THEN THE SMOOTH STONE GROWS SLOWLY HOT, CRACKS OPEN, SOME OF US DIE, THE SONG DIMS AMONG US, BITTER BLUE CURRENTS DRIVE US DOWN, MORE OF US FALL FROM THE SONG, LONG COLD SOUNDS STAB US, AND MORE FALL, FROM THE SOUR STREAMS COME NOW WAVES, FRESH STREAMS, WE TASTE, SING WEAKLY, SPEAK, IT IS A WORLD LIKE THE ONE WORLD, THE SMOOTH STONE ON ALL SIDES IS GONE, WE BREAK WATER.
THERE ARE WAVES CUTTING WHITE, SHARP, WE FIND SALT FOODS, LEAP INTO HOT AIRS, WAVES HARD FAST, WE CUP THE LIGHT AND SEE BIG STONE IN SKY, FAR STONES MOVING ACROSS THE MANY STONES, LIKE OUR WORLD BUT NOT OF OUR WORLD. THE SONG IS WEAK, WE SEEK TO CROSS THE WORLD BUT CANNOT, WE KNOW WE WILL LOSE OURSELVES IN THIS WORLD IF OUR SONG IS STRETCHED FARTHER.
BUT THE YOUTH HAVE A STRANGE SONG AND THEY GO OUT. THEY FIND FOOD, THEY FIND BIG ANIMALS IN THE WAVES AND BIGGER ANIMALS THAT CRUSH THE WAVES, THEY STRIKE AT THEM IN THE WAY WE ONCE DID LONG TIMES PAST, THROW THEIR WEBS TO BRING DOWN THE CRUSHERS OF WAVES.
THESE CRUSHERS ARE NOT THE BIG ANIMALS WE KNEW IN THE WORLD AND WHEN THE YOUTH DRAG THEM DOWN CLOSER TO THE CENTER THEY ARE NOT RIPE, DO NOT BURST WITH FRUIT, ARE FIERY TO THE MOUTH, AND KILL SOME YOUTH WITHOUT RELEASING THE PODS THAT WOULD DRIVE THE YOUTH TO THE LAND, DRIVE THEM TO THE AIR TO SUCK, DRIVE THE CHANGE TO MAKE THE YOUTH INTO THE FORM THAT WOULD BE US. THESE THINGS THAT FLOAT AND CRUSH THE WAVES WE FEAR AND FLEE, BUT THE YOUTH EAT OF THEM AND YET DO NOT GO TO THE LAND TO CRAWL; WE LOSE THE SONG WITH THEM FOREVER, THEY FLY THE WAVES NO MORE, THEY TAKE THE BIG ANIMALS THAT WALK ABOVE THE WAVES. THE YOUTH HAVE BECOME ABLE TO KILL THE BITTER WAVE-WALKERS, THEY FEAST ON THE THINGS IN THEM. WE SEE FROM A DISTANCE THAT IT IS YOU THE YOUTH EAT, EVEN IF YOU ARE SICK AND DEATH CAUSING, YOU ARE KILLED IN THE SKINS THAT CARRY YOU WALKING THE WAVES. THE YOUTH DO NOT SING, THEY SPLIT YOUR SKINS, THEY GROW AND EAT ALL THAT COMES BEFORE THEM.
NOW YOU ARE GONE LIKE US, NEARLY CHEWED. WE COME TO HERE, WE DRIVE THE YOUTH AWAY, THE ACT CHEWS US BUT DOES NOT FINISH US. WE FIND YOU IN THE SKINS YOU LOVE AND WE CANNOT SING WITH YOU. WE FIND YOU ONE MAN AND IN ONE YOU CAN SING; TOGETHER YOU ARE DEAF. YOU ARE THE TWENTY-FOURTH WE HAVE SUNG WITH ON THE WAVES YOUR KIND CANNOT HEAR UNLESS YOU ARE ONE AND CANNOT SING TO EACH OTHER. MANY OF THE OTHERS WHO SUNG WITH US ARE NOW CHEWED BUT WE CAN KEEP THE YOUTH AWAY FOR A TIME WE GROW WEAK THE YOUTH RUN WITH SORES AND LEAVE STINK IN THE CURRENTS FOUL WHERE THEY GO WE SMELL THEM THE WORLD THAT WAS FALSE WORLD MADE THEM THIS WAY NOT AS THEY WERE WHEN WE KNEW THEM IN THE WORLD THAT WAS OURS THEY CANNOT SING BUT KNOW OF THE PLACES WHERE YOU SING TO EACH OTHER AND SOME NOW GO THERE WITH THEIR SORES MAY BE CHEWED BY YOU BUT THERE ARE MANY MANY OF THEM THEY ACHE NOW FOR THE SKINS-THAT-SINK, BUT THEY ARE MADNESS THEY ARE COMING AND THEY CHEW YOU OTHERS LAST
Five
Each night after it got too dark for Warren to write in the yellow firelight, they would move inland. The mosquitoes stayed near the beach and there were a lot of other insects, too. Warren listened to fish in the lagoon leaping for the insects and the splashing as the Skimmers took the fish in turn. He could see their phosphorescent wakes in the water.
They smeared themselves with mud to keep off the mosquitoes, but it did not keep off the ticks that dropped from the trees. There was no iodine in Gijan’s box of random items.
Putting a drop of iodine on the tick’s tail was the best treatment and second best was burning them off. Each morning the men inspected each other and there were always a few black dots where the ticks burrowed in. An ember from the fire pressed against the tick’s hindquarters made it let go and then Warren could pull the tick out with his fingernails. He knew that if the head came off in the skin, it would rot and the whole area would become a boil. He noticed that Gijan got few ticks and he wondered if it had anything to do with the Asian skin.
The next morning Warren got a good catch, and when he brought it in he was sore from the days of work on the raft. After eating the fish he went for more coconuts. The softer fronds were good, too, for rubbing the skin to take away the sting of mosquito bites and to get the salt out. Finding good coconuts was harder now and he worked his way across the island, up the ridgeline and down to a swampy part on the southern side. There were edible leaves there and he chewed some slowly as he made his way back, thinking. He was nearly across a bare stretch of soil when he saw it was the place they had laid out the SOS. The light-colored rocks were there but they were scattered. The SOS was broken up.
Gijan was looking in the storage box when Warren came back into the camp. “Hey!” he called. Gijan looked at him, calm and steady, and then stood up, taking his time.
Warren pointed back to the south and glared at the man and then bent down and drew the SOS in the sand. He rubbed it out and pointed at Gijan.
Warren had expected the man to give him a blank look or a puzzled expression. Instead, Gijan put a hand in a pocket.
Then Gijan said quite clearly. “It does not matter.”
Warren stood absolutely still. Gijan pulled the pistol casually out of his pocket but he did not aim it at anything.
Warren said carefully, “Why?”
“Why deceive you? So that you would go on with your”—he paused—”your good work. You have made remarkable progress.”
“The Skimmers.”
“Yes.”
“And the SOS …”
“I did not want anyone to spot the island who should not.”
“Who would that be?”
“Several. The Japanese. The Americans. There are reports of Soviet interest.”
“So you are—”
“Chinese, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I would like to know how you wrote that summary. I read the direct messages you got from them, read them many times. I could not see in them very much.”
“There’s more to it than what they wrote.”
“You are sure that you brought all their messages ashore?”
“Sure. I kept them all.”
“How do you discover things that are not in the messages?”
“I don’t think I can tell you that.”
“Cannot? Or will not?”
“Can’t.”
Gijan became pensive, studying Warren. Finally he said, “I cannot pass judgment on that. Others will have to decide that, others who know more than I do.” He paused. “Were you truly in a shipwreck?”
“Yeah.”
“Remarkable that you survived. I thought you would die when I saw you first. You are a sailor?”
“Engine man. What’re you?”
“Soldier. A kind of soldier.”
“Funny kind, seems to me.”
“This is not the duty I would have chosen. I sit on this terrible place and try to talk to those things.”
“Uh-huh. Any luck?”
“Nothing. They do not answer me. The tools I was given do not work. Kinds of flashlights. Sound makers. Things floating in the water. I was told they are drawn to these things.”
“What would happen if they did not answer?”
“My job is over then.”
“Well, I guess I’ve put you out of work. We’re still going to need something to eat, though.” He gestured at the raft and turned toward it and Gijan leveled the pistol.
“You can rest,” the man said. “It will not be long.”
PART FIVE
2080 Interstellar Space Between RA and Ross
One
In 2066, earth had launched a series of exploratory probes to the nearby stars. Now they were arriving, sniffing at the myriad mysteries of Epsilon Eridani, Ross 128, 61 Cygni, and other cryptic names that had once been dry catalog symbols and now were luminous targets. The probes transmitted their data both Earthside and to Lancer, to save the years of delay in relay. To filter and understand the multichannel flux, Ted Landon set up teams composed of high-flow data analysts, assorted scientists, and anyone with field experience. Nigel drew a slot. To master the lock-in prosessors he had to be sealed off, open only to the steady drumming hail of probe data, focusing on the ebb and surge of sensation from the probes as they glided through stellar systems, plunged into thick atmospheres, and finally jerked forth from their capsules and clanked across the alien lands themselves.