A Darkling Sea

Five

Rob woke Alicia just before 2400. “I’ve got breakfast,” he said. “You want some tofu chili?”

“I do, but it disgusts me to say it. On Earth I would never eat chili at all. It is nothing but a ragout with too much pepper.”

“You want plain tofu instead?”

“I am almost hungry enough to say yes, but because we are in love I will eat your chili.”

Their long swim the previous day meant they were still ravenous, so they polished off the pot of chili, generously laced with synthetic oil and hydroponic tomatoes. They were still sitting together as the others began to drift into the common room.

When just about the entire complement of Hitode Station were having breakfast, Tizhos and Gishora came in. Gishora gave a kind of loud bark to get everyone’s attention.

“I wish to speak to all of you,” he said. “I consider the subject of great importance.”

Dr. Sen popped up from the table where he was breakfasting with Simeon Fouchard. “If it actually is of great importance then I think it would be a rather good idea to wait and announce it after all of us have finished eating our breakfasts and can give you our full attention.”

“I do not wish to wait any longer. Allow me to speak.”

Sen sat down and made a go-ahead gesture. “I certainly can’t stop you.”

Gishora stood on his two hind legs, raising his head to the ceiling. “My colleague and I have reached a conclusion. It appears to us that Henri Kerlerec died as a result of accident and carelessness. We do not believe anyone at this station intended to violate the contact agreements.”

Rob realized he was all tensed up, and gave a sigh as he relaxed. He wasn’t the only one, either.

“However,” Gishora continued, “we cannot avoid the conclusion that other errors and unauthorized contact attempts may occur in the future, as long as Hitode Station remains an active facility.”

Alicia’s face was white. “No,” she whispered.

“I discussed the matter with my colleagues here and in orbit, and we have reached consensus. We cannot allow you to remain. The risk of further contamination appears too great. We request that everyone here prepare to evacuate the station. Our spaceship can transport all of you to Earth, with fifty kilograms of mass per person for baggage. You may leave other items on the surface for future transport. We plan to return the dismantled station to your space agencies.”

Dr. Sen broke the silence before the crowd could erupt in protests. “This is—this is a most unexpected and, I must say, a most unfortunate proposal for you to make. I’m afraid it’s quite out of the question. I suggest you take the matter up with the UNICA council back on Earth. I’m certain they will consider the whole matter with great seriousness.”

“We have made a large number of similar requests in the past,” said Gishora. “I cannot believe this will produce a different result. As I said, we have reached consensus: you should leave at once, and then we can discuss a new set of acceptable protocols to prevent any more incidents like the death of Henri Kerlerec.”

Sen was on his feet again, standing in front of Gishora. To Rob he looked like a child arguing with a bear. “Before we give you an answer I would like the opportunity to discuss it privately with the rest of the station crew.”

“I do not understand what you need to discuss,” said Gishora. “Tell me if you understood my words.”

“Well, we—” began Sen, but Fouchard cut him off.

“Tell him no, Vikram! He has no right!”

Sen gave Simeon Fouchard a nod. “Dr. Fouchard is essentially correct. You don’t have any sort of authority to order us to leave.”

“The situation seems too important for any delay,” said Gishora. “To protect the inhabitants of Ilmatar you must leave now.”

“And what if we don’t want to go?” yelled Dickie Graves.

Gishora turned to face him. “Then we must remove you.”

For a moment the room was silent. Then half a dozen people started yelling at once. Sen said something quietly into Gishora’s ear and ushered the two of them out of the room. The shouting continued. Dr. Sen let the noise go on for a couple of minutes, then used a tray as a gavel to bang for quiet.

“I understand that you are all angered by this unreasonable request they have made of us. But we will not accomplish anything of substance by standing here and making a great deal of noise!”

“We’re not leaving!” said Graves, and Fouchard followed up by banging an open palm on the tabletop and shouting “Never!”

But Una Karlssen stood up with a completely horrified look on her face. “You’re all mad!” she said. “I don’t agree with the Sholen either, but this kind of macho posturing isn’t going to solve anything. Even if we don’t like it we have to do what they ask, and let the diplomats work it out later.”

“And what if they’re right?” said Antonio Diaz. “Maybe we should leave before something else happens.”

That prompted another round of shouting, and Dr. Sen had to use his tray gavel again. “Please!” he said. “Everyone deserves a completely fair hearing. But I do not wish to turn this into a philosophical discussion about the ethics of interstellar travel or the wisdom of the contact rules. We need to concentrate our attention on how we are going to respond to this ultimatum.”

“What choices do we have?” said Alicia.

“That is a very good question for us to consider,” said Sen. “Once we have determined what we can do, it will then be easier to decide what it is that we should do.”

“Kick their asses back to Shalina!” yelled Graves.

“For the sake of simplicity we will refer to that option as ‘Active Resistance’ for the time being, if you don’t have any objections,” said Dr. Sen. “Others?”

“This is madness! I think we have to do what they say,” said Una.

“Let us call that option ‘cooperation,’ if the term is acceptable.”

“Collaboration is more like it,” said Graves.

“And your suggestion should be labeled ‘Suicide,’ ” Una shouted back.

“Please! We are not going to accomplish much of anything if our discussion keeps breaking down into arguments and wrangling. Are there any other proposals that anyone would like to make?”

“What about passive resis tance?” asked Alicia. “It’s probably true they can force us to go, but we don’t have to help them clear the place out. We can’t fight, but we can peacefully refuse to leave.”

“Satyagraha,” said Dr. Sen. “We will refer to this option as ‘passive opposition.’ Are there others?”

“Run away!” called Pierre Adler. A few people laughed, but he shook his head. “I’m serious. We’ve got a whole planet to hide on. They can’t make us leave if they can’t find us.”

“That is tactics, not strategy,” said Josef.

“I think Lieutenant Palashnik is correct,” said Dr. Sen. “Let us decide what we wish to accomplish and then discuss how to go about it.”

“What about Castaverde and the surface crew?” asked Pierre. “They deserve to be part of this.”

“I think that you are quite correct in pointing that out,” said Sen. “Before anyone makes any additional statements let us set up a link with the surface habitat.”

But even while Pierre was establishing the link and setting up a screen the debate went on.

“I want everyone to know that nothing is going to make me fight the Sholen,” said Una. “You can all go along with Dickie’s stupid idea, but I’m not going to be a part of it.”

“Can we at least agree that we will all abide by the decision of the entire group?” asked Dr. Sen.

“No!” Antonio broke in. “What if the majority is wrong?”

“What if you’re wrong?” someone shouted at him.

“This is not getting us anywhere,” said Dr. Sen. The wall screen went live, displaying the common room on the surface, and the crew there holding coffee cups. “Dr. Castaverde, what do your people think about this ultimatum the Sholen have given us?”

Rob was getting bored. He leaned over to whisper in Alicia’s ear. “I bet we could go away and have sex together and come back without anyone noticing.”

“Robert, this is important!”

“I know, but listening to Dickie and Una going back and forth with this did-not, did-too is really boring. Sex is more interesting.”

“Wait until we are finished.”

An hour of argument later, Rob’s patience was used up. He took advantage of a momentary silence after Antonio finished describing the moral hazard of any violent confrontation with the Sholen.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I know everyone thinks they have something really important to say, but I’m pretty sure everyone’s minds are already made up and nobody’s going to change their opinion. So why don’t we just go ahead and vote on what to do?”

“Rob moves that we end debate,” said Pierre. “All in favor?”

Nearly everyone raised a hand. Dr. Sen diplomatically abstained, and both Dickie and Una sat with arms crossed, glaring at each other.

“Motion carries!” said Pierre Adler. “Thank God.”

They voted. Dr. Sen handed out slips of scrap paper and asked everyone to fill in their choices, then collected them and announced the result with Pierre looking over his shoulder.

“Dr. Castaverde? Would you please tell me the votes from the surface facility group? Send it privately to me, please? Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “We have a total of six votes for opposing the Sholen with force. Seven abstentions, including my own. Five votes for full cooperation. Fourteen for passive resis tance. It would appear to me that the passive resis tance plan has won by a clear plurality. We will not cooperate with the Sholen in dismantling this station or closing down the operations here—but we will not engage in any sort of violence. I will inform our Sholen guests of what we have decided, but I want to make it very clear to everyone that I expect you all to abide by this decision we have made.”

Tizhos began to notice an interesting change in the behavior of the humans, though at first she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She returned to her room after reviewing some of the Terrans’ research findings, and discovered a pool of amber liquid on the floor. It had the distinctive odor of human liquid waste, along with various unfamiliar pheromones.

She first assumed it was the result of a failure in one of the station’s systems, and contacted Dr. Sen to inform him of the incident. Robert Freeman came out to check, and quickly determined there was nothing wrong. “The sanitary lines are all in the center of the hab cluster,” he said. “You’re a good six or eight meters away from the nearest plumbing. I don’t see how a leaky pipe could put stuff over here without getting anything in the other rooms or the landing outside.”

“Tell me how this substance got here, then.”

“Well,” the young human’s face turned pink. “It sure looks like somebody came in here and took a leak on the floor.”

“Explain the phrase ‘took a leak.’ ”

“Urinated. Peed. Um, excreted liquid waste. Don’t you guys do that?”

“Not in the same way. Our bodies conserve water and expel all wastes in solid form.”

“Oh. Well, you know how we’ve got two systems? This is a mix of water and waste chemicals. Nitrogen compounds, mostly. Don’t worry, it’s pretty sterile.”

Tizhos was puzzled. On Shalina, the significance of the gesture would be obvious—marking someone else’s space as a form of challenge. But with humans it might simply be an error. “Tell me if this kind of accident happens frequently.”

“Uh, well, sometimes. Maybe someone was confused about which one was the toilet, or maybe they just couldn’t hold it.”

The next curious incident came later that same day, when Gishora and Tizhos were doing a follow-up interview with Simeon Fouchard. Tizhos brought along her bag containing personal items and her computer. But when she opened it to begin the session, she found everything inside wet. This time it wasn’t liquid waste, but a substance the Terrans identified as stain for microscope specimens. The stuff bonded to cellulose—which meant that the composite materials in the bag fabric and the case of Tizhos’s computer were now bright purple.

At mealtime the two Sholen took their accustomed places in the common room, but found that their seats were coated with adhesive. Peeling themselves off the seats required the use of solvents and was quite painful, not to mention undignified. And when they returned to the room they shared, all the cushions they had piled up for sleeping were gone—they eventually turned up floating in the moon pool in Hab One.

Twice they were informed of important messages, only to discover the source was an unattended terminal in one of the laboratories.

As the humans were finishing their active period and preparing for their nightly hibernation, Tizhos decided to mention her suspicions to Gishora.

“I suspect the humans of performing these acts deliberately.”

She had expected suspicion, possibly derision or denial, but not Gishora’s obvious amusement. “Certainly. That you took so long to realize it surprises me. One or more of the humans has decided to harass us.”

Tizhos really was surprised. “I do not understand why. It seems so unlike them.”

“Because they do not want us here. They do these things to make us wish to leave.”

Tizhos felt a rush of anger. The humans were challenging them! She willed herself to be calm, no easy feat under Gishora’s amused stare. For a moment anyway, Tizhos felt the strong half-sexual, half-childlike love of a subordinate for a leader.

“If someone deliberately harasses us, we should complain,” she said.

“Explain to me why. I doubt Vikram Sen knows of these things. If he does know, I am sure he wishes to end them. Complaining only weakens us.”

“Then we should find the person ourselves!”

“Not an easy task. Tell me if you volunteer for it.”

“Yes!” said Tizhos.

Strongpincer and his companions move easily along the old rift. Though it is coldwater, a few of the vents give off trickles of lukewarm flow, enough to support some mats and weeds, and a few grazing swimmers. They catch enough to keep going, and when they stop to rest the ruins of settlements provide lots of good places to hide.

Strongpincer is determined no militia will catch him resting. He leaves one adult on guard, even taking a turn himself while Weaklegs and Shellcrusher have their rest.

So it is Strongpincer who hears the sound of a towfin in the distance. It’s moving toward him, and as it approaches he picks up the sound of adults swimming along with it.

Another militia band! His first impulse is to creep away quietly and then swim as fast as he can. But he can only hear a few adults, and they’re being so chatty it’s hard to imagine them as militia. Traders, then? Perhaps.

He pokes the other two awake, then speaks to them softly. “Towfin coming. Three adults. Get your weapons and prepare to rush them.” Strongpincer wishes the other two understood numbers, so he could tap instead of speaking. He remembers wishing that many times.

They take up their spears. Strongpincer listens. The towfin is less than a cable away now. He lets it get closer, holding back Shellcrusher and Weaklegs with a pincer on each one’s flukes. At a quarter of a cable he says “Go!” and prods them, then grabs his own spear and surges out of the ruin.

Broadtail’s little expedition cruises along above the seafloor, making the easy passage to the next ruined city. Sharphead is in the lead, listening more for any likely food animals than anything else, as bandits are few in these waters. The towfin follows half a cable behind, with Shortlegs steering it and Broadtail trailing behind on a rope, pinging down to study the bottom.

Broadtail hears some interesting echoes from below—worked stone?—and lets go of the rope in order to drop down and get better echoes. From ahead he hears a loud ping. It sounds like Sharphead, but he can’t make out what the hunter is saying. Then he hears the towfin give a cry of alarm and realizes they are being attacked.

There are three bandits, and Broadtail hopes that maybe if he can get together with Sharphead and Shortlegs the three of them can hold off the enemy. He swims hard toward the towfin, listening.

Three bandits coming from ahead. Silence from Sharphead. Shortlegs and the towfin making an incredible racket as the youngster tries to turn the beast. Broadtail passes above the towfin and stops, waiting for the bandits to come on. He tastes blood in the current and realizes that Sharphead is probably dead.

One large bandit splits off from the other two and swims toward Broadtail. He backs up, trying to stay near the towfin but it is thrashing about so much he doesn’t dare get too close. That may keep the bandits away, too. If he can just hold off this one, he hopes they get discouraged and leave.

The big bandit shows no sign of that, though. She rises toward him like a stabbing spear, her pincers folded, aiming to ram. He turns to present his hard back shell, and then she hits. It almost feels like something cracks, but he can’t stop to check. Her pincers are out now, stabbing for his underside, looking for gaps. He grabs one of her pincers in his own and turns his head toward her. Broadtail gives a loud ping, hoping to deafen or confuse her, and pushes free.

But she’s not going to let him go, and comes for him again. She’s trying to grab his shell from the side. Can she really be trying to crack him? He briefly recalls hearing stories of such feats, and she may be big enough to do it. He flexes his body and again gets free. For a moment he can listen.

The towfin isn’t thrashing any more, it’s swimming slowly away. The other two bandits have Shortlegs. One has her pincers trapped while the other is methodically stabbing her.

Then his opponent is on him again, her pincer tips feeling for the edge of his headshield. He locks his head back to close the gap and whacks her with his flukes. Before she can grab him again he swims hard for the bottom, going away from the towfin. He hopes that the bandits prefer to chase the beast loaded with food and supplies rather than hunt down a lone scholar.

She doesn’t give up. He ducks around a cluster of old stones—automatically noting to himself that they seem to be part of a building, probably an outlying child-farm or fishing-station of the ruined city. He grabs a stone with his legs and freezes, hoping she’ll miss him, but she isn’t fooled and dives, pincers open wide.

He doesn’t wait for her. Broadtail swims as fast as he can, not really caring which direction, as long as it’s away from these killers. The big one follows, and Broadtail is afraid that in a long chase she will catch him. Then he hears a faint call from the other bandits, and his pursuer slows, stops, and finally turns back toward them as they follow the towfin.

Broadtail swims on, trying to put as much distance between himself and them as he can. He imagines they might follow him after looting the towfin. He swims and swims into cold silence.

Rob’s double life was a lot of fun for the first couple of days. During the waking cycles he was mild-mannered Rob Freeman, video tech for a great metropolitan research station. But at night he stalked the mean streets of Hitode Station as the Midnight Avenger, righter of wrongs and foe of alien oppressors.

The four of them had agreed to try at least one prank each per day, and Dickie had brought Angelo Ponti into the conspiracy. It rapidly became apparent to Rob that some of the plotters were much better at suggesting cool pranks than at actually doing them. Simeon in particular was a fount of ideas but claimed to be too busy to execute any.

The four of them who actually did stuff had very different styles. Rob personally leaned toward high-tech pranks: the stain in Tizhos’s bag was his doing, and he followed it up by disconnecting the light switch in the aliens’ room. Josef’s ideas all had an appealingly direct vulgarity, based on body fluids. Angelo, in Rob’s opinion, was the one most likely to get caught. He’d been the one who stole the cushions from the aliens’ room, which meant that he’d gone through half the station carrying them.

But it was Dickie Graves who really worried Rob. The ideas he suggested when the plotters were brainstorming were all very rough; some of them might have been recycled from the old “killing Henri” game. The glue on the chairs scheme was the mildest thing he proposed, and even then Rob had to insist that Graves use a dilute glue instead of the pure stuff, which would have taken the aliens’ skin off.

Dickie’s second prank was equally harsh. He got some of the trypsin used to break up proteins and “accidentally” spilled a whole bottle on Tizhos’s smart environment suit. The suit’s adaptive surface and self-repair mechanisms did their best, but the damage was simply too great. Everything but the backpack and the helmet turned to goo.About half an hour after Tizhos discovered the damage, Dr. Sen posted a general announcement to the station network.

Irona sent them a request for a conversation over the secure link. Tizhos could see that Gishora wished to put it off as long as possible, but after two more messages from space, he asked her to set up a connection.

“I wish you would explain to me what the humans have decided to do. You said they offer no violence, but also refuse to cooperate.”

“That accurately describes the situation,” said Gishora. “It sounds like a paradox.”

“Not at all. Tell me how many offspring you have, Irona.”

“None,” Irona replied with a slightly indignant tone. “My community seeks to reduce its population, so we have agreed not to reproduce.”

“I have one. When my child Giros does not wish to do something an adult has requested, she does not attack us. She merely disregards us. Sometimes she even makes herself limp if we try to move her bodily. The humans have chosen a similar tactic.”

“Then you need help. Even a human gone limp does not sound like more than two adult Sholen can lift.”

“Rather than going limp they have simply refused to do anything we request. In particular, the elevator capsule remains down here attached to the station. We cannot command it, so we have no way to evacuate them. I do not see how we can use physical force at all.”

“Then it seems the humans have imprisoned you.”

“Not at all. Vikram Sen informs me that Tizhos and I may leave at any time. For now I do not consider us to be in any danger. But we cannot bring down anyone to help us remove the humans.”

“Tell me how many attacks the humans have made against you,” asked Irona.

Gishora’s body stiffened, and in the chamber with him Tizhos could smell a wave of aggression. But he kept his voice neutral. “I know of no attacks, Irona. Tell me why you think they have made any.”

“Your equipment requests. Material damaged by biological agents. Those sound like attacks to me. Add to that their stated refusal to leave. The human behavior seems increasingly hostile. I suggest you and Tizhos depart at once for your own safety, and leave the matter to myself and the Guardians.”

“We have suffered no personal injury—”

“Yet.”

“—and the station director has expressed great regret about these incidents. I believe the majority of the humans mean us no harm.”

“And I do not believe that,” said Irona. “Tell me if you have considered the possibility of a deception on their part. They may seem peaceful while actually preparing for violence.”

“Of course I have considered that, Irona. Please do not insult my intelligence. Tell me if you have considered the possibility that Tizhos and I understand human behavior better than any other Sholen. I do not believe we face any danger. Tizhos, tell me if you agree.”

Tizhos didn’t know what to say. She felt loyalty to Gishora, more than she had ever felt to anyone since leaving her parents. But… the damaged equipment did worry her, especially the destruction of her suit. Until the replacement arrived she would die if the station suffered any kind of life-support failure. That felt a little too close to a direct attack.

“I—I do not believe the humans intend us direct harm,” she said. “If they did, a station like this presents a great many ways to kill us and make it seem accidental.” She could smell Gishora’s approval, and found it incredibly difficult to go on, but she hunched her upper shoulders and continued. “However, I must point out the risk that the damage to our possessions and our quarters could lead to a real accident. And I do not think that the station director can prevent the other humans from doing what they wish. I believe they have separated into factions, and at least one faction desires open conflict.”

“There! Your own subordinate agrees with me, Gishora. You do face danger.”

Gishora kept himself perfectly controlled, though Tizhos could smell his irritation. “Let us form a consensus, then. I agree that danger does exist here. Let us also agree, however, that any aggressive moves on our part might well provoke the humans.”

“A show of force might intimidate them,” said Irona. “As you yourself have said, the humans respect rational behavior. I suggest we make violence an entirely irrational option by showing them we can retaliate.”

“I perceive a flaw in that plan: we cannot retaliate against violence. Therefore we must continue with a policy of peace.”

Irona sounded triumphant. “I have a way to get Guardians to you even if the humans remain in control of the elevator.”

“Tell me why I do not know about this, Irona. As the leader of this mission I should have complete knowledge of all our capabilities.”

“I only recently rediscovered the method. Now that we face the real possibility of violent conflict, I have begun searching all our rec ords about warfare. They contain a great many interesting things. I have used the fabricator on board to manufacture capsules capable of matching the pressure at the sea bottom. I can send down the lander with Guardians in the capsules, and simply drop them down the elevator shaft.”

“Gishora, if Irona really can send us a few Guardians, I would feel safer,” said Tizhos. “That would remind the humans of possible consequences, as Irona wishes, without provoking them.”

Gishora surprised her by agreeing without argument. “Very well. Send down some Guardians as a precaution. Now if you will forgive me, Irona, I feel very hungry and would like a meal.”

Tizhos broke the link. Neither spoke for a moment. Then she hung her head very submissively. “I regret disagreeing with you.”

“No, no. You did the correct thing. You stated the truth as it appeared to you. I would prefer truthful dissent to loyal lies. No, I feel sad because Irona may speak the truth.”

“I fear I do not understand.”

“Violence may work. I hate violence, Tizhos, and I hate what the fear of it has done to our people. We cannot control our passions, so to keep from ravaging our world again we must become a civilization of scattered villages, too small to do harm. I thought the humans represented a different way—a civilization of logic and order. But it seems their passions can get out of control just like ours.”

“I know of one encouraging thing,” she said, trying to make herself feel cheerful. “Irona’s project will take quite a bit of time to implement. We can spend that time reviewing all the discoveries made by the humans.”

He still sounded a little sad, but his posture improved. “I agree. We still have so much to learn. Let us make use of our opportunity.”

Broadtail is hungrier than he can ever remember being. He is in cold water, far from any active bottom trench or hotspot. His sonar pings reveal nothing but silt on the seafloor. Otherwise the water is almost silent. The ice above is low here, and sometimes he can hear it creak. From time to time he comes upon floating threads soaking nutrients from the water, and devours them greedily. They are thin and bitter and do little to sustain him. His bag of provisions trails empty from his harness. The small growths and bits of weed on his shell are getting thin, starving to death and dropping off. He swims slowly; a hundred or so steady strokes and then drifting until his strength returns.

He has only a vague idea of where he is. There is a big empty basin that separates the Three Domes hotspot from the line of vents that includes Continuous Abundance and Bitterwater. He thinks he is somewhere in that great emptiness, and he thinks that if he follows the current he can reach some settlement. But he doesn’t know how far he must go, and he suspects he is starving to death.

He swims on, his mind drifting as he goes. The hunger and loneliness call up old memories from childhood. He remembers being small and afraid, and trying to flee the adults with their nets and harnesses. He vividly remembers his first full meal, eating and eating the wonderful rich fatvine roots, the adults putting more before him until he actually cannot cram anything more into himself.

The memory of that first meal only reminds him of just how hungry he is. If he can’t find something soon he’s going to start getting sleepy, and if he falls asleep in this cold emptiness, he’ll probably starve to death. He sends out a few pings, hoping to scare up some swimmers or even just some threads, but the only echoes are the sharp irregular sounds of rocks and the endless muffled dullness of silt.

And then he catches another sound. It is faint, a long way off—a tiny tapping noise. Broadtail drifts and listens, getting a fix on how far away it is. Hundreds of cables away, but it’s something. At this distance he can’t tell if it’s civilized adults making something, nomads fighting or cracking open shells, or maybe just a big snapshell calling for a mate. It doesn’t matter to Broadtail; he sets his course toward the sound and calls on his very last reserves of strength for the swim. Either he will eat it or it will eat him.

Rob and Alicia finished their weekly shower together and were getting ready for bed. When you had only limited amounts of hot water, bathing became a tricky part of the relationship. Sure, it was nice to get all warm and clean together, and it was natural to segue directly into getting into bed together—but having sex did raise the problem of spending the next seven days all crusty and uncomfortable, or wasting half a dozen antibacterial wipes just hours after having a bath. So by mutual agreement, they observed a moratorium on sex for at least two days after bathing.

“All the same,” Rob said, “I don’t think I’m ever going to think that the smell of neoprene and urine on your skin is particularly arousing.”

“You Americans worry about smells too much.”

“Try growing up downwind from a paper mill and then tell me that. Anyway—should I stay here tonight or go to my own cabin?”

“Whichever you prefer. But if you do stay here, try to be more quiet when you go sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

There was a pause while Rob looked at Alicia and tried to figure out just how mad at him she was. “Um, sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I was just—”

She held up a hand. “It would be a very bad idea to lie to me right now, Robert.”

“You know what I’ve been doing?”

“It is not hard to guess. You start slipping out at night and someone is playing tricks on the Sholen.”

“It’s not a big deal, really. Just some harmless pranks.”

“What are you trying to do? Convince them that we are a lot of foolish adolescents?”

“Hey, keep it down. Look, we want them to go away and quit bothering us. Dr. Sen’s the only one who could do that and he won’t. This way at least we can give them an idea of how unhappy we are.”

“It is idiotic!”

“Well, maybe it is, but at least we’re doing something!”

Alicia made a sound of annoyance. “It would be more useful to hit yourself with a hammer. And who is this ‘we?’ Are you a king, now?”

“Never mind. Goodnight.” Rob left her cabin feeling angry and embarrassed. Of course playing practical jokes on the aliens was silly. He didn’t need her to point that out, thank you very much. As if she was a 100 percent serious every second of her life. She needed to lighten up. That was her problem: she needed to lighten up. Not get all high and mighty and pass judgment on him for doing a few harmless practical jokes. Euro pe ans had no sense of humor.

He went to the common room to get a snack, then headed for his own cabin. But in Hab One something was going on. Half a dozen people were gathered around the door of the aliens’ cabin, including Gishora and Tizhos. Beyond them the door of the room was blocked by some kind of orange membrane. After a second Rob recognized it as a float balloon. The archaeologists used them to move heavy items. Someone had inflated a really big float balloon inside the Sholens’ room.

Dickie Graves moved up next to Rob and nudged him. When Rob looked at him he winked. Rob grinned. Even Alicia would agree this was a good one. Worthy of Caltech.

Dr. Sen and Sergei were fussing about with some test equipment at the doorway. “Portable spectrometer. They’re afraid it’s filled with hydrogen,” muttered Dickie.

“Is it?” whispered Rob, suddenly alarmed. Not even Dickie would risk filling a balloon with flammable gas in the confined space of the station. Would he?

Dickie shook his head almost imperceptibly, then nodded toward Sen. The station director peered at the spectrometer display, then made a neat ten-centimeter incision in the balloon with a dissecting scalpel. It gave a sigh and began to wrinkle. Sergei started shoving it into the room, forcing out the air. Dr. Sen turned around and addressed the crowd. “I am reasonably certain that the person responsible for this incident is here watching at this moment, so I would like to make it clear that there must be no more practical jokes of this kind. This may seem to be very amusing, but I am becoming concerned that if pranks of this kind continue they will cause a serious accident.”

Did his gaze rest longer on Rob and Dickie than on the others? Rob wasn’t sure.

Sergei got the balloon squashed down to a manageable bundle, and the two Sholen went inside to inspect their quarters. The onlookers began to drift away.

Dickie gestured for Rob to follow, then led the way down to the geo lab.

“Pretty good,” said Rob when the door was shut.

“The best yet, I’d say, and entirely harmless. Poor Sen looked a pompous ass standing there giving us a dire warning about the dangers of inflating balloons.”

“Yeah. Listen, Dickie—do you think this is working? Are we accomplishing anything here?”

“As to that, we’re achieving three very important mission objectives. First, we’re showing the Sholen what we think of them. Second, we’re having great fun doing it. And finally, as a bonus, we’re getting Sen thoroughly annoyed. What more can we ask for?”

“Do you think it’ll drive the Sholen away?”

Dickie nodded energetically. “Oh, yes—although not for the reason I thought originally. I was expecting them to give up and go home, but now I reckon Sen’s going to ask them to leave just to save his own dignity.”

Rob went back to his own quarters for the night. He thought about stopping to tell Alicia about the balloon gag, but decided against it. Let her find out from everyone else, and wonder if he’d done it himself. He got into bed and dozed off thinking of ways to top Dickie’s prank.

After getting the balloon removed from their quarters, Gishora and Tizhos invited Vikram Sen inside. “We wish to discuss with you the lack of progress in evacuating the station,” said Gishora.

“I believe I have already explained several times to you that we have all agreed we are not leaving,” said the human.

“Yes, but you must understand that tendencies within the Consensus on our home world advocate much stricter controls on human activity beyond your home star system. Possibly even within your own system. Many aboard our ship belong to those factions. They constantly urge action. I cannot put them off forever.”

Vikram Sen shook his head from side to side. “I am very sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should go away and resolve your internal differences in privacy.”

“I fear we cannot,” said Gishora. “Tell me if you remain determined to resist.”

“We cannot prevent your people from doing what you want to do, but we will not help you in any way—unless you choose to leave. I am sure everyone would help you most energetically with that. No, Gishora, if you really wish to make us leave you must carry us bodily to the elevator.”

“Please explain to me why you choose this course of action,” said Gishora. “You cannot prevent us from removing you. Already a lander full of Guardians sits on the surface. I lack understanding of what you hope to accomplish.”

The human expelled air from his nostrils audibly. “We are protesting the use of force to compel our obedience. By refusing to cooperate we are demonstrating that physical force can only control our bodies. It cannot control our thoughts. You can physically remove me from this station, but you cannot make me agree with you. Do you see?”

“I see only a faction resisting consensus. You place your individual goals above the greater good.”

“If we are going to defer to the opinion of the majority, let me remind you that the Earth has a population of more than eight billion, while there are less than one billion Sholen on your homeworld. It would seem that your people are the willful minority,” said Dr. Sen mildly.

Gishora hesitated, his body posture communicating a certain unease. Tizhos jumped into the opening. “We have greater wisdom,” she said. “Sometimes a small group can show the larger community the proper course of action.”

Vikram Sen widened his mouth. “That is what we are attempting to do here. Now if you will excuse me, I would like to get some sleep.”

That same night, Rob suited up and swam out to the sub with Dickie and Josef to discuss matters in private. The sub was officially known as the Ilmatar Aquatic Rover, and had been built by a team of Russian and American engineers and hauled to Ilmatar in one piece.

Josef had taken advantage of his position as chief pilot and de facto captain of the sub to name it the Mishka, which was now proudly inscribed over the control station in big Cyrillic letters.

The Mishka was not a graceful ship—the main hull was a fat round-ended cylinder twenty meters long, with tiny viewports at the front, a hatch on the underside, and two impeller pods on each side. It could only putter along at five knots—but its nuclear-thermal generator was rated for a decade of use, and the sub could make its own oxygen out of seawater for life support. With enough food aboard, it could sail clear around Ilmatar.

The Mishka had another feature, which wasn’t mentioned in any of the press releases. The designers at Sevmash and Electric Boat had made her as stealthy as any front-line attack sub in Earth’s oceans. Her ungainly hull was shaped to avoid any flat surfaces, and was coated in rubbery anechoic material that was supposed to make it invisible to the Ilmatarans. Rob suspected it would work as well as Henri’s stealth suit.

He climbed in through the bottom hatch and took one of the seats behind the control station. Josef deliberately kept the internal temperature just above freezing so that passengers could stay suited up without boiling themselves.

“I think maybe we should quit for a while,” said Rob. “I get the feeling Dr. Sen knows what’s going on.”

“He is very wise man,” said Josef.

“Sen?” Dickie snorted. “He’s like a pappadum. All hollow inside. He isn’t capable of anything but bluster. I reckon this means the Sholen are worried and have been complaining to him. That’s a good sign for us. We need to increase the pressure now.”

“You think so?” asked Rob.

“Absolutely. A few more little ‘safety lapses’ and they’ll suddenly discover an excuse to return to their ship.”

“Or strike back,” said Josef.

“Let them! That puts them in the wrong.”

“Dickie,” said Rob, “I want you to tone it down, okay? We don’t want to really hurt the Sholen.”

“We don’t? All right, we don’t, then. Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of ideas that won’t harm one downy epithelial derivative on their heads. But no letting up now! Keep turning the crank!”

“What’s that?” asked Rob. The sonar imaging display over Josef’s shoulder came on, displaying six large targets about two hundred meters up, descending slowly in a neat hexagonal array.

Josef turned and squinted at the screen, then gave them an active ping. “Metal objects. I hear little motor noises, too—like thrusters.”

“What the bloody hell are they? Bombs?” For once Dickie Graves looked genuinely worried.

“Not bombs,” said Josef. “Pods. I have seen something similar to drop underwater commandos from planes. Pressurize pod in advance and drop from high altitude. The pod opens in deep water and troops can go to work without wasting time equalizing. Ours have sonar-damping exterior.”

A hundred meters up the six objects showed clearly on video as streamlined cylinders with fins, very much like oldfashioned bombs. “Are you sure those aren’t going to blow us to bits?” Rob asked.

“We find out.”

Just then the six pods came apart in a flurry of bubbles. When the video and sonar images cleared up, Rob could see abandoned casing sections dropping rather more rapidly to the sea bottom, and six Sholen in smartsuits making for the station with powerful tail strokes.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Dickie.

“I think the Sholen just decided to turn the crank,” said Rob.