Drowning World

  She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t, and twice damned if she did nothing at all.

  Her hesitant assistant appeared in the open doorway. “Uh, how did it go, Administrator?”

  “Wonderfully well,” she replied without a trace of sarcasm. She noted the hard copy he held in one hand. “What have you got for me now, Sanuel?”

  He approached and passed it over. “Didn’t know when you might get to your messages. This one I thought you ought to see right away. Copied it out to make sure I didn’t forget about it.” He made a soft clucking sound. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”

  At least that’s settled, she decided. She was damned. It took only a moment to peruse the missive. Sitting back in her chair, she rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Outside, a heavy shower was pounding the overhang and the porch. It did not distract her. After about a month on Fluva, one hardly noticed the perpetual drumming sound anymore.

  “There’s no time stamp on this. When did it come in?”

  Pandusky looked apologetic. “Right after you left to go to the port. I heard about what happened there.”

  She scanned the note a second time, hoping that by subjecting it to her vision the content might somehow transmogrify into something less aggravating. It did not. Her gaze shifted to the window. It was raining hard enough now to obscure the view of the nearest trees.

  “This Hasa person has become a real headache. I’m afraid I may lose my temper when I finally meet him.”

  “If you get to meet him.” Like his boss, Pandusky’s attention was focused on the deluge outside. “He’s been gone a long time without contact.”

  “Only a few days,” she murmured. She was seriously in need of a bath. Her scrapes and scratches demanded it.

  “You and I both know that’s a long time to be stranded in the Viisiiviisii. He could be dead.”

  She swiveled back to face Pandusky again. “Too bad he didn’t have the grace to notify us of that in advance.” She tapped the hard copy. “We could have avoided this.” As Pandusky stood silently before her, she leaned forward slightly, resting her head in both hands. “I’m sorry.” Taking a deep breath, she looked up. “That was a loutish thing to say. This Hasselemoga may not be beloved of his colleagues, but he’s a Commonwealth citizen operating on a difficult world and as such it’s our job—my job—to extend full assistance to anyone who runs into trouble. Now I’m informed that the team sent out to look for him has itself disappeared without a trace.”

  Pandusky nodded slowly. “For two up-to-date skimmers to go down in the same general area and for the emergency beacons on both to fail is an extraordinary coincidence.”

  “If it is a coincidence,” she muttered by way of reply.

  His features scrunched into a frown. “I don’t understand, Administrator.”

  She met his gaze. “We’re in the midst of a Sakuntala uprising against the Deyzara that’s as widespread as it is unexpected. Somehow, from somewhere, these radical Sakuntala have acquired an unknown number of advanced weapons. That is inexplicable. So is the ‘coincidence’ to which you’ve just referred. I’m just wondering if there could be some connection between this current surge of inexplicables.”

  Pandusky pondered his superior’s comments for a long moment, finally shook his head in bewilderment. “Even if both were attacked by extremist elements, their emergency beacons should continue working. What possible connection could there be between the Sakuntala uprising and two of our own skimmers going missing and completely silent in the southern Viisiiviisii?”

  “If I knew that,” she replied flatly, “it would be explicable. The Sakuntala and the Deyzara I chose for the follow-up mission were the best, and the brightest, I could find to crew the rescue skimmer. Still, given the animosity between their respective species, it’s not inconceivable that a fight might have broken out between them. But even if one killed the other, or they both died as a result of an accident, that still doesn’t explain the nonresponsiveness of their own skimmer’s emergency beacon. Same goes for the beacon on this Hasa’s vehicle. The latter failure is exceptional. To experience two such failures within as many weeks of a tried-and-true fail-safe technology is more than that: it’s suspicious.”

  He nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

  She steepled her fingers, thinking hard. “Call someone at the inner port you personally trust and have complete confidence in. Ask them to do some circumspect checking. See if anyone who isn’t directly authorized to do skimmer maintenance and repair has been spending an unusual amount of time in the area, even if only to talk with friends. Warn your contact to be as discreet as possible. If someone is responsible for the disappearance of the two vehicles and the corresponding failure of their emergency gear, they’re not likely to think twice about eliminating any perceived inquiry into their activities.”

  “Sabotage,” Pandusky murmured. “But why?”

  Sighing heavily, she slumped back in her chair. The material immediately flexed to mold itself to her new posture. “It’s inexplicable, remember? Tell your contact to ask especially about any Sakuntala who might have been seen lingering in the vicinity. I’ve never met one myself who was capable of incapacitating a skimmer once it was airborne, much less deactivate a sealed internal emergency beacon in a way that would not trigger a blowback alarm. But then, until a little while ago I’d never imagined one pulling a punch pistol on me, either. New revelations raise new expectations—not all of them good.”

  Turning, he started toward the door. “I’ll find somebody trustworthy; don’t worry. I have a couple of people in mind.”

  She waved him away. “Let me know the minute they find anything even remotely suspicious.”

  As the door closed behind him, she swiveled back to face the window. The cloudburst had let up, giving way to the moderate rain that passed for normal daytime weather on Fluva. It was a good thing, she reflected, that the sun did come out occasionally or she feared she might forget what it looked like. Hard as the perpetual gloom was on adults, it was no wonder Andrea was having such a difficult time coping. Lauren mused that her daughter’s deciding to call herself Fitzwinkle was less destructive than any number of other things the girl could do.

  And what could she do? Her mandate to interfere in the affairs of Commonwealth sentients was severely proscribed. If the Sakuntala and the Deyzara had been evenly matched, she could have sat on the sidelines and watched them beat each other senseless until they ran out of arms, energy, and willing combatants. But they were not evenly matched. They never had been. Ever since they had come to Fluva, the Deyzara had relied on at least the threat of Commonwealth intervention to protect them from the repressed ferocity of the Sakuntala. Now a large group of the indigenous had chosen to challenge that nebulous threat. Because, she suspected, someone had provided them with advanced armaments. No need to fear Commonwealth intervention, they had apparently been convinced, if you have Commonwealth guns yourself. Running down the source of those highly illegal imports was yet another problem she had to deal with.

  It was a good thing the Sakuntala didn’t know she was all but powerless to intervene in the conflict. If she ordered her small but well-armed and well-trained garrison to intercede on behalf of the Deyzara, it would look to her superiors as if she was favoring one resident sentient species over another. That would not sit well in certain departments on Earth and Hivehom. If she could show that she was doing so to prevent genocide, that would provide an after-the-fact justification for her actions. But the extremist Sakuntala were being too clever by half. In most uncharacteristic fashion, they seemed to be deliberately trying to avoid causing fatalities. They were herding the Deyzara, not (with a few exceptions) murdering them.

  Was that sufficient grounds to validate an order to intervene? And if she did, there was another consideration. One that lingered on the fringes of every argument she could make in favor of helping the Deyzara. One that refused to go away, no matter how much she wanted it to.

  The
prospect that the much more numerous moderate Sakuntala, who like all their kind enjoyed a traditional passion for warfare, would join their radical brethren in the fighting if they felt that the self-proclaimed neutral Commonwealth Authority had chosen to side with the Deyzara. That and the even more disturbing possibility that, equipped with modern weapons, the Sakuntala might succeed in defeating the limited number of soldiers under her authority.

  While she did not want to be chastised and demoted for taking the wrong action, even less did she want to preside over a massacre.

  “Too bad about those two skimmers, hey?” The tall, muscular figure expressed unashamed concern for the missing. “Man, I wouldn’t want to be stuck out there in the damn varzea. I don’t care how much experience you’ve got. The Viisiiviisii eats people.”

  The mechanic who had been painting new circuitry in an open compartment in the side of the cargo skimmer switched off his firing lenses, pushed them back up on his head, and wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Me, I’d sooner shoot myself now than get stuck out there.” He nodded in the direction of the hangar portal and the mist-shrouded rain-swept forest beyond. “They say if you lie in one place for more than thirty minutes, some fungus or mold will find a way to enter your body even through the toughest envirosuit.” He bent to check his equipment. “Natty’s Pub is about as close to the real Viisiiviisii as I want to get.”

  The other man laughed. “Good place, Natty’s. Best baked spud suds on Fluva. Somebody told me he brews his beer using local hops—or the native variant thereof.”

  “Just as soon you hadn’t told me that.” The painter was making adjustments to his sprayer, fine-tuning the application settings. “Now I’ve got to wonder if maybe some night the beer won’t start to drink me.” He was waiting for his most recent application to dry, so the synaptic connections would set properly. “How about you? Spent much time out there?” For the second time he waved in the forest’s direction.

  His visitor shrugged. “I get out now and again. All part of the job.” Turning, the taller man gazed toward the rain-soaked varzea. “Wouldn’t be any hassling going on now if that idiot prospector Hasselemoga hadn’t managed to go and lose himself. And then the rescue team they send out goes and vanishes while looking for him. That’s what happens when you send a couple of locals to do a human’s job. It’s still weird, though.”

  “Real weird,” the mechanic agreed readily. “Two emergency beacons failing like that.”

  “Wonder who did the last service checkouts on both skimmers?” The visitor eyed the mechanic thoughtfully.

  The painter put up both hands. “Whoa there, brother. Wasn’t me. I’d have remembered. Authority’s already been through here, questioning everybody, and that was one of the first questions.” He returned to his paraphernalia. “By rights, somebody ought to be in line to catch hell. But there aren’t that many of us who do that kind of preflight checkout work, and everybody’s work pad checked out clean. I know mine did.”

  The other man nodded. “Anybody else have access to vehicles besides pilots and mechanics?”

  “Just the usual service teams and automatons.” The mechanic looked penetratingly at his visitor. “Are you implying something, bro, or are you just fisq hunting?”

  “I’m just curious. Me, when I go out I make sure to run my own preflight systems check. I’m just wondering, that’s all.”

  The mechanic was now thoroughly involved in his visitor’s speculations. “Wondering what, bro?”

  The taller man looked away. “Just farting in a vacuum. Wondering if maybe somebody might want a prospector, or just a human, to disappear in the Viisiiviisii, for reasons of their own. Seems to me anybody who would do something like that to an unsuspecting prospector wouldn’t hesitate to interfere with a rescue team.”

  Moving closer, the intensely interested mechanic lowered his voice. “You got anybody in mind?”

  The visitor glanced around to make sure they weren’t being monitored. Everyone else in the hangar was busy with their own work. “I’ve got a couple of ideas, sure. Hasn’t everybody?”

  Eyes narrowing, the mechanic scanned his coworkers. “Not one of the people in here, surely. I know all these folks pretty good. There isn’t one I wouldn’t trust with my life.”

  “Who said anything about people?” The visitor’s eyebrows rose slightly.

  Realization dawned on the mechanic. “Oh. I see. Who, then?”

  “Like I said, I got a couple of ideas.” The visitor turned to depart. “Just keep one thing in mind. All these poor, put-upon Deyzara who keep flooding into town? Isn’t it true that their kind will do anything for money? Anything.”

  Angling toward a pair of techs working on the engine of a transport skimmer, the visitor headed across the hangar floor. Behind him he left one preoccupied mechanic alone with his thoughts, including a few unsettling new ones.

  12

  They were being watched.

  They had all overslept. Not that anyone had an appointment to keep. The marvelous moss bed Jemunu-jah had found nestled in the crook of four intersecting blue-green branches of a strong kapolu tree was more than a meter deep and probably hundreds of years old. That didn’t keep Hasa from eagerly bedding down in the middle of the softest part, blissfully indifferent to the deaths of the thousands of growths that were crushed beneath his weight. The result was the best night’s sleep he’d enjoyed since the crash of his skimmer.

  Sitting up and adjusting his rain cape, he saw that he was the only one awake. That was unexpected. His own experience-toughened reflexes notwithstanding, the Sakuntala Jemunu-jah would normally be the first one to awaken to the presence of an unseen intruder. Both he and Masurathoo relied on the Sakuntala’s forest skills to warn them of the presence of any especially furtive visitor. But the native slept on, indifferent to any imagined visitation. As he lay on his back with both ears relaxed, his tufted tail stretched out to one side, it was possible to envision his completely relaxed form not responding to every single presence.

  Hasa wasn’t taking any chances. You didn’t get many in the Viisiiviisii. Rising, he surveyed the scenery that surrounded their unexpectedly luxurious place of rest. Though his vision was not as acute as Jemunu-jah’s, it was unusually sharp for a human. Years of experience had contributed to a heightening of his senses. It was one of the main reasons he was still alive.

  There was definitely something out there, and it definitely had its eyes on them. If they were eyes in the normal sense, he reflected. Several difficult-to-classify inhabitants of the Viisiiviisii exhibited some remarkable adaptations to light. A number of them were able to perceive shadowing and movement with the aid of sophisticated organic instrumentalities that could not properly be called eyes.

  The air was filled with the calls and cries of unseen creatures that rose above the patter of falling rain and the drip-drip of individual droplets wending their way downward from the tips of leaves and fungi. The sounds made by the concealed were sharp and clear, designed to be discernible above, or rather through, even a substantial downpour. Through the trees flashed something with the sheen of polished ivory, trailing feathers or filaments that were tipped with luminescent gold. They might constitute the tail of some fantastic flying organism, the bright metallic appendages designed to attract potential mates. Or they might be a mimic protruding from the mouth of something large and hungry, designed to attract the potential mates of another creature with a false tail similar in color and shape. Eat, mate, live, die. That was life in the Viisiiviisii.

  Come to think of it, wasn’t that life everywhere?

  Standing there in the rain, he waxed momentarily philosophical. Here something waves gold-tipped tails or tentacles. On less wild worlds we wave credit balances and guns. The means are different but the ends the same. Eat, mate, live, die. Personally, he was more comfortable in a place like the Fluvan Viisiiviisii than in an urbane metropolis on Earth or New Riviera. Here, at least, the maneuverings of the local predato
rs were straightforward. He would far rather confront a nironve or a bai-mou than a lawyer.

  Water ran in rivulets away from the repulsion field that kept the outer layer of his rain cape dry. Reaching down, he removed one of the two collectors that were built into the waist and gulped down the filtered, cooled contents. The water was clean and refreshing. You could also sip it straight from any branch or leaf, but in doing so you ran the risk of imbibing possibly harmful organic detritus along with the life-giving liquid. Not to mention bacteria or internal parasites. And water so sipped would be tepid. Cooled and filtered was better. After his pistol, his versatile rain cape was the most important item he had salvaged from his downed skimmer.

  Such thoughts served to churn memories of the debacle. They were wasting time here. He had things to do, places to go, people to beat the crap out of. Turning away from contemplation of the saturated yet beautiful forest, he moved to wake Jemunu-jah. As he turned, his boots sank into the soft, spongy moss.

  There it was again. Straightening, eyes narrowing, he whirled and scanned their immediate surroundings. A small knot of perouku were making their way up a sloping branch hung with diademite floss. On the rare occasions when the sun showed itself, the floss would sparkle like diamonds, the light triggering active spore dispersal throughout its surroundings. Showing no interest in the floss, the perouku ambled on short black legs up the branch. Miniature rain shields protected their upper bodies and the young that rode there, clinging tightly to the short fur that sprouted from the adults’ backs, from falling drops. Though they had four eyes apiece, they were focused on their ascent and ignored the outsiders in their midst.

  When he completed his circle, still without having espied anything that might be staring back in his direction, Hasa found Jemunu-jah standing awake and alert behind him. The human’s sharp turn had been enough to awaken the sleeping Sakuntala.

  “What is?”