“Why haven’t you got a radio in that peanut shell?” Somerville shouted from his upper deck as he reduced speed and brought his boat wallowing close to Tarrant’s.
“What’s the matter?” Tarrant asked.
“Who said anything was the matter?” Somerville threw his wheel over and touched fenders. “I’ve got something to show you, that’s all. I put a few scrapings of your squid blood under the microscope, and damn me if….” His voice dwindled into silence as, from his superior elevation, he glanced down at Tarrant’s deck.
“You’d better come aboard,” Tarrant told him. “I’ve got something to show you.”
Two hours later Tarrant and Somerville, by mutual consent, retired to the cabin of The Rose of York where they could talk without distraction. The cluttered, homely surroundings brought Tarrant some relief from the fierce psychic pressure, composed of strangeness and blatant sexuality, which was being exerted on him by the five interplanetary castaways. Even so, visions of Myrah’s full-breasted nakedness and quick, bold smile were so clear in his mind that they seemed to be superimposed on everything he looked at. He was grateful when Somerville opened a locker and took out a bottle of dark rum and two glasses.
“We’re in a funny situation here,” Somerville said, pouring generous measures. “In the old days this would have been an international matter, and the League of Nations or the United Nations or some outfit like that would have taken it out of our hands. Nowadays, on Cawley Island, there’s only you and me.”
Tarrant inhaled the rich caramel aroma of his drink. “You don’t have to get involved, Will.”
“Are you kidding?” Somerville looked indignant. “I’m in it up to here, young Hal—don’t forget I knew there was something weird going on long before anybody else did. You couldn’t prise me out of this one with a crowbar.”
“Okay, but what do you suggest we do?”
“It’s obvious they have to be taken ashore as soon as possible. Then there’ll be the job of convincing the Chamber our new friends are what they say they are and not shipwreck survivors. Kircher’s in the Chamber this year, isn’t he?”
Tarrant nodded gloomily. “He’ll probably think I’m importing staff for a brothel.”
“Well, that’s a practical point to be dealt with right off—we have to get them some clothes. They’ll need protection from the sun, anyway.” Somerville swallowed his rum and sat staring at Tarrant with an expression of jocular dismay. “Do you feel as if the top of your head’s going to blow off?”
“I’m having trouble taking it all in.” Tarrant sipped his own drink. “Funny thing is, they don’t seem particularly shocked or worked up. Did you notice?”
“They probably don’t realise what has happened.”
“They know enough. Christ, Will, they were out hunting fish, then a current pulled them into a black hole, and a second later they were in a world where everything, everything, is different from everything they have ever known. I mean, they’re entitled to be having hysterics….”
“Delayed reaction?”
“No reaction, more like. And there’s the busty one—Myrah—I swear to God she’s ready for a tumble.”
“Wishful thinking.”
“No. It’s true.”
“Are you complaining?” Somerville topped up the glasses. “We established they have a low birth rate and a high death rate—so they have a different outlook on sex.”
“I know, but….” Tarrant shrugged helplessly. “You and your bloody Bergmann Hypothesis!”
“Don’t blame me, old son,” Somerville said. “You have to admire Bergmann, though. Everything was against him, and yet he was in there first. You know he tried to institute a sky search to find his planetoid?”
“No luck?”
“Nobody was interested, as far as I know. Then he tried looking for the actual machines. There was a place off Japan where a lot of ships had been disappearing, and I think there was another one near Bermuda, and he reckoned that if he could….”
“Will!” Tarrant rattled his glass on the table. “What am I going to do with those people out there in my boat?”
A look of resignation spread over Somerville’s face and he gathered up his bottle and glasses. “We’d better transfer them in here. Then we can go back to the island and still be able to keep them out of sight till we find some spare clothes.”
“Let’s get on with it, then.” Tarrant went up on deck ahead of a grumbling Somerville, and climbed down into his own boat. Five faces turned towards him.
“We’re going to take you on to Will’s boat, where there’s a lot more room,” he said quietly. “Then we’ll see about some food.”
Lennar was at the starboard side, nearest The Rose of York. Tarrant began with him and was relieved to note that he was not actually helpless, being able to raise himself with minimal assistance to where Somerville could grasp his arms. Geean was next, and while he was stooping to lift her slim body Tarrant saw that Myrah was watching him from beneath her eye shade with what seemed like wicked amusement. He smiled at her, wondering if she understood what she was doing to him, and felt a pang of disappointment as he realised that had she been at the end of the row, nearest the port side, they would have had the chance to be alone for a minute when he had taken the others off. He carried Geean to Somerville’s waiting arms, and discovered that she too, although coughing silently, was regaining some measure of strength and was able to support some of her own weight.
“Good work, young lady,” Somerville said to her and raised his eyes to Tarrant. “I’ve just remembered I’ve got some Streptosyn capsules in the medicine chest. I’ll get them out and start feeding them to her.”
Geean looked from one to the other with concern. “It’s all right,” Tarrant told her. “We’re going to cure that cough of yours.”
She nodded gravely, and once more Tarrant was surprised by a lack of response. He had gathered enough during his earlier talks to know that Geean’s people regarded bronchitis as a fatal illness, and he failed to see how she could take the news of her reprieve so calmly. It occurred to him that he might not be making enough allowance for the dissimilarity in their backgrounds, that the word “cure” might have no meaning for Geean. He turned back to the others and found that the youth, Harld, was actually rising to his feet.
“Take it easy,” Tarrant cautioned, gripping the outstretched arms. “You’re still new around here.”
“I’m a hunter,” Harld said, grinning. “I have to be strong.”
“Just don’t overdo it.” Tarrant helped him step over the remaining two women and got him into Somerville’s boat, and when he turned round he saw Myrah helping Treece to her knees. He caught Treece’s circling hand and brought her across the boat. Somerville had not reappeared, and he had to stand waiting with his arms around Treece. She leaned against him more than seemed necessary, making his body hypersensitive to wave-like changes of warm pressure as she altered her posture. It’s dream time again, he thought, as it became obvious there could be nothing accidental about what she was doing. He began to wonder, as the fevers rose into his brain, if all the women in that distant globe of water could be raging nymphomaniacs. The supposition was anything but logical, and yet….
“Hand her over,” Somerville said, appearing above him. “I’m doing all the work and you’re having all the fun.”