Mer-Cycle

by Piers Anthony

  Don thought. “Into a cave!” he exclaimed. “He showed real interest in that Yucatan coastal cave. I’ll bet it wasn’t for the archaeological or geological prospects, but because it served as a secure retreat. Agoraphobia, not claustrophobia—fear of the heights.”

  “That’s acrophobia,” she said. “I know, because I’ve got it too. A little.”

  “I mean fear of the open spaces,” he said.

  “Are there caves, here? There can’t be any erosion as we know it. How would caves form?”

  “Only a geologist knows for sure. Maybe a freshwater spring could do it. I don’t know. But if there’s one, that’s where he’ll be, maybe. For one thing, the sub couldn’t follow him there.”

  “We’ll just have to look,” she agreed. “For cave openings.”

  “Um.”

  They rode on, looking for cave openings, but saw none. There were fish here, but not many, and they seemed to be blind. The cousins of the starfish were far more common, and snails and clams were abundant.

  This was mountainous country, and the constant steep climbing and fierce coasting were wearing. A man could readily lose himself here, and it would certainly be hazardous for a submarine to maneuver too close to these jagged rocks.

  They searched for another twenty minutes, looking carefully into every recess, but it was apparent that they were needles looking for another in a haystack. The ground was too rough; there could be a hundred caves, and they could miss them all unless they dropped a wheel into one. They needed an overview, and even then, the opacity of the water would severely restrict their scope.

  “At least we know the sub probably didn’t keep him in sight, once he decided to shake it,” Melanie said.

  A shape loomed near, long and oval and glowing slightly. “Speak of the devil!” Don cried, throwing himself to the ground. Melanie peeped and did the same.

  But even as he barked his shins, Don realized that it was a huge squid, some twenty feet long. As if they didn’t have troubles enough!

  The squid glided up, light green in the beam of light Don angled at it. Its monstrous eye contemplated him. “Go away!” he cried.

  The squid jetted in a circle around them.

  “It’s Glowcloud!” Melanie cried. “He must have been trailing us all the time, and finally homed in.” She stood, lifting her hands to the creature. The squid extended a tentacle. That was identification enough; obviously Glow-cloud remembered.

  “Well, at least it’s not the sub.”

  “What determination,” Melanie said, her hands playing a game of touch and dodge with the tentacle. “It must be almost impossible to locate anything in this expanse, as we’ve been discovering.”

  “Trust Glowcloud,” Don said. “He always did know how to find us, as long as we’re in his depth. Hey!”

  “What?” She was almost shaking hands with the tentacle. “You’re not getting jealous of a squid, now, are you?”

  “I just thought, maybe Glowcloud can find Eleph.”

  “Oh, Don, now you’re dreaming! A mollusk? He may be cute, but—”

  Cute? This twenty foot monster with ten tentacles and a huge hard beak? How her attitude had changed! “Worth a try, anyway. Gaspar said they’re the smartest creatures in the sea. Glowcloud!”

  The squid rotated gracefully to bring the eye to bear on him. Probably he was reacting to the sharpness of the sound. “Where’s Eleph? Eleph! Take us to Eleph. Eleph!”

  “Eleph!” Melanie echoed with less conviction.

  The squid circled twice more in a climbing spiral, then shot off at a tangent.

  “Do you really think—?” Melanie asked. “I mean, he is a wild creature, and can’t be expected to—”

  “No. But what better chance do we have?”

  “Well, we can’t follow where he’s going, so we’d better keep looking.”

  They kept looking, with no better success than before.

  Ten minutes later Glowcloud was back. “Hey, did you find Eleph?” Don asked facetiously. Yet he did wonder: the squid certainly seemed responsive. Was it possible that Glowcloud understood their need—or cared?

  The squid jetted slowly north, low enough for them to follow. They did so, knowing that one search pattern was as good as another, in this water wilderness. If …

  But they didn’t find Eleph. Eleph found them. “Don!”

  Glowcloud looped around them, then took off after a careless fish.

  The bicycles almost collided, for Eleph was riding crookedly. “Eleph!” Don cried. “I thought you were lost.”

  “How could I be lost, with the coordinates plainly visible on the meter?” Eleph asked sourly. “I was merely doubling back to rejoin the company. Why didn’t you wait?”

  “Why didn’t you call, once you were alone? We assumed—”

  Eleph looked embarrassed. “There was a slight mishap in transit.” He indicated his radio.

  “Small mishap!” Don exclaimed. “The whole thing’s stove in! And you—you’re—”

  “I was in too much of a hurry,” Eleph admitted, glancing down at his red-stained shirt. “I took a fall.”

  Some fall! The man’s forbidding front had deceived Don, but only for a moment. Eleph’s left arm was tucked inside his shirt, and blood soaked the entire length of it. A bruise showed on his cheek, and his trousers were torn. He must have rolled over, with a jagged spike of rock smashing both arm and radio.

  The pain had to be phenomenal. Don was no expert in medicine, but his first-aid briefing had familiarized him with the general nature of a compound fracture. One surely rested inside that shirt. Yet Eleph had roused himself and ridden on, one-handed, actively mastering his destiny. Don had not suspected that the man had that kind of courage. It was a thing he admired tremendously, and it transformed his attitude toward Eleph. Yet nothing in the man’s manner suggested that he sought sympathy, so Don didn’t proffer it, verbally.

  But Melanie did. “You poor man! You’re all bruised.”

  “It happens,” Eleph said.

  “We broke up to search for you,” Don explained. “We agreed to meet again in four hours. More than two to go, still. Pacifa has the—the medication.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Are you all right, Eleph?” Melanie asked. “Why is your hand out of sight?” Evidently she hadn’t caught on to the extent of it, yet.

  “Scratches and bruises,” Eleph told her firmly. “Do not concern yourself further, my dear.”

  Don, to his own surprise, was suddenly overwhelmed. Eleph had such courage in adversity, yet was no more expressive than he had been at the outset. This was another silent person, whose speech and overt actions only partly reflected his true passions. He was familiar in an illuminating, déjà vu fashion, yet completely strange. Don had wronged him grievously by thinking him to be a stuffed shirt, and now he couldn’t even apologize without alerting Melanie to the extent of the problem. If Eleph preferred to keep it private, Don had to honor it. But he had to express himself somehow, because he was really not the silent type, just shy in new situations.

  So Don held out his hand. It seemed inane, but his conscience refused to stand aside. One token handshake had to say it all.

  Eleph understood. He let go of his handlebar—and the wheel flopped sideways, almost dumping him. Don jumped to support him—and banged the injured arm. Eleph winced, and a small strangled cry escaped him.

  White-faced and red-faced, respectively, Eleph and Don shook hands. Then they rode on, Melanie leading the way.

  Depot #4 was tremendous. “There’s enough here to last us a year,” Pacifa said. “We must have arrived at our major base of operations.”

  So it seemed. Another set of coordinates was waiting—19°30’N, 77°0’W—but that location was so close it was obviously an offshoot from this site.

  They repacked their supplies and rested for a day, only scouting the immediate vicinity. “These are bad,” Pacifa said, indicating one box of glop packages. “See, the serial matches t
hat on Don’s old supply.” She was right. But there were twenty good boxes as well.

  They held a business meeting. “This has to be it,” Gaspar said. “The next are Melanie’s last set of coordinates, and they’re close—within sixty miles, as the fish swims. Maybe we should come at the site cautiously. After all, if it is all this secret—”

  “And with an enemy craft patrolling the vicinity,” Eleph said. “We must consider the possibility that we did not lose that submarine. If it realized that Glowcloud was accompanying us, and oriented on the squid—”

  “If it’s tracing anybody, it’s Eleph,” Pacifa said. “The sub never saw the rest of us.”

  “We think it never saw us,” Gaspar corrected her.

  She sighed. “You have a suspicious mind, but you’re right. We can’t take the chance. How about this, then: you and Eleph decoy Glowcloud south, while Don and Melanie and I maintain radio silence and sneak a peek at whatever is there? We’ll meet back here when we can.”

  “But that’s giving them the risk while we take the prize,” Don protested.

  “We’re not going to steal it, Don,” Pacifa said. “We’re a group. We’ll finish this mission together. But we are learning caution.”

  “Actually Gaspar and I would be running no risk we haven’t run all along,” Eleph said. “While you have no idea what awaits you.”

  Don could not argue with that.

  “Also,” Gaspar said, “the sides of that trench can be steep, and Eleph can’t climb. So he can’t go anyway.”

  Which clinched it. Pacifa had doused Eleph with a pain killer from her supplies and supervised the resetting of his arm, no simple task for the squeamish. She had to rummage in all their packs to obtain material for splint and bandage. Don knew it would be weeks before the member healed, and a fair length of time before the man recovered from his loss of blood. The trench was certainly no place for the wounded. Not until they knew there was a safe route there, and what their mission was.

  “Actually, I could go with Eleph,” Don said.

  “No need,” Gaspar said easily. “It isn’t as if it’s a chore. In fact, I’d like to see Jamaica and Port Royal. We can loop clear around the island, and the sub’ll think we have a rendezvous there, if it’s tracking Eleph. We’ll even take pictures.”

  For a moment Don was jealous. He, the archaeologist, should be going to Port Royal. But the others all seemed satisfied with the arrangement, so he stifled his ire. He knew it was a device to make it easier for Eleph and keep him out of danger.

  Eleph distributed his supply of balloons among them, in case they had an emergency requiring flotation. Don put three in his pack. They would exert some drag, but they just might be his lifeline in a crisis.

  Gaspar and Eleph packed up and departed, Gaspar leading the way so as to pick out the easiest route. They moved slowly, for Eleph, stiff though his lip might be, was obviously not up to strenuous activity.

  Pacifa made them wait four hours before they set out toward the final coordinates. “Just in case,” she said. “We don’t know exactly how far toward the surface Glowcloud can come right now, or how far he ranges while we’re out of reach. We want to be sure El and Gas pick him up before we go down. We need our decoy in order.”

  There was a great deal of light rope in stock, and they packed several thousand extra feet, knowing they would need it for the canyons. Don did not feel easy about this trip, but didn’t care to admit it. He wished that they could have gone as a full group, instead of fragmented. Odd that he should be so glum, when they were so near their destination.

  They moved north, directly into the trench. Almost immediately they had to break out the rope, tying a length to a spur of rock, climbing down it, and leaving it there for the return trip. A submarine might discover it, but that risk seemed small, in this craggy wilderness, and they might have to return in a hurry. Without the ropes, they might have to ride a hundred miles out of their way—if any alternate avenues were even available.

  It was a fear-of-heights nightmare. In the first five miles they descended a thousand fathoms. The site wasn’t close at all, in terms of their effort! Then the ground evened out somewhat, and they rode down irregular slopes another five hundred fathoms.

  The scenery was breathtaking, not pleasantly. Bare rock projected everywhere, forming overhanging cliffs, with rifts packed with boulders. Barnacles studded the surfaces, combing the water with their little nets, and sponges bulged wherever they chose: black unenterprising masses. There was little of the beauty of the coral reef, here.

  But, aided by Pacifa’s energy and expertise, they covered sixty miles in one day. Sixty horizontally, plus three vertically, and not directly toward their objective. They were now in the center of the Cayman trench proper: as grim a region as Don cared to experience. Fortunately there were steady currents of well oxygenated water, so breathing was no problem.

  “About ten miles to go,” Pacifa said. “Let’s hold it until morning. That spot is about twenty five miles south of the coast of Cuba, and that’s too close. We may need our strength.”

  Don agreed. The closer they got, the less he liked it. Geographically and politically, this was a dangerous region. And what was it they were supposed to find? All would soon be known, but he feared that it might better remain unknown. Certainly it wasn’t any archaeological structure, this deep.

  Melanie smiled at him as they settled for a meal. “I’m worried too,” she murmured.

  “Melanie—” he started, drawing her hand in toward him.

  She shook her head. “Not yet, Don. We must tackle our mission. That’s what we’re here for.”

  After a few hours rest, they resumed the quest. Now they were exceedingly careful, watching for anything at all. But there was nothing except the rocky, slanting, evil bottom of the trench.

  “Half a mile,” Pacifa whispered. She was nervous too, though she contained it well.

  Suddenly they were struck by a current of warmth. They stared at one another. “Am I going batty, or are you?” Pacifa inquired.

  Don squinted at his temperature gauge. “Eighty degrees!” he exclaimed. “Our converters can’t account for that! Where does it come from?”

  “Only two reasonable guesses. A hot spring, or a nuclear reactor.”

  “A nuclear reactor!” Melanie exclaimed, horrified.

  Don choked. “H-how do you—I mean, would they send us out like this to investigate a h-hot spring?”

  That needed no answer. “This close to Cuba,” Pacifa murmured. “A nuclear plant. Thermal pollution—but no one would notice, this far down. But what’s it doing?”

  “Nuclear subs,” Don said, working it out. “Like the one we saw. Their port of Cienfuegos is just a decoy. The real stuff is here. Maybe hardened missile sites, too. They’re not making the same mistake they made before, putting bases in sight of spyplane overflights.”

  “But things are peaceful now!” Melanie protested.

  “There are a number of nuclear powers,” Don reminded her. “Any one of them could be doing this, secretly.”

  “Now it all makes sense,” Pacifa agreed. “And I wish it didn’t.”

  “Y-yes.” Don felt very tired. “B-but we’d b-better make sure. Get p-pictures.”

  “Afraid so. We’re the spy-plane, this time. A group of folk no one would ever suspect of undertaking a mission like this, in a fashion no one would ever dream. Riding bicycles under the sea!” She shook her head. “We have to nail it down with absolute proof.”

  “But what about radiation?” Melanie asked.

  “I think I was trying not to think about that. There’s sure to be radioactive wastes. That may affect us. Maybe already have.”

  “N-not if we s-stay in the c-cold water?” Don asked with wan hope.

  “Why should it be restricted to the warm? No need to shield, down here. They could saturate the entire area.”

  “B-but their own p-personnel! They wouldn’t—”

  “Probably automat
ed.”

  “Even the s-subs?”

  She considered. “You’re right. That doesn’t make sense. If they had completely automated submarines, they wouldn’t need a base. Not this close, anyway. It’s men that need all the attention, not machines or supplies. And if they’re manned subs, there’s got to be radiation shielding. Actually, they can’t let too much escape, because those rays pass through water even more readily than we do, and you bet Uncle Sam has telltales to pick it up. Especially around here! So probably it’s all safe. Nothing but thermal pollution.”

  Don nodded. He wasn’t really reassured, but realized that if there was radiation, and if the phase didn’t nullify it, the three of them had no way to escape it except to run for home immediately—and might already have received a lethal dose. Unless the phase protected them from this, too. Better to pretend that the threat did not exist, and accomplish the mission regardless.

  “Still, I can see why nonentities were selected for this mission,” Melanie said. “We’re expendable.”

  “We don’t know that there’s r-radiation,” Don reminded her ineffectively.

  “What’s it going to do to me anyway—make my hair fall out?”

  Neither Don nor Pacifa saw fit to respond to that.

  They turned their bikes and pedaled upstream, grimly tracing the moving water to its source. Their mission no longer seemed as intriguing as before.

  They did not have far to go. The water issued from a vent in the rock.

  They stared at it. “I wish Gaspar were here,” Pacifa said. “I just can’t tell whether that’s natural or manmade.”

  “Natural,” Don said.

  “Oh, that’s right! You’re an archaeologist. You should have had practice. Perhaps they wanted you for that reason: your specialty didn’t matter, just your general background. But suppose someone went all-out to make it seem natural. Could you still call it?”

  “N-not outside of a laboratory,” Don admitted. “You think they’re trying to h-hide the p-plant?”

  “Maybe.” But then she changed her tack. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble, though. Think of the job of construction! And to make a naturalistic outlet aperture like this, when chances are no one will ever see it—do you suppose we’re wrong?”