The Farpool (50 page)

It made a majestic sight.

From where he and Chase roamed, Kloosee
imagined that the
vishtu
had
somehow grown wings. For as far as Kloosee could pulse, to their
left and to their right, staggered lines of excited tillet flocked.
Pal’penk roamed in tight schools above and below the wings, barely
able to keep up despite losing much of the fat the herding em’kels
had put on them. The kel itself had already started into
kelkemah
and the tillet answered the
Song with a steady clicking and whistling of their own. Kloosee had
no doubt that the roam was quite loud enough to travel
ootkeeor
around the world. They were
like a colossal
k’orpuh
,
lumbering across the ocean, enveloped in a shroud of
scavengers.

Singing the
kelkemah
eventually quieted the beasts. They
roamed now in unison, entranced by the words, the hypnotic
cadence.
Kelkemah
spoke to
them in the rhythms of the sea and they listened. Even Chase found
himself drifting off at times, only to be bumped from behind by the
next flank. He was tired and exhilarated at the same time and
grateful for the experience. The Omtorish were already beginning to
accept him as
kelke
, even
though he looked like a freak to them. Somehow the Song affected
him, though he understood none of it and he realized that he
remained outside the magic of the words—the rest of the kel was
fully immersed in the drama. Somehow, despite the thousands and
thousands of bodies surrounding him, he felt more alone than ever,
just listening.

Then, suddenly, the high shrill voice
of Pakma tek cut through the deeper vocals of the kel. Chase
thought it was Pakma, but he couldn’t be sure. Slowly, but surely,
throughout the roam, Pakma had assumed the role of a Leading Voice.
Her voice was at once strident and taut and penetrating at the same
time, full of subtle undertones and overlaps, and in time, they
began to carry the full weight of the melody of
kelkemah
for much of the middle
flanks.

Pakma never strayed far from her
trangkor
, bringing the instrument to
gatherings of em’kels, to meals, on roams, plucking a note here or
there to make a point or emphasize a statement. Chase couldn’t help
but think of his own jam sessions with the Croc Boys back in
Scotland Beach, plucking out notes on his favorite go-tone,
slamming down roof-raising verses of their only hit
Lovin’ in the Dark
. That was Angie’s
favorite too.

The instrument was part of her, another
limb, only one that gave off the most delicate, yet melancholy
notes. Chase decided then and there he would get Pakma to show him
how to play the
trangkor.

The Metah led the roam out of the
icewaters and across the breadth of the swift but narrow Orkn’tel
current, a tributary of the Ork’lat. Almost immediately, the seas
changed. The Ork’lat circulated warmth from the equator and the
first tingling of the tropical currents were most welcome by the
fatigued, benumbed
vishtu
.

The roam itself was now fifty beats wide at
the head and nearly two hundred to the rear. It took hours for a
message to travel that distance by word of mouth; there was no
other way. It was impossible to focus the pulses of so many
thousands of echobulbs and so the spoken word was the only reliable
way of knowing anything.

A growing sense of anticipation had
been building through the kelke for hours; even Kloosee had sensed
it.
Something is happening up
front…something is coming, eekoti Chase. The Metah will speak. The
Metah will hold council with the Kel’em. The Sound and the Umans
will be discussed. Decisions will be made.

About time
,
Chase thought to himself.

The Metah had been asleep in an
emtopod
drawn by twenty tillet when
she was gently awakened by a young servling, who rode on the crest
of the pod while Iltereedah stirred and opened her eyes. She was
exhausted from the roam and it was the first rest she had permitted
herself. Momentous decisions were about to be made. She had wanted
rest but sleep had been difficult.

When Iltereedah saw the face of the
servling, though she motioned for the girl to squeeze in beside
her. The ‘ling did so, with exaggerated deference and care. She
nestled until Iltereedah had had enough. Then the Metah exited
the
emtopod
and her shrill
voice carried far and wide, as a great hush descended over the
leading flanks of the roam. The word was quickly
passed
: be quiet, she speaks, listen for
the voice.
It took an hour for the entire roam to hear
this.

Chase’s echopod translated only some of her
words, but there was no mistaking the tone of Iltereedah’s voice.
Kloosee quietly filled in the gaps.

“Kelke, we must decide. The
Umans bring nothing but death to Seome. The soundshield has failed,
thanks to the Ponkti—“
here there was a definite
undercurrent of anger and menace—“
so we
must determine what is to be done. I have talked with the Kel’em,
with all the em’kels…it has been decided that Omt’or will lead an
expedition to negotiate with the Umans. We have eekoti among us…he
is part Uman, part Omtorish. He can speak with the
Umans
—“ here Chase’s heart did a
double-thump—“
we offer this: a joint
effort to dismantle the great machine at Kinlok Island and
re-locate it, re-build it on islands called the Torsh’pont…this is
further away, north of the Serpentines. As the machine is further
way, the sound will be accordingly reduced. An expedition is being
formed—“

Chase listened for many minutes, as
Iltereedah went on. His echopod skipped and screeched, trying to
keep up. Kloosee listened and translated as well. Chase’s pulse
started racing.

He, Chase Meyer, was to be right at the
center of the new effort.

Well, kid, you always said
you wanted an adventure…maybe this isn’t
quite
—

As best he could make out from Kloosee’s
translation, the new plan was to confront the Umans with an
ultimatum: let us help you dismantle the Time Twister and re-build
it elsewhere…or else. A great force would be formed and a desperate
final assault would be the scarcely veiled fist behind the ‘or
else.’

Naturally, the Kel’em argued. Kloosee
translated some of the arguments…

What of the other kels…what do they think of
this?

What of the Ponkti…the expedition will have
to cross the Ponk’el Sea…they will object…

Do our engineers really know enough to take
apart and re-build the Uman machine…

The Umans will never agree to this…

The Umans treat us as we treat the
pal’penk…like well-meaning, lovable pets….

The Umans will defend their base…we’ve
already suffered casualties…

And what of the Emigration Project…perhaps we
should spend our resources on that, building more ot’lum, the
lifeships, concentrate on better understanding of the new
world…

It was this last argument which got Chase’s
attention.

“Kloosee, this Emigration Project…this is a
real idea? Not just a fantasy…you’re actually working on this?”

The roam had turned and was now making its
way back toward Omsh’pont. The return journey would take many
hours, almost a day.

Kloosee was slow to answer and Chase wasn’t
sure he had heard the question. Sometimes the echopods didn’t quite
make the connection.

Finally: “Emigration is a real
proposal,
eekoti
Chase. It
comes from several em’kels in Omt’or…one of them is the Kelktoo,
Longsee’s people. It’s been studied…is being studied as an
alternative. No one really wants to do this. Seome is our home. But
the Umans may leave us no choice. And there are so many
unknowns—“

Chase pondered that, clinging firmly to
the tillet he was riding as it banked hard left. The
vish’tu
swung around to a new
heading and he soon saw why. Ahead were the dim outlines of the
Lower Serpentines. Already strong currents were making the waters
turbulent. The Likte Gap was near.

“I think my people might object to having so
many millions of Seomish suddenly show up in our waters. There
could be problems. All kinds of conflicts.”

“There is no doubt of that,” Kloosee
admitted. Coming through Chase’s echopod, Kloosee’s voice sounded
suddenly weary, as if this were a subject that had already been
thrashed and beaten to death. “The reaction of Umans to our
presence is one of many concerns. If relations between us and the
Umans here is any guide, we may expect resistance…probably strong
resistance.”

“Kloos, I don’t know what the Metah expects
of me in this…I don’t know anything about how that wavemaker works.
I really shouldn’t be at the center of this expedition….I’m just a
visitor.”

“You are Uman,
eekoti
Chase. You’re like them. You know them,
you think like them. As far as the engineers are concerned, Longsee
has assured the Metah and the Kel’em that the Kelktoo have a full
understanding of how the Uman machine works, how it is put
together, and how to dismantle it. These arguments are just for
show…the Kel’em always want to have their say before the Metah.
They think they can impress their own em’kels by doing this.” Here
Kloosee actually turned slightly from his stroke and drifted back
to be closer to Chase and his ride. Kloosee stroked the beak of the
tillet as he pulled alongside and swam with them. “You have the
most difficult job.”

“So what’s my role in all this?”

Kloosee looked straight at Chase and
pulsed only something like curiosity, maybe even a sense of
anticipation. No fear, no anxieties. The
eekoti
was truly holding
shoo’kel
…that pleased Kloosee but he didn’t
mention it.

“Your job,
eekoti
Chase, will be to convince the Umans to
agree to our proposal. Convince them to work with us.”

Chase knew in his heart that this was what
the Metah had said. He wondered if the echopod translation wasn’t
accurate. Now he knew it was all too accurate.

Just when I’m starting to feel like one of
them…now they want me to be Uman…or human…or whatever, again. Angie
would pitch a fit. But she’d be secretly proud of me, after she
finished killing me.

Chase said nothing to Kloosee for many hours
after this revelation. The great roam beat its way back toward the
city of Omsh’pont like a single vast organism, many beats long.
Arguments continued. A few fights erupted, as the roamers were
growing more and more fatigued. The drone and beat of the Uman
sound soon filled the waters again, giving Chase a relentless
headache.

When the towers, seamounts and glowing
floatways of the great city came into view, Chase had made up his
mind.

He had come to Seome because he was
intrigued. Because he wanted to make a difference. Maybe Angie was
right. The world…
his
world…didn’t need another beach bum. Mack Meyer could always
sell more T-shirts and boogie boards. What the world
needed…
this
world now…was
someone to save them from themselves. The sentencing of Tulcheah
still weighed heavily on his mind. The suspicions of the Ponkti.
The isolation of the other kels. The territorial disputes. The
destruction caused by the Uman machine. Chase realized, as Kloosee
gently led his tillet-ride away from the roam toward the cave home
of the em’kel Putektu, that along the with the Umans and their
machine, forces were gathering that might yet precipitate a
world-wide conflict, perhaps even war, among the kels. According to
Kloosee, it had happened before and there were many who thought it
would come again.

Chase didn’t think of himself as a great
leader or any kind of savior. Angie would have laughed at that. But
events seemed to be conspiring to push him to the front of the
growing conflict. It was all a great swirl in his mind as Kloosee
led him inside the cave home of Putektu and scrounged up some food
for them. Tulcheah, the Uman commander Dringoth, the wavemaker, the
cavern city of Ponk’et, their tuk matches, Pakma and her music and
scentbulbs.

By the time he had bedded down in his sleep
niche, fatigued and sleepy from two days’ hard swimming and some
riding on the great roam, Chase had come to a decision.

He had come to Seome to help. The
Seomish, at least the Omtorish, thought he could help them in their
efforts to rid the world of the Umans. In some ways, he had become
a kind of celebrity.
Way better than
making the Top 40 with the Croc Boys
, he told
himself.

He missed his
go-tone
and Pakma’s music, strange though it
sounded to his ears, had re-kindled that sense of loss. He missed
Angie and pepperoni pizza and taking long walks on the beach at
night and making it with Angie in a bass boat off Half Moon
Cove.

But he wasn’t going to miss
this.
No sir. Not this time
.
Maybe in some ways, his whole life had been preparation for this
one moment in time.

In any case, when he got back home to
Scotland Beach,
if
he got
back home, he’d have one hell of a story to tell the kids at
Apalachee High.