The Kraken Wakes

'Where's Esperanzia Island?' I inquired.

'I don't know,' she said, happily.

She sat down and picked up the paper. 'Everything seems to have gone very quiet lately,' she said.

'I hadn't noticed it. I might, if you would try to do some work, too,' I replied.

A few minutes' silence ensued. Then she said:

'Captain Winters rang up yesterday. Did you know there hasn't been a single fireball reported for over two months?'

Evidently this was one of those mornings. I put my pen into its holder, and took out a cigarette.

'I didn't, but it's not very surprising; they've been rare for quite a time now. Had he any comments?'

'Oh, no. He just sort of mentioned it.'

'I suppose the Bocker view would be that the first phase of colonization has been completed: the pioneers have established themselves, and the settlement is now on its own to sink or swim.'

'Predominantly, sink,' said Phyllis.

'Anybody who happened to overhear the home twitterings of EBC's clever feature-script writer could blackmail us for years,' I told her.

It passed her by.

'I've been thinking about what Mallarby said,' she remarked, 'and I don't see why people couldn't make up their minds to leave those things down there alone. I mean, if there is one part of the world that can be of no conceivable use to us, a part we can't even reach, and it happens to suit them, then why not let them have it?'

'That's reasonable — superficially, at any rate,' I agreed, 'but Mallarby's point was, and I agree with that, that it's a matter of instinct, not reason. The instinct of self-protection is opposed to the very idea of an alien intelligence — and not without pretty good cause. It's difficult to imagine any kind of intelligence, except a sheer abstraction, that wouldn't be concerned to modify its environment for its own betterment. But it is very unlikely that the ideas of betterment held by two different types would be identical — so unlikely that it suggests a hypothesis that, given two intelligent species with differing requirements on one planet, it is inevitable that, sooner or later, one will exterminate the other.'

Phyllis thought it over.

'That has a pretty grim, Darwinian sound, Mike,' she remarked.

'"Grim" isn't an objective word, darling. It's simply the way things usually work. If one species lived in salt water, and the other in fresh, you would, in the course of time, inevitably reach a situation where the interests of the races demanded that one should freshen the sea while the other was doing its damnedest to salt the lakes and rivers. It looks to me as if that is bound to apply unless the needs are identical — and if the needs are identical, then they are not a different species.'

'You mean, you're in favour of going on sending down atom bombs, and that kind of thing?' she said.

'Darling, if I happen to mention that, as a process, autumn follows summer, it does not follow that I am all for getting a ladder and pulling the leaves off the trees.'

'I don't see why you should want to.'

'I don't.'

'You mean, you're not in favour of sending down atom bombs? By the way you were talking before, I thought —'

'Look, let's drop atom bombs for the moment — no, damn it, I mean, let's leave them out of it. The thing is that once we had developed intelligence we weren't satisfied with the world as we found it; so, are the things down there likely to be satisfied with it as they find it? Such evidence as we have suggests that they are not — they don't like being bombed by us, for instance. Then the real point is, how long will it be before the efforts to change it for the convenience of both parties come into serious opposition?'

'Well, since you've asked me, I should say you have answered your own question: it happened when we prodded them with the first atom bomb. That's what I'm complaining about.'

'Scarcely a matter for complaint, darling, and anyway, it's too late. We must have gone down then on their environment-improvement list with a high priority, even if we hadn't before. There was a certain ominousness in the speed with which they took up the defensive — as if they might have expected something of the kind and prepared for it. What really remains to be seen is whether the natural obstacles that now separate us will defeat their abilities — as they almost defeat ours — and, if they do not, then how we can meet them when they come.'

'Then, on the whole, you are in favour of dropping bombs?' suggested Phyllis.

'For goodness sake! Let's get this thing straight. Darling, I and the Royal Navy are not in favour of dropping atom bombs: we think it poisons too much water, for problematical results. But I, and, I hope, the Royal Navy, too, are prepared to take up arms against this sea of troubles, as and when it may appear necessary and effective. In this I have no doubt that others will join us. The weapons to be chosen will be dictated largely by the time, place, and nature of the need.'

Phyllis sat with her head propped on her left hand, her eyes unseeingly on the newspaper.

'You said, "inevitable". Do you really think that?' she asked, after a time.

'Yes. Even if only part of what Bocker thinks is right. We can't both inherit the Earth.'

'When, do you think?'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'When you think of the difficulties that both lots must overcome to get at the other effectively, it looks as if it might be a long time coming to a head — a generation or two, perhaps, or a century or two. I don't see how anybody could hope to get nearer than a wild guess.'

Phyllis picked up a pencil, and watched her fingers abstractedly as they twiddled it. Presently she became quite still, staring rigidly at nothing. I knew the symptoms, and forbore to interrupt. After a time she said:

'How would this be? Start with sounds of a tearing wind and an angry sea. Perhaps a lifeboat putting out, with the men's words blown away as they speak. Then fade out all but the natural sounds of wind and sea. Then — how would you contrive the effect of sinking under the water? Keep the water-sounds, and diminish the wind? Then give the water-sounds a slower rhythm, diminishing, too, gradually. Voice counts: " — three fathoms — four fathoms — full fathom five — and down — down — down — " There's only a slow, indefinite surge to suggest water movement now. As it gets fainter you begin to hear the chirruping fish, then the squawking ones, and the others until there's fish pandemonium, which gradually diminishes to a final chirrup. Then — I'm not sure whether it ought to be the voice telling the fathoms, or whether a mysterious silence would be more effective — but next, deep grunts, some snarls, and galumphing noises. Voice intones about Leviathan and the monsters of the deep, and repeats " — down — down — down —" Occasional, indefinable sounds until absolute silence, out of which Voice says:

'"The deep-sea bottom! The uttermost part of the Earth! It is dark; it has always been dark; it will always be dark until the seas dry up and the arid Earth spins on her endless way, with life a tale that has long been told and finished.

'"But now, that is far away in the future, as far away in time as it will take the sun to scorch up the five miles of water above our heads; and it is dark.

'"It is cold, too, as cold as any glacier; and quiet… and still… It has been still for aeons

' "We have brought down light with us from the world far above, and we switch it on. We see a wide floor flanked by gigantic rocky cliffs. But it is not a solid floor. If we were to try to step on it we should sink through many feet of ooze before it became solid enough to support us.