But just as the motions of the surface told of the weather above, so the nature of one’s dreams bespoke the conditions in the World Above, providing spiritual guidance—with plenty of room for interpretation, of course. A large percentage of deep sound channel communication was devoted to oneirocriticism, as the meanings of squale dreams were debated back and forth. There was no dogma in squale beliefs; they enjoyed a good argument too much.
As for the World Below, that was the realm of death, where all living things sank eventually, inexorably. But they did not believe the spirit belonged there; its nature, when freed from the flesh, was to rise into the World Above, as gases escaped from a decaying body and bubbled upward as the body sank below.
“But the World Below is alive to them too, somehow,” she said. “It’s part of the Song, a deeper level than ours—theirs. Somehow it’s more…real. I guess because the Song is what creates reality, to them.”
“In the Beginning was the Word,” Riker said. “And the Word became flesh.”
“Sir?”
“The Bible, from Earth. The Gospel of Saint John. The term he actually used was Lógos—a pretty remarkable Ancient Greek word. It means not just a word, but the concept underlying it, the act of reasoning itself…maybe a few other things besides. In the beginning was Lógos, and Lógoswas the Creator, and the act of creation, of all things.”
Lavena smiled. She’d always been impressed by Rik er’s eclectic knowledge, the product of his insatiable curiosity. “Squale beliefs are a lot like that,” she agreed. “But there’s something more I’m still not getting. The squales…somehow they don’t see themselves as creating the Song, but participating in it. It comes from inside them, but outside them too. Maybe it’s more fundamentals and harmonics, the same thing having multiple layers.”
She smiled in recollection. “Even the way the Matron sang it to me was layered. She took me down to the ri’Hoyalina—the deep sound channel. The sea’s stabilized enough since the impact that the channel’s mostly working again. She let me listen in to the global dialogue, and made her song harmonize with its shifting melodies and echoes. I think she was using the channel’s ambience as an analogy for the Song. The greater melody that they’re all part of.”
Riker had perked up when she mentioned the long-range acoustic channel. “Did you listen for calls from Titanwhile you were there?” They had both concluded that the crew would use hydrophones in the DSC to listen for Lavena’s calls. On this world, with its sensor interference and vast stretches of empty ocean, the channel was the best way to search over large areas.
She nodded. “They even let me call out to them. But I think it was because they knew somehow I’d get no answer. As if Titan…” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“You were saying?” Riker prompted. “About the Song and why they’re agitated?”
“Yes, sir. What they’re telling me is that the asteroid strike…it’s disrupted the Song somehow. Not just their communication channel, but the deeper Song that emanates from the World Below. Its…timbre has been altered. Discord has been added. And that’s throwing the world out of joint.”
Riker furrowed his brow. “They think that’s why the Dropletian life is getting so agitated? That there’s some kind of annoying sound putting them on edge?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “At least, I don’t think so, sir. It’s more like the squales think of themselves and the other species as parts of the sound…as living notes that are being played wrong.”
He was silent for a while, absorbing her words. “But how could the asteroid strike be affecting them? Asteroids hit this planet all the time.” He fidgeted, shifting his weight. “Maybe they’re just on edge because we’re here. Something strange and alien comes to their world, and then an asteroid hits…it’s making them afraid of what might happen next. And so they imagine the Song is out of tune.”
“But that doesn’t explain the other animals reacting the same way.”
“Are they really? Or does it just seem that way to the squales who are already on the alert for trouble?”
“But the attacks—”
“Aili, you were attacked twice in your first week here.”
She conceded the point with a tilt of her head. “Hmm…I suppose the asteroid dust settling in the water is changing the salinity, affecting the circulation…shifting the nutrient balance. Even the DSC still has some areas that don’t have service restored yet, so to speak. So the normal cycles of the ocean are out of joint in a lot of ways. That could be what’s disorienting the animals, putting them on edge.” She leaned back and stretched, and Riker felt the need to look off at the horizon for a moment. “But try telling them that. Even some of the squales in Cham’s pod, and most of the defender squales, are still convinced we caused it all by coming here, that we threw off their Song with our discordant alienness. Some of them are genuinely curious to learn about us, especially the astronomers. But a lot of the pod members are studying us because they hope it will reveal what we’ve done to their world and what they can do to fix it. And it sounds like a lot of squales around the world agree that we’re the problem.”
“But it didn’t begin until the asteroid struck.”
“Which happened less than two weeks after we arrived. They don’t believe in coincidences. In music, everything’s interrelated.” She leaned forward again. “And remember, sir, they have aerial probe creatures bred for astronomical observation—and they’re better at it than we imagined. They were actually able to detect Titaninteracting with the asteroid before it hit.” She shook her head. “To many of the squales, that’s proof positive. I’m having a hard time changing their minds. I think Alos and Gasa believe me, but they’re just apprentices and they also want to trust their mentors.”
“You’re doing the best you can, Aili,” Riker told her with a gentle smile. “I have every confidence in you.”
“Thank you, sir.” His approval warmed her. Yawning, he rose, excused himself, and wandered up to the bed of mosses he’d made to take a nap—something he was doing a lot lately, with little else to occupy him.