by Sam Smith
So it was, on the three day trip from the city to XE2, and on the two day flight from XE2 to Happiness, that Tevor Cade and Hambro Harrap became used to their being looked at through a camera’s viewfinder. Consequently, when Hambro Harrap detailed their plan of action on Happiness, he was unaware that he was being filmed.
They would, Hambro Harrap told them, call first on the planet’s Spokesman. A Senate Meeting would then be arranged, where Hambro would inform them of the Nautili’s presence on their planet. Awen would film Hambro addressing that Senate Meeting. No mention of the Nautili would be made before the Senate met. After they had seen the Spokesman they would proceed to the science station on the river estuary. Tevor Cade would then begin his research. The film shows that Tevor Cade consented to all of Hambro’s proposals.
They entered Happiness’s atmosphere. To get good footage Awen declined to be strapped in, instead clung onto the back of Tevor Cade’s seat and filmed the screens. The variety of blues and greens coming through his viewfinder delighted him.
“You’ve got to admit,” he said from behind a camera, “this does have a beauty all its own.”
“Primordial associations,” Tevor Cade informed him.
They landed, were met by the portly Spokesman and escorted to his office. He was worried by Awen’s cameras. He was also impressed by having a City Senate Member come to his planet in person. He had not expected his request to go that far so soon. And that the events of his planet should be investigated by the eminent Doctor Tevor Cade, so Hambro informed him, also impressed the Spokesman. Since the meeting on XE2 Hambro had taken, even informally, to addressing Tevor Cade as ‘Doctor’.
Awen’s cameras go on to record, however, the Spokesman’s puzzled frown when it became evident that Hambro Harrap was unaware of the three day rule for the calling of a Senate Meeting on a planet. In a city 24 hours is all that is required. The Spokesman, though, did readily agree to call a meeting as from that moment.
On learning that they were to proceed to the science station on the river estuary the Spokesman promptly offered them his services as pilot.
The science station had no beacon. Hambro gratefully accepted the offer. Only to have it spurned by Tevor Cade who informed them that, as he had been prepared to conduct his research on uninhabited planets, he was perfectly capable of piloting his own ship.
That the ship did not belong, as he had been led to believe, to Hambro Harrap, together with his ignorance of his travelling companion’s abilities, caused the Spokesman to shrewdly reappraise Hambro Harrap. For someone, who the Departmental Director had said was to be granted every facility, Hambro Harrap did not seem to know very much; and any ignorance in those who control our destiny is unsettling. The camera records the Spokesman’s growing confusion and concern.
The camera also records Tevor Cade’s expert piloting of the ship to the river estuary, his gentle landing in the clearing by the sprawl of silver cabins. And when the ramp was lowered the camera records the first blast of colour and noise from the surrounding jungle.
The science station’s silver cabins had taken on a look of belonging. Plants grew up their smooth sides, over their roofs. Makeshift awnings had been erected between the two cabins. The unshaven Senate Member for South Five was sitting at a table under one such awning. The frown that greeted the newcomers was the territorial scowl of the misanthrope. One eyebrow lifted when he recognised Tevor Cade.
The camera records that Hambro Harrap, again bestowing upon Tevor Cade the title of Doctor, effected the introductions. The Senate Member for South Five ignored his gladhandedness.
“You’ve come here to do research?” he asked Tevor Cade.
“Yes,” Tevor Cade said. The Senate Member for South Five looked in the direction of the unseen sea.
“So it’s Nautili,” he said quietly.
“No more of that talk,” Hambro rushed in, “No-one wants to start wild rumours, do they? I will be addressing the Senate in three days. All will be made clear then.”
The Senate Member for South Five studied the groomed Hambro Harrap for a long minute. Then he said,
“You’d better come in out of the sun. Before you get burnt up.” His own skin was black, his hair white. Hambro accepted the offer. Tevor Cade, however, said that he would like to prepare his equipment, make a start on his research.
The two Senate Members left for the cabins. Awen asked Tevor if he could watch the preparation of the equipment. Like most fund-starved scientists Tevor was avid for the least public recognition, was prepared to exploit the newsworthiness of this expedition for all it was worth — for the sake of funds for future expeditions. So Tevor gladly invited Awen back aboard.
Awen moved his own equipment out of Tevor’s way. Awen’s equipment consisted of two black cases. One case contained Awen’s editors, the other case one spare tunic, a bar of emergency chocolate and the assorted paraphernalia of all film-makers — racks of film sticks, spare lenses, lights, filters and folded tripods.
One of Awen’s cameras recorded the conversion of the ship’s living space into a laboratory. Another camera recorded their flight out over the corrugated sea, the flattening of that sea as they hovered over it to drop the first buoy. Awen wanted to film through the hatch from where the buoy was being dropped, but Tevor said that it was both too dangerous and impracticable. So Awen filmed the screen which showed the long buoy sliding with barely a white splash into the smooth green sea.
At the bottom of each buoy was a round black weight. On an orange line several meters above that round weight were waterproofed sonic transmitters, microphones, cameras, then the green and white striped buoy with its rotor blades to keep it in its predetermined position; and atop the buoy five meters of thin aerial.
Each buoy was dropped twenty kilometres apart.
When they reached the other side of the sea they proceeded twenty kilometres along a grey rocky coast, then returned to the other shore dropping the buoys in a line parallel to the first. One screen in the ship’s laboratory showed the position of each buoy. A bank of meters measured the strength of each buoy’s signal. While hovering, Tevor often left the ship on automatic, rushed back to make adjustments; and, while flying to the next siting, was continually glancing over his shoulder to the laboratory.
By the time they arrived back at the estuary the exhaustion showed in the stretched sinews of Tevor Cade’s neck, in the trembling of his arms, the clench of his jaw. However he didn’t stop to eat, began immediately setting up the transmissions, testing the equipment. Awen stayed with him, asking him what he was doing.
Tevor, as he turned dials, listened to headphones, adjusted switches, described the use of each item. Finally he set the program running, explained it to Awen,
“We’ll transmit now for five hours solid. On every conceivable wavelength and frequency. Then we’ll listen for an hour. Then we’ll transmit for four hours, listen for an hour. Then we’ll transmit for three, then two, then one. When we’re down to the one hour transmissions we’ll start specialising. One wavelength, one frequency. Until we get a response.”
“How long will that be?”
“The earliest recorded response so far has been 93 hours after the first transmission.”
“What d’you reckon this time?”
“You’ve got 85 hours in which to relax.”
“What about you?” But Tevor Cade was not going to leave his laboratory,
“I’m not going to have seven years planning go to the wall for one blown fuse.”
Awen said that if Tevor was going to stay then so too was he: he didn’t want to miss the first contact with the Nautili. Tevor assured him that there had been, in all previous cases, plenty of warning, gave him a bleeper and promised to page him the moment anything appeared to be happening. Before leaving Awen asked if the transmissions could be put onto audio so that he could record them. Tevor Cade obliged. The wheeps and bloops were duly recorded.
Awen then put the bleeper in his tunic pocket
along with two film sticks and he stumbled out into the rustling black of the planet’s night. When he entered the bright light of the cabins so tired was he that he appeared to be weighted down by his cameras. He answered the two Senate Members’ questions with monosyllables, ate, asked for a bed; and with the bleeper on the pillow beside him, one camera still around his neck, he slept.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Awen awoke his second day on the planet to a hectic twittering and screeching. From his cabin window he filmed the shimmering trees in the grey light. Then, his tunic on, and hung about with cameras, he hurried over to Tevor Cade’s ship.
Tevor Cade had taken advantage of the four hour transmission to sleep. One meter showed a countdown: another hour and twenty minutes yet until he listened again. Awen filmed the scene: the scientist sleeping open-mouthed, the oscilloscope patterns on the screens, the seconds flicking by.
Back at the cabins the Senate Member for South Five greeted Awen, offered him breakfast. Awen apologised for his taciturnity the previous evening:
“Time lag,” he excused himself. “Always get it on planets.”
“You been on planets before?” the Senate Member screwed his face up while he scratched lazily among his white bristles.
“Newsworthy disasters,” Awen made a quick grimace that was almost a wink. “Apart from the bodies, though, I like planets. The colours. Different lights,” he gestured to the cabin window: the rising sun was gilding the edges of some pink clouds. “Went on a planet once, mining planet, where there was a blue sun and a red sky. Red sea too. Nobody believed the footage I got there. Beautiful stuff too.”
Awen and the Senate Member ate together. Hambro Harrap had not yet risen. Awen, camera occasionally to his face, quizzed the laconic Senate Member. Awen was used to asking questions, eliciting information from people. Not that it is difficult: most people like to talk about themselves. So one doesn’t ask of a witness what happened, but what did they see, how did they react, what were they doing there?
“Bit odd,” Awen said, “a scientist being a Senate Member?”
“Came about by accident. From campaigning for funds. I got used to dealing with the bureaucrats. Wheedling funds out of tightarsed institutions. Getting public approval. You soon learn to be political. And then I had to get permission to live here. Time came when standing for election seemed the next obvious step.”
“And the farmers elected you?”
“I don’t have that many constituents. On first name terms with most of them. And none of the others are that much interested in the Senate. Buggins turn before I came. The last two elections I’ve stood unopposed.”
Awen questioned him about his research. The Senate Member told him of the large colony of amphibious apes living about 3 kilometres upstream:
“They display the beginnings of higher intelligence.”
“How do they communicate?”
“Out of the water they have a vocal language. Underwater though...” the Senate Member proffered, born of many years of practise, the ambivalent bait that he used to hook funds.
“Telepathy?” Awen volunteered.
“It cannot be discounted,” the Senate Member said with a grin.
Awen was invited to accompany him on his daily visit to the colony to see for himself. Awen was eager to go — original footage — but he didn’t want to miss any of the more immediately newsworthy developments of Tevor Cade’s research. He said that he’d check with the Doctor first. The Senate Member grunted at the title.
Tevor Cade was sitting before his screens when Awen entered the ship. Awen asked if he’d heard anything yet.
“Only background noise,” Tevor flicked a switch. Beyond the swish of water Awen detected faint bleeps and howls.
“Could that be them?” a camera was to his face.
“No. There’s no mistaking when they respond. We’re meant to hear it. That’s most likely fish, maybe marine mammals.”
“Amphibious apes?”
“They,” Tevor smiled at him, “don’t communicate underwater. And they’re a shallow water animal. It’s deep water out there.”
Awen told Tevor that the Senate Member had asked him along to see the apes. Tevor said that, if Awen had never seen them before, it would be worth going, wished that he had the time to spare. Before he left, Awen went outside the ship and had Tevor test the bleeper.
Back at the cabins Hambro Harrap was awake. He too had been invited to visit the apes. He declined however, importantly said that he wanted to work on his speech to the Senate. This day the Senate Member for South Five seemed to have decided to greet all that Hambro Harrap said with a wry smile.
The Senate Member donned a soft white hat. Awen followed him along the path from the cabins and into the muffled dark of the jungle. Awen changed cameras. A creature deeper in the jungle squealed. Birds chittered and chimed. The path led them down to the riverside.
Awen used another camera to film the broad yellow stretch of water between the glossy green banks. The path skirted the water’s edge. In the shallows a shoal of small silver fish sparkling turned. Awen pointed to them,
“Could they be Nautili?”
The Senate Member pushed back his grubby hat, smiling studied Awen,
“So it is Nautili you’re after?” Awen’s answering smile neither admitted nor denied it.
Like all competent journalists Awen had, soon after landing, checked his lines of communication and had found them closed behind him. Hambro Harrap was going to tell this planet’s Senate about the Nautili the following day. There was no fear of this Senate Member leaking the news to Space and spoiling Awen’s exclusive. As for Happiness... what it did, or didn’t know, was Hambro Harrap’s affair; Awen wasn’t going to antagonise his companion, his present source of information, for the sake of a secret already surmised.
The Senate Member took Awen’s silence as an affirmative.
“Pretty obvious it must be. Soon as I told our unscientific Spokesman you were dropping buoys in the ocean he figured the same thing. Spoil our City Senate Member’s little surprise speech, eh?” But he didn’t wait for Awen to respond, walked on along the path, which now led back up into the speckled gloom of the jungle.
Awen filmed him, ran after him.
“Could they have been Nautili?” he changed cameras.
“Those little fish you mean?” the Senate Member didn’t turn around. “No. Maybe a far distant relative. Though I doubt even that.”
“You seen a Nautili?”
“Made history if I had. No, an educated guess. Most fish vertebrates are primitive life forms. Nautili are much more likely to be cephalopods of some kind. The many arms would give them the dexterity required for construction. Unless, of course, a scaly vertebrate has adopted its pectoral fins to that purpose In which case size would be against them. And their spaceships aren’t that big. No, much more likely to be cephalopods.”
“Aren’t you worried about them killing off your apes?”
“I must admit it’s a distinct possibility. They do systematically wipe out other amphibious mammals. But, and this is in my apes favour, those mammals are usually all plankton feeders. And it’s pretty certain Nautili are deepwater creatures. Be too shallow up this estuary for them.”
They reached the crest of a low hill within the jungle. Awen was puffing: there are no hills in Space.
“Like to rest a moment?” the Senate Member asked him. Awen breathlessly nodded, and squatted to the ground. A camera remained at his face. The Senate Member leant one-handed against a smooth tree trunk. Below them the river gleamed whitely-silver between the trees.
“Why do you think they’re deepwater?” Awen asked.
“Every fish has a swim bladder. Very susceptible to changes in pressure, sensitive to sound. Brought suddenly to the surface the swim bladder would expand fatally. So they stay deep. And in the deeps they’re probably averse to light as well. Especially the bright surface light of habitable planets. So, even within their s
hips, the surface having no buoyancy to offset gravity, the physical defiance of gravity probably costs them too much effort. Which would explain why their ships are so rarely seen on a planet’s surface, yet why they can travel through space at lightspeeds. In space, in deep water, it’s probably easier for them to maintain a constant light and to keep a constant pressure.”
“You think the Doctor will make contact with them?”
“Hard to say. They are a species of such a vastly different intelligence... Possibly the only thing we have in common with them is that we are both intelligent. What though, say, if Nautili reproduce asexually? If we did we would have a completely different perception. Our entire civilisation would have evolved differently. Our laws, everything, would be fundamentally different. All our art, for instance, is based primarily upon an appreciation of either the outward male or female form. The art forms of an asexual intelligence, though, would most likely be derivative of the food they ate, of what most gave them visual pleasure. So, even if the Doctor does succeed in talking to them, he could create more problems than he solves, could end up creating barriers to genuine communication instead of removing them.”
“Worth a try though?”
“I’m not sure. Could create dangerous misunderstandings.”
Awen, his breath regained, rose and they continued along the path through the jungle.
“How come you know so much about Nautili?” Awen asked the Senate Member.
“Dag Olvess.” Awen had never heard of him. “It’s the standard work,” the Senate Member told him. “And the only real comprehensive research that’s been done. And even then it’s far from complete. And it’s slanted. Throughout the work he’s trying to prove that the Nautili originated on Earth. Highly tenuous links. Old folklore. Garbled legends. Mention of leviathans. Makes quaint reading. Wide of the mark of course. Earth isn’t even close to one of the eight systems we’ve now narrowed it down to. But, otherwise, his work is all that we have to go on.”
