Emerald Sea John Ringo
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CHAPTER NINETEEN"What . . . is that thing?" Chang asked. "I'd say a spirit of elemental chaos," Edmund replied with a frown. "But that would be superstitious. It, he, is an AI cyborg, not any sort of real rabbit at all. He was created a long time ago. And I'm being forced to leave him on your ship." "Thank you so very much, General," the skipper said with a bemused expression. "What happens if he goes berserk?" "Well . . ." Edmund said with a frown. "His programming is almost unbelievably chaotic. But one tendency is to never harm his own side in a truly irrevocable way. He plays tricks, sometimes quite painful ones. And generally is a bully until he gets his way. He'll also betray you, for cash, goods or services, on half a chance. But never in a way that will cause true, irrevocable, harm." "That's . . ." "Weird," Edmund sighed. "I do believe that the twenty-second century was the most . . . complex and baroque century in human history. That's one of the results." "Why would anyone create something like that?" the captain said. "It would almost immediately betray its creators, wouldn't it?" "Oh, yes," Edmund said. "And he was reported to have done so. Something about a large bomb. He was apparently based upon a comic from the twenty-first century." "A comic?" "You'll see. He's pretty funny if you're into black comedy. Anyway, he had three or four primary programming requirements. In sort of reverse order they're: Have a fun and comfortable life, beat up a designated 'nerd-boy,' track down the cast of a show called Baywatch and be affectionate with the women . . ." "Affectionate?" "His term," Edmund grinned. "Spend lots of time around large-breasted blondes and kill telemarketers. The last one is his primary programming." "What's a telemarketer?" the captain asked. "A form of human gadfly." Edmund sighed, thinking how much of human history had been lost to disinterest. "Like a spammer but they used telephones which were..." "Oh, I've heard of them," Shar said, suddenly. "Weren't they all wiped out in the . . . oh." "Right," Edmund replied. "And you're looking at their doom." "And you're leaving him on my ship?" "Have fun. Keeping him drunk sometimes works." * * * The dragons were heavily laden but between the wind and the catapult they were able to get into the air and the party started out to the east, following the course that Edmund and Joanna between them set. The seascape that they flew over was a patchwork of reefs, wide, white flats and small uninhabited islands. There were occasional patches of green in the water, which Herzer was informed were patches of sea grass. From time to time they saw a fishing boat but that was the only sign of humanity. There were fish aplenty in the waters, small schools turning in the sun and flashing up at them. When they had started off it had been nearly high tide and as they flew more and more of the flats became exposed. The sunlight on the white flats was nearly blinding and after a while Herzer quit trying to look at them, looking out in the distance instead. Within an hour or so he could see the waters ahead were turning the green of the shallows with blue beyond and he knew they were passing over the flats and approaching the deeps beyond. When they reached the edge of the flats, Joanna turned north tracing the edge of the land that was one small island after another. More flats were to their north, beyond the thin necklace of islands, but to the south the water quickly shaded from green to the dark blue of pelagic seas. Herzer had looked at the charts and the water over there was over a thousand feet deep. Admittedly, it was as easy to drown in five meters of water as a thousand, but there was a special feeling to seeing that immense body of horrendously deep water. Finally they saw, at the tip of one of the islands, a two story concrete building that was their landmark. It appeared to be an ancient, but until the Fall well maintained, lighthouse. There were no signs of current habitation around it; the bushes were well grown up and the walkways near it were covered in weeds. "Mer!" Koo called, pointing down and to the right. Sure enough, in the midst of a pod of dolphins the distinct silhouettes of mer-folk were visible. As the shadows of the dragons passed over the pod the mer came to the surface for a look, then dove into the water headed southeast. "Do we land and swim out?" Joanna yelled. "Land," Edmund replied. "Then we'll see about getting the dragons fed." They swept in for a landing by the old lighthouse and as they dismounted saw a line of heads popping up out of the water. "Herzer," was all Edmund said, starting to strip off his riding gear. The wind was still from the north, blowing up a fine grit of sand and quite cold. Herzer was shivering by the time he'd stripped down himself and he pulled the mask on, looking forward to what he assumed would be warm water. It wasn't. The water was bitterly cold when he entered it, striding up to his waist, then putting on his fins. Edmund was already in, heading out to the mer-folk, flapping and splashing like a walrus. Herzer quickly ducked under and started out himself, staying below the light chop. The bottom was mostly sand at the shore but bits of broken reef started to appear by the time they were halfway to the line of mer. The mer-men started towards them as they swam, hesitantly at first and then more quickly, a line armed with bone-tipped spears at the front while the rest, who were burdened with mostly empty mesh bags, followed behind. When they got to within a dozen yards or so, Edmund stopped and hung in the water, feet down, and raised a hand. "We're here from the United Free States; we're looking for Bruce Blackbeard." Herzer stared at the line of mer that approached. He had seen them before the Fall but never in a group and never in their natural environment. They were, he decided, no less graceful than dolphins, darting in patterns around each other. But they were far more colorful, their tail ends flashing blue, green, red and every other color of the rainbow. Their hair was all the colors of the rainbow as well and each of them had hair that more or less matched their tails. Besides all the other differences from humans, they had huge ribcages which, as he watched, opened and closed. Clearly they were gills. Their bodies were also far bulkier than those of most humans, but very smooth-skinned and not rippled with muscle. They appeared, as much as anything, fat. The line of spear bearers had stopped as well and now looked at them in surprise. "Bruce is at the town," one of them said. "I think he's expecting you." "I'm Edmund Talbot," Edmund said. "How far is it?" "Not far, just out on the edge of the deep," the mer replied. "I'm Jason Ranger." Herzer wondered what it was about his voice that was strange and then realized that it wasn't a voice at all, but the computer in the mask converting it. It had no particular timbre. The mouth of the mer-man didn't move, except for slight changes that might have been subvocalizations. "This is Lieutenant Herrick, my aide," Edmund replied. "We'd like to visit your town. My wife and daughter are with us as well." "And wyverns," Jason said. "Yes, there's a ship beating around to here. We expected to find you over by Bimi island. The wyverns are going to need to fish for food. Is there somewhere they can do that?" The mer paused at that and shook his head. "Wyverns fish?" "They're learning," Herzer replied. "They catch reef fish well enough. And sharks," he added. "These fishing grounds around here are ours," Jason said. "I'd prefer they not get fished out. And don't let Bruce find them hitting the reefs or you'll lose any goodwill you might have. But if they want to move up or down the coast a few klicks, that should be fine." "I can show them," one of the spear-bearing mer-men interjected. He had blond, nearly white, hair and a light tan tail. "This is Pete. When he's not out hunting, he's one of the best chefs in the mer-folk." "When I've got spices, I'm the best chef in the mer-folk," the cook said. "But if we can get me up on one of those wyvern, I can show you where they can fish. There's a drop-off to the east. Lots of grouper and big hogs, but too far to make it worth our while to fish there." "Herzer?" Edmund asked. "We'll have to more or less strap you on," Herzer pointed out. "You don't have legs to go in the mount." "Understood," Pete replied. "Will you need me in the town?" Herzer asked. "No, but go get Daneh and Rachel. Tell Warrant Officer Riadou that I'd like him back here no later than sundown and that if he can get the wyverns to catch some fish, and not just eat them, that would be an interesting, and useful, experiment." "Will do, sir. One question, what about Bast?" "What about her?" Edmund replied after a brief pause. "I don't have a mask for her, or a set of fins. Have Rachel bring out the net," Edmund added as Herzer, following Pete, started to swim back in. "You have nets?" Jason asked. "We just have one with us," Edmund replied. "All the room we had. But there's more on the ship." * * * Evan looked up as a rabbit landed on his workbench with a thump. "What'cha doin'?" the rabbit asked, raising one paw to vigorously scratch at his ear. Evan looked at the apparition blankly for a moment, then said, distinctly: "Working on a device." The rabbit hopped over and looked at the device, then shrugged. "So you're making a flamethrower. Big deal." "You know what it is?" Evan said, surprised. "Of course I know what it is," the rabbit snapped. "I've had them turned at me enough times. Used them a time or two for that matter." Evan noted at that moment that instead of normal rabbit feet, the rabbit had handlike forepaws with opposable thumbs. "Well, maybe you can tell me what's wrong," Evan said. "I can't get it to maintain a stream, no matter what I do. I've been working with water, obviously, but it sprays outward when I fire it. I don't want a wall of flame." The rabbit hopped from one end of the scattered parts to another, then shook his head. "You do good work." "Thank you." "And I know what your problem is," the rabbit added. "But to tell you, I have to extract a price." "Why?" the engineer said with a puzzled expression. "Bloody programming, that's why," the rabbit sighed. "I can't just tell people things that they need to know, even when I want to. And I'd like to have you make a flamethrower. I like flamethrowers." "Okay, as long as it's not going to get the ship in trouble," Evan replied. "Actually, I want two things, come to think of it," the rabbit said, scratching at his ear again. "Well, you're only telling me one," Evan pointed out. "Okay, you've got a point," the rabbit admitted. "What do you want for the two things?" "Well, what do you want for the information on how to build a flamethrower?" "A smaller one," the rabbit replied. "Small enough for me to use. And you'll be surprised how much weight I can carry." Evan thought about that for a moment, then frowned. "It's not to be used against this ship, or any other ship of the free states. Nor any member of the free states. Nor any ally." "Jeeze, you drive a hard bargain," the bunny said with a sigh. "I guess that means I can't use it on that damned elf." "Correct." "Okay, you'll make it, though?" "Yes." "In that case," the rabbit said, holding up a length of pipe. "You need three venturi holes, here, here and here," he said, pointing. "About two millimeters across." "That's it?" "That's it. But you still owe me the downsized flamethrower." "Not a problem." "What about the other thing I want?" Evan contemplated him for a moment then shrugged. "What is it?" "A still." "A still?" "Do you know that I have not been able to find one drop of booze on this tub," the rabbit said, angrily, his beady red eyes positively glowing. "I get all ticky when I don't have booze." "Stills give off a quite distinctive smell," Evan said. "But it's possible. For your use, not to sell to the crew, right?" "Man, you are forever putting conditions on things," the rabbit snarled. "Okay!" "What do I get?" Evan asked. "What? I let you live while giving me conditions, didn't I?" the rabbit asked. "I could just beat you up a little. That's one of my programs; beating up nerd-boys!" "In which case you wouldn't get your still," Evan said. "And I'm not a nerd-boy, I'm an engineer." "There's a difference?" the rabbit asked. "Okay, okay, I'll give you one favor, to be called in. If it's completely out of line, I can tell you to jump in the ocean. But I'm not allowed to go back on favors unless it's out of line." "Okay," Evan replied after thinking about it for a moment. "And no 'I wish for three wishes' or asking for my pass codes or anything like that. Tit for tat." "Fine," Evan replied. "I'll make the still. I know just where to put it." "Okay, I'm gonna blow this joint," the rabbit said, bitterly. "Some island cruise." * * * The wyverns had been upset about taking off again without being fed—they could smell the salt beef in the bags—and even more upset about backtracking. But after a while they settled down to a steady cooing and twittering which Herzer knew was their form of muttering. Pete was riding with him on Chauncey. On reaching land the mer-man had given what looked like a closed-mouth cough and water had poured through the slits in his ribs. After that he was an air breather just like the unChanged humans. As they flew Herzer pointed out the view from aloft including one of the vast schools of baitfish. "Bait ball," Pete replied, shielding his eyes against the westering sun. "Can we fly over it?" Herzer banked towards the ball and got a bellowed comment from Joanna which he ignored. The school of fish was about fifty meters on a side, a silver ripple at the surface with the water churned to white around it from attacking fish. "That's menhaden I think," Pete yelled. "But look at those damned tuna! That's damned good eating there, especially with a little wasabi." Herzer could see the larger fish smashing into the bait fish like cannonballs. As he watched one of the larger predators came clear out of the water in its pursuit. It was hard to judge size without a reference, but the fish had to be close to two meters in length. "We can't really track the pelagics like that," Pete said with annoyance in his voice. "They just move too fast. The delphinos can keep up, but whenever we try to get to them they've moved before we get there and chasing them's a losing proposition." "Herzer!" Joanna bellowed, sweeping down on him. "We need to get these dragons fed, soon." "Coming, Commander," the lieutenant replied, banking his dragon back towards the coast. But his mind kept moving on the problem. There had been enough food for a hundred dragons in that school of tuna alone. The reef-fish were all well and good, but getting into one of those big schools was going to be the way to keep them fed. In deference to the mer-man, he made a water landing when they reached the fishing spot. It would mean loose straps on the ride back and much oiling to get them back in condition, but it had been undignified enough carrying Pete to the dragon; the least he could do was let him get off in relative comfort. He loosed the straps holding the mer-man on and then donned his own gear and dove under the water. It had been a cold ride in nothing but his bathing suit and the water was not much better. He got the straps loose with one hand that was fumbling with cold and a hook, grabbed them and headed for shore, dragging the leather along with Pete's help. Once on shore he laid the straps out on the plentiful rocks and looked at the dragons disporting in the waves. "They look like they're having fun," Pete said. He had dragged himself up partially on the shore and now leaned on one arm, looking out to sea and flapping his tail idly in the waves, like a person tapping their toes. "They are," Herzer said. "If I wasn't so damned cold I'd be in there with them. I don't know which is worse, the water or this damned cold wind." "We're getting a fire started," Jerry said, opening up the closures on his jacket. "You should have worn your gear." "I was planning on a water landing," Herzer replied, wiping water out of his hair with his hands. "Better to be cold than wet gear. I could do with a hot bath, though." "No help there," Pete said. "All these islands are limestone built up from coral; the nearest volcanic activity is nearly a thousand klicks from here." "Just as well," Herzer said. "I'd rather be cold than have a tsunami." "I can think of a way to warm you up," Bast said. "I'm sure you can," Herzer replied with a grin. "But I'm going to go play with the dragons," Bast said, reaching into the pouch at her hip and pulling out a breath mask and a set of fins. "Where did those come from?" Herzer asked. He knew that Edmund only had four sets and they were all being used; he had his set rolled up and tucked into a pocket of his bathing shorts. "My pouch?" Bast replied. "I was coming to the islands. I can't breathe water. Of course I brought gear." With that she dropped her gear, took her clothes off, put the mask on, picked up the fins and waded into the water. "Can someone please explain who she is to me?" Jerry asked. "She's . . . Bast," Herzer replied. "That's not much of an answer," Vickie said acerbically. "She's an elf? I thought they were, you know, tall and lean and handsome. Not small and pretty and dressed like a character in an anime cartoon." "She's a wood elf," Herzer replied. "They were created around the time of the AI wars. She was created around the time of the AI wars." "Crap," Jerry said. "How old is she?" "Physically? About two thousand years old," Herzer replied. "Mentally? Somewhere between twelve and two thousand. She told me one time that elves are too happy to spend much time grieving. Given that she's seen thousands of human friends die over the years, I guess that's not a bad way to handle it. As to caring about societal conventions, like not stripping in front of a bunch of people, she's going to outlive them all and their conventions. She just . . . well, you've seen. Hell, just wait; that's nothing." "I can't wait until she meets Bruce," Pete chuckled. "Why?" "Bruce is . . . not a bad guy," Pete said. "He's held us together and nobody's starved; not even the young and the old. Really, he's done pretty well, given everything that's going on. But . . . he can be a little . . . stuffy." |