Manta's Gift

  "We're glad you're impressed," Raimey growled. "Can everyone just shut up now? Okay?"

  With an effort, he shifted his mind back to Qanskan tonals. "I understand that now," he rumbled to Latranesto. "I did not understand at the time." He hesitated for a moment, but he couldn't resist. "My people do not understand the Qanska as well as they think they do."

  It is good that you learn, child of the humans, Latranesto said. That is why you are here, is it not?

  Raimey felt himself frowning, or what would have been a frown if he'd had a human face to do it with. On the surface, the comment certainly seemed reasonable enough.

  And yet, something about it struck him as being just a little bit odd. From the words alone, it could have been straight, sarcastic, indulgent, amused, or even offended. Again, he wished he had a better handle on the nuances that were clearly going over his head. "I am here to bring understanding and harmony between our two peoples," he improvised, hoping that would cover all the bases.

  Of course you are, Latranesto said. And it is time that that harmony should begin.

  "I'm ready," Raimey said. Distantly, he wished he'd had the foresight to take a few more Salesman's Technique classes back at school. The people-reading aspects taught there would have been a lot more useful here than all those stock market analysis labs he'd dripped the midnight sweat over. "What's the first step?"

  Before all else, you must learn to survive, Latranesto said. To that purpose, the Counselors, and the Leaders, and the Wise have chosen a companion for you.

  He made a sound like a foghorn with a cold, and from behind him came a much smaller adult Qanska. This is Tigrallo, a Protector, Latranesto identified him. He and your mother, Mirasni, will look after you until you have learned all of what it means to be a Qanska.

  "Thank you," Raimey said sourly, feeling a reflexive flicker of embarrassment. Here he was, twenty-three years old, a full-grown adult human being, and they were saddling him with not just one but two baby-sitters.

  He looked again at the fresh bulge on Latranesto's side, the bulge that had once been a Vuuka. On the other hand, there were worse things on Jupiter than a little embarrassment. "I thank you," he said again, and this time he meant it. "I am sure I will find their assistance of great value."

  Then you will be a Qanska in truth, Latranesto said. You must also become a Qanska in name.

  Raimey blinked. "I'm sorry?"

  I do not understand sorrow for a name.

  "No, that's not what I meant," Raimey said. "I meant—"

  "Raimey," Faraday murmured in his ear.

  "What?" Raimey snapped, annoyed at the interruption. Again, it was oddly difficult to switch back to English, even subvocalizing this way.

  "I mean your name: Raimey," Faraday said. "It's a female Qanska's name. An I-sound ending. Male names end in an O-sound."

  "That's nice to know," Raimey growled. "You suppose someone might have mentioned this to me a little sooner?"

  "I'm sorry," Faraday said. "I just assumed the prep team would have told you that."

  "Well, they didn't," Raimey said, disgusted with the whole lot of them. "What else haven't you told me?"

  "I said I was sorry," Faraday said, an edge to his voice this time. "What else do you want?"

  Raimey snorted. But then, what else should he have expected from a huge, stable, terminally comfortable operation like SkyLight? His Corporate History classes had demonstrated how, over and over again, fat and sassy led directly to sloppy and lazy.

  Throw the contentious politicians of the Five Hundred into the mix and it only got worse. He should probably count himself lucky that they'd gotten him to the right planet.

  Do you speak to your former people instead of to the Counselor? Tigrallo demanded, swimming a corkscrew pattern around him. His voice was less deep than Latranesto's, but Raimey could hear the same range of subtleties there.

  And if Tigrallo was getting impatient, Latranesto probably was, too. "My apologies," Raimey said, switching back to tonals and trying mightily to come up with something clever for a name. Clever, and easier to remember than these jawbreaker types the rest of the Qanska seemed to have.

  Tigrallo flipped over on his back and started corkscrewing the other direction. Looking like a mad impressionist painter's idea of a cross between a dolphin and a manta ray...

  Well, why not? "I have chosen a name, Counselor," Raimey said. "I wish to be called Manta."

  That is not a proper name, Latranesto said. You are a male. You must choose a proper male's name.

  "But I am not only Qanska," Raimey reminded him. "I am also human. I contend it is proper that I have a name that is unique among the Qanska."

  Latranesto rumbled something. Someone from the group of Qanska underneath him rumbled back, and the discussion was on. Raimey tried to follow along, but his efforts quickly ended in a dead end. The conversation seemed composed almost entirely of nuances, with none of the tonal words he recognized. Either this was a different dialect from the one he'd been taught, or else they'd been enunciating things very slowly and carefully up to now.

  It seemed to go on forever, but eventually the rumblings began to die away. Very well, Latranesto said at last, switching back to something Raimey could understand. From this day until the passing into the Deep, you shall be known as Manta.

  The passing into the Deep. That one definitely sounded ominous. The Qanskan version of till death do us part?

  I must now leave you, Latranesto continued. Once again, in the name of the Counselors, and the Leaders, and the Wise, I welcome you to our home. Use your time and abilities with courage and strength and wisdom.

  "I will do my best," Raimey said. "I hope we shall meet again."

  Perhaps, Latranesto said. Until that day, may you swim in peace and contentment.

  The Counselor gave an elaborate ripple of his fins, which was apparently the signal the lifting Qanska had been waiting for. In unison they ducked out from under him and swam clear of his bulk. Latranesto dropped like a stone, quickly sinking out of sight in the swirling mass of atmosphere below.

  Come.

  The voice had come from behind him. With an effort, Raimey managed to turn himself around.

  Tigrallo was hovering there, his fins flapping rhythmically with smooth but powerful strokes. Your first task is to learn how to find food, the Protector said. You do like to eat, do you not?

  Raimey was suddenly aware that whatever passed for a stomach in this new body of his was feeling extremely empty. "You bet," he said. "Let's go."

  Faraday flipped off his microphone and stretched the tension out of his fingers. For the moment, at least, things seemed under control. "Well," he said to the room in general. "Evaluations?"

  "Nothing like a good heart attack to get a project up and running." Hesse grunted. "That one was just too damn close."

  "I seem to remember it was your idea to boost his oxygen flow," Milligan pointed out, an edge of scorn in his voice. "If we hadn't done that, he wouldn't have attracted that Vuuka in the first place."

  "Excuse me, Mr. Milligan, but I thought it might be nice to keep him from suffocating before he was even born," Hesse shot back, his face reddening noticeably beneath his blond hair. "And as long as we're talking ifs here," he added, shifting his glare to McCollum, "if our vaunted xenobiologist had told me the umbilical contraction was natural—"

  "Don't try to load this one on me," McCollum objected. "It's been twenty years of pulling teeth just to find out what we do know about Qanskan physiology. They never said a word about this."

  "All right, that's enough," Faraday interrupted, putting some of that Living Legend authority into his voice. "All of you. I know it's been a tense few days, and I know that we're all tired. But let's be professionals here. Finger-pointing is for bureaucrats."

  McCollum made a face, but obediently fell silent. Faraday looked at Hesse, who also said nothing, then around at the others. "All right," he said again. "Now. Evaluations?"

  "He's
adjusting very well to his transformation," Sprenkle offered. "Almost too well, in fact."

  "Meaning?" Faraday asked.

  "It's hard to pin down," Sprenkle said, fingering his moustache thoughtfully. "Did you notice how he seemed to hesitate every time he had to switch back to English?"

  "Lots of people do that when they're going between two different languages," Beach pointed out.

  "True," Sprenkle agreed. "But he also seemed rather annoyed about having to stop what he was doing to talk to us. Sometimes borderline hostile, in fact."

  "Maybe because we almost got him killed," Milligan muttered.

  Hesse turned a glare his direction—"No, I don't think so," Sprenkle said. "Remember that comment about us not knowing as much about Qanskan physiology as we thought we did?"

  "No kidding," McCollum muttered.

  "The point is that he seems to be already picking up an us-versus-them way of thinking," Sprenkle said. "Identifying with his new body, and his new people."

  "But that's what we want to happen," Faraday said. "Isn't it?"

  "Certainly, at least to some extent," Sprenkle said. "He'll be miserable the rest of his life if he never considers himself a part of Qanskan society. All I'm saying is that we didn't expect it to start this soon."

  "Maybe there's something else going on," Hesse said. "I've seen parts of Raimey's file. The man has a lot of resentment and anger still festering over his accident. Maybe that dig was part of that anger."

  "Who exactly is he angry at?" Beach asked.

  "The universe in general," Sprenkle said. "Humanity in particular. Raimey is definitely the sort to hold and nurture a grudge."

  "So hold a grudge at the universe," Beach said, frowning. "But why drag humanity into it? No one planted that tree in front of him."

  "No, but he was showing off for his girlfriend," Sprenkle said. "For someone like Raimey, that might be all it takes to start assigning blame."

  McCollum snorted under her breath. "This guy wasn't exactly a prize before his accident either, was he?"

  "Let's not concentrate on his psychological flaws, people," Faraday said mildly. "I'm sure Dr. Sprenkle could write up an equally flattering file on each of us, too. Besides, if Raimey hadn't been mad enough at humanity to turn his back on us, he might not be swimming around down there right now."

  "I was just thinking about a cartoon I saw once," Milligan said slowly. "An Old West, cowboys-and-First-Immigrants strip. The commander of the fort has called his scout into his office to report. The scout says, 'I did what you told me, Colonel—I made friends with the natives, learned their ways, studied their culture.' The colonel says, 'And what do you have to tell me?' The scout says, 'Get off our land.' "

  "Boy, wouldn't that be a kicker," Beach murmured. "If he went completely native and told us to go take a collective hike."

  "I don't think that'll happen," Sprenkle said. "Jen, you said the cellular substitution had already started?"

  "Pretty much as soon as the surgeons finished," McCollum confirmed. "That was a little faster than anyone expected, too."

  "Right," Sprenkle said. "And yet he's still apparently the same lovable Matthew Raimey that he always was, resentments and grudges and all. I don't think he's going to lose all connection to humanity."

  "Unless it's waiting until the transformation reaches his cerebral cortex," Milligan said. "This could still blow up in our faces."

  "Nothing's blowing up in anyone's face," Faraday said firmly. "We'll just have to keep an eye on him. Was there anything else?"

  The others glanced around at each other, but no one spoke. "All right, then," Faraday said. "When your duty shifts are over, I'll expect each of you to do a complete analysis of your data and write it up."

  "In the meantime," Hesse added, glancing at his watch, "the Five Hundred are waiting for word of the blessed event."

  "You want me to go ahead and forward the conversation?" Beach asked.

  "No, this one Mr. Hesse and I should probably do ourselves," Faraday said, getting to his feet. "Historic significance, and all that. We'll be in the transmission room if you need us. Stay sharp, and let us know immediately if there are any problems."

  "He'll be fine," McCollum said, gesturing toward the sensor board. "No one's going to bother him with his own personal Protector on call."

  "At least not for the ten minutes it'll take you to send a message to Earth," Beach added dryly. "Take your time."

  "Thank you," Faraday said, matching his tone and trying not to let his own private fears show through. It wasn't the next ten minutes he was worried about. Or the next ten days, or even the next ten months.

  Because Sprenkle was right: Raimey was indeed the type to hold a grudge. What would he say when he finally learned that no one on Earth cared a stale cracker about whether he got his life back, or even about his place in the history books?

  What else haven't you told me? Raimey had asked a few minutes ago. The question had been half rhetorical, and Faraday had managed to sidetrack the half that wasn't. What else haven't you told me?

  Faraday grimaced. If he only knew.

  FIVE

  A wispy strand of bright purple vine rolled swiftly past Raimey to his right, apparently caught in some particularly brisk breeze. Abandoning the more subtle blue-green leaves he'd been munching on, he flipped over onto his side, did a swooping turn, and gave chase.

  Kachtis, he vaguely recalled the purple foodstuff's name. Or maybe it was chinster, and kachtis was the other, lighter purple one, the one with the leaves and cone-shaped berries. After eighty-three ninedays on Jupiter, he still didn't have all these floating plants and near-microscopic groups of sporelike things completely sorted out.

  But he had sampled all of them, or at least all those that grew on Level One. And the purple ones were definitely the tastiest.

  Which was why they usually didn't last long up here among all the hungry Qanskan children and mothers. This time, though, he was determined to beat out the competition.

  He was just closing in on the trailing end of the purple when another Qanskan child dropped in from above and neatly scooped it into his mouth.

  "Hey!" Raimey snapped. "That was mine."

  "Oh?" the other asked, rolling over on his side to look back at Raimey. "This your private ocean or something?"

  Great, Raimey groused to himself. Not only a blatant food poacher, but a smart-mouth on top of it. "You saw me going after that tendril," he said. "You should have let me have it."

  "Why?" the other said, rippling his fins in complete unconcern as he flipped his tails over to gesture behind Raimey. "Just because you've got your own personal Protector?"

  Raimey rolled onto his side, too, and looked back. Tigrallo was treading air a couple of dozen meters away, standing his usual stoic guard. "What about it?" he growled, flipping back upright.

  "So what did you do?" the poacher asked, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "Get someone's tails in a twist or something?"

  "Maybe he just likes watching over me," Raimey said stiffly. "Or maybe I'm special."

  "Yeah, right," the other child said with a sniff.

  The other child. Raimey grimaced. The other child; and that thought still rankled. Raimey was an adult human being, with more knowledge and sheer life experience than anyone from here all the way to Jupiter's core could ever hope to have. Hell's bells—a Counselor had dragged his tails all the way up to Level One just to welcome him to the planet. That ought to count for something.

  But he might as well forget about that, because the rest of the Qanska sure had. As far as everyone up here was concerned, he was just another normal, everyday child.

  "Come on," the other persisted, lowering his voice still farther. "What did you do?"

  "Pranlo?" a distant female voice called. "Pranlo? Where are you?"

  "I'm over here, Mom," the child called back. "Here with—" He broke off. "What's your name?"

  "Manta," Raimey said.

  "I'm here with Manto,"
Pranlo called.

  "Not Manto," Raimey corrected him irritably. "Manta."

  "Manta?" Pranlo repeated. "What kind of name is that?"

  "A special name," Raimey said. "You got a problem with that?"

  "Well—" Pranlo floundered for a moment. "No, I guess not."

  "Pranlo, come back over here with the rest of the children," the female called again, swimming toward them. "It's not safe way over there."

  "Oh, crosswinds," Pranlo muttered. "Mothers never let you have any fun."

  Suddenly, he flipped his fins. "Wait a second. Mom?" he called. "It's okay. There's a Protector right here. See?"

  "He won't be there very long," the female warned. "The rest of the children are over here."

  "Well, can I stay until the Protector comes back?" Pranlo cajoled. "I promise to come back when he does."

  "It's all right, Cintusti," Tigrallo called. "I'll watch him."

  "Well... all right," the female said reluctantly. "But you come straight back when he does, Pranlo. Understand."

  "Sure."

  Reluctantly, Raimey thought, the female turned back to the herd. "Whee!" Pranlo said softly, doing an excited back flip. "This is great. Our own private Protector. Hey, let's get some other kids and play tagabuck, okay?"

  "Well..." Raimey hesitated. He was an adult, damn it, even if he was trapped in a alien child's body. To play some stupid children's game would be far beneath his dignity. Especially with all those people up there in the station undoubtedly watching his every move from one of their spy probes.

  And yet, even as he opened his mouth to make some excuse, it suddenly occurred to him why he'd been so surly lately.

  He was lonely.

  The realization came like a slap in the teeth. Yes, he swam with the general herd of children, parents, Protectors, and Nurturers. And yes, he wasn't unpleasant or unfriendly toward any of them.

  But at the same time, most of his conversations were brief and casual. And ninety-plus percent of the time he stayed at the edge of the herd, or even ranged beyond it like he was doing now.

  Mostly, it was just him and Tigrallo. And Tigrallo wasn't very good company.