The Shipping Forecast

Rockall - Part 4

"Why do they argue?" asked Qi'tik, knowing that such things were rare, but not unheard of; little differences causing instability between one Bastion and another. "What has caused this?"

"Nothing of recent note. I believe this to be a long held schism that is now coming to dominate. We may need to separate the nets to save them. I need your permission to do that."

Qi'tik sighed. Heading up, she took several deep, lung-filling breaths until she felt quite dizzy once more, then dived down. Mil'pek did the same and led the way. It was near the coming of the dark, and it would not be long until the light that filtered down to where the Bastions were cruising would be gone, making any intervention in a breakdown that much harder to deal with.

When they arrived, the Bastions appeared as ghostly grey shapes within the green gloom, each easily thirty times the length of Qi'tik and hardly seeming to make any effort to move through the brine. Even to Qi'tik's senses, she could tell the Bastions were distressed, their unhappiness evident in the tones of speech they were using between each other. There were three Bastions forming the whole net. Two swam side by side, separated by about one of their own immense lengths. A third swam beneath, about the same distance down and half-way between, so that when looked at from ahead or astern, they formed a triangle, equidistant from each other. It was the most efficient formation to make such a net work, and the Bastions took care to remain stationed exactly while they swam, only breaking form to breath every now and then.

As Qi'tik got closer, she could make out the octs that covered each Bastion from just behind the immense head all the way aft, almost to the tail. Every oct was connected to another; their tentacles entwined and writhing as they passed information back and forth. Around the head of each Bastion the density of octs was greatest, and Qi'tik knew that somehow, in ways that she couldn't understand, the octs were communicating with their host. Every now and then an individual oct would detach from their Bastion and swim across to another; a packet of information, an answer to a problem or calculation perhaps, necessary for the work of that particular net. Normally such activity would occur swiftly and seamlessly, with the transiting oct assimilated without question by its brother net. She could see this was happening, but amongst the to and fro there were occasional scenes of conflict. Octs from one Bastion or the other were being refused incorporation; actively fought off by their brethren. Some octs were changing hue and adopting shapes of distress and aggression. Never before had Qi'tik seen such a sight. A sudden commotion among a group of octs near the head of the nearest Bastion caught her attention. Ink clouded the water and made it difficult to see. Out of the cloud came torn tentacles, ripped body parts - an oct destroyed by its fellow creatures.

"Move them apart now! Save what we can!" Qi'tik called, and quickly Mil'pek and his kin moved in, urging and cajoling the Bastions apart. As the torn body of the oct drifted astern and almost as it was lost from sight, Qi'tik glimpsed the sleek and deadly shape of a liner - the white tipped kind - slip quickly in to snap up the morsel in one swift bite, then turn and disappear back into the deepening gloom. She swam gratefully up for air, her body trembling.