“I am always ready to be of service.”
Gillian smirked. “Sure you are.” She climbed up on a packing crate to reach the door-plate but before opening the door she looked back up at the machine.
“Tell me one thing, Niss. Did you give Creideiki any of this bullshit you were feeding me just now?”
“Not in Anglic words, no. But we did cover most of the same themes.”
“And he believed you?”
“Yes. I believe he did. Frankly, I was a bit surprised. It was almost as if he had heard it all before, from another source.”
That explained part of the mystery of the captain’s disappearance, then. And there was nothing that could be done about it now.
“Assuming he did believe you, just what does Creideiki think he’s going to accomplish out there?”
The motes spun for a few seconds.
“I suppose, Dr. Baskin, he is first off looking for allies. On an entirely different level, I think he is out there trying to add a few choice stanzas to the legend.”
T
hey moaned. They had always been in pain. For aeons life had hurt them.
:Listen:
He called out in the language of the ancient gods, coaxing the Karrank% to answer him.
:Listen: You Deep, Hidden Ones—You Sad, Abused Ones : I Call From The Outside : I Crave an Audience :
The doleful singing paused. He felt a hint of irritation. It came in both sound and psi, a shrug to shake a bothersome flea away.
The song of lamentation resumed.
Creideiki kept at it, pushing, probing. He floated at the relay link Streaker had left behind, breathing from his sled’s airdome, trying to get the attention of the ancient misanthropes, using the electrical buzz of a distant robot to amplify his faint message.
: I Call From The Outside : Seeking Aid : Your Ancient Tormentors Are Our Enemies Too :
That stretched the truth slightly, but not in essence. He hurried on, sculpting sound images as he felt their attention finally swing his way.
: We Are Your Brothers : Will You Help Us? :
The growling drone suddenly erupted. The psi portion felt angry and alien. The part that was sound grated like static. Without his apprenticeship in the Sea of Dreams, Creideiki felt certain he would have found it unfathomable.
+ DO NOT BOTHER US -
- DO NOT STAY ! WE +
+ HAVE NO BROTHERS -
- WE REJECT +
+ THE UNIVERSE -
- GO AWAY! +
Creideiki’s head rang with the powerful dismissal. Still, the potency of the psi was encouraging.
What Streaker’s crew had needed all along was an ally, any ally. They had to have some help, at least a distraction, if Thomas Orley’s clever plan of deception and disguise stood a chance of success. As alien and bitter as these underground creatures were, they had once been starfarers. Perhaps they would take some satisfaction in helping other victims of Galactic civilization.
He persisted.
: Look! : Listen! : Your World Is Surrounded By Gene-Meddlers : They Seek Us : And Small Ones Who Share This Planet With You : They Wish To Warp Us : As They Did You : They Will Invade Your Private Agony :
He crafted a sonic image of great fleets of ships, embellished with gaping jaws. He painted over them an impression of malicious intent.
His picture was shattered by a thundering response.
+ WE ARE NOT INVOLVED! -
Creideiki shook his head and concentrated.
: They May Seek You Out, As Well :
+ THEY HAVE NO USE FOR US! -
- IT IS YOU THEY SEEK! +
+ NOT US! -
The reply dazed him. Creideiki only had strength for one more question. He tried to ask what the Karrank% would do if they were attacked.
Before he finished, he was answered by a gnashing that could not be parsed even in the sense-glyphs of the ancient gods. It was more a roar of defiance than anything decipherable. Then, in an instant, the sound and mental echoes cut off. He was left there, drifting with his head ringing from their anger.
He had done his best. Now what?
With nothing better to do, he closed his eyes and meditated. He clicked out sonar spirals and wove the echoes of the surrounding ridges into patterns. His disappointment subsided as he sensed Nukapai take shape alongside him, her body a complex matting of his own sounds and those of the sea. She seemed to rub along his side and Creideiki thought he could almost feel her. He felt a brief sexual thrill.
: Not Nice People : she commented.
Creideiki smiled sadly.
: No, Not Nice : But They Hurt : I Would Not Bother Such Hermits But For The Need :
He sighed.
: The World-Song Seems To Say They Will Not Help :
Nukapai grinned at his pessimism. She changed tempo and whistled softly in an amused tone.
* Go below
And hear tomorrow’s weather
* Go below
Prescience, prescience… *
Creideiki concentrated to understand her. Why did she speak Trinary, a language almost as difficult for him now as Anglic? There was another speech, subtle and powerful, that they could share now. Why did she remind him of his disability?
He shook his head, confused. Nukapai was a figment of his own mind … or at least she was limited to whatever sounds his own voice could create. So how was it she could talk in Trinary at all?
There were mysteries still. The deeper he went the more mysteries there seemed to be.
* Go below
Deep night-diver
* Go below
Prescience, prescience—*
He repeated the message to himself. Did she mean that something could be read from the future? That something inevitable was fated to bring the Karrank% out of their isolation?
He was still trying to puzzle out the riddle when he heard the sound of engines. Creideiki listened for a few moments. But he didn’t need to turn on the sled’s hydrophones to recognize the pattern of those motors.
Cautiously, tentatively, a tiny spacecraft nosed into the canyon. Sonar swept slowly from one end to another. A searchlight took in the scars in the sea-bed that the departing Streaker had left behind. They scanned bits and pieces of abandoned equipment, and finally came to rest on the little boxy relay, and his sled.
Creideiki blinked in the bright beam. He opened his jaws wide in a smile of greeting. But his voice froze. For the first time in several days he felt bashful, unable to speak for fear of choking over even the simplest words and seeming a fool.
The ship’s speakers amplified a single happy sigh, elegantly simple.
* Creideiki! *
With a warm pleasure he recognized that voice. He turned on the sled’s motors and cast loose from the relay. As he sped toward the skiff’s opening hatch he called out careful words in Anglic, one at a time.
“Hikahi … Nice … to hear … your … voice … again…”
F
og swirled over the sea of weeds. That was good, up to a point. It made stealth easier. But it also made it hard to look for traps.
Tom searched carefully as he crawled across the last stretch of weeds before the open end of the wrecked cruiser. This patch couldn’t be taken underwater, and he didn’t doubt those who had taken shelter within the hulk had set upward.
He found the device only a few meters from the gaping opening. Thin wires were strung from one small hump of vines to the next. Tom inspected the arrangement, then carefully dug below the tripwire and slithered underneath. When he was clear, he scrambled quietly to the edge of the floating ship and rested against the pitted hull.
The weed beasties had taken cover during the fighting. They were out again, now that almost all of the combatants were dead. Their frog-like croaks refracted eerily in the noisome vapor. Distantly, Tom heard the rumble of the volcano. His empty stomach growled. It sounded loud enough to rouse the Progenitors.
He checked his weapon. The needler had only a few shots left. He had better be right about the number of ETs that had taken shelter aboard this vessel.
I’d better be right about a number of things, he reminded himself. I’ve staked a lot on there being food here, as well as the information I need.
He closed his eyes in brief meditation, then turned to crouch below the opening. He peeked one eye just past the ragged edge.
Three bird-like Gubru huddled around a motley array of equipment on the smoke-stained, canted deck. A tiny, inadequate heater held the attention of two, who warmed slenderboned arms over it. The third sat before a battered portable console and squeaked in Galactic Four, a language popular among many avian species.
“No sign of humans or their clients,” the creature peeped. “We have lost our deep-search equipment, so we cannot be certain. But we find no sign of Earthlings. We cannot achieve anything more. Come for us!”
The radio sputtered. “Impossible to come out of hiding. Impossible to squander last resources at this time. You must maintain. You must lie low. You must wait.”
“Wait? We shelter in a hull whose food supply is radioactive. We shelter in a hull whose equipment is ruined. Yet this hull we shelter in is the best still afloat! You must come for us!”
Tom cursed silently at the news. So much for eating.
The radio operator maintained its protests. The other two Gubru listened shifting their weight impatiently. One of them stamped its clawed feet and turned around suddenly as if to interrupt the radio operator. Its gaze swept past the gap in the hull. Before Tom could duck back, the creature’s eyes went wide. It began to point.
“A human! Quickly…”
Tom shot it in the thorax. Without bothering to watch it fall, he dove through the opening and rolled behind a tilted console. He scuttled to the other end and snapped off two quick shots just as the second standing Gubru tried to fire. A thin flame spat out of a small handgun, searing the already scarred ceiling as the alien shrieked and toppled backward.
The Galactic at the radio stared at Tom. It glanced at the radio beside it.
“Don’t even think it,” Tom squawked in heavily accented Galactic Four. The alien’s crest riffled in surprise. It lowered its hands and kept still.
Tom rose carefully, never drawing bead away from the surviving Gubru. “Drop your weapons belt and stand away from the transmitter. Slowly. Remember, we humans are wolflings. We are feral, carnivorous, and extremely fast! Do not make me eat you.” He grinned his broadest grin to display a maximum of teeth.
The creature shuddered and moved to obey. Tom reinforced obedience with a growl. Sometimes a reputation as a primitive had its uses.
“All right,“ he said as the alien moved to where he gestured, by the gaping hole. Tom kept his gun trained and sat by the radio. The receiver gave out excited twitters.
He recognized the model, thank Ifni, and switched it off: “Were you transmitting when your friend here spotted me?” he asked his captive. He wondered if the commander of the hidden Gubru forces had heard the word “human.”
The Galactic’s comb fluttered. Its answer was so irrelevant that Tom momentarily wondered if he had totally misphrased the question.
“You must surrender pride,” it chanted, puffing its feathers. “All young ones must surrender pride. Pride leads to error. Hubris leads to error. Only orthodoxy can save. We can save…”
“That’s enough!” Tom snapped.
“…save you from heretics. Lead us to the returning Progenitors. Lead us to the ancient masters. Lead us to the rule-givers. Lead us to them. They expect to return to the Paradise they decreed when they long ago departed. They expect Paradise and would be helpless before such as the Soro or the Tandu or the Thennanin or…”
“Thennanin! That’s what I want to know! Are the Thennanin still fighting? Are they powers in the battle?” Tom swayed with the intensity of his need to know.
“…or the Dark Brothers. They will need protection until they are made to understand what terrible things are being done in their name, orthodoxies broken, heresies abounding. Lead us to them, help us cleanse the universe. Your rewards will be great. Your modifications small. Your indenture short…”
“Stop it!” Tom felt the strain and exhaustion of the last few days rise in a boiling rage. Next to the Soro and Tandu, the Gubru had been among humanity’s worst persecutors. He had had all he was about to take from this one.
“Stop it and answer my questions!” He fired at the floor near the alien’s feet. It hopped in surprise, wide-eyed. Tom fired twice more. The first time the Gubru danced away from a ricochet. The second time it winced as the needler misfired and jammed.
The Galactic peered at him, then squawked joyfully. It spread its feathered arms wide and unsheathed long talons.
For the first time it said something direct and intelligible. “Now you shall talk, impertinent, half-formed, masterless upstart!”
It charged, screaming.
Tom dove to one side as the shrieking avian screeched past him. Slowed by hunger and exhaustion, he couldn’t prevent one razor-sharp claw from passing through his wetsuit and ripping his side along one rib. He gasped and stumbled against a blood-stained wall as the Gubru turned around to renew the attack.
Neither of them even considered the handguns that lay on the floor. Depleted and slippery, the weapons weren’t worth the gamble to stoop to retrieve them.
“Where are the dolphinnnns?” the Gubru squawked as it danced back and forth. “Tell me or I shall teach you respect for your elders the hard way.”
Tom nodded. “Learn to swim, bird-brain, and I’ll take you to them.”
The Gubru’s talons spread again. It shrieked and charged.
Tom summoned his reserves. He leapt into the air and met the creature’s throat with a savage kick. The shriek was cut off abruptly, and he felt its vertebrae snap as it went down, sliding along the damp deck to fetch up at the wall in a heap.
Tom landed stumbling beside it. His eyes swam. Breathing heavily with hands on his knees, he looked down at his enemy.