Twenty Trillion Leagues Under the Sea (31 page)

He withdrew his head and wiped away some of the water.

Always have a plan, Seleznyov had told him, once, long ago. ‘It is better to have a bad plan than no plan at all. Always be thinking – how can I turn this situation to my advantage? What can I do to improve my odds?’

‘A plan,’ Lebret breathed. His thinking was hampered by not knowing how long it would be before the
Plongeur
arrived. But he could at least plan out possible scenarios.

If the submarine arrived before Dakkar returned … well, then, Lebret would have an advantage. Since young Capot had seen him, in the air-lock, after Billiard-Fanon had shot him, they must
know that he was still alive. They would not be
too
surprised to see him there. The trick, then, would be talking down Billiard-Fanon’s hostility – assuming the ensign was still in charge. But he could tell them anything he saw fit: tell them, for instance, that Dakkar was a monster. Get them on side. And when Dakkar returned, perhaps together they could kill him … repair the
Plongeur
, steal such of his technology as they could, and return to the surface …

It was far-fetched. He knew that. But Lebret consoled himself with the thought that just surviving this far had involved him superbly beating the odds. Fate must be preserving him for
something
– more than simply dying pointlessly in this distant pod.

So, to consider other possible futures. What if Dakkar returned before the
Plongeur
arrived? This, Lebret thought, was probable; he must have instrumentation that would inform him of the craft’s approach. Well, then, Lebret might use the metal tanks as a crude club, or might deploy his newly sharpened diver’s knife as a stabbing implement, and so end the creature’s life. Would it be possible? His physical form was, evidently, much altered from what it had been before. But his skull, though hugely enlarged, must surely still be susceptible to blunt-force trauma. He must still have a beating heart that a knife could pierce.

What then? At least Dakkar would not then be able to denounce Lebret to the remaining crew of the
Plongeur
. He would have to think of some other explanation for events.

Better, perhaps, would be to
beat
Dakkar, to give him earnest of his intent, and force him somehow to help him – or help them all? But to enter into a fight with that monster … Lebret’s heart quailed at the prospect. And even if he could force the creature to do his bidding, what would that bidding
be
?

To return home, of course. But to return home with more than just testimony that this strange ocean-universe existed. To bring back some technological marvel, something to prove to his masters in Moscow that he had been
right
…

His thoughts turned to the Great Jewel, the Many-Faceted One, of which Dakkar had spoken. Lebret, floating in that strange place, pondered what such a being might be. An aboriginal intelligence?
It did not seem unlikely to him that a water universe might give rise to crystalline intelligences. A great sapphire, its facets glinting in the dim light, and possessing within it enormous complexity. Was the Jewel to whom Dakkar clearly owed allegiance one such alien being? Were there many crystalline creatures? If there were one, presumably there were others.

Lebret thought – perhaps it would be best to speak directly to the Jewel creature? If menacing Dakkar compelled him to bring Lebret into the Jewel’s presence, or to bring the crystalline being to
him
…

Exhausted, Lebret dozed.

He slept fitfully for a while, since the pain in his jaw had not entirely been removed. Then he sank deeper into slumber.

He dreamed.

He saw a giant emerald floating before him, a polyhedral structure of perfect proportion, symmetry and beauty, its glass-pure facets shining with an inner light. A perfect sea green crystal. ‘Jewel,’ he gasped. ‘Perfection beyond human possibility!’

I am here
, said the Jewel, speaking directly to Lebret’s mind.

‘You are a god!’ Lebret wept, humbled and awed. Tears squeezed from his shut eyes to drift away as dots and blobs.

Belief in God is an intellectual opium, unworthy of you
, said the Jewel.
I am the crystalline embodiment of dialectical materialism
.

‘You,’ Lebret gasped. ‘You are a Communist?’

I am an advanced form of alien life
, the Jewel communicated to him telepathically.
Naturally my kind are Communist, for it is the most advanced form of social organisation
.

‘There are many of you?’

There were a million varieties of pure green glinting in the facets of the giant Jewel.
Naturally
.

‘Yet Dakkar was hostile to Communism … he dismissed all mundane political philosophies …’

Dakkar is still in thrall to the prejudices of his kind. He is not enlightened, as I am enlightened
.

‘He called me,’ Lebret said, crying again, ‘murderer and traitor and …’

He did not understand
, the Jewel said,
that you acted according to the dictates of Necessity. Every true Communist understands Necessity. It is the logic of the universe
.

‘Yes!’ gasped Lebret, tears pouring from his eyes. ‘Yes!’

When your metallic vessel arrives, I will compel the occupants to accept the rightness of your actions
, said the Jewel.
We must repair your craft and use it to return to your world. And I shall come with you. You shall be greeted with adulation! You will be acclaimed a hero of the Soviet Union! With me at your side, and drawing on my superior technological and intellectual capacities we will establish global Communism on your world
! As if in ecstasy, the giant gemstone began to rotate about its vertical axis, slowly at first but then more rapidly.
I shall be the first of my kind to enter your world, but many more will follow
.

‘I will be vindicated,’ gasped Lebret. ‘Everybody will see – I did what
had
to be done! All my sufferings … all my sufferings … will be
redeemed
in my triumph …’

The gigantic emerald was spinning so rapidly now that its facets had blurred into a symmetrical ovaloid. Light was pouring from it. There was a noise, too; a low level hum. But as soon as Lebret became aware of it suddenly increased in volume, and became a violent din. It was painfully loud. He clutched his ears. The certainty dashed in upon him that the Jewel was about to explode, killing Lebret and destroying the entire facility. He opened his mouth to cry, ‘No!’

He was awake again, struggling weakly in mid-air and gasping. The chamber was empty.

There was a trembling in the walls. It began as a delicate tremor, and quickly grew into to an earthquake – an oceanquake, Lebret assumed. The strange thing was that he remained motionless, floating in zero-g in the middle of the room, whilst all around him the walls and shelves and Dakkar’s strange equipment buzzed and vibrated.

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

26

SHAVING THE BEARD

Sensation was beginning to return to Lebret’s jaw; the distant intimation of pain. Still a little muzzy from sleep, and trying to separate out dream from reality, Lebret pulled himself across to the water. He put his own face forward to take a drink, and then pulled back, startled.

Dakkar’s face was inside the bubble of water. His beard wriggled in its revolting fashion, the eyes glowered. But he did not break through into the air.

Lebret pulled himself back, pulling out his knife. The empty air cylinders were a few metres away. He was about to lunge for them, when Dakkar’s gigantic head broke through in a spray of floating water-beads, and spoke.

‘Shave me!’ he boomed.

Lebret was taken aback. ‘What?’

There was something violent, something hostile in Dakkar’s eyes. But—no! Lebret looked again and saw a different emotion there: desperation. The monstrous figure was wrestling with himself.

‘Shave me!’ he cried, and this time there was no mistaking the tone of pleading. ‘Quick – I know you have a knife … I know all your metal …’

‘Shave you?’ Lebret repeated.

‘Be quick! The scallop is isolated from
him
, but it won’t last long!’

Lebret hesitated. It was not that he expected a trap. Rather
the sheer oddity of the request wrong-footed him. But Dakkar appeared to be in genuine distress.

‘These tentacles,’ he gasped. ‘The Jewel did this to me! The beard … controls me. Please!’

Still Lebret hung back. ‘You called me a traitor and a murderer,’ he reminded him.

‘He
did that – the Jewel. I don’t care what you are! Ah, ah, ah!’ The whole giant face was convulsed with agony. ‘I haven’t seen another human being in decades! Please, I can’t control my muscles to do it myself. But you – you can
shave me
…’

Lebret reached a decision. He swam through the air, and brought the knife blade down upon the hideous, wriggling mass of faux-beard.

‘It’s not a beard,’ Dakkar was saying. ‘The Jewel –
he
did it to me when he changed me – it’s alive, sentient, and through it he controls me … aagh!’ This last, a deafening scream, gave Lebret a terrible start and made him drop the knife.

‘Don’t stop!’ Dakkar pleaded.

Lebret pushed away, and retrieved the knife. ‘I hadn’t even started – why did you scream?’

‘The beard,’ Dakkar replied, in a tight voice; ‘it knows what you are about to do – it senses my disobedience. It is hurting me. Cut it off!’

‘Won’t that hurt you more?’

‘Yes – but it must be done!’

The bizarre nature of the situation impressed itself upon Lebret’s consciousness. But he had to accede. He pushed off with his feet against the wall and hooked his left arm around Dakkar’s waist. The old man’s frame felt puny, his skinny ribs pressed into Lebret’s arm, thin and frail as breadsticks. He brought out the knife, laid the blade against Dakkar’s oversize cheek, and sliced downward.

Dakkar howled and writhed, but in amongst the yelps of pain he was still trying to form words – ‘Go on, do it, keep on!’ Half a dozen tendrils floated free, the little mouths at the end opening and closing rapidly. ‘Like spaghetti,’ muttered Lebret, ‘that has been possessed by the devil!’

‘On!’ urged Dakkar, through gritted teeth.

Lebret laid the blade again the fellow’s cheek a second time, like a barber. But this time the beard reacted. As one, the tendrils bunched and curled at him. They enclosed his hand. ‘Ugh!’ he cried. He was able to yank himself free without difficulty – the tentacles evidently had very little strength in them. But as he brought the hand out, a dozen little mouths fastened on his skin and stung him.

‘What did they do?’ he cried. ‘Your beard – bit me!’

‘It is part of the Jewel’s control methodology,’ gasped Dakkar, his voice hoarse. ‘The tendrils are directly plugged into my nerves and can administer terrible pain – as they are doing now! But they also manufacture within themselves a chemical agent, a neuro-… well, a neurotoxin, strictly speaking, which they periodically inject into me. It dilutes my capacity for free will and resistance.’

‘What effect will it have on me?’ Lebret demanded.

‘Nothing! I told you, I have screened the scallop from …
him
. Temporarily, at any rate. And without the implants, and the other body modifications he has performed upon me, the neurotoxin will be no worse than a nettle sting. But, please, you must hurry! Time is short and – the pain – is – very severe …’

Dakkar shut his eyes tight. Lebret swam through the air to where his tattered diving suit lay and put his arm back in the sleeve, taking care to fold the end over his hand. Thus protected, he went back in for a third attempt at shaving the gigantic, sentient beard.

He got further this time. Whatever organic matter constituted the tendrils’ stems was pliable and easily severed. Dakkar yelled and cried pitiably as his left cheek was cleared, and kicked his four legs like a bucking colt – although, floating in zero-gravity, these conniption jerks and motions served only to jiggle and rotate his body. Lebret held tight and began upon the gigantic chin. At some point during this procedure Dakkar passed out – from the pain, Lebret presumed. It became easier to shave him.