There was water everywhere.
Water in his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose. All over his body. It was horrible. All over his head. It was terrible. All over his hair. It was awful. All over his face. It was—gone…
If it was gone, it meant his head must be above the surface. Wayne Norton spat, coughing up a spluttering stream. His mouth was open, but no more lethal liquid forced its way in. Only air. He breathed in, in, deep, then coughed again, his throat knotting as he spewed up another torrent of water.
He gasped for air, breathed again, and was alive once more.
His eyes were stinging, but he opened them—and discovered he was covered with blood. He may have been alive, but not for long. Blood everywhere. All over him. All around him.
He was in an ocean of blood. Blood was dripping down on to him. It was raining blood. The whole world was red, from the palest of pink to the deepest crimson.
Norton was on his back, gazing up at the sky. The alien sky. The orange alien sky. From which the rain poured down like a shower of orange juice.
He was floating. But he couldn’t swim. His overall was keeping him afloat. He lay totally still, not daring to move in case he lost his equilibrium and slipped back down into the depths where the lifeboat had become a sunken wreck.
The overall had saved his life.
And Grawl had saved his life.
It hadn’t seemed like that at the time. The hand over Norton’s mouth hadn’t been to stop the scream getting out but to stop the water getting in. Then Grawl had pushed him through the hatch, and he’d shot up to the surface.
But where was Grawl?
“Grawl! Grawl!”
Norton turned his head, looking from side to side. The water was relatively calm, but he couldn’t see very far because he was so low down. At sea level.
“Grawl! Make a noise if you can hear me!”
Norton raised one arm above the surface, then brought it down with a splash. He closed his eyes and mouth as he did so, in case the ocean washed over his face. It didn’t, and so he lifted his arm even higher to make a louder splash.
“Like this!”
He watched the pink drops of water drip down his arm. His arm. His skin. Not the overall. He could see his bare arm. His outfit was gone. It must have dissolved in the water.
So what was keeping him afloat…?
Nothing.
As he slowly, carefully began to lower his right arm, he also pushed down with his left to balance himself. His hand sank below the surface, followed by his arm, then the rest of him—and he rolled over.
“Ahh… gug… gug… gug…”
Norton’s mouth filled with water again. This time he couldn’t spit it out because his head was under the surface. There was nothing but water, miles and miles of red water below him. He’d instinctively closed his eyes and was glad he couldn’t see it.
In a blind panic, he kicked his legs, thrashed his arms, desperately trying to stay afloat. But he was floating, he suddenly realised. He wasn’t sinking because he couldn’t sink. The alien water was very buoyant, and it was keeping him afloat.
Afloat but upside down.
By twisting his neck, he turned his face halfway above the waterline. He still couldn’t breathe because his mouth and nose were full of water, and he couldn’t spew it out because his neck was bent. Instead of coming up, the water went down his throat. He swallowed, coughed, swallowed, choked, sucked in a single gasp of air, then a wave broke over his face and his mouth was full of more water.
As he kicked and struggled, his head became submerged again. He wriggled and writhed, twisted and turned, and when he bobbed back up above the surface again his face was upward.
He lay without moving, eyes shut, doing nothing except breathing.
If there was one thing he’d always hated, it was water. Water and everything in it. Even seeing a goldfish swimming around and around and around in a bowl gave him the shivers. He would never eat fish. Once, when he was a kid, he’d started to eat a piece of fish and found himself chewing a mouthful of bones, tiny and sharp, which impaled themselves in his gums and tongue and throat.
Norton kept breathing, breathing and thinking.
He shouldn’t have moved, shouldn’t have splashed, shouldn’t have shouted for Grawl. Sound travelled faster under water than on land, and who knew what alien creatures inhabited the deeps beneath? A school of deadly fish could be swimming a yard below him at this very moment.
Was that what had happened to Grawl? Had he been swallowed by an alien whale?
Was this to be Norton’s own fate? He’d been born over three centuries ago, crossed half the galaxy, and his ultimate destiny was to become fish food?
No, of course nothing was going to eat him. Even if a whole college of piranha sharks swam by, Norton was equally as alien to them. Alien and inedible. But they wouldn’t find out how bad he tasted until they’d sampled a few bites.
How far was he from land? How long until the tide cast him ashore? Was there any land?
He could be adrift on an endless ocean, a sea which covered the whole planet. (What was the difference between a sea and an ocean?) Or maybe it was just a lake, although that could make it the size of Lake Superior. Or perhaps this might only be a pond. (And when did a pond become a lake?)
It made no difference. He couldn’t swim, so he could float here forever. There was water all around him, but none to drink. It was far too saline, and already he was thirsty because of the liquid he’d accidentally swallowed.
He opened his mouth and put his tongue out to catch the drops of rain. It was fresh water. He gazed at the orange sky, and the rain was cool and soothing on his sore eyes, but it would take a long time to quench his thirst. That was all Wayne Norton had: time.
How much time? The water was lukewarm, so he wasn’t going to die of cold. Which meant he’d die of something else.
While he was considering the possibilities, he felt something beneath the surface brush against his leg.
“Ahhhhh!”
He yelled out in surprise and fear, then became silent, not wanting whatever it was to hear him.
But it was too late. Only a few feet away from him, the water bubbled, and an ugly red head surfaced above the waves.
Norton gasped in horror as a pair of huge crimson eyes gazed at him. The creature’s mouth opened, wide, and orange water dripped from its sharpened teeth. Norton’s heart stopped.
“Good afternoon, sir or madam,” said the hideous sea monster. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”
A talking fish. A talking alien fish.
Norton’s heart resumed its beat, but it had lost all sense of rhythm and hammered away at double time.
“Let’s hope the rain lasts,” added the talking fish.
“Yeah,” Norton managed to say. “Yeah.”
“I came as soon as your ship was observed, sir or madam,” the aquatic alien continued. “I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”
“Er… no,” said Norton, as he stared at it. “You… you’re speaking English!”
“I’m sorry, sir or madam,” said the creature, “I don’t know that word.”
Norton didn’t have a slate, and he was sure the fish wasn’t using one. With a slate, the original sound could always be heard in the background, with a louder translation superimposed. Here, the alien’s lips were synchronised with what Norton actually heard. This meant it was speaking English, or the twenty-third century fastspeak variant. Away from their planet, Earth people were known as Terrans. So was their language.
But if this sea creature could speak Terran, did that mean Norton was back on Earth? Was that how a lifeboat functioned? It returned its occupants to their native world?
All Norton could see of the piscine beast was its head and neck, both of which were covered in red scales. Water cascaded down the ridges of its skull, there were fins where it should have had ears, and on either side of its throat was a series of gills.
He studied the alien, wondering if perhaps it wasn’t one. Could it be some kind of mutant, a cross between a human and an animal? Dolphins were supposed to be smart. Was this a biomodified dolphin?
“What’s the name of this world?” asked Norton.
“Caphmiaultrelvossmuaf, sir or madam.”
“Do you have twenty-four hours in a day, three hundred and sixty-five days to a year?”
“No, sir or madam, this is a very backward planet. We don’t have days on Caphmiaultrelvossmuaf. Not yet.”
“Does everyone here speak… er… speak the language you are now speaking?”
“No, sir or madam, not yet. My learning has been fast-tracked so I can greet visitors. And you are my first visitor, sir or madam.”
“Forget the ‘madam,’ just call me ‘sir.’ Okay?”
“Sir, okay.”
“You’re here to greet me?”
“Yes, sir, I already told you that. As soon as your ship was seen, I was assigned to you.”
“You mean you’re here to take me to dry land?”
“No, sir. I’m only here to greet you. Oh dear. Silly me. I forgot.”
The alien vanished, its head sinking beneath the waves. A second or two later it was back, streams of water pouring from its cranial crevasses.
“Welcome to Caphmiaultrelvossmuaf, sir,” said the alien. “The owners and management hope you have an enjoyable and profitable vacation, and may I add my own sincere personal welcome as a statistically typical inhabitant of this warm and friendly global paradise.”
“Yeah, er, thanks.”
“If you have any questions, sir, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“You’re here because my ship was seen landing? No, not landing, but…” Norton shook his head, trying to think of an appropriate word, then wished he hadn’t. More salty water sloshed all over his face as his head moved, and he spat out yet another mouthful.
“Yes, sir,” agreed the alien.
“Have you found anyone else in the water?”
“No, sir. Is there another guest?”
Norton thought of his ex-shipmate. Perhaps he was still trapped in the lifeboat. If so, it was too late. Grawl would certainly have drowned by now.
“No, no,” said Norton. “I was just wondering how many guests arrive the way I did.”
“You’re my first guest, sir. Have you any other questions?”
The alien kept watching him. Norton glanced around, looking for a topic of conversation. But there was only water, red water.
“Why is everything red?” he asked.
“I’m no expert, sir,” said the scaled tour guide, “but I believe it’s partly because of a spectral anomaly in the axial coefficient of light refraction, partly because of the very high aqueous distribution ratio, and partly because of a unique mineral oxide which is held in suspension in every drop of water on the planet.”
“Yeah,” said Norton, “that’s what I thought.”
“I couldn’t help noticing, sir…”
“Noticing what?”
“And I do hope you won’t mind if I mention the fact, sir, but…”
“Mention what?”
“I’m aware, sir, that the most considerate guest will try to fit in with the customs and habits of the planet he or she is visiting, and obviously this is what you believe your good self to be doing.”
This was a fish. There was no reason why he should have understood it, but Norton had to ask, “What are you talking about?”
“You’re not wearing any clothes, sir. We on Caphmiaultrelvossmuaf may not be very advanced by your standards, but we’re quickly becoming more civilised. May I demonstrate, sir?”
“Er… yeah, sure,” said Norton.
The alien suddenly leapt up from the water, its upper half rising above the surface for the first time. Norton had expected a fish shape. Instead, the creature had a torso and arms, two of them, each with webbed fingers. It was humanoid.
And it was wearing a bra.
It was a mermaid, Norton realised.
He watched as the creature plunged head first into the red water, arching itself over. Then its lower half flipped above the surface. Instead of a fish’s tail, the mermaid had two long, red legs with webbed feet. It was also wearing yellow briefs.
Bright yellow bra, matching briefs. This had to be the Caphmiaultrelvossmuaf version of a bikini.
The alien’s head reappeared. “It was a giant dive forward, sir, when we learned to wear clothes,” it said, or she said. “Imagine, sir, clothes to wear in the water! The sheer sophistication of a such a concept is almost overwhelming. We’re so proud, sir, that our little puddle of a planet is to be admitted to the great commonwealth of culture.”
“This puddle of yours,” said Norton, “is it a lake or an ocean?”
“It is the sea, sir, the sea of life. Without the sea there can be no life on Caphmiaultrelvossmuaf.”
“Yeah, yeah, but how far does this particular stretch of water… er… stretch?”
“It covers the world, sir.”
“The world? The whole world?”
“We have some land, sir. We’re not primitive savages.”
“I know,” said Norton, quickly. “I know. It’s just that I’d like to see this land of yours. It is dry land, isn’t it?”
“How can it be dry, sir? It rains on the land as well as the sea.”
The amber rain kept beating down, adding to the vermilion sea, and Wayne Norton tried again not to wonder how many watery leagues lay beneath him.
Although the surface was fairly calm, riding up and down on the gentle swell was making him feel queasy. His neck ached from trying to hold his face above the surface.
He gradually became aware of something different. There was a sound in the distance. Water kept washing in and out of his ears, so it was difficult to be certain. He listened.
“Do you hear that?” he said.
“Yes, sir, I do,” said the alien in the yellow bikini.
The noise was growing louder, coming closer.
“What is it?”
“It’s for you, sir.”
Norton couldn’t work out from which direction the unknown sound was coming. He raised his head as high as he could, trying to see whatever it was. The noise was like a soft wind at first, but now it was blowing louder, rising toward gale force.
“I hope my services have been satisfactory, sir,” said the alien.
“What?”
The creature raised its voice. “I hope my services have been satisfactory, sir.”
“Yeah, but—”
“It’s been a privilege to have been of assistance, sir. Thank you for honouring me with your conversation.”
A webbed hand touched its wrinkled forehead in salute, and the bikini-clad alien sank beneath the waves.
By now the wind howled all around Norton, as if he was in the eye of a storm. Then it suddenly stopped. All was silent. He turned his head and saw a boat looming directly above, about to run him down.
“Noooooo…!”
The boat went right over him. It wasn’t floating on the water, but above it, skimming the surface a foot above the waves, but only two or three inches above his face.
The craft was slowing rapidly, and for a few awful moments it seemed it was going to settle down on top of him. But the hull kept gliding above the surface and its height never dropped. Norton was in darkness, shadowed from the light, but also sheltered from the rain.
Finally, it passed completely over him and started to drift away. More of a raft than a boat, its hull rippled like the waves it rode above. It was red, of course, pale red. About fifteen feet long, half that across.
With someone on board, someone standing near the edge, someone with a lethal weapon aimed directly at him.
The someone with the gun had red hair. But this was a different kind of red from all those he’d seen on this planet, as if it belonged to another spectrum, to another world.
A different kind of red. And a different kind of shape.
Human shape. Female shape.
“Kiru!” said Norton.