"To the edge of the galaxy, if I want to go. I can see how that might be useful to you, getting off Quake with no risk of running into Graves. But what do you have to offer
me
? I don't want to be crude about this, but I'm not your fairy godmother. Why should I provide you with free transportation off Quake? I told Kallik, we can have a pretty good look around her site on the surface, but come Summertide, we'll be watching from orbit. But that's for
us
. I'm not running a bus service. Why should I help you?"
"Because I know the codes for control of the Umbilical. The
complete
codes."
"But why should I care . . ." Louis Nenda slowly looked up at the Cecropian, at the same time as the sightless head swung down close to him.
"You see?" The pheromones added a message more strong and yet more subtle than any words: pleasure, triumph, the touch of death.
"I do. It's pretty damned clear. But what about
them
?" Nenda gestured at the window. J'merlia and Kallik were huddled together on the hot ground, trying to find shelter behind the starship from Mandel's searing summer rays. They were both shaking, and J'merlia seemed to be trying to comfort the Hymenopt. "I'll go along with what you propose, but there's no way I'm going to drag them along to watch."
"Agreed. And we do not
need
them. Anything that requires J'merlia's sensitivity to half-micrometer radiation, you can perform in his place."
"I can
see
, if that's what you mean." Nenda was already at the hatch, calling to Kallik. "Look, I'm not willing to leave them with my ship, either. In fact, I'm not willing to leave the ship here at all. We'll fly it around to the Umbilical. And we'll leave J'merlia and Kallik to wait for us here."
"Not quite that, I suggest." Atvar H'sial was moving her legs to full extension, towering over Louis Nenda. "We do not want them to have access to the aircar, either."
"Kallik won't touch it if I tell her not to." Nenda waited while the Cecropian stared at him. Even the pheromonal overtones were silent. "Oh, all right. I agree with you. We won't leave them here. No risk is better than a small one—and I'm not too sure of your Lo'tfian. How do you want to handle it?"
"Very simple. We will give them a beacon and some supplies, and drop them off at a convenient point between here and the foot of the Umbilical. When we have done our work there we will home on them, pick them up, look at the site for the Awakening—and head for orbit before it gets too wild on the surface."
"Suppose surface conditions get bad, right where we leave them? Perry swore they will, and I don't think he was lying."
"If things become bad too soon, that would be a pity." Atvar H'sial stood with her head turned, as J'merlia and Kallik waited at the open hatch. Both the slaves were quivering with fear and tension. "But you can always find another Hymenopt. And although J'merlia has been an adequate servant—more than adequate; I would be sorry to lose his services—that may be the price . . . of a larger success."
Darya Lang did the natural thing: she sat down and cried. But as House-uncle Matra had told her, long before, weeping solved no problems. After a few minutes she stopped.
At first she had been merely bewildered. Why would Atvar H'sial choose to drug her and maroon her in the middle of nowhere, in a region of Quake that they had chosen only because it seemed like a good place for a landing? She could think of no explanation for the Cecropian's disappearance while she slept.
Darya was thousands of kilometers away from the Umbilical. She had only a vague idea of its direction. She had no way to travel except walking. The conclusion was simple: Atvar H'sial intended that she should be stranded on Quake, and die when Sumemrtide hit.
But in that case, why leave a supply of provisions? Why provide a mask and air filter, and a primitive water purifier? Most baffling of all, why leave behind a signal generator that could be used to broadcast a distress call?
Her confusion had been succeeded by misery; then by anger. It was a sequence of emotions that she would never have anticipated, back in the quiet days before she left Sentinel Gate. She had always thought of herself as a reasonable person, a scientist, a citizen of an orderly and logical universe. Rage was not a reasonable reaction; it clouded the thought processes. But her world had changed, and she had been forced to change with it. The intensity of her own emerging feelings amazed her. If she had to die, she would not do it without a struggle.
She squatted on the soft soil by the nearest lake and systematically inspected every item in the heap of materials. The purifier was a little flash-evaporation unit, one that would produce clean, drinkable water from the most bitter alkalines of any lake. At maximum production the unit would give two pints of water a day. The food in the heap was simple and bland, but it was self-heating, nutritious, and enough to last for weeks. The signal generator, so far as she could tell, was in perfect working order. And the waterproof quilted sheet that covered everything would provide insulation against heat, cold, or rain.
Conclusion: If she died, it would not be from hunger, thirst, or exposure.
That was small comfort. Death would be more immediate and much more violent. The air was hot and steadily becoming hotter. Every few minutes she could feel the earth stirring beneath her, like a sleeper unable to find a comfortable position. Worst of all, a stiffening breeze was carrying in a fine white powder that stung her eyes and gave everything an unpleasant metallic taste. The mask and air filter provided only partial protection.
She walked back to the edge of the lake and saw the ghostly reflection of Gargantua in the dark water. The planet grew more bright and bloated with every hour. It was still far from closest approach to Mandel, but looking up she could already see its three largest moons, moving around Gargantua in strangely perturbed orbits. She could almost feel the forces that Gargantua, Mandel, and Amaranth exerted on those satellites, pulling them in different directions. And the same gravitational forces were at work on Quake. The planet she stood on was enduring terrific stress. Its surface must be ready to disintegrate.
So why had Atvar H'sial left her, then fed her and given her protection, when Summertide would get her anyway?
There had to be an explanation of what had happened. She had to
think
.
She crouched down by the water, seeking a spot partly shielded from the blowing dust. If Atvar H'sial had wanted to kill her, the Cecropian could have done it very easily while she still slept. Instead she had been left alive. Why?
Because Atvar H'sial
needed
her alive. The Cecropian did not want her at the moment for whatever intrigue was being arranged, but Atvar H'sial needed her later. Maybe for something she knew about Quake, or about the Builders. But what? Nothing Darya could imagine.
Change the question. What did Atvar H'sial
think
Darya knew?
Darya could make no rational suggestion, but at the moment she did not need the answer. The new Darya insisted that reasons for actions were less important than actions themselves. The thing that mattered was that she had been left here in cold storage—or hot storage—for an indefinite period; someone, sometime, might be coming back for her. And if she did nothing, she would quickly die.
But it would not happen that way. She would not
let
it happen.
Darya stood up and surveyed her surroundings. She had been Atvar H'sial's dupe once, arranging for the trip up the Umbilical. That was the last time.
The lake she was standing by was the highest of half a dozen connected bodies of water. Their sizes ranged from less than a hundred meters across to maybe four hundred. The outflow of the nearest pool, forty paces away from her, splashed down a little cataract of one or two meters' height into the next lake in the sequence.
She searched the shoreline for some type of shelter. Judging from the weather, it would have to be something pretty substantial. The wind was strengthening, and fine sand was seeping into every open space—including her
own
open spaces; the sensation was not pleasant.
Where? Where to hide, where to find sanctuary? The determination to survive—she was going to live!—had been growing.
She brushed fine talc from her arms and body. Earthquakes might be a long-term danger, but at the moment the biggest threat was this intrusive, hard-blown powder. She must get away from it. And it was not clear that anywhere was safe.
What do the native animals do?
The question popped into her head as she was staring down at the lake shore, riddled with what seemed to be animal bore holes. Quake life-forms didn't stay on the surface at this time of year. They went underground, or better yet underwater. She recalled the great herds of white-backed animals heading single-mindedly for the lakes.
Could she do the same thing? The bottom of an alkaline pond was not an enthralling prospect, but at least it would get her away from the dust.
Except that she could not survive on a lake bed. She needed to breathe. There was no way to carry an air supply down with her.
She waded into the water until she was up to her knees. The water was pleasantly warm, and increased a little in temperature as she went deeper. Judging from the bottom slope, the middle of the pool would take her over her head. If she went in until the water came to her neck, the seals of her mask and air filter would be below the waterline and only her head would be above it. That would keep out the dust.
But how many hours could she stand like that? Not enough.
It was a solution that solved nothing.
She began to follow the flow-line of the chain of lakes, descending from one steplike level of rock to the next. The first cataract dropped two meters through a series of half a dozen small rapids, running over smooth lips of stone until they finally discharged into the largest of the lakes. If anything, the blowing dust was worse here at the lower level.
She walked on. This lake was roughly elliptical, at least three hundred meters across and maybe five hundred long. Its outfall was correspondingly larger, a substantial cataract that she could hear when she was still forty paces away from it.
When she came to the noisy waterfall she found a wall of water, three meters high, dropping almost vertically into the next lake of the chain. Spray from the foot of it blew up and fogged her mask, but at least it washed some of the dust from the air. If she could find nothing better, this might be a place to return to.
She was ready to head for the next pool when she saw that the waterfall actually flowed over an overhang in the ledge of rock. There was a space behind. If she could step through the fall without being carried away by the water torrent she would be in a shielded enclosure, protected from blowing dust by a rock wall on one side and running water on the other.
Darya moved to the side of the waterfall, pressed herself as close as she could to the rock face, and edged sideways into the rush of water. As soon as she was partway into the foaming white spray she knew she could get through it. The main force of the fall was missing her, arching out over her head in a torrent that sent only noise and blown droplets back to the hidden rock wall. And as she had thought, there was a space behind.
The trouble was, that ledge and shielded space were too small. She could not stand up without poking her head into the torrent. She could not lie down flat. The ledge was lumpy and uneven. And there was not one square inch of wall or floor undrenched by the continuous spray.
She began to feel dismay, then caught herself. What had she been expecting, an Alliance luxury apartment? This wasn't a matter of
comfort
; it was one of survival.
With the quilt to protect her, she could curl up with her back to the rock. She could stack most of her food and drink outside, and whenever necessary she could leave her cave long enough to bring in more to eat, or to stretch her legs. She could wash out the mask and air filter when she was inside, to keep it free of dust. And she would be warm enough, even if she was never totally dry or rested. If she had to, she could survive here for many days.
She went back and made three trips to her cache of supplies. In the first two she carried everything except the beacon over to the waterfall, and spent a long time deciding which items should be inside with her, and which would be left just outside.
The third trip involved the most difficult decision.
She could carry the beacon signal generator over to a point of high ground near the lake. She could put it on a heap of stones, to maximize its range. She could make sure that it had adequate power. But would she do something else?
She thought about it, and knew she had no choice. If and when Atvar H'sial came back, Darya would still be at her mercy, to be used, rescued, or discarded, as the Cecropian chose. Two months ago Darya might have bowed to that as inevitable; now it was not acceptable.
She wrapped the generator in the quilt and carried it through into the waterfall cave. There she rearranged the waterproof sheet so that she and the beacon were shielded from blown water droplets. It was close to Mandel-noon, and enough light diffused in through the rush of water.
Slowly and carefully, she switched off the generator and partly disassembled it. It would be a mistake to rush, and time seemed to be the one thing she had in abundance. She knew the basic circuits she needed, but she had to improvise to achieve the impedance that would do the trick. She took the high-voltage alternating leads, and ran their output in parallel to the r/f stage, through the transformer, and on to the message box. Then it was a test of memory, and of long-ago courses in neural electronics. The convolver that she needed was little more than a nonlinear oscillator, and there were resistors and capacitors in the signal generator that could perform dual functions. She could not test the result, but the changes she had made were simple enough. It ought to work. The main danger was that it might be too powerful.