Sundiver

by David Brin

  They had passed the largest part of the herd by now. There was a cluster of large magnetovores just overhead, in their line of descent. Tiny bright herdsmen danced around the group. Jacob hoped they’d get out of the way. No sense in taking anyone else with them. The incandescent trail of the ship’s Refrigerator Laser cut dangerously close.

  Jacob gathered himself together. There was nothing else to do. He and Hughes would have to try a frontal assault on Culla. He whistled a code, two short and two long. There was a pause and then there was an answer. The other man was ready.

  He’d wait until the first sound. They’d agreed that, when they were close enough, any attack with any chance of success would have to come the instant any noise was made, before Culla could be alerted. Since Hughes had farther to go, presumably, he’d move first.

  He tensed into a crouch and forced himself to concentrate only on the attack. The stunner rested in the sweaty palm of his left hand. He ignored the distracting tremors that erupted from an isolated part of his own mind.

  A sound, like someone falling, came from somewhere to the right. Jacob stepped out from behind the machine, pressing the firing stud of the stunner at the same instant.

  No bolt of light greeted him. Culla wasn’t there. One of the precious stunner charges was gone.

  He ran forward as fast as he could. If he could catch the alien with his back turned to deal with Hughes . . .

  The lighting was changing. As he ran just a few steps the red brightness of the photosphere overhead was swiftly replaced by a blue-green shine from above. Jacob spared the briefest of glances overhead as he dashed forward. The light came from toruses. The huge Solarian beasts were coming up fast from below the Sunship on a collision course.

  Alarms rang, and Helene deSilva’s voice came on, loudly, with a warning. As the blueness grew brighter, Jacob dove over a trace made by the P-laser beam in the dusty air, and landed just two meters away from Culla.

  Just beyond the Pring, the crewman Hughes knelt on the ground, holding up bloody hands, his knives scattered on the ground. He stared up at Culla dully, expecting the coup de grace.

  Jacob raised the stunner as Culla swiveled, warned by the sound of his arrival. For the briefest of instants Jacob thought he’d made it as he pressed down on the firing stud.

  Then his entire left hand erupted in agony. A spasm flung it up and the gun flew away. For a moment the deck seemed to sway, then his vision cleared and Culla was standing before him, eyes dull. The Pring’s mashies were now fully exposed, waving at the ends of the tentacular “lips.”

  “I am shorry, Jacob.” The alien slurred so badly Jacob could barely make out the words. “It musht be thish way.”

  The Eatee planned to finish him off with his cleavers! Jacob stumbled back in fear and disgust. Culla followed, the mashies clacking together slowly, powerfully with the rhythm of his footsteps.

  A great sense of resignation washed over Jacob, a feeling of defeat and imminent death. It took the distance out of his backward steps. The throbbing in his hand meant nothing next to the closeness of extinction.

  “No!” he shouted hoarsely. He launched himself forward, head down, toward Culla.

  At that instant Helene’s voice came on again and the blueness overhead took over everything. There was a distant humming and then a powerful force lifted them off the floor, into the air above the violently heaving deck.

  PART IX

  There was once a lad so virtuous

  that the gods gave him a wish. His

  choice was to be, for a day, the charioteer

  of the Sun. Apollo was overruled when

  he predicted dire consequences, but

  subsequent events proved him right. The

  Sahara is said to be the track of desolation

  laid when the inexperienced driver let

  his carriage pass too close to Earth.

  Since then, the gods have tried to operate a closed shop.

  M. N. Piano

  26. TUNNELING

  Jacob landed on the opposite side of the computer-console, falling hard on his back to save his blistered, bleeding hands. Fortunately, the springy material of the deck cushioned some of the impact.

  He tasted blood and his head rang as he rolled over onto his elbows. The deck still bounced as the magnetovores overhead jostled against the underbelly of the Sunship, filling the interior of flip-side with brilliant blue light. They touched the ship, three of them, at about forty-five degrees “above” the deck, leaving a large gap directly overhead. That left room for the Refrigerator Laser to pour its deadly beam of stored solar heat between them, downward toward the photosphere.

  Jacob had no time to wonder what they were doing . . . whether they were attacking, or just playful. (What a thought!) He had to take advantage of this respite quickly.

  Hughes had landed nearby. The man was already on his feet, stumbling in shock. Jacob hurried up and took the man’s arm in his . . . avoiding contact between their wounded hands.

  “Come on, Hughes. If Culla’s been stunned we might both be able to jump him!”

  Hughes nodded. The man was confused, but he was willing. His movements were exaggerated, though. Jacob had to guide him the right way, hurrying.

  They came around the curve of the central dome to find Culla just rising to his feet. The alien wavered but as he turned toward them Jacob knew it was hopeless. One of Culla’s eyes flashed brightly, the first time Jacob had actually seen one in operation. That meant. . .

  There was a smell of burning rubber and the left strap of his goggles parted. He was dazzled by the blue brightness of the chamber as they fell off.

  Jacob shoved Hughes back around the curve of the dome and flung himself after the man. At any moment he expected a sudden pain in the back of his neck, but they stumbled together all the way to the gravity-loop hatch and fell within, safe.

  Fagin moved aside to let them in. He trilled loudly and waved his branches.

  “Jacob! You are alive! And your associate as well! This is better than I’d feared!”

  “How . . .” Jacob gasped for breath. “How long since we started falling?”

  “It has been five, perhaps six minutes. I followed you down after regaining my wits. I may not be able to fight but I can interpose my body. Culla would never have enough power to cut his way through me to get above!” The Kanten piped shrill laughter.

  Jacob frowned; that was an interesting point. How much power did Culla have? What was it he once read about the human body operating on an average of one hundred and fifty watts? Culla put out considerably more than that, but it was in short, half-second bursts.

  Given enough time, Jacob could figure it out. When projecting his hoaxed Solarians, Culla had made the apparitions last for about twenty minutes. Then the anthropomorphic Ghosts “lost interest” and Culla was suddenly ravenously hungry. They’d all attributed his appetite to nervous energy, but actually the Pring had to replenish his supply of coumarin . . . and probably of high-energy chemicals to power the dye-laser reaction, as well.

  “You are hurt!” Fagan fluted. The branches fluttered in agitation. “You had best take your compatriot upside and both have your wounds tended.”

  “I guess so,” Jacob nodded, reluctant to leave Fagin alone. “There are some important questions I have to ask Dr. Martine while she’s treating us.”

  The Kanten gave out a long whistling sigh, “Jacob, under no circumstances disturb Dr. Martine! She is in rapport with the Solarians. It is our only chancel”

  “She’s what!”

  “They were attracted by the flashing of the Parametric Laser. When they came, she donned her psi helmet and initiated communications! They positioned several of their magnetovores beneath us and have substantially arrested our fall!”

  Jacob’s heart leapt. It sounded like a reprieve. Then he frowned.

  “Substantially? Then we aren’t rising?”

  “Regrettably, no. We are falling slowly. And there is no knowing
how long the toroids can hold us.”

  Jacob felt distantly in awe of Martine’s accomplishment. She had contacted the Solarians! It was one of the epochal accomplishments of all time, and still they were doomed.

  “Fagin,” he said carefully. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, can you fake my voice well enough to fool Culla?”

  “I believe so. I can try.”

  “Then talk to him. Throw your voice. Use all your tricks to keep him busy and uncertain. He can’t be allowed more time at that computer access!”

  Fagin whistled assent. Jacob turned, with his arm in Hughes and started around the gravity-loop.

  The loop felt strange, as if the gravity fields had started to fluctuate slightly. His inner ear bothered him as it never had before, as he helped Hughes traverse the short arc, and he had to concentrate to keep his step.

  Topside was still red—the red of the chromosphere. But fluttering blue-green Solarians danced just outside, closer than Jacob had ever seen them before. Their “butterfly wings” were almost as broad as the ship itself.

  Blue traceries of the P-laser also shone in the dust up here. Near the edge of the deck, the laser itself hummed inside its bulky mounting.

  They dodged several of the thin beams.

  If only we’d had the tools to unship that thing from its holder, Jacob thought. Well, it was no use wishing. He steadied his partner until he could get him into a couch. Then he strapped the man in and went looking for the aid-kit.

  He found it by the Pilot Board. Since he hadn’t seen Martine, it was apparent she’d chosen another quadrant of the deck to do her communing with the Solarians, away from the others. Near the Pilot Board, LaRoque, Donaldson, and the unliving body of crewman Dubrowsky lay firmly strapped in. Donaldson’s face was half covered with medicinal flesh-foam.

  Helene deSilva and her remaining crewman bent over their instruments. The Commandant looked up as he approached.

  “Jacob! What happened?”

  He kept his hands behind his back, to keep from distracting her. It was getting hard to stay on his feet, though. He’d have to do something soon.

  “It didn’t work. We got him talking, though.”

  “Yes, we heard it all up here, then a lot of noise. I tried to warn you before we impacted the toroids. I was hoping you could use it.”

  “Oh the impact helped, all right, It shook us up but it saved our lives.”

  “And Culla?”

  Jacob shrugged. “He’s still down there. I think he’s running low on juice. During our fight up here he burned off half of Donaldson’s face with one shot. Down there he was a miser, taking tiny pot shots at strategic places.”

  He told her about Culla’s attack with his mashies. “I don’t think he’s going to run out early enough. If we had lots of men we could keep throwing them at him until he went dry. But we haven’t. Hughes is willing, but he can’t fight anymore. I suppose you two can’t leave your posts.”

  Helene turned to answer a beeping alarm from her control board. She stabbed a switch and it cut off. Then she looked back, apologetic.

  “I’m sorry, Jacob. But we’ve got all we can handle here. We’re trying to get through to the computer by actuating the ship’s sensors in coded rhythms. It’s slow work, and we have to keep turning away to handle emergencies. I’m afraid we’re slipping. The controls are deteriorating.” She turned to answer another signal.

  Jacob backed away The last thing he wanted to do was distract her.

  “Can I help?”

  Pierre LaRoque looked up at him from a couch a few feet away. The little man was constrained, his couch straps secured out of reach. Jacob had all but forgotten about him.

  He hesitated. LaRoque’s behavior just before the fight topside hadn’t inspired confidence. Helene and Martine had strapped him in to keep him out of everyone’s hair.

  Yet Jacob needed someone’s hands to operate the aid-kit. Jacob remembered LaRoque’s near escape on Mercury. The man was unreliable, but he had talent when he chose to use it.

  LaRoque looked coherent and sincere at the moment. Jacob asked Helene for permission to release him. She glanced up and shrugged.

  “Okay. But if he comes near the instruments I’ll kill him. Tell him that.”

  There was no need to tell him. LaRoque nodded that he understood. Jacob bent over and fumbled with the strap hooks with the good fingers of his right hand.

  Helene hissed behind him. “Jacob, your hands!”

  The look of concern on her face warmed Jacob. But when she started to get up he’d have none of it. Right now her job was more important than his. She knew this. He took the fact that she was torn at all as a great display of affection. She smiled briefly in encouragement then bent to answer a half dozen alarms that started blaring at once.

  LaRoque rose, rubbing his shoulders, then picked up the aid-kit and motioned to Jacob. His smile was ironic.

  “Who should we fix first?” he said. “You, the other man, or Culla?”

  27. EXCITATION

  Helene had to find time to think. There must be something she could do! Slowly the systems based on Galactic science were failing. So far it had been the time-compression and the gravity thrust, plus several peripheral mechanisms. If internal gravity control went out they’d be helpless before the tossing of the chromosphere storms, battered within their own hull.

  Not that it’d matter. The toroids that were holding them up against the pull of the Sun were obviously tiring. The altimeter was slipping. Already the rest of the herd was high overhead, almost lost in the pink haze of the upper chromosphere. It wouldn’t be long.

  An alarm light flashed.

  There was positive feedback in the internal gravity field. She did a quick mental calculation, then fed in a set of parameters to damp it out.

  Poor Jacob, he’d tried. His exhaustion had been written on his face. She felt ashamed not to have shared the fight on flip-side, though, of course, it had never been likely that they could dislodge Culla from the computer on flip-side.

  Now it was up to her. But how, with every damned component falling apart!

  Not every component. Except for the maser link with Mercury, the equipment derived from Earth technology still ran perfectly. Culla hadn’t bothered with any of it. The refrigeration still worked. The E.M. fields around the hard shell of the ship still ran, though they had lost the ability to selectively let in more sunlight on flipside. Naturally.

  The ship shuddered. It bounced as something bumped against it once, twice. Then a brightness appeared at the edge of the deck. Suddenly the rim of a toroid appeared, rubbing against the side of the ship. Above it, several Solarians fluttered.

  The bumping became a scraping sound, loud and hideous. The toroid was livid with bright purple blotches around its rim. It pulsed and throbbed under the proddings of its tormentors. Then, in a sudden burst of light, it was gone. The Sunship tipped as its forward end, unsupported, fell suddenly. DeSilva and her partner struggled to right it.

  When she looked up she could see her Solarian allies drifting away, with the two remaining toroids.

  There was no more they could do. The toroid that had deserted them was just a spot of light overhead, receding rapidly atop a pillar of green flame.

  The altimeter began to spin faster. On her view-screens Helene could see the pulsing granulation cells of the photosphere, and the Big Spot, now bigger than ever.

  They were already closer than anyone had come before. Soon they’d be in there—the first men in the Sun.

  Briefly.

  She looked up at the now distant Solarians, and wondered if she should call everyone together to . . . to wave good-bye or something. She wanted Jacob here.

  But he’d gone below again. They’d hit before he could make it back.

  She gazed up at the tiny green lights and wondered how the toroid had been able to move so fast.

  She jerked upright with a curse. Chen looked up at her. “What is it, skipper? Shields goi
ng?”

  With a cry of exultation Helene started throwing switches.

  She wished they could monitor their telemetry back on Mercury, because if they died here on the Sun now it would certainly be in a unique way!

  Jacob’s arms still throbbed. Worse, they itched. He couldn’t scratch, of course. His left hand was in a solid block of flesh-foam and so were two of the fingers of his right hand.

  He crouched again just inside the hatch of the gravity-loop, looking out onto the deck on flip-side. Fagin moved aside so he could push his new mirror, this one glued to the end of a pencil with more flesh-foam, out beyond the combing.

  Culla wasn’t in sight. The hulking cameras stood out against the pulsing blue ceiling presented by the laboring magnetovores. The trail of the P-laser crisscrossed, marked by scattering from dust in the air.

  He motioned for LaRoque to lay down his load just inside the hatch, next to Fagin.

  They took turns coating each other’s necks and faces with more flesh-foam. The goggles were sealed down with extra blobs of the pliant, rubbery material.

  “Of course you know this is dangerous,” LaRoque said. “It may protect us from damage from a quick shot but this stuff is highly flammable. It’s the only flammable substance allowed in spaceships, for that matter, because of its unique medicinal properties.”

  Jacob nodded. If he looked anything like LaRoque, now, they’d stand a good chance of scaring the alien to death!

  He hefted the brown cannister, then sprayed a shot out onto the deck. It didn’t have much range but it might do as a weapon. There was still plenty of the stuff left.

  The deck jerked under them, then jounced twice more. Jacob looked out and saw that they were tipping over. The magnetovore that held up this side of the ship was rolling along lower and lower, toward the edge of the deck and away from where the photosphere covered the sky.

  One of the beasts on the other side must have lost its hold, then. That meant it was almost over.

  The ship shuddered and then began to right itself. Jacob sighed. There still might be time to save the ship if he could disable Culla immediately. But that was clearly impossible. He wished he could go up and join Helene.