And in the writhing of his body against the straps, in the way it bowed and lashed straight again, and the strangely fluid motions of his struggle, Black tried not to think he saw the movement of a shark’s body fighting in deep water against an alien foe.
“Blood!” Gresham muttered, deep in his throat. “Blood—so much blood—can’t see, but—there’s another—kill, kill! Kill them all!”
And it seemed to Black that the little cabin was dark with the dark of the undersea and blinded with blood that spread through the dim water, and boiling with the terrible combat of an unknown struggle.
He knew to an instant when the shark died. He could tell by the last spasmodic convulsion of Gresham’s body on the bed, the double lashing motion and the sudden silence. He even thought he saw for an instant the blankness of death itself flicker across Gresham’s face, the brush of it touching the edges of the mind that had controlled the shark’s mind.
After that there was only silence, and the slumber of deep exhaustion. …
“It was too late,” Gresham said. His voice was a whisper, hoarse from the shouting he had done through his nightmare. His body was bruised from struggling against the straps, and his mind was sick and tired.
“It must have been too late from the moment the explosion went off, if anyone had known. But they still hoped. They sent the Swimmer up and they brought me down, hoping until the last I could do something.” He laughed briefly, a croaking sound in his raw throat. “I might have known it was too wonderful to last. The cities and the people—they were never meant for human eyes to see. I was lucky to get even the one glimpse I had. And maybe it’s just as well. The two cultures never could have met. If there were any way for humans to reach them, we’d only have destroyed their culture as we’ve destroyed everything else that’s beautiful. As we’ll destroy ourselves, when the time comes.
“We did destroy them, Black. The explosion did it. And maybe this was the best way, quick enough, after all.”
“But what was it? What happened?”
The face beneath the bandages was grim.
“I went down with the shark. I could see from a long way off that something had gone wrong. Only a few of the cities were lighted, and one of them flickered out as we came near. And in the underwater dawn-light I could see black shapes, shambling.
“If it hadn’t been for the dark people, the slaves, I think they might have won. They were getting the machines under control again, you see. In the last city the machine might have held out, if the Others hadn’t already been in the city.
“I made the shark swim closer, in through one of the dark cities where I’d gone with the Swimmer. Once it was full of lights and spiral dwellings, beautiful, lithe people gliding among the floating orbits of their homes. Now it was dark. I couldn’t see much—thank God. But the … black … figures shambling through those hollow cities, among the floating bodies of the beautiful dead Swimmers, horrified me.” Gresham bit his lip and was silent.
After a while he went on.
“There was still fighting going on around the last lighted place. I made the shark swim into it. I could help, at least, that much.
“The Swimmers fought with curved blades of light that slashed through everything they touched. They were wonderful fighters—terrible and wonderful. I never saw such ferocity and such beauty. But the Others were too many for them.” His voice cracked for an instant.
“The Others were foul, degenerate, dark things,” he said, and choked over the words.
“Here, drink this,” Black commanded, holding a glass to Gresham’s lips. Gresham drank, and rested for a moment.
“That was all,” he said presently, in a calmer voice. “I watched it end. I helped as much as I could.” He grinned faintly. “It was one of the Swimmers who killed the shark, finally. They didn’t understand, of course. They must have thought it was just another of the scavenger fish who were gathering because of the blood. The curved light-blade sheered through it like steel—or fire—fire under water—and the shark died. Well, it was time for me to go, anyhow. I’d done all I could, then. But this isn’t the end of it.”
“What do you mean?” Black demanded. Then he said quickly, “Never mind. You’ve got to rest now. You can think it over and tell me later.”
“I don’t need to think. Remember what I told you when I first saw the Others? How hateful they are even on first sight? Instinct, Black, sheer instinct tells you to kill them on sight. I—I don’t know why, but that’s what I’m going to do next.” He clenched his fist and struck the blanket lightly.
“Extermination!” he said in his hoarse, strained whisper. “Extermination!”
A week later the Albacore passed a group of tiny islets lying like scattered flowers on the water. Native outriggers came out, as usual, to offer fruit and gossip. Gresham seemed to know them. He talked briefly in Kanaka, and there was much nodding and liquid chatter among the natives. When the outriggers went back, Gresham went with them.
“I know what I want,” he told Black as the neurologist helped him over the rail. “I’m all right now, physically. Or as much as I’ll ever be. I’m a responsible man—you can stop worrying about me. I’ve even got enough money put aside for what small needs I’ll have from now on. Forget about me, doctor. And thanks—thanks very much.”
Doubtfully, and with a touch of strange, illogical envy, Black watched him go.
The globes that once swung glowing on their cables in the abyss swing dark now. Below them the night land of the sea-bottom stretches far away into a light that shines eternally, a light no human eyes will ever see. Inside the cities which are tombs now, the
