“Come on out, little one,” he crooned. An apprehensive blue eye stared, blinked, relaxed. “That’s right.” He extended his hand again.
Slowly, the ammonite unfolded.
It had sixteen tentacles.
Quetzalcóatl held perfectly still, calling to the animal with his mind. By slow degrees it grew used to him. At last it lovingly twined itself around his fingers.
The tentacles were slender beyond belief, a rare genetic doubling, and fully functional. The creature used them with perfect aplomb. Quetzalcóatl peered deep into its genome. Yes! It was stable. The mutation would breed true.
So great was the peace that came over him with this discovery that without even wishing it, he found his thought encompassing the minds of the humans on the ship above. Ordinary enough minds, most of them, both fearful and courageous, and lacking in comprehension, though their commander was extraordinary for her kind. But there were two among them who were peculiar, though no less afraid than the others. Instead of taking battle stations, clutching their weapons and waiting tensely against his return, they were crawling across the deck on their hands and knees, measuring out distances with a length of rope.
Quetzalcóatl plucked language from their minds and listened with interest to what they were saying.
“Fourteen…fifteen…here. This is where your foot started to go through the floor.”
“Deck, Isaac. It’s called a deck.”
“Deck-schmeck, what the heck. What difference does it make? Who’s got the chalk? Oh, I guess I do. I’ll make a mark.”
“Yeah, you’ll make a mark all right — as a major fuck-up….”
Quetzalcóatl had heard this sort of banter before, and it did not impress him. Whether they were hunting mastodons or conquering empires, bored and frightened men sounded much alike. He sensed the fear both felt that they’d never reach home. Sensed too the humiliation the younger one felt for being chewed out by his commander, the older one’s worry that he was past his physical peak. Both men were coming face to face with their own limitations, and neither much liked it. All this, too, he knew from of old.
What did surprise and intrigue him was that all the while, despite everything else he was saying and feeling, the younger one was thinking about the plesiosaurs. Thinking about their power and beauty, and regretting not having had the nerve to try to touch one. Thinking too of the darkness he had seen coming across the water at them, and feeling outraged that the sailors had fired upon it. Brooding not only on his own fear, but also on the lost opportunities for knowledge.
This was an intellectual honesty out of the ordinary, a restlessness akin to his own. Buried deep as it was under fear and humiliation and anxiety for his future, Quetzalcóatl saw a spark of that same fire of curiosity that burned within his own veins.
“Here’s where the cat walked through the wall.”
“Bulkhead.”
“Whatever. Who’s got the chalk?”
Quetzalcóatl released the ammonite. Then he summoned an archelon and rose to the surface, standing on its back.
The ship’s crew gathered at the rail at Grace’s command. Quetzalcóatl had seized control of her mind, of course. It was easiest to be direct when dealing with primates. Through her eyes he saw himself: tall, auburn-skinned and muscular, with a forbidding expression on his face. It was much the same appearance he had worn when he was worshiped as a god in their own world. Except for the extra arms, the talons, and the jagged horns that swept up from the sides of his head.
In a voice like thunder he said, “Have the young one stand forward.”
The young one turned green. He looked helplessly at his friend, his commander, his shipmates, silently pleading for their help. They all stood stone-faced and emotionless. He had no way of knowing that they were not under their own control.
Finally, because he had no choice, the young one climbed down the rope ladder to the ocean’s surface. Hesitantly, he stepped onto the back of the giant sea turtle.
The young one flinched when Quetzalcóatl placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. The terror that thrilled through him was a palpable thing. There were tears of fright in his eyes. But, probing, Quetzalcóatl saw that — yes — there was under all that emotion, a glint of wonder.
Quetzalcóatl smiled to himself. He wished he could keep this one here, to nurture and encourage it. But he was a naturalist. He would create a bubble of air about them and command the archelon to carry them below. He would show this one a few of his choicer treasures. And then, gently, regretfully, he would remove his hand, and release the specimen back to its natural habitat.
Isaac
Isaac stood on the leathery back of the giant sea turtle. It swam at a majestic pace through the calm water. A mantle of moss billowed out in its wake, attached to the edge of the shell like the train of a great green wedding-dress. Close to the ocean surface, with the air humid and the hot sun on him, Isaac felt that the boundaries between himself and this strange natural world were not clearly enough defined. He preferred pavement, frankly.
All around him sported plesiosaurs, oddly graceful in the water, like huge penguins with giraffe-long necks, moving their stubby flippers like rudimentary wings. He was unafraid of them, despite their sharp teeth. Somehow fear had lost its context in the light of recent events. Fear was the air he breathed now, and no one thing was more fearsome than any other.
Except perhaps the memory of the obsidian claws of Kukulcan gripping his shoulder. Gukumatz, Nine Wind, One Reed. Quetzalcóatl. Interesting to think that he, Isaac, had encountered someone who was worshiped as a god. He could see how such a situation might come about. Quetzalcóatl certainly gave the impression of being an indestructible entity with unlimited power, all-encompassing knowledge, a life span measured in eons — and wasn’t that what a god was?
So why did Isaac not worship him? Isn’t that all a god asks, and isn’t it right that he ask it? But there was something in Isaac that kept him from giving over the portion of himself that religious people offer as a gift to their gods. He just couldn’t do it. He could acknowledge the power, but he couldn’t offer obeisance. Perhaps if he worshiped properly, Quetzalcóatl would return him home. Perhaps not. It didn’t matter — it wasn’t in Isaac to do it.
The turtle was approaching the boat. Isaac could hear the excited yells of the crew, pleased and surprised to see him coming back from what they must have thought was certain death. He waved jauntily.
Bob Heinlein’s voice cut through the others. “Grab the ladder, Isaac! It’s going for you!”
Isaac looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, one of the plesiosaurs was casually swimming his way. This was his chance to touch it. He had to know what it felt like. Armor-plated? Warm-blooded? He had to know.
He seized the ladder, pulling himself off the back of the turtle. Hooking an elbow around a rung, he leaned outward, as the huge reptile approached, and extended his free hand. The ladder jerked spasmodically and he felt himself being pulled out of reach. The plesiosaur stretched its tiny head up toward him, like a cat wanting to be petted. He was still straining to reach it when they hauled him onto the deck.
The sailors seemed to think he had cracked under the stress of whatever had happened to him below the sea. “You’ll be all right, buddy!” one of them kept saying in a tight voice. “You’re okay now! You’re on the ship, it’s okay!” Maybe he was talking to himself.
Heinlein clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good work, Isaac! What did you find out?” That’s Bob all over, Isaac thought. “Good work” meant “I thought you were a goner there.” The clap on the shoulder meant “I really thought you were a goner.” And “What did you find out?” meant “Let’s not think about this any more.”