The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "But—" said Antares.

  "But not everyone saw it as equally beneficial. Then when our factory failed, we had less to trade. Contact dwindled. As times have grown more difficult, so have our efforts to stay united with the other Neri," Kailan said. "We still have communications, through the midwater sound transmission layer—"

  "Uuhll?"

  "A middle layer of water that is confined by warmer, lighter water above, and colder, denser water below," Kailan explained. "In good conditions, sound can travel around the world through that layer, bouncing endlessly between the two boundaries. It's erratic, but we do send messages. And until recently we still sent the occasional sub, or even groups of swimmers, to call on the other settlements."

  Antares watched the movement in the mapping screen, and recalled the powerful downward currents she had witnessed during the recent eruption. "Do you think there's some purpose to the creation of these currents?"

  Kailan was silent a while. "That's what I'd like to know," she said finally. "Certainly I have no idea of the purposes of the Maw—if it has purpose, or intelligence, at all." She looked up at Antares, and now the Thespi sensed a real undercurrent of longing, hope, need. "Do you have knowledge—?"

  Antares sighed wistfully before the question was finished. "Perhaps one of my friends will. Perhaps Li-Jared, or—"

  "Did I—" bwong "—hear my name?" said the Karellian, striding into the room behind a young Neri guide.

  "Li-Jared!" Antares cried. "Have you come alone? Where's Ik?"

  "My Hraachee'an friend was called away," Li-Jared said, and Antares felt a darkness in his words, and in his gaze. "There has been a raid of some kind. I'm afraid that it might be a bad business. But I trust him to take care of himself." He bowed to the young Neri. "Thank you, Maerta." Then to Antares and Kailan, "Can I help? What is all this?" He waved at the row of consoles.

  "Do you have training in sciences?" Kailan asked cautiously.

  "I might. You needn't sound so surprised," Li-Jared said.

  Antares had to suppress a hiss of laughter. "I think, Li-Jared, that few Neri males are trained in such matters. But I am sure Kailan would appreciate all the help you can offer."

  "Then," said Li-Jared, with a great display of confidence, "let us get down to it, shall we?"

  Antares sensed confusing emotions, and could not quite tell if Li-Jared's confidence was genuine or acted. But she had no time to ponder the question, as Kailan continued her explanation as though there had been no interruption at all. "We believe," she said, "that this thing is what killed our ancestors."

  "You mean your—"

  "Designers. Our forebears. All record of contact with them—or such record as we have—ends at the same time as the Maw's appearance. There are reports of terrible cataclysms, above and below the sea. But we under the sea apparently fared better. Why, we do not know."

  "And this was—?"

  "About three hundred years ago."

  Antares felt an electrifying tingle. Something appeared on this world three hundred years ago, perhaps destroying an entire civilization on land, and now endangering another civilization in the sea? Was this why she and her companions had been sent to this world? If so, what could they possibly hope to do about it? But surely they wouldn't have been hurled across the galaxy to this place, if there was nothing they could do . . .

  *A strong likelihood you are correct. We suspect an approaching convergence.*

  /Convergence of what?/

  *Uncertain.*

  So. They would still be fumbling their way. But she felt a renewed sense of hope, that perhaps they were not merely adrift here, without something useful to do. Some purpose. And, perhaps, the tools with which to do it.

  Kailan suddenly became agitated and moved to the next console. "There," she said, pointing to the screen, where irregular red and yellow shapes, clustered incomprehensibly, were sprouting from a slowly scrolling scan of—what was that again? Seismic activity? "That may be a sign of another flareup, coming soon."

  Antares hissed breath through her teeth. "How bad? How soon?"

  "I cannot say. We have not established the meaning of these patterns. But they have something to do with gravity-density. And such patterns have at times preceded major events."

  Antares pressed her fingers to her stones in the vain hope that they might have some answer. /Please—if you can make sense of this—share it with me./

  From her stones she sensed intense interest, with undertones of urgency. But there was no answer at all.

  Chapter 17

  Drowning in the Dark

  IN THE DARKNESS, it was hard to be sure of anything. But Ik could still hear water streaming into the sub. S'Cali and Delent'l were chattering to each other, too quickly for his stones to follow, and were taking things out of storage areas behind him. Ik, still a bit shaken from the crash himself, was having trouble getting his own thoughts in focus.

  He drew a long, measured breath and called out, "Urrr, what is our condition? Are we flooding—" His breath caught as his leg, straightening toward the rear of the sub, sank into icy water.

  The two Neri fell silent, and for an instant he heard only the gurgle and sucking of water. Then S'Cali answered, "Yes, Ik—sorry. We are flooding. But we have some time yet. The drain membranes will keep us from filling up too fast." There was more rustling, and then a glow appeared from the rear of the cabin. S'Cali had unsheathed some kind of trouble light; it shone like a chemoluminescent globe, in a seaweed bladder.

  Ik turned himself around, with difficulty. He rubbed his eyes, and the saltwater made them sting. "What do you mean, about the drain membranes?" he asked. The two Neri were holding pieces of the diving gear they had stowed for his benefit. He shuddered at the thought of venturing out as a free diver in this water, not even close to the undersea city.

  "The one-way membranes," S'Cali explained, "are letting water out. But not as fast as it's coming in."

  "Ah. But we're going to have to abandon ship. Is that what you're saying?"

  "Yes. Now, let's see if we can get this hood on you." The thing S'Cali held out looked like a large, open-ended bladder with hoses attached. It was made of a cloudy material that reminded him of seaweed.

  Ik rubbed his fingers against his chest, trying to think optimistically. They were in a disabled, flooding sub, yes, with diving gear made for alien children. But there were a lot of other Neri around to assist. Except most of them were sick or wounded. He had come to rescue them. Surely other subs were being sent from the city, though. Or would be, if a message had been sent.

  S'Cali handed him the helmet, and he examined it in the dim light. Remade from equipment designed for Neri young, the hood had been reshaped for his much larger head. The glue-seams looked . . . fragile. Apparently the nanoshit changers were not reprogrammable to make this change; it had been done by hand. Attached to the hood by the hoses was a strange-looking apparatus which seemed to contain feathers, enclosed in a semirigid housing made of a flimsy, transparent material. This was probably the oxygen extractor and gas-exchange mechanism. There were no tanks, just a small, flexible air bladder. He could not imagine how it would work efficiently enough to provide for his needs, but he had to assume that it would. He hoped his physiologic needs were reasonably close to that of the Neri young.

  "Did you, urrrr, happen to get a signal out to the city, telling them what happened?" he asked, hefting the helmet.

  "Unfortunately not," S'Cali said, gesturing to him to put it on. "We were already inside the salvage ship. But eventually they're bound to check on us."

  Ik sighed through his ears and put the helmet on. The Neri craftsmen had done their best to fit it, in the short time available to them; nevertheless, it fit snugly on the crown of his head, and loosely around the neck. He couldn't see anything except shadows through the hood. "Can we still talk?" he asked, his voice echoing around his ears.

  "We can hear you," answered Delent'l, who was busy attaching the other components to th
e hood. His voice sounded muffled, but understandable. "Once we're in the water, it'll be a little more difficult. The techs didn't have time to finish the comm unit." The Neri touched the side of the helmet. "So if you need to say something when we're out there, speak clearly."

  Ik grunted. "What do we do, once we're outside?"

  S'Cali gestured toward the nose of the sub. Peering through the foggy hood material, Ik imagined that he saw a couple of swimmers in the gloom. "We'll regroup with the others," S'Cali said. "And you can show us how to avoid this radiation sickness."

  "Ah," said Ik, wondering how he could even remotely hope to do that, swimming blind, in freezing, pikarta-infested waters.

  "We'll meet with the wounded," said S'Cali. "I understand that you star people have the power to heal? I think there are plenty of injured waiting for you."

  Ik could only stare in dismay.

  *

  Seawater was swirling around his legs now, but S'Cali and Delent'l seemed in no hurry to get out. They were sorting equipment, so Ik took off his hood and used the time to ask about the layout of the wreck. He had two main concerns: finding his way around, and trying to guess where a leaking reactor might be.

  The Neri, it seemed, did not map the layout the way he would have done it, in terms of ups and downs and relative spatial locations. Instead, they spoke of moving "with the slow current, until the walls open," and stopping where "turbulence brings you to a still spot, and the water is staler and saltier," and then swimming "just above the bottom-hugging, faster current . . ." This was no help at all to Ik in trying to build a mental picture of the layout. But then something clicked in his mind. Delent'l had just said, ". . . into the corridor where the current runs warmer . . ."

  "What was that you just said?" Ik asked, as the Neri continued his description.

  Delent'l seemed puzzled. "Which?"

  "Something about warm water? Warmer than the rest?"

  "Oh, yes. There is something in the ship that warms the water in one area. It flows into a corridor, and this is where the sick are staying, until you can heal them."

  Ik felt a rush of dizziness. The sick were staying in the corridor with the warm water? Terrible. Terrible! "Do you know where the warmth is coming from?" he asked hoarsely.

  "There is a grate-covered opening," Delent'l told him. "The water flows out through there. We have not been able to get inside to see what it is."

  "Good!" Ik cried in a whisper. "If you got inside, you would probably die. You must move those people at once!" If it is not already too late, he thought helplessly.

  Delent'l and S'Cali looked at one another in surprise. "Move them?" S'Cali asked. "But the warmth comforts them."

  "Please!" Ik drew a breath. "You must. It is almost certainly the warm water that is making them ill!" As the two tried to comprehend that, Ik craned his neck to peer out the viewport. Several Neri swimmers were hovering outside the sub. "Can you call outside and send word?"

  "Yes—I think so," S'Cali said. "But are you sure? You have not yet seen—"

  "I know I have not seen it," Ik said quickly. "But I am nearly sure—and if I am right, then every minute they stay will make them sicker. Please!"

  S'Cali had to fiddle some with the switches, until he got power back to the comm; then he relayed the message. But he looked back in puzzlement at Ik.

  "If water is leaking out of a reactor, then it would very likely be warm," Ik explained. "It is probably contaminated with radiation." Then he clacked his mouth shut and hoped that he could stay alive long enough to be of some help.

  *We can assist in maintaining your physical integrity.*

  /That's good,/ he said to the stones. /Can you help me heal radiation sickness?/

  *Uncertain.*

  /You saw me being healed./

  *Yes.*

  Ik waited.

  They answered finally: *We will do what we can.*

  *

  The water in the cabin was up to Ik's waist when the Neri made final adjustments to his air supply and strapped on a weighted vest to compensate for the buoyancy of the helmet. The visor, now wet, had become transparent. S'Cali's voice sounded thin and distant through the helmet. "We'll go out one at a time. If you have trouble swimming, we'll tow you. All right?"

  "All right."

  In the gloom, he watched Delent'l wade past him, the Neri's webbed feet brushing past his legs. Delent'l touched something, and Ik felt a slight change in the water movement. Then Delent'l sat in the water, and with barely a ripple, sank out of sight through the floor of the cabin.

  S'Cali tapped his shoulder. "Go ahead!"

  Ik checked one last time for his rope, wrapped around his waist, then felt for the membrane-opening with his feet. He gasped at the cold as he bent to find a handhold, then dropped with a lurch down through the flooded pressurelock chamber below. There was a frightening rush and gurgle of cold water all around him, but he forced himself to keep going, until his feet met open water and finally his shoulders and head cleared the bottom of the sub. He felt Delent'l's hand guiding him, then pulling him off to one side.

  He suddenly realized he still had his moccasins strapped on, which was probably stupid. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Delent'l looked like a sea monster in front of him, waving—probably asking if he was all right. Ik waved back. The air seemed perfectly breathable, if a bit seaweedy-tasting, and he wasn't nearly as cold as he'd expected to be. But he was too buoyant; he was floating upward, hitting the underside of the damaged sub.

  Delent'l saw it, too. Had they not weighted him enough? After a moment, Ik looked at his hands and realized what was happening: his voice-stones had provided a forcefield barrier around his skin, sealing in a thin layer of air for insulation. That's what was making him too buoyant.

  He exhaled experimentally, and found that with his breath almost completely out, he was just about neutrally buoyant. /Can you let out just a little of that air?/ he asked the stones.

  A flurry of very fine bubbles surrounded him. He began to sink. He drew a sharp breath. He was floating now. Good.

  S'Cali came alongside, and the two Neri took hold of the ends of Ik's rope and began to swim. Ik tried to swim, but couldn't hope to match the Neri's speed; he soon gave up and held the rope to steady himself and allowed them to tow him. They glided across the empty cargo hold where they had crashed, a space dimly illuminated by sunlight coming in through the breach in the hull. Several other Neri joined them as they turned to survey the sub.

  The small vessel was jammed into the lower corner of the hold, wedged among some oddly shaped struts that appeared to be part of the sunken ship's original structure. There was little outward damage to the sub, but no doubt plenty of trouble inside, given the flooding. Ik hoped that the Neri had the knowledge and resources to fix it.

  He felt himself being pulled around in the water. S'Cali and Delent'l were towing him away, and at a surprising speed. He was breathing hard, and glad he wasn't trying to keep up under his own power. They passed through a sizable bulkhead opening into a darker space. A number of dim glowlights were visible ahead, looking like deep sea fish—handlights carried by swimmers, no doubt. After a few moments, his eyes had adjusted enough to the gloom to see that they had entered a wide corridor, which would take them deep into the wrecked ship.

  His breathing was coming just a little harder now. Probably the difficulty of holding his body in a streamlined position while the Neri pulled him.

  He tried to settle his mind for visualizing and remembering the layout of the ship. The more he learned, the better. And he needed to be alert to any cues, any hints at all as to the nature of the radiation leakage.

  Except he was having trouble focusing. It was his breathing. He hauled in a deep breath and felt it burning in his chest. It wasn't the physical exertion; it was the air. Something was wrong with his air.

  *Respiratory problem . . . immediate action required.*

  Moon and stars! What could he do? Try to get back to the
sub? He struggled to call out to S'Cali and Delent'l, but he could not draw enough breath to shout. He fought a surge of panic; then he clacked his mouth and yanked hard on the rope.

  S'Cali turned first. Ik waved urgently, and in the process caused himself to tumble so that he couldn't see either of the Neri. He tried to recover, but his hands caught on the lines and it took him precious moments to get untangled and turned back around. By that time, S'Cali and Delent'l had reached his side.

  "Can't . . . breathe," he gasped, grabbing his hood with both hands. The water seemed to be closing in around his head.

  He could hear S'Cali and Delent'l speaking, but their words didn't quite penetrate his hood. He must have communicated his need, though, because they launched into motion, turning him around and heading back toward the sub.

  Good! he thought. Good! We can make it . . .

  Two Neri swimmers came streaking through the bulkhead toward them. They were gesturing frantically—and crying out—and this time he heard the words.

  "Into the ship! Landers coming! You can't go back!"

  And as Ik strained for breath, S'Cali and Delent'l hauled him in a tight turn and sped inward into the ship, away from the only source of air he knew.

  Chapter 18

  Shipwreck Rescues

  L'KELL PILOTED THE sub with silent concentration, as Bandicut angled his gaze backward from the side of the nose viewport, trying to see if that ghostly light from the abyss was still visible behind them. It unnerved him to have something like that at his back. And he hated leaving the robots in danger.