by Hal Clement
The new arrival was young and quite decorative—but I didn’t fall in love with her. The response was mutual. She waved me back to the cot and examined my dressings with an air of competence.
When she finished, I tried to call her attention to my lack of swimming ballast. She may have understood, since she paid courteous attention to me and nodded agreeably after I’d finished my gestures, but she left without doing anything constructive about the matter. I hoped she was going to call Bert.
Whether she did or not, he was the next to enter. He had no extra ballast with him, but he did have the writing pad. This was even better. I reached for it and buckled down to work.
I’d been restricted to communicating only by written note before, but not since leaving grammar school. In those days it had had a certain thrill, being an illicit activity in study hall; now it proved to be purest nuisance.
In something over two hours, we settled:
That I was a fully naturalized citizen of this place, and entitled to go where I pleased and do what I wanted short of obvious conflict with the interests of others;
That I was not only permitted to examine the power-generating units, but was expected to familiarize myself with them as soon as possible;
That I could visit Marie at her submarine whenever I felt like it, and I had the blessing of the Council and the rest of the population in arguing with her; and
That I would be expected to support myself by farming until I demonstrated some different and at least equally useful way of contributing to the general welfare.
That was all. Often in the past I’d held a lengthy conversation with someone, and after he was out of sight had remembered other things I’d wanted to say; but down here this sort of thing wasn’t an incident, it was a habit.
It wasn’t so much that one forgot to bring up some point or other. As a rule there wasn’t time to cover even the ones remembered. I’ve never appreciated the gift of speech so much in my life. Those of you who feel, after finishing this report, that I should have learned certain key facts sooner than I did will please remember this difficulty. I don’t say I shouldn’t have been quicker, but I do claim some excuse for failure.
The whole thing was not merely annoying; it did wind up making me look more like a plain fool than I ever have before or hope to again. What is really embarrassing is that so many people who have heard only this much of the story can see already where I went wrong.
I had no real enthusiasm for farming, though I was curious about how it would be conducted on the sea bottom. I did want to learn about the power plant, but even that item I postponed. I asked Bert first of all to guide me to Marie’s sub. He nodded and started swimming.
The trip was made without conversation. Maybe Bert was used enough to swimming by this time so that he could have written and read while doing it, like a city secretary doing a crossword puzzle as she strolls out to lunch, but I certainly was not. I simply looked around as I followed him, noting everything I possibly could.
The tunnels were long and for the most part straight, but they formed a hopeless maze as far as I was concerned. I would be a long, long time learning to find my way around unaided. If there was anything corresponding to an ordinary street sign, I failed to spot it. There were all sorts of color patterns on the walls, but I couldn’t tell whether they meant something or were merely decoration. Everything was brightly lighted.
The place wasn’t just tunnels, either. There were large rooms of all shapes, some of which might have been business plazas or shopping centers or theaters or almost anything else one can think of where a lot of people congregate. I seldom saw any real crowds, but there were enough swimmers around to support the claim that the population was quite large—not surprising if it had been going for several generations. I was gradually coming to think of the place as a country, as Bert had claimed, rather than an outlaw organization; a country which had never lost its identity by subscribing to the Power Code. This might indeed be the case—it might have been here longer than the Code had. I didn’t know how much more than the eighty years Bert had mentioned might be in its history. That was something else to find out.
I never got good at judging distances in swimming, and some of the corridors had their traffic assisted by a pump-driven current, so I don’t know how far we went before reaching the submarine. As a matter of fact, I still have only the vaguest notion of the size of the whole place. At any rate, we finally emerged from a narrow corridor into one of the big chambers under an ocean entrance, crossed beneath the circle of blackness which gave on a mile of salt water, went on down a much larger passageway for perhaps two hundred yards, and found ourselves at the entrance to a fair-sized room in which one ordinary Board work sub, loaded with external ballast slugs as my tank had been, lay cradled on the floor.
Bert stopped just outside the entrance and began to write. I read over his shoulder as he produced “I’d better stay outside. She’s firmly convinced that I’m Judas Iscariot, Benedict Arnold, and Vidkun Quisling all rolled into one. You’ll have enough trouble appearing as you are without me beside you. Have you decided what excuse to offer for making the change?”
I nodded, seeing no need to waste time writing out details more than once, and took the pad and stylus. Bert looked a little expectant, but I waved farewell to him and headed for the sub. When I looked back, just before reaching it, he was gone. I then remembered that sometime fairly soon I was going to need ordinary food and presumably, even more seriously, the oxygen food. I still didn’t know where to get them.
XIII
I couldn’t see anyone through the ports of the sub as I approached, though I circled all the way around it. Apparently Marie was asleep. I wasn’t sure it would be sound policy to wake her up, but I finally decided to take a chance. I tapped on the hull.
“If that’s Bert, clear out. I’m busy thinking!” The words were clear and understandable, but they didn’t sound at all like Marie’s voice. I can’t describe just what they did sound like. There are overtones produced by the human vocal cords which don’t usually get through the impedance-matching equipment of the listener’s middle ear—one of the reasons one’s own voice sounds so unfamiliar in a recording. Being immersed in a fluid which carries sound at about the same speed as water does, and having that fluid on both sides of the eardrum, makes an even greater difference. As I say, I personally lack the words to describe the exact result.
I tapped again. The second response was equally clear, but I’ve promised Marie not to quote it. I got annoyed, and my third tap came as close to pounding as the liquid environment permitted. That was a mistake.
A man can stand the explosion of a stick of dynamite a hundred feet away, in air, quite easily. The noise is uncomfortable but not by itself dangerous. If he’s swimming at that distance from the same stick when its detonates under water, though, he can count on being killed.
My fist didn’t pack the energy of a stick of dynamite, but things might have been less painful if it had. At least I’d have been comfortably dead. My eardrums didn’t actually break when the shock wave hit them, but the sensations can’t have been much different. I was long in recovering to permit Marie to come to the port, recognize me, get over whatever shock the recognition may have caused her and freeze up again.
She claims now that she was glad to see me for the first half second or so. She says she even yelled my name, in spite of my known feeling about that. By the time I was aware of my surroundings again, though, she was certainly showing no sign of pleasure. She was glaring at me. I could see her lips moving, but I couldn’t yet hear her words over the ringing and pounding still in my ears. I held my hands over them for a moment and tried to signal her to wait, but her lips kept right on moving.
I gave up on the signals and got to work with the stylus. By the time I had filled the sheet with writing, I was beginning to make out her words. They made it clear why Bert had preferred not to stay with me. Angry as she was, though, she was still sane enou
gh to pause and read what I had written when I held it up to the port. The words had been carefully planned, on the basis of what Bert had told me about her current attitude.
What I wrote was, “Don’t say anything likely to get me in trouble with these people. Why did you stay down here?” That was supposed to divert her attention from the question of why I was here myself, apparently enjoying all local rights and privileges. It might even give her the thought that I was playing spy. It was partly successful; at least, the strong language stopped, and she took time out to think before she spoke again.
Then she answered, “I’m here to find Joey. He disappeared down here—you know that as well as I do. I’m staying here until I know what’s become of him.”
“Wouldn’t there be some point in going up to tell the Board about this place?” I asked. “Then a really well manned force could come down and accomplish something constructive.”
I thought of that,” she admitted, “but when Bert told me I could go back and report everything I knew, I was sure there was some trick behind it. Besides, I was more worried about Joey, and they wouldn’t tell me anything about him.”
“Didn’t Bert say you could stay if you wanted?”
“Yes. That’s what made me suspicious. How could any decent person agree to stay here? It was just a trick to help make sure I couldn’t go back. Once you’re changed to breathe water, you can’t change back, obviously.”
I almost pointed out that the liquid wasn’t water, and then I almost asked what was obvious about her conclusion. I realized that the first point was irrelevant and that she’d dismiss it as quibbling, and the second was likely to bring up the subject of my own conversion. Besides, any argument was likely to force me to use information I’d have to admit came from Bert, so she probably wouldn’t believe it.
Come to think of it, I realized with a sudden jolt, I had only Bert’s word for it that the change was reversible to the extent of letting me go back to the surface. Well, if he were mistaken or lying to me, it was too late now. I was writing again as those thoughts flickered through my mind.
“But what do you expect to accomplish just sitting here in your sub? What have you done in the six weeks since we last saw you?” She ducked that one.
“I don’t know what I can do here, but if I leave I’m shut—off from further information. I still hope I can get something out of Bert. I’m sure he knows where Joey is, even though he denies it.”
“How can you get any word out of him if you won’t talk to him? You told me to get out just now when you thought I was Bert.”
She grinned, and for just a moment looked like the Marie I knew back at Papeete.
“I just think it’s better technique to keep him wanting to talk to me” was her answer. I couldn’t understand the rationale of that one, but there was much about Marie I’d never understood, and she knew it.
“Well, I’m here now,” I wrote, “and whether it turns out to be for keeps or not I can at least move around and get something done. Subject to your approval, I plan to devote my time to getting information which you can take back to the surface when you go—I assume you don’t plan to spend the rest of your life here.”
“I don’t plan it, but I rather expect it,” was her reply. Before I could write any comment she went on, “Of course, I’ll have to give up and start back some time, but I know they’ll dispose of me when I do. That’s assuming they did the same thing with Joey, and I’m very sure they did. If I do find him alive, of course, what I do will depend on him.” She fell silent, and after a moment to make sure she had finished I wrote again.
“But you’d like me to find him for you.”
She looked at me with what I hoped was a tender and sympathetic expression, though I couldn’t be quite sure through the port. She knew how I felt about her, of course. I’d never made any secret of it, and even if I’d tried to, a woman would have had to be a lot more stupid than Marie to miss the evidence. Most of the girls in our section are more stupid than she, and it’s a standing joke with them.
Marie didn’t answer for several seconds, and I decided I still had the conversational ball. I resumed writing.
“Of course, he’s part of the job anyway. I came down to find out what I could about the three, of you. I know about Bert and you, now, but the job’s not finished. There are other things here to learn. I’ve got to pick up the technical information that makes this place possible, especially its ability to ignore power rationing, and there’s a little question which talking to you has brought up. If you’re so sure they’ve disposed of Joey, and are planning to do the same with you when you leave, why do you think you’re still alive? They could have holed your sub without the slightest difficulty—or for that matter spared themselves the considerable trouble of supplying you with food and air.”
“I’ve been thinking about that last,” Marie answered, this time without hesitation. “When I first staged this sit-down, it was meant to test them on that point—” She saw me start writing and stopped while I finished.
“Weren’t you taking some chances with that sort of test?” I asked. “Suppose they’d failed it. Would you have lived to report the results?”
“Well, no. I wasn’t really caring what happened to me about that time, but I did think I stood a chance of driving out of here and making a decent try for the surface, with something really worthwhile to report.”
“Marie, I’ve always thought as much of your brains as of your other qualities, but for the last few minutes you’ve been dithering. You must know it. Are you going to give me straight data, or do I have to work here even more alone than I’d hoped? I repeat, why do you think they haven’t killed or at least starved you?”
That was taking a chance, I realized, but it worked. She started to frown, then fought it off with a visible effort, thought for a moment with her lips pursed and then began talking more quietly.
“All right. I didn’t trust any of the juice-breathers out there, and I’m not sure I trust even you”—I was grateful for the “even”—“but I’ll take a chance. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking here; I’ve had nothing much else to do. I’ve come up with one explanation, and I haven’t been able to think of any others or find any holes in it. It accounts for their not killing me and their letting you and Bert join them. It suggests that Joey might possibly be alive, though if he is it doesn’t explain why he hasn’t come to see me the way you and Bert have.” She paused to think for a moment and then went on. “It’s quite simple in principle, but it could do with some detailed facts. That’s one reason I’m telling it to you.” She paused again, and looked at me hard before going on.
“They must need us. There’s something they’re short of that you, and Bert, and Joey, and I, and maybe anyone else from the surface can supply. It’s the only sensible answer.”
I pondered that. It was a possibility I hadn’t thought of, though I was not ready to accept it as the only sensible one.
“You don’t think they might just be so pleased with their way of life—freedom from power rationing, they’d probably call it—that they just want recruits on general principles? That sort of thing has happened.”
“I know it has,” she replied. “But I don’t believe it has this time. You got that sort of thing back in the days of nations and political parties before the Board’s necessity was realized.”
“If you think we’ve outgrown politics,” I retorted as quickly as the stylus would let me, “you’re less alert than I thought you were around our own office. And what’s wrong with regarding this bunch as a nation? It’s the picture I’ve been forming of them.”
“Nation? You’ve a short circuit between the ears. They’re just another bunch of power-wasters. There aren’t enough of them to be a nation.”
“Do you know how many there are?”
“Of course not. I’ve been in no position to count. A few hundred, I should think.”
“You think a few hundred people could build a place like this
? Or even a small part of it? There must be miles of tunnels here. I swam for the best part of an hour to get from where they worked on me to this place, and it was a maze. I haven’t seen any part of their power unit yet, but it must be huge to supply all this volume with light, and there’s that big tent area outside—you must have seen that. How could a few hundred people possibly do such a job? On the surface, with unlimited time and normal construction machinery, sure; but what standard machinery could have been used here?”
Marie had wanted to cut in a little way back, but waited for me to finish. There’s no point in trying to quote the next few minutes verbatim; they boiled down to the fact that she hadn’t seen the lighted area outside. She’d spotted a work sub while she was prowling around searching for Joey, had followed it, and wound up at an entrance apparently out of sight of the ’tent’. Apparently there were a lot of entrances. She had no opinion to offer on the lighted area, and I couldn’t help feeling that she didn’t entirely believe my account of it.
She hadn’t been captured. She’d followed the sub to the entrance, found she lacked ballast enough to get through the interface between the liquids and simply stayed there, blocking traffic, until they’d loaded her down and towed her inside out of the way. Women are interesting creatures, with interesting powers. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but decided not to tell her so.
“All right,” I finally summed up on the pad. “The jobs for me seem to be to find Joey or reliable word of him; to find a specific, convincing reason why they are so willing or eager to have us join them; to get reliable information about the size and population of the place; and to get the technical information about their power plant.”
