Medusa's Children

by Bob Shaw

Genres: Science Fiction; Hard Science Fiction; Space Opera

Synopsis

What unfathomed secrets lay sleeping in this eerie world of water? The Clan knew almost nothing about the giant sphere of water they inhabited, and even less about the sun and planets nearby in space. Living amidst a cluster of nets anchored to the roots of a giant plant, they were aware only of their unending quest for precious air bubbles; and of the unending threat from the ever-hungry Hora. Those who fell victim to the beasts' voracious tentacles were left to sink slowly to the depths, where an awesome and unknown being awaited them. He was the greatest mystery of Clan existence - until that is, the world began to change, until the current began to draw the city down to the realms of Ka.

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 180

Sample

Myrah woke with a start, convinced she had heard a cry from one of the six babies in her care, but the nursery was quiet except for the steady breathing of the air pumps.

She remained quite still for a moment, while full consciousness returned, then decided to inspect each of the babies individually in case one of them had become ill or was caught in a freakish accretion of dead air. Unloosing the restraint cord from the fastening clip on her belt, she pushed herself away from the curved metal wall and floated low over the sleeping babies. They were in perfect repose, drifting comfortably at the ends of their short tethers, absurd little faces registering contentment or lordly boredom. The air currents induced by Myrah’s passage across the nursery caused the babies to rock and wallow slightly, like flowers nodding in a breeze, but they remained asleep. She checked her flight by grasping the bracket of a storage net and launched herself back to her original position close to the room’s circular window.

It took only a few seconds for Myrah to secure the restraint cord to the braided belt which was her sole item of apparel. She was wide awake now, the notion that her charges might have been in danger having driven out all desire for sleep, but there was no point in leaving the nursery until another watcher arrived for a duty spell. Close to Myrah’s face, on the moisture-beaded wall, was a sawn-off bracket which had once held a run of copper pipes. The pipes had long since been removed, probably for the fashioning of spears, but underneath the fixture there remained a rectangular brass plate. It was engraved with the words: TORPEDO HOIST-H.P. HYDRAULICS.

Myrah traced the letters with a finger-tip, as she had done many times before, wondering about the meaning they must have had for the Clan’s founders. Tiring of the speculation, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep again, but at that moment there came a faint cry from one of the sentries outside. It contained a note of surprise or excitement, and she realised belatedly that it had been a similar sound which had wakened her.

She changed her position and pulled the circular window open, relying on the air pressure within the nursery to prevent water from billowing in. The world outside looked much as it always did—a pale blue universe of transparent water in which spherical air bubbles of all different sizes drifted like globes of silver foil. So plentiful were the bubbles this morning that they made it difficult to see much beyond the Home’s protective nets, but this was not a particularly rare occurrence and offered no explanation for the sentry’s call. Myrah held her breath and pushed her head into the gently undulating vertical surface of the water, hoping for a better view of what was going on. There was little to be seen on this side of the Home, except for nets and a column of root structure, and she withdrew her head from the water. As she was doing so, a strong hand gripped the inner surface of her thigh and pulled her further into the room.

“I could have had you like that,” a male voice said. “Very tempting indeed.”

Myrah twisted and saw Harld, a fair-haired youth from the Hunting family, who had entered the nursery with a professional lack of noise. He was a pleasant-natured boy, with a lithe body which bore very few of the Horra scars which so often made hunters look ugly. Myrah had swum with him many times.

She smiled at him. “So early in the morning! You must be eating well.”

“I am.” He caught hold of her restraint cord and, using it as an anchor line, drew his body closer to hers. “But I’m still hungry—I think I could eat you all up.”

Myrah allowed their bodies to touch for a moment, as a normal gesture of courtesy, then pushed him away. “Not here in the nursery,” she said. “I’ll swim with you later today if you want.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going for ice.”

“Why not? I thought you had been chosen.”

“We got no kingfish yesterday. Solman says we’ve to hunt again today, and I’ve also to take the early spell in here for five days—as a punishment.”

Myrah instantly detached herself from the wall and made ready to leave. “The nursery watch isn’t a punishment.”

Harld nodded without conviction and looked at the six babies, some of whom were beginning to stir at the sound of voices. The sponge bags tied between their legs, to prevent their excretions of the night drifting through the room, showed signs of staining. “I see you haven’t cleaned them.”

“First watch always does that.”

“And you say this isn’t a punishment duty!” Harld rolled his eyes in a good-humoured display of exasperation and unfastened the straps of his bubble cage from around his forehead. “I suppose I’d better get started.”

“Yes, and remember to be gentle with them.” Myrah took her own bubble cage from the nearest storage net and strapped it on. Its filigrees of chiselled bone curved around her head like the petals of a huge flower.

“I’ll take care,” Harld said. “For all I know, one of them could be mine.” While he was speaking one of the babies gave a thin, irritated squawk.

“Probably that one,” Myrah bantered.

“He isn’t handsome enough.” Harld wedged his feet into loops on the floor, to give himself working leverage, and untied the baby which had cried out. “Have any of them been coughing?”

“Of course not—I’d have heard.” Myrah tried to suppress a pang of unease. “You shouldn’t talk about coughing in here.”

Harld looked at her in amused surprise. “Talking about it doesn’t bring it on.”

“I know, but….” She decided to change the subject. “What’s happening outside? I heard somebody shouting.”

“I didn’t notice. I came here on the inner path.”

“Why weren’t you able to get any kingfish yesterday?”

“Solman says it’s because we didn’t try hard enough, but I think it’s something to do with the new current. Their feeding ground could have changed.”

Myrah nodded thoughtfully and kicked off towards the doorway of the nursery. Her accurately judged trajectory took her into the corridor beyond. There was less light here, but she was familiar with this part of the Home and two more impulsions brought her quickly to an outer doorway through which streamed the azure light of the morning. The surface of the water, held in check by air pressure, curved and flattened like a glassy blanket. She went into it head first and swam away to the right. On her third stroke she picked up a large bubble by putting her face into it and allowing its surface tension to glue it into the spherical framework of her cage. The action was performed automatically, almost as a reflex. Myrah could swim a long way before needing to breathe—and she was going to a section of the Home which was near at hand—but she had been conditioned since childhood to capture any air which became available.

Taking the free breath, she swam towards the central region of the Home, in the direction she thought of as up. She knew that when any solid object was released in an air space it eventually drifted down, but this movement was so gradual, and so easily reversed by air currents, that it played virtually no part in her spatial orientation. Up was the general direction from which light came during the day, and it was most easily identified by reference to the branching root structures which reached all the way to the surface of the world. Multiple columns of these roots stretched above her now, providing a shadowy background to the clustered buildings of the Home which hung motionless in the water like dead whales. At this level, near the bottom of the euphotic zone, reds and greens were very weak, and Myrah was swimming in a luminous blue universe shot through with galaxies of silver globes and darting fish.

She passed through an opening in the fine-mesh net which held the Home’s communal air supply, and penetrated the air-water interface at a speed which sent her arcing across the giant bubble amid a spray of droplets. In spite of the earliness of the hour, she could see a knot of people gathered about the figure of a man who was wearing the metal bubble cage of a sentry. She hooked one hand around a guide rope, using the momentary contact to effect a change of direction, and came to rest near the edge of the group.

At close range she recognised the sentry as Shire, an older man from a neighbouring dormitory. He was holding a sea hare, which was obviously still alive. It was a type of giant slug which was regarded as a delicacy by the people of the Clan and which fed on algae near the surface. Members of ice-gathering parties usually tried to bring some back with them, but Myrah had never seen one roaming free in the deeps.

“Where did you get it?” she said. At the sound of her voice the group rearranged itself to give her access to the centre.

“It just drifted into my hands,” Shire replied, obviously enjoying the attention. “I was on first watch at the Topeast entrance, and it just drifted into my hands.”

“You’re lucky. It should make good eating.”

“Oh, I’m not going to eat it—not yet anyway.” Shire grinned at the encircling faces. “I have to show it around first.”

Myrah nodded and withdrew from the group in case Shire became aware of the pity she felt for him. He was an old man, fortyish, who would probably begin coughing any day now—provided his slowing reactions did not make him fall prey to the Horra, or even some less dangerous predator. All that lay before him was the prospect of dying and being forgotten, all that lay behind him was an unremarkable span of unremarkable years—and yet for the moment he was as happy as a small child. The finding of the sea hare was a genuine high spot in his life, and the realisation of this filled Myrah with a profound sadness. It was difficult to see any point at all in the whole process of being born, living out one’s life in the Home, and then dying and being allowed to drift slowly into the darkness at the centre of the world, where Ka was waiting….

“What’s wrong, Myrah?” The words came from Lennar, another member of the Hunting family, who had taken up a position beside her. He was a little older than Harld and therefore, inevitably, had more scars on his arms and torso, but Myrah liked him for his steadiness and air of thoughtful maturity. It was expected that he would be offered the next vacancy on the Clan Council.

“It’s old Shire,” she said, taking Lennar’s outstretched hand. “He makes me sick.”

“Why?”

“He’s swollen up like a puffer fish—and for what?”

“You should be pleased you’re not like him.”

“But how do I know I’m not? What’s going to be my big achievement, Lennar?”

“Being alive is an achievement in itself,” Lennar said. “It’s enough for me—and I haven’t even the prospect of giving birth.”

Myrah caught his free hand, and they drifted in the air, facing each other. “All right, say I have a baby … say I’m very lucky and have two and they both live … where does that get me? Where does it get them?”

“I don’t know, Myrah.” Lennar gave her a rueful smile. “I only work on problems I think have a solution. Will you swim with me today?”

“If you want.” Myrah let her gaze travel over his body, noting the contrast between the blackness of his hair and the whiteness of his skin, and knew she would like to have a son in the same mould. “When are we going?”

“Soon. Solman wants us to leave earlier than usual because of the new current.”

This was the second time in the space of a few minutes that somebody had spoken to Myrah about a current and it began to dawn on her that it could have some significance. “What’s so special about this current?”

“It’s been moving steadily for three days, which is very unusual.” Lennar freed one of his hands and pointed downwards. “And it’s going that way. The world seems to be changing.”

“You mean the current is flowing into the centre of the world?” Myrah thought briefly about Ka having developed the power to draw bodies towards himself at an even faster rate, but her mind shied away from the vision. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“We don’t know where it’s going—but it’s persistent, and it doesn’t seem to be circular like any other current. I think Solman is worried.”

Myrah almost laughed. “He’s getting too old.”

Lennar showed no sign of being amused. “There’s something not right about it, Myrah—look at the way that sea hare drifted right into Shire’s hands. You never saw that happen before.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed. It seems a very trivial event.”

“All right,” Lennar said. “Just take note when we go outside—you’ll see the bubbles sinking down as well.”

“The world is full of currents,” Myrah snapped, appalled by the ideas Lennar seemed to be trying to put into her mind. “Are we going for ice, or aren’t we?”

“Of course—we still have to drink.”

“Let’s go, then.” Myrah turned away from Lennar, caught a guide rope and propelled herself upwards in the direction of the Topeast entrance, the point from which the ice-gathering parties always departed. She was one of the strongest members of the Artisan family, and could travel fast, but Lennar caught up with her at once.

“I’m sorry if I annoyed you,” he said. “Are we still swimming together?”

“As long as you promise to talk sensibly.”

“Promise.” Lennar slid his hand through Myrah’s belt and they made their way up through the vast netted bubble, moving their limbs in a steady rhythm. They passed dark holes which were entrances to some of the individual dwellings which made up the Home. The huge fish-like shapes of the houses could be seen beyond the net, partially obscured by shadows, reflections and offshoots of the root structure to which they were attached. Around the edge of each entrance the material of the net was carefully stitched or glued to the doorway so that none of the air passing into the house would slip away into the surrounding water.

A small child—pale, lonely figure—waved from one of the entrances as they passed by, and Myrah waved back, thinking of her own infancy when she too had sat and watched the hunters and the ice-gatherers as they worked their way up to an assembly point. The adults had seemed wise and strong to her in those days, god-like beings, masters of the luminous blue universe, and Myrah had looked forward to growing up and joining their ranks. That particular dream had come true—here she was, in full-breasted womanhood, setting off on one of the selfsame expeditions—but the purpose, the mysterious and glamorous purpose, seemed to have vanished with so many of her childhood preconceptions. Had they really, those pale-bodied warrior-kings and their consorts, been concerned with nothing more significant than the scavenging of pieces of ice to convert into drinkable water?

If so, if there was no more to it, what was the essential difference between a member of the Clan and any other of the myriad life forms which spawned and fought and died in the waters around the Home?

They reached the upper part of the bubble and went through the folds of fine mesh into the water. Four clean strokes took them upwards to a smaller trapped bubble which surrounded an opening in the outer defensive screen. Two young women, Caro and Geean, were waiting inside the bubble. They greeted Myrah and Lennar and issued them with short, tubular spears and bags made of cowfish skin. Other human figures could be seen treading water outside.

“How many are here?” Lennar folded his bag and tucked it through his belt.

“All ten of us, now that you’re here,” Caro said. “We’re ready to go.”

Lennar looked mildly surprised. “Such enthusiasm! I wish every team I led would pay as much attention to my instructions.”

“Nobody’s paying any attention to you,” Caro said with a challenging smile. “It was Solman who put the fear of Ka into them. He’s in a bad mood.”

“I can get into bad moods too, you know.” Lennar made an attempt to look ferocious.

“That must be very frightening.” Caro’s smile grew broader. “Will you swim with me?”

“I’m going up with Myrah, but I’ll come back with you if you want.”

Caro looked disappointed as she turned to Myrah. “I might have known you’d get in first. I don’t know why you haven’t been pregnant three times over.”

Myrah considered explaining that Lennar had made the proposal, but decided it would seem too defensive. She was twenty-three years old and for some time now had been concerned over her apparent inability to contribute to the strength of her family. Caro, on the other hand, was a ripe-bodied seventeen-year-old, filled with confiden. . .