Titan 5 - Over a Torrent Sea (23 page)

She nodded. “They even let me call out to them. But I think it was because they knew somehow I’d get no answer. As if
Titan
…” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“You were saying?” Riker prompted. “About the Song and why they’re agitated?”

“Yes, sir. What they’re telling me is that the asteroid strike…it’s disrupted the Song somehow. Not just their communication channel, but the deeper Song that emanates from the World Below. Its…timbre has been altered.
Discord has been added. And that’s throwing the world out of joint.”

Riker furrowed his brow. “They think that’s why the Dropletian life is getting so agitated? That there’s some kind of annoying sound putting them on edge?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “At least, I don’t think so, sir. It’s more like the squales think of themselves and the other species as parts of the sound…as living notes that are being played wrong.”

He was silent for a while, absorbing her words. “But how could the asteroid strike be affecting them? Asteroids hit this planet all the time.” He fidgeted, shifting his weight. “Maybe they’re just on edge because we’re here. Something strange and alien comes to their world, and then an asteroid hits…it’s making them afraid of what might happen next. And so they imagine the Song is out of tune.”

“But that doesn’t explain the other animals reacting the same way.”

“Are they really? Or does it just seem that way to the squales who are already on the alert for trouble?”

“But the attacks—”

“Aili, you were attacked twice in your first week here.”

She conceded the point with a tilt of her head. “Hmm…I suppose the asteroid dust settling in the water is changing the salinity, affecting the circulation…shifting the nutrient balance. Even the DSC still has some areas that don’t have service restored yet, so to speak. So the normal cycles of the ocean are out of joint in a lot of ways. That could be what’s disorienting the animals, putting them on edge.” She leaned back and stretched, and Riker felt the need to
look off at the horizon for a moment. “But try telling them that. Even some of the squales in Cham’s pod, and most of the defender squales, are still convinced we caused it all by coming here, that we threw off their Song with our discordant alienness. Some of them are genuinely curious to learn about us, especially the astronomers. But a lot of the pod members are studying us because they hope it will reveal what we’ve done to their world and what they can do to fix it. And it sounds like a lot of squales around the world agree that we’re the problem.”

“But it didn’t begin until the asteroid struck.”

“Which happened less than two weeks after we arrived. They don’t believe in coincidences. In music, everything’s interrelated.” She leaned forward again. “And remember, sir, they have aerial probe creatures bred for astronomical observation—and they’re better at it than we imagined. They were actually able to detect
Titan
interacting with the asteroid before it hit.” She shook her head. “To many of the squales, that’s proof positive. I’m having a hard time changing their minds. I think Alos and Gasa believe me, but they’re just apprentices and they also want to trust their mentors.”

“You’re doing the best you can, Aili,” Riker told her with a gentle smile. “I have every confidence in you.”

“Thank you, sir.” His approval warmed her. Yawning, he rose, excused himself, and wandered up to the bed of mosses he’d made to take a nap—something he was doing a lot lately, with little else to occupy him.

But Aili occupied herself by enjoying the view as he walked away. His body really hadn’t changed that much in twenty-two years—not as slender as before, perhaps, but
then neither was she, having developed a thicker layer of body fat for insulation once she’d gone fully aquatic. Yes, he was her captain, and he was married. But she’d been alone on this planet for days now and she had appetites that were going unslaked. So she saw no harm in indulging in a private fantasy now and then.

Besides, we may be here for a while,
she found herself thinking.
What if
Titan
never comes back? What if Will and I have to live out our lives here?
She contemplated him as he lay down to sleep.
Would that really be so bad?

For him, maybe. She knew he’d miss his wife and daughter terribly, not to mention his career and his ship. But he was an adaptable man. And as for herself, Aili realized that there was little she would miss. Even confined by the squales, she felt more at home here, more free and vital, than she ever had in her life. She already thought of Alos and Gasa as friends, and she believed she could win the other squales over in time. They were dangerous when they had to be, but she felt they were a noble people, gregarious, inquisitive, wise, even quite beautiful. And all they knew of her was what she showed them here, with none of the stink she carried in the oceans of her homeworld. She could have a fresh start here, without having to seal herself inside a skintight prison surrounded by searing air. So she had to admit, although there were members of
Titan
’s crew she would miss, she would not be unhappy to live out her life on Droplet.

And if Will Riker had to live it out with me? Well, a girl has needs. And he would certainly need someone to comfort him.

She spent a pleasant hour imagining the details of that
comfort. It was just a fantasy, of course. But Aili knew there was a chance it could become reality, and she could live with that.

TITAN

It was Eviku who finally figured out what was driving the life forms of Droplet to their increasingly erratic, aggressive behavior. “I realized that I felt a similar anxiety myself when I was on the planet,” he told Vale and the others gathered in the conference room. “At first I assumed it was because of my…well, my fears for the captain and Ensign Lavena. But then I realized that there was a direct correlation between how close I was to Droplet and how anxious I felt. And it struck me that Arkenites have something in common with Dropletian life forms.”

“Your magnetic sensitivity,” Vale realized, her eyes going to the black magnetic headdress he wore to maintain his equilibrium.

“Yes. We had assumed the Dropletian animals’ magnetic sense was used primarily for navigation. But what if it has some influence over their behavior as well?” He went to the viewscreen and pulled up a cross-section graphic of Droplet and its magnetic field. “According to our readings, the planetary magnetic field has been subtly altered since the impact. This is because the field has two sources. In addition to the core dynamo that creates the field, the hypersaline layer at the base of the ocean generates a saltwater dynamo effect that enhances and modulates the field. The interaction of the two dynamos creates an oscillation of
sorts, a regular fluctuation like a, well, a sort of heartbeat for the planet.”

“Or a musical beat,” Ra-Havreii said. “From what we know of the squales, they perceive the world in very musical terms.”

Vale’s eyes widened. “So they could be constantly aware of this magnetic pulsing in their heads? Like a…a rhythm track for their lives?”

“More than just a rhythm,” Eviku said. “The way the field patterns fluctuate as the saltwater dynamo undergoes convection, thermal changes, and so forth produces modulations and variations on top of the basic rhythm.”

“Like modulations in pitch, variations in intensity and duration,” Ra-Havreii added, smiling now. “A perpetual song underlying their whole existence—a song without sound.”

And I get annoyed enough having a song stuck in my head for more than a day or two,
Vale thought. But then, if she’d lived her whole life with a song in her head, she’d probably take it for granted.

“Incidentally,” Eviku went on, “we now think that’s why the squales have been so reluctant to come near our technology. It wasn’t just fear of the unknown; the EM fields emitted by our vessels and devices may have been causing them discomfort. Or perhaps simply drowning out the song.”

“I have a team working with Life Sciences on finding a way to damp their emissions,” Ra-Havreii said.

Eviku called up graphics of the field parameters in the wake of the impact event. “But the song appears to have changed recently. It’s all those exotic dissolved minerals
and dust sinking down to the hypersaline layer. Minerals that still carry a substantial residual charge of energy from our attacks on the asteroid.”

“And not just the solar or kinetic energy these compounds usually absorb,” Pazlar elaborated. “Nadion energy from the phasers, gravitons from the tractor beams, thoron and subspace radiation from the quantum torpedoes, gamma, x-and m-rays from the antimatter blast. It’s a potent cocktail. And as more and more of those energized remnants descend into the dynamo layer, their exotic emissions disrupt the magnetic field.”

Vale frowned. “So…the planet is singing off-key?”

“In a sense,” Eviku said. “It creates a dissonance. Imagine if you had to listen to music whose pitch had been flattened and whose timbre was turned into a high-pitched whine. With periodic bursts of noise as pockets of asteroid debris discharge.”

Oh my God, they’re listening to bagpipes.
“So the chaos down there…it’s our fault. If we’d just left well enough alone…” She exchanged a look with Keru.

But he would have none of it. He met her gaze evenly and asked, “So what can we do to fix it?”

Pazlar went on as Eviku resumed his seat. “First we need to evaluate the condition of the dynamo layer in more detail. Our scans from up here just don’t get enough resolution.”

Vale stared. “From up here? You mean we need to dive down there.” The Elaysian nodded. “Melora, the pressure’s over a hundred thousand atmospheres! We don’t have anything that can withstand that.”

“Don’t we?” Keru asked. “Remember that ocean in
space Tuvok told us about, the one
Voyager
encountered? As I recall, their
Delta Flyer
dove down a good six hundred kilometers. This ocean’s only ninety.”

“The pressure in the Monean ocean was relatively low,” Pazlar said, “or else most of it would’ve been allotropic ice like Droplet’s mantle. Its core generators gave off just enough gravity to hold the sphere together, not so much that the pressure would crush the generators themselves. The Moneans relied on artificial gravity in their ships and habitats.” She turned to Vale. “And even despite that, with pressures of
only
a few thousand atmospheres, the
Delta Flyer
’s shields could barely withstand the pressure differential. And they had it easy. The kind of energies that are at play down inside Droplet could disrupt any shuttle’s shields and integrity systems.”

Vale threw her a glare. “So you’re telling me that the thing we have to do can’t be done.”

Pazlar’s brow ridges shot up defensively. “I’m working the problem, okay?”

Ra-Havreii leaned forward. “The key is differential. The external pressure is less of a problem if the internal pressure is as high as possible.”

“Right,” Pazlar said without meeting his eyes. “The higher the pressure we can achieve inside the craft, the less field energy we’ll need to counteract the rest. It’s the same principle that’s been used by deep-sea divers for centuries.”

“But wouldn’t the pressure eventually get high enough to crush their lungs, no matter how high the air pressure is?” Vale asked.

“There’s precedent from pre-force-field days—divers
immersing themselves in an oxygenated fluid. It let them dive much deeper.”

“I’m sorry, no.” It was Doctor Onnta, representing medical in Ree’s absence. The Balosneean leaned forward and shook his golden-skinned, downy-feathered head. “That would only work up to a thousand atmospheres or so. At that point, humanoid enzymatic processes begin to break down. Increase that to tens of thousands of atmospheres, and cellular lysis occurs—the cell walls themselves burst under the pressure. None of us could survive that.”

Vale looked back to Pazlar. “Would a thousand atmospheres internally be enough?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Not even close,” Pazlar confirmed.

“So if we get the internal pressure high enough to protect the diving vessel, anyone inside it would be turned to jelly.” She sighed. “Can we rig a remote probe?”

“Too much interference. We couldn’t control it or guarantee it would function at all.”

“So do we have
any
options?”

The Elaysian paused before answering. “There’s one. I hesitate to bring it up because it’s not a sure thing, and it would put one of my people at risk.” Vale just waited until she went on. “But we do have one person aboard who evolved in a high-pressure environment.”

“I should clarify,”
Se’al Cethente Qas said to its senior science officer and first officer,
“that Syr’s surface pressure is less than two hundred standard atmospheres. You are speaking of a pressure nearly a thousand times greater.”

“But Syrath biology isn’t as affected by pressure as
ours,” Melora Pazlar told it. “And even most humanoids can survive a pressure a thousand times normal, with sufficient preparations and time to acclimate.”

“Simulations show your life processes should not be critically affected by the pressures believed to exist in the upper range of the hypersaline layer,” Doctor Onnta said.

“Believed to exist?”
Cethente replied. But it was more amused than alarmed. Pazlar and Onnta were right; unlike the fragile protein-based chemistry on which their bodies depended, Syrath anatomy was far more robust, based upon piezoelectric crystal “cells” in a liquid silicate solvent, with genetic information encoded structurally in chains of dislocation loops and electrically in stored potentials, rather than chemically in nucleic acids.

“I know we’re asking you to take a chance, Cethente,” Vale said. “And I know it’s somewhat outside your area of expertise. I could order you to do it; in fact, I probably will if I have to, because it’s the only way to fix this mess. But you deserve to have a chance to volunteer.”

The astrophysicist pondered the decision carefully. It was incapable of the fear that the humanoids probably assumed it was feeling. Syrath were hard to damage and nearly impossible to kill—permanently, anyway. It wasn’t something they revealed to other races without need, not wishing to earn their envy. They might not have been physically indestructible, but their neural information was encoded in the same ways as their genetic information and distributed just as widely through the body; indeed, they were both facets of the same thing. Any sizeable intact part of a Syrath’s body, even if “dead” for weeks, could regenerate in the proper growth medium into a new Syrath with
the same basic personality template. True, many memories would be lost, even most if the surviving portion were small enough; but Syrath saw that as a way of getting a fresh start, sparing themselves the tedious sameness of immortality. So while they weren’t reckless with their lives, preferring to avoid the inconvenience of dying, the Syrath had simply never evolved the capacity for mortal fear.