“That is a very perceptive thing for you to say. And now I wish to ask you another question, if you don’t mind: do you know that I am aware of your little project with Dr. Graves?”
Oh, shit, Rob thought. “Uh, no. Look, I’m sorry about that. I guess it was kind of childish, but—”
“It was extremely childish, to be accurate. In any other circumstances, I would almost certainly send you directly back to Earth on the next support vehicle. However, given what has happened here in the past few days, I am going to overlook your actions. The fact that you appear to be willing to take some considerable risks in order to defy the Sholen makes you very suitable for another little clandestine project you may wish to put in motion.”
Rob put down the sponge and wiped his hands. “What kind of project?”
“The satyagraha project cannot succeed if all of us remain here within the station. I have come to realize that Pierre had a valuable insight when he suggested that we all run away and hide. Consequently, I am pointing out—not suggesting or ordering, mind you—that you could be one of six or eight people to leave the station.”
“I don’t understand. Run and hide where?”
“You could deploy the two Coquille modules. Each of them will support a crew of three or four for a considerable length of time. If you were to conceal them several kilometers away, it would be nearly impossible for the Sholen to locate them—especially if they do not have access to the submarine. Again, I am just pointing this out. I am certainly not ordering you to do anything.”
“I get it—they can’t haul us all away if a bunch of us are hiding out in the ocean somewhere. Cool. But what if they just say screw it, dismantle Hitode, and leave?”
“Then those who have gone out to the Coquilles will die of starvation,” said Sen quietly. “I hope I did not give you the impression that I think this plan would be completely free of risk. It is very difficult to predict what other humans will do, and considerably more difficult to anticipate the behavior of aliens.”
“So why do it?”
“It would buy us some time. The message drone has reached the Solar System by now and transmitted its signal. I do not know what sort of ultimatum the Sholen have delivered to the UN, but either UNICA or one of the national space agencies—or one of the space military forces—will almost certainly launch a mission to assist or recover us. At the very least, they can send a message drone with specific instructions.”
“It sounds like you’re breaking orders in order to wait for orders.”
“Perhaps it is a paradox, but that is something to discuss at another time. Now, as I said, I cannot order you to do this. I am only suggesting it, do you understand? You may call it dishonesty if you wish, but I prefer to think that I am encouraging my people to use their own initiative. I do need to know, though: are you willing to crew one of the Coquilles?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Sen sighed. “Robert, this is a very important moment. Not merely in our lives, but possibly in history. Would it be too much to ask for you to say something a bit less bathetic? If I am to write my memoirs someday I would like to have good material to work with.”
Rob smiled at that. “Okay. Um—’If the Sholen want me to leave Ilmatar they’re going to have to drag me.’ How’s that?”
“It is good action-film dialogue, which I suppose is really the best one can hope for,” said Sen. He looked at Rob over his little Gandhi glasses. “I hope you are sincere. As I said, there is a great deal of risk.”
“Well, yeah,” said Rob. “I’m in.”
“That is good. Oh, I expect you will be interested to know that Dr. Neogri has said she would like to participate as well. I believe the two of you are good friends?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I did not want your decision to be affected by your hormones. While war for love is inspiring in legends and epic poems, we must be governed by cynical pragmatism. Now please excuse me as there are others I must speak with.”
Oneclaw takes Broadtail out on a long patrol to where a current flows through the abyss. The water of the current is just barely warmer than the cold sea around it, but that is enough to support a faint bloom of tiny organisms and a layer of slime on the rocks of the bottom. Those in turn feed a population of small crawling animals and little swimmers, and those are food for some larger hunters and a pack of wild children.
The two teachers sit half-buried in the mud of the bottom, listening to the children and communicating by quiet shelltaps. There are nineteen young ones in all, but most are too small, little creatures no bigger than Oneclaw’s good pincer and incapable of language. The six large ones are about the right size for schooling.
The children are trying to hunt, but are doing it very badly. They can spread out to trap and drive prey well enough, but they cannot agree on which is to be the catcher. As soon as there are some swimmers clumped together, all the children rush forward and the hunt dissolves into separate chases and fights among the hunters. Broadtail hears some swimmers thrashing as the children’s pincers snatch them, but he also hears plenty of them getting away. And in the middle of one brawl between a large older child and a little one, he hears a call of distress cut off by the sound of a pincer being snapped off.
“Listen. The waters are getting quiet,” taps out Oneclaw. “I expect they are sleeping. Are the nets ready?”
The nets are ready. Broadtail has them slung on his back, all neatly folded, with weights to make them spread out when thrown. The two teachers move forward very slowly, staying on the bottom and trying not to make any noisy movements.
The children are on the bottom, sleeping off their tiring hunt. Some of the older ones have concealed themselves, burrowing into the silt to blur the echoes off their smooth shells. The younger ones just curl into balls and sleep anywhere. Broadtail touches one little one fast asleep atop the shell of an older child. He gently shoves the little one off, then drops the net over the big one while Oneclaw grabs the trailing ropes.
The youngster comes awake frightened, and tries to flee. The net wraps around it, and its terrified struggles only get it more tangled up. When it tries to swim, it gets only a few arm lengths before the rope goes taut. Oneclaw has the other end, and is braced against some rocks. The child darts this way and that, but the old teacher keeps his grip, letting the panicked youngster wear itself out before hauling it in and trussing it tightly.
The struggle awakens the rest, and Broadtail picks out one healthy-looking one—a female by the shape of her palps—and gives chase. She is frightened and has a nice smooth shell, but he is bigger and has more reserves. She darts away but soon tires, tries a sudden burst of speed, then some violent maneuvers—but Broadtail isn’t going to get drawn into that. He hangs back, keeping her in hearing but not bothering to match her increasingly jerky moves. When she drops exhausted to the bottom, he moves up, pinging so she can’t creep away silently. She crawls a bit, but he can see she’s on the verge of collapse. When the net goes over her, she doesn’t even struggle. Broadtail tows his new student back to where Onepincer is waiting.
They capture a total of five, including one big stupid child who sleeps through the whole thing until Oneclaw starts winding a rope around its tail. One of them is malformed: what should be the big final joint of its left pincer is just a tiny nub, making the whole limb nearly useless.
“Hold that one while I pith it,” says Oneclaw, working his one good pincer under the back of the child’s headshield.