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“Larry and I agree on one thing: The AI log indicates she was fully operational up until the moment her signal ceased at thirteen-thousand meters. The signal from the emergency transponder terminated shortly after. This suggests to me that a guidance system malfunction sent her to the bottom. There is insufficient data for one-hundred percent confirmation, but for all practical purposes, we must consider the submersible irretrievably lost.
“Diana, I realize that’s a major blow to your efforts and to the mission. But let’s look at it from a different perspective. We arrived here safely. Ixodes was successfully detached, became operational, and went on to obtain considerable data on thermoclines, currents, water chemistry and the prevalence of the phytoplankton. Bear in mind your own words, too: That there is every indication that no other life forms are present. That would be no less true if we had one sub or one hundred exploring this planet’s ocean.”
So far, I thought, Thompson was taking just the right balance.
“You are aware,” Thompson went on, “that for safety concerns, and to optimize our time on the planet, I was issued orders not to task Desio with unnecessary take-offs and landings. I’m going to consider what happened to Ixodes as an extenuating circumstance that warrants overriding that directive. In the next couple of days, baring any unforeseen developments, I’ll take under advisement moving to another location.”
“That would suit me just fine,” Diana said. “But in fairness, I’ll defer to the others. Dismantling our equipment and setting it up again is quite a disruption.”
We needed no elaboration of the “safety concern” to which Thompson referred. Timely rescue was an impossibility. Our limited food supply meant a serious malfunction, one that prevented Desio from leaving the planet, would be equivalent to a protracted death sentence. The grim possibility was planned for: Six L-Capsules (and a smaller one for Angie) ingested at each person’s discretion.
“One more thing,” Thompson said. “I want to remind you that our short time here limits what we can accomplish. Consider this: Earth’s ocean has yet to be completely explored. What does that say about the task of exploring an ocean with twice the volume of water? The secrets this planet holds will not be uncovered in one week, or one year, and perhaps not in several lifetimes. Now, is there anything anybody wants to add about this matter before we get down to specifics concerning our work?”
“There is one thing I’d like to say,” Diana began, without hesitation. “To Doctor Melhaus.”
I had to give Diana credit for what she was about to do. Apologizing was never easy, especially when you’re not convinced it’s warranted. As for Melhaus, he raised an eyebrow and appeared leery (I couldn’t blame him) of what she might say.
“There are times,” Diana continued, “when I open my mouth and people are amazed at what comes out. Sometimes, truthfully, I’m no less amazed. And sometimes, Larry, as in our earlier conversation, I regret the harsh words I use. You have my apology.”
Melhaus, impassively (and perhaps to the best of his ability) accepted what was offered.
“Acknowledged,” he said. We had come to expect little more.
“Fine…” Thompson began, hoping to move on. Melhaus had other ideas.
“—but the apology just as well could have come from Mr. Lorenzo.”
I said earlier that the day was sizing up to be full of surprises. This one was going to be personally troublesome. I was not alone in this feeling. I felt Kelly’s leg tense next to mine.
“I’d accommodate you, Larry,” I said in response, “but I’m not at all sure what you are referring to.”
“It was your story that impugned the work of us scientists.”
I was at a loss. Was Melhaus actually misconstruing the objective of my story—a warning about not communicating—as criticizing scientists and their work? “That certainly wasn’t my intention,” I said, hoping simple sincerity would be sufficient to put an end to the discussion.
“That’s difficult to believe,” Melhaus persisted. “‘To rein in you mad scientists,’ I believe, were your exact words.”
“My story, actually my professor’s story, was emphasizing communication. Or lack of it. To make a valid point.” I held back mentioning that the “mad scientist” remark was simply a reaction to a comment made by Thompson about my B.A. degree. Wherever this discussion was leading, I did not consider it a good idea to bring him into the mix.
“Yet I find it hard to believe,” Melhaus responded, pressing his argument, “that it was only by chance you used scientists to further your point.”
“That, Larry, was fill in the blank. Scientist, politician, writer, priest. All interchangeable. We’re all subject to the same failings.”
“You’ve made other offhand remarks. Isn’t the pertinent discussion your underlying suspicion of scientists? That our accomplishments come at too high a price? That scientists shouldn’t have spliced genes or split atoms because others have abused the privilege of this knowledge?”
“Let me tell you plainly: I don’t have a high or low opinion of scientists as a class. That would imply I distinguish their innate character as different from everyone else’s. But with power and influence, and now scientists have more, comes responsibility and accountability. I hold no double standard. Those wearing the mantle of author should not be immune to the same scrutiny. There have been times words alone have been used to perpetrate evil: Hitler’s Mein Kampf and Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, for example.”
Melhaus was unmoved. I found an ally in Paul.
“Why not take Kyle’s words at face value?” he said, seeking rapprochement. “Anything else said was friendly banter that we all took part in one time or another.”
“Exactly,” Kelly added, “It’s not as if Kyle hasn’t received teasing about his lack of science credentials.”
Still no response. Staring at the physicist, I came to the regrettable conclusion that no words of explanation could move him. I swallowed hard and used up the remnants of my patience.
“Larry, I am sorry if anything I said gave you offense. That was the diametric opposite of my intention.”
Melhaus said nothing. I would have settled for an “acknowledged.”
Thompson, impatient with Melhaus’s intractability, appeared on the verge of interceding. I, however, thought it best to move on. With deliberate emphasis I pushed back my chair and rose from my seat.
“With your permission, Bruce, and if the meeting is about over, I’d like to investigate what Angie is up to.”
Thompson looked at me steadily. I gave him a slight nod. He was aware I was using Angie’s barking down near the water’s edge as a convenient excuse to prevent a worsening of tensions.
“Other than discussing one or two specifics on the tests we are conducting,” he said, “we’re just about finished here. Nothing where we’d miss having your valuable insight.”
Thompson shifted his attention back to the meeting and I headed to the shoreline. As I approached, Angie stopped barking and trotted up to me. Looking around, I found nothing specific to have consumed her attention.
“You’re a smart dog to run away from the meeting. Bad vibes, I guess. Let’s run to the cove.”
As Paul had predicted, the diurnal temperature swings were moderate and the day had begun pleasantly warm. Once at the cove I would avail myself of a swim in the invigorating water. Perhaps whatever I saw would reappear.
My recollection of the path through the spires was good. I ran the entire way at a fast sprint, stripping off my shirt while running to prevent it from being soaked in sweat. At the cove, the first thing I did was immerse Angie in the ocean to cool her down. She had run beside and ahead of me, and now we both needed to drink. The crew was becoming increasingly confident that the water was potable, but any concern I had regarding this matter was further eased when I observed Angie as she deliberately avoided partaking of the many clear pools lining the shore. Instead, she eagerly lapped water poured from the portable f
ilter that I had remembered to bring along.
While she contentedly splayed herself on a rock slab to dry, I shed my shorts and sneakers and jumped in the ocean for a swim. In a few strokes I was a good distance out. Floating on my back, I stared up at the steel blue sky. I felt buoyant. Was that due to the lower gravity or the unique water chemistry? I abandoned the thought for one less complicated. Cool, refreshing, invigorating water. In Arabic, al-ikseer: The elixir of life. Water. From whence all life springs. And so far that had proven true everywhere life had been found.
An indeterminate amount of time passed. Angie stared out at me from the shore and emitted a barely audible whine. Maybe she was hungry, maybe she wanted to play. Maybe she was just being a dog.
I swam to shore. Gripping onto the edge of the slab, I hauled myself out of the water in one swift motion. Laying on my stomach, I stared out into the distance.
Nothing. What did I expect to conjure?
Behind me, at the edge of the spires, I heard a voice: Thompson. Approaching, he put away the hand-held device he had been using for making field observations.
“Couldn’t resist,” he said, looking out over the ocean to the horizon. “I’ve heard the water’s fine.”
As he stripped naked and entered the water I noticed a ten centimeter scar on his buttocks. Asking him about it will be tricky, I thought with amusement. After several minutes of swimming he climbed out and, winded from the exertion, lay on his stomach next to me.
“Damn, that felt good,” he said.
“I’m going to open a day spa here,” I said. “Charge admission.”
“No, not you. Never. Nor me for that matter. We’re not cut out for dealing with people.”
“You got that right. There’s a theory that I have been developing—you’ll notice I said theory—that, statistically, one out of five people is an asshole.”
“I’ll need a definition of ‘asshole.’”
“Right now, it’s anyone who irritates me.”
“And it’s no coincidence that, other than you, there’s five in the crew?”
“It is the theory’s very foundation.”
“Personally, taking a statistically larger sample, the number is one in ten.”
“That’s a generous view.”
“I like to think of the beaker as half-full. So how long have you been working on this so-called ‘theory?’”
“All my life apparently. This expedition was an experiment in socialization for me.”
“And, on balance, how’s it going?”
“All the results aren’t in yet.”
“The way I see it, you’re way ahead.”
“Care to explain?”
“I’ll spell it out for you dummy: K-E-L-L-Y. You’re concerned about one in five. How about one in a million?”
“Diana put you up to this?”
“What?” Thompson said, leaving no doubt that what he said was based solely on his own keen perceptions.
“I got some things to work out.”
Thompson chose not to ask for further explanation. He had encapsulated everything he wanted to say in a couple of sentences. For that matter, I did the same in one.
“How did you get that scar on your butt?” I asked.
“I was wondering why you were staring at my ass. Ever hear of a razorback?”
“Sure. A wild boar. Mean.”
“My ass is the last part of me that went up a tree.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. I got the last laugh though.”
“How so?”
“I’m up the tree with my ass bleeding, not feeling particularly good about it, the boar snorting below, waiting for me to come down. If that wasn’t enough to kill your day, I received a sting or two from a hornet’s nest in the branch above me. Then an idea came to me, I wasn’t sure it was a good one, but, hell, I didn’t let that stop me. I took my pocket knife and, as carefully as I could, cut loose the branch with the nest. I then whipped the branch down onto the back of the boar. I’m not quite certain which became more agitated, the nest or the boar, but hornets, unlike bees, are capable of stinging multiple times. They gave the boar the worst of it, until finally it went charging off grunting and squealing and as angry as anything I’ve ever seen. That includes Diana.”
“That’s called making fertilizer out of the shit handed to you.”
As we dressed to leave, Thompson said, “Speaking of being handed shit, don’t think the way you handled the load handed out by Melhaus went unnoticed by me or the rest of the crew.”
“You’ve got one helluva balancing act dealing with him, that’s for sure. I don’t envy you.”
“Thanks for downplaying it,” Thompson said with a slight frown. “Kelly is starting to believe that his belligerent manner is a symptom of increased stress. Whatever the cause, I’d prefer not to lose him. Problem is, he knows that. Considers himself indispensable. I may have to convince him otherwise.”
“It’s tough getting past that intellectual arrogance of his. I wonder how much of what we’re seeing is his glaring lack of social skills. Other times, well, I almost think he’s against us.”
“None of us are simple, are we?”
“Sometimes, I wish we were.”
“Now that would be boring, wouldn’t it?”
I was non-committal.
We dressed and headed back to Red Square.
Sighting
DURING THE OVERNIGHT (and catching our climatologist, Paul Bertrand, unaware) a brief shower came out of nowhere to leave a wet, color-intensifying sheen on the rock formations of Red Square. In advance of the usual morning meeting, he, Angie and I sat on a large oblong boulder where we enjoyed a striking view encompassing the Square, a grouping of spires, and an ample slice of ocean.
The blue sun, now only a sun’s width above the horizon, had already begun its work for the day. All around us the mass of rock was absorbing and transferring heat, sending columns of steam tumbling and twisting high into the air where, with the help of the gentlest of breezes, they eventually dissipated. Within the space of a few minutes only the rainwater that had collected in shallow rock depressions remained, and soon this moisture was evaporated back into the atmosphere.
Months ago I discovered that Paul was a man of few words, but unlike Melhaus, whose silence was a sign of distancing, for Paul it was more an economizing of thought. With few exceptions he tended to craft his words to really mean something and when he did speak I almost always enjoyed listening to what he had to say.
“The elegant simplicity behind all we see,” he said, eyes glancing skyward at the final tracings of cascading steam. “Rainfall rises as vapors; water vapors condense to droplets; droplets collide, collect and fall as rain. Simple. Beautiful.”
“Why then,” I asked, hoping to elicit more, “is simplicity and beauty sometimes so difficult to discover?”
“Like E=MC²?”
“Good example.”
“Some would say from looking too hard.”
“Isn’t that heresy for a scientist?” I asked.
“No. It’s only a matter of approach. Of not viewing the subject of inquiry as an unraveling of something complex, but recognizing the simple truths comprising the whole. Often that is where the profoundest insights come from.”
“The graceful arc of horizon,” I said, looking out over the ocean. “The ability to discern simplicity is a valuable attribute for a writer, too.”
Paul considered a moment. “Diana, I believe, would say the elegant shapes of a Diatom or the whipping motion of flagella.”
“And for Thompson,” I said, making a game of it, “perhaps the crystalline structure of quartz.”
We spied Kelly and Diana, heading toward us from across the square, walking hand in hand like pretty schoolgirls on a summer’s day.
“Now what of Kelly?” Paul contemplated, watching her approach, ostensibly to fetch us for the morning’s meeting. “Perhaps the musical notes comprising a violin concerto.”
Paul responded with a laugh, and I found myself laughing with him.
“Kelly, Diana? Beautiful? Beyond compare,” he said. “But is understanding them simple? Il n’est pas! You have, or rather they have, completely undermined my assertion.”
We were sitting on a boulder’s edge, Angie between us, our legs dangling over the side. When Kelly arrived, she tidily positioned herself between my knees and, with arms straight out, clasped her hands behind my neck. Diana assumed the same position with Paul. He and I exchanged telling glances, both of us sensing the two of them were plotting something.
“Thompson cancelled this morning’s meeting,” Diana said. “We’ve also come to inform you—and no, you don’t have a choice—that at lunchtime we are going to the cove for a group picnic. Just the four of us.”
Judging by the ‘I’m pleased with myself’ smirk on her face, this outing was strictly Diana’s idea, her way of getting Kelly and I back to the cove with the semi-transparent ulterior motive of reigniting intimacy.
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
Kelly flashed me a broad smile. Leaning further into me she whispered very low in my ear: “Clever, isn’t she?”
We all understood what was going on, but since I was now a willing participant in this unspoken charade a verbal reply was inappropriate. Instead, I kissed Kelly full on the lips. The show of affection pleased Kelly, but Diana more. In a humorous and painfully obvious attempt to give us privacy, she practically yanked Paul from the boulder he sat on.
Paul had been tugged a few steps away when Angie, emitting a short bark, leaped clean off the boulder and bolted down to the ocean’s edge where she sat facing the water and whining. I recalled that yesterday, and on more than one occasion, she exhibited similar behavior. I had not taken sufficient notice then. Now, at last, I would.
Giving Kelly a quick look that said “I don’t know,” I jumped off the boulder and ran to the shoreline determined to find out exactly what my clever little pooch was up to.