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“The kelp’s not like that,” she said. “You’ve been listening to Rico. It’s … I knew it before Flattery’s people cut it back, remember? It kept me alive, for all we know it kept others alive the same way.”
“Lots of people spend lots of time down under,” he muttered. “Nobody’s seen anything like what happened to you.”
“Why just me?”
When Ben’s gaze did meet Crista’s, goosebumps clustered her forearms. Everything that she knew about his kindness, his sacrifices for others, froze inside her with the chill of that look.
“I’ve wondered that,” he said. “Others have wondered, too.”
“That’s why Flattery never let me get to the sea,” she said. “He said it was to protect me, but I think he was just suspicious that I’m some kind of Avatan spy, a trigger of some sort. Maybe I was raised by a plant, but I can read people fairly well. Let me … touch the kelp. It will calm down, then, I know it will.”
“Not a chance. If Flattery’s right, if Operations is right, your chemistry is different now. It could kill you. I don’t want anything to kill you.”
“I don’t want anything to kill anybody,” she said, “but the kelp is confused. It’s just lashing out … nobody tells it anything …”
With that the foil pitched upside-down. Ben hung on tight to a handhold, his face pressed into the plasteel bulkhead.
Crista tried to speak, upside-down and against the pressure of her restraints. “Avata needs our help,” she said, “and we need Avata. You have to help me do this, Ben.”
There was that strange, stunning snap in the air, the same snap that had stilled a mob for moments at the pier. It was like the discharge of some great capacitor.
Crista felt their foil slowly roll, pull her tighter into her restraints, then right itself. She watched Ben drop his hands from his ears and sit up on the deck, shaking his head. The damaged foil moaned and chattered about them like mechanical teeth, but the fist of the kelp was gone.
Crista saw the flicker of the intercom charging, then heard Rico’s tight voice: “Ben, look at the kelp.”
Only one of the starboard lights still probed the dark, so the view that Crista and Ben had from the galley’s plaz was gray and black, dreamlike, cold. They hadn’t dared activate the kelp’s luciferase, it would make tracking too easy.
A fine seawater spray wetted them both as they watched the easy dance of deepwater kelp. This was the same kelp that, moments ago, quivered with a tension so strong she thought it might uproot itself.
Crista, herself, felt a relief that was more than just calm after the storm. It was a release, like the elation she had felt at the start of their journey when she slipped skyward, hitching her consciousness to the hylighter.
“Can’t really see very well,” Ben said. “Look at the size of those vines! Some of them are a half-dozen meters across and we can’t even see bottom yet.”
“That should tell you something,” she said. “It should give you an idea of what the kelp’s really like.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said it yourself. Some of those stalks are nearly as thick as this foil is wide. For the kelp it must’ve been something like handling a squawk egg with pliers to keep from crushing us.”
“Maybe so,” Ben muttered. “We’re headed topside and the kelp’s apparently floating free. We’d better see what kind of damage we took before it changes its mind.”
Lights dimmed in the galley, brightened and dimmed again.
“Elvira can’t get the engines to fire,” Ben said. “That’s going to make a lot of things tough—including our oxygen production.”
The gray hulks of kelp floated dreamlike outside their hull while the chunks of torn fronds and sediment ripped up by its struggle settled around them.
“See?” she said. “The kelp means us no harm. If you would let me …”
“We’re all staying put!” Ben said. “The kelp simply stopped. Maybe it got whatever it wanted, maybe that wasn’t us. No point in looking for more trouble.” He nodded toward the spray that had already soaked both of them and started pooling water across the galley deck. “We’ve got a few details to clean up. Let’s get at it.”
Crista tugged at her harness.
“I can’t do much until you get me out of this.”
“Any damage back there?” Rico asked over the intercom.
“I think we popped a cooling pipe,” Ben said. “It’s not much of a leak now that we’re surfacing. What do you have?”
“We’re not terminal, but we’re hurt. Elvira says ‘topside,’ so topside we go. You two OK?”
“We got a little wet,” he said, stamping his feet in the gathering pool.
At that they both laughed—something she did not do often, something she’d discovered with him before. He opened a panel in the bulkhead beside her and reached inside.
Water plastered his hair to his head. Crista’s felt just as flat, but when she saw herself reflected back in the plaz, a laugh still teasing her face, she liked what she saw. Her crop of wet white hair framed the green flash of her eyes. She saw that she had twisted in her harness, which explained why, now that things had quieted down, her right breast stung so badly. She wriggled herself free and tugged her clothes straight.
“There’s a shutoff in here, somewhere,” Ben muttered. He poked his head inside and bumped it. Whatever he said was unintelligible.
Crista’s gaze fell on the holostrips of the Nightly News field crew, strips that covered the whole interior bulkhead of the galley. Shots of Beatriz, Rico, Ben and a half-dozen bearded strangers were interspersed with location stills of Ben and Rico, Ben and Beatriz—several of Ben and Beatriz. Crista didn’t see Elvira up there.
“Beatriz is beautiful,” she said, raising her voice so he could hear.
“Very.”
“You look happy together,” she said.
“Yes,” he answered, also raising his voice so she could hear.
Then she heard a curse and a thump and the water stopped spraying. Ben came out of the access cabinet and wiped his face with the least damp spot on his shirt. His green eyes looked right into her own.
“When we were together, we were happy,” he said. He
did not turn to look at the pictures. “More often than not, we were on opposite sides of the world. Lately she’s been up there.” His thumb indicated the general direction of the Orbiter overhead.
“Do you wish … otherwise?”
“No,” he sighed. “It’s as it should be. I have things to do here.”
Things to do! Crista thought. What she wanted him to say was, “It’s as it should be. Now I’ve met you.” But he didn’t say that.
An odd feeling came over her, a dizziness and a weakness in the knees, a tingling in her temples. Like it had been with the hylighter, like her dreams.
A year ago Crista had begun dreaming dreams that came true. At first, they came only in the night. She knew they weren’t dreams, but she despaired of calling them “visions.” Lately, they came all the time, and inside the last one she forgot to breathe. Crista was sure they came from the kelp, and they were getting more intense.
She had … feelings, that she’d always explained as “dreaming somebody else’s dreams.” It was something she now knew came from Avata.
Today, now, she saw two things: She saw Rico in a green singlesuit, and that suit was the fruit on a great vine of kelp. In the distance beyond him she saw a stand of kelp with a human growing from each great vine, looking like a seascape of bowsprits with interesting carvings, or like bait.
The kelp grew a membrane, clear and goggle-like, about their eyes. It seemed a part of them, like fingernails, but never needed trimming. Their lungs would never want for air, their skimpy bones would soon forget land.
The second vision pulled away from the first and showed her the kelp from a tremendous height. One kelp vine snaked skyward and a cold light, like luciferase, touched its tip. The vine, the kelp bed, the planet itself began to glow. In the light below she watched the kelp writhe for a blink, then convolute itself into what appeared to be an immense, glowing brain. She felt a sense of easy grace that only came to her now in dreams.
