The Great Hydration

by Barrington J. Bayley

  She watched interestedly for a few moments, then waved her hand to turn the set off. She swept Northrop’s feet off the table to make room and laid down the tray.

  “Really, Roncie.”

  “Only trying to bring a blush to those maidenly features.”

  “No chance.”

  She lifted the cover off the tray to arrange the meal the way she knew he liked it. Knife, fork, mustard and chile sauce for the steak, chopsticks and soya sauce for the bowl of fried rice and prawns, a gold-plated spoon for the tangy lemon marsala custard. Northrop breathed deeply. The tang of the chile sauce somehow reminded him of her. Her skin was copper, almost orange, her face high-cheekboned. What he liked especially were her muscular, lithe legs and her long sexy stride.

  “Tell me something. Did Krabbe & Bouche order you to keep me serviced while I’m in the brig? Or is that a bonus?”

  “Shut up and eat.”

  Patiently she began picking up the books that were scattered about, placing them back in the shelves. She smoothed out the bed and vacuumed the carpet. By the time he had dealt with the steak, she was cleaning off the coffee stain with a remover pad.

  There was more than idle curiosity to his question. She had never consented to take a tumble with him until his incarceration. It could be out of sympathy of course, but equally it was possible his masters wanted him in a receptive frame of mind. After all, she was a Krabbe & Bouche bondwoman, one of about fifty bonded people on the gogetter ship. The entire staff, the entire ship’s complement, was bonded—Krabbe & Bouche did not recruit staff on any other basis. They wanted reliability.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that K&B’s licence to operate has been revoked?” he asked. “Technically that ends your bonded status. You don’t have to do any of this.”

  She snorted. “A fat lot the Stellar Commission means out here.”

  He could see she was satisfied with her lot. Generally speaking Krabbe & Bouche had little to worry about as regards staff loyalty, the whole position of bonded employees being legally ambiguous. A bonded person was a semi-slave, required to obey his employers without question. That was apt to remain the case in practice—if not in law—even when the employer was in breach of his obligations.

  Roncie Northrop had tried to go by the book. Learning of the revocation order the Stellar Commission had issued after Krabbe & Bouche transgressed the Non-Interference Law on Sesquielta, he had jumped ship. It was his philosophy not to back losers. And in any case he had come to dislike the rapacious partners he served.

  He had reckoned without Boris Bouche’s meticulous point-twisting manipulations. At that time they had been docked in Durovia, where it was difficult to recruit trained people. Northrop had not formally applied to be released from his bond; Bouche posted him as an absconder.

  On Durovia the proctors followed procedure unimaginatively. The police had found Northrop and despite his protests had brought him straight back to the ship. He had been in the brig ever since.

  “You do know there’s a Pursuit Order?” he persisted.

  “Oh sure, and they’ll send a ship and find us too. Anyway, so what?”

  She was right. The Stellar Commission’s casual way of doing things meant it was unlikely the Enterprise would ever be tracked down.

  He began raking fried rice into his mouth with quick motions. To be fair, Krabbe & Bouche probably weren’t a lot worse than most gogetters. All of them hated the Non-Interference Law; profit was all they cared about. Provided they went far enough into deep space they could flout the law for long enough to make it worthwhile.

  “There, that’s better,” Joanita said after her tidying-up efforts. “You live like a pig, Roncie.”

  “I’m penned up like one.”

  “It’s for your own good, Roncie. Bouche could have punished you. Instead he jut put you under restriction.”

  “For K & B’s good is what you mean!” Northrop protested plaintively. “Bouche had me thrown in here so I wouldn’t get a chance to renounce my bond. Not that he’d have taken a blind bit of notice if I did—that’s why I jumped ship in the first place. By the way, are we still in orbit?”

  “Yes, over the little yellow planet. There’s been a geological report.”

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “I hear there might be work. You’ll be needed.”

  Northrop frowned thoughtfully. As a nuclear engineer he was on Castaneda’s geological team. “So they have nuclear power on this planet? They want help with some geo-engineering?”

  She giggled. “You could say that. Don’t worry, pretty boy. It’s all out of your hands, anyway.”

  He dipped the golden spoon into the bowl of marsala. “Here, come and share this with me.”

  She came closer, bending as he lifted the spoon to her. He slipped his hand up the inside of her well-tensioned thigh. Beneath her short smock she wasn’t wearing anything.

  The yellow cream was thick on her lips. She licked it off, and allowed him to tug her down beside him. They ate the marsala together, mouth to mouth, lips twining, passing it back and forth. By the time it was gone the work-smock was up to her shoulders. He panted as he swallowed the last of the sweet.

  “Wait a sec,” she said. She jumped up, took a pace and waved her hand. The light over the vidcamera blinked on.

  “Something more for your library,” she grinned as she rejoined him.

  Northrop didn’t say anything. Where his mouth was, he couldn’t say anything.

  Castaneda, the leader of the Geological Team, entered the conference room accompanied by Runkfoh, his assistant. He carried a sheaf of papers under his arm. His florid features looked troubled.

  Krabbe turned, pleased by his early arrival. “Good work, Castaneda. What’s the news?”

  For answer Castaneda laid out a large map on the table in the centre of the room. Krabbe and Bouche both came to look at it. It was a geological surveyor’s map of the planet, done on a Mercator projection.

  “Much what we expected, Partner Krabbe, sir. The planet below us—”

  “Tenacity,” Krabbe interrupted.

  “Sir?”

  “Tenacity. That’s what we decided to call it.”

  “Yes, sir. Well, uh, Tenacity is, in its own small way, a freak planet. A small enough planet—smaller than Mars. It has an unusually thin crust, and beneath that, the mantle is in layers. The top layer is also unusual: made up of a porous rock of a structure I confess I haven’t come across before. On any other world it would have got compressed by now and would have lost its porosity. It also contains fracture zones, similar to the tectonic plates found in the crust of many larger planets.”

  He waved his hand over the-map. “As you know already, Tenacity had surface water once. It was a one-continent world: this one big continent here, and one big ocean, just like Earth used to have long ago, before our mother continent broke up. The ocean on the side of the planet opposite the continent was very deep. It had worn away the crust and lay on the mantle. However, there was enough pressure on the mantle to stop it absorbing any water, though there must have been enough heat convection to make for a pretty warm, balmy ocean.

  “Then the catastrophe happened. A stability that had existed for millions, maybe billions of years was disturbed. I think it was probably due to tidal influence from the inward planet, which is bigger than Tenacity and approaches within fifteen million miles. The fracture plates slipped. Some of the pressure on the mantle zone under the deep ocean was eased. The rock became like an expanding sponge. The seawater drained into like it was going down a plughole.”

  He shook his head wonderingly. “It must have been really sudden. All in a few years, tens of years at the most. The drainage region lies under a mile of sand now.

  “Whatever small amounts of water were left will have taken longer to disappear. First it will have evaporated, and then gradually been disassociated by solar radiation, the hydrogen rising to the top of the atmosphere.”

  “So you were right,”
Krabbe breathed. “It’s still there!”

  “Right under their feet, though they don’t know it.”

  Bouche spoke, glancing ferally at Castaneda. “The point is, can we get it back again?”

  Castaneda nodded. He stabbed his finger at another part of the survey map. “This faultline here is what it’s all about. It kept the water up top once and it can do it again. If we put down a few strategically placed shock tubes we can lever the plates back into opposition again. The pressure will come back on. The rock won’t be able to hold all that water. It will come squirting up to fill the old ocean bed. It will rain again, there’ll be rivers, lakes, inland seas. Plenty of shoreline for the lobster people.”

  “Shoreline. That’s what they must like.”

  “Yes. Of course, the water will be rather warm to begin with. Up to a hundred degrees. Most of it’s steam right now.”

  Bouche stared at the map. “Why don’t I see your shock tubes placed?”

  “We shall need to survey the area in detail, do some drilling. I suggest Runkfoh takes charge of that, sir. Northrop’s experience will also be valuable.”

  “Runkfoh?” Krabbe said suspiciously. “What’s wrong with you doing it, Castaneda?”

  Castaneda became diffident. “As you may recall, sir, I am prone to cancers. There’s a lot of radium down there. It’s very carcinogenic. May I request that I be excused from going down on the surface?”

  “Is that all? Don’t be a sissy, Castaneda. Use radpaint, that’ll take care of it.” Krabbe looked aggravated.

  “Radpaint isn’t completely effective, sir,” Castaneda pleaded.

  “Then you can get cured. You’ve been cured before, haven’t you?” Krabbe waved his hand dismissively. “Get on with the job. If we make a deal, I want to be able to move fast. And you can take Northrop from the brig.”

  The picture of defeat, the geological engineer took up his map and folded it among his papers. He nodded to Runkfoh. The two men left.

  Krabbe went back to the viewplate. “You know, Boris,” he said, “those lobsters must have a terrible hunger. They must feel a terrible frustration. They were clever enough to survive the dehydration, so it’s obvious they have a lot of experience and a healthy urge to dominate. If Tenacity should get its water back they’ll be in their element again. They’ll be able to proliferate, restore their former grandeur. We can give them heaven! What won’t they pay for it?”

  “As to that,” Bouche said with a scowl, “I suspect we’ll find they’re pretty smart traders.”

  “We’ll stick them with a contract, don’t worry about that. Equal partners in a whole world! Why, the radium alone—what was the quote on radium, last you heard? Our own empire! After all, it’s an offer they practically can’t refuse.”

  There was a cough from Spencer. Nervously, he spoke. “What about the dehydrate species, sir? Giving Tenacity its water back will hardly do them much good. It will almost certainly kill most of them, if not all.”

  “Oh, they’re just savages, Spencer, the sort that die out on thousands of planets once there’s any progress. Why, take a look here—”

  He twisted knobs. A tall, thin, green desert warrior came into view. “See that weapon he carries? With a stock like a rifle, only instead of a barrel it fires that funny curved blade? It’s a flenching blade, and it spins as it flies through the air. Its purpose is to carve as much flesh from the bone as possible.” He shook his head with a show of moral disapproval. “Weapons as horrific as that are outlawed on every civilised world.”

  Spencer was relatively new to the staff and this was his first time on a gogetter ship—his first experience as a bondman, in fact. Krabbe spoke to him affably, condescendingly. It pleased him to be avuncular.

  “Of course,” Bouche commented, “it’s probably the best way to be sure of killing someone who doesn’t bleed.”

  Bravely Spencer said, “What I question is the legality of it, sir, not the morality. Interfering with the geography and climate of an alien planet, not to say the culture, to the extent of species extermination …”

  “The desert dwellers are a biological sport,” Krabbe said shortly. “They resulted from a natural catastrophe. The lobsters are the authentic owners of Tenacity, and we’ll have their approval.”

  “I only hope the Stellar Commission sees it that way, sir. I don’t need to remind you of the penalties.”

  “That’s nothing for you to worry your head about, Spencer,” Krabbe told him firmly. “Only Partner Bouche and myself are legally liable for the orders we give.”

  “Yes sir.” Spencer sat biting his lip.

  Boris Bouche took over his partner’s argument, leaning towards the younger man, one foot on a desk rail, one arm resting on his bended knee. The stance made him seem even more wolf-like. “You see, son, the Stellar Commission is maybe five, even ten years behind us—if they find us at all. By that time we’ll have transformed this planet. The new weather pattern will have had time to settle down. There won’t be anything left of the dehydrate species you talk about. And we’ll have a solid contract to give us mining, manufacturing and trading rights. How could anybody put oceans on an arid world?” He chuckled, genuinely amused. “The worst they’ll be able to stick on us is operating without a licence.”

  “That’s right!” Krabbe joined in triumphantly. “And we’ll have a fait accompli. The firm of Krabbe & Bouche will be in business again!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Black Gamintes from the Trusk region were what the Tlixix used as the market’s slender guard force. On finding the radiator missing, Hrityu had immediately rushed to find one.

  The Tlixix had been quickly informed. Hrityu expected them to be very angry indeed. The market was a sacrosanct place and neither violence nor theft were permitted there. The Tlixix knew very well that their credibility depended on the observance of those rules.

  Just the same, the Analane trembled with nervousness as they stood before the two Tlixix who were to investigate the case. For one of them was none other than Rherrsherrsh, the Market Master himself.

  They had not hesitated to accuse the hated Crome who earlier had taunted them. He therefore stood by their side, as well as Nussmussa the Toureen, all surrounded by red-eyed Gamintes fingering their flingers, spiked silver hair glinting in the poor light.

  The interior of the Pavilion of Audience was maintained more for the comfort of the Tlixix than for any other race. Out of deference to the petitioners the two market lords were ensconced in their usual tented bath couches, yet water still hung on the air, and the humanoids all experienced various degrees of physical discomfort.

  Rherrsherrsh was an aging Tlixix, his antlers turning from white to greenish-grey with his advancing years. He bent towards Hrityu.

  “This occurrence is of the utmost rarity, as well as of great gravity,” he said in the hoarse tones of his race. The Market Master’s displeasure was almost palpable. “Why do you accuse this Crome?”

  “Our reasons are all too obvious, Market Master,” Hrityu began. “The Crome are at war with the Analane and are embarked on a campaign of extermination, from no other motive than blind hatred! We—”

  A deep laugh from the Crome interrupted him. “No motive. Market Masters, the Analane are invading our territory. They have planted beds of their vile mould there and our own gardens of spine-plant have become infected with it. We shall die of starvation unless they are defeated.”

  “New beds must be planted in new places!” Kurwer shouted excitedly. “The old beds do not stay productive.”

  “It’s them or us, Market Master,” the Crome rumbled.

  The antlers of both Tlixix waved in disapproval. “The conflict between you is not the subject of this hearing.”

  Rherrsherrsh admonished. “Analane, continue with your accusation.”

  “We have brought to the market an invention of great importance, which we hoped to exchange for some new weapons with which to defend our race,” Hrityu continued evenly. “C
learly this execrable Crome feared that our mission would be successful. Why, he even admitted to us that he is here to spy on us. Obviously, he stole our equipment to prevent that.”

  The Crome’s lustrous black eyes shone. “We Crome are not so foolish,” he said. “We fear the Analane not at all, whatever weapons they procure. Besides, to commit this offence would risk the expulsion of my entire race from the market! Would I be so rash?” His green arm stabbed out at the Analane, his finger pointing. “I will suggest a more evident truth, market masters. The Analane had nothing with which to trade in the first place. This accusation of theirs is a ruse to bring the Crome into disfavour. They think it will somehow save their tribe from the annihilation which is their due!”

  “It is indeed improbable that anyone would dare to steal on ground hallowed by the Tlixix,” Rherrsherrsh declared. Water sploshed and he reared intimidatingly over the humanoids. “What is the nature of this supposed invention?”

  Hrityu hesitated. But he realized he had little choice but to reveal all.

  “We call it a radiator. Through it, any sound including the spoken word can be conveyed for a distance of up to one hundred langs.”

  There was silence, until the second Tlixix hoarsed into the conversation. “Useful perhaps if one is a hundred langs away. But is not such a vast noise unduly painful for anyone closer by?”

  “The sounds are not made any louder,” Hrityu explained patiently. “They are heard only by whoever possesses a receiving apparatus. That is what makes the invention so useful, since messages sent that way are heard only by one’s friends and allies.”

  Rherrsherrsh turned to his companion. “Is that possible?” he husked.

  “I doubt it,” the other replied in a gravelly tone. He addressed Hrityu. “How does it work?”

  Hrityu dithered, wondering how to put over so technical a matter. Kurwer came to his rescue.

  “It creates sound of a subtle kind, which the ears cannot hear,” he said. “We call it radiation. It is far-reaching, like sunlight.”