Titan 5 - Over a Torrent Sea (27 page)

Cethente took the time to collect samples of a few small creatures, beaming them into the sample chamber, for the pressure-resistant design of the pod allowed for no hatches to draw them through. After a few minutes of analysis, it went on.
“Instead of normal cell walls, they have microskeletons made of silicate spicules. Down here, the heavier elements are sufficiently concentrated to allow this. The spicules are intricately interlocked in a tight but flexible framework. It reminds me of plant biology on Syr.”
“Plant” was a rough analogy, but it would do.
“They appear to be magnetosynthetic, feeding on the field energy of the saltwater dynamo. Their biochemistry is based on molecules that are sturdy enough to withstand these pressures and temperatures, but would be inert under normal conditions. Intriguingly, this includes clathrates of carbon and heavier elements—ice-seven crystals actually serving as part of their biology.”
This did not come as a complete surprise; Cethente was near a depth where it was possible for that allotrope of ice to form, though salinity, temperature, and other factors affected its formation and survival. At this depth, the water was fully liquid, but farther down it would grow increasingly slushy, a gradual transition from the liquid ocean to the hot-ice mantle below. Apparently
when the creatures followed the convection currents down to the deeper levels, they fed upon the clathrates—ice-crystal lattices holding other types of atoms or molecules caged within them—and made use of the elements and compounds thus obtained, including the ice crystals themselves as a structural material. No doubt this was a major source of the silicates and other heavy elements constituting their biology; although the hypersaline layer was itself rich in these substances compared to the ocean above, the clathrate layer atop the mantle would be richer still, for that was where the infalling debris from space would eventually settle, accumulating more and more over billions of years.

“Is this how the heavy elements are kept in play in the ecosystem?”
Cethente asked after summarizing this.
“These barophile life forms bring them up from the mantle…but then what? How do they get from here to the surface? Convective mixing does not seem enough.”

Cethente watched the barophiles for a while longer, enjoying the intricate dance of light across their surfaces, though it doubted this was a light that its humanoid crewmates could see.
“They emit magnetic pulses in complex patterns,”
it reported,
“apparently a form of communication. The translator detects nothing indicative of intelligence, though. But it is beautiful music. I wish you could experience this.”

But as it continued to travel through the dynamo layer, sinking deeper to where the barophilic life was more abundant, Cethente found that it was not all so lively and beautiful. It began to encounter dead creatures drifting in the convection currents, slowly sinking coreward before being
latched onto by other creatures that pierced their bodies with stingers and began sucking out their internal fluids, making them crumple and crack under the pressure. Other creatures were weak and apparently ill, their magnetic calls feeble and distorted. Some were acting erratically, swimming aimlessly or striking out at anything that moved near, whether a prey species or one of their own kind.
“They have been poisoned,”
Cethente reported after bringing the pod closer to a cluster of them for a more detailed scan.
“I read the same nadion and subspace energy signatures as in the asteroid dust. It is sinking here, being consumed by these animals, and it is disrupting their magnetosynthetic processes and their magnetic senses. It is at once starving them and deranging them.”

But Cethente had drawn too close. Not having the instinct for mortal fear, it sometimes acted with insufficient caution, especially when in the throes of curiosity. It had been so caught up in observing these animals’ hyperaggressive behavior that it had not considered how they would react to the pod’s proximity. Cethente was shaken in its cradle as the creatures began to batter at the pod, stabbing at it with their stingers. They were made of sturdy stuff, less sturdy than the pod’s SIF-reinforced duranium hull in absolute terms, but enough to put added strain on a hull and integrity field that were already pushed to the limits by the sheer weight of seventy kilometers of ocean overhead. Deciding it had gotten enough scans for now, Cethente turned the antigravs to full, causing the pod to shoot upward.

A few of the creatures managed to cling to the pod somehow, perhaps by magnetic adhesion. Some fell away
as the bathysphere soared upward, but two proved exceptionally persistent, hanging on for dear life and jabbing at the hull with blind ferocity. They were on the upper surface of the pod, perhaps held there by the water pressure itself. But as the pressure and temperature fell, as the magnetic energy sustaining them grew more attenuated, their movements weakened and tapered off. Cethente did nothing to prevent the animals’ deaths; after all, they were dying already, and at least this way it was quicker.

Eventually, the creatures’ bodies burst open, the pressure outside their bodies too low now to contain the pressure within. At this depth, they might as well have been in vacuum—though the pressure was still beyond the maximum amount that protein-based life could withstand.
“Remarkable,”
Cethente said.
“Two totally different biospheres sharing a single planet, but they might as well be on entirely different worlds. There seems to be no way they can ever interact physically. So how can the heavy elements in the deep biosphere be returned to the surface biosphere?”

But it had another reaction that it chose not to record for its crewmates: astonishment and pity at the sheer fragility of non-Syrath life forms.
If they were more like us, they would not have lost so much to the Borg. But then, they lose everything, in time. Their whole existence must end in tragedy.

Cethente was philosophical about it, though. After all, for the same reasons Syrath lacked mortal dread, they also lacked any deep sense of grief. It understood regret at losing something valuable, but to a Syrath, even the loss of life memory was a growth experience, a chance for a fresh start. Excitement at new possibilities always overcame re
gret before long. That was why it was able to live among these fragile beings, even knowing their existence was doomed.

Not that they would ever know it felt that way, of course. Syrath maintained their enigmatic reputation for very good reason.

DROPLET: THE SURFACE

Riker’s new floater-islet sanctuary—or prison—was somewhat larger and more comfortable than the previous one. It had some larger palm-like growths with wide, round leaves that the plants could apparently angle into the wind to serve as sails. Aili wished Eviku or even Kekil were here to tell her why a tree would evolve this ability. Was it simply to maneuver out from under clouds or away from storms, or was it more symbiotic, the palms actually helping the floater colonies navigate to nutrient-rich areas so that the palms could in turn draw more nourishment from the islets? She could ask Cham or Gasa, but the elder squale reacted to her frequent questions with impatience and the younger might not know. Besides, she missed her crewmates.

For now, though, all that mattered was that the leaves provided Riker with some covering and warmth. There was also a depression holding enough fresh rainwater to sustain him, and a small cave burrowed into the islet by some tool-creatures of the squales, apparently used to store surplus food, but now largely cleared out to serve as a shelter for the weakened human. Some remnants of the surplus seaweed had been left at the base of the cave to
rot, its decay producing some warmth for Riker’s benefit, although he clearly did not enjoy the smell. Aili asked the squales if they had anything that could potentially start a fire, perhaps some creature secreting chemicals that generated heat when mixed, but they had little familiarity with the concept. On a world like this, pretty much the only thing that could start fires was lightning, but the high humidity of the air near the ocean surface conducted charge too well for any large voltage differential to build up, so most of the lightning on Droplet was cloud-to-cloud, except in cases where an ocean swell surged exceptionally high.

Riker’s condition was growing steadily worse. He was weak, fatigued, suffering occasional tremors, and he was having difficulty keeping food down and keeping fluids in. It made Aili feel somewhat guilty about fighting with him, but that guilt was smothered by her continued anger at his assumptions about her. She didn’t want his health to suffer further, but she wasn’t inclined to speak civilly to him beyond what was necessary between an ensign and her commanding officer.

The ideal solution to both problems was a return to
Titan
—assuming the ship and its crew were still intact, still able to help them. Aili asked Alos to take her to Melo so she could plead her case, on the theory that the astronomy-pod leader would be the one most sympathetic to the offworlders (aside from Alos and Gasa, who lacked the authority Melo held). She explained to the aged squale that neither she nor Riker could survive on Droplet in the long term. But Melo denied her request, and Aili soon recognized that there was an apologetic tone to his song; his
denial was cast, not so much in terms of what the squales would not do, but in terms of what they
could
not do. “What do you mean?” Aili demanded in Selkie. “Is there anyone else left? Are the others like me still on…in the world at all?”

The two astronomer squales exchanged a private communication for several moments, flashing intricate color patterns to one another on their carapaces. Then they sang to the others nearby at a speed that outraced her tenuous understanding of their speech. The squale language was polyphonic and incredibly intricate, with multiple channels of information being conveyed at once in parallel. Even at slow speed, she could only follow a fragment of it.

But when Melo finally sang to her in Selkie again, his reply was simple:
“Not for Aili.”

“What does that mean?” Aili pleaded.

“That is a mystery we have not solved.”

She winced. Either the contact pod was being kept out of the loop for some reason, or…she didn’t know what. Sensing her distress, Alos stroked her with a tentacle and told her not to worry, assuring her that they would take care of her.

“You can’t,” she tried once more to explain to them. “Your food cannot sustain me for long. It can sustain Riker for far less time. It lacks things we need. We are different from you, from the other life that lives here.”

Once the astronomers understood her concern, they promised to discuss the matter with the biologists. Finally, after hours of squalesong she could not follow, Aili was approached by the visitor from the life-maker pod, a mature male she had nicknamed Eres, after Doctor Ree’s third name.

“There is a way the two from World Beyond can be made well,”
Eres sang.
“Your Song is out of harmony, in key unlike our own. But keys may be transposed. Though our own Song is in discord, it still sustains our life, more so than your metallic theme. Perhaps, indeed, transposing you would end the dissonance, and bring the Song of Life back into ancient harmony.”

Aili struggled to parse the poetry, but the ideas were too strange to her. Was Eres actually proposing some kind of biological transformation? She knew the squales believed the Song of Life created the world and all things in it. It followed that they defined biology as an aspect of the Song. But even with the squales’ exceptional capacity for animal breeding, how could they transform a living individual?

Eres was reluctant to reveal the answer to an alien; Aili was reminded of a priest defending a sacred mystery from exposure to heathen eyes. But Alos and Gasa took her case, debating eloquently that she deserved the opportunity to make an informed decision. The squales were an open society, necessarily so in an ocean where sound could travel so far and wide that secrets were difficult to keep (although the squales’ color-changing skin gave them an avenue for private discourse at close range). All matters were debated openly in the
ri’Hoyalina
forum and decided through democratic consensus. It was part of their basic beliefs, Alos reminded his elders, that all sapient beings had the right to informed self-determination.

Finally, Eres agreed that Aili should be shown the answer to her questions. But Aili consulted with Riker before agreeing to go. The meeting was awkward, but necessarily
brief due to the limited time she could spend on dry land. “I don’t like it,” he said. “We shouldn’t separate too far.”

“I know they’ll keep me safe. And their helpers will tend to you while I’m gone, if you need anything.”

“Marvelous,” he muttered. “Cared for by woodland creatures. Just like a storybook.”

She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or becoming delirious. But then he nodded and said, “Go.” And that was all. Deciding she couldn’t afford to linger, she raced back to the water.

The trip took most of the night, even with the large, strong Eres holding Aili in his tentacles and swimming at top speed. As local dawn broke, they entered an area where the squales kept their farms and breeding facilities, one of several such complexes which were centralized to be more defensible. As she drew near the first farm, she initially thought it was just a large kelp bed. But she soon realized it was far too regular. It was a vast, floating lattice on which the kelp grew like ivy on a trellis. By catching a swell and swim-leaping out of the water, she was able to get an overhead view, revealing it to be an enormous fractal spiral like a sunflower blossom. The lattice was itself alive, made of a woodlike material; below the spiraling surface, a series of branches grew straight down, evenly spaced so as to make light and nutrients available equally to all the plants. Several small species of animal coexisted with the kelp, serving as “farmhands” under the supervision of a large aggregate pod of farmer squales. As Eres explained, a couple of species gobbled up parasites and organisms that fed upon the kelp; others devoured “weeds” that happened to take root upon the lattice. Animals of a harvester species
used their hard beaks to break off lengths of the kelp, carrying it up to the surface in their tentacles and transferring it to flying chordates that carried it away, no doubt to storage caverns like the one now sheltering Riker. The flight presumably helped dry the kelp, prolonging its shelf life.