by Stephan Wul
‘What fun!’ said Terr. ‘As we’ll come across thousands of them, we’ll only have a few hundred hard blows. Don’t you have anything reassuring to tell me?’
‘Yes. They’re too young to swim and they yell very loudly as they sink. Nothing to worry about, apparently. The more they yell, the faster they sink, you understand? But they really make a racket! Louder than the sea! I can’t wait to hear it!’
‘I really hope we’ll not see it too closely. Do you know of a way of making them totally harmless?’
Sav nodded.
‘Yes. Go as fast as possible. That’s what the Traags used to do when they travelled on small vessels.’
Terr sighed.
‘Unfortunately we can’t do that, as the hulls will not hold. But… what did you just say? The Traags themselves feared the baby prongs?’
‘Of course! It dates back to the old days of navigation. At that time it was quite common for prongs to tie their tentacles around the propellers. They could easily destroy a ship before dying. Even if it got away, with its damaged propeller it risked going in circles for months in the Siwo before smashing into the Ambala reefs. Ray weapons didn’t exist then, and bullets bounced off the prongs and didn’t finish them off fast enough to avoid accidents. But as I said to you before, that sort of thing was rare. The Traags went full speed ahead and burst all the eggs before the prongs had time to cause any damage.’
Terr got hold of Sav by the sleeve.
‘And you’re telling me all this now!’
‘You never asked me!’ protested the naturalist. ‘You told me through Char to focus on studying the wild continent’s fauna and flora! I assumed you knew all that and had taken all the necessary precautions.’
Terr let go of him and shook his head:
‘You’re right’, he said, ‘it’s my fault. I couldn’t imagine… it’s my fault.’
‘We have weapons!’ suggested Sav.
‘Using them is impossible. We’d need to mount them on the hull and… it’s too late.’
‘Avoid the Siwo.’
impossible too. The trip is planned to last a fixed time. Not going through the Siwo will cost us two days. And the reactors must be maintained every ten thousands stadia.’
‘Then I see just one solution: travelling underwater.’
‘We’ll never hold out that long underwater.’
‘I mean dive as often as we can.’
‘And lose time’, Terr whispered slowly. ‘I’ll have a word with the quartermasters. We’ll see.’
He made as if to go but then turned around.
‘How heavy is a new born prong?’
‘Ten to fifteen thousand weights.’
‘As much as the three vessels’, Terr sighed. ‘Thanks, Sav.’
All the ship’s bells rang suddenly. Terr sprang up, went through the three rooms and pounced on the gangway telebox.
‘The Aedile here!’ he screamed. ‘What’s happening, quartermaster?’
‘Traag bubble to the south!’ the officer announced. ‘We’re diving, all lights out. I don’t think it spotted us.’
‘What about the others?’
‘All good! Vessel 3 is following us. The cables are holding up. We’re slowing down to five stadia.’
Twenty long hours later, a grubby dawn rose above the water. The wine coloured sea was split from east to west by a lustrous current: The Siwo.
The three ships were travelling in convoy, half a stadia away from each other. All around them, flying fish were leaping from golden crests to crimson troughs. They were glistening on the sea like sequins on a coat’s folds. Some occasionally fell on one of the ships’ dark deck and jumped about before getting thrown off by the next roll.
An hour later, the first prong egg could be seen, like a greenish rounded hill waddling in the waves. It was avoided easily. It twirled around for a long time in the ships’ wake before disappearing in the distance.
But two giant balls could already be seen looming on the horizon. Travelling at thirty stadia, the vessels soon caught up with them. Vessel 1 had to tread a delicate path between them.
Then there were groups of five, seven, fifteen eggs which had to be avoided. Time was being wasted. When the sea was covered in them, Terr, his heart aching, gave the order to increase the speed and go straight ahead.
All excited, Sav had asked to be authorised to climb on the gangway. Five Oms were already there: the Aedile, the quartermaster, the under quartermaster, the helmsman, and the telebox operator sitting in a corner. As the three ships had split up, wireless communication had to be used, using a code.
The naturalist took up a position out of the way, his hands holding tight on the guardrail and his eyes wide open.
The first egg was not rammed. It rolled along the hull in a thunderous noise. The second one collided head on and burst on the bow spurting out a greenish liquid which spattered the gangway’s window. The Oms felt like they were going through a marmalade jar.
Going into a nose-dive in a trough, as if it was shaking itself, the ship washed off the viscous trails spilled across the deck and attacked another egg. With a terrifying creak, it poured its cream into the waves. Flabby pieces swept along both sides, mixed with orange embryonic organs.
Sav looked at the Aedile, smiling.
‘So far so good’, he said. ‘These eggs are still very young. In an hour or two we may well come across slightly stronger prongs.’
Terr said curtly:
âIt seems this makes you happy, Sav!’
The naturalist took refuge behind a sheepish expression.
‘Not at all!’ he said awkwardly.
But the glint in his eyes betrayed his words.
The deck was boiling with spilled acids which were quickly swept off by the waves. From time to time the two other ships could be seen to the right and to the left. They were gaily smashing into the balls blocking their way. The telebox brought only good news on their behalf. It all seemed easy and without danger. At first the Oms tookvulgar sporting pleasure in smashing up the obstacles. Then, accustomed to the racket and reassured as to the hulls’ relative solidity, they began to find this strange navigation somewhat monotonous.
The explosions carried on. It even seemed like they were more and more successful. Some eggs exploded like bombs, with a deafening artillery din. Some seemed to deflate like balloons. Others saw their shells flying off in the distance and bouncing off the waves.
‘Gases!’ said Sav. it must really stink outside!’
Terr looked at him:
‘What, gases?’
‘Yes’, confirmed the naturalist. ‘These eggs are loaded with gases caused by the acid on the inside of the shell. They are nearer to natural hatching. Here!’
He pointed at the deck. A torn-off piece of greenish convolutions was beating in spasms as it was being swept off.
‘That was a heart’, said Sav, ‘already formed! Each prong has five of them.’
‘Five hearts?’
‘Yes, and two livers, just like the Traags.’
A gigantic egg appeared like a thunderbolt. Hoisted by a wave as the ship was dipping its head, it crashed on the gangway’s cover, discharging a coating of bluish liquid which blocked all visibility.
The quartermaster gave the order to dive to get rid of the refuse spattering the windows.
As it surfaced, the ship rammed another sphere. Strips of membranes where floating like wet linen on the gangway’s cover. But the ship managed to sail into the open waters and was heading for another shoal of eggs looming in the distance.
The telebox operator passed a note to the quartermaster who read it to the Aedile: Vessel 3 indicated some damage. Thrown off balance by the blows, two heavy induction coils had broken their straps and damaged the installation as they fell.
‘Ask how long it will take them to repair it’, ordered Terr.
The reply came quickly:
‘Thirty minutes!’
Terr scanned the horizon fill
ed with round mounds. He raised an eyebrow towards the quartermaster.
‘We’ll reach it in twenty minutes’, the officer estimated.
‘Switch off the engines!’ ordered the Aedile. ‘Give the same order to the other ships.’
Some eggs were exploding far away to the left. Ship 2 and 3 soon neared the Aedile’s vessel which was still drifting along. A giant egg was spinning in its wake. Its polished shell soaked by spray reflected the tormented sky.
As vessel 2 passed by, the egg toppled over in a swirl and headed straight for vessel 3. The ship did not try to avoid it. A cracking sound was heard and the Oms saw their first living prong!
The spectacle’s enormity caused its phases to slow down. Like in a dream, a long crack opened up along the outside of the shell. The ship disappeared under a flow of hazardous secretions. Like a devil out of a box, a greenish being appeared to stand up in the lower part of the egg as if in a gondola. The prong looked as if it was standing on the sea, its newly born eyes half closed. Its parched face was enormous and adorned with tufts of tentacles at the corner of its mouth. The comical site of this bouncing baby sporting a moustache and balancing on a wave gave way to its cry.
The flabby mouth opened like a funnel and bawled towards the clouds. The horrendous and piercing sound cracked over the sea like a whip on a drum. The smooth water became rippled in a circle one stadia wide and the ocean appeared to have goose pimples.
The prong unfolded clumsily a fin, twirled around, lost its balance and fell thunderously.
When the spray stopped raining down, the head could still be seen floating but the water was already surging into the open mouth. The fin moved about as it fell in semi-circle on vessel 3 which was already moving away. The ship appeared to nose up, before looping on a wave and disappearing… forever.
Looking pale after an hour of fruitless underwater searching, the Aedile called off the rescue.
‘Farewell, brave companions’, he said. ‘As for us, it’s impossible! We won’t get through. Let’s drift along the Siwo to spare our reactors. We’ll lose two days. Is that what you’re thinking too?’
‘You’re right’, said Sav. ‘The first prong cost us a ship. And we’ll come across thousands of eggs. Let’s sail at their speed and ensure we don’t break any… or we’d all die too!’
Looking drawn, he glanced at the sea. They were drifting amongst green domes which were gently hitting the ships’ hulls.
6
Two long anxious days followed, living in dread of breaking an egg. At times tepid winds hastened the dance and shells struck the ships hard. Everyone clenched their teeth, expecting a roar freeing twenty prongs simultaneously.
In fact only one prong was seen born prematurely in the distance. Two eggs grazed against each other. The first one vomited harmless magma, but the other opened up on a trumpeting monster which sank straight down, its mouth gaping as if it had made a wish to bellow until the end of time.
After the second day, the Siwo veered gently towards the equator, towards the Bay of Prongs where the prongs are born, romping and coupling for months before their annual flight to the poles. There, they laid their eggs in the current and the cycle started again.
Terr decided to leave the Siwo. To avoid having an accident at the last moment, the two ships travelled underwater the ten stadia needed to free them from the maritime river.
The next night was quiet but the rising sun revealed crimson water. They were nearing the Foam Pot where the ocean was battered by adverse winds and foamed incredibly.
Slowly, as the hours went by, the vessels were cleaving through creamy waters. The Aedile’s ship was first. As it went forward its stem was at first fraying lumps 0f white foam, then floating bundles of cotton, and later mountains of spume which from a distance looked like icebergs.
Soon the water and the sky were invisible. The ships had to feel their way in the midst of a gigantic foam bath, across a marvellous world full of mesmeric multicoloured glints of light. Thousands of translucent spheres surrounded the ships on all sides, slobbering, flecking with fleecy steam and bubbling with hundreds of different fiery glows.
They travelled for a long time through this play of light, as it infinitely altered spectres and rays, images and mirages, refringence and fringes, in unreal colourings where the eye got lost in concave perspectives.
Invisible and far above them, the sky toyed with the golden clouds, projecting its fantasies in the foam as if crafting a giant kaleidoscope.
***
Their eyes burnt by these wonders, it was night by the time they emerged from this floating palace of mirages. And then, having suddenly appeared from behind a mountain of foam, another mirage awaited them.
Far away on the horizon, yet so real one wanted to touch it, the Wild Continent appeared to float in the air like an island, its mountains outlined against the light above a slack and shiny sea.
Terr ordered the latch to be opened. A whiff of perfume swept through the gangway, as if commissioned to greet the Oms. The bay was calm. A few birds circled high above cawing in the tepid air.
The hatchways were opened. A crowd of migrants populated the deck. Terr spoke a few happy words, in poetical harmony with the surroundings. He gestured with his hand:
‘Oms’, he said, ‘destiny is offering us the Wild Continent like a cake on a silver plate!’
He turned to Sav and added:
‘With all the trimmings!’
He was pointing at small islands of strange fruit and flowers which floated here and there, rocking gently as small waves lapped up their sides.
Sav seemed to be snapping out of a dream. He looked at the fruit and flowers against which the stem was knocking.
‘I don’t recommend you touch them’, he said.
‘Because?’
‘Pandane fruit!’
‘That’s what it is!’
‘Yes, deadly burns!’
More of the continent’s details could be seen. It was split in panoramic scenes dominated by the colours red, gold and purple, depending on the distance. Languid breezes were lazily shaking palms leaning over the beaches. Further away, valleys were meandering on the hillsides. The jungles were noisy with the chatter of animals. Strong whiffs of scents were swirling between the headlands and the promontories.
‘Here’s the river!’ said the Aedile.
To the right an estuary was spilling its green waters into the lustrous bay.
An hour later the two ships were sailing up the river, beneath a canopy of foliage and triumphant arcs of intertwined liana gently dropping petals into the water.
At every bend the meanders revealed a surprise: a pandane’s plume on top of a hill, beaches of black sand shining with mica, an arch of polished stone stretched across the valley…
Sav was observing the banks:
‘A pegoss!’ he announced.
A mass with heavy members could be seen shaking itself in the silt.
‘A cervuse, a bossk!’
A graceful silhouette could be seen running away beneath the branches, chased by a jerky trot.
Calls, growls and rattles crossed each other from one bank to the other above the Oms’ heads.
When night had fallen, they reached the lake showing on the maps. The Aedile gave the order to anchor in a creek. Two muffled detonations were heard as anchor shells harpooned the seabed, showing two concentric waves on the surface and mooring the ships solidly.
Terr ruled out disembarking. He went down to the map room, accompanied by Sav and two officers.
Char and Vail, who had travelled in Ship 2, soon joined them, followed by quartermaster 2 and his deputies.
‘Oms’, said Terr, ‘the Exodus has succeeded. It cost us a lot and I’d rather not even mention Ship 3. There’s no need to dwell in the past. Other dangers await us. But we are safe from the Traags. They very rarely set foot on this continent. It’ll be easy to hide for a long time. It’ll be harder to get organised and survive. Our reserves will not
last forever. And there are no factories or warehouses to pillage here. We are not Traag parasites anymore, but the master race of this wild region of Ygam.’
‘We are only accountable to ourselves, and we can only rely on ourselves… and let’s not forget we have to fulfil our duty. We are privileged. Millions of Oms are still held captive by the Traags. They’ll have to be freed from slavery. It might take generations to achieve this great plan. Perhaps we’ll never see it in our lifetime. But let it shine above us like a sacred goal. Let it fire us up, and perhaps our children’s children might succeed!’
He unfolded a map and placed a finger in the middle.
‘The High Plateaus’, he said. ‘That’s where we’ve planned to settle. Though enticing, these forests now around us are too hazardous…’
PART THREE
1
The Traags’ Great Council was held in turn in each of the continent’s capital cites. This time they were assembled in Klud, Continent A South’s capital city.
In a vast chamber decked out with busts of famous Councillors from the past, the four First Councillors were sitting enthroned among twenty subordinates each.
Admitted as a speaker, Master Singh was installed on a comfortable mattress in the middle of the hall, at equal distance from the four large tables. Whilst he was speaking, the passion and conviction of his account caused him to gesticulate wildly. Sceptical, some First Councillors suspected him of showing off and whispered he was making dramatic use of his membranes.
‘Well’, Master Singh was saying, ‘the fiximages in your hands speak for themselves. I beg you, First Councillors, not to minimise the importance of facts. The Traags are used to considering themselves as a master race and with reason. To the point that trying to imagine a race capable of replacing us seems ridiculous. Yet I assert that the Oms represent a pressing danger.’
‘You cannot doubt the images laid out before your eyes. The Oms have created a city, organised and armed themselves. You think it would be easy to pulverize them and on that point you are right… Provided they have not progressed by the time you decide to act. Provided they have not found a way of countering us.’