The Farpool (26 page)

Where is Pakma?
He didn’t have time to worry about it but the thought
surfaced anyway. He was nearing the limit of his strength and his
arms were weakening. The
kip’t
trembled and a crunch jarred them so hard that his hands were
wrenched from the controls for a moment. He heard a groan from
behind; the
eekoti
might have
been knocked out. But he didn’t have time to check. It was as if
they had stopped, right in the middle of the storm, and lay poised
on the brink, ready to slide backwards or spring forward to
freedom. The controls were soft, having no bite, and Kloosee held
his breath. When they lurched forward again, he gave all he had to
give.

The
kip’t
shook and quivered like a pain-crazed
animal, then took a final wrenching kick from
azhpuh’te.

A cool silence followed—it seemed
deafening to them—and Kloosee slumped against the bulkhead while
the
kip’t
drifted in waters
stained with purple and red, the remains of
mah’jeet
hordes that had been sucked down from
the surface into the funnel. The sight of it made him laugh. He
sucked up some of the warm water that had penetrated through the
leaks around the cockpit and giggled deliriously for a few moments,
while the
kip’t
found calmer
waters and settled down.

He knew they would have to stop somewhere and
fix those leaks. They couldn’t head into polar waters up north with
leaks like this.

Now concerned for his passenger,
Kloosee twisted around and pulsed into the rear compartment.
The
eekoti
named Chase seemed
to be conscious, at least, and Kloosee whispered thanks to Shooki
for that. And as he watched, Chase opened his eyes and slowly waved
some of the fresh water now streaming into the cockpit toward his
gills. He saw Kloosee watching him and smiled back. Or maybe it was
a grimace; he could never tell after the
em’took
procedure what his muscles would do. A
weak voice crackled over the voice circuit.

“What happened?”

“We were lucky,” Kloosee told him.
“
Azhpuh’te
didn’t want us
today. Now, let’s go find Pakma.”

He checked the sounders first. Nothing.
Then he realized that
azhpuh’te
had carried them north for hundreds of beats, out of the
Pulkel but not exactly where they would like to have been. The
sounder showed that they were well to the east of the Serpentines,
essentially still in Omtorish waters, though the region was
disputed. They would have to track back to the west and re-cross
the Serpentines again, following the Ork’lat, in order to head
north and find the Pom’tel Current. It was that vast circular river
of fast-moving water that would carry them further north, straight
to the Pillars of Shooki…and to Kinlok Island.

He made the necessary course changes and
eased them back down to a good cruising depth. Then the sounder
beeped. Kloosee checked. It was a solid return. It could be loose
rock. Or it could be—

“That was quite a ride you took us through,
Kloos—“ came a familiar voice over the circuit.

It was Pakma. Kloosee pinged and
located them two beats to port. He homed on the signal and soon
enough, the other
kip’t
came
into view. It had somehow survived the battering of
azhpuh’te
, none the worse for
wear.

“How’s Angie?” Chase asked. “Is she
okay?”

A hoarse but familiar voice rasped over the
comm circuit. “I’m fine, Chase…a little bruised. But okay.”

Kloosee said, “We’ve got a leak here.
I’ve got to stop somewhere and seal it before we go further. The
Pon’kel Sea is too cold to operate a
kip’t
with a leak.”

“I sounded a small rise a few beats
ahead…put your
kip’t
down
there.” Pakma led the way and Kloosee followed. Presently, they
came to a broad uplift in the seabed, a mound surrounded on all
sides by gently undulating strands of
tchin’ting
. Kloosee felt the current was mild
enough here to undertake some repair work.

Both
kip’ts
settled on to the top of the
mound.

“I can help,” Chase offered. He was
grateful for any reason to get out of the cramped confines of
the
kip’t
cockpit.

“The repair kit is behind you,” Kloosee said.
Chase found it and the two of them set to work scraping down the
bubble joint around the cockpit and applying sealing tape.

Meanwhile, Pakma and Angie left their
own
kip’t
. “Follow me,” Pakma
said. “I need to collect some raw
tchin’ting
…my supply is running low.”

Angie kicked her way out of the
cockpit. It felt good to stretch and kick around a bit. She did a
few easy laps around the sled. “I’m still getting used to
my---whatever it is. My new body, I guess. What
is
that stuff…that tchin’ting?”

Pakma had borrowed a small satchel and
drifted down to hover over the tops of the
tchin’ting
beds. She started snatching and
snipping, pulling strands of the long, stringy plant into her sack.
“
Tchin’ting
is a weed…I hope
that translates okay. “

“You mean kind of like kelp?”

“I think that is a good comparison. It grows
mostly in warmer waters. Kind of unusual to see it here, on the
border of the Ponkel Sea. We harvest it after it’s grown for a full
mah…it’s a waxy, pasty substance that we mix in with other foods as
an extender or filler…especially fleshy foods.”

Angie went closer to examine the
tchin’ting
field. She found the
individual stalks spindly and serrated along one side, with small
purple buds at the top. She watched the way Pakma was collecting,
grabbed some herself and the two of them headed back to
their
kip’t
.

“I’m hungry,” Pakma announced. She
circled alongside Kloosee’s
kip’t
; he and Chase were hard at work, applying
sealant to their cockpit flanges. “Want anything to
eat?”

“Later,” Kloosee said. “I want to finish this
first. Save us some pods.”

Pakma and Angie went back to their sled
and shut themselves in. Angie felt better in the filtered water of
the cockpit; the colder Ponkel waters made breathing hard…she was
still getting used to her gills. She tried not to think about where
she was…hundreds of meters below the sea, breathing water like some
glorified flounder.
Really, this is
insane,
she told herself.
I
know this is a dream and any minute now, I’ll wake up in Mr. Lott’s
Geometry class and he’ll be asking me a question about Venn
diagrams.

“Try this…it’s not to eat, just smell.
It’s
ot’lum
… a scentbulb.”
Pakma handed Angie a small fist-sized pod.

Angie took a whiff…and jerked her head back.
Whatever it was, it just about made her head fly off her shoulders.
A strong, musky odor filled her nostrils.

“What is that?”

“Puk’lek
…seamother. I work with scentbulbs…as an
artist. I compile different smells and odors, mix them together…I’m
still working on this one. What do you think?”

Angie scrunched up her nose. “An artist, huh?
With smells. Cool. Um…I guess it’s fine. It smells like Chase’s
clothes after he’s ridden his bike in the rain.”

“You know Chase a long time?” Pakma was
setting out a small spread of bulbs and pods…these smelled much
better.

“Oh, yeah—“ Angie took an experimental
whiff of one pod. It was
gisu
, ripe
gisu
. Fruity and sweet. She took a bite. “Hey,
I‘ve had this before…not bad. About Chase: we’ve known each other
for years. Since we were kids.”

“Kids? No translation for that…explain?”

“Children…very young people.”

Pakma understood. “Yes. We say midlings. You
like Chase. I can pulse this. When you are together, I pulse you in
harmony with each other.”

Angie munched on the pod for a few moments.
“Pakma, when you say ‘pulse,’ what exactly are you talking about?
Sounding and listening for echoes?”

“Exactly.” Pakma opened more pods and
speared several for herself, using her beak. She sucked loudly on
one particularly juicy pod. “I pulse…I send sound waves out and
they come back. I can hear your stomach now…it gurgles and
growls…you like gisu…I can hear this. We Seomish pulse each other
all the time. We know what each other has eaten, how each other
feels, you can’t hide anything in pulsing. You know
Shoo’kel
?”

“Shoo’kel
…is
that a name? Is that someone?”

“No,
shoo’kel
is peace, tranquility. Here…make the
sound of knowledge…
kkkkllllooossshhhkkk,
as I showed you. Your
echopod will explain—“

It took Angie several tries but she managed
to activate the little wikipedia feature of her echopod. The usual
whiny, nasal voice filled her ears….

“…
shoo’kel…the desirable
state of having one’s inner fluids in complete balance, so that any
pulse of you by someone yields a clean, regular echo. Any state
other than shoo’kel is considered vulgar or obscene. Shoo’kel is a
form of personal honor and dignity. Control of excessive emotion is
necessary to efficient and accurate pulsing. Also, used in a
general or universal sense, to mean tranquility or peace, the
natural order of things, stability….

Angie nodded that she understood. “So
this
shoo’kel
is like being
at peace with yourself?”

“That is one explanation. Seomish see
and hear much…sometimes, too much. Without
shoo’kel,
we would be overwhelmed with echoes
and sounds…sometimes we are anyway. As with you, kah-Angie, I pulse
you have no
shoo’kel
when
your Chase is nearby.”

Angie had to smile at that. “You mean does my
heart go all fluttery when he’s near…I guess. We’re in love. We’ve
dated for several years…I’ll have to explain that if I can. We talk
about getting married—“

Pakma had a grin on her bemused face,
it practically split her whole face. “Even now, you talk of Chase
and I pulse many happy bubbles…no
shoo’kel
with this. This is a happy echo of
Chase.”

Angie said, “I guess you could say that. We
make happy bubbles. I like that. What about you? You and Kloosee?
You’ve known each other a long time?”

“Many mah.” Pakma munched thoughtfully. “We
are not in the same em’kels, however.”

“What about your families…are there families
here?…you know, Mom, Dad and the kids.”

Pakma explained. “When a child is born, it
stays with the mother until four or five mah. The father does not
stay with the child. After that, the child enters the Kelk’too. The
em’kels are our real families.”

Angie gave that some thought. “It’s
almost like there
are
no
families…like the whole community is the family.”

“I pulse that this is true.”

They both chewed on several more gisu bulbs
in silence.

“Chase and I love each other,” Angie said. “I
suppose we’ll get married some day. We’ve talked about it. But I’m
in no hurry. I love Chase but sometimes—“ she picked at her gisu
for a moment. “—it’s just that he…I don’t know, I wish he was a
little more ambitious. He already graduated and now he works with
his Dad. A T-shirt shack on the beach. Can you believe that? He
doesn’t aspire to anything greater…except he wants to be an
explorer. Sometimes…I don’t know—Pakma, about guys, I mean. Are you
and Kloosee going to get married?”

Pakma didn’t understand and Angie had to
explain about marriage. After awhile, Pakma seemed to grasp the
concept.

“We have no such thing. The em’kel is our
family. But anyone can join. We join and leave all the time.
Kloosee’s em’kel is called Putektu. They have one goal: learn how
to live in the Notwater.” Pakma made a face of disgust. “I can’t
understand that. Nobody can…it’s senseless. A waste of time. And
Shooki commands us to avoid Notwater.”

“Shooki is God?”

Pakma indicated yes. “Shooki is God, life,
all there is, father of all the kels. All Seomish live in the
middle waters.” Pakma was reciting something she had long ago
memorized. “Bounded by Ke’shoo and Ke’lee. Love and life. The two
eyes of Shooki. Longsee lok and other elders and wiser kelke say
our future cannot be in the Notwater. Shooki forbids it. In fact,
the opposite is true: we learn more by concentrating on
understanding our past, exploring the cave cities of the ancients,
listening to their echopods, sniffing their scentbulbs, than we
could ever know roaming around in the Notwater.”

“But don’t the Umans live in the Notwater?
And so do Chase and I. The Farpool takes you into the
Notwater.”

“Yes,” Pakma admitted that was true. “That is
our dilemma. We can’t live in the Notwater. Notwater is Death. We
can’t survive there. But we have no future unless we learn how to
survive there…or defeat the Umans.”