Maelstrom Read online

  “Perhaps not in time. No, it’s too risky. Your parents would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

  “And these people will never forgive you or us if we don’t try,” Murel said, hard-headed as a curly coat who wanted to graze when his rider wanted to keep going. Even if it was dark and dangerous underground and underwater, she knew they had to try to look for other survivors and dig them out.

  Otters do that, Sky said suddenly, entering the minds of both twins as easily as he did when they were in seal form.

  What? Murel asked.

  What you are thinking. Burrowing into dark dens and tunnels, coming into water. Otters do that all the time. Sky otters do it too.

  Sorry, Ronan said. We don’t have any otter-shaped space suits and helmets.

  Sky stood on his hind paws and looked first one way and then another at a discarded helmet lying beside Johnny Green. Sky Otters are not large. Sky otters can curl up very tight, fit in helmet. Don’t need suits. And Honus say air belowground is good. No helmet.

  What do you think? Murel asked her brother.

  I think otters burrow into dens all the time, even sky otters. Might be a bigger burrow than Sky’s used to and I don’t think he should go alone, but it’s worth a try.

  “Marmie,” Murel said. “Sky says going down into the kind of burrows we’re talking about is something otters do all the time. He’s willing to let us carry him down there curled up in an activated helmet and let him loose when we get to the fresher air below. Besides, you know, we have night vision in seal form and great hearing too. We haven’t needed it much so far, but our dad says we have sonar, so the dark wouldn’t bother us either.”

  “So you think I won’t let you go by yourselves, but with a two-foot-long otter to chaperone you I trust you to stay out of trouble?” Marmie asked, then made a moue. A glimmer of humor entered her previously steely glance. “Mmmm, perhaps. But I think maybe we all will go back down and watch aboveground in case you find more than even otters can handle, yes?”

  “We can help,” Ke-ola told the twins excitedly. “The Honus can hear you and tell us where you are. We can station ourselves above you and keep you from becoming lost.”

  “With so many hands, flippers, paws, and shells aligned against me, I have no choice but to surrender,” Marmie said.

  “Count your lucky stars,” Johnny said to the twins when Marmie had turned back to tell the survivors of the plan. “She is not usually so democratic. She must have deep respect for otters.”

  THEY SHUTTLED PEOPLE and diggers to the flattened settlements several miles away from the one formerly occupied by Ke-ola’s people. The surface was deeply pocked with giant meteor craters, and blackened and scorched by fire.

  The three digger flitters now had added sensor attachments to their array that could detect subterranean water. They resembled the buglike aliens of the old vids the twins had watched on shipboard as they aligned themselves in a more or less east-west line and lowered the shovels.

  As many of Ke-ola’s people as could fit into the available flitters came too. Through the Honus on shipboard and the smaller Honu accompanying Ke-ola and the twins, the other Halauans hoped to help keep track of the twins’ progress and know where they were when they were belowground.

  Inside the transparent helmet Ronan held like a fishbowl, Sky twisted his sinuous self so he could peer out the glass, his whiskery face looking strangely distorted and misshapen, his eyes huge and darting around as he tried to make out his surroundings.

  “Didn’t these people have an entrance to the lower regions, like yourselves? How about lava tubes?” Murel asked Ke-ola.

  “I don’t think there were tubes near enough to their settlement to give them cover. But they had canals, and an escape route, according to our people who had relatives here. But the meteors changed the landscape so much, it’s hard to find the old entrance point. Digging down until we strike a channel seems like our best bet.”

  When one of the shovels came back to the surface dripping water, Ronan and Murel carried Sky over to the hole and slipped down into it. Literally. The soil was first too warm for comfort, then very muddy, and the twins slipped, lost their footing, and slid down into the water, still clad in their space suits. Ronan hit a rock. Sky’s helmet tumbled away from him, landing in the stream of rapidly flowing water, no doubt from an artesian well of some sort.

  Before he could find it, he heard a splash.

  Hah! Free! Sky’s thought reached him. He caught a sense of the otter swimming away, scouting ahead of them.

  When they found their footing, Ke-ola carefully handed the small Honu down to Ronan, then slid down himself.

  Murel patted the Honu’s shell. She couldn’t work up a lot of reverence for a sea turtle the way Ke-ola and his people and even Ronan seemed to, but she liked him. And he was very young as Honus went, and she sensed he was worried about them as well as about the other possible survivors they sought. Knowing the things Honus knew seemed to carry a lot of responsibility with it.

  Sky, water-slicked and excited, darted back again, shaking himself a bit. Good water. Deep water. Deep enough for river seals. No salt, but deep.

  The twins undressed in the dark, strapped on their suits, and submerged themselves. Ke-ola and the Honu followed.

  The first passage was deceptively easy. Its end was marked by a snarl of live roots that formed an almost impenetrable wall. Even Sky got stuck trying to pass through its openings.

  Hah! he said. No swimming here.

  Honu conveyed the problem to his fellow turtles. Go back, he said to the twins and Ke-ola. They backed off a little ways and soon heard the hum, thump, grind, crash of the digger above them. They scrambled out of the new hole. The digger’s operator and Johnny conferred, then the driver got back into the machine, drove forward a short distance, and lowered the shovel again.

  “It’s going to take forever if we have to keep doing this,” Ronan complained.

  “We could cut through the roots with a laser, I suppose,” Marmie replied, “but it seems a shame to destroy the roots of some of the few organisms living on the surface of this desolate place. Besides, the laser might cut through to the far side and injure people who took refuge there.”

  Caution won out over speed. The twins would swim until they inevitably hit another barrier and once more had to haul out. Again they suited up, and waited inside a flitter with Sky, Ke-ola, and the Honu until the digger opened a new entrance beyond another impediment. Usually the blockage was caused by roots. Once, the water disappeared, hissing, beneath a huge chunk of meteor. Then all of them had to turn around and splash back to the previous hole before they emerged.

  It took endless hours. Although their night vision was good, the tunnels were usually cramped and there was little to see.

  Murel could feel Ke-ola’s spirits sinking a little more during each dark trip, though the Honu thought only, Noooo, not here. Not yet.

  Often they had to wait quite a while for the digger to make its way over the cratered ground to reach the point above them.

  But each time they emerged, some of Ke-ola’s family were waiting at the hole’s opening, peering expectantly down at them.

  Marmie was among them when they climbed out of what seemed like the hundredth hole, muddy and discouraged. “I think that much as we hate to believe he could have been correct, Cally had the right of it,” she said. “There don’t seem to be any other survivors.”

  “The Honus feel that there are, Madame,” Ke-ola said, although it sounded as if he had begun to believe that the Honus might actually be wrong for once.

  “Very well,” she said. “But one more dive only before we return to the ship. Everyone is tired and hungry and the operators tell me the diggers need refueling and cleaning to maintain their efficiency.”

  This time, however, the diggers were not needed. Instead of narrowing to a root-choked wall, the stream broadened and deepened.

  Hmmm, I think this must be where the s
onar comes in, Murel said.

  I wish we’d asked more about it when we were home with Dad, Ronan said. If we were full-time seals living in the ocean, we’d have been using it already.

  If we were full-time seals living in the ocean, we wouldn’t be here, she pointed out.

  True. I think maybe this is how it goes. There are supposed to be songs, I think. Individual songs.

  He made a noise that was somewhere between a snore and a belch and a little like a growl. Like that, he told her, and did it again, modifying and modulating the tones.

  Oh, those noises! she said. Like the ones we used to make under the river ice. I never paid much attention to them before. I thought they were just what our vocal cords do when we’re in seal form. Confined during their earlier childhood on Petaybee to nearby rivers and streams where they went only for short swims, they were so familiar with the territory, they had been under the impression that their memories let them know where they were and approximately what things looked and felt like. Even during their brief time in the ocean, they’d relied mostly on vision to find their way.

  But now that they wanted to learn to use their sonar properly, they found they’d been using it all along, far more than they’d previously thought. In this alien underground territory where they had no idea what was coming next, the seal sounds they made bounced back to them from shapes of various densities, rather like echoes. Once they were aware of it, they didn’t need much practice interpreting the echoes. Their seal senses recognized the signals so they “heard” how deep and wide the water was, how far they were from the bottom and the walls of the passage. The solid surfaces of the canal were many body lengths away from them.

  That’s all? Ronan asked. A big flooded cavern. I’m disappointed. I understood we would be able to tell where the fish were and even plants and things. All I’m getting is these walls.

  I don’t think there are any fish down here, or anything else except more roots, Murel answered tiredly. She would have enjoyed a nice juicy fish right then.

  And then, suddenly, there was something else. Something unfamiliar. If it was a fish, it was a very large fish.

  Murel sent a mental call to Sky. Come back, she said. Stay close. We are not alone.

  CHAPTER 8

  SKY DIDN’T NEED to be told twice. In fact, he didn’t need to be told once because before Murel’s thought was finished, he was back beside her, keeping himself safely shielded between her and Ronan.

  Back, back, river seals, the otter told them. Something is there. Something large and hungry.

  As if they needed proof, they felt a disturbance in the water, ripples piling against them as something swished back and forth in the water beyond, back and forth, back and forth, relentless, sinister, blocking their way forward. In the dark cool silence the water broke as the something sliced through it with great and churning force, leaving a broad turbulent wake behind it.

  It’s really big, Ronan said finally. Much bigger than us. Bigger than Ke-ola even.

  Yes, I feel that too.

  Hundreds big, Sky agreed. Eats otters, river seals, Ke-olas, and Honus.

  Not if we don’t give it a chance, Ronan said, and flipped over in the water so he was headed back the way they came. What are you lot waiting for? Start swimming.

  Murel and Sky flipped in the water too but they met Ke-ola head-on. “Honu!” he called aloud. “Where are you?”

  The twins heard no answer from the sea turtle but could feel the creature swimming forward. Each time he paddled, he hesitated ever so slightly, as if listening or waiting.

  And then, swift as a diving hawk, the thing that had been swimming before them suddenly turned, shot forward, and was among them.

  “Hey!” Ke-ola shouted.

  Murel thought he was the one under attack. But then her sonar told her Ke-ola was swimming close beside her, crying, “Honu!”

  She heard the click-crunch of teeth on shell. The creature had the Honu! Scooping it into its maw, the attacker grabbed the turtle, then abruptly turned and swam away again.

  Let go of the Honu, she demanded, hoping that the telepathy she and Ronan shared with other creatures worked as well on Halau as it did on Petaybee. He’s not for eating! Since the Honu’s attacker didn’t seem like the sort to take orders from seals, she added, Also, he has large relatives who could crush you by crawling on top of you.

  She streaked through the water toward it. When a sinewy tail as large as she was slashed close to her face, she leaped on top of it, clamped her teeth into it and hung on.

  Let go of my tail! it cried. I have relatives too and they’re circling us now.

  Ronan’s sonar confirmed the creature’s threat. He leaped onto the tail too and sank his teeth into it.

  Got it! he thought. Let go of the Honu, monster, and tell your relatives to leave us alone.

  Unless of course you’ve already hurt the Honu. Murel’s thought was threatening. In which case, you can say good-bye to this tail. I’m pretty hungry!

  Wait! the thing’s thought cried out. Mano halau, get back or I will be eaten by these monsters.

  The twins found it difficult to use their sonar while their mouths were full of thrashing tail, but the water churned wildly and they had the distinct feeling that something dangerous was giving them a bit more space.

  Good, monster, Murel said. Now let the Honu go. And he’d better be alive and unhurt.

  He’s free! I let him go. I wasn’t hurting him. I was only giving him a ride. Aumakuas do not eat aumakuas. So untooth my tail and leave me alone.

  Sky piped up, The turtle is swimming now, river seals. He is swimming in circles. He does not know where to go. But he is swimming.

  Honu?

  I live. The thought was feeble. The Mano’s teeth did not penetrate my shell.

  That’s good, but your shell broke one of my teeth, little brother, his attacker complained.

  You fellows know each other, then? Ronan asked, thoroughly puzzled.

  Ke-ola, who’d been swamped by the thrashing and churning water, recovered enough to swim to the Honu and scoop him into protective arms. His voice was shaking as he said aloud, “Ronan and Murel, you have been biting the tail of the great Mano, the shark. The smell of blood excites his kind, and his relatives surround us.”

  The Honu’s thought-voice was a little stronger. The other Honus say this shell biter is Mano’aumakua, sacred to his clan as we Honus are to ours.

  So you’re related? Ronan asked.

  The monster swirled in the water so that even in the darkness they saw his teeth. Do I look as if I am codding related to a turtle, morsel?

  Ke-ola, perhaps prompted by communication with the Honu the twins did not hear, spoke again, “The sacred Honus have intervened to save us. These Manos will eat anything except their own people or another aumakua. Our Honu protects us.”

  Funny, Ronan told his sister, I could have sworn it was the other way around.

  Let’s not mention that we are only honorary Honu clan, Murel suggested.

  The shark was trying to examine its own tail. Fortunately, the part they’d bitten was largely cartilage and was not bleeding heavily.

  There was no need to bite me, the shark complained. Had his thought-voice not been so rasping and whispery, he would have been whining. I wasn’t going to hurt him, I was carrying him to some of his two-legged relatives who are staying with our two-legged relatives.

  So what relatives of yours are swimming around us now? Murel asked. Two-legged or shark-finned?

  Shark-finned, of course, seal. You are so stupid I am tempted to eat you and improve your gene pool.

  They are not of our people and do not know our ways, the Honu said. The twins realized with astonishment that the turtle was apologizing for them. And they are young, but considered quite bright on their world.

  The shark’s thought was preceded by a shark’s version of a growl. It must be a very stupid world.

  It is an intelligent world, the Honu replied.
I have spoken with it myself. And meteors do not fall on it in great numbers. That is an advantage. Also, the waters, though cold, are open to the sky.

  You don’t say, the shark replied, chewing on the thought, though fortunately not on the Honu.

  Murel had not known many sharks—or any sharks—before. Petaybee did not even have sharks, as far as she knew. She was not entirely sure Petaybee needed sharks. The planet had invited Ke-ola’s people and Honus, not sharks. But it seemed that the shark had the same relationship with some of the people that the Honu had with Ke-ola, so probably it was a package deal.

  We came to help your people as well as Honu’s people, she said. If you and your kind can keep yourselves from eating anybody we can save everyone.

  Can’t you even let us have the otter? it asked. We haven’t been fed all day and we’re very hungry.

  No, Ronan said, and remembered what Ke-ola’s people seemed to think. He is our aumakua so you owe him professional courtesy too, right?

  Seals don’t have aumakuas, according to any lore I’ve been told, the shark replied scornfully. I thought you were Honu people but you’re not. Seals look like meals to me.

  They are not seals all the time, Mano, the Honu told him. They are two-legged children.

  Why don’t they have a seal aumakua then, instead of a puny little otter?

  Who knows how things work with those from other worlds? the Honu replied. Perhaps otters on their world are the ancestral spirits of seals.

  Ronan, just to keep the shark confused, said, No, otters are the ancestral spirits of people just as you are. The seal spirits are our father’s—

  What he means to say, Murel said, is that there aren’t many human seals like us. We are aumakuas in training ourselves. So, no eating us or the otter or Ke-ola or Honu. Are we agreed? If so, can we stop discussing cross-cultural theology now and save the people?

  Follow me, but if I feel you looking at my tail, I will tell the Mano halau to eat everyone but the Honu and his human. The shark gave a long shudder. Murel realized he was not refraining from eating them out of any kind of respect, but because he was afraid of them. He was not used to being attacked and he felt instinctively that anything smaller than he was, foolish enough to attack, must be either very dangerous or so deranged, and maybe diseased, as to be unpalatable. The shark was actually quite anxious to get away from them. It shot forward into the water.