The Farpool (73 page)

Chase gave that some thought, aware that
Loptoheen, right behind him, was listening carefully to everything.
“Maybe we should let somebody know at this end. You know, like the
UN or the Coast Guard, or something. If thousands of Omtorish and
Ponkti and Eepkostic and so on start showing up in our oceans,
somebody’s going to be disturbed. Questions will be asked. There
could be efforts to stop you…a lot of people will think all these
new creatures are a menace, upsetting the balance.”

Loptoheen said, “We can handle that. Metah
Lektereenah has already assembled a force of prodsmen to come
through as the first Ponkti contingent. We can defend
ourselves.”

“But that’s my point,” Chase said. “Conflict
doesn’t have to be inevitable. The two sides, my people and yours,
could talk. Negotiate. Set aside certain seas, certain zones, for
you to live in. There’s enough room. But I’m concerned that no one
knows what’s about to happen. My people, humans, don’t react too
well to surprises like that.”

Kloosee agreed that talk would be
helpful. “But we don’t have a lot of time,
eekoti
Chase. Our sun dies more each day. You
have said this. The other Umans have said this. Already are seas
are changing. The great
ak’loosh
comes and Shooki tells us to be ready. The Farpool is our
only hope.”

It was the way he said it more than what he
said that made Chase sad and uneasy about what the future would
bring. Humans and Seomish knew nothing of each other…at least not
the humans Chase knew. He couldn’t help but remember how Kloosee
and Pakma had been treated at Scotland Beach when they’d first
stumbled in their lifesuits up out of the water and scared the
bejeezus out of all the beachgoers. Multiply that encounter a few
million times. Great migrations had caused problems and conflict on
Earth for centuries. Now the greatest migration the world had ever
seen was set to begin…a wholesale re-population of Earth’s oceans
by a race of intelligent, marine beings from beyond Earth.

Chase, feeling Loptoheen’s armfins poking him
in the back constantly, was sure the two sides weren’t ready for
each other.

And somehow, he had become mixed up right in
the middle of all of it.

Kloosee turned the kip’t slightly to
the right as he tried to follow the still faint traces of
Angie’s
otlum
scent. “It’s
slightly stronger in this direction. I’m amazed we can detect it at
all…Pakma’s sniffer is very sensitive.”

They crossed through to the other side of the
great current and soon found themselves in warm tropical seas, with
sandy seabeds and waters thick with schools of fish. Chase had the
growing impression they had finally made their way into the Gulf
itself. The waters, even to his eyes, looked more familiar. Their
pulses were cluttered with the sounds of marine craft at the
surface, along with vast mats of red fibers and patches of seaweed
everywhere.

Dirtier than I
remember
, Chase thought.
But
I’d bet my right eye this is the Gulf. It just feels
right.

A quarter
mah
later, Kloosee brought the kip’t to a stop,
hovering over some rusting hulks on the seabed below them. Chase
had a dawning suspicion that one of them was the old Chevy he and
his Dad had often dived to.

“I’ve circled this area several
times,
eekoti
Chase. The
scent of Angie’s
otlum
seems
to be concentrated here, strongest here. Beyond, the traces fade
out. Perhaps we’ve reached the limits of what the sniffer can
detect.”

“Can we get out? Those wrecks down there look
vaguely familiar to me.”

Kloosee pulsed them himself. The echoes
brought back a memory of their first trip through the Farpool with
Chase and Angie, now so long ago. “And to me.”

They exited the sled and cruised around the
area. Finally, Kloosee drew Chase aside, waiting until Loptoheen
had receded into the distance, taking his own measurements with a
suite of Ponkti instruments.

“Eekoti
Chase,
there’s something I must know. Tell me as a friend, we pulse each
other deeply now—“

“Yeah, sure, Kloos, what is it?” Chase poked
around the rusting cars and old refrigerators and wreckage he
wasn’t sure what it was.

“If you find
eekoti
Angie, what will you do? Will you stay
here? Or will you come back with me, back to our world?”

That made Chase sit up straight. The question
hit him with a force he didn’t expect. “I guess you’re asking me if
I’m still human or now Seomish or what, exactly.”

Kloosee circled his friend, pulsing, looking
for echoes he could read. He knew Chase well, knew his insides
well, you couldn’t hide much from the Seomish. In spite of himself,
Chase wound up holding his arms over his midsection, as if that
would stop the pulsing.

“You must decide now,” was all Kloosee said
back.

Chase tried a shrug. It never worked when you
looked like a frog on steroids. He didn’t know if Kloosee would
even understand the gesture of a shrug. “Jeez, I hadn’t really
thought about that. I’d like to see her, see how she’s doing. But
would I stay?”

“The Metah is counting on you,
eekoti
Chase. All Omt’or is counting
on you. You helped rebuild the Uman machine. You gave us back the
Farpool. You gave us a future…all Omt’or looks at you,
eekoti
Chase, and they see a great
one.”

“Kloos, I’m no hero. I can’t even
hold
shoo’kel
like you…I
can’t pulse very well. I’m not Seomish…hell, I’m not even human
anymore. It’s--I don’t know what I am anymore. But I know one
thing…I just want to see Angie. Can we go up…can we go up to the
surface? Look around. The water’s shallow here…we may be near the
coast.”

Kloosee agreed and they ascended. The
Notwater was a few beats above them, brilliantly flooded in light,
very warm, teeming with life.

Both of them breached, but Kloosee stayed
just below, hovering in gentle surf, while Chase bobbed like a
beach ball and looked around.

As he suspected, the shore was in view,
although distant. He figured about two kilometers, at most. The
waters were dizzy with jet skis and skiers and windsurfers and
scores of people. The sky was blue, cloudless and the sun was high,
hot and bright.

If it wasn’t Scotland Beach, it had to be
nearby. There was a lighthouse down near the horizon, probably
Apalachee Point, if he was right. Chase watched the traffic
speeding around him for a few minutes, a smile growing inside of
him. It felt good to be home. Maybe that was the answer to
Kloosee’s question.

Chase was unaware of what was happening
below him until he felt something brush against his legs.
Instantly, he thought
shark!
and ducked below, but it wasn’t a shark.

It was Kloosee. And Loptoheen. They were
joined in a fierce battle, butting heads, spearing beaks, thrashing
and wheeling furiously.

Loptoheen! Chase had never trusted the
Ponkti
tuk
master. He dove
into the melee, to help his friend.

He never saw the Ponkti swing a prod around,
discharging its full charge right into his side.

Stunned into semi-consciousness, Chase rolled
upside down and drifted to the surface. And below him, the struggle
continued, as Kloosee and Loptoheen circled each other warily,
thrusting and slapping, each trying to gain the advantage.

Chase fought to stay conscious. His whole
body had gone numb.

It was a birthday party and Namma was just a
day shy of ninety-four years old. That might as well have been a
bazillion years old to Angela Gilliam Watson’s grandchildren, Jake
and Riley. They hugged her and laughed and poked at her, as she
rocked back and forth in her wicker rocking chair on the deck. The
cake had only one big candle and she’d already blown it out, after
making a wish. Now, she was doing what she loved most, frolicking
and cutting up with the grandkids. Pretty soon, they’d go inside
and have the fried chicken and potato salad that Joe and Jean Gable
had cooked up and brought over for the big day.

After that, Joe’s homemade peach ice cream,
hand-churned right out there on the deck, with all the kids helping
out, laughing and getting salt and cream all over their faces.

It was a swell day, according to Angela and
after dinner and a short movie, her son Sam and his wife Dana
decided it was time for the kids to go home.

“Can’t stay that late…school’s coming up in a
few days,” said Dana, as she piled the boys into the car. “And
there’s Net Tutor…they’re both working on advanced math and
logic.”

“And Code for Kids!” Jake and Riley both
yelled from inside the car.

Sam grinned. “I’ve got ‘em excited about
making algorithms and writing code. Even got ‘em a little playbot
they can tinker with.”

Angela gave everybody a kiss. “I’ll just hang
out with Joe and Jean for awhile. Thanks for everything…it’s always
a special day when Jake and Riley come over.” And she meant
that.

The car sped off. The Watson kids lived in a
nice ranch-style on the other side of Highway 19, Fanning
Springs.

“How ‘bout a drink and some more of that ice
cream?” suggested Joe Gable. “Out on the deck…won’t be long before
sunset, you know.”

Jean said, “I’ll start cleaning up. You two
go on…I’ll be along.” Jean Gable was a thin brunette—not a gray
hair on her head anywhere to be seen—and Angela liked it when Jean
came over and they could do a little girl talk, just the two of
them,

Joe poured a little Zinfandel and fixed up
two bowls of ice cream. They both settled into rocking chairs on
the outside deck. The deck overlooked Sunset Beach, just a short
Frisbee toss from the lighthouse and the Coast Guard station at
Apalachee Point.

Neither said anything for a few minutes, just
enjoying the freshening breeze—it had been mid-90s during the
day—and chuckling at few last-minute body surfers trying to coax
another ride out of what passed for surf along this part of
Florida.

Presently, Angela finished her ice cream, set
the bowl down and sipped at her wine. Then she sat up abruptly.

Joe was startled out of a light doze.
“What—what is it? See something?”

Angela pointed out to sea. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That
. Those
waves out there past the little boat with the flag…see where I’m
pointing?” Now she stood up, helping herself with the rocking chair
arms. “Something thrashing around in the water out there. Shark
maybe?”

“Not around here. Porpoise, most likely.
Boats draw ‘em. They think they’re getting something to eat.”

For a few long moments, Angela watched the
water churn and foam. She thought she saw something gray breaching
the surface, something with a hint of fin, some tail flukes. It
could be a shark. It could be several porpoises cavorting with the
boat. But she didn’t think so.

A long lost memory of something that happened
nearly eighty years ago came to mind and it brought a smile to
Angela’s face. Joe saw it and asked.

“What are you smiling about? You look like
the cat that ate the canary.”

Now Angela had started to gather up her
purse. “Joe, take me out there. You got your boat all gassed
up?”

Now it was Joe’s turn to look puzzled.
“Out there?
Now
? It’s almost
bedtime. Sun’ll be down in half an hour. Why’d you want to go out
there now?”

Angela leaned over and patted him on his
cheek. It was a weathered, pocked and scarred cheek and Joe told a
different story about it every time you asked. “Humor me, old man.
Call it a birthday present. Let’s get your boat and go see what
that is.”

Joe Gable knew better than to argue with
Angela Gilliam Watson. He told Jean about the sudden trip and the
two of them ambled along a pebbled path to the next building, where
the Gables lived in Unit B-17. Down the wooden plank walkway to the
pier that The Landings maintained for its residents and out almost
to the very end.

The twin-screw cruiser bumped and scraped
along the wharf pilings as if she knew they were coming. Joe helped
Angela aboard, got her seated up by the pilot house, checked a few
things, then started her up. Her twin diesels rumbled into life.
Two teenagers, cleaning up after a day’s sailing along the coast,
were willing to help them with their moorings, catching the ropes
and securing them to the deck cleats as Joe backed them out of the
slip.

He steered them out of the marina,
scrupulously observing the posted speed limit of five knots and
the
No Wake
signs and headed
them out into deeper waters. The sky was light, but the sun had
dropped below the horizon and twilight was darkening the sea
surface, which was gentle until they reached the “Bend”, where the
coast line turned due south. The chop picked up smartly there and
long rolling swells slapped them as Joe opened up the throttles a
little.

They reached the thrashing foaming area in
about ten minutes. The other boat had disappeared.

Now Angela craned forward, straining to
see what was causing all the foaming and turbulence. Joe cut the
throttles and let the
Simple
Sturgeon
drift a bit, while Angela went down to the
side and peered over the edge, clinging to the railing.

A small group of creatures were cavorting at
and just below the surface. It almost looked like a fight. She
heard honks and squeaks and clicks. They butted and slapped at each
other and she thought she saw a flash of light, like an electric
discharge. It could have been lightning, reflecting off the water;
in August, Scotland Beach was darn near the lightning capital of
the world. They didn’t look like porpoises. Or sharks either. She
wasn’t sure but—