Ocean Under the Ice

by Robert L. Forward

  “It’s sort of the opposite of the bright halo effect you get when you look at your shadow on dewy grass,” said Thomas.

  Deirdre looked at the effect thoughtfully. “If that is a growing plant, right enough, then there’s photosynthesis going on, and they’ll be wanting to capture all of this poor light that they can. They must turn the fine fibers that give their surface that velvety texture toward the sun to capture the maximum amount of light.”

  The flouwen, to whom sight was a secondary sense, were unable to appreciate the curious black halo effect. They had moved ahead of the slowly following humans, and were now close behind Splish. Quickly catching up, the humans spread out to stand and observe what was awaiting them. From out of the backpacks of the humans and flouwen clambered their suit imps, each carrying a jury-rigged speaker cone made of a circular piece of glassy-foil, so the imps could generate the deep bass notes which the icerugs used for speech.

  The attention of the humans was now riveted on the three beings behind the crawler. Taller even than Sam, each was topped by a large eye, nearly ten centimeters in diameter, resting on a flexible stalk, and regarding them with apparent benignity.

  “No nose on the head portion,” remarked Cinnamon over their intersuit link. “Like plants on Earth, they must respire through their skin.”

  Deirdre was taking in every detail of the new creatures with passionate interest; their very peculiarity made them more fascinating than anything simpler would have been. Deliberately, she suppressed the tendency to view new life-forms in terms of human ones; however, it certainly seemed as though the differences between the specimens before her were based on costume and preference, not actual form.

  “It’s a cape, that’s what it is!” said Katrina breathlessly. “Look, Deirdre, how it’s draped to fall along the back, not interfere with the arm-things!” The garment, if that is what it was, thought Deirdre carefully, looked as if it served no practical purpose; it hung, in shimmering folds, from an intricately woven band about the creature’s eye stalk, and fell over the globular head portion nearly to the ground. It swirled gently in the wind, but offered no apparent protection to its wearer. The others of the strange creatures before them were similarly attired with capes, although not as ornately embroidered. The jade colored one had a lower “neckband” fastened at the narrow junction below the spherical head and above the tentacle arms, from which hung a multitude of colored ribbons which fell in between the arms without constricting their motions. Hanging in back, under the cloak and partially hidden by the ribbons, was a large device of unknown purpose. The turquoise colored one carried a large pouch attached to a wide band around the narrow junction where the pedestal connected to the four arms.

  Sam muttered, “That pouch looks like a tool-kit. See how the things inside are held by straps and pockets?”

  “Careful,” warned Shirley. “Not necessarily a tool-kit; possibly weapons, possibly…”

  “…lunch,” giggled Katrina nervously.

  Cinnamon and Deirdre moved slowly closer, examining as thoroughly as the distance would permit them, the strange objects held in various tentacles.

  “Looks like wood,” said Deirdre, “or perhaps bone, but green — and look you how there is a bit of something, twisted around, to keep the disc in place. The disc looks like glass, doesn’t it?”

  They realized that Splish had been speaking. With its mechanical precision, the robot was introducing the three aliens with a flourish of one of its manipulators.

  “I present Pink-Orb, Yellow-Star, and Gray-Mote, who have supplied me with most of my information.” Turning its video camera eye toward the icerugs, Splish pointed to the explorers and completed the introduction.

  “I present Expedition Leader Colonel George Gudunov, and his crew of humans and flouwen, from the lightship Prometheus.” There was a silence. Splish was not much of an ambassador, thought George wryly, and, for lack of a more carefully thought-out greeting, he straightened, brought his heels together sharply, and saluted. Then he dropped his arm immediately, at the sound of a smothered giggle behind him. He cleared his throat, and spoke formally.

  “How do you do … erm … sirs,” said George, his mind racing. “The names of my people, here, are…” he listed them, using first names only, and each stepped up in turn.

  “Say something to give them the sound of you,” urged David privately through their imps. “We all look alike in these suits!” When each of them had done so, the humans waited, silently, for more. The humans were, illogically, startled when a deep, rumbling bass voice replied, accompanied by a translation by their suit imps. Whenever the translation program in their suits was stumped, Josephine, with its much greater computational power, used context information to assist with the selection of the proper word.

  “I am Pink-Orb, an Astronomer from the Center of Scientific Studies. Since you have come from the stars, I was assigned by the Presider of the Governing Council to converse with you. These others are from the local association. This is Yellow-Star, a master bard and interassociation communicator. This is Gray-Mote, a physician and the Leader of the local association.”

  All three carpets, it was clear in this light, were of different hues of blue-green; but now that they had had time to assimilate the features of the aliens, it was easy to discern differences in the creatures. Pink-Orb’s body was a soft plum color, while the iris of its eye was a pale pink. Yellow-Star’s body was a deep jade color, and streaks of yellow produced a star-like pattern in the light brown center of its eye, while Gray-Mote had a turquoise body, and had obviously been named because of a curious mote that distorted the normally round aperture in the center of its iris of silvery gray.

  “Their names seem to be keyed to the differences in iris color and structure,” David murmured. “Easy to distinguish, as long as there’s not too many!” There was another pause, for which the humans were grateful, as they struggled to comprehend these strange-appearing, yet obviously civilized creatures.

  “And in the distance are others from the local association, who have come to see you out of curiosity.” With a wave of a tentacle, which stretched double its previous length during the all-encompassing sweep, Pink-Orb indicated the carpets behind it, and the humans noticed crowds of similar stalked nodes, clustered in between the carpets of Pink-Orb and Yellow-Star on one side, and Yellow-Star and Gray-Mote on the other side, while others were off on the outskirts of Gray-Mote and Pink-Orb, as if they were trying to get as close as they could without treading on the territory of the three primary ambassadors.

  George introduced the flouwen. “These are friends of ours, but not like us. We call them Little Red, Little Purple, and Little White. They wear our protective clothing, but they are native to this star system. They have come to visit you from Rocheworld. I do not know your name for Rocheworld. Have you a name for the object in the night sky made of two moons…”

  Josephine’s, “They understand the word Rocheworld.” and Pink-Orb’s rumbled, “Yes.” came almost simultaneously into George’s ears. A deeper rumble started and their suit-imps passed on the translation. It was Yellow-Star speaking.

  “Pink-Orb is the principal astronomer of our nation. All of the bodies in our skies are known to him, and his delight is to calculate their future behavior. He keeps us informed of the approaching conjunctions, when the tides increase and the Munificent God of the Sea awakens.”

  At these words, human and flouwen minds alike were both intrigued. These aliens were obviously highly intelligent and knowledgeable about the world around them and deserved respect, and the humans in particular resolved to pursue their quests as tactfully as possible; but also it was obvious that there was much to be learned.

  “I hope our approach did not alarm your people?” asked Cinnamon.

  “No. It was loud, and bright, but we have known for some time of your coming. We are not fearful of noise or light, they have no power to harm.”

  “I assume we appear very strange to you.”
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  Yellow-Star answered this. “Through the songs passed down to me from the bards of the past, I know all the strange things that have ever been seen before. We have seen nothing like you or your machines, nor had we expected to receive such a visit. It is interesting — little happens outside the daily routine. You humans seem to travel both in large machines and by balancing on two of your four limbs, while the flouwen seem to travel in a manner partially like a human and partially as we do.”

  “Yes,” said George succinctly, cutting off Shirley’s attempt to explain more fully. “Exactly how do you travel?”

  Deirdre and Cinnamon both looked askance at the direct question. But Sam muttered, “Yup. Got to get on with it. And it doesn’t look — upset.” The alien, Gray-Mote, answered and seemed interested in the opportunity to talk about his physiology.

  “My node travels wherever it will, freely. Here, on my own body I move thus…” and, demonstrating, the curious pedestal arrangement glided away, more swiftly than most humans could run, and then returned. It was a breath-taking sight. Moving rather like a cork on a wave, the node moved across its turquoise turflike base with a silent glide, smooth and effortless. On its return it was equally fast, and then simply stopped before the humans. There was no indication of effort or stress. It then moved off its carpeted area across the bare ice toward them, a wave of turquoise flesh preceding it, while leaving a trail of turquoise behind. “Going into a new area requires that I first put down a portion of myself first — this is not difficult, but it is much slower. Once I have laid down a trail, however, I can move as rapidly as I do on my own area.” It quickly zoomed back onto its main carpet and slowly the turquoise trail it had left behind grew thinner as it drew back into the main body.

  “Please, can you tell me the — can you tell me how your carpet is — made?” Katrina was trying to be polite, while every instinct in her wanted to touch, to probe, that strange velvety nap.

  “It is not made, it grows, it is — my body,” replied Gray-Mote.

  Deirdre drew close to the end of the shrinking turquoise trail leading out from Gray-Mote. “If it would not give offense, it would be most enlightening for us to be taking a look, and perhaps the gentle touch, of your beautiful carpet.” Deirdre’s singing tones were dulcet, and she lingered over them. The alien looked at her directly; “It would not give offense.”

  Deirdre, Katrina, and Cinnamon dropped to their knees, together, reaching gloved hands gently to probe, and stroke, and lift the edges of the thin, softly-textured ice-covering on which the pedestal stood.

  “It’s almost like moss,” said Cinnamon, patting the surface.

  Katrina poked the tip of her finger under the living creature and lifted its edge. “Look there are roots too. Fine, like the upper surface, and they go directly into the ice!” Deirdre was nearly flat on her stomach now, barely touching the fascinating life-form, but looking intently at the beautiful structure of each tiny fiber, endlessly duplicated in the carpet before her.

  Meanwhile, David entered into discussion with Yellow-Star. “Among our people, a bard is someone who is both a musician and an historian. Is that true among your people?”

  “Yes, I remember and retell the history of our people through music.” The translation programs in their chestpack translated the word “music” for the humans properly, but the word-sound coming from Yellow-Star sounded like a gong. “I will be composing a song to commemorate our meeting.” Yellow-Star used its back tentacles to bring out the device that had been hanging under its cape. It looked like a cross between a harp and a drum, with a number of heavy strings stretched across an elliptical drumhead. Two of Yellow-Star’s tentacles held the instrument, while a third plucked the strings, and a fourth punctuated the music with a complex rhythmical beat on the back of the drumhead using both ends of what looked like a bone. To all this Yellow-Star added its deep bass voice.

  “From the stars they came, on a circular moon; In flames they land, in a tower of stone…” The music stopped and Yellow-Star added. “That is only the beginning, of course. I will add more later.”

  “You play and sing very well,” said David, whose fingers itched to try the harp-drum.

  “We all enjoy music, especially singing. Gray-Mote, there, is extremely accomplished, and a great addition to our choruses. He is one of the few who can sing…” Josephine had a moment’s difficulty with the newest word “…tenor, so he is frequently called upon.”

  Meanwhile, George, with Sam and Richard, were listening to Pink-Orb’s elaborately worded invitation. “My normal rooting area is near the center of our city, Windward. After the site for your landing was chosen by our Governing Council, I uprooted myself and traveled here in order to greet you properly. Those that make up the Governing Council are anxious to meet you. They will welcome you as soon as you can get there.” Questioning, aided with Splish‘s prior knowledge of the icerug’s measuring system, revealed that the center of Windward city was twenty kilometers distant on the shores of Manannan Lake.

  “Windward?” queried David, puzzled.

  “I would guess that name comes from the fact that their geyser is the closest to the leading pole,” said Richard. “There are always winds coming from that direction.”

  “Fortunately, twenty kilometers is not too great a distance,” said George gravely. “We have a smaller machine with us, less large and noisy, with which to travel about your countryside. We shall use it to go to Windward in a few days.”

  Here Katrina interrupted, with a carefully worded request for a small sample of the icerug’s “body”.

  “How large is what you call small?” cautiously asked Gray-Mote. Katrina indicated the space between her thumb and forefinger, and the ice-rug assented. “That is very small indeed, I shall not miss it. A large piece, of course, would be expensive.” Deirdre and Cinnamon caught the odd use of the word.

  “Expensive? Josephine, have you translated that correctly?” Josephine was definite. Shirley, whose tact was never her strong suit, asked, “Do you buy or sell your — body?”

  “Of course. Out here, in the country, where the dwellers have the space to grow to a large area, their principal occupation is growing extra flesh which they use in trade with those of us in the city for manufactured goods and services.”

  This statement produced another silence, as the humans and flouwen tried to comprehend. Katrina knelt, biopsy punch in hand, but the icerug had already pinched off a small portion of its turquoise body. There was no indication that this caused any discomfort, or indeed, any feeling, to the icerug. Pink-Orb and Yellow-Star also cooperated by donating small samples of their velvety flesh. Unlike small budded-off portions of a flouwen body, which move about actively, these pieces of flesh were flaccid. All Katrina had to do was pick them up and put them into some sample bags. Before she did so, she took a quick look at the sample with her pocket microscope.

  Her actions caught the attention of the scientist, Pink-Orb, who curved sinuously over the small human, to bring its large eye closer. “Is that a … microscope?” Once again, Josephine’s incredible speed at translating from context produced the desired word with only a second’s delay.

  “Yes. Not a very good one, but portable.” Katrina proffered the tool. Deirdre started to speak, but the icerug was already examining the microscope and talking.

  “We have similar devices. Our lenses are made of fine ice, highly polished, but they are more fragile than this. We cannot carry ours about. This must contain very hard ice indeed.”

  “It is not ice at all, it is another substance which is common with us. Please accept this one as a gift,” said Katrina impulsively. Both Shirley and Deirdre protested immediately.

  “This is interfering already! Way beyond our mission!” said Shirley.

  Deirdre’s voice was vibrant with disapproval. “You’re thinking it’s a scientist, a person, and you’ve no basis for that!”

  Katrina’s blue eyes were round with dismay. “But it said microscope
…”

  George interrupted. “The icerug used a word Josephine was able to interpret as one we know, and it’s intelligence is obvious. I see no harm in giving the ‘scope away — rather kindly meant, I’m sure.” The blue eyes in their sooty lashes looked gratefully at George. Sometimes, thought Deirdre in resignation, it was difficult not to pat Katrina on the head. Barnard was about to set, and although Gargantua was now at half-moon stage and provided more illumination, it was far from bright.

  “Well!” George shifted his feet, and coughed. “This has been extraordinary, Pink-Orb, Yellow-Star, Gray-Mote: another limitation my people must deal with, which neither you nor the flouwen apparently share, is the need for sleep. As Barnard is about to set, and we are very tired, I should like us to return to Victoria for a time while we rest.”

  Little Purple attempted to explain to the ice-rugs: #Humans get used up. Have to waste time doing nothing at all for a while.#

  “You are welcome to remain in conversation, if that’s mutually agreeable,” said George somewhat stiffly.

  “Sure!” said the flouwen, and the icerugs remained motionless. With murmured thanks the weary humans returned across the rock to climb up the ladder and into the airlock on Victoria.

  The first through the airlock door chanced to be Cinnamon; her mind full of the strange encounter, she stepped through the open hatch and instantly slid across it to slam into the opposite side. Her squeal of dismay stopped Sam, who was following, but then she rose, unhurt because of the low gravity. He laughed, and stepped in himself, only to grunt as he too slipped and fell. The others, distracted by their own thoughts and ready for the comfort of the ship, paid little attention to the antics of those who preceded them, and most of them too lost their balance and fell to a greater or lesser degree. Richard, the last to arrive, saved himself with a quick grasp of the winch beam, and stared in astonishment at the last of his fellows, staggering upright. Arielle, who had been watching through the airlock porthole, was puzzled.