She took off the headset for the umpteenth time. As usual, she felt a twinge, which was becoming a headache, she realized; in addition, her scalp felt sore around the point where the radio’s plug went in. No form of communication was perfect. “It’s the ribbons, and you can’t use poison. K’r’x is too close.”
“Eggs,” said Dr. Diop, who hadn’t been there before.
“Tell him to get away,” said Dr. J. “We may need to use poison.”
She gave him the message.
I am very glad to hear this, K’r’x said and dove.
She left the headset off after that. Too much was happening: the ship rolling, crew members sliding on the water-covered deck as they poured first eggs, then poison over the side. They were all wearing life jackets and lines now. Clearly, the situation had become dangerous. Lydia got her recorder and began to record, though little was visible through the lounge’s rain-streaked windows: dim figures on the deck, surging water beyond. The ship’s motion seemed wrong to her, though she was hardly an expert. She ought to be terrified. At some level, she was. But what could she do except her job, being neither a scientist nor a sailor? She doubted the record would be good for much, but kept recording.
A crew member said, “The captain has ordered the lifeboats activated.”
“The ship is going down?” Lydia asked, amazed that such a thing could happen in modern times.
“Our power’s going, and those damn ribbons are like an anchor, holding us in place. We can’t run into the storm or in front of it. If I were a betting hermaphrodite, I’d put money on the ship going over. You’ll be better off in the lifeboats.”
The next thing Lydia knew, she was on deck, rain drenching her as she climbed into a large white object. There were seats inside. She settled on one. It adjusted to her shape, so she was cradled in rain-slick plastic. Dr. Diop and Too Ziri joined her, along with two crew members.
A top was fastened over them. It was striped, bands of clear plastic alternating with bands that were opaque and faintly grey.
Her seat extruded belts. She locked them around her.
“I think we’re set,” one of the crew members said. It was someone she hadn’t noticed before: a blue-black woman with straight, blue-black hair.
The boat rose from the deck, swaying. Lydia looked up. The bands of clear plastic were already streaked with rain. None the less, she saw an angular shape: the ship’s crane. It was lifting them and swinging them out over the ocean. The crane let go. Buddha! The boat splashed down. For a moment, it rode on the ocean’s surface. Then the surface rose and pushed the boat over.
Too Ziri said, “Oh my!”
“Please remain calm,” said the second crew member, a man.
The boat made a complete rotation around its long axis and rose to the surface upright. Looking out, Lydia saw grey-green water. The ship must be close to them. But where?
The crew woman said, “We are water-tight and have a weighted keel, which means the boat will right itself if it goes over, as you have just seen. The top has osmotic panels, which admit gases, but not liquids. In addition, we have an emergency supply of oxygen, enough drinking water for several days, a desalinization kit, food, a medical kit, a radio that started broadcasting our location as soon as the lifeboat was activated, and – ” She made a gesture; lights came on along the boat’s sides. “All we have to do now is wait for the storm to end.”
“Where is Dr. Johannesburg?” asked Diop.
“In the other lifeboat, I imagine,” the crew man said.
“You had only two?” asked Lydia, trying to remember how big the ship’s crew was.
“We’re using only two. Most of the crew stayed with the captain and the ship.”
“They’re going down with it?” Lydia asked, feeling horror.
“They’re closing the bulkheads and making sure everything is fastened. The Persistent is an expensive ship, full of expensive equipment. There’s nothing like her within fifty light-years. Jez wants to save her. Most likely, we’ll be able to. This isn’t the twentieth century. A ship like the Persistent is not going to sink, unless something breaches her hull, and there’s nothing out here for her to run into. She’ll make it.”
“Then why are we here?” asked Too Ziri.
“In case something unexpected happens, and to keep you out of the way. In a time like this, Jez doesn’t want to be tripping over scientists.”
“Then why was Len so worried?” Lydia asked, trying to ignore the way the lifeboat moved.
The woman laughed. “Len is from Earth and expects disasters, because that’s what Earth people have experienced for centuries, and for centuries the fools have told each other that disasters are normal. ‘Grin and bear it,’ the Earth people say. There is no alternative. Why else would they stay on that miserable planet? The rest of us are from other worlds, praise the Goddess! We believe in hope and action.”
“What are your names?” Lydia asked.
“Rajit,” said the man, who was brown with delicate features and dark, lovely eyes.
The woman smiled. “Ramona. My parents named me after Ramona Patel. I’ve wanted to talk to you, but haven’t had a chance till now. What is she really like?”
“I’m going to check on K’r’x,” Lydia said. She tugged her head and neck free of the seat, then put the headset on.
He was in deep water, too far down for light. Looking through his eyes, she saw only darkness. The water flowing through his mouth and gills was cold and had a faintly bitter flavor. His fins beat rapidly.
Where are you going? she asked.
East. Away from the mat. How is the ship?
They put me and the scientists in lifeboats, Lydia said. Most of the crew stayed to save the ship.
Are you in danger?
Apparently not. Though one of the people in the boat with me wants to know about Ramona Patel.
Who?
At that point, she realized that she was in love with K’r’x. An intelligent being who’d never seen a Stellar Harvest holo and had no interest in the Stellar Harvest stars!
You are not my type, K’r’x said. I prefer women who are twenty meters long with fins and tentacles. For a while, he was silent, beating through the darkness. I have decided to go home. I know I will become bored in time. But right now, I want a predictable environment.
Lydia returned to the lifeboat. Someone had broken out rations: trail mix, crackers, and water. A radio was on, making crackling noises.
“I can get nothing,” said Rajit with disgust.
“You’re back among us,” said Ramona to Lydia. “I want to know about Miss Patel.”
The company policy was to tell lies about their actors, unless the truth was palatable and pleasant. Lydia described a warm, caring woman, devoted to her art and her many fans.
“Why all the husbands?” Rajit asked.
“Ramona is impulsive,” Lydia said. “And perhaps a little too warm.”
“Tell me what you and K’r’x saw under the ship,” Dr. Diop said finally.
Lydia described the snarl of large ribbons and the little ribbons emptying themselves into the intake tubes.
“This is extremely interesting. I can’t see this as anything except collective action, directed by a plan. In some sense, the life here is intelligent, though nothing on the planet has a nervous system as we know such things. Apparently, one can encode thought in complex molecules. Neurons aren’t necessary.”
She is right, said Lydia’s AI. We will have to evacuate the human colony, since we permit no alien settlements on planets with intelligent life. Then we – with the help of human scientists and possibly of people like K’r’x – will have to study these creatures. Are they all intelligent, or is it only the mats? Is it possible to communicate with any of them? Will any of them want to join the community of intelligent life forms? – I have my doubts at the moment. But who am I to answer any of these questions?
After a while, Lydia drifted into an uneasy sleep. When she wo
ke, the boat’s lights were out. She felt heat, rising from the floor, which was rocking less than before. Was the storm diminishing? She looked out through a clear plastic panel, but saw only darkness. Wait! Above her the sky was glowing. Newtucket’s primary shone through a thin patch of clouds.
By dawn, the eastern sky had started to clear. The sun blazed briefly, lighting an amazingly turbulent ocean. Remarkable how tall waves could look, when one was in a little boat.
Rising higher, the sun vanished. All day they plunged and wallowed through grey water under a cloudy sky. Late in the afternoon, Rajit established contact with the air-sea rescue service.
“It looks like we’ll be able to pick you up tomorrow,” a crackling voice said.
“What about the ship?” Rajit asked.
“Still floating, though just barely. It went over, and the ribbons climbed onto it. That’s what Jez thinks happened, anyway. She’s lost most of her external sensors, and she’s as mad as a wet cat.”
The clouds broke apart after dark. The planet’s primary, more than half full now, cast a golden light over the ocean. Buddha, it was a lovely sight!
The opaque bands of plastic were changing, apparently in response to changing weather. They were springy rather than hard now, and cold to the touch. Lydia was almost certain she could feel air coming through them. Did she catch a whiff of salt water, as well? Hard to tell, in a small boat with a not very nice emergency toilet. She checked on K’r’x, still swimming east, though closer to the surface; then she went back to sleep.
In the morning, the sky was clear and the water blue, though still streaked with foam. At noon, a helicopter descended, gathered their boat and lifted it into a large bay. Once the bay doors were closed, humans removed the boat’s top.
“What a stink!” said one of the air-sea rescue team.
“I’m going to write a report on the sanitary facilities,” said Ramona as she climbed out.
“Nothing is perfect,” said Rajit as he followed. “How is the ship? And the other lifeboat?”
“The other lifeboat has already been picked up. They had a worse trip than you, from all reports.”
“Dr. Johannesburg is not a good sailor,” Dr. Diop said.
“You got it,” the rescuer said. “The ship is completely enveloped by ribbons, and we are still trying to figure out how to free it.”
Lydia climbed out stiffly, followed by Too Ziri. The helicopter bay was cold, with a metal and oil aroma. Safety, she thought. The scent of human machinery, the sound of human voices explaining and complaining. All at once, she wanted – like K’r’x – to go home. She couldn’t, of course. She had been released from prison with the understanding that she would be persona non grata forever on her home planet. The thought made her want to weep.
Someone gave her a cup of hot, sweet tea, and she drank it. The helicopter flew east over the sunlit ocean. By evening, she was back in Newtucket Town. She showered in her hotel room and put on clean clothes, then put on the headset, which she still had.
Nothing. She must be too far from K’r’x. Shit, thought Lydia and climbed into bed.
Maybe she ought to call someone, she thought as she rolled over. But he’d seemed fine the last time she’d been in contact, and she was so, so tired.
She found Dr. Diop in the hotel dining room the next morning.
“Any news?” she asked.
“K’r’x is okay. The air-rescue people saw him breaching and established contact. The Persistent is still enveloped. They are going to try napalm. Nasty stuff, but – ”
I do not approve, said her AI.
“My AI does not approve,” Lydia said, pouring herself a cup of tea, then reaching for the toast and marmalade. It was the real stuff, dark and bitter, made on Earth from Seville oranges by exiles from the mostly underwater country of England. The label on the jar told Lydia all this.
“We expect the AIs to enter a formal protest, but they haven’t yet, so napalm will be used. The ship is expensive, and the lives of the crew are – according to old traditions – beyond value.”
The human colony will definitely be removed.
Lydia repeated this as she spread marmalade over toast soaked with melted butter. Simple pleasures were always the best.
“We know,” said Dr. Diop.
“The mat is intelligent,” Lydia said.
“Yes, almost certainly, but also malevolent. Maybe, in time, we will learn to communicate with it. At present, we – and our comrades – do not have the time. There are no perfect decisions, Miss Duluth, unless they are to be found in Stellar Harvest dramas.”
Lydia bit into the toast. Melted butter, its taste indescribable, mingled with the sweetness and acidity of marmalade. Wonderful, she thought, and felt guilty about her enjoyment, at a moment when she and the doctor were discussing napalm.
Dr. Diop looked her in the eyes – looked through her, it seemed to Lydia, at the AI. “Do not think we do this lightly. But we can’t think of another way to save the ship. We don’t think the version of napalm we’re using will be fatal, though it will certainly be extremely painful. If it is fatal – well, I would sooner lose the ribbons than my friends.”
Lydia finished the toast, though it didn’t seem as tasty as before.
That day was spent in rest and slow walks through Newtucket Town. She recorded the harbor, the surrounding mountains, fishing boats bobbing, picturesque facades. The island volcano was still smoking, and the gas giant was visible in the afternoon sky, its bands pale pink and gold.
At sunset she found herself on the harbor breakwater, made of broken stone, with an asphalt path on top. Kids were riding bicycles to the end and back, whizzing past her. Like most humans everywhere, they were black. One boy had a blond pigtail, and one girl had a frizzy, flame-orange short cut. The rest had straight, black hair, which they wore loose. A typical group of kids on a typical human planet, which humanity was about to lose.
Don’t be depressed, her AI said. The universe is full of habitable planets. These people will find another one just as lovely.
You have no concept of home, do you? Lydia said.
No.
The next morning, Dr. Diop announced that the napalm had worked. Skins burning, the bombed ribbons had slid into the ocean.
“It sounds disgusting,” Lydia said.
“It is,” Dr. Diop said. “We are using a modified version of napalm, as I think I told you. Less nasty, perhaps, but still very nasty.”
“Why did you have something like that on this planet?”
“The universe is not a safe place, Miss Duluth. Only a fool travels in it without weapons. Captain Bombay is staying with the ship. Most of the rest of the crew is being flown here. The ship will follow at its own speed.”
“And K’r’x?” Lydia asked.
“He will arrive after the crew, but before the Persistent. According to the air-sea rescue people, the mat has vanished entirely. I suspect the large ribbons were pieces of it. It broke apart in order to attack the Persistent.”
That evening, when she tried the headset, K’r’x was there. He must have been swimming just below the surface. The water was full of blue light, and clear, colorless spheres floated around him like ornaments fallen from an Exile tree.
How are you? Lydia asked.
My skin still burns and aches where the disks attached themselves. I think, if I slept, I’d have bad dreams. But I don’t intend to sleep until I reach Newtucket Town.
She stayed with him as the water darkened. As light ebbed, the spheres began to glimmer, other animals appeared as yellow sparks, which danced around K’r’x.
Very small ribbons, he said. Transparent and almost invisible, until they begin to shine.
Have they given you any trouble? she asked.
The native life? No. They must send their messages through chemicals released in the water. Apparently the chemicals do not travel far.
Are you still planning to go home?
Yes. I want to swim with othe
r Divers, and I want to find a large, powerful, attractive, intelligent woman and court her.
Will you stay?
I’ll have to. I don’t have the money for a round trip, and after this experience, I’m not sure I want to work for scientists again.
She pulled off the headset and lay a while in darkness, thinking about K’r’x. It was impossible or ridiculous for a human woman to feel love for a fifteen meter long, gilled and tentacled alien. Therefore, she was feeling something else: affection for a comrade in battle, the euphoria that follows danger. But if she could have turned – for a while, not forever – into a female Diver, she would have considered doing so.
Most of the ship’s crew arrived the next day, looking frazzled. After they had cleaned up, Lydia went with several to a waterside tavern. It was midafternoon. The fishing fleet was out. A small sailboat drifted across the almost empty harbor.
Len was with their group. He drank a large ale that was the same red-brown color of his skin, then ordered a second. “It turned out better than I expected,” he said. “The mat disassembled to attack us. Did you hear that?”
Lydia nodded.
“The parts, the ribbons, apparently lost whatever made the mat go after us. Intelligence? Anger? A memory for past harm? – That’s what the rescue team told us, anyway, and there was a marine biologist with them. The moment the napalm hit, the ribbons left, just slithered into the ocean and swam away.”
What had the mat lost when it divided? Lydia wondered. Memory? The ability to plan? Malice? Would the parts rejoin? If so, would the mat remember its anger and know that it had failed?
This is speculation in the absence of data, her AI said.
True.
The crew members described what it had been like inside the Persistent, as the ribbons enveloped the ship and it rolled over, lying sideways in the water. There had been leaks, none dangerous, and a fair amount of damage to things that hadn’t been properly fastened down. “We weren’t sure how long we’d be trapped,” said Len. “So the captain was hoarding power. Is that the right way to say it? Your humanish is close to our English on Earth, but not identical.” The corridors and rooms had been dimly lit, the air warm and barely moving. They had eaten cold rations and listened to ribbons slapping against the hull.
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