Oh, Mother, we pray. Help us to face danger and be wise …
• HYDROSPHERE
I hear you, Daisy McClennon thought, as she brought together the elements she needed … implements bought, stolen, coerced, or designed herself during the last several hectic, sleepless days.
I hear you, she mentally told the voices vibrating, ringing, echoing across the vast chaos of the Net. And intervene is certainly what I’m about to do.
Oh there were those who still thought she was their tool … as a dog might think a man’s sole purpose in life is to throw sticks and operate the can opener. But just as their schemes neared culmination, so would hers. And always, under buried levels and deceptions, there lie layers deeper still.
Soon, she told those who prayed electronically. Soon you’ll have release from all these worries that beset you.
Soon you shall know truth.
PART X
PLANET
Portrait of the Earth at night.
Even across its darkside face, the newborn planet glowed. Upwelling magma broke its thin crust, and meteor strikes lit the shaded hemisphere. Later, after the world ocean formed, its night tides glistened under the moon’s pearly sheen. For most of the next two thousand million years, ruptures glowed beneath the broad waters, and lightning offset the glistening phosphorescence of emerging life.
The next phase, lasting nearly as long, featured growing continents traced by strings of fiery volcanoes. Eventually, huge convection cells slowed the granite promenade. And yet, Earth’s night grew brighter still. For now life draped the land with vast forests, and the air was rich with oxygen. So flamelight illumined a valley here, a meadow there … sometimes an entire plain.
Within the very latest time-sliver, tiny campfires appeared—minuscule threats to evening’s reign. Yet sometimes curving scythes of grassland blazed as hunters drove panicky beasts toward precipices.
Then, quite suddenly, dim smudges told of the next innovation—towns. And when electrons were harnessed, man’s cities blossomed into glittering jewels. Nightside brightened rapidly. Oil drillers flared off natural gas just to make easier their suckling of deep petroleum. Fishing lights rimmed shorelines. Settlers lay torch to rain forests. Strings of strobing, pinpoint brilliance traced shipping lanes and air corridors.
There were dark wells, also. The Sahara. Tibet. The Kalahari. In fact, the black zones grew. The methane flares flickered and went out. So did the fishing lights.
Cities, too, damped their extravagance. While their sprawl continued to spread, the former neon dazzle passed away like a memory of adolescence. The effervescent show wasn’t quite over, but it seemed to be waning. As night moved back in, any audience could tell the finale would come soon.
But turn the dial. Look at the planet’s surface, at night—in radio waves.
Brilliance! Blazing glory. The Earth seared. It shone brighter than the sun.
Perhaps it wasn’t over yet, after all.
Not quite.
Nation states are archaic leftovers from when each man feared the tribe over the hill, an attitude we can’t afford anymore. Look at how governments are reacting to this latest mess—yammering mysterious accusations at each other while keeping the public ignorant by mutual agreement. Something’s got to be done before the idiots wreck us all!
Have you heard the net talk about mass civil disobedience? Sheer chaos, of course. Not even Buddhists or NorA ChuGas can organize on such short notice. So it’s just happening, all by itself! Yesterday Han tried to stop it.… ordered all Chinese net-links shut down, and found they couldn’t! Too many alternate routings and ways to slip around choke points. The severed links just got rerouted.
So are the nation states paying heed? Hell, no. They’re just doing what nationals always do—hunkering down. They say be patient. They’ll tell us all about it on Tuesday. Right!
I say it’s time to get rid of them, once and for all!
Only one problem, what do we replace them with?
• CRUST
Crat’s weighted boots were so hard to lift, he had to shuffle across the ocean bottom, kicking muddy plumes that settled slowly in his wake. Occasionally, a ray or some other muck-dwelling creature sensed his clunking approach and took off from its hiding place. Still, all told, there was a lot less to see down here than he’d imagined.
Of course this wasn’t one of the great coral reserves or shelf fisheries, where schools of hake and cod still teemed under the watchful eyes of UNEPA guardians. One of Crat’s instructors told him most of the ocean had always been pretty empty. And yet there was another obvious reason he met so little life down here.
What a junkyard, he thought while moving at a steady pace. I never figured a place so big could turn into such a sty.
He’d seen so much man-made garbage in just the last hour … from rusting buckets and cans and a corroded mop handle to at least a dozen plastic bags, drifting like trademarked jellyfish, advertising discount stores and tourist shops thousands of miles away.
And then there was that kilometer-wide spew of organic refuse looking like a half-digested meal some immense creature had recently voided. Crat knew who that creature was—the Sea State floating town, which had passed this way only a little while before. Despite their nominal agreement to abide by UNEPA rules, clearly the poor folk of the barges had more urgent things to worry about than where their rubbish went. After all, the ocean seemed willing to take everything dumped into it, with nary a complaint.
The towns must leave trails like this everywhere, Crat realized. It was gross. But then, what choice did they have? The rich may worry about garbage disposal, but when you’re poor your concern is getting food.
Which raised another curious question. Why was the barge-city sticking around in this area when the fishing was so poor? Crat suspected it had to do with the Company, which seemed intensely interested in this bit of continental shelf and presumably wanted to keep the floating town around as a base of operations.
Or as a cover? Crat wondered. But he had no idea how to follow up on that thought. Anyway, presumably the company men paid well for the privilege. Hard currency was hard currency, and curiosity generally a waste of time.
“Okay Courier Four Now take a heading of niner zero degrees.”
“Roger control,” he answered, checking his compass and changing course. “Niner zero degrees.”
Crat liked talking like an astronaut to the company comm guys. Sure, the smelly suit must have been retired as unfit for human use long ago. And it was hard work just lifting your feet to take each step. But the job had its moments. Like when the trainers actually seemed pleased and impressed with his education! That was a complete first for Crat.
Of course countless Sea State citizens were innately smarter, and some had much better learning. But few of those were likely to volunteer for such dangerous work. The company men spoke of his being “uniquely well qualified” for the job.
Imagine that. He’d never been well qualified for anything in his life! I guess lots of good things can come your way, if you don’t give a damn how long you live.
“Courier Four, cut respiration rate to thirty per minute. Slow down if you have to Site Thirteen needs your cargo for backup, but they don’t expect you early.”
“Aye aye.” He measured his pace more carefully. Crat had decided he wanted this job after all. And that meant getting known as a team player. Another milestone for him.
During his first week they’d put him through exhaustive and exhausting tests … like barochambers, flooding in different gases and examining his hand-eye coordination under pressure. Then there were chem-sensitivity exams and psych profiles he was sure he’d fail, but which, apparently, he passed.
The company was engaged in a big enterprise here in the ocean southwest of Japan. Crat found out just how big when he was moved to an underwater base bustling with tech types—Japanese, Siberian, Korean, and others. There was talk of surveying and tapping nearby veins of valuable or
es, a much more ambitious enterprise than just collecting manganese nodules from the open seabed. Obviously, the company was planning ahead for when nodules became scarce and therefore “protected.”
Crat didn’t understand most of what he overheard the engineers saying. (That was probably among the reasons he’d been hired.) But one thing was clear. If nodule harvesting was dangerous, working in deep mine shafts under half a kilometer of water would be doubly so! Not that Crat really cared. But maybe this explained the tight relationship between the corporation and this particular Sea State town—so close the floating city had even stayed put through a recent nasty storm, instead of taking shelter downwind of Kyushu. The Albatross Republic couldn’t afford to abandon jobs and cash.
It was weird, working as an expendable flunky so near others who were obviously high-priced tech types with fat, company-paid insurance policies. He’d expected to be treated like a dog or worse, but actually they were a lot more polite than the bosuns on the fishing boats had been, and smelled better, too.
Only why, when they were supposed to be working on digging a mine in the ocean, was everybody so excited this morning, jabbering over maps of the moon, for Gaia’s bleeding sake?
None of my dumpit business, I guess. And that was that.
Right now Crat was supposed to deliver his package to a company outpost ten kilometers from the main base. Apparently, it was a site so secret they didn’t even visit it often by submarine, in case competitors might track the boats with satellites. Single couriers like him, slogging back and forth on foot, minimized that risk. He had no idea what lay on the carry-rack across his back, but he’d get it there on time or croak trying!
Crat reached up and tapped his helmet. A high-pitched squeal had been growing louder for the last minute or two. So? More shitty equipment. What d’you expect?
“Hey, Control. Can you guys do anything about the dumpit—”
“Courier Four … we’re having …” Static interrupted, then surged again. “… better … ort this … ssion …” Crat blinked. What the hell were they talking about now? He decided to play it safe. If you don’t understand what the bosses are saying, just keep working hard. It may not be what they wanted, but they sure can’t fire you for that!
So he checked the helmet’s gyrocompass and adjusted his heading a bit before moving on, counting breaths as he’d been told. There were miles to go yet, and what mattered was delivering the goods.
As he slogged, the keening in his headphones grew more intense and oddly musical. Tones overlay each other, rising and falling to a puzzling rhythm. Could this be another test, perhaps? Was he supposed to name that tune? Or were they just having fun at his expense?
“Hey, Base. You guys there? Or what?”
“… ort and … back Courier! We’re exper … ouble …”
This time he stopped, feeling rising concern. He still had no idea what the controller was saying, but it sounded bad. Crat’s glove collided with his helmet as he instinctively tried to wipe away the perspiration beading his nose. He wanted to rub his eyes, which had started itching terribly.
Suddenly it was important to remember all the warning signs he’d been taught in cram sessions. Nitrogen narcosis was one danger they’d warned of repeatedly. The suit’s monitor lights showed an okay gas balance … if you could trust the battered gauges. Crat checked his pulse and found it fast but steady. He squeezed his eyes shut till they hurt, then opened them and waited for the speckles to go away.
Only they didn’t. Instead they capered and bobbed as if a swarm of performing fireflies had gotten into his helmet. Their movements matched the eerie music surging through his headphones.
Oh, this is too squirting weird!
A flash of gray hurtled past him. Then another, and two more. Crat blinked. Dolphins! The last one paused to whirl around him, catching his eye and nodding vigorously before streaking after its fellows. Crat got the eerie impression the creature had been trying to tell him something, like maybe, You better hurry, Mac, if you know what’s good for you.
“Shit. If something down here’s got them scared …”
Crat found himself scurrying after them, running as fast as he could through the bottom muck. Soon he was panting, his heart pounding in his chest. I’ll never keep up! Whatever’s chasing them will catch me easy!
He tried to glance backward as he ran, but only managed to trip over his own feet. The slow motion fall was unstoppable, ending in a skid that plowed up streamers of turbid sediment. As he lay there, wheezing for breath, his entire world consisted of the whining aircompressors, that gor-sucking music, and some crawling thing in the mud that bumped against his faceplate, leaving a trail of slime across the glass before disappearing into the ooze again.
Maybe I can burrow under here and hide, he thought.
But no. Cowering from a fight stuck in his craw. Better to turn and face whatever it was. Maybe dolphins are cowards, anyway.
Something occurred to Crat. It might be some other company, wanting to hijack the thing I’m carrying. Hey! That explains all the noise! They’re jamming my comm, so I can’t call for help when they find me! Obstinately, he decided, Well, if my cargo’s that important, they sure as fuck aren’t gonna get it off me!
Crat managed to stand, raining gunk from his harness and shoulders. If the enemy were close, they’d surely pick out the noise his suit gave off and zero in on him. But maybe he could find a place to stash his cargo first! Awkwardly, he pulled the bulky package off its carry-rack. One of the tech types had called it a “cylinder gimbal bearing,” or whatever. All he knew was it was heavy.
Maybe … Crat thought as he looked around … maybe he could bury it and … hurry off, leading the bad guys away from it! But in that case he’d better put it under some landmark, so he could find it again. In a burst of slyness, he set off away from his former heading, so as not to point the way to the company’s secret lab. Meanwhile Crat peered about for any useful landmark, wary for a sudden black shape—the sleek minisub of some mercenary corporate privateer.
Hurrying across the muddy plain, he caught a flicker of motion to his left. He turned, just in time to be halfblinded by a sudden shaft of brilliance that seemed to split the sea. A searchlight! They’re here!
He sighed in frustration. Too late to bury his cargo, then. There was only one chance now. To pretend to surrender, and then, at the last moment, maybe he could destroy what he carried. Of course the only object hard enough to smash it against would be the side of the sub itself.… Maybe Remi or Roland could have thought up something better, he reflected, but this was the best he could come up with on short notice. Crat started walking toward the light. It was terribly bright.
Too bright, in fact. He’d never seen such a searchlight before.
Moreover, it was vertical, not horizontal. Could it be someone up above, casting about down here from the surface? But that didn’t make sense!
Then Crat noticed for the first time … the brightness seemed to throb in tempo with the strange music flooding his helmet. It’s too big to be a searchlight, he realized when he saw the dolphins again, cavorting around the luminous perimeter. The column was nearly a hundred meters across.
They weren’t running away, after all. They were headed toward this thing! But what is it?
There was no shadow of a vessel on the surface. The brilliance had no specific source. It just was. Shuffling nearer the dazzling pillar, Crat’s foot caught on something bulky in the mud. A large, black, roughly egg-shaped object. Ironically, it was one of the nodules he’d expected to be sent after when he was hired. To a Sea State citizen, it was a fabulous find. Only right now that didn’t seem to matter as much as it might have only minutes ago.
The music grew more intricate and complex as he approached the beating column. Crat pictured angels singing, but even that didn’t do it justice. The dolphins cried peals of exhilaration, and that somehow made him feel less afraid. They swooped, executing pirouettes just outside the shaft of br
ightness, squealing in counterpoint to its song.
Crat approached the shimmering boundary and stretched out one arm. He felt his blood drawn through the vessels in his hand by strange tides, returning to his heart changed with every beat. The fingertips met resistance and then passed through, tingling.
His black glove glowed in the light. He watched, dazed, as fizzing droplets hopped and danced on the rubber before evaporating in tiny cyclones. So. Within the glow there might be air … or vacuum … or something else. For sure, though, it wasn’t seawater.
He felt his arm nudged. A dolphin had come alongside to watch, and the two of them shared a moment’s soul-contact, each seeing glory reflected in the other’s eye. Each knowing exactly what the other one saw. Crat couldn’t help it; he grinned. Crat laughed exultantly.
Then, gently, the dolphin nudged his arm again, pushing it out of the shining beam.
Breaking contact tore at him instantly, as if something had ruptured inside. Crat sobbed at a sudden memory of his mother, who had died when he was so young, leaving him alone in a world of welfare agents and official charity. He tried to go back, to throw himself into the embrace of the light, but the dolphins wouldn’t let him. They pushed him away. One thrust its bottle nose between his legs and lifted him bodily.
“Let me go!” he moaned, reaching out. But even then he heard the music climax and begin to fade. The brilliance turned golden and diminished too. Then it ended suddenly with a clap that set the ocean ringing.
In the rapid dimness, his irises couldn’t adapt fast enough. He never saw water rush in to fill the empty shaft, but he and the dolphins were taken by a spinning, tumbling chaos that yanked them like bits of weed in the surf. Crat grabbed his air-hose and just held on.
When, at last, the tugging currents let him go, for a second time Crat shakily picked himself up from the muddy bottom. It took a while to look around without everything spinning. Then he realized the dolphins were gone. So too were the light, the music. Even the ringing in his ears. The stinging afterimages faded till at last he heard an insistent voice yammering.