*Same!* burst out Little Red.
“How do you know?” exclaimed Katrina in surprise. “The scan has just started.”
*Remember pattern.* Manipulating the icon on the edge of the taste screen in the habitat tank, Little Red circled a small area on the two-knobbed worm. Josephine expanded the circled area. Sure enough, the genetic pattern of the two-knobbed vent worm was identical to the pattern the microscope had just obtained from Pink-Orb’s cell. It wasn’t long before they also determined that the genetic pattern on the other half of the vent worm cell had come from the dead coelashark that had fallen on Pink-Orb, and from which Pink-Orb had obtained the vermicyst.
“The vent worm’s genetic parents were both an icerug and a coelashark,” remarked Katrina, slightly bewildered. “But because of its diploid gene structure it was destined to grow up as a coelashark.”
“Somehow … some way…” concluded Deirdre. “Pink-Orb fertilized that worm. No wonder eating a vermicyst was pleasurable. Evolution would ensure that it was so.”
“What’s all the excitement?” asked Richard from the galley, yawning widely as he heavily sugared his morning-shift coffee.
“Sex,” said Deirdre.
“Kinky sex,” said Cinnamon over the imp link.
“Kinky rococo sex,” added Katrina.
“Sounds interesting,” said Richard, taking a seat on a galley stool. “Tell me all about it.”
* * *
“So,” concluded Deirdre. “If a mature coelashark with ripe vermicysts lands on an icerug, the icerug swallows one of the vermicysts. Then, either the icerug “fertilizes” the worm, or the monoploid worm takes a knob from an icerug cell. In any case the single-knobbed, monoploid worm becomes a double-knobbed, diploid worm, which is evacuated unharmed through the gut of the icerug into the ocean, where it grows into a coelashark.”
“So that’s how baby coelasharks are made,” said Richard. “Now, how about baby icerugs?”
“If the coelashark lands on empty ice and dies, each of the single-knobbed monoploid worms in the vermicyst grows from a single-knobbed cell into a double-knobbed cell, but genetically it remains a monoploid since it has only one set of gene patterns. The cells multiply then, as blobs of undifferentiated slime, until one of the cells has consumed the coelashark and its cyst-mates, and turns into a big pool of pus made of double-knobbed cells. At that stage it is not too different from a flouwen.”
*I not pool of pus!* objected Little Red, who had been listening from inside the flouwen habitat.
Deirdre continued. “The cells begin to differentiate, and specialize, forming an icerug node, and the pool of pus turns into an icerug.”
“And that’s how baby icerugs are made,” mused Richard. “So the coelasharks and the icerugs are related.”
“Truly, icerugs and the coelasharks are not two different species — despite their vastly different structures. They are just different aspects of the same species.
“Like males and females,” suggested Richard. “Which is the male and which is the female?”
“More like caterpillars and butterflies,” suggested Katrina.
“Neither,” said Deirdre firmly. “They are their own example — an alien example — as we should accept without forcing them to fit our own notions.”
“I wonder…” mused Richard. “Which came first? The icerug or the coelashark?”
* * *
When the three biologists explained to George what they had discovered about the complex interrelated sex life of the icerugs and the coelasharks, he was fascinated.
“Well, that sure explains a lot,” he said. “Why the coelasharks committed suicide, and why the icerugs didn’t know about reproduction. Now that we know the reason they behave as they do, they don’t seem quite as alien as they used to.” He paused to think some more, and shook his head. “Nope. They are still alien. I don’t understand the war they had — if you want to call an all-out frontal suicide attack and a genocidal annihilation a war.”
“Although other reasons there may be, alien and unique, there is a partial biological reason for that behavior,” Deirdre replied. “The icerugs are monoploids, and do not mix genes directly with other icerugs through joint sex. Other icerugs are competitors for food, and unknowingly, sex partners. So, there would be a genetically driven tendency to eliminate other icerugs instead of cooperating with them.”
“Unless the other icerugs were very closely related, so that you shared many of the same genes, as is probably true for these physically isolated geyser communities,” added Cinnamon.
“I see … I think,” replied George. “But how does an icerug tell if another icerug is related or not?”
“Taste,” said Katrina. “Remember the tasting ceremony that the Local Association held for the foundling Green-Streak? If the little icerug had failed that test, it would have been dinner instead of the latest addition to the local nursery school.”
“We don’t know that,” reproved Deirdre. “Although I admit that it is a logical supposition.”
“What we need to do,” said Cinnamon hopefully. “Is to convince the icerugs to trade vermicysts between nations. The hybrid vigor from outbreeding would benefit all the icerugs, and in a few generations, everybody would taste the same and there would be no more wars.”
“And thanks to the meddling, but kind-hearted humanfolk, the icerugs live happily ever after,” said Deirdre sarcastically.
* * *
The three biologists decided to go together to explain to the icerugs of Windward City what they had learned about them and their relationship to the coelasharks. Deirdre felt that self-knowledge about the way their species reproduced would be welcome to the aliens. Katrina and Cinnamon hoped that the information would lead to exchanges of vermicysts between nations, and ultimately a more peaceful coexistence, but Deirdre’s sardonic references to “happily ever after” had convinced them to keep their suggestions along that line to a minimum.
Accordingly, they presented themselves to Green-Eye, the Convener of the Center of Medical Studies, who gathered together a number of the lecturers at the Center and their students. They all listened politely to Deirdre’s commendably brief description of their own life cycle. Cinnamon felt an aura of disbelief, when Deirdre began, but sensed an exciting change in the attitude of the icerugs as Katrina displayed microscopic images and other pictures on electrorase prints. Oddly, the really convincing pictures were the color photographs of the decaying coelashark oozing pus and the infant icerug. The icerug scientists studied them carefully, their highly discriminating color sense enabling them to see that the pus and the infant were the same color. This made it easier for their acceptance of the microscope images of the individual cells taken from both, showing that they had identical genetic patterns — and that the decaying coelashark had indeed changed into an icerug.
They had more difficulty with the idea of being part of the reproduction of the coelasharks, however, since the biologists had no photos to show them, only microscopic images of “virgin” worms taken from a vermicyst, and the single “pregnant” worm that Little Red had captured near Pink-Orb’s waste vent.
“So, somewhere in the body of an icerug, the wee creature from the vermicyst is changed from a single-knobbed cell, with only half of the genes needed to make a coelashark, to a double-knobbed cell with a full complement of coelashark genes. The second half of the gene set is obtained, in some unknown fashion, from the icerug as the worm passes through. We cannot fathom how, or where, or when, it is done.”
Cinnamon interpolated, “It is a mystery! Perhaps with further study, you can discover the answer.”
“The altered worm leaves your body,” continued Deirdre, “and swims to the sea floor. Here, the worms who survive grow large and strong, and live out their lives as coelasharks. As they mature, vermicysts form within them. At the correct biological time, coinciding with a massive geyser eruption, the coelasharks move instinctively towards the event which will cause their own deaths — but
ensure the survival of their kind.”
“And that works, for them,” said Cinnamon, “because if you icerugs find the vermicysts and eat them, there will be more coelasharks. But it works for you too, because if there are too few icerugs clustered around a geyser, the coelashark does not land on an icerug and so the vermicysts stay inside. The little worms then survive on their own, consuming the dead coelashark and each other until the last grows into an infant icerug.”
“Which you find, and raise, and add to the community, thus increasing the icerug population!” said Katrina triumphantly.
There was a long silence as the icerugs considered what the three humans had told them. Finally, Green-Eye broke the silence. “You have presented a very interesting conjecture. It will most certainly provide for lengthy discussions in our Center of Medical Studies meetings for many cycles to come.”
“It seemed extremely involved and convoluted to me,” objected one of the more beribboned and elder lecturers. “The Theory of Spontaneous Reproduction is a much simpler explanation for the origin of younglings than this conjecture that the humans have hypothesized.”
“It isn’t a conjecture! It’s the truth!” whispered Katrina, upset. Joe was wise enough not to translate her words for the aliens.
“Hush,” warned Deirdre. “The idea is there, let the creatures develop it or no, as they will!”
* * *
The last several days of the mission were filled with small but important duties, and all of the crew were busy. Reports, videos, further consultations with the icerugs on points of culture and function — and, for Deirdre and David, the poignant joy of hearing, once more, the huge pipe organ, looking like it had been made of crystal, and sounding more majestic than anything on earth. The whole crew stood, awed, as the mighty notes swelled and echoed through the Great Meeting Hall during the farewell ceremony. The new Presider, a sapphire-colored icerug with an eye to match, stood with them, as did Green-Eye. When the music ended, the humans, flouwen, and icerugs looked at each other, and George spoke a brief farewell.
“We’ll see you again before we go,” said George, “but as we are all here at once, I should like to thank you for all you have taught us.”
“We are glad of your visit,” responded the young Presider seriously. “We have learned things from you. We can now enjoy music from this grand instrument, certainly a vast improvement upon your primitive model. We know how to make paper, although it is usually too much trouble. The batteries, we have also constructed, although they are heavy, and are only used on our occasional trips deep below the surface. And we are
interested to hear your conjectures about our origins, although even if the discussions at the Center for Medical Studies eventually conclude that they are true, they won’t make much difference to our daily lives.” There was a pause.
“And that’s all?” Shirley asked, dismayed. But Deirdre’s heart sang again. They had interfered, but not too much.
Back on Victoria, Shirley, George, and Katrina, with Josephine’s assistance, were readying the Ascent Propulsion Stage of the rocket for takeoff, and discussing the disposal of the Dragonfly airplane.
“I know it was designed, deliberately, to be used for exploration and then discarded,” complained Shirley. “But it seems wasteful, even though I’ve taken every removable scrap out of it.” She had, indeed, on the grounds of “you never know”, even removed such items as light fixtures, fan motors, and analytical instrument modules from the workwall, and stowed them in the overflowing storage compartments of the Victoria. “We’re still throwing away a perfectly good computer in Joe, and all the flying capability of the plane.”
“I know,” said George. “And I did have one idea. Now that we’ve seen that the icerugs can operate independently of their carpets, it wouldn’t be too difficult to teach them how to interact with Joe and fly the airplane.”
“Yes!” interrupted Shirley. “That’s terrific! They can use the plane to go to foreign cities, trade vermicysts back and forth to promote international harmony, and find out more about the rest of the planet!”
“Of course, without the support of their carpets, they’ll need to take along a lot of food,” said Katrina.
“And there’s a lot more to flying a plane than just turning on the computer,” said George more cautiously. “I’d hate to have them get caught in one of the storms here and crash. And the thought that they might, would haunt me.”
“It wouldn’t take much time to put a complete instruction program into Joe, would it?” asked Katrina eagerly. She liked the idea of leaving the icerugs some really tangible gift.
“Actually, there’s more to it than that,” said Shirley seriously. “There is a nuclear reactor in the tail. Although it’s well shielded, it still emits a significant amount of radiation, and the longer they run the plane the worse it gets, and we have no idea how sensitive they are to radiation.”
“And I’ve just thought of something else,” said George firmly. “Or, rather, someone. Deirdre.”
Katrina’s enthusiasm for the project slumped.
“We stay with the original plan,” said George. “Joe will fly the plane to a distant, uninhabited part of the planet, like the South Pole, and stay there. The icerugs will be told it is there, and if they ever develop enough technology to find it and use it, they’ll be ready. But we won’t just hand it over — that would be irresponsible.” The others knew George’s feelings about responsibility, and were resigned. Katrina, indeed, decided not even to mention the idea to Cinnamon, and especially not to Deirdre — no sense in asking for trouble!
George settled into the communications console for a consultation with Prometheus. Jinjur’s face appeared on the screen, and she sounded eager to have the explorers, especially George, return.
“We’ve monitored all your reports, of course,” she said. “And studied all the images. The icerugs and coelasharks both look to me like something out of a nightmare! You’ll be glad to leave those genocidal killers and baby eaters behind, eh?”
George protested, “No! They’re wonderful, the icerugs — amazingly creative, and gentle — you forget they’re not really human … and, of course, that’s a mistake. But I really learned to admire them. How’s Nels doing?” he asked, to change the subject.
“Fine!” answered Jinjur, and chortled. “You won’t believe those new legs he’s got, George. They’re long and strong — beautifully muscled — and the man is now nearly six feet tall. But the funny thing is that his legs are as hairy as … as a hobbit! Long, gold-colored fur all over them, even on his toes! But he doesn’t care — he’s totally thrilled, and refuses to wear long pants or shoes, just marches proudly around in shorts, beaming from ear to ear!”
George laughed, and shook his head in amazement, rejoicing that the experiment had worked so well. Suddenly he was eager to get back to the giant spaceship and all the people he had been separated from for so long.
In the lab section on the engineering deck, the three biologists were carefully organizing their collection of specimens, putting small amounts of representative tissues in insulated cases for permanent storage aboard Prometheus, and putting aside most of the tissues to discard here on their native world. George came down the passway ladder to tell them Jinjur’s description of Nels. Typically, Katrina giggled. Deirdre considered the picture, and smiled, and then forgot it — she’d probably not even notice the new legs. But Cinnamon was thoughtful — would this change the man’s personality? And if so, how? She had several private hopes.
“It’s pleased the flouwen will be, then.” Deirdre recalled that it was the flouwen’s vital analysis of Nels’s genetic map which led to the limb-growing process.
“How’s Little Red? Calmed down, I hope?”
“Yes, thank goodness,” said Cinnamon. “What with his accident, and then the refusal of the coelasharks to listen to him, I think he’s about fed up with this world. But, then, all three of them are ready to go. It’s hard for them to be so
idle, cooped up in that small habitat tank, while we get the ship ready.”
Katrina snorted. “I think they handle it very well,” she said tartly. “When I last spoke to them, they asked me a question about the human genome, and Little Red was quite rude when I didn’t know the answer!”
“What’d he say?” asked Deirdre curiously.
“Never mind,” said Katrina stiffly. “Now, with Josephine’s help, I’ll fold up the analytical bench into the workwall, if you two want to do something else.”
Cinnamon turned to take the unwanted tissue samples to the airlock, while Deirdre climbed up the passway ladder to the galley to inspect the remaining foodstuffs. There were ample provisions for their last hours here — although most of the high-protein snacks had gone — probably into Arielle, thought Deirdre. There was still a supply of rich material, in the form of chemically synthesized chocolate and algae-butter, and soon Deirdre had transformed these into a magnificent chocolate cake, dense and dark, still warmly fragrant as she glazed the top with a thin clear frosting. “To keep it moist,” she told herself. “Although why I’m thinking that will be a problem…” as she looked at the faces that seemed to be constantly drifting casually by the galley door. Later, sitting in the view lounge, George outlined their plans over large chunks of the confection, accompanied by cold algae-milk.
“We leave at 1700,” he said. “David and Arielle? Joe should have flown the Dragonfly to the South Pole by now. You’d better check in with Joe through the commsats and take him through the shutdown procedure.”
Arielle smiled sadly, and put down her portion of cake, barely nibbled. “Hate saying goodbye,” she said.
“We all do,” said George kindly. “But I’m looking forward to seeing Nels’s legs! And Jinjur says John is completely well too. They’re all getting interested in our next target, Zuni — the reports from the landers are exciting!”
“I remember seeing one of the early pictures,” said Thomas, “It’s going to be a colorful world; blue oceans, green islands, and sandy beaches. It’ll be a real break after this colorless place. I’ve just gone through my electropix collection, and it looks like I could have done the whole damn series in black and white.”
Ocean Under the Ice Page 34