The Farpool_Exodus Read online

Terpy’t won’t like that, someone hissed. More giggles and laughter. And bubbles. Lots of bubbles. Bubbles and claspers…that was the key.

  Chase was in heaven.

  So they glided and undulated and rolled and bubbled and poked and tickled and rubbed and squeezed and Chase thought he was going to die, the feeling was so intense. Thank God for em’took! he told himself. It was the first time he was really glad he looked like a giant frog. Those wacky Omtorish really did know what they were doing.

  They had been quiet, dozing for a time, when Chase thought he heard a strange noise, just outside the hold…a sort, of whirring, faintly whooshing noise. Tulcheah was still, drifting asleep about the hold, so he gently untangled himself and pushed toward the opening.

  He was so startled at what he saw that he cried out: “What the--!”

  There, just beyond the opening, was a big eye. No, that wasn’t it. It was a face, grinning, leering at him with huge white teeth…it whirred and hummed and that’s when Chase realized he was staring right into the camera of a small submarine. The face was a paint job…someone’s idea of a joke, with its gaping mouth and outsized teeth, it looked like a great white shark painted right onto the nose of the sub.

  The thing was maybe five feet in length, with stubby wings and spinning props at the end, a semi-transparent nose, festooned with all kinds of gear, including what were obviously cameras and imagers.

  “Tulcheah! Tulcheah…get up…wake up!”

  He felt more than heard the scramble of a thrashing body behind him as the female collided with his back. He could feel her breath on his neck, hovering just behind, shaking.

  “What is this, eekoti Chase? A Tailless monster?”

  Chase just glared back at the hovering intruder. “I don’t know…it’s some kind of sub….” That when he noticed a logo and some reddish script-style writing on the side of the sub. He spelled it out under his breath:

  WOODS HOLE OCEANOGRAPHIC INSTITUTE

  Chase swallowed hard. The U.S. Navy already knew about the growing presence of the Seomish in the Atlantic. It had been a closely held military secret for months.

  Now it seemed that others would soon know as well.

  “Tulcheah, I don’t know how to tell you this…but I think they watched everything we just did—"

  “Is it alive?”

  “No, it’s a machine, like a kip’t. Looks remote control. Come on…we’d better get back to the city.”

  The two of them made their way out of the hold and across a series of low ridges to the gathering of settlements that was Keenomsh’pont. Even from a distance, the murmur of the great roam now gathering could be heard.

  Following at a discreet distance, the tiny sub whirred along on its propulsors, hanging back several hundred meters.

  Alongside one of its bow planes, a tiny name could have been seen, if anyone had been looking: Beagle.

  The roam, known as vish’tu in the Seomish language, soon got underway. Each Metah, and there were five, would have her say. First, though, a compressed history of all the kels would be recited and sung by all, then the Metahs would sing their wishes for what was to come and how the kels would be organized in their new home. For now, Keenomsh’pont would be home, but it was expected that the kels would move to their own territories and waters within the seamount complex, while exploratory expeditions were organized. Once the formal Separation was accomplished, all kels would contribute to these expeditions. After some debate, the overall effort would be led by Likteek of Omt’or, with assistance from each kel. Five teams would be assembled into a sort of Corps of Exploration, each team responsible for navigating to the farthest corners of this marine world that the Tailless called Urth, reconnoitering and surveying and collecting specimens from what they found. After about one mah of time, the exploratory teams would re-convene at Keenomsh’pont and report their findings.

  The official vish’tu roam was a custom as old as Seome itself. Its origins were lost in the murky currents of the past, unclear and shrouded by the mythical tales of the ancient cave-dwellers. It was very much in the traditions of Ke’shoo and Ke’lee and Shoo’kel, and typically involved two roamers, although custom did not dictate any set number. Entire em’kels, or even whole kels, were known to conduct their business in vishtu, on roams that might last from a few hours to a few days, and range over thousands of beats.

  The beauty of the vishtu was that it encouraged great physical exertion. That was good in itself but it also helped unblock other channels of communication like scent and gave them a chance to work. Sharp disputes often arose on roams but the vishtu seemed to blunt them. Something happened to kelke who roamed in vishtu; they were more congenial and flexible. It was the physical beauty of the landscape, in the opinion of many, that accounted for this. Others insisted that it was the muscular exertion involved—the body and the mind were one and sustained effort was needed to ease the roamer into a trance where he could merge his personality with his fellow roamers. More likely, the magic of vishtu was due simply to what was called t’shoo, a feeling of sliding through the water, brushed by currents and tingling from beak to tail, spiritual orgasm it might be called. Vishtu was all these things.

  The Metahs had called for kel’vishtu, to discuss and decide on how the immigrants would organize themselves in the seas of Urth. To set the right tone for the roam and the difficult decisions ahead, Mokleeoh of Omt’or had decreed that the roam would begin with a reciting of the Tillet Songs. In the earliest days of the Great Sound back on Seome, most of Omt’or’s tillet and pal’penk pack animals had scattered to the boundaries of the Omt’orkel Sea in fear. In order to attract and gather them again, a great roam would be put together, a roam lasting several days. All the kels would join in singing the Songs which drew the beasts from their hiding and enticed them to return. Tulcheah, because she was possessed of a beautiful singing voice, was given the task of instructing all nonkelke in the forms and rituals of the Song. It was expected that all would accompany the kel.

  Chase wasn’t so sure he could keep up with such vigorous and efficient swimmers as the Seomish.

  “We may have to take some breaks,” he told Tulcheah. “I’m not as good a swimmer as everybody else.”

  “Not to worry,” she told him. “If you tire, we’ll hitch you to one of the tillet. You can come along for the ride.”

  The kelke soon began gathering near the base of the seamount. Other kels soon joined in and the sea darkened with their numbers, loud and boisterous and anxious to be underway. For many hours, the kels assembled their people, until they swarmed in such multitude that the din could surely be pulsed around the world.

  No one gave much thought to what the Tailless might think of all the racket.

  When at last the kels had gathered and the seamounts of the valley were lost in the immense tide of people, the Metah of Omt’or sent her councilors among them with the protocol of the roam. There were moments of great excitement and disappointment, waiting to learn how the em’kels would be arranged, who would roam with whom, who would be separated, who favored, who would roam nearest the Metah and who at the tail. The clattering of potu pearls changing hands was quickly followed by the buzz of the prodsman’s prod, to keep the bribery within bearable limits. When it was done, Tulcheah took Chase aside with a beaming smile on her face.

  “Mokleeoh has honored you with a flank just one beat behind hers. You’ll be able to hear and pulse everything that is said. I hear from some of her servlings that she thinks you can deal with the Tailless better than anyone. She may even ask you to roam with her for a time.”

  “You’ll be up there with me, I hope,” Chase said.

  “One flank ahead, along with Likteek and some of my own em’kel. It’s a great honor to be so close... there are so many big decisions we have to make. But eekoti Chase, you must be pure and candid in your echoes. Mokleeoh demands that. Remember what I’ve taught you about shoo’kel.”

  “Steady as she goes,” Chase repeated. He knew he
still had a lot to learn about all this pulsing business.

  The time to begin came and Mokleeoh made her appearance with her full court in tow, the other Metahs right alongside: Lektereenah, Keleemah, Oolandra. The vishtu formed swiftly as they paddled serenely toward the head of the roam. A hush rolled through the crowd like a strong current and there was furious commotion behind them as the kelke pulled themselves together. Tulcheah stole a pulse at the magnificent sight: the flanks curved out of range around the end of the valley and spread out into the sea itself, in evenly stepped divisions. She imagined it as a massive seamother, poised to strike. A prodsman tapped her on the dorsal and told her to face the Metah with all pulses. From now on, she would be expected to remain in flank with the rest.

  They set off at a slow pace, allowing the crowds behind them to catch up. The Metah led them through a dense bed of brilliant blue coral that marked the end of the valley, though it was partly obscured by the ever-present rain of silt, sloughing off the seamount. Beside each flank, a cluster of servlings hovered, ready to swoop in with pods of food. Tulcheah ate them as soon as they could be replaced. Chase, not be outdone, wolfed down everything put in front of him.

  A deep trench dwindled behind them; ahead, the northern flanks of the Bermuda Platform could barely be pulsed. Once out of the valley, good ootkeeor water could be felt for hundreds of beats in any direction. That would make the discussions and the decisions easier. The vishtu murmured in anticipation and Tulcheah noticed that all of the servlings had now vanished.

  A high ringing shriek from the Metah was the signal. The sound channel magnified the shriek into a crescendo of shrill notes, pealing away in the distance. Another shriek met the first overtures of the full vishtu, deep, melodious harmonies building majestically to a deafening bellow, a wail sliding across the ocean, reverberating around the world, the kels’ way of saying “Here we are.” Tillet and pal’penk could never mistake the sound, even as it clashed with the Uman noise.

  The first call was soon repeated, with higher pitch and the waters shook with the cries. From the bottom, living creatures for which the Seomish had no name stirred and listened carefully; great schools massed beneath the vishtu, following it across the sea. The first melodies of the Songs were repeated, once, twice, three times, lamenting the kel’s loss. Omt’or mourned the days of loneliness, with sorrow and pain. Her lost herds would hear the moans and return to still them forever.

  The overtures lasted for the better part of a day and by the time the vishtu had reached the first slopes of the Bermuda Platform, Chase was exhausted trying to keep up. Tulcheah took pity on him and lashed him side-saddle to a lumbering tillet someone had managed to bring through the Farpool, who managed to keep up barely and seemed increasingly annoyed to have such a dead weight on its back.

  The next part of the Songs dealt with the history of the kels; it was a necessary interlude to the kelkemah, the story of the kels’ response to the crisis that had brought them to this strange world. Kelkemah was a detailed rendering of the kel’s daily activities…the coming of the great Sound, the cold, the great ak’loosh wave. After kelkemah, the refrain of the laments would follow.

  And the stage would be set for what was sure to be a vigorous discussion of what to do next.

  To Chase, it seemed lengthy and involved but it had a beauty and dignity that was way beyond pounding out some decision in a conference room back home.

  But first, the vishtu would eat. The roam curved along the spine of the Platform and Tulcheah could pulse far into the canyon, reading the outlines of a rugged floor strewn with boulders and fallen lava domes. She got echoes of a massive school of elongated animals and wondered if they would gather around to investigate what all the noise was about. A servling streaked in front of her and Tulcheah reached out, snatching a pair of eelash pods from him. She bit into one and swallowed hungrily. Chase was right behind, busily chewing on a tough spiderstalk.

  “At least, we don’t lack for things to eat,” Chase said between bites.

  Tulcheah was alongside, effortlessly kicking and stroking her way along. Chase could only envy her the beauty of her stroke. “You’ve never roamed in the Omtorish style, have you, eekoti Chase?”

  “I’ve only roamed a few times, period. Back home, we talk walks sometimes. But nothing like this…I can’t imagine all of Scotland Beach going for a stroll on the beach. There’d be too many fights.”

  “Ah, we have that as well,” Tulcheah admitted. “Other kels do vishtu differently. Some say all the furnishings distract from a good roam. Enhanced scents and echopod narratives and argument add nothing to it, according to others. The Ponkti have their way, the Skortish another. But we Omtorish like our way best.”

  “So do I,” Chase agreed. “You get to see a lot.”

  Soon enough, the kel finished eating and began the Echoes of the Histories. Chase began to wonder if the Metah would ever raise the issue of the exploratory teams; that was ostensibly the whole reason for the roam.

  They don’t exactly dive right into a meeting, he thought to himself. Tulcheah had told him the formalities would help the set the tone for the discussions. Chase figured the Seomish just liked to have a good time, while they still could. No one knew just how the Tailless would react to learning of another intelligence on their world.

  And for a time, Chase wondered about the little sub he and Tulcheah had seen.

  So the songs went on. From the birth of the Omt’orkel Sea to the metamah of Tekpotu, the life of kel Omt’or was celebrated, followed by the histories of each kel in turn. Metahs were praised, the greatest scents described, famous repeaters remembered. The Eep’kostic Aggression was retold and the mah’jeet plagues and the beginnings of potu culturing. The kels sang to themselves a litany of the ages, romantic and sad, bold and adventurous, all the thousands of mah of remembered history gathered together in an intricate ballad. Nothing was forgotten and to help refresh its memory, servlings cruised up and down the fringe of the roam with open scentbulbs. Chase found the scents cloying, even overwhelming, but others around him seemed to enjoy them. The rich, tangled skein of odors soon engulfed him with feelings he had no words for.

  Maybe I’m becoming more and more Seomish, he realized. If only Angie could be here, to see and experience all this. But that only made him sad.

  The vishtu continued its swift procession through the cold waters of the mid-Atlantic.

  From where he and Tulcheah roamed, Chase imagined that the vishtu had somehow grown wings. For as far as he could pulse, to their left and to their right, staggered lines of excited fish flocked. They roamed in tight schools above and below the wings. The kel itself had already started into kelkemah and the gathering hordes of dolphin, whale shark, tuna, marlin, mackerel and others answered the Song with a steady clicking and whistling of their own. Chase had no doubt that the roam was quite loud enough to travel all around the world.

  Singing the kelkemah eventually quieted the beasts. They roamed now in unison with the strange visitors, curious, entranced by the words, by the hypnotic cadence. Kelkemah spoke to them in the rhythms of a distant sea they had never known 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 Tulcheah cut through the deeper vocals of the kel. Chase thought it was her, but he couldn’t be sure. Slowly, but surely, throughout the roam, Tulcheah 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.

  Tulcheah 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 Tulcheah to show him how to play the trangkor.

  In time, and Chase lost all track of time, the Metahs sang out their choices for who would be assigned to each team. It was Tulcheah who bumped him and congratulated him being chosen to be part of the Omtorish team, which was to be commanded by the veteran kip’t pilot, Manklu tel himself.

  “It’s a great honor,” she told him. “Manklu knows the waters like the underside of his forepaddles.”

  Chase knew the pilot from previous encounters. Manklu had always seemed crusty, gruff and stern. “Yeah, but this isn’t Seome. These waters are different.”

  “Then you and Manklu will make great discoveries together. Who better to guide you?”

  Chase had to admit she had a point. Talking later with the grizzled old sled driver, Chase realized their initial route would take them west across the great ocean, which he was sure was the Atlantic. Once he fully understood where they were, he became excited at the prospect. West meant they would be heading back toward North America, toward the Gulf Stream, toward places he was familiar with…seas and lands he knew.

  After nearly a day, the great roam wound its way back to the gathering of makeshift settlements of Keenomsh’pont. It was there that the kelke found the strange little submersible Beagle nosing curiously about their encampment.