George thought. "A doctor?" But the Cuban was both doctor and patient, wasn't he?

  The answer was a laugh, though there was no lip movement in the face turned toward him. "They didn't care what I was when they took me down, friend."

  "Down where?"

  "You'll see."

  "Who are 'they'?" George asked.

  "Alice hasn't told you?"

  'No."

  "Well, I don't see why you can't be told. You'll be there soon. They've been here quite a while now, friend. Exactly what part of the ocean this particular group came from they haven't told me yet, except to say it's one of the deepest parts. I suspect the Puerto Rico Trench, which isn't too far from here and contains the greatest known depth in the Atlantic, 28,374 feet, in case you don't keep up with that sort of thing."

  "Why are they here off St. Joseph?" George asked.

  "Well, they came here to have a look at us and found us suitable, so they stayed."

  George was genuinely interested, perhaps because in the voice of Juan Mendoza he felt none of the threat he had felt in that of his wife. "How did you find them, Doctor?"

  "They found me, one day when I was exploring the reef between St. Joe and Ile du Vent. There I was, poking along with scuba gear, minding my own business, and suddenly four strange beings materialized in the water around me. They did something to me. To my mind, I mean. I don't know what or how—only that they are much better and quicker at it than your wife or I will ever be. When I recovered, I was at their base, able to exist in an airless environment without effort. In just a few minutes, while blacked out, I had absorbed more knowledge from them than you have learned from Alice in all your weeks of indoctrination."

  "Their base?"

  "A fascinating place, Benson. An undersea cave. When you see it, you'll be as awestruck as I was."

  "So now you work for them," George said.

  "But of course. One must."

  "You've been recruiting people at the alcoholics' place? The way Alice has been working on Ginny Jourdan and me?"

  "That's right, friend."

  George swam along in mental stillness for a moment, surreptitiously searching the sea for any sign of another vessel. But the sea remained a vast, gently heaving emptiness without even a distant speck on which he could fasten a hope.

  "Why did you have to pick on a child like Ginny?" he demanded.

  "Well, you see," Mendoza replied, "what they want is breeding stock. They made a big mistake, they say. That is, their ancestors did. We left the sea for good after our last try at an aquatic life. We became land dwellers. They didn't, and wish they had. Now they hope that by breeding with us they can turn the clock back, so to speak, and eventually undo their error."

>   George risked a glance behind him and was relieved to see Dannie swimming easily along in his wake. He tried sending her a message. "Dannie, do you see who's here with me?"

  "Yes," came the reply. "I don't believe I know him, though."

  "Mendoza. The Cuban fellow from the Azagon."

  "Oh. Is he the one Alice calls her leader?"

  "Yes. Could you hear what he and I were talking about?"

  "No, George."

  The thought exchanges were only two-way conversations, then, George reflected. No one could eavesdrop. In a showdown would that be good or bad?

  But then, how in God's name could he hope for a showdown?

  "By any chance," he projected, continuing his dialogue with Mendoza, "do these—creatures have a base inside the so-called Bermuda Triangle?"

  "Not now," the Cuban replied. "But they say they used to."

  "And that explains—"

  "The old Triangle mystery? I haven't asked them, Benson. The only questions one puts to them are those they want put. It could, of course."

  "They were there for the same reason they're here? An experiment in breeding?"

  "That is correct."

  "How can you live with yourself, Mendoza, after taking them a child like Ginny Jourdan?"

  "Well, she wasn't my selection, actually. I chose your wife, Benson. A most attractive woman, I thought when I met her one day at Anse Douce. Young enough, apparently in good health—just what was wanted. But she turned out to be sterile. I should have wondered why you and she had no offspring, I suppose. Then, having become one of us, Alice suggested Miss Jourdan."

  "And enslaved the poor child," George snarled.

  "Not quite. We did succeed in taking her down to be mated—"

  "When? The time you and Alice disappeared?"

  "Right."

  "Then the story you told of being found in Port Roche by some fellow who used to crew for you—"

  "Was a necessary invention, as was my denying to Dr. Spence that I saw Paul Henninger go into the coffin-maker's house. I did see him go in, and my guess is that he went there to request a service for Agoué, if you know about that episode. Anything else you'd like to know, Benson? At this point I find it rather entertaining to enlighten you."

  "Henninger went to request a service for Agoué?" George said. "The voodoo sea god? Why would he want that?"

  "Because he realized his troubles were being caused by something in the sea, and felt Agoué might protect him. I couldn't tell Dr. Spence any of this, however, because I didn't want Henninger closely questioned about it. So I told Spence flat-out that Paul did not visit the houngan and was probably looking for a house of prostitution."

  The Cuban was silent for a moment. Then he said, "As I was telling you, Benson, your wife and I took the Jourdan girl below, but she got away. The sea creatures are not physically our equal except when they outnumber us. Mentally they're far ahead of us in some ways. But Miss Jourdan proved to be a most unusual person. After being mated, she drew upon some reserve of willpower and made her escape."

  "And you couldn't force her back there because she became ill."

  "Correct. She hadn't the strength to repeat the journey. So now we're about to try Miss André. She, too, was your wife's choice, of course. I'm sure you know why."

  "Yes, I know why."

  "An excellent choice, though, regardless of the other reason. Miss André has all the endowments called for: youth, good health, and intelligence, with beauty as an added asset."

  "Thanks," George shot back bitterly.

  "As for you—well, there are females among them, of course, and you'll be mated with one selected for the program. I can't say you'll enjoy the copulation. In fact, I know you won't. But we're working on a way to deceive the mind of the human partner with a mental image of something a little more enticing when a mating takes place."

  The mind of Juan Mendoza stopped sending for a moment, and George saw that he was looking ahead to where Alice's nude form methodically flowed on through the sea's glitter. "They tell me that so far," the voice continued then, "their females have not reproduced. I think, myself, it must have something to do with the greatly divergent gestation period. But with their mental powers they'll find a solution, I have no doubt."

  "I suppose you tried to recruit that fellow whose body was found on the beach, ravaged by sharks," George said.

  "Lindo? Yes. Unfortunately, we lost him. But we'll soon have Morrison and Wynn, and I believe even Dr. Spence."

  "But Spence is a special friend of yours, isn't he?" George was truly bewildered. "Doc Clermont told me the two of you have known each other for years!"

  "I have no friends anymore, Benson. Nor will you, after we get there. You'll be quite as eager as the rest of us to see your Miss André successfully mated."

  "You bastard," George thought, and again looked around. The situation remained unchanged. In the lead was Alice, some ten yards ahead of Mendoza and himself. Dannie brought up the rear. From the air their little formation must look like a quartet of—well, a quartet of porpoises, no? And, after all, they were related to porpoises, weren't they? As were the creatures to whose undersea cave Dannie and he were being taken.

  "How did you—they—sink my boat?" he asked. "Is it true a hole opened up in the sea, as the plantation woman said?"

  "You could call it that. Whirlpools, waterspouts, sudden aberrations in the sea, are child's play to these people when enough of them work together."

  "About this mating," George said with a shudder. "You say I'm to be mated. And Dannie. As you have been, and as you expect Morrison, Wynn, and Spence will be when their time comes. Has Paul Henninger been mated? He was taken to this undersea cave, wasn't he?"

  "Not taken, Benson. He went by himself. And no, he wasn't mated. Like Miss Jourdan, he—ah— escaped."

  "Escaped?"

  "In her case it happened after she was impregnated, but Henninger surprised us before he could be used. As I say, he found his way there by himself, just as Lindo tried to. But when he got there, he—ah—disapproved. A very strong-willed fellow, the Azagon's manager. Also quite unpredictable. He first tried to go there in his sleep, if you know about that. Walked to the beach in his pajamas, buried the pajamas in the sand to keep the journey a secret, and simply took off. Men like you were only dreaming of going—part of your conditioning, of course—but he actually tried to go while dreaming. He woke up before he got there, however."

  "That was the time he heard the drumming in Dame Marie, and it guided him back in the dark when he couldn't see the shore?"

  "Who told you about that? Clermont again?"

  "Yes."

  "I see I must be careful of you," Mendoza sent. "Thanks to our island Abe Lincoln, you seem to know more than I suspected. But yes, that was the night Henninger heard the drumming—so, in effect, the sea god actually did come to his rescue. He went to the houngan's house first. Then on the way back he must have fallen asleep on his feet—very easy to do when you're being conditioned—and instead of returning to the Azagon, he ended up at Anse Douce."

  "Then when he did reach this undersea cave you speak of—later on, I mean—he decided he wanted no part of it and got away from you?"

  "Sadly, yes. But, of course, we'll change his mind in the end."

  Escaped, George thought. Both Henninger and Ginny Jourdan escaped. It could be done, then.

  The thought must have gone out, for Mendoza shot back a rapid reply. "Ah, no, friend, not again! We were under the impression people wouldn't want to escape after being mentally prepared, don't you see? So we were a bit slack, and those two managed to get away. But no one else will, I assure you." He paused, then added less sharply, "The truth is, I was to blame in Henninger's case. I thought our fat Belgian was weak and cowardly."

  Frightened by this response to a musing he had meant to keep secret, George remained silent.

  "Did you hear me?" the Cuban went on. "I thought he was weak. Ha! They tell me he got away from five
of them. Five! Of course, they could have destroyed him before he got very far, but they didn't want to do that. They felt if I could somehow bring him back, a man so strong and resourceful would be invaluable as a breeder. But what an assignment! Have you any idea how that man has fought me since his return from down there?"

  "Fought you how?"

  "All sorts of ways, Benson. Oh, yes. That dark suit he wears, for instance. He had it made for him by the wife of the coffin-maker—the wife of the houngan who conducted the service to Agoué for him. He had the fellow bless it at another service, the way they bless their drums and assons and other voodoo paraphernalia. To him it's a form of protection, and he wears nothing else now. He doesn't know it's a protection against me, of course."

  "Is it?" George asked.

  "Is it what?"

  "Protection against you? I mean, does it work against you?"

  An odd pause, perhaps a significant one, preceded Mendoza's reply to that. Then the reply was not really an answer, George noted. "I do not personally believe in voodoo, Benson," the Cuban said without elaboration.

  "Dr. Mendoza," George put forth, stressing the title, "being Cuban, are you not Catholic?"

  "Not what?"

  "A Catholic, and devout? Think what you're doing, man. Never mind my wife. If I know her, she's probably enjoying her part in all this. But—"

  "I believe she is. Enjoying the sense of power, at any rate."

  "But Ginny Jourdan, an innocent schoolgirl! Think of what you've done to her, Doctor. And what you're planning to do to my Dannie. My God, how can you do these things? You're a doctor! You're supposed to care about people. You—"

  Into George's mind crept a small, thin voice saying, "George, look behind us. There's a boat coming. I think it's that army boat you showed me at Port Roche once."

  George turned his head. It was the wrong thing to do; Mendoza saw him do it. To the brisk, mind-jarring command that George now received he could find no denial.

  "Follow me, you two!"

  Swift, competent, a human body trained to perform like a porpoise in water, the Cuban medic went slanting down into deep green depths. As he went, Alice joined him and they were two of a kind, naked man, nude woman, planing down into a mysterious world they had made their own. As George slavishly followed, aware that Dannie trailed him in turn, he knew he was leaving behind his last chance of survival.