25 Scorp He had seen Brant stripped before, when they had gone on that memorable boat-ride, but had never realized how formidably muscled the younger man was. Though Loren had always taken good care of his body, there had been little opportunity for sport or exercise since leaving Earth. Brant, however, was probably involved in some heavy physical exertion every day of his life -and it showed. Loren would have absolutely no chance against him unless he could conjure up one of the reputed martial arts of old Earth – none of which he had ever known. The whole thing was perfectly ridiculous. There were his fellow officers grinning their stupid heads off. There was Captain Bey holding a stopwatch. And there was Mirissa with an expression that could only be described as smug. ‘… two … one … zero … GO!’ said the captain. Brant moved like a striking cobra. Loren tried to avoid the onslaught but discovered to his horror that he had no control over his body. Time seemed to have slowed down … his legs were made of lead and refused to obey him … he was about to lose not only Mirissa but his very manhood … At that point, luckily, he had woken up, but the dream still bothered him. Its sources were obvious, but that did not make it any the less disturbing. He wondered if he should tell it to Mirissa. Certainly he could never tell it to Brant, who was still perfectly friendly but whose company he now found embarrassing. Today, however, he positively welcomed it; if he was right, they were now confronted with something very much greater than their own private affairs. He could hardly wait to see the reaction when Brant met the unexpected visitor who had arrived during the night. The concrete-lined channel that brought seawater into the freezing plant was a hundred metres long and ended in a circular pool holding just enough water for one snowflake. Since pure ice was an indifferent building material, it was necessary to strengthen it, and the long strands of kelp from the Great Eastern Prairie made a cheap and convenient reinforcement. The frozen composite had been nicknamed icecrete and was guaranteed not to flow, glacierlike, during the weeks and months of Magellan’s acceleration. ‘There it is.’ Loren stood with Brant Falconer at the edge of the pool, looking down through a break in the matted raft of marine vegetation. The creature eating the kelp was built on the same general plan as a terrestrial lobster – but was more than twice the size of a man. ‘Have you ever seen anything like that before?’ ‘No,’ Brant answered fervently, ‘and I’m not at all sorry. What a monster! How did you catch it?’ ‘We didn’t. It swam – or crawled – in from the sea, along the channel. Then it found the kelp and decided to have a free lunch.’ ‘No wonder it has pinchers like that; those stems are really tough.’ ‘Well, at least it’s a vegetarian.’ ‘I’m not sure I’d care to put that to the test.’ ‘I was hoping you could tell us something about it.’ ‘We don’t know a hundredth of the creatures in the Lassan sea. One day we’ll build some research subs and go into deep water. But there are so many other priorities, and not enough people are interested.’ They soon will be, Lorenson thought grimly. Let’s see how long Brant takes to notice for himself… ‘Science Officer Varley has been checking the records. She tells me that there was something very much like this on Earth millions of years ago. The paleontologists gave it a good name – sea scorpion. Those ancient oceans must have been exciting places.’ ‘Just the sort of thing Kumar would like to chase,’ Brant said. ‘What are you going to do with it?’ ‘Study it and then let it go.’ ‘I see you’ve already tagged it.’ So Brant’s noticed, thought Loren. Good for him. ‘No – we haven’t. Look more carefully.’ There was a puzzled expression on Brant’s face as he knelt at the side of the tank. The giant scorpion ignored him completely as it continued to snip away at the seaweed with its formidable pinchers. One of those pinchers was not altogether as nature had designed it. At the hinge of the right-hand claw there was a loop of wire twisted round several times like a crude bracelet. Brant recognized that wire. His jaw dropped, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. ‘So I guessed right,’ Lorenson said. ‘Now you know what happened to your fish trap. I think we’d better talk to Dr. Varley again – not to mention your own scientists.’ ‘I’m an astronomer,’ Anne Varley had protested from her office aboard Magellan. ‘What you need is a combination of zoologist, paleontologist, ethologist – not to mention a few other disciplines. But I’ve done my best to set up a search program, and you’ll find the result dumped in your Bank 2 under file heading SCORP. Now all you need to do is to search that – and good luck to you.’ Despite her disclaimer, Dr. Varley had done her usual efficient job of winnowing through the almost-infinite store of knowledge in the ship’s main memory banks. A pattern was beginning to emerge; meanwhile, the source of all the attention still browsed peacefully in its tank, taking no notice of the continual flow of visitors who came to study or merely to gape. Despite its terrifying appearance – those pinchers were almost half a metre long and looked capable of taking off a man’s head with one neat snip – the creature seemed completely nonaggressive. It made no effort to escape, perhaps because it had found such an abundant source of food. Indeed, it was generally believed that some trace chemical from the kelp had been responsible for luring it here. If it was able to swim, it showed no inclination to do so, but was content to crawl around on its six stubby legs. Its four-metre long body was encased in a vividly coloured exoskeleton, articulated to give it surprising flexibility. Another remarkable feature was the fringe of palps, or small tentacles, surrounding the beaklike mouth. They bore a striking -indeed, uncomfortable – resemblance to stubby human fingers and seemed equally dexterous. Although handling food appeared to be their main function, they were clearly capable of much more, and it was fascinating to watch the way that the scorp used them in conjunction with its claws. Its two sets of eyes – one pair large, and apparently intended for low light, since during the daytime they were kept closed – must also provide it with excellent vision. Altogether, it was superbly equipped to survey and to manipulate its environment – the prime requirements for intelligence. Yet no one would have suspected intelligence in such a bizarre creature if not for the wire twisted purposefully around its right claw. That, however, proved nothing. As the records showed, there had been animals on Earth who collected foreign objects -often man-made – and used them in extraordinary ways. If it had not been fully documented, no one would have believed the Australian bowerbird’s, or the North American pack rat’s, mania for collecting shiny or coloured objects, and even arranging them in artistic displays. Earth had been full of such mysteries, which now would never be solved. Perhaps the Thalassan scorp was merely following the same mindless tradition, and for equally inscrutable reasons. There were several theories. The most popular – because it put the least demands on the scorp’s mentality – was that the wire bracelet was merely an ornament. Fixing it in place must have required some dexterity, and there was a good deal of debate as to whether the creature could have done it without assistance. That assistance, of course, could have been human. Perhaps the scorp was some eccentric scientist’s escaped pet, but this seemed very improbable. Since everyone on Thalassa knew everyone else, such a secret could not have been kept for long. There was one other theory, the most farfetched of all – yet the most thought provoking. Perhaps the bracelet was a badge of rank.
26 Snowflake Rising It was highly skilled work with long periods of boredom, which gave Lieutenant Owen Fletcher plenty of time to think. Far too much time, in fact. He was an angler, reeling in a six-hundred-ton catch on a line of almost unimaginable strength. Once a day the self-guided, captive probe would dive down towards Thalassa, spinning out the cable behind it along a complex, thirty-thousand-kilometre curve. It would home automatically on to the waiting payload, and when all the checks had been completed, the hoisting would begin. The critical moments were at lift-off, when the snowflake was snatched out of the freezing plant, and the final approach to Magellan, when the huge hexagon of ice had to be brought to rest only a kilometre from the ship. Lifting began at midnight, and from Tarna to the stationary orbit in which Magellan was hovering, took just under six hours. If Magellan was in daylight during the rendezvous and assembly, the first priority was keeping the snowflake in shadow, lest the fierce rays of Thalassa’s sun boil off the precious cargo into space. Once it was safely behind the big radiation shield, the claws of the robot teleoperators could rip away the insulating foil that had protected the ice during its ascent to orbit. Next the lifting cradle had to be removed, to be sent back for another load. Sometimes the huge metal plate, shaped like a hexagonal saucepan lid designed by some eccentric cook, stuck to the ice, and a little carefully regulated heating was required to detach it. At last, the geometrically perfect ice floe would be poised motionless a hundred metres away from Magellan, and the really tricky part would begin. The combination of six hundred tons of mass with zero weight was utterly outside the range of human instinctive reactions; only computers could tell what thrusts were needed, in what direction, at what moments of time, to key the artificial iceberg into position. But there was always the possibility of some emergency or unexpected problem beyond the capabilities of even the most intelligent robot; although Fletcher had not yet had to intervene, he would be ready if the time came. I’m helping to build, he told himself, a giant honeycomb of ice. The first layer of the comb was now almost completed, and there were two more to go. Barring accidents, the shield would be finished in another hundred and fifty days. It would be tested under low acceleration, to make sure that all the blocks had fused together properly; and then Magellan would set forth upon the final leg of its journey to the stars. Fletcher was still doing his job conscientiously – but with his mind, not with his heart. That was already lost to Thalassa. He had been born on Mars, and this world had everything his own barren planet had lacked. He had seen the labour of generations of his ancestors dissolve in flame; why start again centuries from now on yet another world – when Paradise was here? And, of course, a girl was waiting for him, down there on South Island … He had almost decided that when the time came, he would jump ship. The Terrans could go on without him, to deploy their strength and skills – and perhaps break their hearts and bodies -against the stubborn rocks of Sagan 2. He wished them luck; when he had done his duty, his home was here. Thirty thousand kilometres below, Brant Falconer had also made a crucial decision. ‘I’m going to North Island.’ Mirissa lay silent; then, after what seemed to Brant a very long time, she said, ‘Why?’ There was no surprise, no regret in her voice; so much, he thought, has changed. But before he could answer, she added, ‘You don’t like it there.’ ‘Perhaps it is better than here – as things are now. This is no longer my home.’ ‘It will always be your home.’ ‘Not while Magellan is still in orbit.’ Mirissa reached out her hand in the darkness to the stranger beside her. At least he did not move away. ‘Brant,’ she said, ‘I never intended this. And nor, I’m quite certain, did Loren.’ ‘That doesn’t help much, does it? Frankly, I can’t understand what you see in him.’ Mirissa almost smiled. How many men, she wondered, had said that to how many women in the course of human history? And how many women had said, ‘What can you see in her?’ There was no way of answering, of course; even the attempt would only make matters worse. But sometimes she had tried, for her own satisfaction, to pinpoint what had drawn her and Loren together since the very moment they had first set eyes upon each other. The major part was the mysterious chemistry of love, beyond rational analysis, inexplicable to anyone who did not share the same illusion. But there were other elements that could be clearly identified and explained in logical terms. It was useful to know what they were; one day (all too soon!) that wisdom might help her face the moment of parting. First there was the tragic glamour that surrounded all the Terrans; she did not discount the importance of that, but Loren shared it with all his comrades. What did he have that was so special and that she could not find in Brant? As lovers, there was little to choose between them; perhaps Loren was more imaginative, Brant more passionate – though had he not become a little perfunctory in the last few weeks? She would be perfectly happy with either. No, it was not that … Perhaps she was searching for an ingredient that did not even exist. There was no single element but an entire constellation of qualities. Her instincts, below the level of conscious thought, had added up the score; and Loren had come out a few points ahead of Brant. It could be as simple as that. There was certainly one respect in which Loren far eclipsed Brant. He had drive, ambition – the very things that were so rare on Thalassa. Doubtless he had been chosen for these qualities; he would need them in the centuries to come. Brant had no ambition whatsoever, though he was not lacking in enterprise; his still-uncompleted fish-trapping project was proof of that. All he asked from the Universe was that it provided him with interesting machines to play with; Mirissa sometimes thought that he included her in that category. Loren, by contrast, was in the tradition of the great explorers and adventurers. He would help to make history, not merely submit to its imperatives. And yet he could – not often enough but more and more frequently – be warm and human. Even as he froze the seas of Thalassa, his own heart was beginning to thaw. ‘What are you going to do on North Island?’ Mirissa whispered. Already, they had taken his decision for granted. ‘They want me there to help fit out Calypso. The Northers don’t really understand the sea.’ Mirissa felt relieved; Brant was not simply running away – he had work to do. Work that would help him to forget – until, perhaps, the time came to remember once again.