James Cambias - A Darkling Sea

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.