What do you here, mighty kelp?
Was this what Ship wanted them to see?
He did not expect Ship to answer that question. Such an answer did not fit into the rules of this game. He was on his own down here.
Play the game, Devil.
The pressure of the water around their gondola filled his awareness. They remained here by the sufferance of the kelp. By the kelp's own tolerance could they survive. Others had come into this sea and survived by careful restraint. What might the kelp interpret as a threat? Those jeweled blinkings in the gloom took on a malevolent aspect to him then.
We trust too much.
In the silence of his fears, Panille's voice came as a jarring intrusion.
"We're beginning to get some pattern indicators."
Thomas shot a glance at the recording board to the left of his console. The load-sensors indicated preparation for playback. This would control the sub's exterior bubbles to replay any light patterns which the computer counted as repetitive and significant. Any such patterns would be played to the kelp.
"See! Now, we talk to you. What are we saying?"
That would catch its attention. But what would it do?
"The kelp's watching us," Panille said. "Can you feel it?"
Thomas found himself in silent agreement. The kelp around them was watching and waiting. He felt like the child of that faraway day at Moonbase when he had entered the creche school for the first time. There was a truth revealed here which most educators ignored: You could learn dangerous things.
"If it's watching us, where are its eyes?" Waela whispered.
Thomas thought this a nonsense question. The kelp could possess senses which Shipmen had never imagined. You might just as well ask about Ship's eyes. But he could not deny that sense of watchfulness around the sub. The presence which the kelp projected onto the intruders was an almost palpable thing.
The recorder buzzed beside him and he saw the green lights which signaled the shift to replay. Now, the extruded bubbles on the carrier surface were playing back something, he had no idea what. Exterior sensors revealed only a glow of many colors reflecting off particles in the water.
He could see no discernible change in the light play from the kelp.
"Ignoring us." That was Waela.
"Too soon to say," Panille objected. "What's the response time of the kelp? Or maybe we're not even speaking to it yet."
"Try the pattern display," Waela said.
Thomas nodded, punched for the prepared program. This had been the alternate approach. The small screen above the recorder board began to show what was being displayed on the sub's hulclass="underline" first Pythagorean squares, then the counting of the sticks, the galactic spiral, the pebble gam....
No response from the kelp.
The dim shapes of swimmers among the kelp did not change their movements dramatically. All appeared to be the same.
Waela, studying her own screens, asked: "Am I mistaken or are the lights brighter?"
"A bit brighter perhaps," Thomas said.
"They are brighter," Panille said. "It seems to me that the water i.... murkier. I.... Look at the anchor cable!"
Thomas flicked to the view Panille's screen displayed, saw the sensors signaling the approach of some large object from above.
"The cable's gone slack," Waela said. "It's sinking!"
As she spoke, they all saw the first remnants of the LTA bag settling around them into the range of the dive lights - dull orange reflections from the fabric, black edges. It pulled a curtain over the bubble dome above them. This disturbed the creatures among the kelp and ignited a wild flickering in the kelp lights which vanished as the curtain settled around the sub.
"Lightning hit the bag," Waela said. "I...."
"Stand by to drop the carrier and blow all tanks," Thomas said. He reached for the controls, fighting to suppress panic.
"Wait!" Panille called. "Wait for all of the bag to settle. We could be trapped in it, but the sub can cut a way through it."
I should've thought of that, Thomas thought. The bag could trap us down here.
***
Hittite law emphasized restitution rather than revenge. Humankind lost a certain useful practicality when it chose the other Semitic response - never to forgive and never to forget.
LEGATA SAT back, her whole body shaking and trembling. She could tell by the flickering cursor on the com-console that it was almost dayside. Familiar activities soon would begin out in Ship's corridors - familiar but with a feeling of sparseness because of the diminished crew. She had kept illumination low during nightside, wanting no distractions from the holorecord playing at the focus in front of Oakes' old divan.
Her gaze lifted and she saw the mandala she had copied for Oakes' quarters at the Redoubt. Looking at the patterns helped restore her, but she saw that her hands still shook.
Fatigue, rage or disgust?
It required a conscious effort to still the trembling. Knots of tension remained in her muscles, and she knew it would be dangerous for Oakes to walk into his old cubby right now.
I'd strangle him.
No reason for Oakes to come shipside now. He was permanently groundside.
The prisoner of his terrors.
As I wa.... unti....
She took a deep, clear breath. Yes, she was free of the Scream Room.
It happened, but I am here now.
What to do about Oakes? Humiliation. That had to be the response. Not physical destruction, but humiliation. A particular humiliation. It would have to be at once political and sexual. Something more than embarrassment. Something he might think of to do against someone else. The sexual part was easy enough; that was no challenge to a woman of her beauty and genius. But the politic....
Should I conceal the evidence that I've seen this holo?
Save that information for the proper moment.
That was a good thought. Trust her own inspiration. She keyed the com-console and typed in: SHIPRECORDS EYES ONLY LEGATA HAMILL. Then the little addition which she had discovered for herself: SCRAMBLE IN OX.
There. No matter who thought to search for such a datum, it would be lost in that strange computer which she had discovered in one of her history hunts.
I'll stay shipside this diurn. She would not feel well. That would be the message to Oakes. He would grant her a rest period without question. She would spend her time here pulling every trick of computer wizardry she could to get the complete record on Morgan Oakes.
Political humiliation. Political and sexual. That had to be the way of it.
Perhaps that other Ceepee brought out of hyb, that Thomas, might hold a clue. Something in the way he looked at Oake.... as though he saw an old acquaintance in a new rol....
And she owed a debt to Thomas. Strange that he should be the only one to know she had run the P. He had kept the secret without being aske.... or asking. Rare discretion.
She had no thought of fatigue now. There was food shipside when she needed it. The power of Oakes' position made that no problem. She sent her message to Oakes groundside, turned to the console.
Somewhere in the records there would be a useful fact or two. Something Oakes had hidden or that he did not even know about himself - perhaps something he had done and did not want revealed. He was good at this concealment game but she knew herself to be better at it.
She began at the main computer - Ship's major interface with Shipmen.
Would it take fancy programming? A painstaking search through coded relationships which could hide bits of data far in the recesses of offshoot circuitry such as that Ox gate? How about the Ox gate? She hid things there, but had never asked it about Oakes.