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Drugged, too, he thought.
The attack had occurred after the foil in which Ale had been taking him to the Launch Base slowed abruptly. A voice had called: “Look there!”
Another foil had bobbed dead in the water with only its anchor lights glowing through the darkness. It drifted slowly in heavy kelp and was not at anchor. A spotlight from Ale’s foil illuminated the identification numbers on the bow of the vessel.
“It’s them, all right,” she said.
“Do you think they’re in trouble?”
“You bet they’re in trouble!”
“I mean something wrong with—”
“They’re waiting out the night on the kelp. It hides them from bottom search and they won’t drift far in it.”
“But why do you suppose they’re here … I mean, so close to Launch Base?”
“Let’s find out.”
Slowly, its jets muted, Ale’s foil moved up on the other craft while four Security men readied themselves for boarding from the water.
Keel and Ale on the forward pilot’s deck had a commanding view of what happened next. With only a few meters separating the two craft, four dive-suited men slipped into the water, swam the short distance and opened the main hatch on the other foil. One by one, they crept inside and then … nothing.
Silence, for what seemed to Keel an interminable time. It ended with a jerky rocking action on Ale’s foil followed by shouts from the stern. Abruptly, two green-striped apparitions burst into the pilot’s compartment. One of the intruders had been a monstrous Merman with terrible scars on his face. Keel had never seen arms that thickly muscled. Both men carried weapons. There was only time to hear Ale shout: “GeLaar!” Then the blinding pain on his own head.
GeLaar? Keel prolonged his recovery period from the blow, making it appear he was still dazed. His encyclopedic memory pored over names and physical identifications. GeLaar Gallow, idealized Merman. Former subordinate of Ryan Wang. Suitor to Kareen Ale. The man at the table pushed a bowl away from him, wiped his mouth and turned.
Keel looked at him, shuddering in the cold appraising stare of those dark blue eyes.
Yes, this is the man himself. Keel thought Gallow grotesque in the cover of green paint.
A hatch to Keel’s right opened and another green-striped Merman entered. “Bad news,” the newcomer said. “Zent just died.”
“Damn!” That was Gallow. “She didn’t really try to save him, did she!”
“He was badly crushed,” the newcomer said. “And she is exhausted.”
“If only we knew what caused it,” Gallow mumbled.
“Whatever it was,” Nakano said, “it was the same thing that damaged the sub. The wonder is he got back to us at all.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Gallow snapped. “The sub’s homing system brought him back. He didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Except to activate the system,” Nakano said.
Gallow ignored him, turning to the newcomer. “Well, how are the repairs going?”
“Very well,” the man said. “We got the replacement parts and tools aboard the Launch Base foil marked as rocket supplies. We should be fully operational by this time day after tomorrow.”
“Too bad we can’t replace Tso as easily,” Nakano said. “He’s a good man in a fight. Was.”
“Yes.” Gallow spoke without looking at Nakano, gesturing instead to the newcomer. “Well, get back to your station.”
The man hesitated. “What about Zent?” he asked.
“What?”
“His body.”
“Green Dashers are kelp food when they die,” Gallow said. “You know that. It’s imperative if we’re to know what happened out there.”
“Yes sir.” The man left, closing the hatch quietly after him.
Keel brushed at his collar and the front of his jacket. He could smell the sour taint of vomit there, confirming Nakano’s account of what had happened.
So, they want me alive. No … they need me alive.
As long as he was alive, Keel could probe for weaknesses. Superstition was a weakness. He vowed to pursue this curious burial ritual that Gallow employed. Its very mention had brought a hush over the cabin. They were fanatics. Keel could see it in Gallow’s expression. Anything was justified by the sacred nature of their goal. Another matter for probing. Very dangerous. But … I’m dying anyway. Let’s see how deep their need for me actually is.
“A small case was taken from my pocket,” he said. “It contains my medication.”
“So, the Mute needs medication,” Gallow taunted. “Let’s see how he does without it.”
“You’ll see quite soon,” Keel said. “You’ll have another body to feed to the kelp.”
Keel swung his feet casually over the edge of the table and felt for the deck. A startled look passed between Nakano and Gallow. Keel wondered at it. There was shock in that look. Some nerve had been struck.
“You know about the kelp?” Nakano asked.
Keel said, “Of course. A man in my position …” He waved off the rest of the bluff as extraneous.
“We need him alive for the time being,” Gallow said. “Get the Mute his medication.”
Nakano went to a small storage locker in the rear wall and removed a pocket case of cured organics—dark brown and with a tie string closure.
Keel accepted the case thankfully, found a bitter green pill in it and gulped the pill dry. His intestines felt knotted and it would be long minutes before the pill brought relief, but just the knowledge that he had taken it removed some of the discomfort. Another remora, that was what he needed. But what was the use even of that? His rebellious body would only make short work of another remora. Shorter than the last, and the one before that. His first one had las
ted thirty-six years. This last one, a month.
“You can always tell,” Nakano said. “Someone who isn’t bothered by dying, that one knows about the kelp.”
With difficulty, Keel kept his face expressionless. What was the man saying?
“It wasn’t something we could keep secret forever,” Gallow said. “They contact
the kelp, too.”
Nakano looked piercingly at Keel. It was one of those looks that made a big man
like Nakano swell even bigger. “How many of you know?” he asked.
Keel managed a noncommittal shrug, which irritated the seating of his brace.
“We’d have heard something before this if it was out,” Gallow said. “Probably just a few of the top Mutes like this one know anything.”
Keel stared speculatively from one Merman to the other. Something important to know about the kelp. What could that be? It had to do with dying. With contact with the kelp. Feeding their dead to the kelp?
“In a little while we’ll go out and try to hear Zent’s memories,” Gallow said, a new and deeply reflective tone in his voice. “Then we may learn what happened to him.”
Nakano, his voice more matter-of-fact, asked Keel: “How do you contact the kelp? Does the kelp answer every time?”
Keel pursed his lips in thought, delaying his response and gaining time. Talk to the kelp? He recalled what Ale and Panille had said about the Merman kelp project—teaching the kelp, assisting the spread of it under Pandora’s universal sea.
“We have to actually touch the kelp,” Nakano prompted.
“Of course,” Keel snorted. And he thought, Hear Zent’s memories? What was going on here? These violent men were suddenly revealing a mystical side that astonished the pragmatic Keel.
Gallow suddenly laughed. “You don’t know any more about it than we do, Mute! The kelp takes your memories, even after you’re dead. That’s all any of us knows, but you Mutes didn’t think about what that could mean.”
Green Dashers are kelp food when they die, Keel thought. And somehow their memories can be read by the living -through the kelp. He recalled the odd stories out of human history on Pandora—dashers talking with human voices, a fully sentient kelp speaking to the minds of those who touched it. So it was true! And the kelp, genetically rebuilt from the genes carried in a few humans, was recovering that old skill. Did Ale know? And where was she?
