Lin Carter - Down to a Sunless Sea

by Lin Carter

  It flashed through the air toward them, and the sound of its flight was clearly audible���something about midway between the whine of a rifle bullet and the whistle of an arrow.

  As they stared, the gorgeous winged creature alighted on one of the nearer mushrooms, and sank a long proboscis into the flesh of the fungus and began sucking greedily.

  “O, how beautiful!” exclaimed Zuarra, clasping her hands together between her ripe breasts.

  Brant had to agree. The torso of the insect was a gorgeous red-gold, the vibrant wings were veined with metallic azure, and glinted in the dim light like thin slices of opal. Its eyes were gemmy clusters of glistening black crystals.

  A moment or two later, the thing whizzed off, leaving a small puncture in the side of the mushroom, which oozed a colorless sap. Doc cautiously dabbled his fingers in the sticky stuff, and sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled very much like apple cider, he decided. And was sour-sweet to the taste, when he touched a drop to the tip of his tongue.

  “Careful, Doc!” exclaimed Brant. “Back earthside, you know, some of these things are good food, but others are deadly poisonous.”

  “I know,” smiled Harbin, staring around dreamily. “But somehow I tend to doubt it … hard to believe anything in this beautiful garden could be dangerous or deadly … it’s like Eden before the Serpent. …”

  They wandered deeper into the weird forest of giant fungi, Brant and Zuarra, and Agila and Suoli, naked and hand in hand���which reinforced Will Harbin’s comparison of this place to the fabled Garden of Eden. Nothing that they saw looked harmful: small crimson things like beetles scuttled and burrowed into the indigo moss, and tunneled into the dried stalks of the fallen giants; something as richly colored as a hummingbird, and of about the same size, whizzed by on all-but-invisible wings. When it alighted on a fallen fungus trunk they realized it looked more like a huge fly than a hummingbird, after all.

  Harbin remarked that, insofar as the fossil record had proven, Mars had never supported avian life, either bird or insect. The winged serpents of Martian legend he dismissed out of hand as being that���merely legend.

  “Where d’you suppose all of this light is coming from?” muttered Brant. “Not from the sky. Seems to be from the surface���see how brilliant it is beyond those hills?”

  “Yep. Well … let’s take a look,” suggested Harbin. “Only way to find out for sure. May be in the very air itself, chemical phosphorescence���”

  Brant cut him off with an abrupt gesture. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but it was already too late. Agila had broken off a dripping chunk of the soft underflesh of one of the huge toadstools and was gingerly nibbling on it. Harbin uttered an exclamation, but Brant stopped his protest with an easy shrug.

  “We’ll soon find out if the stuff is bad to eat,” he grinned. “What the hell, we can do without that treacherous devil to watch.”

  But he warned Suoli not to taste the stuff, and strolled near to take a look. It was yellow and soft, like spongecake, and dripping like a fresh honeycomb.

  “How does it taste?” he inquired.

  “Very good!” mumbled Agila around a cheekful. “A taste such as Agila has never before encountered.”

  He was lapping the stuff up as fast as he could claw another handful out of the soft trunk, and it didn’t seem to be making him sick, so Brant cautiously tasted a crumb of it himself.

  It was sweet as honey and as tangy as wine, the dripping fluid, and the meat bore a distinct flavor of applesauce.

  Just then a call came from some little distance away. Brant turned to see that, while he had gone to check out Agila’s reaction to the fungus, Harbin had continued on to climb the gentle slope of the hills, hoping to discover the source of the illumination.

  “Anything to see, Doc?” Brant called back.

  For a moment, Harbin made no reply, staring raptly into the distance. Then he turned to beckon to Brant, and the expression on his face was one such as Brant had never before seen, save perhaps in religious paintings of prophets and saints caught up in ecstasy.

  “You must see this, my boy … a miracle beyond belief.”

  17

  Beyond Belief

  Leaving Zuarra, who was cautiously sampling the fleshy meat of the great fungus growths, Brant climbed the mossy slope of the hill to where Will Harbin stood awestruck, staring with wondering gaze into the luminosity.

  And Brant stopped short, uttering a grant of amazement.

  From a gemmy shore at the foot of the other side of the hill, for as far as the eye could reach, there stretched a shining sea.

  The water was milky-white, quite opaque, and was clearly the source of the mysterious luminance, for the radiant fluid was like the essence of light itself, curdled into pearly fire.

  “A … sea,” whispered Brant faintly. “Here at the bottom of the world … !”

  “Yes. In fact, it is the Last Ocean,” said Will Harbin softly. “The last of all the mighty oceans of primal Mars, draining into this cavern and forgotten since the beginning of time itself … what a marvel. A miracle!”

  They stood for a moment, staring in awe at the vast expanse of luminous waters, and Doc Harbin murmured something in low tones to himself, his expression bemused and wondering. Brant glanced at him inquiringly.

  “More Dante?” Harbin flushed a. little, and grinned.

  “No, a British poet this time���Coleridge.” And he repeated a few lines of the old poem.

  ” ‘… where Alph the sacred river ran Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea . . “

  Brant grunted, impressed. “You’d almost think he got a glimpse of this place, somehow,” he remarked.

  “Maybe he did, in some uncanny way,” Harbin mused. “He said he wrote the poem in a dream, and, when awake, copied down as many lines as he could still remember.”

  “What … makes it glow like that?” Brant wondered.

  “Natural phosphorescence, maybe. Some luminous chemical. Even algae, just possibly. Or residual radiation,” murmured Doc Harbin. “Anyway, what a sight, Jim! Truly, like the old phrase has it, a ‘shining sea’ …”

  After a time, he picked up the thread of conversation again. “When the planet began to dry up, and the surface cracked, most of the prehistoric oceans dispersed into the atmosphere. Mars has a low gravitational field, too weak to hang onto water molecules for long, unlike Earth.

  “Remember those dustlands, where we met?” he went on. Brant nodded; he remembered them well. “The Argyre,” Harbin said. “Once the bottom of an ocean. Well, that narrow, deep chasm across it called the Erebus���one of those cracks in the planetary crust I was talking about. It would seem that not all of the oceanwater dispersed into the atmosphere to be lost forever … some, like this, must have leaked into vast caverns beneath the crust, through chasms like the Erebus. No other way to explain it!”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” drawled Brant.

  The three Martians had followed them to the hilltop by now, and stood as if struck by lightning, too paralyzed by astonishment to move, even to speak or cry out.

  “Chasm or no chasm, when the old ocean seeped down through the crust, it must have picked up a lot of minerals along the way. It must have taken many centuries to happen. Which may explain the curious phenomenon of the luminescence. …”

  “And maybe even the stone stair!” suggested Brant, surprised at his own sharpness. “There were people living up there on the continent we call Ogygis Regio in those days: I found Zuarra and Suoli in the ruins of one of their cities, remember.”

  “I recall,” Doc said slowly.

  “They were sea-kings, maybe. Like the Vikings of old. And they watched their ocean ebb year after year, generation utter generation. And cut a stairway down to what remained <>l their sea. Maybe they venerated it, had religious feelings about it … anyway, to hew those thousands of steps out of solid rock would sure require centuries of labor.”

 
Harbin cast him a strange glance. “I’m impressed, my hoy. You’ve a head on your shoulders. I think you have hit on the truth, strange as it sounds to us. But stranger things have happened, and for even less comprehensible reasons . . the building of the Egyptian pyramids, for example. The Great Wall of China. Built to keep the savage nomads away, but it was the descendants of those very nomads that completed the work, for their ancestors had conquered China by then, wall or no wall.”

  After a while, they descended the hill to pace the narrow shore. Will Harbin squatted to examine the glittering sand that looked for all the world as if it was carpeted with jewels of every color and description���rubies, pearls, emeralds, topazes, yellow zircons, amethysts, opals, lumps of amber and jade, sapphires, even dull but lucent diamonds.

  “Mineral deposits,” he decided, “not gems. The water must be incredibly rich in mineral salts. They would coagulate like this, coming together into lumps, forming pebbles by conglomeration, under the movement of the waves.”

  Zuarra bent to pick one of these from the shore. It was smooth as glass, more oval than teardrop-shaped, and blazing with rich colors, brown, amber, gold, all streaked through with crimson. She exclaimed over the beauty of the thing.

  “Keep it, then,” shrugged Brant good-humoredly. “Nobody else is likely to stake a claim to It.”

  She gave him a shy smile, dimpling most charmingly, and tucked it away in a pocket of her robe. Brant was studying the sea. The surface seemed in constant turmoil, swirling this way and that, coiling into miniature shallow whirlpools, but there didn’t seem to be much in the way of waves.

  He pointed this out to Will Harbin.

  “Not this far below the surface, even if the moons of Mars were big enough to make tides like our Moon does back home,” murmured the older man. “Chemical ferment, perhaps; amoeboid life. Even centrifugal force, caused by the planet as it swings on its axis.”

  He bent, dabbling his forefinger in the milky luminance, tasting a drop of the seawater gingerly. Then he made a face.

  “Mineral salts, all right!” he exclaimed. “Ugh, what a taste! And so thick with salt it would rust stainless steel. Well, there’s the last proof of our theorising … to get that rich in minerals, the water just had to seep through interstices in the crust for long centuries.”

  At Brant’s side, Zuarra spoke up timidly:

  “Is it … is all of this water, O Brant?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Water of a sort,” he grunted. “But I wouldn’t try drinking any of it, if I were you. Which makes me think, Doc���are we likely to find any fresh water down here? We certainly can’t drink this stuff, and my canteen’s nearly empty. I guess all of them are, by now. And we’re going to start getting mighty thirsty before long.”

  “As to springs of fresh water, who can say?” was Harbin’s , reply. “Maybe, maybe not. But there’s lots of juice in those 1 huge mushrooms, so we won’t suffer from lack of fluids.”

  He scratched his nose. “Pity you couldn’t carry the pressure-still along. It could easily have been adjusted to extract the pure water from this mineral muck. As it is, we may have to do it by ourselves, by the slow process of evaporation and condensation. Collect the seawater in some kind of container, boil it over a fire���the dry stalks of some of those fallen fungus-trees back in the forest ought to burn like tinder. Then ; we rig a shield out of something … maybe the nioflex of our thermal-suits, collect the condensation, funnel it off …” his voice trailed away, uncertain as to the details.

  Brant grinned. “Oh, I guess we can put our heads together and figure out some way of doing it.”

  He glanced out over the surface of the luminous sea. “Can we take baths in this muck, d’you suppose? It’s been so long since I’ve had a swim, or even a halfway decent bath, it sure would be a treat!”

  Doc grinned. “Expect it would be safe enough,” he said. “One thing’s certain, you won’t have to worry about drowning, no matter how much about swimming you may have forgotten. In that sea, you couldn’t drown if you tried to!”

  Brant looked puzzled. Harbin chuckled.

  “Water’s so rich with salt and minerals, it’s hard to sink in. Look���” he picked up one of the larger gemlike pebbles, weighed it in his palm. It looked about as heavy as a baseball, but when he tossed it a little ways out to sea, it floated.

  “Just like Great Salt Lake in Utah, or the Dead Sea in Palestine,” he said. “Our bodies are pretty buoyant as it is. In this stuff, though, we’d float like corks.”

  Brant shook his head wonderingly.

  “This is sure one hellova strange place,” he said, with a low whistle of amazement.

  “It is that,” Doc agreed. And then he added, soberly: “And I’ve a feeling we’ve only seen a few of the marvels we’re going to discover before long.”

  And, as usual, the older man proved right, eventually.

  Since it had been long enough since Agila had devoured the meat of the giant mushrooms, and he showed no signs of sickness or discomfort, they returned to the midst of the fungus-forest and made a zestful meal, sampling the flesh of different-colored growths.

  Brant found them all tasty, but the one he liked best was his own discovery. The huge stalk, crowned with its nodding head the size of a barrel, was silvery-gray on the outside, mottled with irregular lavender spots. Inside, the flesh proved creamy in color and of the consistency of vanilla pudding. But it tasted like nothing else than the finest white meat of the tuna fish. The succulent, meaty taste pleased them all, even the three Martians, who had never tasted anything remotely like fish in their lives.

  “Well,” sighed Brant contentedly, patting a full stomach at the conclusion of their feast, “after weeks of canned rations and lizard meat, it’s good to have a decent meal again!”

  Harbin grinned in agreement. “Even if the dishes were a trifle exotic,” he said. “The meat from that tuna-tree might taste even better with a chewier consistency. We could try broiling slices over a slow fire. …”

  Brant stifled a huge yawn. “Incidentally, Doc … d’you suppose it ever gets dark in this place?”

  “I doubt it. We’ve been here quite a while by now, and the luminosity does not seem to wax or wane. We’re going to have to learn to sleep with the lights on, that’s all.”

  18

  The Lovers

  They were all weary from their exertions on the stone stair, and felt emotionally drained from the succession of marvels they had found in this weird underground world, and were not long in seeking their rest.

  In this humid warmth, there was no need for bedrolls or blankets. The travelers simply lay down wherever they were and fell asleep almost instantly. The dewy moss was springy and soft, and made as comfortable a bed as any they could recently recall.

  During the night���odd word to use in this land of perpetual day, but old habits are difficult to break���Brant woke. His bladder was full and he felt the need to relieve himself. He rose and padded a little ways into the depths of the fungus-forest for privacy, and found that two of his companions had also sought seclusion, but for a somewhat different reason.

  Agila and little Suoli lay wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies moving vigorously in the act of love. From her moans and whimpers and soft little sighs, the young woman did not seem exactly unwilling. ��

  Brant stopped short at the sight and lingered for a moment on the edge of the little glade in which the lovers lay. It was none of his business, and the two had every right to their private pleasures, so he withdrew silently. They had not noticed him come and were too busy to notice him leave.

  But their passion had another witness, it seemed. Not far from the place where Brant had stood, discovering them, stood another. It was Zuarra. The expression on her face was unreadable, but it did not look to Brant like either sorrow or anger, nor even jealousy. There was no telling how long she had stood there, watching the two from the concealment of a tall spotted mushroom-tree
.

  As Brant went past her, she turned and saw him, and reached out to take his arm. Somehow���and afterwards he could never quite remember how it came about���she was in his arms, her firm breasts warm against his bare chest, her mouth sweet and eager under his own.

  They exchanged no words, for none were needed. Arm in arm they turned to seek another place, and when they found a cozy bower, sheltered by thickly set mushroom-trees, they sank to the soft cushion of the moss and made love hungrily, almost savagely, coupling like beasts.

  When they were done, and he thought to rise, she clung to him, locking her arms around his neck.

  “Stay in me,” she whispered hoarsely, and he did. After a time, they dozed off, only to wake and to love again. And the second time it was even better. He discovered in her a hungry passion equal to his own, a tirelessness and a vigor. And she found in him a warmth, a tenderness, a gentle strength she had never found in another man. It was, to her, as satisfying, as draining, as the love of women, but different, very different, in a way she could not put into words.

  When he awoke at last, it was to discover her sitting tailor-fashion nearby, regarding him with thoughtful eyes. He grinned and she too smiled a soft, contented smile. When he reached out to touch her, to caress her body, she came into his arms and they kissed.

  “Has it been a long time for you, O Brant?” she whispered.

  It had been a long time since Brant had a woman. He nodded, adding: “And even longer since I’ve had a woman like you.” She smiled demurely.

  “It has been long for Zuarra, too,” she admitted. “Never has she enjoyed love with any man as much as she enjoys it with you.”

  They rose to their feet and went back to the clearing where they found Suoli and Agila fast asleep, and Will Harbin grinned at them. He wanted to remark further on the parallels between this lovely place and Eden���something to the effect that it looked as though Adam and Eve had tasted of the apple, but held his peace.