And argument there was!
"Childbirth requires hospital facilities, sterile surroundings, drugs—"
"Babies need special food, and soft warm beds, and clean surroundings—"
"Children could not survive in this wilderness, with danger all around—"
"Raising a child takes skills and learning we've none of us had—"
"Something is bound to go wrong, and then what?"
But Carmen just said, "Having babies and raising them is normal. It's human. In primitive societies, in ghastly places on earth, in wartime, people have borne children, and raised them. And I want to do that." I became more vocal than ever, seeing this as a genuine threat to the solidarity of our small community. Carefully, as each of us found words, we set forth the many reasons why Carmen's absurd desire must not attain fulfillment, and she listened, oh so politely, for more than an hour. Then, she suddenly stood, and following our own rules of conduct, she simply walked away from us into the gloom.
"Well! We'll just have to let it go for now, and resume pointing out the facts to her when we get the chance," said Shirley firmly. But I feel some most chilling qualms! For one thing, the men, after their initial expostulation, became very quiet and took no further part in the argument. For another, Cinnamon said, after Carmen's departure, "To have a real home, and a family—I knew I wouldn't have one when I signed on, but it does sound so pleasant—I'd like to think about it, myself, before we decide."
"I thought it was decided!" said Shirley, and my heart sank, for there was more hope than disapproval in the quick words.
"But how?" Arielle's question brought the discussion to a close—a most unsatisfactory one, to my way of thinking!
It is very late. I've been awakened by Arielle's hand on my shoulder—I was having the nightmare, and she is on watch and heard my moans. How long will I have that same dream? Unable to free myself from my bunk on the lander, while the water swirls higher—it must have been triggered by the dissension this evening, and my inability to resolve it. I lay sleepily for a while, thankful to have been wakened, and glanced around at the quiet forms, hoping I had disturbed no one. Automatically I counted them, as we all do from time to time. It is disquieting to see that two are missing! I turned to Arielle, and found her dark eyes regarding me calmly. Whoever is off in the night, she is not alarmed. What is happening?
I am absolutely exhausted. This week I have worked harder than ever in my life before, trying to persuade my formerly clear-thinking companions of their folly. To no avail! I cannot decide, myself, which is more galling; the idiocy of any attempt on our part to bring children into this incredible situation, or my own inability to convince anyone of that idiocy!
"For one thing, our ages are against this scheme," I said reasonably to Jinjur. "Even if our operations could be reversed, we women are surely past an age when we could possibly conceive."
"We are all still having our periods," she reminded me. "And John says that living so long in free-fall, and the No-Die we took for so many years, might have kept us fertile. But you may be right, I can't deny it. By the calendar, I am eighty-seven years old. Even subtracting thirty years for the time I spent on No-Die, my biological clock has been ticking for fifty-seven years. The youngest person we have in the crew is Cinnamon, and her effective age is forty-three."
"And if we did become pregnant, what of the effects of our ages on a pregnancy?" I argued. "None of us has ever been pregnant before, and we don't know how severe the strain might be. And giving birth! Here, in this wilderness! It's asking a great deal of a woman at the best of times, and in the best of circumstances—here, it is just suicidally dangerous!"
I think, to Jinjur, I should not have said that, because she began to look upon the prospect as a challenge. I continued, desperately, with the others, but met with frustrating obstinance. Shirley is intrigued with the technical difficulties, Cinnamon doesn't even seem to hear me, and Arielle thinks it would be "fun!"
As for Carmen, I followed her for a whole day, talking and talking. When she took to the water I followed, swimming easily next to her, and being my most logical and persuasive. I thought she was weakening until she lifted her head, looked straight into my eyes, and said, "If I have a boy I will name him after his father. If I have a girl, I shall name her 'Hope.' " Then she dove, and I drifted to shore, dispirited.
It quickly became obvious that Carmen had fastened on John as the one most likely to yield to her importunities. And he capitulated! Those nightly absences of the couple were not all spent in entreaty and denial; somehow, at who knows what agonizing cost to himself, John has reversed his own vasectomy, and is accommodating Carmen. She mentioned this, quite casually, at breakfast one morning, while John simply smirked, odiously. The rest of the time became uncomfortable in the extreme. Covert looks between the men; long, serious discussions among the women; John and Carmen being shunned but having much to say to each other—and only I have been sent to Coventry! As I adamantly continue to announce the undeniable facts confronting us in any attempt to proceed with this foolishness, I receive no word or acknowledgement from anyone—except the broad grin on Richard's face. I am baffled at the sight of seven intelligent people who have enjoyed the pleasures of carefree sex for so many years, now contemplating with envy the two who have given it up!
Still, I know that I can prevail—and prevail I must!—simply by holding out; I shall refuse to be part of a unanimous agreement.
My quiet question produced a quiet answer from John. "Both operations were deliberately done in a manner such that they could be easily reversed. That was in case the mission was canceled, or one of us had to drop out for some reason. I myself am quite capable of performing the surgeries, but I could not, and would not, without certain minimum conditions."
"What are those?" Cinnamon's question was also quiet, and my heart eased a little, hoping yet to see us reach a sensible conclusion.
"Sterile surroundings, first of all, and anaesthesia. And the use of the right equipment—all that is available aboard the Dragonfly. It was planned years ago that in case the sick bay on the rocket lander was unavailable for any reason, the sleeping area on Dragonfly could be reconfigured as an emergency sick bay. All the necessary equipment is stored in a sealed kit under the floorboards. With those facilities, and especially if I had the help of the Christmas Branch, I could not only reverse all the operations, I could check up on the status of the fertility of the person. But, of course, all of that is . . ."
"Under two hundred meters of salt water—and smashed," I said with finality.
"Not smashed too badly, remember," said David. "The computer on the Dragonfly is still intact, and probably functional, although it's powered down. We've been too busy to think about it, trying to survive here. Besides, we knew the computer wouldn't have been much help, since its motiles can only operate near Dragonfly where they can receive the laser signals that supply their instructions and motive power. That's why, until now, we've all automatically shelved the whole idea that the computer will be able to help us. With it being under two hundred meters of water, we can't reach it, and it can't reach us. But it's still there, if we can activate it."
"But how could one do that?" I asked, reasonably. "We'd have to get at it to activate it, and we can't survive a dive to that depth."
"We need a diving bell," said Shirley, but her voice was flat as she glanced around at our meager equipment.
John shrugged. "Without the Christmas Bush and those surgical instruments down there, I'll not take a chance on operating on anyone, unless it is an emergency, and this isn't. The Christmas Branch is the proper tool for the task—it's small 'fingers' can do perfect work without traumatizing even the most delicate tissues. And, while I know I'm good, I just won't interfere with any body other than my own without the right tools."
It was an uncompromising stand, and while I accepted it and was about to try to change the subject, other minds as determined as my own were concentrating fiercely on th
e problem.
Suddenly, David said, "We can't survive a dive to two hundred meters, but the flouwen can. And now that they've learned so much of our vocabulary, I might be able to teach them the voice commands that would reactivate the computer along with the Christmas Branch!"
"What good would that do?" John was still skeptical, for which I was glad. "The Dragonfly is stuck under the lander, with a damaged tail. The Christmas Branch can't operate out of sight of the communication lasers on the plane, so it has to stay down there, where its no good to us."
But David's mind was racing now. "If the flouwen were able to get Josephine awake and functioning, she and I would have the Christmas Branch to work with."
Shirley, who had been silently thinking all this time, spoke up. "We can't get away from the fact that, eventually, we still have to get down there ourselves, if there's going to be any operations done. We still need that diving bell! The only part of the ship I can think of with the right size and strength is the central storage tank column." I pictured it, myself. It originally contained storage tanks for water and high pressure air. We had added a tank to accommodate the flouwen, and shortened the water and air tanks to accommodate.
"The strongest part of that column was the high pressure air storage tank," recalled Jinjur. "It should be able to take the pressure at that depth, but of course it's down there, and permanently installed in the ship."
David's voice was insistent. "The Christmas Bush can do almost anything—with the tools it has available on Dragonfly, it would have no difficulty cutting metal—or welding it either!"
"We don't need to do either," said Shirley. "When I cut the tanks down to make room for the flouwen, I used flanged end-domes instead of the usual heliarc welded dome—made them easier to reinstall. So, if we unbolt the end-domes to the high pressure air tank, and put them flange to flange, we'll have a hollow, metal, one-person, underwater flying-saucer-shaped . . ." She paused, her eyes flickering. I could almost see the design drawings for the air tank flipping through her eidetic memory.
"Damn!" she said, finally. "The new flanges are over two meters in diameter. I designed that tank myself, and I know they're more. Not much, but we can't get them into the airlock on the Dragonfly. It's exactly two meters high."
I was relieved. Finall,y my comrades would have to admit the futility of their irrational dreams.
"So, tilt it, " Jinjur suggested crisply.
"Of course! That'll work!" cried Shirley. Reluctantly, I could see even in my own mind's eye how such an object could slip through such a door. Even as I deplored the purpose behind this mental activity, I could not but enjoy its result; sitting empty-handed around a campfire, these people had little difficulty envisioning equipment and dimensions invisible to them.
"Then, if we can get the Christmas Branch to unbolt the end-domes, then the flouwen can bring them up. We'll need the nuts and bolts too, of course—and have them fetch a wrench!"
I fear the challenge of the problem is blinding my friends to the possible consequences of their project; it is their greatest weakness, as well as their greatest strength. David was already muttering voice commands for Josephine under his breath, with Arielle making suggestions.
"Reiki!" he said then. "Help me work out the very minimum set of commands the flouwen will need . . ." He stopped, and looked uncertainly at me. In the sudden silence, I felt all their eyes upon me, and I thought frantically. To me, the motive behind the current proposal is absurd, even demented, but I do realize the tremendous value of getting access to, and the use of, the tools beneath the lagoon, and to that very desirable end I must contribute what I can. This task is full of risk, and I am dubious of its success, but we are so constituted—all ten of us!—that we must try.
I took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. I hardly recognized my own voice, wavering, and very low.
"I think the self-check routine is the place to start . . ."
An echoing sigh sounded, all around the circle. Apparently I had not been the only one who had felt that awful tension! I spoke more steadily now, to mention another problem which had occurred to me.
"We can use the flouwen to activate the main computer, I think; it will simply mean rehearsing them until they have the commands perfectly memorized. But we can't depend on them for long, complicated technical messages back and forth. How can we set up some kind of direct communications link with Josephine?"
"Tell the Christmas Branch to drop the underwater sonar mapper from the cargo bay," suggested Richard. "The flouwen can haul it to the surface, and we can use that to talk back and forth with Josephine."
I agreed that was a good idea, and moved to talk it over with David. He and Arielle shifted along their log to make room for me, and it felt good to be working with them again. The magnitude of our disagreement had subtly shifted the growing familiarity of a family which we had been enjoying, making us into a society of individuals once more. My compromise had brought me back into the comfort of the family. We began to recall the words we had used to activate Josephine when we were aboard Prometheus, and then tried to simplify and shorten the commands. I became caught up in the problem myself, and we talked late. We hope to find the flouwen cooperative tomorrow!
The eight of us gathered for the evening meal tonight were quieter than usual. As always, I attempted to look as civilized as possible when we sat down, donning the laces that I now leave off during the rough work of the day, and trying to tame my increasingly unruly hair. Shirley and Cinnamon joined us with smooth fresh braids, and Arielle's shining cap swung just past her cheekbones as she served our nostalgic repast. The constraint we were all feeling was not due to formality; rather, I think, it was because we are so accustomed to being ten, that the absence of anyone feels very strange.
We had called the flouwen very early that morning. David and I had carefully selected the fewest possible commands for the flouwen to initiate the computer's activity, and were reviewing them anxiously once more when the opalescent blobs appeared, and we waded out to greet them.
"Hi! Hi! Let's play!" shouted Little Red immediately.
"Little Red is bored," explained Little White. "We swim along this coast all around. All the same. We catch food easily. We surf. We explore. But we find nothing new. When can we see Jollys?"
"Soon," promised Cinnamon. "We have a big job for you to do today, but as soon as it is done we'll ask the Jollys to come down to the shore to meet you." What a diverting thought—I hope most sincerely to be able to see that meeting!
"Job?" said Little Red dubiously. "Work?"
"More like a wonderful game," I said quickly. "Now that you can talk so well, and know so many fine words, maybe you can talk to the airplane pet; and maybe—just maybe—it will answer you."
"Great!" was the answering shout. "Let's go!"
"Wait!" called David. "You have to say just the right words, or it won't answer you."
"Hunh, pet dumb!" Little Red said sulkily. And, of course, he has a point.
"What words? Tell them to me," asked Little Purple eagerly.
Slowly, and with frequent repetitions, we gave the words of command to our alien friends, and they repeated them, memorizing. Finally they seemed to be word-perfect. We went through the routine a final time.
"Now," instructed David. "You go down to the airplane pet and put your body right onto the clear parts near the front. Then, you say, 'Self-check routine zero.' "
"Self-check routine zero," echoed Little White, in a creditable imitation of David's voice.
"Then, if you're lucky, the pet will answer! It will say, 'Seven-six-one-three-F-F.' But if it says anything else, or doesn't answer, come back and tell me."
"Dumb thing to say!" interjected Little Red.
"If it says, 'seven-six-one-three-f-f-,' then my turn to say 'self-check routine one,' " said Little White obediently.
"And when you hear a voice like this," I said, lowering my own to Josephine's husky accent, " 'Surface Excursion Module Four
going through systems check' then you will know you are doing exactly right, and you say very quickly . . ."
"Emergency! Stop systems check! Lower sonar mapper!" ordered Little White firmly.
"Then I grab box and bring it up!" said Little Red eagerly.
"I carry the cable," added Little Purple importantly.
"Excellent!" said Cinnamon proudly. "You have learned very well."
"Off you go, then!" Jinjur waved, and the three flouwen swam from the shallows and dove into the depths of Crater Lagoon.
As we waited, we mentally went through the routine ourselves, and very shortly after we calculated that the exchange must be concluded, the three appeared again, bringing their precious cargo intact. There was a spontaneous cheer, and Shirley and David pounced upon the heavy black box covered with its array of ultrasonic senders, and quickly towed it ashore, the long power and communications umbilical trailing along behind. As they bent over it, speaking, I moved off to thank the flouwen for a job well done. They sped off and I turned to hear Jinjur's query.
"So! What's the status of the Dragonfly?"
David looked up from where he and Shirley were crouched before the sonar mapper, using it to talk with the airplane's computer. "Josephine was really upset at first, when she began to realize the situation. There were so many urgent damage control tasks to do at once, she didn't want to override any of them. But we told her to set the Christmas Branch to work on enough of them to allow her to go off emergency status, and now she's willing to send out a sub-branch to begin unbolting the pressure tank domes."
"We also settled another worry I had," added Shirley. "I wasn't sure the Christmas Branch could function in the high pressure outside the airlock without a lot of short-circuits developing. But Josephine sent out a tiny imp first, and no problems developed. We've now got a sub-branch working on the bolts on the end domes. Perhaps, though . . ." The engineer's concern for her circuitry was back in force! "In case the salt water produces a long term corrosion problem, I think we should always keep most of the Christmas Branch inside, away from the seawater, and use the minimum portion of it necessary to do a job."
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