Involution Ocean

Chapter 4 A Strange Revelation

On the fourth day of our voyage I made an odd discov­ery. It happened while I was searching the ship’s hold for something to stimulate my rather discriminating palate. I was testing an ale barrel with my seaman’s jackknife, when the tip of the blade snapped off and the knife flew from my hand. I was searching for it in the dimness of a corner of the hold when I noticed a hairline crack in the bulkhead. It was the joint of a camouflaged door. My curiousity was aroused. The door had a lock, which I quickly picked; I then discovered that the Lunglance had a false compart­ment. Inside the cramped, alcove were several dissassembled pieces of an engine, complete with batteries; a propeller blade; two large tanks of oxygen; and a tub of glue. The glue was an extremely strong adhesive. I found my jack-knife and dipped a blade into the stuff. I had to tug to get it back out I resealed the tub, closed the hidden door, went up on deck, and threw the knife overboard. It was impossi­ble to get the glue off it and it would have betrayed my knowledge of the secret.

Because of its position at the bottom of a pit, the Sea of Dust has longer nights than days. That night I had a long time to puzzle over my discovery. The propeller especially perplexed me. They are never used at sea because they stir up dust clouds.

I was sure of one thing. Only Captain Desperandum could be responsible for the hidden alcove, as only he could have ordered the alterations done. Most whaling captains were responsible to a shore-based firm, but Desperandum owned the Lunglance outright.

Nor was this the end of our captain’s oddities. On the next morning Desperandum suddenly ordered all sails furled and the Lunglance stopped dead in the dust.

Desparandum emerged from his cabin carrying at least three hundred pounds of high-test fishing line. The deck creaked under his weight, as he himself weighed easily over four hundred pounds. Producing a hook the size of my arm, he baited it with a chunk of shark meat and threw it over­board. He turn returned to his cabin and demanded break­fast. I quickly obliged. He ate, sent his mates out, and then called me into the cabin.

Desparandum’s cabin was spartanly furnished; a custom-made bunk six feet long and five feet wide, a massive metal swivel chair, a work table that folded down from a wall. Detail maps of Nullaqua, hand drawn on cheap, yellowing graph paper, were stuck to the walls with poster wax. In the glass-fronted cabinet to my right were several pickled specimens of Nullaquan fauna, trapped in specimen jars. The stuffed head of a large carnivorous fish, mounted on a metal plaque, had been bolted to the stern wall. Its jaws gaped wide to reveal discolored, serrated teeth. Below were thick glass windows, giving a view of the placid, gray, dust sea. The western rim of the crater loomed on the horizon, glowing in the sunlight like a massive crescent moon.

“Newhouse,” the captain said, seating himself with a creak in his swivel chair, “You’re from Earth. You know what science is.” Desperandum’s voice was low and raspy.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “And I have the highest respect for the Academy.”

“The Academy.” Desperandum bristled. “You err, Newhouse, and err badly, when you associate real science with that superannuated group of fools. What can you expect from men who have to spend three hundred years just to obtain a doctorate?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, testing him. “Old people do tend to get set in their ways sometimes.”

“True!” he said. Desperandum was deeper than he looked. “I’m a scientist,” he said. “No doctorate, maybe, a false name, perhaps, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m here to find out something, and when I aim to find out I don’t let anything stand in my way. Do you realize just how little is really known about this planet? Or about this ocean?”

“Men have lived here for five hundred years, Captain.”

“Five hundred years of imbeciles, Newhouse. Have a seat. Let’s talk man to man.” He waved one meaty hand, speckled with blond hairs, at a metal bench by the door. I sat.

“All the major questions about Nullaqua are still unan­swered. The first survey teams—with Academy support, mind you—took some samples, declared the place fit for humanity, and left. Answer me this, Newhouse. Why does everything alive here have water in its tissues, even though it never rains?”

I reviewed my memories of the books I had read before moving to Nullaqua. “Well, I’ve heard it said that there’s a sort of sludgy substrata, deep beneath the surface . . . some­thing about aquatic toadstools that float to the surface to spawn. They burst open and plankton absorbs the water.”

“Not a bad theory,” said Desperandum judiciously. “I want to be the first to prove it. Understand now, I have no objections to making a profit. You’ll get your share of a successful voyage, just like everyone else.”

“I was never in any fear of that, Captain.”

“But there are lots of little questions that nag at my mind. What causes currents in the dust? How deep is it? What lives down there, what kinds of scavengers? How do they find their food without sight or echo location? How do they breathe? It’s the very opacity of the. sea that infuriates, that bothers me, Newhouse. I cant see into it.

“And another thing. We know that the place was inhabit­able when the Elder Culture was here. Why did they build outposts on the airless surface?”

“I don’t know,” I said facetiously. “Maybe they were afraid of something.”

“I’m not,” Desperandum said. “But then there’s the crew to think about. They can’t possibly understand what I’m doing; they never have. You’re closer to them than I am; if they start to get restless, tell me about it. HI see to it that there’s a bonus for you when the cruise is done.”

“You can depend on me, Captain,” I said, humoring him. “You might consider young Calothrick, too. He’s from off world and he’s closer to the crew than I am.”

Desperandum’s broad flat forehead creased as he thought about it. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t like him. don’t trust him. There’s something greasy about him.”

That surprised me. Calothrick greasy? I made a mental note to check on him. Perhaps he was having withdrawal symptoms.

Desperandum continued, “Thanks for the suggestion, any­way. Dismissed. Oh, by the way, birdfish casserole for lunch.”

“Aye aye, sir.” I left.

How odd, I thought. Why did Desperandum bother with a dead end like science?

My reverie was interrupted by a shout from Flack, the first mate. Captain Desperandum had hooked something.

Desperandum padded eagerly from his cabin. He had at­tached the end of the fishline to a stout winch and he im­mediately ordered it reeled in. His impatience was marvel­ous and two of the crew began cranking the winch at a tremendous rate.

. In and in they reeled. Suddenly the fish broke the sur­face and exploded. The rapid change in pressure had been too much for it.

Crestfallen, Desperandum examined the rags of fish left on the hook. Small shiny fish nibbled at the remnants that had been scattered for yards in all directions. There was just enough of a ruptured head on the hook to suggest that the creature was blind. There was no hint as to how it breathed in the airless depths. Perhaps it breathed silicon.

Desperandum tried again. He rebaited the hook with the head of his new catch and dropped it overboard. Two new crewmembers took the windlass and began unreeling the line. Down it went, a hundred yards, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred.

Suddenly something took the hook and the windlass be­gan unreeling at an insane speed, nearly fracturing the arm of one of the sailors. No one dared to set the catch that would stop the windlass; it might have taken his fingers off.

“Cut! Cut!” said the second mate.

“Ceramic fiber!” shouted Desperandum over the whir of the windlass. “ItH hold it!”

Abruptly we were out of line. The entire ship lurched, the deck tilted crazily, and with a terrific screech the wind­lass was ripped free of the deck, snapping some bolts and ripping others right up through the metal. In a flash, the windlass vanished beneath the surface.