“Don’t mind them. They’re tired, sore and mad at what the Tailless did.”
“I don’t doubt it. I didn’t want to cause any trouble…just to find out if anyone here needs help. I know the Skortish would send a party if asked. Maybe even the Omtorish—”
Tulcheah sniffed. “Oh, I doubt that. The Omtorish think of us as pets…and not very bright ones at that.”
“Tulcheah, you know that’s not true. Omtorish are proud people, that’s true but—”
“You think Ponkti aren’t proud?”
Chase moved to tamp down the raw feelings that clearly were barely contained among the Ponkti. “Look, I don’t know about this Kel’metah business. I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it. I’m just trying to do the right thing…if I could ever figure out what that is. Jeez, Tullie, you people argue and fight like humans. Worse, even.”
Now Tulcheah was clearly annoyed with him and she went back to her spot in the cleanup detail, tossing debris along angrily as quickly as she received it.
“Kel’metah Chase—“the way she said it, Chase’s echopod fairly dripped with sarcasm. He hadn’t known the device could convey feelings like that…”—if you really want to do the right thing, then make the Tailless stop harassing us. Make them leave us alone.”
A chorus of honks and squeaks along the line agreed with Tulcheah’s words. It wasn’t the first time Chase had felt the tug-of-war between his human side and his em’took-modified Seomish side. He felt helpless, trapped, confused. He wondered what his Dad, Mack Meyer, would do in a situation like this. Then he scoffed at that thought: Mack Meyer would have grabbed a beer and a cigar, guzzled and smoked, and stalked off, muttering and swearing to himself.
Mack Meyer had never been one to let an argument or a decision get in the way of a beer.
The truth was Chase was appalled by what the humans, the U.S. Navy and their allies, had done. He thought they had an understanding with the humans, an understanding about what the Seomish were doing, why they were here. At least, at Keenomsh’pont, the Seomish weren’t bothering anybody. These were supposed to be in international waters here in the mid-Atlantic, to Chase’ way of thinking. It was true the Ponkti had run afoul of the Chinese in the Pacific, but then the Ponkti did that. Chase was confident something could be worked out. The Skortish and the Orketish were a mystery. He didn’t know what seas or oceans their explorers had ventured into.
With a sigh, as he lifted heavier pieces of rock off a flattened shelter canopy, Chase realized he would probably hear from them as well. Being Kel’metah was like being referee in a hockey game…or more appropriately, chaperone at recess on the school playground.
A few minutes later, the cleanup brigade was interrupted by the appearance of a detail of the Metah’s prodsmen. The vizier herself, old Oncolenia, was with them. She singled out Chase and came over to the debris pile.
“Her Affectionate Majesty Mokleeoh loh, requests your appearance at her quarters at once. The prodsmen will escort you.”
Chase had thought that the Kel’metah was supposed to be above such summons, but apparently not. The prodsmen and their prods brooked no argument. Conscious of the scorn and stares of the Ponkti, Chase meekly fell into line and the escort was off.
He found it somewhat of an effort to keep up, but Chase was determined he would show no weakness now.
If they want me to be Kel’metah, I’ll show ‘em what the old boy can do.
Mokleeoh was in her quarters, a rather large canopied depression in the seabed, surrounded by bubble curtains, a few hydrothermal vents corkscrewing their smoke columns upward and a sentinel of rock stands that time and currents had twisted and sculpted into fantastic, even tortured shapes…serpents’ heads and anguished faces, all backlit with the ethereal glow of eel-like k’orpuh snakes wrapped around them like garlands.
Oncolenia showed him inside, then withdrew quietly.
Mokleeoh seemed lost in thought, idly flippering her way around the enclosure. From time to time, she selected a scentbulb from a shelf, sniffed it perfunctorily and put it back.
“I have a mission for you.”
“Affectionate Metah, is this a mission for Kel’metah? Or me as eekoti Chase?”
That seemed to get the Metah’s attention. She came to an abrupt stop. A faint smile spread across her face. “Of course, you are Kel’metah. It would be inappropriate for me, Metah of Omt’or, to give you orders. This mission is a request…think of it like that.”
Yeah, the kind of request the drill sergeant gives to his recruits at boot camp, Chase figured. “What kind of mission?”
Mokleeoh started her ceaseless roaming again, though at a slower pace, circling the room and Chase orbit after orbit. He felt like she was sizing him up.
“I want…I request…that you make a trip. The Tailless have issued a communication that we received by repeater a short time ago. They want to meet with us. With our representatives. They mentioned you, by name, I might add.”
Chase shrugged. Figures. “What do they want? And where is this meeting?”
Here, Mokleeoh barked a sharp whistle and, as if by magic, Oncolenia appeared from outside the enclosure, pushing through the bubble curtains with an inquisitive beak.
“Yes, Affectionate Metah?”
“Bring the echopod of the message.”
“At once, Affectionate Metah.” The vizier disappeared for a moment, only to return bearing a pod wrapped with the Metah’s seal. Mokleeoh took it, activated it and gave it to Chase.
“Listen…for yourself.”
Chase held the pod to his ears. It was in English, though he found he could trigger Spanish, French, Chinese and Russian translations by turning the pod this way or that.
It was a sort of invitation. Chase played the thing several times to get the details. The human UNISEA group wanted to meet with him and any designated assistants in five days. The meeting would take place at Woods Hole, Massachusetts…that made Chase wince, with his memory of being held captive like some prize game fish in the aquarium there…and the purpose of the meeting was to discuss ways to improve relations between the humans and the Seomish.
Chase gave the pod back to Mokleeoh. He explained what was being asked.
“The Tailless want to talk. I think the fact that their little attack was driven off has given them reason to re-think their position. They want me and anyone else I need to come to Woods Hole—that’s where that little sub took me when they grabbed me—and meet with this UNISEA…some kind of official body, I guess. They want our ideas and demands. They want to know what needs to be done to improve relations.”
Mokleeoh was circling more vigorously now, stirring up complex cross-currents, buffeting loose items on the shelves. Some of them drifted off, so that a small vortex of loose items swirled after her.
“Lektereenah thinks this is a trap. An ambush. Oolandra thinks it’s a ruse of some kind.”
“What do you think, Affectionate Metah?”
Mokleeoh was quick to reply. “I think we have no choice but to meet. Kel’metah Chase, it takes no wisdom to see that we are strangers in these seas. We’re outnumbered. Probably outgunned, despite the last engagement. We’ll never have peace and be able to make a life here if we can’t come to some kind of understanding with the Tailless. Already I hear talk among the kelke: some want to re-enter the Farpool and go somewhere else. Is that even possible? There is no Farpool now. Some want to have all Seomish go through em’took like you and become more like the Tailless. Is that possible? As for me, I want to preserve what is best in our culture…our language, our traditions, our foods and sports and beliefs…I don’t want us to lose those things. But it’s clear to me, at least, that we must meet with the Tailless and try to work out our differences. Kel’metah Chase, since you are now Kel’metah, I can’t order you to make this trip. But I implore you: you should do this. Make them stop the harassment. Lektereenah doesn’t want you to go. Oolandra and Keleemah…they haven’t made up their mind. Their ow
n people argue about this. But you are part Omtorish. Omt’or is home kel to you, or that part of you that remains Seomish.” Mokleeoh stopped abruptly again and stared right at him, an almost childlike look of wonder on her face, as if it were Christmas morning and an unexpected gift were in hand. “I appeal to that part of you, Chase.”
It was the same look Chase remembered, as a child, seeing on their old hound Benji, whenever Benji knew something was coming, he didn’t know what, but the expectant ears, the quirky set to his mouth, you just couldn’t disappoint Benji when he gave you that look.
But these weren’t dogs, or pets. Chase shook his head. This is insane. These are Seomish people. They’re my friends. They took me and Angie in once, made their home our home, accepted us into their families, warts and arguments and all.
How could he not do as the Metah asked?
Chase sucked in a breath. He remembered what he had promised Angie, just a few days ago. The words came flooding back into his head, like an echopod unspooling its contents, word for word…
“...this procedure. This modification whatever…that made you look like—” she fumbled for the right words, “—like a frog on steroids. You said it could be reversed. You even said I did it once… but that was in the future. If that’s true…or was true…or will be true…that means you can do it too. I want you to do that. Chase—“she held out a hand and he grabbed it and for once, the slimy, scaly yucky thing didn’t feel so bad, “—Chase, I just want you back. The old Chase I used to know.”
All he could do now was nod slowly at Mokleeoh’s request. Chase wanted to be anywhere else but here.
Chapter 8
Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute
Woods Hole, MA
July 25, 2115
1330 hours
The first meetings between UNISEA representatives (led by Dr. Satsuyama) and the Seomish contingent (led by Kel’metah Chase) were to be held in a musty old museum building off Woods Hole Road next to the Challenger Annex. The museum was a seldom-visited single-story wood-sided building, vaguely Cape Cod in look, and near Little Harbor and the Coast Guard station. The UNISEA diplomats felt that proximity to such a body of water as Little Harbor would make it easier for the Sea People to come and go as needed…it would give them a sense of normalcy in what was otherwise expected to be a tense and stressful place.
Dr. Satsuyama watched the arrival of the Seomish from the museum’s parking lot, along with Dr. Josey Holland.
“I never thought I would ever see anything like this,” the Japanese biologist muttered. “It’s like a dream.”
“Or a nightmare,” Josey Holland remarked. “I keep having to pinch myself.”
They both had come out to the parking lot when the first Seomish ships arrived. The things looked like small humpback whales, surfacing in the harbor near the Coast Guard lighthouse, then beaching themselves on the sandbars on the near side of the marina. Once ‘parked’, the two ships popped their hatches and the Seomish contingent climbed awkwardly out.
There were three who emerged, and several others who stayed behind, inside the ships. The three who emerged included the one who looked like some kind of giant mutant frog. The other two were clearly encased in armored suits that gave them some kind of mobility and life support on land.
The three who emerged made their way onto the beach, a bit unsteadily, then clambered across the sand dunes, over the sea wall and across the bike path and walkway that circled the harbor. Once they had made the grass lawn that fronted the museum, they encountered a phalanx of campus police, Massachusetts State Patrol and National Guard troops, lining the edges of the lawn, guns drawn and ready.
Nobody was taking any chances.
The three Seomish waddled slowly across the lawn—Holland was sure she could hear the faint whir of some kind of motors—and approached the parking lot. Dr. Satsuyama bowed deeply, made some greetings and with hand gestures, indicated the trio should follow him. Holland and a few other UNISEA and Woods Hole officials followed up the rear.
Inside the conference room, a U-shaped arrangement of tables and chairs had been set up, with pitchers of water, pads, pens and slates. The Seomish trundled into the room, stared for a moment, then stood stoically along one wall. None of the arrangements were of any use for them.
“They won’t be able to sit down,” Chase explained. To Satsuyama and Holland, his voice coming out of the echopod sounded tinny and mechanical, albeit recognizably American. “Their mobilitors don’t work that way. We’ll just stand.”
“As you wish,” Satsuyama said. He and Holland stood for a moment, then seated themselves. The UNISEA director made some introductory remarks, which Chase responded to, then the meeting got down to its real business.
“We met before,” Chase said to Holland. “A month ago…in another building.”
Holland reddened slightly. “Yes, sir...I have to apologize for that. We didn’t know—I mean, it was only later that—”
Chase waved it off. “It was my fault. I just hope we can make some kind of agreement here…so both sides will understand each other better.”
Satsuyama decided candor and honesty would be the order of the day. “Why have you come here? Have your people always been here…perhaps we just didn’t know about you before?”
Chase explained briefly about the Farpool and the Kel’vish’tu. “Their world was dying...their sun was dying. The Farpool made it possible to come here, just in time. “
Manklu tel kel: Omt’or was one of the negotiators. Pakto klu kel: Sk’ort was the other. Manklu spoke, slowly, letting his own echopod translate for the Tailless.
“Shkreeah…many were lost. Zzzhhh…we had no choice….”
Holland nodded. “So you immigrated…to Earth? That must have been…awful…frightening…”
“How many are you?” Satsuyama asked.
Chase gave them a figure. “The Seomish just want to be left alone. To rebuild their lives here.”
The UNISEA director considered that. “Several hundred thousand? This could present a problem.”
“Why? The settlement—they call it Keenomsh’pont—is in international waters. There’s no place else for them to go…the Farpool is gone.”
“Not all your immigrants are in the Atlantic,” Satsuyama said. “The Russians and the Chinese have told me that some of your…er, people…have moved into territorial waters in the Pacific.”
Chase knew firsthand that this was true. “They wanted to explore the oceans…learn about the new world.”
“It’s not their world,” Satsuyama said. “True, your main settlement is in international waters but even so, there are…concerns that have to be addressed. To have so many traveling unchecked around the oceans…this could cause troubles.”
“What troubles?” Chase asked. “Whales and other creatures roam the oceans at will. Nobody has any problem with that.”
“I guess the problem is that some see your people as a threat. You are an intelligent people. You clearly have technology. You have weapons. You’ve already assaulted my people, in fact, right here. The Chinese have already said you’re interfering with fishing and oil and gas extraction. These settlements are in their exclusive economic zones…the Law of the Sea clearly prohibits—”
Now Manklu became somewhat agitated. His mobilitor creaked and whirred as it shifted to keep him in balance. “You took one of our people—eekoti Chase was taken hostage. Any kel would react the same way. We protect our people.”
Satsuyama held up a hand. “Please…please…we must be patient with other. It’s clear there have been misunderstandings. Perhaps, we should start with a simple statement of demands. I will make a list of what we want…what we humans want in these matters. You do the same. We’ll compare lists and see where we can come to agreement. I’ll bet there are many areas where we have compatible interests.”
Chase explained the offer and Pakto and Manklu agreed. The Seomish chatted among themselves, on some frequency beyond the echopod,
and Satsuyama gathered his own negotiators around one end of the table to do likewise.
Josey Holland’s wristpad then chirped. “I have to take this,” she announced, frowning at the message details. Christ, Stephen’s attorney…of all the times. She left the room and went out onto the porch, overlooking the grass lawn. There, she pulled up the vid and spoke for a few minutes with her own attorney, practically yelling at times. After a few minutes, she punched her wristpad off and decided to wait awhile before re-entering the room.
Jesus Christ, what next? A petition to declare me unfit…the jerk…. It wasn’t Stephen that always got her riled up, or his troglodyte attorneys. She could handle Stephen. It was the fear that he could yet wind up with custody of Timmy and Hannah. She paced the porch for a few seconds, clenching and unclenching her fists. That just could not happen. No way she would ever let that happen. She toyed with the idea of arranging for the kids to be kidnapped, just to get them away from Stephen…maybe send them off with the Seomish to their city beneath the sea. The idea of it, once it came up, was laughable.
I’ve been watching way too many crime vids, she figured. Still, it was a thought.
Inside the room, Chase, Pakto and Manklu gathered at one end of the room, per Satsuyama’s suggestion, to hash out what they wanted from the humans.
“They have to let us build our kels,” Manklu was saying. “The Tailless don’t live in the sea. Why do they care if we build a home in their oceans?”
Chase shrugged, a useless gesture in his current form, but he couldn’t help it. “Humans are like that. We’re…they’re…territorial, just like Seomish. You didn’t want Ponkti or Skortish trespassing in your waters. In fact, you fought constantly about that. The Ponkti are in somebody’s territory, with their new village T’kel’rok. The Chinese aren’t happy about it.”
Pakto was subdued. “We need the mekli now. They know what Shooki wants. They have the ancient scentbulbs…they can interpret and advise us.”
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