She sighed. At least in this, she had something she could search for. Truth. Objective, physical truth.
If she could even recognize such a thing anymore.
*
As the small flotilla of subs dropped away from the undersea city, descending toward the factory, Bandicut felt sudden pangs of doubt. Was he just offering the Neri false hope of repairing the facility? He wished he could have another private talk about it with the robots, but they were in the second sub.
/// What's the matter, John? ///
What was the matter was that he feared that this whole mission was just pride and wishful thinking on his part.
/// You don't seem overly proud to me. ///
/No? Then why did I make it sound as if I knew all about nano-factories? If that's even what these things are! Hell, I don't even know anything about human, much less Neri, nanoshit./
/// Maybe not,
but you understand the general concept.
The translator-stones are pretty resourceful.
And from what you've told me,
the robots are, too. ///
/Yeah. But none of us really knows what the kr'deekin' hell we're doing here./
/// Have faith, John.
I'll check back with you later. ///
Before he could answer, Charlene was gone—off in the stacks of his brain's library, whistling softly, seeing what else she could learn about John Bandicut and the Charlies that came before. She was a good student, this Charlie.
He couldn't help wishing that Ik and Li-Jared were here, even though they'd all agreed that it was the right decision. There wasn't much either of them could offer in the way of expertise, and they were probably more likely to be useful to the Neri city, making themselves available to Antares and Kailan, or anyone else who might need help. Plus, Li-Jared would probably have had a nervous breakdown if forced to travel in any direction except toward the surface. Didn't matter, though; he still missed them.
L'Kell, beside him in the cockpit, seemed to sense his pensive mood. "We'll make a survey of the area first," he said. "There are several possible sites where I think we might find connections to the central controller. But we'll just have to see when we get there."
Bandicut nodded, as the last visible signs of the Neri city vanished astern. Only the foreboding darkness of the endlessly falling seafloor lay before them now, sprinkled sporadically with bottom-feeding animals, some finned but most on spidery legs. And somewhere far below, the Maw of the Abyss. They were going to work terrifyingly close to the drop-off, and the plan was simply to pretend it didn't exist. What else could they do? Half the terror came from not knowing what the devil the thing was. But he reminded himself that whatever unknown threat the Devourer posed, the threat of a nonfunctioning factory was a matter of clear physical need. The Neri had no way to replace damaged or aging subs and habitats, the solar arrays that fed them power were reportedly degrading, and their deep-sea farms could last only as long as the artificial light lasted.
"Tell me something," he said, trying to shake his mind loose from this train of thought. He glanced sideways at his friend.
"Ah-huh," said L'Kell, peering from one side port to the other, checking formation with the other subs.
"If we do get the factory going again, how will you bring the manufactured goods up to your city? How did you do it before?"
L'Kell murmured softly in thought. "We have two cargo subs left, which we use in our salvage operations. One of them is at the new site, the one where Lako and the others were poisoned. The other is not in working order."
"That doesn't sound good. Is it something Kailan's people can fix?"
"Well," said L'Kell, "that seems to depend on whether the salvagers can find some equipment that can be modified by the changers to fit their needs."
"Hm."
"It is said that there is a large cargo carrier trapped in one of the factory's loading docks—and that if we could get it free, then we would not only have the sub and all the machinery in its hold, but we could free the whole mechanism. I don't really believe that last part, but we've never been able to prove the question one way or the other. Nobody's been able to find the dock."
Bandicut grunted. It was amazing to him that the Neri had survived as long as they had, with the factory mostly out of commission for a generation of Neri. No large shipments had been received in L'Kell's lifetime, though products had been received from one of the smaller docks in more recent memory. But that last dock had stopped working when L'Kell was still a trainee sub pilot, and now its entrance was buried. The Neri really were living on borrowed time, as far as the factory was concerned. It was almost as if they had been waiting for someone to come along and help them fix it. "And all this time, you've had no idea how to repair it—or even how it works?"
L'Kell, before answering, made several adjustments to the sub's attitude and speed. "The factory was not built by us," he said, "but by our—" hrrullll
Bandicut's stones twinged with uncertainty. "Your ancestors?" he guessed.
L'Kell seemed at a loss.
"Those who came before you . . . gave birth to your parents?"
"I understand the word. The problem is—well, according to the obliq, our ancestors were not exactly us. Not Neri. They were something different—from which they made us—"
"Huh?"
"They took themselves, and made us . . . and we were different. Changed." L'Kell steered carefully over a ridge in the bottom slope. "I do not believe that they lived in the sea."
Bandicut's mouth opened; it took a moment for words to come out. "Engineered?" he murmured. "You were engineered? Are the landers . . . your ancestors? Or creators?"
L'Kell hissed. "Those creatures—killers—are no ancestors of ours!"
"Then what—?"
"Our ancestors," L'Kell said, with a snap on each word, "are dead."
And before Bandicut could think of a reply, the Neri was touching controls on his panel and sending them sharply downward, over a plunging drop-off into darkest night.
Chapter 14
Contact
THE GREYISH-WHITE forms of the factory area emerged from the gloom like ghosts in a graveyard, or old bones sticking out of the earth after a quake. Bandicut swallowed back a feeling of dread and tried to peer out with rational calm as the submersibles swept slowly over the area. He touched a comm control and spoke to the robots, in sub two. "Napoleon and Copernicus, start keeping a watch for anything that looks like a port where you could jack in. L'Kell says he's really not sure where they are, so if you have any ideas, let us know."
"Roger," said Napoleon. He was silent a moment, then, "Captain?"
"Yeah?"
"This stuff looks really, really old. As if no one's been here for a long time."
"Yeah. But remember, it's partly because that quake covered everything in silt. I don't have to tell you about that, I guess."
"Yes. But Captain?"
"John."
"John? If it's been a really long time since the Neri actively controlled the facility . . . how do we know that it will want to recognize their, well—"
"What?" Bandicut said. "Their authority?" He glanced at L'Kell, who rolled his eye slightly as if waiting to hear what would come next.
"Exactly," Napoleon said.
When L'Kell didn't volunteer an answer, Bandicut said, "Well, I don't think you can assume that every control system is going to develop consciousness, the way you and Coppy have."
"Oh," said Napoleon.
There was no talk for a few moments. Then Copernicus announced, "Cap'n, I am reading substrate structures that could imply the presence of transmission wires and oplink cables. I believe there is a juncture of some sort approximately twenty meters ahead of us."
"Okay, Coppy. L'Kell?"
The Neri responded by speaking to the other Neri pilots, and nosing his sub lower and closer to the silt-covered bottom. "Unable to confirm that reading," he said after a few minutes.
; "We are now coming directly over the juncture," Copernicus said.
"Are you sure?" Outside Bandicut's sub, there was a straight ridge that appeared to slope down toward one of the smoking volcanic vents. There was nothing to suggest an entry port.
"I'm certain of the presence of the structures, Captain. But I cannot state their purpose, nor tell if there is any kind of outer access."
"I believe," said L'Kell, "that we are looking for units large enough for one of the subs to dock with, or at least make connection. However, the entire structure may have transmission lines running through it. Just knowing that lines are present isn't enough."
Bandicut spoke to the robots. "What we need is probably a larger structure—something we can nose right up to, or even go inside. Probably you've found some kind of secondary node. It might help to trace those lines, to see where they lead."
The subs continued gliding, their headlights probing the night. The sea was clearer than it had been on their previous visit. Most of the silt had either settled out or been carried away by the currents. The current was gentle now, and according to L'Kell, normal for this place—following the lines of the natural ridges, parallel to the orientation of the abyssal valley, rather than down into it. The Maw was quiet for now.
The search continued.
The first sighting came from sub three, scouting downslope of them. L'Kell steered toward the location. All they could see was the glow of the other sub's lights, just beyond a minor drop off. But the glow was bright; the other pilot seemed to be directing a searchbeam toward them, against the underside of the drop off. With a soft whir of motors, they crossed the ridge and maneuvered to come alongside the other sub. "Ah," said L'Kell, shining his own light up under the ridge. It was hollowed on the underside—and looked artificial, not natural. The headlight shone, through a blizzard of silt stirred up by the sub's jets, into a dark cavity that seemed just large enough for the nose of a submersible or two.
Bandicut had a sudden memory of being a child standing under a sports stadium, beneath a seating section that sloped upward overhead. It was a dizzying, claustrophobic image, and for a moment, he felt himself beginning to slip away into a daydream. A rumble of bubbling air—or maybe rock movement—brought back a sharp awareness of the ocean over his head, and the pressure squeezing in against the hull of the sub. "Is this it?" he murmured.
"Possibly," said L'Kell. "We must explore carefully." Indeed, though the area under the ledge was less heavily silted than that above, there was still enough sedimentation to obscure the details of the structure—including anything that might have indicated the presence of a docking port.
L'Kell touched the controls, and the sub shuddered as a jet of water shot forward from the thrusters, kicking up a tremendous, blinding cloud of silt. Bandicut swallowed, holding back a sudden rush of fear.
/// Do you want me to help
quiet that reaction? ///
/Not yet. I've got this instinct for a good reason./ He took a deep breath, and waited for it to stop, for the silt to clear.
L'Kell moved the sub with exquisite care. Bandicut glimpsed the other sub to their right, looming out of the murk. He tensed, saying nothing. Working together, the two pilots were sweeping the area of accumulated silt. Gradually the murk dissipated, carried away by the slow-moving current. L'Kell called for sub two, with the robots, to move in.
Bandicut heard the whine of the robots' sub before he saw their lights. Nabeck, the Neri piloting the sub, asked L'Kell what he wanted them to do.
"Can you scan anything in there?" L'Kell asked. The headlight beams beneath the overhang now illuminated contours that suggested the possible presence of mechanisms—indentations and protrusions that might have been control surfaces. Or entrance archways. Or who knew what.
"Scanning," said Copernicus.
And then: "We think we've got something. Can we move in closer?" That was Napoleon.
"Carefully," said L'Kell.
"Always," answered Napoleon.
Nabeck did as the robots asked.
*
Nabeck's sub had been motionless for a while. It looked like a large, foraging bottom-feeder against its own lights. It was impossible to tell what was going on, until the call came from Napoleon: "We believe we are detecting—correction, we have penetrated an air cavity with the probe. Inserting further. I believe I've found a point of electrical contact. Testing . . ."
Bandicut's heart pounded. Were Napoleon's circuits being fried, or had they found what they had come for?
"Definitely a signal input/output."
"And—" Bandicut swallowed "—is anyone home?"
"Indeed . . ." said Napoleon, in a preoccupied tone. "There is activity. Attempting to make out the language."
Bandicut glanced at L'Kell. The Neri was staring intently out the front port, as if by staring hard enough he might penetrate the haze. Bandicut had a feeling that it was all L'Kell could do to keep from parking the sub and swimming out there to see for himself—except that he might not survive the experience.
"Yah," said Napoleon.
"Yah, what?"
"There's someone here. A control system. But it's . . . I don't know exactly how to explain it, Cap'n." The robot's voice was tinny and cold through the comm.
"Try, Nappy."
"It seems very confused. As though . . . it's been working with some kind of malfunction, or handicap, for so long . . . that it doesn't remember exactly what it's supposed to be doing. Or how it's supposed to run the facility. I don't think it knows exactly what's wrong."
"Napoleon, hold on a minute. Is this thing a person—or a mechanism? Or a program that needs reconfiguring?"
"Captain—"
"I'm trying to understand. Copernicus, are you hooked in, too?"
"Roger. Captain, I think there's more wrong here than just a failure of the self-repair mode. I have a sense of deprivation, of starvation. I do not know what it is deprived of, however."
Napoleon spoke, with a voice that seemed more attentuated, as though he were speaking from a greater distance. "Could it be . . . lonely, do you think?"
"Napoleon? Is that your answer?"
"I believe it is something else," said Copernicus. "But we cannot tell for sure without surveying the processing layout, the memory, the stored histories . . ."
Bandicut drew a breath. "Can you do that?"
"We are having to redraw some of the pathways, Cap'n," said Copernicus. "Since the failure of the self-repair functions, many of the pathways have atrophied and failed, and alternate pathways must be called up—within the physical limitations, of course."
"Okay."
L'Kell finally broke in. "What are they doing?"
Bandicut shook his head. "I'm not sure if they're repairing it or reinventing it, but it sounds as if they're deep inside the control system, so I think we'd better let them work."
L'Kell muttered softly to himself, but did not argue.
*
It was not long after Bandicut had departed when Ik became aware of a commotion outside their guest room. He had just finished describing Bandicut's healing of Lako to an anxious Li-Jared, trying to reassure the Karellian that their present situation was perhaps not so hopeless as it seemed. There were things that they could accomplish here.
"What's all that—" bwang "—racket outside?" Li-Jared cried, as they both turned at the sound of Neri running past the curtained entrance to their room.
Ik rubbed his chestbone and tugged the curtain aside to look out. Now the Neri were shouting on a lower level of the habitat. "I guess we'd better go see."
His Karellian friend uttered a twang of annoyance, but hurried after him. They followed the short passageway to a platform that overlooked an open room below. A dozen or so Neri were engaged in rapid conversation; some were running in, and others were running out. "Can you make out what they're saying?" Ik asked Li-Jared.
The Karellian was springing up and down lightly on his feet, leaning forward over the bar th
at constituted a railing. "If you can't, how do you expect me to?"
Two of the Neri looked up at the sound of their voices. Ik called, "Is something wrong?"
A Neri named Jontil, who had assisted them in their room, called up agitatedly, "A problem with the landers. A raid on a site. I doubt that it's anything you can help with."
"Hrah," Ik said, "perhaps we could help with our experience—" And then he hesitated. Their experience?
Jontil replied, "If you want to come down and join us in council with Askelanda—"
"Urr, coming," said Ik. Only after he had turned to climb down the ladder did he realize the fear that was showing in Li-Jared's electric-blue eyes. "I spoke without thinking. Li-Jared, do you think we shouldn't go?"
"No choice now," Li-Jared gulped. "It's just that—"
"Is it the landers you're worried about?"
"Not the landers. Don't care about the landers," mumbled the Karellian. "It's the whole thing of . . ." He angled his eyes, and then Ik understood. It was the ocean over his head, the thought that they might have to venture out into the turbid depths. If only the normalization had taken away Li-Jared's fear of the water!
"Hrrm. Let's go, then," Ik said softly, and dropped to the floor below.
Jontil escorted them into the adjacent habitat, where a group of Neri were gathered around a troubled-looking Askelanda. The elder Neri noted the presence of the visitors without comment, and paced as he spoke. Ik and Li-Jared stepped off to the side to keep out of the way.
"Our people at the salvage site are being openly attacked by landers."
"Attacked? How?" cried one of the newcomers.
"They're wearing breathing gear similar to our neos'—and by all reports are overrunning the site. They've got vehicles of some kind, and explosive weapons. Our people are mostly in hiding within the site right now. Many are wounded." Askelanda paused in his movement. "We've sent nine swimmers, but they might well be on their way to disaster. We have at most one or two vessels available to send more help. Will any here swim to the aid of their fellows?"
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