The Bitterwater Company move away from the shelter to make room for the moving structure. It comes to rest in the usual spot and three Builders emerge. The Bitterwater scholars surge forward, clicking out questions, but the Builders don’t seem to be interested in communicating. They go into their shelter without stopping.
Broadtail wonders where Builder 3 is. He loiters about the moving shelter, hoping it will emerge. Builder 3 is by far the easiest to speak with. It even knows some real speech. He waits, and he waits. No Builder 3. Eventually Broadtail gets tired and goes off to rest. The missing Builder never appears.
When he wakes, Broadtail finds Builder 2 is outside, communicating with Sharpfrill and Longpincer. He swims over to the little group and waits for the alien creature to finish explaining something to Sharpfrill about what is beyond the ice.
He wants to ask if something is wrong, but he doubts the Builder would understand, so he tries a simpler question. “Where is Builder 3?”
“Shelter inside,” Builder 2 answers.
“No,” says Broadtail. “Two Builders are in the shelter, you are here. Where is Builder 3?”
Builder 2 pauses, then taps slowly. “Is Builder 3 this place here is not.”
“Where is Builder 3,” Broadtail repeats, then tries “What place is Builder 3?”
“Builder 3 immobile remains. Is Builder 3 cold still.” The creature is making odd noises inside its head as it taps. “Cold immobile stone Builder 3.”
“Dead,” Broadtail taps out, then drops to the sea bottom and lies there without moving, to demonstrate. “Dead,” he clicks in numbers. Then he jumps up and swims about. “Alive,” he clicks.
Builder 2 moves its head and taps out “Yes. Dead. Builder 3.”
“But how is the poor creature dead?” Longpincer asks Broadtail. “An accident?”
“Let me try to ask.” It takes Broadtail a long time to formulate the question, and he tries several different ways.
“Stay,” says Builder 2, and swims over to the shelter. Builder 1 emerges and the two return together. They communicate with each other somehow—Broadtail suspects there is more to it than just the gestures and faint murmurs he can perceive. Finally Builder 2 taps out a message. “Grasping I one word thing.”
What follows is a long and bewildering series of statements. Only Broadtail can stay and listen to the whole thing. Longpincer and Sharpfrill go off to eat and rest, which is a pity because Broadtail wishes he had someone to help him understand what the Builder is trying to say.
Builder 1 describes a creature, similar to Builders but larger and with more limbs. “An adult?” Broadtail asks, but Builder 1 says no, and makes it clear that these things have only six limbs, multibranched like a Builder’s.
It speaks of a large shelter containing many other Builders, several dozen cables away. Builder 3 becomes dead there, apparently because of the six-limbed things. Exactly how or why this happens, Builder 2 cannot make clear.
When Builder 2 finishes, Broadtail swims off in search of Longpincer.
“Ah, Broadtail! Excellent. We are just packing up to return to Bitterwater. Just enough food remains to get us there.”
“I think I must stay longer,” says Broadtail. “There is something I do not understand.”
“I plan to return with more food and some servants,” says Longpincer. “But now there is little to eat.”
“I suggest you and the others return to Bitterwater then. I plan to follow alone.”
“As you wish,” says Longpincer. “Though I warn you of great hunger if you stay. All the rocks for a cable in every direction are scoured clean.”
“I am well-fed thanks to your generosity. I don’t plan on starving. But I must speak with the Builders at length. May I keep another couple of reels for notes?”
“These Builders are a boon to the makers of cord, at least,” says Longpincer. “Yes, keep as many as you need.”
Broadtail finds a spot among some stones to rest. When he wakes the others are gone. A bundle of new reels and a package of cured fronds rests by his head. He stows it all in his harness and swims off in search of the Builders.
Irona’s hunting expedition had to wait two days, so that three more Guardians could come down on the elevator. That way Irona could leave Tizhos and one Guardian behind to control the humans in Hitode.
On the appointed day Irona led half a dozen Guardians out in the direction of the last shelter. They all carried weapons. The drone swam ahead, linked by laser to a handheld computer carried by Irona. Tizhos watched the Guardians roll into the moon pool two at a time, with a feeling of dread.
Before the ripples of the last pair had died out, Tizhos went to see Vikram Sen. The Guardian accompanied her, on Irona’s orders. He had told her she needed protection while in charge of the station. She suspected the Guardian also had orders to tell Irona everything she did. Certainly he did not have the posture and scent of a subordinate. If she had the time, she could establish the proper sexual bond with him, but she had too many things to get done.
Vikram Sen sat in his little cabin, reading. He said nothing when Tizhos came in. None of the humans spoke to her any more unless she asked them questions, and they often gave her false answers when she did.
“I would like you to record a message asking the Coquille group to surrender peacefully,” she said. “I fear violence may occur otherwise. I can call Irona back here if you agree.”
He pressed his lips together tightly for a moment before speaking. “May I suggest that your coming in here accompanied by an armed guard makes your statement about fearing violence seem rather absurd? And that perhaps you should have thought about the possibility of violence occurring when you arrived here with a warship full of soldiers and began removing us by force?”
“I did not make those decisions. And now I fear that events have gone out of anyone’s control. Two Sholen and two humans have died. I grieve for them, and wish to prevent additional deaths. I hope you wish that also.”
“No,” said Vikram Sen. “I am not going to help you. You Sholen came here prepared to use violence to accomplish your aims, and now you are unhappy because of the fiasco you yourselves have created. I will not absolve you.”
Tizhos left him without saying more. She felt more miserable than ever. She wanted to simply join Irona’s consensus, put aside all her doubts and savor the feeling of accep tance into the group.
But she could not make herself do it. She knew too many facts that contradicted the consensus. Others might be good at ignoring such things, but Tizhos always had a stubborn streak when it came to facts. She had entered science because it dealt with facts, and any consensus among scientists must respect external reality.For lack of anything better to do, she took the Guardian back to her quarters and had sex with him.
Rob was out with Alicia when their Ilmataran contact came up suddenly. It had a disconcerting habit of picking up conversations hours or days later as if no time at all had gone by. “Speech [containing?] not [human] six arms,” it said to them.“It wants to talk about the Sholen,” said Alicia.
“You’re getting good at this,” Rob told her. “Like Jane Goodall or something.”
“We have all of Dr. Graves’s notes. He was really a remarkable linguist.”
Rob didn’t argue. “Ask him what he wants to know.”
She did her best, and the Ilmataran replied “[Ilmataran] touch feeler not [human] six arms.”
“Oh! He wants to see one of the Sholen,” said Alicia. “Or touch one. Possibly taste.”
“Well that’s pretty much off the table,” said Rob.
“Not… necessarily,” said Alicia.
“They’ve got guns, remember? They shot Dickie!”