Startide Rising

  What an undertaking! I never would have thought it possible. I can't believe the Galactics will expect anything like this. Tom's imagination is astounding.

  If only we would hear his signal ....

  I've asked Toshio to send Dennie and Sah'ot here by sled. If they take a direct route at top speed they should arrive in a little over a day. It'll take that long, at least, to finish setting up here.

  It really is vital we get Dennie's notes and plasma samples. If Hikahi reports in, I'll ask her to stop at the island for the Kiqui emissaries. Second only to our need to escape with our data is our duty to the little amphibians, to save them from indenture to some crazy race of Galactic patrons.

  Toshio chose to stay to keep an eye on Takkata-Jim and Metz, and to meet Tom, should he show up. I think he added that last part knowing it would make it impossible for me to refuse .... Of course, I knew he'd make the offer. I was counting on it.

  It only makes me feel worse, using him to keep Takkata-Jim in check. Even if our ex-vice-captain disappoints me, and behaves himself, I don't know how Toshio's to get back here in time, especially if we have to take off in a hurry.

  I'm learning what they mean by the agony of command.

  I had to pretend shocked surprise when Toshio told me about the mini-bombs Charlie Dart stole out of the armory. Toshio offered to try to get them back from Takkata-Jim, but I've forbidden it. I told him we'd take our chances.

  I couldn't take him into my confidence. Toshio is a bright young man, but he has no poker face.

  I think I have things timed right. If only I were certain.

  The damned Niss is calling me again. This time I'll go see what it wants.

  Oh, Tom. Would you, if you were here, have misplaced an entire ship's captain? How can I forgive myself for letting Creideiki go out there alone?

  He seemed to be doing so well, though. What in Ifni's crap-shoot went wrong?

  81 ::: Charles Dart

  Early in the morning, he was at his console at the water's edge, happily conversing with his new robot. It was already down a kilometer, planting tiny detectors in the drill-tree shaft wall along the way.

  Charles Dart mumbled cheerfully. In a few hours he would have it down as deep as the old one, the next-to-worthless probe he had abandoned. Then, after a few more tests to verify his theories about local crustal formations, he could start finding out about bigger questions, like what Kithrup the planet was like.

  Nobody, but nobody, could stop him now!

  He remembered the years he had spent in California, in Chile, in Italy, studying earthquakes as they happened, working with some of the greatest minds in geophysical science. It had been exciting. Still, after a few years he had begun to realize that something was wrong.

  He had been admitted into all the right professional societies, his papers were greeted with both high praise and occasional vehement rejection -- both reactions far preferred by any decent scientist over yawns. There was no lack of prestigious job offers. But there came a time when he suddenly wondered where the students were.

  Why didn't graduate students seek him out as an advisor? He saw his colleagues besieged by eager applicants for research assistantships, yet, in spite of his list of publications, his widely known and controversial theories, only

  the second-raters came to him, the students searching more for grant support than a mentor. None of the bright young mels and fems sought him out as an academic patron.

  Of course, there had been a couple of minor cases in which his temper had gotten the better of him, and one or two of his students had departed acrimoniously, but that couldn't account for the doldrums in the pedagogical side of his career, could it?

  Slowly, he came to think that it must be something else. Something ... racial.

  Dart had always held himself aloof from the uplift obsession of many chimps-either the fastidious respectfulness of the majority toward humans, or the sulking resentfulness of a small but vocal minority. A couple of years ago he began paying attention however. Soon he had a theory. The students were avoiding him because he was a chimpanzee!

  It had stunned him. For three solid months he dropped everything to study the problem. He read the protocols governing humanity's patronhood over his race, and grew outraged over the ultimate authority Mankind held over his species-until, that is, he read about uplift practice in the galaxy at large. Then he learned that no other patron gave a four-hundred-year-old client race seats on its high councils, as Mankind did.

  Charles Dart was confused. But then he thought about that word "gave."

  He read about humanity's age-old racial struggles. Had it really been less than half a millennium since humans contrived gigantic, fatuous lies about each other simply because of pigment shades, and killed millions because they believed their own lies?

  He learned a new word, "tokenism," and felt a burning shame. That was when he volunteered for a deep space mission, determined not to return without proof of his academic prowess -- his skill as a scientist on a par with any human!

  Alas that he had been assigned to Streaker, a ship filled with squeaking dolphins, and water. To top it off; that smugpot Ignacio Metz immediately started treating him like another of his unfinished experimental half-breeds!

  He'd learned to live with that. He cosied up with Metz. He would bear anything until the results from Kithrup were announced.

  Then they'll stand up as Charles Dart enters rooms! The bright young human students will come to him. They'll all see that he, at least, was no token!

  Charlie's deep thoughts were interrupted by sounds from the forest nearby. He hurriedly slapped the cover plate over a set of controls in a lower corner of his console. He was taking no chances with anyone finding out about the secret part of his experiment.

  Dennie Sudman and Toshio Iwashika emerged from the village trail, talking in low voices, carrying small bundles. Charlie busied himself with detailed commands to the robot, but cast a surreptitious eye toward the humans, wondering if they suspected anything.

  But no. They were too much into each other, touching, caressing, murmuring. Charlie snorted under his breath at the human preoccupation with sex, day in, day out; but he grinned and waved when they glanced his way.

  They don't suspect a thing, he congratulated himself, as they waved back, then turned to their own concerns. How lucky for me they're in love.

  "I still want to stay. What if Gillian's wrong? What if Takkata-Jim finishes converting the bombs early?"

  Toshio shrugged. " I still have something he needs." He glanced down at the second of two sleds in the pool, the one that had belonged to Tom Orley. "Takkata-Jim won't take off without it."

  "Exactly!" Dennie was emphatic. "He'd need that radio, or the ETs would blast him to bits before he could negotiate. But you'll be all alone! That fin is dangerous!"

  "That's just one of many reasons I'm sending you away right now"

  "Is this the big, macho mel talking?" Dennie tried sarcasm, but was unable to put much bite into it.

  "No." Toshio shook his head. "This is your military commander talking. And that's that. Now let's get these last samples loaded. I'll escort you and Sah'ot a few miles before we say good-bye."

  He bent over to pick up one of the parcels, but before he touched it he felt a hand in the small of his back. A sharp push threw him of balance, flailing.

  "Denneee!" He caught a glimpse of her, grinning devilishly. At the last moment his left hand darted out and caught hers. Her laughter turned into a shriek as he dragged her after him into the water.

  They came up, spluttering, between the sleds. Dennie cried out in triumph as she grabbed the top of his head with both hands and dunked him. Then she leapt half out of the water as something goosed her from behind.

  "Toshio!" she accused.

  "That wasn't me." He caught his breath and backed out of arms' reach. "It must have been your other lover."

  "My ... Oh, no! Sah'ot!" Dennie whirled around searching and kicking,
then whooped as something got her from behind again. "Do you scrotum-brained males ever think of anything else?"

  A mottled gray dolphin's head broached the surface nearby. The breather wrapped over his blowmouth only muted his chattering laughter slightly.

  * Long before humans

  Rowed out on logs --

  * We made an invention

  * Care to

  Manage a try --

  * At

  Menage a trois? *

  He leered, and Toshio had to laugh as Dennie blushed. That only set her splashing water at him until he swam over and pinned her arms against one of the sleds. To stop her imprecations he kissed her.

  Her lips bore the desperate tang of Kithrup as she kissed him back. Sah'ot sidled up alongside them, and nibbled their legs softly with jagged, sharp teeth.

  "You know we're not supposed to expose ourselves to this stuff if we can help it," Toshio told her as they held each other. "You shouldn't have done that."

  Dennie shook her head, then buried her face in his shoulder to hide it.

  "Who are we fooling, Tosh?" she mumbled. "Why worry about slow metal poisoning? We'll be dead long before our gums start to turn blue."

  "Aw, Dennie. That's nuts ..." He tried to find words to comfort her, but found that all he could do was hold her close as the dolphin wrapped himself around them both.

  A comm buzzed. Sah'ot went over to switch on the unit on Orley's sled. It was the one connected by monofilament cable to Streakers old position.

  He listened to a brief burst of primitive clicks, then squawked quickly in reply. He rose high in the water, popping his breather loose.

  "It's for you, Toshio!"

  Toshio didn't bother asking if it was important. Over that line it had to be. Gently, he disengaged from Dennie. "You finish packing. I'll be back right away to help."

  She nodded, rubbing her eyes.

  "Stay with her for a while, will you, Sah'ot?" he asked as he swam over to the comm unit. The Stenos shook his head.

  "I would gladly, Toshio. It'sss my turn to amuse the lady, anyway. Unfortunately, you need me here to translate."

  Toshio looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  "It is the captain," Sah'ot informed him. "Creideiki wants to talk to both of usss. Then he wants us to help him get in touch with the techno-inhabitants of this world."

  "Creideiki? Calling here? But Gillian said he was missing!" Toshio's brow furrowed as Sah'ot's sentence sunk in.

  "Techno ... He wants to talk to the Kiqui?"

  Sah'ot grinned.

  "No, sir; they hardly qualify fearless military leader. Our captain wants to talk with my `voices.' He wants to talk to those who dwell below"

  82 ::: Tom Orley

  The Brother of Twelve Shadows piped softly. His pleasure spread through the waters around him, below the carpet of weeds. He swam away from the site of the ambush, the faint thrashing sounds of the victims dying down behind him. The darkness beneath the weeds didn't bother him. Never would absence of light displease a Brother of the Night.

  "Brother of the Dim Gloom," he hissed. "Do you rejoice as I do?"

  From somewhere to his left, amongst the dangling sea vines, came a joyful reply.

  "I rejoice, Senior Brother. That group of Paha warriors shall never again kneel before perverted Soro females. Thank the ancient warlords."

  "We shall thank them in person," Brother of Twelve Shadows answered, "when we learn the location of their returning fleet from the half-sentient Earthers. For now, thank our long-deceased Nighthunter patrons, who made us such formidable fighters."

  "I thank their spirits, Senior Brother."

  They swam on, separated by the three score body lengths demanded by underwater skirmish doctrine. The pattern was inconvenient with all these weeds about, and the water echoed strangely, but doctrine was doctrine, as unquestionable as instinct.

  Senior Brother listened until the last weak struggles of the drowning Paha ceased. Now he and his fellow would swim toward one of the floating wrecks, where more victims surely awaited.

  It was like picking fruits from a tree. Even powerful warriors such as the Tandu were reduced to floundering dolts on this carpet of noxious weeds, but not the Brothers of the Night! Adaptable, mutable, they swam below, wreaking havoc where it could be wrought.

  His gill-slits pulsed, sucking the metal-tangy water through. The Brother of Twelve Shadows detected a patch of slightly higher oxygen content and took a slight detour to pass through it. Keeping to doctrine was important, surely, but here, underwater, what could harm them?

  There was suddenly a flurry of crashing sounds to his left, a brief cry, and then silence.

  "Lesser Brother, what was that disturbance?" he called in the direction his surviving partner had been. But speech carried poorly underwater. He waited with growing anxiety.

  "Brother of the Dim Gloom!"

  He dove beneath a cluster of hanging tendrils, holding a flechette gun in each of his four tool-hands.

  What, down here, could have overcome so formidable a fighter as his lesser brother? Surely none of the patrons or clients he knew of could do such a thing. A robot should have caused his metal detectors to go off.

  It suddenly occurred to him that the half-sentient "dolphins" they sought might be dangerous in the water.

  But no. Dolphins were air-breathers. And they were large. He swept the area around him and heard no reflections.

  The Eldest Brother -- who commanded the remnants of their flotilla from a cave on a small moon -- had concluded that the Earthlings were not here in this northern sea, but he had sent a small vessel to harass and observe. The two brothers in the water were all that had survived. Everything they had seen suggested the quarry wasn't here.

  The Brother of Twelve Shadows quickly skirted the edge of an open pool. Had his younger brother strayed into the open and been blasted by a walker above?

  He swam toward a faint sound, weapons ready.

  In the darkness he sensed a bulky body up ahead. He chirped out, and concentrated on the complex echoes.

  The returning sounds showed only one large creature in the vicinity, still and silent.

  He swam forward and took hold of it, and mourned. Water pulsed through his gill-slits and he cried out.

  "I am going to avenge you, Brother!

  "I am going to slay all in this sea who think!

  "I am going to bring darkness upon all who hope!

  "I am going to ..."

  There came a loud splash. He let out a small "urk" sound as something heavy fell from above onto his right side and wrapped long legs and arms around him.

  As the Brother of Twelve Shadows struggled, he realized in stupefaction that his enemy was a human! A half-sentient, frail-skinned, wolfling human!

  "Before you do all those other things, there's one thing you'll do first," the voice rasped in Galactic Ten, just behind his hearing organs.

  The Brother wailed. Something fiery sharp pierced his throat near the dorsal nerve-chord.

  He heard his enemy say, almost sympathetically, "You are going to die."

  83 ::: Gillian

  "All I can tell you, Gillian Baskin, is that he knew how to find me. He came here aboard a `walker,' and spoke to me from the hallway."

  "Creideiki was here? Tom and I figured he'd deduce we had a private high-level computer, but the location should have been impossible ..."

  "I was not terribly surprised, Dr. Baskin," the Niss machine interrupted, covering the impoliteness with a soothing pattern of abstract images. "The captain clearly knows his ship. I had expected him to guess my location."

  Gillian sat by the door and shook her head. "I should have come when you first signaled for me. I might have been able to stop him from leaving."

  "It is not your fault," the machine answered with uncharacteristic sensitivity. "I would have made the request more demanding if I thought the situation urgent."

  "Oh sure," Gillian was sarcastic. "It's not urgent when a va
luable fleet officer succumbs to pressure atavism and subsequently gets lost out in a deadly alien wilderness!"

  The patterns danced. "You are mistaken. Captain Creideiki has not fallen prey to reversion schizophrenia."

  "How would you know?" Gillian said hotly. "Over a third of the crew of this vessel have shown signs since the ambush at Morgran, including all but a few of the Stenos-grafted fen. How can you say Creideiki hasn't reverted after all he's suffered? How can he practice Keneenk when he can't even talk!"

  The Niss answered calmly. "He came here seeking specific information. He knew I had access not only to Streaker's micro-branch Library, but the more complete one taken from the Thennanin wreck. He could not tell me what it was he wanted to know, but we found a way to get across the speech barrier."

  "How?" Gillian was fascinated in spite of her anger and guilt.

  "By pictograms, visual and sound pictures of alternate choices which I presented to him quite rapidly. He made quick yes or no sounds to tell when I was getting -- as you humans say -- hotter or colder. Before long he was leading me, making associations I had not even begun to consider."

  "Like what?"

  The light-motes sparkled. "Like the way many of the mysteries regarding this unique world seem to come together, the strangely long time this planet has lain fallow since its last tenants became degenerate and settled here to die, the unnatural ecological niche of the so-called drill-tree mounds, Sah'ot's strange `voices from the depths' ..."

  "Dolphins of Sah'ot's temperament are always hearing `voices." Gillian sighed. "And don't forget he's another of those experimental Stenos. I'm sure some of them were passed into this crew without the normal stress tests."