“Of course not, dear bow-wave rider. I apologize. I’ll do my part, and I’ll not worry for a moment about you doing yours.”
Keepiru looked at her as if wishing he didn’t have to wear a breather. As if he wanted to speak to her in her native language. Gillian felt some of this in a gentle telempathic touch.
She hugged his smooth gray torso. “You take care, Keepiru. Remember that you’re admired and loved. Very much so.”
The pilot tossed his head.
* To swimming—or
Battle
* To warning—or
Rescue
* To earning—your
Trust
They dropped over the edge of the bluff and swam quickly for the ship’s outer lock.
I
t was impossible to rest.
Takkata-Jim envied humans the total unconsciousness they called sleep. When a man lay down for the night, his awareness of the world disappeared, and the nerves to his muscles deactivated. If he did dream, he usually didn’t have to participate physically.
Even a neo-dolphin couldn’t just turn himself off that way. One or the other hemisphere of the brain was always on sentry duty to control his breathing. Sleep, for a fin, was both a milder and a far more serious thing.
He knocked about the captain’s stateroom, wishing he could go back to his own, smaller cabin. But symbolism was important to the crew he had inherited. His followers needed more than the logic of legality to confirm his command. They needed to see him as the New Bull. And that meant living in the style of the former herd leader.
He took a long breath at the surface and emitted clicks to illuminate the room in sound-images.
Creideiki certainly had eclectic tastes. Ifni knew what sorts of things the former captain had owned which couldn’t stand wetness, and had therefore been stowed away before Streaker landed on Kithrup. The collection that remained was striking.
Works by artists of a dozen sentient races lay sealed behind glass cases. Sound-stroke photos of strange worlds and weird, aberrant stars adorned the walls.
Creideiki’s music system was impressive. He had recordings by the thousands, songs and eerie … things that made Takkata-Jim’s spine crawl when he played them. The collection of whale ballads was valuable, and a large fraction appeared to have been collected personally.
By the desk comm, there was a photo of Creideiki with the officers of the James Cook. Captain Helene Alvarez herself had signed it. The famous explorer had her arm over her dolphin exec’s broad, smooth back as she and Creideiki mugged for the camera.
Takkata-Jim had served on important ships—cargo vessels supplying the Atlast and Calafia colonies—but he had never been on missions like those of the legendary Cook. He had never seen such sights, nor heard such sounds.
Until the Shallow Cluster … until they found dead ships the size of moons …
He thrashed his tail in frustration. His flukes struck the ceiling painfully. His breath came heavily.
It didn’t matter. Nothing that he had done would matter if he succeeded! If he got Streaker away from Kithrup with her crew alive! If he did that, he would have a photo of his own. And the arm on his back would be that of the President of the Confederacy of Earth.
A shimmering collection of tiny motes began to collect to his right. The sparkles coalesced into a holographic image, a few inches from his eye.
“Yess, what is it!” he snapped.
An agitated dolphin, harness arms flexing and unflexing, nodded nervously. It was the ship’s purser, Suppeh.
“Sssir! Sssomething strange has happened. We weren’t sssure we should wake you, but-t-t…”
Takkata-Jim found the fin’s Underwater Anglic almost indecipherable. Suppeh’s upper register warbled uncontrollably.
“Calm down and talk slowly!” he commanded sharply. The fin flinched, but made an effort to obey.
“I … I was in the outlock-k. I heard someone say there was an alert-t. Heurka-pete sent Haoke and Mold after sled-sounds…”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
Suppeh recoiled in dismay. For a moment he appeared too frightened to speak. Takkata-Jim sighed and kept his voice calm. “Never mind. Not your fault. Go on.”
Visibly relieved, Suppeh continued. “A f-few minutes later, the light on the personnel outlock-k came on. Wattaceti went over, and I p-p-paid no heed. But when Life-Cleaner and Wormhole-Pilot entered…”
Takkata-Jim spumed. Only dire need to hear Suppeh’s story without delay prevented him from crashing about the room in frustration!
“… tried to stop them, as you ordered, but-t Wattaceti and Hiss-kaa were doing back flipsss of joy, and dashed about fetching for them both-th!”
“Where are they now?” Takkata-Jim demanded.
“Bassskin entered the main bay, with Wattaceti. Hiss-kaa is off, spreading rumorsss throughout the ship. Keepiru took a sled and breathers and is gone!”
“Gone where?”
“Back-k-k out-t-t!” Suppeh wailed. His command of Anglic was rapidly dissolving. Takkata-Jim took advantage of what composure the purser had left.
“Have Heurka-pete awaken Doctor Metz. Have Metz meet me at sick bay with three guards. You are to go to the dry-wheel dressing room, with Sawtoot, and let-t no one enter! Understood?”
Suppeh nodded vigorously, and his image vanished.
Takkata-Jim prayed that Heurka-pete would have the sense to recall Moki and Haoke and send them after Keepiru. Together, between Haoke’s brains and Moki’s feral ruthlessness, they might be able to cut the pilot off before he reached the Thennanin wreck.
Why isn’t K’tha-Jon back yet? I chose him to go after that middie in order to get him out of the ship for a while. I was afraid he was becoming dangerous even to me. I wanted some time to organize without him around. But now the Baskin woman’s returned sooner than I expected. Maybe I should have kept K’tha-Jon around. The giant’s talents might be useful about now.
Takkata-Jim whistled the door open and swam out into the hall. He faced a confrontation he had hoped to put off for at least another forty hours, if not indefinitely.
Should I have seen to Creideiki before this? It would have been easy … a power failure in his gravity tank, a switched catheter … Metz would not approve, but there was already much of which Metz did not know. Much that Takkata-Jim wished he didn’t know.
He swam hard for the intrahull lift.
Maybe I won’t need K’tha-Jon in order to deal with Gillian Baskin, he thought. After all, what can one human female do?
T
he mound of partly dried weeds formed a dome on the sea of vines. Tom had propped up a low roof using salvaged bits of strutting from his sledge, making a rude cave. He sat in the entrance, waiting in the pre-dawn dimness, and munched on one of his scarce foodbars.
His wounds were cleaned as well as possible, and coated with hardening dabs of medicinal foam. With food in his stomach and some of the pain put down, he almost felt human again.
He examined his small osmotic still. The upper part, a clear bag with a filtered spout at one end, held a thick layer of saltwater and sludge. Below the filter, one of his canteens sat almost filled.
Tom looked at his watch. Only five minutes remained. There was no time to dip for another load of scummy water to feed the still. He wouldn’t even be able to clean the filters before the bomb went off.
He picked up the canteen, screwed its cap tight, and slipped it into a thigh pouch. He popped the filter out of its frame and shook most of the sludge out before folding it tightly and tucking it under his belt. The filter probably didn’t take out all the dissolved metal salts in the water. It hadn’t been designed with Kithrup in mind. Nonetheless, the little package was probably his most valuable possession.
Three minutes, the glowing numbers on his watch told him.
Tom looked up at the sky. There was a vague brightening in the east, and the stars were starting to fade. It would be a clear morning, and therefore bitterly cold. He shivered and zipped the wetsuit tight. He pulled in his knees.
One minute.
When it came it would be like the loudest sound he had ever heard. Like the brightest light. There would be no keeping it out.
He wanted to cover his ears and eyes, as if against a real explosion. Instead, he stared at a point on the horizon and counted, pacing each breath. Deliberately he let himself slide into a trance.
“…seven … eight … nine … ten…” A lightness filled his chest. The feeling spread outward, numbing and soothing.
Light from the few stars in the west diffracted spiderweb rays through his barely separated eyelashes as he awaited a soundless explosion.
“Sah’ot, I said I’m ready to take over now!”
Sah’ot squirmed and looked up at Toshio. “Just-t another few minutess, OK? I’m listening to ssssomething!”
Toshio frowned. This was not what he had expected from Sah’ot! He had come to relieve the dolphin linguist early because Sah’ot hated working with the robot probe!
“What’s going on, Tosh?”
Dennie sat up in her sleeping bag, rubbing her eyes and peering in the pre-dawn dark.
“I don’t know, Dennie. I offered to take over the robot, so Sah’ot wouldn’t have to deal with Charlie when he calls. But he refuses to let go.”
Dennie shrugged. “Then I’d say that’s his business. What do you care, anyway?”
Toshio felt a sharp answer rise to his lips, but he kept them locked and turned away. He would ignore Dennie until she awakened fully and decided to behave civilly.
Dennie had surprised him after Gillian and Keepiru left, by taking his new command without complaint. For the last two days, she hadn’t seemed much interested in anything but her microscopes and samples, ignoring even Sah’ot’s desultory sexual innuendo, and answering questions in monosyllables.
Toshio knelt by the comm unit attached by cable to Sah’ot’s sled. He tapped out a query on the monitor and frowned at the result.
“Sah’ot!” he said severely. “Get over here!”
“In a ssssec…” The dolphin sounded distracted.
Toshio pursed his lips.
* NOW, you will to HERE
Ingather
* Or shortly cease ALL
Listening further! *
He heard Dennie gasp behind him. She probably didn’t understand the Trinary burst in detail, but she got the basic idea. Toshio felt justified. This was a test. He wasn’t able to be as subtle as Gillian Baskin, but he had to get obedience or he would be useless as an officer.
Sah’ot stared up at him, blinking dazedly. Then the fin sighed and moved over to the side of the pool.
“Sah’ot, you haven’t taken any geological readings in four hours! Yet in that time you’ve dropped the probe two hundred meters! What’s got into you!”
The Stenos rolled from side to side uncertainly. Finally, he spoke softly. “I’m get-tting a sssong …”
The last word faded before Toshio could be sure of it. He looked at the neo-fin civilian, unable to believe his ears. “You’re getting a what?”
“A ssssong …?”
Toshio lifted his hands and dropped them to his sides. He’s finally cracked, he thought. First Dennie, now Sah’ot. I’ve been left in charge of two mental cases!
He sensed Dennie approach the pool. “Listen, Sah’ot,” Toshio said. “Dr. Dart will be calling soon. What do you think he’s going to say when…”
“I’ll take care of Charlie when he calls,” Dennie said quietly.
“You?” Dennie had spent the last forty hours cursing over the drill-tree problem she had been assigned, at Takkata-Jim’s order and Charles Dart’s request. It had almost completely superseded her work with the Kiqui. Toshio couldn’t imagine her wanting to talk with the chimpanzee.
“Yes, me. What I have to tell him may make him forget all about the robot, so you just lay off Sah’ot. If he says he heard singing, well, maybe he’s heard singing.”
Toshio stared at her, then shrugged. Fine. My job is to protect these two, not to correct their scientific blunders. I just hope Gillian straightens things out back at the ship so I can report what’s going on here.
Dennie knelt down by the water to talk to Sah’ot. She spoke slowly and earnestly, patient with the Anglic slowness he suffered after his long séance with the robot.
Dennie wanted to dive to look at the core of the metal-mound. Sah’ot agreed to accompany her if she would wait until he had transcribed some more of his “music.” Dennie assented, apparently completely unafraid of going into the water with Sah’ot.
Toshio sat down and waited for the inevitable buzz of the comm line from the ship. People were changing overnight, and he hadn’t the slightest idea why!
His eyes felt scratchy. Toshio rubbed them, but that didn’t seem to help.
He blinked and tried to look at Dennie and Sah’ot. The difficulty he was having focusing only seemed to be getting worse. A haziness began to spread between himself and the pool. Suddenly he felt a sense of dread expectancy. Pulsing, it seemed to migrate from the back of his head to a place between his shoulder blades.
He brought his hands to his ears. “Dennie? Sah’ot? Do you …?” He shouted the last words, but could barely hear his own voice.
The others looked up at him. Dennie rose and took a step toward him, concern on her face.
Then her eyes opened in wide surprise. Toshio saw a blur of movement at the edges of his field of view. Then there were Kiqui in the forest, charging them through the bushes!
Toshio tried to draw his needler, knowing it was already too late. The aboriginals were already upon them, waving their short arms and screaming in tiny, high-pitched voices. Three plowed into him and two toppled Dennie. He struggled and fell beneath them fighting to keep their slashing claws away from his face while the grating noise erupted in his brain.
Then, in an instant, the Kiqui were gone!
Amidst the grinding roar in his head, Toshio forced himself to turn over and look up.
Dennie tossed back and forth across the ground moaning, clutching at her ears. Toshio feared she had been wounded by Kiqui claws, but when she rolled his way he saw only shallow cuts.