Titan 5 - Over a Torrent Sea (21 page)

After that was a montage of vague perceptions as he faded in and out of consciousness—a warm body against his, a rippling of feathery blue membranes, the shock of air hitting his face again, the ground rocking beneath his back
once more. Returning to full consciousness, he turned his head to see Lavena crouched over him. She had no hydration suit, and indeed was as nude as he wa—

Clearing his throat, he sat up and folded his legs before him. “Ahh, Ensign. I, umm, appreciate the rescue.”

She giggled, and seemed immune to the resultant glare. “It was my pleasure, Captain. And don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. More or less.”

“Ensign, remember your Starfleet decorum,” he told her. She lowered her head at his chastisement, kept her eyes averted as he retreated behind a stand of tall grasses nearby. In turn, she waded out into the shallows and lay on her side to submerge her gill crests, which had begun to shrivel a bit as the water drained out from between their filaments. He managed to break a blade of grass free with some effort, testing its strength and flexibility.
I can do something with this.
“Report,” he ordered, raising his voice to compensate for distance. “How long have you been conscious?”

“A few hours, sir. Long enough to discover I can’t swim too far without squales coming to stop me.”

“They’re holding us prisoner?” he asked, pausing in his efforts to tear more blades free.

Lavena propped herself partway up, considering. She was far enough out that most of her crests remained submerged—along with most of her other anatomy, which was a comfort to Riker. “I think it might be…protective custody. The deep sound chatter is angry. Hundreds died in the impact, and a valuable feeding ground or something was destroyed. Most of the squales blame us. But the research
pod that made contact with us is keeping us safe…at least until the others decide whether we deserve punishment.”

Riker sighed. “Our equipment? Our clothes?”

“All scuttled, sir. They didn’t want any part of it. It’s…well, probably getting a lot more compact now,” she said, pointing down toward the bottom of what might as well be a bottomless ocean.

“That figures. They couldn’t at least have left me my swim briefs?”

“Sir…with respect, they
did
save our lives. I think…they even gave us medical care somehow. I remember…being enclosed in a warm fluid. Something…pulsing, like a great heartbeat. I asked the squales about it, and they said something about…tending to life.”

“I remember the same thing,” he said. “I’d thought it was just…I didn’t know.” An atavistic memory of his mother’s womb? Maybe an empathic connection with his unborn daughter?
Deanna…
He reached out to her by reaching within. He couldn’t get any response, any clear sense of her presence. But he believed he could still feel a basic awareness of their connection. She was alive; he was sure of it. But somehow she couldn’t communicate with him. She could be injured, or very distant—but why would she be so far away?

“I think there must be even more to their bioengineering than we thought, sir,” Lavena said. “I was pretty banged up when I was knocked from the skiff, but I’m almost fully healed now.”

Riker remembered bleeding from his head. His hand went to his forehead, felt around—there was only the barest hint of a scar. “Normally I’d be fascinated,” he said.
“But right now I’d rather be in
Titan
’s sickbay.” He fought off another wave of dizziness. “Make that the mess hall.”

“Oh!” Lavena cried. “Hold on, sir, I’ll get you something to eat.”

She was gone before he could stop her, no doubt foraging on the underside for something that was edible raw. Riker knew from the crew’s reports that Dropletian biochemistry was reasonably compatible with human, although lacking in mineral nutrients. It would tide him over for a few days, at least. He didn’t plan to be here that long.

By the time Lavena returned, Riker had successfully woven the grasses into a thong-type garment that covered him nearly as well as his briefs had. Lavena seemed even more amused by this than she had been when he was naked, though she struggled to keep her amusement in check. Wanting her attention elsewhere, he asked, “Did the squales tell you anything about the rest of our teams? Other survivors?” He was unsure if all the teams had been evacuated in time, though most would probably have been safely out of range.

Lavena shook her head. “I asked, but they won’t tell me anything. I don’t think they want us talking to anyone else. When I dove to the deep sound channel, the security pod intercepted me, made sure I didn’t make any loud noises. We’re not only in custody, we’re in a communications blackout.” She looked up at him. “I’m…a little nervous about what that might mean for our future.”

“I’m more worried about the rest of our people,” he told her. “You said this faction of squales is protecting us from the anger of the others.”

“The research pod, at least, yes, sir. I think it’s because they’ve established at least a tenuous relationship with us—with me. And the security pod is going along because, well, they’re on the same team for the duration, I guess.”

He met her dark-eyed gaze. “So who’s going to protect everyone else?”

SHUTTLECRAFT MARSALIS

T
amen Gibruch stared out at the endless ocean outside the
Marsalis
’s forward port, so unlike the wide, arid savannas of Chand Aad, and yet so similar in some ways. Here, as everywhere, life vied for survival, embracing every possible strategy—predation, social cooperation, flight, concealment—whatever it took to gain a march over oblivion. That, Gibruch reflected, was the impetus that drove
Titan
’s crew now, in their unrelenting search for a captain and chief pilot who were probably crushed to paste at the bottom of the ocean. Even when failure was nearly certain, they never gave up. It was a quality Gibruch admired, and one he had seen in Starfleet many times, most of all during the Borg invasion. They may not have had anything growing from the backs of their heads save hair and the odd gill crests or spines, but in their own way, Starfleet people had trunks.

But the instinct for survival drove the life of Droplet
as well, and in recent days it had compelled the squales to overcome their timidity and swim closer to the aquashuttles, facing them down threateningly, restricting their movements (at least in the water) beyond the floater colony they’d made their base. They hadn’t attacked yet, still keeping a moderate distance, and Gibruch suspected they might retreat if pressed. But Commander Vale wasn’t ready to test that, feeling they had been antagonized enough.

Instead, Gibruch’s team was assigned to make one more effort to communicate with the squales. Y’lira Modan had taken over Lavena’s role of spokeswoman, brushing up her Selkie for the task; but her dense body structure made her a poor swimmer, so she was relying on hydrophones and submerged speakers, something the squales did not appreciate. It was not going well. Apparently this was a pod consisting of hermaphroditic “mothers” and their children, rather than one specializing in research or governance (if they had governance; the science staff was still uncertain of that). It wasn’t the ideal type of pod to try to communicate with, but it was what they had at the moment. Huilan had volunteered to go out into the water and try his luck; but Gibruch was reluctant to send out the bite-sized counselor under current conditions. In the three standard days since the impact—nearly five Dropletian days—the animal life of the planet had been agitated, aggressive.

“Don’t worry,” Huilan told him. “I can take care of myself. At worst, you can keep a transporter lock on me and beam me to safety.”

“I admire your determination,” Gibruch said. “But my duty is to keep you safe.”

“Our duty is to find the captain and Lavena, if we can.
And to try to make amends for our mistakes here. We can’t do that without talking to the squales.”

“That may have to wait,” Y’lira told them, listening to her earpiece. “I’m picking up chatter from the squales. It sounds like a predator alert.”

“Confirmed,” said Eviku at the science console. “I’m picking up something approaching the squale pod. It’s big.”

Soon Eviku was able to call up a magnified image on his screen. He had been right about the creature’s size; it read as over ten meters long. A low-slung, brick-brown shell bulldozed through the water like a boat that had capsized and hadn’t realized it. Behind a heavy, nasty-looking prow, the shell presented a rough, bumpy surface like a magnified crab carapace. Right at the waterline in front were numerous glints suggesting tiny cabochon eyes. Behind the creature, the water roiled in slithering shapes, suggesting multiple vertical fins beneath the surface.

“The squales are forming a defensive circle,” Eviku reported, “protecting their young.” A pause. “Now the two largest hermaphrodites are—yes, they’re heading toward the creature. They’re going to intercept it!”

“Underwater sensors?” Gibruch asked. “What do they reveal of the creature’s underside?” He strode over to view the sensor feed. To his mind, eye and scanner complemented each other.

“Tentacles,” Eviku reported, interpreting the roiling, confused image. “Looks like hundreds of wiggling tentacles, pushing it forward. Several…roughly triangular tailfins. And two thick tentacles coming out of the front, several meters long.” His voice was tense, agitated. Gi
bruch was surprised; he hadn’t known Eviku long, but had come to think of him as a reserved, level-headed officer.

“They’re not slowing down,” said Olivia Bolaji from the pilot’s seat. Gibruch looked out the window; now he could see firsthand as the largest of the squales and the dreadnought creature barreled toward a head-on collision. If anything, the dreadnought was picking up speed.

The entire audience winced as one at the mighty impact. Gibruch felt the sinus cavities tighten in his trunk as a bloom of bright vermilion stained the sea. “My God,” came Bolaji’s whisper as the dreadnought trundled forward, carelessly sloughing off the wounded squale’s bulk to push on with its attack.

As the underwater sensors showed, the second squale dodged a head-on crash, swerving around to slam its tail into the monster’s side. The dreadnought fishtailed, as it were, but quickly steadied and swung to meet its foe. “It’s bringing in the tentacles!” Eviku exclaimed.

The squale dodged with all the speed its bulk allowed, barely evading the first ropy limb; but the second brushed its flank and the squale went into convulsions, throwing the surface into turmoil. “I’m picking up electrical discharges!” Eviku reported. “Look at the voltage!”

Normally, Gibruch would have taken him to task for the imprecise and overly emotional report. But Gibruch was too caught up in the drama as the dreadnought wrapped both limbs about the squale, sending a still greater shock into its body. The tentacles managed to hold their grip despite the thrashing they induced. The water warped and crumpled under the onslaught of the squale’s throes, obscuring the scene from view. But before long, the turmoil subsided,
revealing the squale motionless, burned, showing the unique limpness of death despite the water’s buoying.

And then the dreadnought moved in to feed. No one much cared to witness that. “What’s the status of the other squale?” Gibruch asked after a pause.

Another pause followed before Eviku responded. “It’s alive, but bleeding severely. The…the others seem to be…yes, they’re gathering around it. I suppose the predator is focused on its kill, so they’re getting their wounded away.”

“Commander?” the pilot spoke up. “They’re heading roughly in our direction.”

“Don’t make any sudden moves. I don’t think they’ll collide with us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure, Commander?” Eviku asked, still unwontedly nervous.

“Calm yourself, Lieutenant,” the Chandir replied, opening a sinus cavity in his trunk to add more resonance and authority to his voice. “Given the way the life on this world recoils from technology, I’m sure we have no cause for concern.”

As the diminished pod made haste to clear the scene, the crew spontaneously fell into a respectful silence. The pod left behind a thinning wake of blood that spread until it touched the hull of the
Marsalis
. It seemed symbolic to Gibruch, as though saying that all life is joined at the pith and that the life and death of one being will touch all others sooner or later, though worlds divide them.

And then the shuttle lurched, knocking everyone to the deck, and Gibruch instinctively knew that that baptism of blood had passed beyond mere metaphor. The second
dreadnought had been drawn by the bouquet of blood spreading through the sea. Mistaking the shuttle for another squale, it had slammed its thick, battering-ram prow into the side, knocking the vessel into a drifting spin. The clang reverberated so loudly through the water that every squale for kilometers around must have looked up from what it was doing and thought, “What was
that
?!”

The dreadnought recoiled, the unexpectedly hard skin of the shuttle having given it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience a headache. But that apparently just made it mad, and it whipped its tentacles around the port-side hull, trying to deliver a fatal shock. The insulated hull kept its current from getting a foothold, but it went on trying with mindless determination. “No cause for concern, sir?” Eviku snapped.

“Belay that, Lieutenant,” Gibruch ordered. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances. “Bolaji, take us up.”

“My pleasure,” Bolaji replied. But it was a struggle to get the shuttle into the air; the leviathan held on relentlessly. Bolaji had to kick in enough power to lift the whole creature out of the water, yet still it clung, mindless in its frenzy. Soon he felt a tremble and a surge of speed, telling him the dreadnought had fallen away, and the sensors confirmed it. But there was still a thick tentacle adhering to the forward port by its suckers. The creature’s own weight had torn it free.

“I…I don’t understand,” Eviku said once the shuttle had gained some altitude and he had regained greater calm. “It’s not normal for predators to be so reckless. Their survival depends on being fit and intact. Sacrificing a limb like that, even after it should have known we offered no nourishment…what could drive it to that?”