"Let me check my medical supplies," said Lawler. "I might have something we can sprinkle on them that they won't enjoy."
He went below, to the cargo hold. What he had in mind was a tall flask of a black viscous oil sent to him long ago by his colleague Dr Nikitin of Salamil Island in return for a favour. Supposedly Dr Nikitin's oil was useful in killing fireflower, an unpleasant stinging plant that occasionally caused problems for human swimmers, though Gillies didn't seem to mind its presence at all. Lawler had never needed to make use of the oil: the last fireflower infestation in Sorve Bay had occurred when he was still a young man. But it was the only thing in his collection of drugs, medicines, ointments and potions that was intended to do injury to some form of plant life. Maybe it would be effective against the one they were encountering here. He saw no harm in trying.
The instructions on the label, closely written out in Dr Nikitin's meticulous hand, said that a concentration of one part to a thousand parts of water would be sufficient to clear a hectare of bay from fireflower. Lawler mixed it in a concentration of one part to a hundred and had himself swung out over the water in the davits to spray it on the weeds around the Queen of Hydros' bow.
The weeds seemed unbothered by it. But as the diluted oil trickled down through the clotted plants and spread out through the water around them an undersea commotion began, and quickly became a turmoil. From the deep came fish, thousands of them, millions, little nightmare creatures with huge gaping jaws, slim serpentine bodies, broadly flaring tails. Vast numbers of them must have been nesting down there under the plants and now the whole colony was rising as though with one accord. They smashed their way upward through the matted clumps of roots and went into a wild mating frenzy at the surface. Dr Nikitin's oil, harmless though it was to the weeds, appeared to have a potent aphrodisiac effect on the creatures that lived in the water below them. The wild writhing of vast numbers of the snaky little things set the sea into such turbulence that the tight clusters of interwoven weeds were ripped apart and the ships were able to make their way through the channels that appeared. In short order all six vessels were past the zone of congestion, moving freely in open water.
"What a clever bastard you are, doc," Delagard said.
"Yes. Except I didn't know that was going to happen."
"You didn't?"
"Not a clue. I was simply trying to poison those plants. I had no idea those fish were underneath them. Now you see how a lot of great scientific discoveries get made."
Delagard frowned. "And how is that?"
"By sheer accident."
"Ah, yes," said Father Quillan. Lawler saw that the priest was in his cynic/unbeliever mode. With a mock-solemn intonation Quillan exclaimed, "God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform."
"Indeed," Lawler said. "So he does."
* * *
A couple of days beyond the water-plant zone the sea became shallow for a time, hardly any deeper than Sorve Bay, with utterly transparent water. Gigantic contorted heads of coral, some of it green, some of it ochre, much of it a brooding dark shade of blue that was practically black, could be seen rising from a sea floor of brilliant white sand that looked close enough to touch. The green coral sprouted in fantastic baroque spires, the blue-black was in the form of umbrellas and long thick arms, the ochre had the shape of great flaring flattened horns, branching and rebranching. There was also a huge scarlet coral that grew as single isolated globular masses, vivid against the white sand, which had the wrinkled, involuted shape of human brains.
In places the coral had expanded its reach so exuberantly that it breached the surface. Little whitecaps licked around it at the waterline. The clumps that had been exposed longest to the air were dead, bleaching to whiteness in the hard sunlight, and just below them was a layer of dying coral that was taking on a dull brown colour.
"The beginning of land on Hydros," Father Quillan observed. "Let the sea level change a little and all this coral will be sticking out of the water. Then it'll decompose into soil, seed-producing air-dwelling plants will evolve and start sprouting, and away we'll go. Natural islands first, then the sea floor rises a little more, and we get continents."
"And how long do you think it'll be before that happens?" Delagard asked.
Quillan shrugged. "Thirty million years? Forty, maybe. Or maybe a lot more than that."
"Thank God!" Delagard bellowed. "Then we don't have to worry about it for a while!"
What they did have to worry about, though, was this coral sea. The ochre coral heads, the horn-shaped ones, looked sharp as razors, and in places their upper edges lay only a few metres deeper than keel depth. There might be other places where there was even less clearance. A ship that passed over one could find itself laid open from bow to stern.
So it was necessary to move warily, searching for safe channels within the reefs. For the first time since they had left Sorve there could be no night sailing at all. By day, when the sun was a beacon striking patterns of sparkling lines on the shimmering white sea-floor, the voyagers wove a cautious path between the coral outcroppings, staring down in wonder at the unthinkable swarms of gilded fish that clustered around the coral, swiftly and silently going about their business, great hordes of them threading down every passageway as they fed on the reef's rich population of microlife. By night the six ships anchored close by one another in some safe open sector, waiting for the dawn. Everyone came up on deck and leaned out, calling to friends on the other ships, even conducting shouted conversations. It was the first real contact most of them had had since their departure.
The night spectacle was even more dazzling than the daytime one: under the cold light of the Cross and the three moons, with Sunrise adding its own measure of brilliance, the coral creatures themselves came to life, emerging from a billion billion tiny caverns in the reefs: long whips, scarlet here, subtle rose there, a sulphurous yellow on this kind of coral, a glaucous bright aquamarine on that one, everything uncoiling and reaching forth, all of them frantically flagellating the water to harvest the even tinier beings that hung suspended in it. Down the aisles of the reef came stunning serpentine things, all eyes and teeth and shining scales, that slithered diligently along the bottom, leaving elegant belly-tracks in the sand. A pulsing green luminescence flowed from them. And out of a myriad dark dens appeared the apparent kings of the reef, swollen red octopoid creatures with plump, baggy, prosperous-looking bodies held secure within long swirling coiling tentacles from which emanated a throbbing, terrifying bluish-white light. By night every coral head became the throne for one of these great octopoids: there it sat, glowing smugly, quietly surveying its kingdom with gleaming yellow-green eyes that were larger across than a man's outstretched hand. There was no escaping the gaze of those eyes as you peered over the rail in the darkness to look down at the wonderworld beneath. They stared at you confidently, complacently, revealing neither curiosity nor fear. What those great eyes seemed to be saying was, We are masters here, and you are not at all important. Come, swim down to us, and let us put you to some good use. And sharp yellow beaks would open suggestively. Come down to us. Come down to us. It was a temptation.
The coral outcroppings began to thin out, grew more and more sparse, finally vanished altogether. The sea floor remained shallow and sandy a while longer; then, abruptly, the brilliant white sand could no longer be seen, and the turquoise water, which had been so clear and serene, turned once more into the opaque dark blue of deep waters with a choppy covering of light rippling swells.
* * *
Lawler began to feel as if the voyage would never end. The ship had become not just his island but his entire world. He would simply go on and on aboard it forever. The other ships travelled alongside it like neighbouring planets in the void.
The odd thing was that he saw nothing much wrong with that. He was fully caught up in the rhythm of the voyage now. He had learned to enjoy the constant rocking of the ship, accepting the little privations, even relishing the occasio
nal visitations of monsters. He had settled down. He had adapted. Was he mellowing? Or was it, perhaps, that he had simply become an ascetic, not really needing anything, not caring much about temporal comforts? It could be. He made a note to ask Father Quillan about that when he had a chance.
Dann Henders had gashed his forearm on a gaff while helping Kinverson bring on board some enormous flopping man-sized fish, and Lawler, his supply of bandages depleted, went down to the cargo hold to get more from his reserve stores. He was always uneasy when he went down there, ever since his encounter with Kinverson and Sundira; he assumed they were still slipping off there together and the last thing he wanted was to stumble upon them again.
But Kinverson was on deck just then, busy gutting his fish. Lawler rummaged around amidships for a time in the dark musty depths of the hold. Then he turned to start making his way back up and practically collided with Sundira Thane, coming toward him down the same narrow, badly lit passageway that he had just entered.
She seemed as surprised to find Lawler there as he was to see her, and the surprise appeared genuine. "Val?" she said. Her eyes went wide and she took a hasty awkward step back from him just in time to avoid crashing into him.
Then the ship lurched sharply and flung her forward again, right into his arms.
It had to be an accident: she would never have done anything so blatant. Bracing himself against the stack of packing crates behind him, Lawler let his stack of folded bandages drop and caught her as she came whirling into him like a discarded doll that some petulant little girl had thrown. He held her, steadying her on her feet. The ship started to lurch back the other way and he tightened his grip to keep her from being hurled against the far wall. They stood nose to nose, eye to eye, laughing.
Then the ship righted itself and Lawler became aware that he was still holding her. And enjoying it.
So much for his alleged asceticism. What the hell. What the hell, indeed.
His lips went to hers, or perhaps hers went to his: he was never quite sure afterward which it had been. But the kiss was a long and active and interesting one. After that, though the ship's motions had become much less extreme, there was nothing really to be gained by letting go of her. His hands moved, though, one roaming the small of her back, the other sliding downward to her taut muscular rump, and he pulled her even closer against him, or she pushed herself closer: that too was an uncertain thing.
Lawler was wearing only a twist of yellow cloth around his waist. Sundira had on a light hip-length grey wrap. It was easy enough to untwist and unwrap. The whole thing was happening in a simple, orderly, predictable way, though it was not at all dull for being so predictable: it had the clear, crisp, lucid inevitability of a dream, and a dream's infinitely promising mysteriousness. Dreamily Lawler explored her skin. It was smooth and warm. Dreamily Sundira ran her fingers across the back of his neck. Dreamily he moved his right hand from her back to her front, down between their close-pressed bodies, past the valley between her small firm breasts where he had probed with his stethoscope what seemed several hundred years before, and on downward over her flat belly to the juncture of her thighs. He touched her. She was wet. She began to take the lead away from him now, pushing him backward, not in any unfriendly way but just trying, so it seemed, to guide him into a place between the packing crates where they would have room to lie down, or at least almost to lie down. After a moment he understood that.
It was close, cramped quarters. They both were long-legged people. But somehow they managed things, without even having rehearsed them. Neither of them said a word. Sundira was lively and active and quick. Lawler was vigorous and eager. It took just a moment for them to synchronize their rhythms and then it was smooth sailing all the way. Somewhere in the middle of things Lawler found himself trying to calculate how long it had actually been since he had last done this, and he dictated an angry memorandum to himself that got his attention back where it belonged.
* * *
Afterward they lay laughing and gasping in a sweaty heap, their legs still intertwined in a complicated fashion that might have been a challenge for the octopoids of the coral reef to bring off. Lawler sensed that this was not the time to be saying anything that might be considered as sentimental or romantic.
But he had to say something, eventually.
"You didn't follow me down here, did you?" he asked, finally breaking the long silence.
She looked at him with surprise and amusement mingling in her look.
"Why would I have done that?"
"How would I know?"
"I came down here to get some rope-mending tools. I didn't know you were here. The next thing was the ship jumping around and then I was in your arms."
"Yes. You don't regret that, do you?"
"No," she said. "Why should I? Do you?"
"Not at all."
"Good," she said. "We could have done this a long time back, you know."
"Could we?"
"Of course we could. Why did you wait so long?"
He studied her by the light of the dim, smoky taper. Her cool grey eyes held a glint of amusement, definite amusement, but he saw no mockery there. Even so, it seemed to him that she was taking this rather more lightly than he was.
"I could ask the same thing," he said.
"Good point." Then, after a moment: "I gave you some opportunities. You very carefully didn't take them."
"I know."
"Why not?"
"It's a long story," he said. "Also very boring. Does it matter?"
"Not really."
"Good."
They fell into another spell of silence.
After a little while the thought came to him that it might be a good idea to make love again, and he began idly stroking her arm and her thigh as they lay entangled on the floor of the hold. He detected the first little tremors of response in her, but with a remarkable display of control and tact she contrived to abort the process before it had gone too far to halt and gently disengaged herself from his grasp.
"Later," she said in a friendly way. "I really did have a reason for coming down here, you know."
She rose and put her wrap back on and gave him a cool, cheerful grin and a wink, and disappeared into the storeroom in the stern.
Lawler was startled by her imperturbability. Certainly he had no right to expect that what had just happened would be as unsettling to her as it had been for him after his long period of self-imposed celibacy. She had seemed to welcome it, yes. She had definitely seemed to enjoy it. All the same, had it really been nothing more than a casual random event for her, a mere fortuitous consequence of the lurching of the ship? So it would seem.
* * *
Father Quillan, one torpid afternoon, decided to make a Catholic out of Natim Gharkid. At least that was what he appeared to be doing, with great intensity, as Lawler wandered past them and glanced down from the bridge. The priest, looking sweaty and inflamed, was offering the little brown-skinned man a voluble conceptual flow; and Gharkid was listening intently in his usual impassive way. "Father, Son and Holy Ghost," Quillan said. "A single Godhead, but a triple entity." Gharkid nodded solemnly. Lawler, an unseen listener, blinked at the strange term "Holy Ghost'. Whatever could that be? But Quillan had moved onward from there. Now he was explaining something called the Immaculate Conception. Lawler's attention wandered and he strolled on, but when he came back that way fifteen minutes later Quillan was still at it, speaking now of redemption, renewal, essence and existence, the meaning of sin and how it can exist in a creature which is the image of God, and why it had become necessary to send to the world a Saviour who by His death would take upon Himself the evils of mankind. Some of it made sense to Lawler, some seemed the wildest gibberish; and after a time the proportion of gibberish to sense struck him as so high that he was offended by Quillan's intense dedication to such an absurd creed. Quillan was too intelligent, Lawler thought, to give any veracity to these notions of a god who first must create a world populated by
a flawed version of himself and then send an aspect of himself to that world to redeem it from its built-in flaws by letting himself be killed. And it angered him to think that Quillan, after keeping his religion to himself so long, was fastening now on the hapless Gharkid as his first convert.
He went up to Gharkid later and said, "You mustn't pay attention to the things Father Quillan was saying. I'd hate to see you falling for that pile of nonsense."
In Gharkid's unreadable eyes appeared a momentary glint of surprise. "You think I am falling?"
"You seemed to be."
Gharkid laughed softly. "Ah, that man understands nothing," he said. And he walked away.
* * *
Later in the day Quillan sought Lawler out and said testily, "I'd be grateful if you'd avoid offering your opinions about things you hear in the conversations you eavesdrop on. All right, doctor?"
Lawler reddened. "What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean."
"Ah. I suppose."
"If you've got something to contribute to the dialogue, come and sit with Gharkid and me and let's hear it. But don't snipe at me from behind my back."
Nodding, Lawler said, "Sorry."
Quillan gave him a long frosty look.
"Are you?"
"Do you think it's fair, trying to sell your beliefs to a simple soul like Gharkid?"
"We've been through this before. He's less simple than you think."
"Perhaps so," Lawler said. "He told me he wasn't very impressed with your dogmas."
"He isn't. But at least he's approaching them with an open mind. Whereas you-"
"All right," Lawler said. "So, I'm by nature not a religious man. I can't help that. Go ahead and turn Gharkid into a Catholic. I don't really care. Make him an even better Catholic than yourself. That wouldn't be hard. Why should I care, after all? I've already said I was sorry for butting in. And I am. Will you accept my apology?"