The Songs of Distant Earth

by Arthur C. Clarke

“This gives all the information I need – depth, powercell status, time to come up, decompression stops – “

  Loren risked another foolish question.

  “Why are you wearing a facemask, while Kumar isn’t?”

  “But I am.” Kumar grinned. “Look carefully.”

  “Oh … I see. Very neat.”

  “But a nuisance,” Brant said, “unless you practically live in the water, like Kumar. I tried contacts once, and found they hurt my eyes. So I stick to the good old facemask – much less trouble. Ready?”

  “Ready, skipper.”

  They rolled simultaneously over port and starboard sides, their movements so well synchronized that the boat scarcely rocked. Through the thick glass panel set in the keel, Loren watched them glide effortlessly down to the reef. It was, he knew, more than twenty metres down but looked much closer.

  Tools and cabling had already been dumped there, and the two divers went swiftly to work repairing the broken grids. Occasionally, they exchanged cryptic monosyllables, but most of the time they worked in complete silence. Each knew his job – and his partner – so well that there was no need for speech.

  Time went very swiftly for Loren; he felt he was looking into a new world, as indeed he was. Though he had seen innumerable video records made in the terrestrial oceans, almost all the life that moved below him now was completely unfamiliar. There were whirling discs and pulsating jellies, undulating carpets and corkscrewing spirals – but very few creatures that, by any stretch of the imagination, could be called genuine fish. Just once, near the edge of vision, he caught a glimpse of a swiftly-moving torpedo which he was almost sure he recognized. If he was correct, it, too, was an exile from Earth.

  He thought that Brant and Kumar had forgotten all about him when he was startled by a message over the underwater intercom.

  “Coming up. We’ll be with you in twenty minutes. Everything O.K.?”

  “Fine,” Loren answered. “Was that a fish from Earth I spotted just now?”

  “I never noticed.”

  “Uncle’s right, Brant – a twenty-kilo mutant trout went by five minutes ago. Your welding arc scared it away.”

  They had now left the sea bed and were slowly ascending along the graceful catenary of the anchor line. About five metres below the surface they came to a halt.

  “This is the dullest part of every dive,” Brant said. “We have to wait here for fifteen minutes. Channel 2, please – thanks – but not quite so loud.

  The music-to-decompress-by had probably been chosen by Kumar; its jittery rhythm hardly seemed appropriate to the peaceful underwater scene. Loren was heartily glad he was not immersed in it and was happy to switch off the player as soon as the two divers started to move upward again.

  “That’s a good morning’s work,” Brant said, as he scrambled on to the deck. “Voltage and current normal. Now we can go home.”

  Loren’s inexpert aid in helping them out of their equipment was gratefully received. Both men were tired and cold but quickly revived after several cups of the hot, sweet liquid the Lassans called tea, though it bore little resemblance to any terrestrial drink of that name.

  Kumar started the motor and got under way, while Brant scrabbled through the jumble of gear at the bottom of the boat and located a small, brightly coloured box.

  “No, thanks,” Loren said, as he handed him one of the mildly narcotic tablets. “I don’t want to acquire any local habits that won’t be easy to break.”

  He regretted the remark as soon as it was made; it must have been prompted by some perverse impulse of the subconscious – or perhaps by his sense of guilt. But Brant had obviously seen no deeper meaning as he lay back, with his hands clasped under his head, staring up into the cloudless sky.

  “You can see Magellan in the daytime,” Loren said, anxious to change the subject, “if you know exactly where to look. But I’ve never done it myself.”

  “Mirissa has – often,” Kumar interjected. “And she showed me how. You only have to call Astronet for the transit time and then go out and lie on your back. It’s like a bright star, straight overhead, and it doesn’t seem to be moving at all. But if you look away for even a second, you’ve lost it.”

  Unexpectedly, Kumar throttled back the engine, cruised at low power for a few minutes, then brought the boat to a complete halt. Loren glanced around to get his bearings, and was surprised to see that they were now at least a kilometre from Tarna. There was another buoy rocking in the water beside them, bearing a large letter P and carrying a red flag.

  “Why have we stopped?” asked Loren.

  Kumar chuckled and started emptying a small bucket over the side. Luckily, it had been sealed until now; the contents looked suspiciously like blood but smelled far worse. Loren moved as tar away as possible in the limited confines of the boat.

  “Just calling on an old friend,” Brant said very softly. “Sit still – don’t make any noise. She’s quite nervous.”

  She? thought Loren. What’s going on?

  Nothing whatsoever happened for at least five minutes; Loren would not have believed that Kumar could have remained still for so long. Then he noticed that a dark, curved band had appeared, a few metres from the boat, just below the surface of the water. He traced it with his eyes, and realized that it formed a ring, completely encircling them.

  He also realized, at about the same moment, that Brant and Kumar were not watching it; they were watching him. So they’re trying to give me a surprise, he told himself; well, we’ll see about that …

  Even so, it took all of Loren’s willpower to stifle a cry of sheer terror when what seemed to be a wall of brilliantly – no, putrescently – pink flesh emerged from the sea. It rose, dripping, to about half the height of a man and formed an unbroken barrier around them. And as a final horror, its upper surface was almost completely covered with writhing snakes coloured vivid reds and blues.

  An enormous tentacle-fringed mouth had risen from the deep and was about to engulf them …

  Yet clearly they were in no danger; he could tell that from his companions’ amused expressions.

  “What in God’s – Krakan’s – name is that?” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “You reacted fine,” Brant said admiringly. “Some people hide in the bottom of the boat. It’s Polly – for polyp. Pretty Polly. Colonial invertebrate – billions of specialized cells, all cooperating. You had very similar animals on Earth though I don’t believe they were anything like as large.”

  “I’m sure they weren’t,” Loren answered fervently. “And if you don’t mind me asking – how do we get out of here?”

  Brant nodded to Kumar, who brought the engines up to full-power. With astonishing speed for something so huge, the living wall around them sank back into the sea, leaving nothing but an oily ripple on the surface.

  “The vibration’s scared it,” Brant explained. “Look through the viewing glass – now you can see the whole beast.”

  Below them, something like a tree-trunk ten metres thick was retracting towards the seabed. Now Loren realized that the “snakes” he had seen wriggling on the surface were slender tentacles; back in their normal element they were waving weightlessly again, searching the waters for what – or whom – they might devour.

  “What a monster!” he breathed, relaxing for the first time in many minutes. A warm feeling of pride – even exhilaration – swept over him. He knew that he had passed another test; he had won Brant’s and Kumar’s approval and accepted it with gratitude.

  “Isn’t that thing – dangerous?” he asked.

  “Of course; that’s why we have the warning buoy.”

  “Frankly, I’d be tempted to kill it.”

  “Why?” Brant asked, genuinely shocked. “What harm does it do?”

  “Well – surely a creature that size must catch an enormous number of fish.”

  “Yes, but only Lassan – not fish that we can eat. And here’s the interesting thing about it. For a
long time we wondered how it could persuade fish – even the stupid ones here – to swim into its maw. Eventually we discovered that it secretes some chemical lure, and that’s what started us thinking about electric traps. Which reminds me …”

  Brant reached for his comset.

  “Tarna Three calling Tarna Autorecord – Brant here. We’ve fixed the grid. Everything functioning normally. No need to acknowledge. End message.”

  But to everyone’s surprise, there was an immediate response from a familiar voice.

  “Hello, Brant, Dr. Lorenson. I’m happy to hear that. And I’ve got some interesting news for you. Like to hear it?”

  “Of course, Mayor,” Brant answered as the two men exchanged glances of mutual amusement. “Go ahead.”

  “Central Archives has dug up something surprising. All this has happened before. Two hundred fifty years ago, they tried to build a reef out from North Island by electroprecipitation – a technique that had worked well on Earth. But after a few weeks, the underwater cables were broken – some of them stolen. The matter was never followed up because the experiment was a total failure, anyway. Not enough minerals in the water to make it worthwhile. So there you are – you can’t blame the Conservers. They weren’t around in those days.”

  Brant’s face was such a study in astonishment that Loren burst out laughing.

  “And you tried to surprise me!” he said. “Well, you certainly proved that there were things in the sea that I’d never imagined.”

  “But now it looks as if there are some things that you never imagined, either.”

  20. Idyll

  The Tarnans thought it was very funny and pretended not to believe him.

  “First you’ve never been in a boat – now you say you can’t ride a bicycle!”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Mirissa had chided him, with a twinkle in her eye. “The most efficient method of transportation ever invented – and you’ve never tried it!”

  “Not much use in spaceships and too dangerous in cities,” Loren had retorted. “Anyway, what is there to learn?”

  He soon discovered that there was a good deal; biking was not quite as easy as it looked. Though it took real talent actually to fall off the low centre-of-gravity, small-wheeled machines (he managed it several times) his initial attempts were frustrating. He would not have persisted without Mirissa’s assurance that it was the best way to discover the island – and his own hope that it would also be the best way to discover Mirissa.

  The trick, he realized after a few more tumbles, was to ignore the problem completely and leave matters to the body’s own reflexes. That was logical enough; if one had to think about every footstep one took, ordinary walking would be impossible. Although Loren accepted this intellectually, it was some time before he could trust his instincts. Once he had overcome that barrier, progress was swift. And at last, as he had hoped, Mirissa offered to show him the remoter byways of the island.

  It would have been easy to believe that they were the only two people in the world, yet they could not be more than five kilometres from the village. They had certainly ridden much farther than that, but the narrow cycle track had been designed to take the most picturesque route, which also turned out to be the longest. Although Loren could locate himself in an instant from the position-finder in his comset, he did not bother. It was amusing to pretend to be lost.

  Mirissa would have been happier if he had left the comset behind.

  “Why must you carry that thing?” she had said, pointing to the control-studded band on his left forearm. “It’s nice to get away from people sometimes.”

  “I agree, but ship’s regs are very strict. If Captain Bey wanted me in a hurry and I didn’t answer –”

  “Well – what would he do? Put you in irons?”

  “I’d prefer that to the lecture I’d undoubtedly get. Anyway, I’ve switched to sleep mode. If Shipcom overrides that, it will be a real emergency – and I’d certainly want to be in touch.”

  Like almost all Terrans for more than a thousand years, Loren would have been far happier without his clothes than without his comset. Earth’s history was replete with horror stories of careless or reckless individuals who had died – often within metres of safety – because they could not reach the red emergency button.

  The cycle lane was clearly designed for economy, not heavy traffic. It was less than a metre wide, and at first the inexperienced Loren felt that he was riding along a tight-rope. He had to concentrate on Mirissa’s back (not an unwelcome task) to avoid falling off. But after the first few kilometres he gained confidence and was able to enjoy the other views, as well. If they met anyone coming in the opposite direction, all parties would have to dismount; the thought of a collision at fifty klicks or more was too horrible to contemplate. It would be a long walk home, carrying their smashed bicycles …

  Most of the time they rode in perfect silence, broken only when Mirissa pointed out some unusual tree or exceptional beauty spot. The silence itself was something that Loren had never before experienced in his whole life; on Earth he had always been surrounded by sounds – and shipboard life was an entire symphony of reassuring mechanical noises, with occasional heart-stopping alarms.

  Here the trees surrounded them with an invisible, anechoic blanket, so that every word seemed sucked into silence the moment it was uttered. At first the sheer novelty of the sensation made it enjoyable, but now Loren was beginning to yearn for something to fill the acoustic vacuum. He was even tempted to summon up a little background music from his comset but felt certain that Mirissa would not approve.

  It was a great surprise, therefore, when he heard the beat of some now-familiar Thalassan dance music from the trees ahead. As the narrow road seldom proceeded in a straight line for more than two or three hundred metres, he could not see the source until they rounded a sharp curve and found themselves confronted by a melodious mechanical monster straddling the entire road surface and advancing towards them at a slow walking pace. It looked rather like a robot caterpillar. As they dismounted and let it trundle past, Loren realized that it was an automatic road repairer. He had noticed quite a few rough patches, and even pot-holes, and had been wondering when the South Island Department of Works would bestir itself to deal with them.

  “Why the music?” he asked. “This hardly seems the kind of machine that would appreciate it.”

  He had barely made his little joke when the robot addressed him severely: “Please do not ride on the road surface within one hundred metres of me, as it is still hardening. Please do not ride on the road surface within one hundred metres of me, as it is still hardening. Thank you.”

  Mirissa laughed at his surprised expression.

  “You’re right, of course – it isn’t very intelligent. The music is a warning to oncoming traffic.”

  “Wouldn’t some kind of hooter be more effective?”

  “Yes, but how – unfriendly!”

  They pushed their bicycles off the road and waited for the line of articulated tanks, control units, and road-laying mechanisms to move slowly past. Loren could not resist touching the freshly extruded surface; it was warm and slightly yielding, and looked moist even though it felt perfectly dry. Within seconds, however, it had become as hard as rock; Loren noted the faint impression of his fingerprint and thought wryly. I’ve made my mark on Thalassa – until the robot comes this way again.

  Now the road was rising up into the hills, and Loren found that unfamiliar muscles in thigh and calf were beginning to call attention to themselves. A little auxiliary power would have been welcomed, but Mirissa had spurned the electric models as too effete. She had not slackened her speed in the least, so Loren had no alternative but to breathe deeply and keep up with her.

  What was that faint roar from ahead? Surely no one could be testing rocket engines in the interior of South Island! The sound grew steadily louder as they pedalled onward; Loren identified it only seconds before the source came into view.

&n
bsp; By Terran standards, the waterfall was not very impressive – perhaps one hundred metres high and twenty across. A small metal bridge glistening with spray spanned the pool of boiling foam in which it ended.

  To Loren’s relief, Mirissa dismounted and looked at him rather mischievously.

  “Do you notice anything… peculiar?” she asked, waving towards the scene ahead.

  “In what way?” Loren answered, fishing for clues. All he saw was an unbroken vista of trees and vegetation, with the road winding away through it on the other side of the fall.

  “The trees – the trees!”

  “What about them? I’m not a – botanist.”

  “Nor am I, but it should be obvious. Just look at them.”

  He looked, still puzzled. And presently he understood, because a tree is a piece of natural engineering – and he was an engineer.

  A different designer had been at work on the other side of the waterfall. Although he could not name any of the trees among which he was standing, they were vaguely familiar, and he was sure that they came from Earth … yes, that was certainly an oak, and somewhere, long ago, he had seen the beautiful yellow flowers on that low bush.

  Beyond the bridge, it was a different world. The trees – were they really trees? – seemed crude and unfinished. Some had short, barrel-shaped trunks from which a few prickly branches extended; others resembled huge ferns; others looked like giant, skeletal fingers, with bristly haloes at the joints. And there were no flowers …

  “Now I understand. Thalassa’s own vegetation.”

  “Yes – only a few million years out of the sea. We call this the Great Divide. But it’s more like a battlefront between two armies, and no one knows which side will win. Neither, if we can help it! The vegetation from Earth is more advanced; but the natives are better adapted to the chemistry. From time to time one side invades the other – and we move in with shovels before it can get a foothold.”

  How strange, Loren thought as they pushed their bicycles across the slender bridge. For the first time since landing on Thalassa, I feel that I am indeed on an alien world …