The Waters Rising (76 page)

“We’re going to have to set up an egg registry,” she told Abasio. “The cliff village people are akin to Tingawans, so their eggs are essentially Tingawan eggs. The ones from Ghastain and Wellsport are essentially Norland eggs . . .”

“Um,” said Abasio, “is that so? My my.” He did not find the subject endlessly fascinating, for his mind kept veering away from the far to the nearer future. Children. Would one be able to say, “My, he certainly has your chin”? Or would one say, “His tentacles are exactly like yours”?

The
Falsa-xin
sailed on the morning tide. The winds bearing them westward were steady. Day by day the captain measured his speed, plotted their position upon his charts. Day by day they saw other ships, headed the opposite direction. The monster was dead. Trade had been resumed. Day by day, dolphins came alongside to tell them what undersea landmarks they were passing, a navigation convenience the sailors of long ago had not had the advantage of. Blue stopped being seasick, leaned his head over the side, and talked to the dolphins whenever he had the chance. They told him stories that he repeated to Abasio and Xulai. Day succeeded day. The food grew increasingly monotonous. The sailors fished. Eventually, they began to see islands, one, two, several. One morning, early, they came to Tingawa. Lok-i-xan awaited them at the pier as he had waited what seemed to them to have been a lifetime ago. This time there were only ordinary parasol carriers, and they all, including Blue, walked only so far as the bottom of the citadel steps before entering the hill to find either an ascendable or a stable.

When Xulai and Justinian left the dinner table that evening, Xulai remarking that she wanted to catch up on her sleep, Lok-i-xan asked Abasio, “I heard all about the confrontation. Was it truly as peaceful as that?”

“When I saw the creature in the firelight, I felt pity,” said Abasio. “You would have, too, even though it had volunteered to be turned into a monster. It was not without guilt, but it had already been in terrible pain for . . . a very long time. It was weak—well, much weaker than it normally would have been. The kindest thing we could do for it was to destroy it.”

“Justinian risked his life.”

“Justinian had an
ul xaolat
in his hand and a destination clearly in mind that the monster would not be able to visualize or find. Precious Wind taught him how the gadget works. Nonetheless, he did risk his life. He was brave and perfect. He looked and sounded the part.”

“Like the pictures.”

“Exactly like the pictures. I don’t know precisely what Precious Wind and her friends concocted to put in the maintenance tube. I overheard them talking about flesh of some kind, and some kind of narcotic. And a poison which did not cause pain.”

“And the monster just died.”

“It just died. Its pain went away. Perhaps it did not die totally until it was blown up, but it’s gone now.” He laughed, an uncomfortable laugh. “I keep waking in the night wondering if it really was the last one.”

Lok-i-xan said, “Abasio, you will have many worries left in your life if you do the traveling you propose to. I believe this is one worry you can dispense with. Unless slaughterers were made that weren’t on the monitors, that worry is over. I’ve seen all the original papers. I’ve seen the original monitors. Every monitor led to a vault, and every vault was cleaned out. Eventually. Just because we knew where each one was didn’t mean they were easy to find! Some of them were a hundred feet down in stone. Some of them could only be reached by tunnels that opened miles away. It took over a hundred years for our people to find and enter one hundred and seventy-two vaults. We dropped one hundred and seventy-two chunks of concrete into ocean trenches. This one was number one hundred and seventy-three. It was the only one left.”

“No more Big Kill.”

“Not until the waters rising reach the tops of the mountains. And by then, most of us should be able to swim.”

Abasio didn’t reply. His life had run into more than a few ironic happenings that were the antithesis of what he had planned and expected. “Should” was a word he distrusted. Along with “probably.” And “we believe.” A lot of people
believed
that he and Xulai
probably should
have a child that could live underwater. He simply leaned back in his chair, took another helping of whatever it was he was eating, and smiled at Lok-i-xan.

Abasio was having his own concerns, concerns that each morning required a new analysis. Today’s had been that if Xulai gave birth to a cephalopod, at least the birth would be easy as there’d be no skull to worry about. The idea did not cheer him, but nothing would be gained by sharing his own doubts. Lok-i-xan had earned his optimism. Let him enjoy it.

Lok-i-xan thought that Abasio seemed very cheerful. Well, he had earned his optimism. Nothing would be gained in voicing his own nightmares about genetics that didn’t turn out right, the possible birth of monsters that either couldn’t or shouldn’t live! No, let Abasio enjoy this peaceful time.

B
oth of them replayed these thoughts some days later as they sat together with Justinian in a kind of anteroom in the hospital. It had been strongly suggested to them that they wait as patiently as possible
out here,
because they would be in the way otherwise, and everyone needed to concentrate on what was happening. Lok-i-xan, gray faced and weary, had not moved from his chair since he had arrived. Justinian changed chairs frequently. Abasio had not sat down.

Xulai yelled at intervals from the next room. Really, more of a scream. Really, sometimes, more angry than pained.

“She’ll be glad to get back to traveling,” Abasio said. “She said so yesterday. She’s felt very . . . stifled.”

Lok-i-xan smiled. It was the slightly condescending smile given by a man who had been a father, many times, to a man who had not. “She won’t want to leave the child, not for a moment,” he said. “Young mothers are all alike.”

“Yes, but, in this case . . .”

“There’ll be some adjustments. One has to expect that. Don’t be disappointed when she doesn’t want to accompany you, Abasio. Later on, when the children are independent, you’ll have plenty of time to travel together.”

Abasio walked into a wall and stood there, wondering if hitting his head on it would help. What would “independent” mean in this case? His child living in the Sea King’s castle, saying “Whassat, who’s he?” to passing fish? He could hear the voices in the next room, some men, some women, all of them “medically trained,” whatever that meant. They had the books from the Before Time, and they had a lot of the same equipment. However neither they nor anyone else on the face of the planet had delivered . . . ah. What?

“Stop that!” screamed Xulai. “Leave it alone!”

Justinian turned gray. Abasio bit his lip. It bled. He found a handkerchief and polka-dotted it with red.

A voice shouted, “Another. Hold that. Don’t move.”

Lok-i-xan panted, “Oh, my. I wonder what—”

Someone said, “I don’t believe this. I simply don’t believe this.”

Someone else in the next room said, “People have twins all the time. It’s not unusual.”

Xulai screeched what sounded like a curse. At the very least, a malediction.

The first person said, “This is unusual.”

Someone said, “Of course, dogs have litters of eight or ten all the time. More than cats.”

Lok-i-xan got up hastily and left the room. He looked decidedly unwell. Justinian went after him.

Someone said argumentatively, “Dogs have eight teats. Or is it ten?”

Someone else said, “Shut up and hold this. You, go get a very large kettle.”

“Kettle?”

“Kettle, pan, bucket, pail, whatever. Move!”

Long silence. Very long silence. Splashing sound. Abasio told himself they must be washing themselves off. Births were sort of messy, he understood. Not that he’d been present at any. Except his own, of course.

“Why does it keep doing that?” someone asked.

“Because it wants to,” said Xulai angrily. “Leave it alone.”

“Are we finished here?” someone asked.

“Just leave it alone where it is,” said Xulai, with what sounded like an enormous yawn. “I’ll let you know.” There was a considerable time of almost silence, broken by small sounds.
Mop mop. Slosh. Splash. Mop.

A very tall woman in a white garment—in a very wet white garment—came from the inner room and sat down on the sofa Lok-i-xan had been occupying for some hours. She took a small bottle from a capacious and invisible pocket, removed the top, and drank from it. It did not look like water.

“Lok-i-xan?” she said wearily. “And her father? They didn’t stay?”

“No, they seemed somewhat . . . taken aback,” said Abasio politely. “May one ask what is going on?”

“What is going on is . . . you are a father,” the woman said. “My name is Tsu-tin. I am an obstetrician. I was privileged to be appointed by your . . . your wife’s grandfather. What would that be, in your language?”

“I’m not sure,” said Abasio. “I think it would depend upon the relationship. As of earlier this morning, I thought he was my friend. Under other conditions, he might be an old bastard.”

The woman’s mouth crooked very slightly. “Let us try to stay with the friend,” she suggested. “Though given the circumstances . . . Why don’t you sit down?”

“Why don’t you just let me go look?” he said.

“In a moment. We’re cleaning up.”

A very large splash came from the other room. Someone cursed, and someone else said, “Get the mop again.”

“My sons or daughters or both are causing some difficulty?” asked Abasio.

“You knew there was more than one?” she asked in surprise.

“I’m extrapolating from various comments you and your . . . assistants were making in there. Rather loudly.”

“Ah. Well, yes. Your son and daughter, or sons or daughters, whichever may prove to be the case, have caused some unforeseen difficulties.”

Thank heavens. Only two.
“You don’t know if they’re male or female?”

He had said it before he thought. Well, how could one tell with an octopus? How in hell would a woman nurse an octopus? She couldn’t. Baby octopi would eat . . . fishes. No little cradle. Cradles. No little stuffed animals. What did one give a baby octopus for its birthday?

After a long silence she said thoughtfully, “I don’t suppose one would know male or female until puberty, no. At least, I wouldn’t know. Wasn’t trained to know. Someone might have been.” She took another little drink and stared at the wall.

Cephalopods didn’t
have
puberty. He sat down beside her. Things grew swimmy, insecure, and he felt himself teetering. The woman put her arm around him, saying, “Take a deep breath. Now another.”

The door opened. A large man stood there, carrying a sizeable bucket in each hand. The woman beside Abasio beckoned. The buckets approached. A baby head protruded from each, a human baby head, each with two little eyes that looked extremely alert. Abasio shook his own head, ordering his eyes to track, focus, behave. He leaned forward. Each baby head was attached to a baby neck, shoulders, chest, and . . . tail. Long, fishy tail. Kind of bluish. Perhaps the tail was actually split . . . leggishly. Hard to tell.

Tsu-tin said, “You have two lovely merbabies. Or mermaids, or mermen. Or one of each.”

He put his hands on the edges of the buckets, feeling he was about to faint. A tiny hand from one bucket grabbed a finger. Another hand from the other bucket did the same. The little heads went under the water. Gills quivered along the babies’ sides.

“
Issums wussums cutest li’l fishies,
” said the obstetrician, wiggling a forefinger under a little chin. “
Isn’t ums li’l darlins.
”

The little heads came out of the water. “Ga,” said one. “Ba,” said the other.

“Abasio,” cried Xulai’s voice in an annoyed tone. “Are you out there?”

“Would you mind babysitting for a moment?” said Abasio, lifting his hands and detaching his children with some difficulty. The little hands felt almost like tentacles, he didn’t say. “I need to go say . . . something to my wife.”

“
Wuzzums uzzums,
” said the obstetrician.

Abasio was already through the door. Xulai was lying in a clean bed, propped on a clean pillow, regarding him with an unreadable expression.

“Forgive me, please, if I misunderstood you,” said Xulai in a voice halfway between fury and relief. “Did you not say that the Sea People insisted we take a shape that was . . . I think you said ‘repugnant to us’ . . .”

“Repulsive,” he corrected.

“Because mankind had done them so much harm they would not accept us as sea creatures if we continued to look like people?”

“I was quoting the Sea King,” he said. “Very accurately.”

“I think you misunderstood him.”

“No, I think I understood him exactly. He told me the truth.”

“
Tweetums, splishy, splashy. Wheee,
” crowed the obstetrician from the next room.

“You’ve seen our . . . our children! That doctor out there! She’s
cooing
at them. They are not repugnant.”