"How can you know that?"
"I am telling you what I felt in the starship's memories."
Askelanda seemed doubtful. This time it was L'Kell who stepped forward. "I remind you, our friend John Bandicut went into that place at great peril to himself. He risked his life to bring the prisoner—" he inclined his head toward Harding "—our guest now, back alive."
Askelanda answered in an inaudible mutter. He seemed to feel that everyone was turning against him.
Bandicut heard a clicking sound. Napoleon was waiting to be recognized. "Captain, if I may say a word? Thank you. I speak now because we learned something else from the factory head which I believe may factor into your discussion."
"That might be helpful," said Antares, her soft voice somehow carrying through the room with greater force than any of the sharp retorts.
"The information," began Napoleon, "was rather technical. But since the Maw of the Abyss figures centrally in your discussion, I believe it may have relevance . . ."
*
The factory head, it seemed, had been monitoring emanations from the Maw of the Abyss for years. Furthermore, it claimed to possess information about how to make contact with the Maw directly. It had not attempted such contact itself, but in its fragmented datastores were designs for equipment that might enable living beings to make contact. "I am uncertain," said Napoleon, "of the nature of the equipment, or of the accuracy of the claim. We did not devote too much attention to it, because it did not seem as urgent a matter at the time."
"Not urgent?" asked Askelanda. "How could you not think it was urgent?"
"Remember," said L'Kell, "they were sent to try to repair the factory—not to make contact with the Maw."
"That may be true, but . . ." Askelanda hesitated. "Tell me how the factory could know how to do such a thing!"
L'Kell blinked his great black eyes and spread his webbed fingers in a shrug.
Kailan turned from the window, where she had been gazing out, seemingly not listening to the discussion. "It was built by our creators—who were themselves destroyed by the Maw—but not without a last, desperate struggle. That is what the narrative records suggest."
"If we can believe them," said Askelanda.
"You are right, they are not as historically certain as some of our other data. It can be difficult to distinguish fact from tale in parts of our records." Kailan closed her enormous eyes, as though recalling something she had studied years before. "But certain of the narratives—not clearly identified as histories, just narratives—are surprisingly consistent with the information Napoleon has just brought us. They describe a people—not named, but probably the tellers themselves—who were struggling to make contact with a very great power that was destroying them."
"And?" prompted Askelanda, pacing as he listened.
"According to the narrative, some of them thought they had found a way. But they were too late. Their cities, their culture, were too fragile, too badly damaged. They were destroyed before they could put their ideas to the test. Or perhaps they did put them to the test, but the goal was still beyond them."
"Perhaps," said Bandicut, "they intended for the factory to produce the means of contact, but the factory was already too damaged."
Kailan gestured with her fingers—a shrug. "The narratives do not say."
"You speak of the Maw," said Askelanda, "as if it were a thing that could speak, listen, and think. Contact it, you say."
"Yes," said Kailan. "That is how the narratives were written. Do we know that they are wrong?"
Askelanda stared at her, his dark, dusty face lined with uncertainty.
"Perhaps," said Ik, in a dry voice, "it is time someone tried to find out. Hrrm?"
Chapter 26
Surface Bound
THE ONLY WAY way anyone could think of to test whether the factory was telling the truth was to fix it, then let it try. That meant sending the robots back down to continue their work, as soon as the subs were recharged. It also meant acquiring a supply of the needed raw metals so that the factory could complete its self-repair. The first was no problem. But the second . . .
"You wish—" flaaaay "—to take still more property from our ship?" cried Harding.
"Well, it was left abandoned at the bottom of the sea," Askelanda said.
"You didn't like it when we took equipment from your abandoned cities . . ."
Bandicut could not bear to listen. There was probably nothing to be gained just now from pointing out that both sides had the same problem, and would benefit more from cooperation than conflict. Instead, he wandered away to look out the window. The underseascape seemed remarkably peaceful; there was little activity visible outside now. As he watched, though, he became aware of animal life moving here and there, always seemingly at the periphery of his vision. When a school of long, flare-tailed, silver fish glided between the habitats, he imagined himself as one of them—free and silent, passing through a strange ghost city of enormous, luminous globes. He imagined himself very far, indeed, from the concerns of those sharing this habitat with him.
The feeling of calm vanished when he saw a glimmer of distant light off to his left, low on the horizon, like lightning deep in thunderclouds: the Maw, stirring. He wondered somberly how many eruptions like the last one the undersea city could survive.
/// Don't you think they might need
some diplomatic help back there? ///
Bandicut angled a glance back at the group. A handful of Neri were pacing around the somewhat bewildered Astari, the two robots, and the rest of those from Shipworld. Ik met his glance and, without visibly moving a muscle, managed to convey rueful sympathy. Bandicut shook his head. /We can't settle this for them. They're going to have to work it out for themselves./
As time wore on, in fact, Bandicut noticed that Harding's attitude was subtly changing. The Astari was saying less about his people's ownership of the sunken spaceship, and more about the question of whether anything could be done about the Maw. "I do not know," Harding was saying, "how my people would respond to the possibility of trying such a thing. They know nothing of your people. But if there might be a chance of preventing new eruptions—"
The talk went on for a very long time.
*
The following morning, while the breakfast meal was being served, Antares realized that something fundamental had changed in Harding's approach toward Askelanda, and vice versa. They were earnestly discussing the virtues of various foods from the sea. The Astari tended more toward the flesh of fish; the Neri toward undersea fruit. The conversation gave Antares hope. It was not that they were wholly friendly toward one another, but the edge had disappeared from their exchanges. They were beginning to speak in positive terms about cooperation. Nothing had yet been agreed to, but Antares now felt hope that the Neri would send Harding back to the surface—as a messenger, at least.
She knew that Harding had been deeply moved by the sight of the dying Neri. She had felt his horror, fear, regret—and the upwelling desire to help. And then, at Askelanda's rebuff, his sudden shift toward anger. The anger had perhaps passed more quickly when he'd gotten his first glimpse of the light of the Maw outside the dome, and felt the faint rumble vibrating through the sea.
For Askelanda, the change had come harder. But one of the Neri had finally pointed out that it could just as easily have been the Neri who had opened the ships's radioactive chambers to the sea. No conflict was needed for the Neri to come back sick and dying.
Now, as she sat nibbling on a cluster of purplish green sea-grapes, she cast her inner senses around the room and thought, perhaps it was time to nudge for a resolution. "Would it be rude of me to offer a suggestion?" she murmured, raising her voice just high enough to be heard. Everyone looked up.
"I would welcome any suggestion," answered Kailan.
"Speak," said Askelanda.
"Very well," said Antares. She felt self-conscious, not only because she was an alien here, a guest making presumptions upo
n her hosts, but also because it was not the place of a third-female to take a lead in discussions. It might be reasonable, but it was hard. She drew a slow breath. "I would like to suggest that it would be in everyone's interest if Harding returned to the surface as soon as possible. We do not know how much longer his people will stay around."
"At last report from the wreck, they were still there. But they haven't made any further effort to penetrate the ship," Askelanda said. "We still have a small group, with one useful sub and one disabled."
"It is only a matter of time, I think, before fighting begins again," Harding said.
"But you could go and speak to your people," Antares said. "You could give them some understanding of the Neri. Of how they—or we—might be able to help your people."
"I am not certain we can help them," said Askelanda. "Can we promise to quiet the Maw of the Abyss?"
"We can offer hope," said L'Kell. "The best hope we've had that I can remember."
"Perhaps," said Kailan, "it would help them even to know that an eruption may be imminent—whether we can stop it or not."
Askelanda made a noncommittal sound.
"That might be true," said Harding. "But even if we were to allow you to remove equipment and metal from our ship, we could not promise that your people wouldn't continue to be poisoned by this . . . radiation."
"Perhaps not," said Ik. "But if you have knowledge of the ship, you might work together with them to find less risky ways. Hrrm?"
Askelanda squinted, as though making a decision. Suddenly he rose, getting to his feet with surprising speed. "Then let us do this! The Maw will not wait while we finish our meal. L'Kell—"
"Yes, Askelanda?" The younger leader was already standing.
"Prepare a sub to take our guest back."
"To the shipwreck?"
"To the surface."
L'Kell looked startled. "Very well."
"Harding—I wish you to take leave as our guest. Will you speak to your people of these matters?"
"I will try," said the lander huskily. He staggered a little as he rose, but waved off L'Kell, who stepped quickly to help him.
Antares blinked, surprised but pleased by the speed of the decision. "Wait!" said Bandicut—jarring her with a sharp note of worry. "You can't just take him straight to the surface, you know!"
"Why not? I have approved it!" Askelanda said sharply.
She felt Harding's thoughts darken, as he realized what Bandicut meant. Even L'Kell seemed to understand. But Antares had no more idea than Askelanda.
"I am afraid," Bandicut said, "you would kill him. I doubt that he shares your ability to withstand rapid pressure changes. Harding?"
The lander's pupils were large and dark. He spoke slowly. "That is true. I don't know if I can survive a return to the surface at all. Perhaps the stones can make it possible. But we must go slowly. It might take days. Can your subs do this?"
"We can," said L'Kell. "We'll have to conserve power, though, or transfer from one sub to another, partway there."
"Then," said Askelanda, "the sooner you start, the sooner you will reach the surface, yes?"
*
Bandicut had mixed emotions as he departed on the sub with Antares and the Neri pilot named S'Cali. It made good sense for them to scout ahead—locate the lander surface ship if it was still there, and if it seemed appropriate, make contact to urge it to stay. But he wished he could be with L'Kell and Harding on the slow ascent, learning more about the Astari and his people—a job which, reasonably enough, had been given to L'Kell, with Li-Jared's assistance.
They would accompany S'Cali on a secondary mission, also, to make an inspection of the floating solar arrays. Askelanda was concerned about the condition and security of the arrays—especially with Astari in the area—and there were now fewer subs available for this kind of thing. Ik was remaining in the undersea city to assist Corono with the sick.
"How far up must we go before we see sunlight?" Antares asked, craning her neck at the front viewport of the sub.
"Well, we probably have to get above a depth of a couple of hundred meters. That's quite a ways up. I think the Neri city is somewhere around three hundred meters." Assuming that his stones were interpolating correctly from information the Neri had given him.
Antares hmm'd, and he glanced her way. They were lying side by side in the sub's cockpit, their shoulders and hips pressed together, the hair that streamed from between her shoulders spilling off her back onto his. He could feel her enjoyment of his company, and yet at the same time her . . . not aloofness, exactly, but caution. That's okay, he thought, that's good; caution is good.
S'Cali, on his right, steered out from among the highest clusters of habitats in the Neri city, and into the darkness. S'Cali was murmuring to himself as he piloted the sub. Bandicut puzzled over the sound, then realized that the Neri was humming a tune. It was the first time he had ever heard Neri music. It was husky, and not very melodic to his ears. Nevertheless, he found it soothing. He smiled, rested his chin on his folded arms, and settled in for the ride.
*
"There it is," S'Cali said, pointing ahead. Bandicut recognized the sunken spaceship, but was surprised how different it looked in another light. He had last seen it in early morning; now the whole setting seemed brighter, bluer, though the sun was still shrouded by the water overhead. It must be close to midday, he thought.
"How close do you intend to go?" Antares asked.
"That depends," said S'Cali, reducing power. "We're not going to try to get past the lander guard, if they're around—but if they're not here, we'll see how our people are getting along."
Soon after that, he cut the power altogether and let the sub drift, ten or twenty meters above the seafloor. He activated some equipment on his console, and said, "Quiet, please."
They listened, studying a sonar display. At first Bandicut heard, and saw, nothing; then he became aware of distant clinking sounds that might have been nothing more than loose pieces of equipment, or the ship's structure creaking in the currents.
A moment later, S'Cali raised a webbed finger. Now Bandicut could make out a faint, buzzing whine. A motor, in the distance. S'Cali pointed to the screen. A tiny point of light was visible above the shadow-tracing of the wreck. "Overhead," S'Cali said, "but on its way down. They must still be keeping a watch, at least." He adjusted a control, and some additional points of light appeared near the silhouette of the wreck. "They're there, all right. It doesn't look as if much is happening, though. Which is good."
"Are you worried that they'll spot us?" Antares asked.
"I don't mind if they know we're here. It might actually help ensure that they stay around. But I don't want them following us."
"Can you broadcast sound?" Bandicut asked.
S'Cali looked at him in puzzlement. "If we need to, of course."
"Could we broadcast an announcement? Tell them that Harding is on his way back up, and they should please wait for him?"
"Can you speak Astari?" Antares asked softly.
He focused inward.
/// Pretty well, I think. ///
"Of course I can," he said.
"As long as they don't come after us," S'Cali said, his hand on the maneuvering control.
"But you can get away from them, right?"
S'Cali conceded the point, and switched on the outside comm. Bandicut leaned close to the mike. He thought a moment, and spoke slowly and clearly. "Hear this! Hear this! We are the Neri, the sea-people. We have an Astari named Harding in our care. He is coming back up from the deep—slowly, to decompress. We wish to return him. Please wait for us to contact you again."
He repeated the message, twice—then listened for a reply. No answer came. S'Cali kept a watch on the screen; the lander blip continued descending toward the wreck. "It might have paused while you were talking," he said. "But I can't be sure." S'Cali touched the controls and got the sub back underway again, steering a zigzag course away from the wreck. After a few
minutes, there was no sign of pursuit. "Let's go take a look at those solar arrays," he said.
*
The solar collectors were a good distance from the salvage site, almost directly above the Neri city. Once the seafloor began to fall off rapidly, S'Cali began ascending and then made a steady course at a depth of fifty or so meters. The water was clear and deep blue, and Bandicut realized that they must be getting close to the point where he and his friends had fallen into the sea in the star-spanner bubble.
"It's a lucky thing we didn't hit this array of yours when we landed," he murmured.
"You nearly did," said the Neri. "That was one of the reasons we went out after you in the first place."
Bandicut glanced at Antares, detecting amusement. He was startled to realize that for the first time since they had plummeted into the depths, he could really see the gold flame that haloed the pupils of her eyes. What a difference sunlight made, even sunlight attenuated by over a hundred feet of water! Her eyes were quite striking now, set off by a mouth that was expressive in unhuman ways, and framed by her flowing auburn hair.
"We're picking up a ship overhead," S'Cali said, tapping the sonar. He reduced power again, and watched thoughtfully. Bandicut waited in silence, wondering what this was going to mean. "It's a small one. It seems to be moving away from the direction of the arrays," S'Cali said. "The question is, did it pass over them, and if so, did it detect them."
"What will you do if they do find the arrays?" Antares asked.
"I don't know," S'Cali admitted, his eyes following the display. "I don't know what we can do about it."
"Except hope that you aren't at war," Antares murmured.
S'Cali didn't answer, but changed his course, and slowly increased power again. He set a new heading to approach the arrays from a wide sweep to the side.
On the screen, they watched as the lander ship slowly moved out of range.
*
"S'Cali," Antares said, pointing up, "are those the collectors?"
The Chaos Chronicles Page 93