Julia Ecklar: Tide of Stars

“Let me tell you something, Proctor Tovin,” Sadena offered, the voice of a man with a great wisdom to impart. “I own Uriel. I did not buy it to preserve it, I bought it to exploit it. I preserve the planet as aggressively as I do because I cannot exploit what I do not have, and because it is just bad business to let consumers believe I shit where I expect them to vacation.” Whatever passed for sensitivity drained from his face, and the cold impatience of a businessman darkened his eyes. “My interest in Noah’s Ark was never about jellyfish, Proctor Tovin. It was about publicity, and reputation, and considered self-interest. But it was never about jellyfish.”

Jynn left, very quietly, through the same door the service drone had used to come and go. For just a moment, Rahel wasn’t sure if Sadena’s show of disdain had really been aimed at her, or at his insubordinate employee. It probably didn’t matter—she doubted Sadena would see either of them again.

The sofa creaked softly as Nils leaned forward in preparation to stand. “I think that’s all we need to cover right now, Mr. Sadena,” the lawyer said politely. “I’ll be in touch with your financial division—”

“Don’t bother.”

Nils twitched a panicked look at her, but Rahel refused to take her eyes from Sadena. “I beg your pardon?” Sadena inquired.

“Noah’s Ark won’t be accepting a fee for this safari.”

“ Ra -hel!” Nils scurried around the end of the sofa as if to protect her from herself, all his lawyerly instincts no doubt soaring with his blood pressure. “You can’t just renegotiate the agreement at this late a date!”

Rahel stepped to one side so she could keep eye contact with Sadena without leaning over Nils. “Read your Ark contract,” she told the lawyer. “While we’re out on safari, I’m your boss—that means I can do anything I think necessary.” She pushed Nils back into his seat with a glare. “And I’m telling you to shut up.”

Nils sank onto the cushions with his forehead in his hand.

“I’m good for the contracted amount,” Sadena assured them. He didn’t sound particularly offended, though.

Rahel almost grimaced with disgust. “I’m sure you are. But if the Ark accepts payment from you, we’re bound by all the elements of your contract—including the gag clause that says we can’t go public with the details of our relationship with you.” She shook her head grimly. “I won’t have GreeNet posting that Noah’s Ark will tailor its data to suit high-paying customers, and I won’t have you implying that we knowingly came here to whitewash your operation. You’ll pay for our expenses—including Paval’s medical care and our upkeep while we wait for him—but you won’t pay the usual consulting fees, and you won’t interfere if we choose to make our investigation here public.”

“Considering your data reveals no misconduct on my part—” Sadena spread his hands with a pleased little laugh. “In fact, you prove I’m completely justified in not spending a credit to rescue Uriel’s environment. I’m more than happy to let you spread the word as far as you’d like. It won’t affect my business over the next five thousand years.”

“And you’ll give us all this in writing?” Nils still hadn’t looked up from his lap.

“I’ll see to it immediately.” Sadena came brightly to his feet, bringing his hands together with a clap. He held them that way in front of him, as though proud of having snatched something out of the air before the rest of them. “Proctor Tovin, Proctor Oberejen—” He dipped a brisk nod toward the still despondent Nils. “Thank you very much for your services. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

Rahel waited until the man had left the room before kicking a nearby end table into the closest wall.

Nils jerked his head up with a scowl. “What did you do that for?” The accusation sounded more betrayed than Rahel had expected. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

She righted the end table, swallowing a little twist of disappointment when it turned out to be too broken to stand where it belonged. “If you think I got anything out of this safari I wanted,” she said as she eased the ruined furniture back down to the floor, “then you don’t have the faintest idea what I came here expecting to gain.”

Rahel left the hotel that evening by way of the lone service entrance. All three moons dotted a broken line from horizon to apex, and the everpresent rime of clouds stained the sky dull white instead of a more appropriate black or gray. Beach mud slipped under her feet, devoid of shells or bones to crunch. A clement breeze from the west lifted her hair away from her eyes, shushing like a maiden aunt who longed to assure her that everything would be all right.

No spybees buzzed for her attention this time, no reporters climbed over each other for a chance to bark their hateful questions. Nils had held court with the netlinks for nearly two hours after leaving Sadena’s private chambers. No one stayed on to the end except Keim, a small public access science service, and a token representative from one of the major nets. Natural disasters just weren’t news unless people were involved.

Rahel had left before Nils got done explaining that there wasn’t even going to be a scandal. She could imagine the disappointment for netlink executives the Galaxy over.

Darkness softened the walk to the Odarkan straits, blurring the landscape, muting the sounds. Even the tongue of rock at the top of the ridge seemed to reach out with no transition between it and the dark water it overhung. Rahel eased herself up to the very thinnest finger of that stone, then used hands and feet to feel her way down to her knees, and finally her stomach, letting her chin hang over the edge so that the view below her stretched on forever, wild and endless.

Water as still as satin, as perfect as black glass. Faintly—first in the deep waters far off to her right, then drifting slowly toward her in swirls of diamond spray—an angel’s kiss of light stitched itself beneath the Odarkan’s surface. Twinkles of simple jellyfish thoughts passed silently from bell to lash to ruffle. Knowing the patterns for moonlight dancing off the jellies’ crystalline cilia didn’t soften the throb of wonder Rahel felt at seeing them move.

How long was a year for a jellyfish? Long enough to do everything important in their quiet, jellyfish lives? Long enough that five thousand or five million or five hundred of them would support enough jellyfish memories to take the sting out of dying unfairly? And what if their years left numbered less than five? Was that long enough for anything at all?

“You’re better off than we are,” she whispered, letting the voiceless wind carry her words to the starlight ripples down below. “We know when your dance is over, but you get to think you live forever.”

Right up to the moment when the last glimmer of jellyfish thinking flickered down into the darkness of extinction.

The Author would like to thank Chris Laughery of the Pennsylvania Geological Survey and Dr. Karen Rose Cercone of Indiana University of Pennsylvania for their invaluable help with the scuba and geology details for this story. Such willing consultation as theirs gives special life to the science in science fiction.