As they taught me in half a rushed midura, Dwer amended, while running around preparing one last balloon to launch.
All the others were far ahead of him-a flotilla of flimsy craft, dispersing rapidly as they caught varied airstreams, but all sharing the same general heading. East, driven by near-hurricane winds. Twice he had witnessed flares in that direction, flames that could not have come from lightning alone. Sudden outbursts of ocher fire, they testified to some balloon exploding in the distance.
Fortunately, those others had no crews, just instruments recovered from dross ships. Dwer was the only Jijoan loony enough to go flying on a night like this.
They needed an expendable volunteer. Someone to observe and report if the trick is successful.
Not that he resented Uriel and Gillian. Far from it. Dwer was suited for the job. It was necessary. And the voyage would take him roughly where he wanted to go.
Where I'm needed.
To the Gray Hills.
What might have happened to Lena and Jenin in the time he'd spent as captive of a mad robot, battling Jophur in a swamp and then trapped with forlorn Terrans at the bottom of the sea? By now, the women would have united the urrish and human sooner tribes, and possibly led them a long way from the geyser pools where Danel Ozawa died. It might take months to track them down, but that hardly mattered. Dwer had his bow and supplies. His skills were up to the task.
All I need is to land in roughly the right area, say within a hundred leagues . . . and not break my neck in the process. I can hunt and forage. Save my traeki paste for later, in case the search lasts through winter.
Dwer tried going over the plan, dwelling on problems he could grasp-the intricacies of exploring and survival in wild terrain. But his mind kept coming back to this wild ride through an angry sky . . . or else the sad partings that preceded it.
For a time, he and Sara had tried using words, talking about their separate adventures, sharing news of friends living and dead. She told what little she knew about Nelo and their destroyed hometown. He described how Lark had saved his life in a snowstorm, so long ago that it' seemed another age.
Hanging over the reunion was sure knowledge that it must end. Each of them had places to go. Missions with slim chance of success, but compelled by duty and curiosity. Dwer had lived his entire adult life that way, but it took some effort to grasp that his sister had chosen the same path, only on a vaster scale.
He still might have tried talking Sara out of her intention-perhaps suicidal-to join the Earthlings' desperate breakout attempt. But there was something new in the way she carried herself-a lean readiness that took him back to when they were children, following Lark on fossil hunts, and Sara was the toughest of them all. Her mind had always plunged beyond his comprehension. Perhaps it was time for her to stride the same galaxies that rilled ha thoughts. •
"Remember us,'when you're a star god," he had told her,' before their final embrace.
Her reply was a hoarse whisper, "Give my love to Lark and ..."
Sara closed her eyes, throwing her arms around him. ". . . and to Jijo."
They clung together until the urrish smiths said it was the last possible moment to go.
When the balloon took off, Mount Guenn leaped into view around him, a sight unlike any he ever beheld. Lightning made eerie work of the Spectral Flow, sending brief flashes of illusion dancing across his retinas.
Dwer watched his sister standing at the entrance of the cave, a backlit figure. Too proud to weep. Too strong to pretend. Each knew the other was likely heading to oblivion. Each realized this would be their last shared moment.
I'll never know if she lives, he had thought, as clouds swallowed the great volcano, filling the night with flashing arcs. Looking up through a gap in the overcast, he had glimpsed, a corner of the constellation Eagle.
Despite the pain of separation, Dwer had managed a smile.
It's better that way.
From now until the day I die, I'll picture her out there. Living in the sky.
Alvin
AS IT TURNED OUT, I DIDN'T HAVE TO EXPLAIN things to my parents. Gillian and Uriel had already laid it out, before it was time to depart.
The Six Races should be represented, they explained. Come what may.
Furthermore, I had earned the right to go. So had my friends.
Anyway, who was better qualified to tell Jijo's tale? Mu-phauwq and Yowg-wayuo had no choice but to accept my decision. Was Jijo any safer than fighting the Jophur in space? Besides, I had spine-molted. I would make my own decisions.
Mother turned her back to me. I stroked her spines, but she spoke without turning around.
"Thank you for returning from the dead," she murmured. "Honor us by having children of your own. Name your firstborn after your great-uncle, who was captain of the Auph-Vuhoosh. The cycle must continue."
With that, she let my sister lead her away. I felt both touched and bemused by her command, wondering how it could ever be obeyed.
Dad, bless him, was more philosophical. He thrust a satchel in my arms, his entire collection of books by New Wave authors of Jijo's recent literary revival-the hoon, urs, and g'Kek writers who have lately begun expressing themselves in unique ways on the printed page. "It's to remind you that humans are not in complete command of our culture. There is more than one line to our harmony, my son."
"I know that, Dad," I replied. "I'm not a complete humicker."
He nodded, adding a low umble.
"It is told that we hoons were priggish and sour, before our sneakship came to Jijo. Legends say we had no word for 'fun.'
"If that is true-and in case you meet any of our stodgy cousins out there-tell them about the sea, Hph-wayuo! Tell them of the way a sail catches the wind, a sound no mere engine can match.
"Teach them to taste the stinging spray. Show them all the things that our patrons never did.
"It will be our gift-we happy damned-to those who know no joy in heaven."
Others had easier leave-takings.
Qheuens are used to sending their males out on risky ventures, for the sake of the hive. Pincer's mothers did emboss his shell with some proud inlay, though, and saw him off in good style. Urs care mostly about their work, their chosen loyalties, and themselves. Ur-ronn did not have to endure sodden sentimentality. Partly because of the rain, she and Uriel made brief work of their good-byes. Uriel probably saw it as a good business transaction. She lost her best appren, tice, but had adequate compensation.
Uriel seemed far more upset about losing Tyug. But there was no helping it. The Earthers need a traeki. And not just any traeki, but the best alchemist we can send. No pile of substance balls can substitute. Besides, it will be good luck for all races to be along.
Huck's adoptive parents tried to express sorrow at her parting, but their genuine fondness for her would not make them grieve. Hoons are not humans. We cannot transfer the full body bond to those not of our blood. Our affections run deeper, but narrower than Earthlings'. Perhaps that is our loss.
So the five of us reboarded as official representatives, and as grown-ups. I had molted and Pincer showed off his cloisonne. Ur-ronn did not preen, but we all noticed that one of her brood pouches was no longer virgin white, but blushed a fresh shade of blue as her new husband wriggled and stretched it into shape.
Huck carried her own emblem of maturity-a narrow wooden tube, sealed with wax at both ends. Though humble looking, it might be the most important thing we brought with us from the Slope.
Huphu rode my shoulder as I stepped inside the whale sub. I noted that the tytlal-style noor, Mudfoot, had also rejoined us, though the creature seemed decidedly unhappy. Had he been exiled by the others, for the crime of letting their ancient secret slip? Or was he being honored, as we were, with a chance to live or die for Jijo?
Sara Koolhan stood between her chimp and the wounded starman as the great doors closed, cutting us off from the wharf lanterns, our village, and the thundering sky.
"Well
, at least this is more comfortable than the last time we submerged, inside a dumb old hollow tree trunk," Huck commented.
Pincer's leg vents whistled resentfully. "You want comfy? Poor little g'Kekkie want to ride my back, an' be tucked into her beddie?"
"Shut up, you two," Ur-ronn snapped. "Trust Ifni to stick me with a bunch of ignoranuses for conpanions."
Huphu settled close as I umbled, feeling a strange, resigned contentment. My friends' bickering was one unchanged feature of life from those naive days when we were youngsters, still dreaming of adventure in our Wuphon's Dream. It was nice to know some things would be constant across space and time.
Alas, Huck had not mentioned the true difference between that earlier submergence and this one.
Back then, we sincerely thought there was a good chance we'd be coming home again.
This time, we all knew better.
wasx
ARLARMS BLARE! INSTRUMENTS CRY OUT SIRENS OF danger!
Behold, My rings, how the Captain-Leader recalls the robots and remote crew stacks who were engaged in probing the deep-sea trench.
Greater worries now concern us!
For days, cognizance detectors have sieved through the deep, trying to separate the prey from its myriad decoys. It even occurred to us/me that the Earthling ship may not be one of the moving blips at all! It might be sheltering silently in some dross pile. In operating the swarm by remote control, they might bypass all the normal etheric channels, using instead their fiendish talent at manipulating sound.
I/we are/am learning caution. I did not broach this possibility to the Captain-Leader.
Why did I refrain? A datum has come to our attention. Those in power often ask for the "truth," or even the best guesses of their underlings. But in fact, they seldom truly wish to hear contradiction.
Anyway, the tactics stacks estimated improved odds at sifting for the quarry. Only one more day, at worst. We of the Polkjhy could easily afford the time.
Until we detected disturbing intruders. Interlopers that could only have come from the Five Galaxies!
"THERE ARE AT LEAST SIX SIXES OF THEM!"
So declares the cognizance detector operator. "Hovering, almost stationary, no more than fifteen planetary degrees easterly. One moment they were not there. The next moment, they appeared!"
The etherics officer vents steam of doubt. "I/we perceive nothing, nor have our outlying satellites. This provokes a reasonable hypothesis: that your toruses are defective, or else your instruments." But routine checks discover no faults in either. "They may have meme-suborned our satellites," suggests one tactician stack. "Combining this with excellent masking technology-"
"Perhaps," interrupts another. "But gravities cannot be fooled so easily. If there are six sixes of ships, they cannot be larger than hull type sixteen. No match for us, then. We can annihilate the entire squadron, forthwith,"
"Is that why they operate in stealth?" inquires the Captain-Leader, puffing pheromones of enforced calm into the tense atmosphere. "Might they be lingering, just beyond line of sight, while awaiting reinforcements?"
It is a possibility we cannot ignore. But, lacking corvettes, we must go investigate ourselves.
Reluctantly, gracefully, the Polkjhy turns her omnipotence around, heading toward the ghostly flotilla. If they are scouts for an armada-perhaps the Soro or Tandu, our mortal foes-it may be necessary to act swiftly, decisively. Exactly the kind of performance that best justifies the existence of master rings.
Others must not be allowed to win the prize! As we move ponderously eastward, a new thought burbles upward. A streak of wax, secreted by our oncerebellious second torus-of-cognition. What is it, My ring?
You recall how the savage sooners called to our corvette, not once, but twice, using minute tickles of digital power to attract our attention?
The first time, they used such a beacon to bribe us with the location of a g'Kek hideout.
The second time? Ah, yes. It was a lure, drawing the corvette to a trap.
VERY CLEVER, MY RING!
Ah, but the comparison does not work.
There are many more sources, this time.
They are stronger, and the cognizance traces have spoor patterns typical of starship computers. |
But above all, My poor ring, did you not hear our detection officer stack?
These signals cannot come from benighted sooners.
THEY FLY!
Sara
GRAVITIGSS!"
The detection officer thrashed her flukes. "Movement signs! The large emitter departss its stationary hover position. Jophur battleship now moving east at two machsss. Ten klickss altitude."
Sara watched Gillian Baskin absorb the news. This was j according to plan, yet the blond Earthwoman showed' hardly any reaction. "Very good," she replied. "Inform me of any vector change. Decoy operator, please engage swarming program number four. Start the wrecks drifting upward, slowly."
The water-filled chamber was unlike any "bridge" Saa had read about in ancient books-a Terran vessel, controlled from a room humans could only enter wearing breathing masks. This place was built for the convenience of dolphins. It was their ship-though a woman held command.
A musty smell made Sara's nose itch, but when her hand raised to scratch, it bumped the transparent helmet, star-i tling her for die fiftieth time. Fizzy liquid prickled Sara's bare arms and legs with goose bumps. Yet she had no mental space for annoyance, fear, or claustrophobia. This place was much too strange to allow such mundane reacl tions.
Streaker's overall shape and size were still enigmas. Her ' , one glimpse of the hull-peering through a viewing port : while the whale sub followed a searchlight toward its hurried rendezvous-showed a mysterious, studded cylinder, like a giant twelk caterpillar, whose black surface seemed to drink illumination rather than reflect it. The capacious airlock was almost deserted as Kaa and other dolphins debarked from the Hikahi, using spiderlike walking machines to rush to their assigned posts. Except for the bridge, most of the ship had been pumped free of water, reducing weight to a minimum.
The walls trembled with the rhythmic vibration of engines-distant cousins to her father's mill, or the Tarek
Town steamboats. The familiarity ran deep, as if affinity flowed in Sara's blood.
"Battleship passing over Rimmer mountains. Departing line-of-sight!"
"Don't make too much of that," Gillian reminded the crew. "They still have satellites overhead. Maintain swarm pattern four. Kaa, ease us to the western edge of our group."
"Aye," the sturdy gray pilot replied. His tail and fins wafted easily, showing no sign of tension. "Suessi reports motors operating at nominal. Gravities charged and ready."
Sara glanced at a row of screens monitoring other parts of the ship. At first, each display seemed impossibly small, but her helmet heeded subtle motions of her eyes, enhancing any image she chose to focus on, expanding it to 3-D clarity. Most showed empty chambers, with walls still moist from recent flooding. But the engine room was a bustle of activity. She spied "Suessi" by his unique appearance-a torso of wedgelike plates topped by a reflective dome, encasing what remained of his head. The arm that was still human gestured toward a panel, reminding a neo-fin operator to make some adjustment.
That same arm had wrapped around Emerson after the Hikahi docked, trembling while clutching the prodigal starman. Sara had never seen a cyborg before. She did not know if it was normal for one to cry. Emerson and Prity were also down there, helping Suessi with their nimble hands. Sara spied them laboring in the shadows, accompanied by Ur-ronn, the eager young urs, fetching and carrying for the preoccupied engineers. Indeed, Emerson seemed a little happier with work to do. After all, these decks and machines had been his life for many years. Still, ever since the reunion on the docks, Sara had not seen his accustomed grin. For the first time, he seemed ashamed of his injuries.
These people must be hard, up to need help from an ape, an urrish blacksmith, and a speechless cripple. The other young
sters from Wuphon were busy, too. Running errands and tending the glaver herd, keeping the creatures calm in j strange surroundings.
I'm probably the most useless one of all. The Egg only knows what I'm doing here.
Blame it on Sage Purofsky, whose cosmic speculations justified her charging off with desperate Earthlings. Even if his reasoning holds, what can I do about the BuyurpW. Especially if this mission is suicidal-
The detection officer squealed, churning bubbles with her flukes.
"Primary gravities source decelerating! Jophur ship nearing estimated p-position of mobile observer."
Mobile observer, Sara thought. That would be Diver.