Chapter 16
Seome
Omsh’pont, kel: Om’t
Time: 767.4, Epoch of Tekpotu
Chase learned that the hearing to determine the fate of Tulcheah kim was set for the next day. He asked Kloosee about Seomish law and justice…how did that work? Kloosee said it varied from kel to kel. To learn more about law and justice in Omt’or, Kloosee told him to consult his echopod.
Chase kloooshk’ed and klooooshk’ed until he finally got the thing to work….
“Omtorish law is officially codified in the mind and memory of the Metah. The Metah regularly consumes a special substance, called tekn’een, to improve her memory and recall. The theory is that since all laws and decrees come from the Metah, only she can determine if they have been broken.
“Judicial proceedings against law-breakers are normally overseen by the Metah and her staff. In practice, decisions are often left to the staff or the Metah’s chief of state, known as the Mek’too. The council of em’kel representatives, known as the Kel’em, offers advice and counsel on legal matters and in the event punishment is necessary, will perform this duty.
“The most common form of punishment is either exile or a form of officially sanctioned silence, called jee’ot. In extreme cases, execution can be decreed, either by live burial or more commonly by flotation, where the offender is forced to the surface. Such cases are rare.
“Om’torkel claims a line of unbroken, uncontaminated descent from Omt’or, Daughter of Shooki….”
Chase fiddled with his echopod, trying to turn the thing off. Finally, he managed to click, grunt, and whistle well enough to force the echopod into silence.
“Well, that’s pretty much more than I wanted to know,” he murmured to himself. He went looking for Kloosee.
The summons from the Mek’too came shortly afterward. A messenger from the Metah had appeared outside the em’kel chambers. Kloosee received the bulb and played it for everyone, all had gathered around to hear. Chase was commanded by the Metah to appear in her lawgiving chambers the next day.
“These chambers are inside the pyramid,” Kloosee explained. “I’m summoned too. Longsee as well. We’ll go together.”
Chase spent a restless night in the em’kel of Putektu, tossing and turning in his sleep niche. He was cold, tired, a little hungry and anxious. He wondered how Angie had fared, going back through the Farpool. Had she made it? Was she back on Earth? Or was she…somewhere, who knew where… else? He tried covering the niche opening with its netting but to no avail. Omsh’pont was always a restless city, even with the return of the great sound, and its residents roamed and squawked at all hours. Several females came nosing by but Chase found he wasn’t interested. They darted off, disappointed.
Finally, a fitful sort of sleep descended on him.
Chase was startled awake by Kloosee himself.
“Eat now,” Kloosee told him. “We must be at the lawgiving soon.”
Chase made himself as presentable as he could—there were no mirrors in Omsh’pont and he knew he looked like an iguana on steroids anyway—then he gulped down some clams and pods while drifting around an oval bed of pinkish-white coral –the em’kel’s main gathering spot. It was a custom of Kloosee’s em’kel to drift quietly in orbit around this structure as members ate and talked. Still groggy and anxious, Chase found himself bumping into others as he drifted about. There was something like grumbling when that happened, but Chase found he really didn’t care.
Kloosee, Longsee and Chase set out across Omsh’pont shortly afterward. The city was as busy as ever, with thousands of kelke roaming about. Chase had often wondered if any work was ever done here. The Omtorish seemed a gregarious sort, much given to strolling about, chatting, eating and copulating.
I could get used to this sort of lifestyle, he kept telling himself. It’s a beach bum’s dream. But he was still depressed and he knew why.
He missed Angie.
A squat pyramid dominated the seabed near the center of the city, surrounded by multiple levels of pavilions and floating platforms, all connected in one way or another. The pyramid itself was a squat formation, leveled off at the top into a canopied open space that was the Metah’s public plaza. Kloosee had told him that the pyramid was honeycombed with caves, niches, compartments and chambers.
“The lawgiving is below the plaza,” he remarked, as they approached the upper slopes of the pyramid. They reached an outer perimeter of glowing coral, denoting the Metah’s chambers, and there a squad of prodsmen checked their identities, pulsing each of them carefully, repeatedly, to make sure.
Finally, a single prodsmen motioned for them to follow. The trio entered the pyramid through an opening below the coral fence and followed a confusing warren of corridors, passages and tunnels, until they came at last to a larger cavern, hollowed out of the pyramid interior. More glowing coral circled the cavern in concentric bands, while glowfish drifted in knots about the space.
The Metah, Iltereedah luk’t, floated serenely over a small pedestal that looked like an open palm. White tube-like plants formed the fingers, waving gently in the prevailing currents. A gathering of officials huddled in one corner of the oval space, murmuring to themselves. As they came into the lawgiving chamber, Chase could sense an undercurrent of tension. The knot of officials stirred uneasily and tails and flukes whipped and snapped in obvious discord.
Iltereedah wasted no time in bringing the proceedings to order. Chase listened first to the tone of her voice…all grunts and squeaks and clicks and whistles, then to the echopod translation. He decided the Metah was solemn and brusque this day.
“…have taken the tekn’een. My memory is fully enhanced. Nothing will be forgotten. Nothing will be overlooked. I will consider all sides of this case, all the details. After this, the bonding will proceed.”
Chase turned to Kloosee, who whispered in his ear, much to the displeasure of a nearby prodsman.
“It’s the thought-bond,” Kloosee told him. “The Metah will merge her own mind with the witness and probe deeply, to ascertain if what the witness says is true.”
Chase had a sinking feeling. “Who’s the witness?”
“You are.”
Several officials—Chase later learned that they were the Kel’em, official representatives of all of Omt’or’s em’kels, came over to Chase and Kloosee. Gently but firmly, they nudged Chase away, forcing him toward the Metah’s bed. Chase drifted up before Ilteeredah and regarded her with scarcely concealed dread.
Iltereedah spoke. “I pulse anxious feelings, eekoti Chase. The thought-bond is part of our law. My staff will give you something to calm you—“At her words, one aide dispensed a small round bulb into Chase’s hands. With his own hands, the aide mimicked that Chase was to squeeze the bulb contents into his mouth.
He did so. It tasted tart, stinging his tongue a little, but not altogether unpalatable. Not bad. Then his tongue went numb and his mouth seemed frozen in position. He tried to speak but nothing would move. Bubbles dribbled out of his mouth. Unseen hands pushed him further forward, into the Metah’s bed. Soon, he found himself below Iltereedah, enveloped in her massive gray bulk, like a baby suckling. Her armfins and tail flukes pinned him in position. Eventually, she pressed her entire bulk on top of him, smothering him.
At first, he couldn’t breathe. It was like those pillow fights he’d had as a child with Kenny and Jamie, the kind where you couldn’t breathe and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.
Only this time he wasn’t laughing.
The Metah was an older female but she had considerable bulk. He thought about the first time his Dad had taken him diving to the hundred-foot level, how heavy and cold the water was, pressing in, how he’d fumbled with his BC, his regulator, his weights, trying to maintain depth, not go any lower. The water was an oppressive shroud, engulfing him, squeezing him, penetrating everything…that’s what it felt like.
Chase figured he was dreaming, woozy and out of control. Sometimes he had dreams where he was flying over some landscape…Scotland Beach, some strange desert he’d never been able to identify, Jupiter, Mars or whatever sci-fi movie he’d most recently seen. But this dream was different. In this dream, he was swimming, speeding through the water with a strength and power he’d never imagined.
He smelled things, blood here, tchinting beds, mah’jeet blooms far off, the tart sting of a ripe gisu pod. He felt the rush of water flowing against his flanks, felt the temperature differences, the salt, the silt, the rough currents…it was like he had a map in his head. He could sound things, see inside of things, know when a friend was happy or sad, reading the echoes like a book.
Chase realized he was somewhere else…he was inside Iltereedah now, he was Iltereedah. Somehow, their minds, their senses, had merged…he was experiencing Omt’or and the lawgiving as Iltereedah sensed it. For the very first time, he knew what being Seomish truly meant. It meant family, warmth, belonging…cocooning, knowing everybody and everything, tasting everything. It meant joining, unity, harmony, concord, shoo’kel and a hundred other feelings he had no words for. Now he felt them and knew them for the first time—
There seemed to be an echo…no, that wasn’t quite it. More of a beat, like a musical cadence…pounding in his head. The beat goes on….and on and on. Now it’s expanding, filling his mind, he can’t get rid of it…it’s swelling, taking over everything. The beat was a pulse. Like an old submarine movie, he was being pinged. Yeah, that’s it. Active sonar. Right full rudder. Target five thousand yards…match bearings and shoot…no, that still wasn’t it.
Chase realized somebody, some thing, a person, was messing around in his mind and he was powerless to stop. Opening drawers in the file cabinets of his memory, asking questions, examining things…what the hell is this?
Then, it stopped. As suddenly as it had come on, it ceased. And the warmth and the joining resumed again. He felt drowsy and light-headed. In time, he fell asleep.
The thought-bond was over.
When Chase woke up, he was back in Kloosee’s em’kel, back in the close confines of Putektu’s cave. Shapes darted by. Echoes sounded and reverberated off the cave walls. A face materialized in front of his eyes.
It was Kloosee. He offered Chase some pods to suck on. They tasted good.
Chase was still a bit groggy. “What happened…did I do okay?”
Kloosee was presently joined by another em’kel member…the name Kleko came to mind. Kleko was huge, older, massive in girth. His face loomed like a continent in front of Chase.
“The thought-bond is done. The Metah has made a ruling.”
Chase finished his pod and asked for another one. Kleko produced a small basket full. Chase devoured all of them.
“What happened? What did she decide?”
Here, Kloosee was clearly anguished, pained. “Tulcheah is guilty. The Metah determined that what you testified was the truth. Tulcheah…and another Ponkti male not here in Omt’or sabotaged the shield. The substance they applied caused the shield to fail at that point.”
“So what happens now?”
Kloosee darted off and circled the cave, bumping into several others. Chase tried pulsing his friend…it came back echoes of confusion, concern…something like pity…Chase wasn’t sure he was reading the echoes right.
“Tulcheah must die. She is to be banished…to the surface. To the Notwater.”
At first, the thought didn’t register fully with Chase. “That’s not so…” then he realized that for Seomish with no lifesuits, Notwater was death.
“You’re upset,” Chase said simply.
Kloosee wouldn’t stop circling. He had to move to make sense of his feelings. “I am. You pulse correctly, Chase…you’re learning. Tulcheah is with the Kel’em now. They’re preparing her for the ascent. It happens tomorrow, when the currents are right.”
Now Chase was sad too. Seomish law, Seomish justice…he’d had his first taste of it. “Didn’t she defend herself…you know, like have a lawyer or something? To argue against the judgment?”
Kloosee finally ceased roaming and drifted sadly by the cave entrance. Kleko eased past him with his empty basket and they were alone…an unusual occurrence on Seome, Chase realized. “I’m listening to the echobulb translate…if I understand your word ‘lawyer’ properly…we have no such thing. The Metah is the law. She makes the law. She decides the law. She determines when the law has been broken…and how the lawbreaker will be punished. It’s been decided.”
“So that’s that?” Chase remembered snatches of the thought-bond. For a very brief moment, he had been the Metah…or at least, been joined with her. It brought a chill to him and he shivered.
Kloosee said, “Yes…the matter is closed. Only the banishing happens now. The Metah has called a meeting of the Kel’em for right after Tulcheah ascends. What to do about the wavemaker and the Umans…that will be discussed.”
Chase still felt sleepy. “I guess that thought-bond took a lot out of me, Kloos. I need some rest.”
Kloosee nudged him back into the sleep niche. “Stay here…I’ll see you are not disturbed. You’re coming with me to the Kel’em tomorrow. We will roam together, about the city. Big decisions have to be made.”
But Chase was half a sleep anyway. The world shrank down to blurry view of the cave walls. Then there was nothing.
The official vish’tu roam was a custom as old as the world. Its origins were lost in the murky currents of the past, unclear and shrouded by the mythical tales of the ancient cave-dwellers. It was very much in the traditions of Ke’shoo and Ke’lee and Shoo’kel, and typically involved two roamers, although custom did not dictate any set number. Entire em’kels, or even whole kels, were known to conduct their business in vishtu, on roams that might last from a few hours to a few days, and range over thousands of beats.
The beauty of the vishtu was that it encouraged great physical exertion. That was good in itself but it also helped unblock other channels of communication like scent and gave them a chance to work. Sharp disputes often arose on roams but the vishtu seemed to blunt them. Something happened to kelke who roamed in vishtu; they were more congenial and flexible. It was the physical beauty of the landscape, in the opinion of many, that accounted for this. Others insisted that it was the muscular exertion involved—the body and the mind were one and sustained effort was needed to ease the roamer into a trance where he could merge his personality with his fellow roamers. More likely, the magic of vishtu was due simply to what was called t’shoo, a feeling of sliding through the water, brushed by currents and tingling from beak to tail, spiritual orgasm it might be called. Vishtu was all these things.
The Metah had called for kelvishtu, to discuss and decide on what Omt’or, and eventually the other kels, could do about the Umans and their war machine. To set the right tone for the roam and the difficult decisions ahead, Iltereedah had decreed that the roam would begin with a reciting of the Tillet Songs. In the earliest days of the Sound, most of Omt’or’s tillet and pal’penk pack animals had scattered to the boundaries of the Omt’orkel Sea in fear. In order to attract and gather them again, a great roam would be put together, a roam lasting several days. All the kel would join in singing the Songs which drew the beasts from their hiding and enticed them to return. Pakma, because she was possessed of a beautiful singing voice, was given the task of instructing all nonkelke in the forms and rituals of the Song. It was expected that all would accompany the kel.
Chase wasn’t so sure he could keep up with such vigorous and efficient swimmers as the Omtorish.
“We may have to take some breaks,” he told Pakma and Kloosee. “I’m not as good a swimmer as everybody else.”
“Not to worry,” Kloosee told him. “If you tire, we’ll hitch you to one of the tillet. You can come along for the ride.”
O
mt’or’s millions soon began gathering near the base of the seamount Shooksh’pont, this despite the deadening drone and beat of the Uman sound from up north. Other kels had asked to join in and Iltereedah had relented. They made the journey from across the Orkn’tel, from as far away as the Eeskork and the icewaters, from the Pulkel and from breakaway em’kels near the Skortish boundary. The sea darkened with kelke, loud and boisterous and anxious to be underway. For several days, the kel assembled its people, until they swarmed in such multitude that the din could be pulsed around the world and the other kels knew Omt’or as a single powerful echo.
Only the Ponkti decided not to participate.
When at last the full kel had gathered and the seamounts of the valley were lost in the immense tide of people, the Metah sent her Kel’em councilors among them with the protocol of the roam. There were moments of great excitement and disappointment, waiting to learn how the em’kels would be arranged, who would roam with whom, who would be separated, who favored, who would roam nearest the Metah and who at the tail. The clattering of potu pearls changing hands was quickly followed by the buzz of the prodsman’s prod, to keep the bribery within bearable limits. When it was done, Kloosee took Chase aside with a beaming smile on his face.
“Iltereedah has honored you with a flank just one beat behind hers. You’ll be able to hear and pulse everything that is said. I hear from some of her servlings that she thinks you can deal with the Umans better than anyone. She may even ask you to roam with her for a time.”
“You’ll be up there with me, I hope,” Chase said.
“One flank ahead, along with Longsee and some of my em’kel. It’s a great honor to have Putektu there...we do know important things about the Notwater. There are so many big decisions we have to make. But eekoti Chase, you must be pure and candid in your echoes. Iltereedah demands that. Remember what I’ve taught you about shoo’kel.”
“Steady as she goes,” Chase repeated. He knew he still had a lot to learn about all this pulsing business.
The great day came and Iltereedah made her appearance with her full court in tow. The vishtu formed swiftly as she paddled serenely toward the head of the roam. A hush rolled through the crowd like a strong current and there was furious commotion behind them as the kelke pulled themselves together. Kloosee stole a pulse at the magnificent sight: the flanks curved out of range around the end of the valley and spread out into the Omt’orkel itself, in evenly stepped divisions. He imagined it as a massive seamother, poised to strike. A prodsman tapped him on the dorsal and told him to face the Metah with all pulses. From now on, he was expected to remain in flank with Longsee.
They set off at a slow pace, allowing the crowds behind them to catch up. The Metah led them through a dense bed of brilliant blue ting coral that marked the end of the valley, though it was partly obscured by the ever-present rain of silt. Beside each flank, a cluster of servlings hovered, ready to swoop in with pods of food. Kloosee ate them as soon as they could be replaced. Chase, not be outdone, wolfed down everything put in front of him.
Shookengkloo Trench dwindled behind them; ahead, the southern limb of the Serpentines could barely be pulsed. Once out of the valley, good ootkeeor water could be felt for hundreds of beats in any direction. That would make the discussions and the decisions easier. The vishtu murmured in anticipation and Kloosee noticed that all of the servlings had now vanished.
A high ringing shriek from the Metah was the signal. The sound channel magnified the shriek into a crescendo of shrill notes, pealing away in the distance. Another shriek met the first overtures of the full vishtu, deep, melodious harmonies building majestically to a deafening bellow, a wail sliding across the ocean, reverberating around the world, the kel’s way of saying “Here we are.” Tillet and pal’penk could never mistake the sound, even as it clashed with the Uman noise.
The first call was soon repeated, with higher pitch and the waters shook with the cries. From the bottom, eelots and scapet and kiplet stirred and listened carefully; great schools massed beneath the vishtu, following it across the sea. The first melodies of the Songs were repeated, once, twice, three times, lamenting the kel’s loss. Omt’or mourned the days of loneliness, with sorrow and pain. Her lost herds would hear the moans and return to still them forever.
The overtures lasted for the better part of a day and by the time the vishtu had reached the first slopes of Eeskorkloo Trench, Chase was exhausted trying to keep up. Kloosee took pity on him and lashed him side-saddle to a lumbering tillet, who managed to keep up barely and seemed increasingly annoyed to have such a dead weight on its back.
The next part of the Songs dealt with the history of the kel; it was a necessary interlude to the kelkemah, the story of Omt’or’s response to the crisis of the Umans. Kelkemah was a detailed rendering of the kel’s daily activities…the coming of the great Sound, the destruction, the shield, its failure. Through this, it was believed, the missing beasts would pulse how important they were and come back to their duties. After kelkemah, the refrain of the laments would follow.
And the stage would be set for what was sure to be a vigorous discussion of what to do next.
To Chase, it seemed lengthy and involved but it had a beauty and dignity that was way beyond pounding out some decision in a conference room back home.
But first, the vishtu would eat. The roam curved along the spine of the Trench and Kloosee could pulse far into the canyon, reading the outlines of a rugged floor strewn with boulders and fallen lava domes. He got echoes of a massive school of elongated animals—peektots, from the strong bounce of his pulses—and wondered if they would rise from the Trench to investigate what all the noise was about. A servling streaked in front of him and Kloosee reached out, snatching a pair of eelash pods from him. He bit into one and swallowed hungrily. Chase was right behind, busily chewing on a tough spiderstalk.
“At least, we don’t lack for things to eat,” Chase said between bites.
Pakma was alongside Kloosee, effortlessly kicking and stroking her way along. Chase could only envy them the beauty of their stroke. “You’ve never roamed in the Omtorish style, have you, eekoti Chase?”
“I’ve never roamed period. Back home, we talk walks sometimes. But nothing like this…I can’t imagine all of Scotland Beach going for a stroll on the beach. There’d be too many fights.”
“Ah, we have that as well,” Pakma admitted. “Other kels do vishtu differently. Some say all the furnishings distract from a good roam. Enhanced scents and echopod narratives and argument add nothing to it, according to others. But we Omtorish like our way best.”
“So do I,” Chase agreed. “You get to see a lot.”
Soon enough, the kel finished eating and began the Echoes of the Histories. Chase began to wonder if the Metah would ever raise the issue of the Umans and their machine; that was ostensibly the whole reason for the roam.
They don’t exactly dive right into a meeting, he thought to himself. Kloosee had told him the formalities would help the set the tone for the discussions. Chase figured the Omtorish just liked to have a good time, while they still could. With the Uman menace growing, no one knew if such a thing as vishtu would ever come again.
So the songs went on. From the birth of the Omt’orkel Sea to the metamah of Tekpotu, the life of kel Omt’or was celebrated. Metahs were praised, the greatest scents described, famous repeaters remembered. The Eep’kostic Aggression was retold and the mah’jeet plagues and the beginnings of potu culturing. The kel sang to itself a litany of the ages, romantic and sad, bold and adventurous, all the thousands of mah of remembered history gathered together in an intricate ballad. Nothing was forgotten and to help refresh its memory, servlings cruised up and down the fringe of the roam with open scentbulbs. Chase found the scents cloying, even overwhelming, but others around him seemed to enjoy them. The rich, tangled skein of odors soon engulfed him with feelings he had no words for.
&n
bsp; Maybe I’m becoming more and more Seomish, he realized. If only Angie could be here, to see and experience all this. But that only made him sad.
The vishtu continued its swift procession through the cold icewaters of the south Orkn’tel. Somewhere beyond the pulse line of the ice floes, the Eep’kostic lived, burrowed into caves carved from the ice itself. They drifted with the polar currents, an enigma to the entire world. The land of the k’orpuh, Kloosee told Chase. Treacherous and bleak. Just the thought of an ocean of tchor’kelte water made him numb.
A shout erupted from behind them and Kloosee turned to see. He pulsed the reason almost immediately.
A long, ragged bank of weary animals was rising from a ravine a few beats south of them. Hungry tillet, coming home. The kel exploded in a great outburst of cheer, shouting at them, coaxing them, momentarily frightening them until the strong, clear voice of the Metah was heard, drawing them back into the Songs. The beasts listened for a few moments, as the kel slid by, then gradually fell into formation with the vishtu, forming new flanks above and below them, content just to pulse something familiar.
Even as he watched this, Kloosee and Chase pulsed more tillet schooling around them, on all sides, rising from the seafloor many beats below. He pulsed down and thought the floor was alive; waves of silt and mud rolled by, giving way to more waves of tillet and pal’penk and stek’loo and all manner of Omtorish domestics. The water was thick with them and the kel had to slow to make its way.
The beauty of the Song was soon lost in the din of the reunion. The vishtu itself threatened to break apart, as thousands of beasts sought out and found their old masters. Chaotic pulses screeched around them. Only the prodsmen were able to restore order, darting in with their weapons to push away the delirious animals. To Chase, it looked like a football Saturday in Gainesville or Tallahassee, only noisier. The prodsmen managed to form a precarious barrier around the roamers, while the tillet skipped along the edges, probing, bumping, jostling, pressing in to join them. The confusion went on for hours but gradually a form of order was restored.
It made a majestic sight.
From where he and Chase roamed, Kloosee imagined that the vishtu had somehow grown wings. For as far as Kloosee could pulse, to their left and to their right, staggered lines of excited tillet flocked. Pal’penk roamed in tight schools above and below the wings, barely able to keep up despite losing much of the fat the herding em’kels had put on them. The kel itself had already started into kelkemah and the tillet answered the Song with a steady clicking and whistling of their own. Kloosee had no doubt that the roam was quite loud enough to travel ootkeeor around the world. They were like a colossal k’orpuh, lumbering across the ocean, enveloped in a shroud of scavengers.
Singing the kelkemah eventually quieted the beasts. They roamed now in unison, entranced by the words, the hypnotic cadence. Kelkemah spoke to them in the rhythms of the sea and they listened. Even Chase found himself drifting off at times, only to be bumped from behind by the next flank. He was tired and exhilarated at the same time and grateful for the experience. The Omtorish were already beginning to accept him as kelke, even though he looked like a freak to them. Somehow the Song affected him, though he understood none of it and he realized that he remained outside the magic of the words—the rest of the kel was fully immersed in the drama. Somehow, despite the thousands and thousands of bodies surrounding him, he felt more alone than ever, just listening.
Then, suddenly, the high shrill voice of Pakma tek cut through the deeper vocals of the kel. Chase thought it was Pakma, but he couldn’t be sure. Slowly, but surely, throughout the roam, Pakma had assumed the role of a Leading Voice. Her voice was at once strident and taut and penetrating at the same time, full of subtle undertones and overlaps, and in time, they began to carry the full weight of the melody of kelkemah for much of the middle flanks.
Pakma never strayed far from her trangkor, bringing the instrument to gatherings of em’kels, to meals, on roams, plucking a note here or there to make a point or emphasize a statement. Chase couldn’t help but think of his own jam sessions with the Croc Boys back in Scotland Beach, plucking out notes on his favorite go-tone, slamming down roof-raising verses of their only hit Lovin’ in the Dark. That was Angie’s favorite too.
The instrument was part of her, another limb, only one that gave off the most delicate, yet melancholy notes. Chase decided then and there he would get Pakma to show him how to play the trangkor.
The Metah led the roam out of the icewaters and across the breadth of the swift but narrow Orkn’tel current, a tributary of the Ork’lat. Almost immediately, the seas changed. The Ork’lat circulated warmth from the equator and the first tingling of the tropical currents were most welcome by the fatigued, benumbed vishtu.
The roam itself was now fifty beats wide at the head and nearly two hundred to the rear. It took hours for a message to travel that distance by word of mouth; there was no other way. It was impossible to focus the pulses of so many thousands of echobulbs and so the spoken word was the only reliable way of knowing anything.
A growing sense of anticipation had been building through the kelke for hours; even Kloosee had sensed it. Something is happening up front…something is coming, eekoti Chase. The Metah will speak. The Metah will hold council with the Kel’em. The Sound and the Umans will be discussed. Decisions will be made.
About time, Chase thought to himself.
The Metah had been asleep in an emtopod drawn by twenty tillet when she was gently awakened by a young servling, who rode on the crest of the pod while Iltereedah stirred and opened her eyes. She was exhausted from the roam and it was the first rest she had permitted herself. Momentous decisions were about to be made. She had wanted rest but sleep had been difficult.
When Iltereedah saw the face of the servling, though she motioned for the girl to squeeze in beside her. The ‘ling did so, with exaggerated deference and care. She nestled until Iltereedah had had enough. Then the Metah exited the emtopod and her shrill voice carried far and wide, as a great hush descended over the leading flanks of the roam. The word was quickly passed: be quiet, she speaks, listen for the voice. It took an hour for the entire roam to hear this.
Chase’s echopod translated only some of her words, but there was no mistaking the tone of Iltereedah’s voice. Kloosee quietly filled in the gaps.
“Kelke, we must decide. The Umans bring nothing but death to Seome. The soundshield has failed, thanks to the Ponkti—“ here there was a definite undercurrent of anger and menace—“so we must determine what is to be done. I have talked with the Kel’em, with all the em’kels…it has been decided that Omt’or will lead an expedition to negotiate with the Umans. We have eekoti among us…he is part Uman, part Omtorish. He can speak with the Umans—“ here Chase’s heart did a double-thump—“we offer this: a joint effort to dismantle the great machine at Kinlok Island and re-locate it, re-build it on islands called the Torsh’pont…this is further away, north of the Serpentines. As the machine is further way, the sound will be accordingly reduced. An expedition is being formed—“
Chase listened for many minutes, as Iltereedah went on. His echopod skipped and screeched, trying to keep up. Kloosee listened and translated as well. Chase’s pulse started racing.
He, Chase Meyer, was to be right at the center of the new effort.
Well, kid, you always said you wanted an adventure…maybe this isn’t quite—
As best he could make out from Kloosee’s translation, the new plan was to confront the Umans with an ultimatum: let us help you dismantle the Time Twister and re-build it elsewhere…or else. A great force would be formed and a desperate final assault would be the scarcely veiled fist behind the ‘or else.’
Naturally, the Kel’em argued. Kloosee translated some of the arguments…
What of the other kels…what do they think of this?
What of the Ponkti…the expedition will have t
o cross the Ponk’el Sea…they will object…
Do our engineers really know enough to take apart and re-build the Uman machine…
The Umans will never agree to this…
The Umans treat us as we treat the pal’penk…like well-meaning, lovable pets….
The Umans will defend their base…we’ve already suffered casualties…
And what of the Emigration Project…perhaps we should spend our resources on that, building more ot’lum, the lifeships, concentrate on better understanding of the new world…
It was this last argument which got Chase’s attention.
“Kloosee, this Emigration Project…this is a real idea? Not just a fantasy…you’re actually working on this?”
The roam had turned and was now making its way back toward Omsh’pont. The return journey would take many hours, almost a day.
Kloosee was slow to answer and Chase wasn’t sure he had heard the question. Sometimes the echopods didn’t quite make the connection.
Finally: “Emigration is a real proposal, eekoti Chase. It comes from several em’kels in Omt’or…one of them is the Kelktoo, Longsee’s people. It’s been studied…is being studied as an alternative. No one really wants to do this. Seome is our home. But the Umans may leave us no choice. And there are so many unknowns—“
Chase pondered that, clinging firmly to the tillet he was riding as it banked hard left. The vish’tu swung around to a new heading and he soon saw why. Ahead were the dim outlines of the Lower Serpentines. Already strong currents were making the waters turbulent. The Likte Gap was near.
“I think my people might object to having so many millions of Seomish suddenly show up in our waters. There could be problems. All kinds of conflicts.”
“There is no doubt of that,” Kloosee admitted. Coming through Chase’s echopod, Kloosee’s voice sounded suddenly weary, as if this were a subject that had already been thrashed and beaten to death. “The reaction of Umans to our presence is one of many concerns. If relations between us and the Umans here is any guide, we may expect resistance…probably strong resistance.”
“Kloos, I don’t know what the Metah expects of me in this…I don’t know anything about how that wavemaker works. I really shouldn’t be at the center of this expedition….I’m just a visitor.”
“You are Uman, eekoti Chase. You’re like them. You know them, you think like them. As far as the engineers are concerned, Longsee has assured the Metah and the Kel’em that the Kelktoo have a full understanding of how the Uman machine works, how it is put together, and how to dismantle it. These arguments are just for show…the Kel’em always want to have their say before the Metah. They think they can impress their own em’kels by doing this.” Here Kloosee actually turned slightly from his stroke and drifted back to be closer to Chase and his ride. Kloosee stroked the beak of the tillet as he pulled alongside and swam with them. “You have the most difficult job.”
“So what’s my role in all this?”
Kloosee looked straight at Chase and pulsed only something like curiosity, maybe even a sense of anticipation. No fear, no anxieties. The eekoti was truly holding shoo’kel…that pleased Kloosee but he didn’t mention it.
“Your job, eekoti Chase, will be to convince the Umans to agree to our proposal. Convince them to work with us.”
Chase knew in his heart that this was what the Metah had said. He wondered if the echopod translation wasn’t accurate. Now he knew it was all too accurate.
Just when I’m starting to feel like one of them…now they want me to be Uman…or human…or whatever, again. Angie would pitch a fit. But she’d be secretly proud of me, after she finished killing me.
Chase said nothing to Kloosee for many hours after this revelation. The great roam beat its way back toward the city of Omsh’pont like a single vast organism, many beats long. Arguments continued. A few fights erupted, as the roamers were growing more and more fatigued. The drone and beat of the Uman sound soon filled the waters again, giving Chase a relentless headache.
When the towers, seamounts and glowing floatways of the great city came into view, Chase had made up his mind.
He had come to Seome because he was intrigued. Because he wanted to make a difference. Maybe Angie was right. The world…his world…didn’t need another beach bum. Mack Meyer could always sell more T-shirts and boogie boards. What the world needed…this world now…was someone to save them from themselves. The sentencing of Tulcheah still weighed heavily on his mind. The suspicions of the Ponkti. The isolation of the other kels. The territorial disputes. The destruction caused by the Uman machine. Chase realized, as Kloosee gently led his tillet-ride away from the roam toward the cave home of the em’kel Putektu, that along the with the Umans and their machine, forces were gathering that might yet precipitate a world-wide conflict, perhaps even war, among the kels. According to Kloosee, it had happened before and there were many who thought it would come again.
Chase didn’t think of himself as a great leader or any kind of savior. Angie would have laughed at that. But events seemed to be conspiring to push him to the front of the growing conflict. It was all a great swirl in his mind as Kloosee led him inside the cave home of Putektu and scrounged up some food for them. Tulcheah, the Uman commander Dringoth, the wavemaker, the cavern city of Ponk’et, their tuk matches, Pakma and her music and scentbulbs.
By the time he had bedded down in his sleep niche, fatigued and sleepy from two days’ hard swimming and some riding on the great roam, Chase had come to a decision.
He had come to Seome to help. The Seomish, at least the Omtorish, thought he could help them in their efforts to rid the world of the Umans. In some ways, he had become a kind of celebrity. Way better than making the Top 40 with the Croc Boys, he told himself.
He missed his go-tone and Pakma’s music, strange though it sounded to his ears, had re-kindled that sense of loss. He missed Angie and pepperoni pizza and taking long walks on the beach at night and making it with Angie in a bass boat off Half Moon Cove.
But he wasn’t going to miss this. No sir. Not this time. Maybe in some ways, his whole life had been preparation for this one moment in time.
In any case, when he got back home to Scotland Beach, if he got back home, he’d have one hell of a story to tell the kids at Apalachee High.
Chase drifted off to a fitful sleep after that.
And the monotonous drone and pulsing din of the Uman wavemaker went on, bit by bit, slowly but surely tearing apart the lives and homes of his Seomish friends.
The Farpool Page 18
