Crucible of Time

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  The Karellian clenched a fist. “You won’t admit that I’m . . .” He paused and opened his fist and stared it as if his hand held the answer. His gaze flicked back up to Ruall’s. “I’m Karellia’s payment to Shipworld. Isn’t that right? Shipworld saved Bandie’s planet, and hired him on—forever, apparently—as some kind of galactic troubleshooter. Same with Ik and his planet. Well, I guess Ik’s planet wasn’t saved, but some of his people were. I don’t know what my planet was saved from, if anything, before this. But you snatched me, for the same purpose. Same with Antares, I presume.” Li-Jared flicked his fingers outward for emphasis. “Do I have it right so far?”

  Ruall gave a shudder. She rotated out of sight for an instant, then returned. “Li-Jared, in truth I do not know. I only know our mission.”

  “Are you going to force me to stay on, then?” Li-Jared asked, rubbing his thumbs and fingers together in defiance. “Lock the doors of the landing craft?”

  “I do not believe it will come to that. But I ask you to remember all that Shipworld has done for Karellia. Defense against the Mindaru, and end to a war . . .”

  Li-Jared stretched his arms open. “Yes, of course, and we are deeply grateful.”

  A single metallic tap, ding. “Your homeworld, and the Uduon world—you want them under the protection of the Shipworld fleet, don’t you?”

  Li-Jared drew back in obvious shock. “Am I hearing you right? Are you threatening attack?”

  Rapid tapping on cymbals, ting ting ting ting. “Of course not. But the primary mission here is complete. The time distortion has ended. The only necessity for the fleet to stay for is to offer protection against Mindaru stragglers, and optionally, to offer transport between the two worlds, and to facilitate better relations.” Ruall paused. “Does Shipworld have an obligation to remain?”

  “Mokin’ foke—” Li-Jared whispered, using the human imprecation with more power than Bandicut ever had “—is this the kind of thing you hold over the heads of every world you help? Are you exacting some kind of tax for our defense? Is that it?”

  Ruall rasped and muttered. Bandicut felt his stones struggling to get the translation right. “Quid pro quo?” he asked. “One for the other? A life of service, for the safety of a world?”

  “Yes,” Li-Jared answered bitterly. “That’s it exactly.”

  “Truly, I do not know.” Ruall pinged several times, spun and stopped sideways, nearly invisible. Slowly, then, she rotated back. “I know only that we all suffer losses.”

  Li-Jared squinted hard. “You lost Bria. I know. I’m sorry. And John lost Charli.”

  Soft gong. “Yes.”

  “And that’s . . . heartbreaking. But it doesn’t answer my question: Do you ever let anyone return to their homeworld, once you’ve—” bwang “—pinched them away?”

  In answer, Ruall made a wow’ing sound that grew louder and louder until Li-Jared and Bandicut both clamped their hands over their ears. Then the Tintangle blinked out of sight, leaving them standing speechless.

  ***

  The second meeting with Torno and his staff, later in the day, kept Bandicut focused on introducing Quin and Akura to the Skakolloan squadron leader and the other ship commanders. He was learning about them as he went, though he expected to have little use for any of this knowledge once they left Karellia behind. After a time, he became aware that Li-Jared was not in the meeting room, nor was Ruall. Cocking an ear toward the door, he thought he heard them arguing, out in the passageway. He felt a deep pang for Li-Jared, whose request he thought was perfectly reasonable, though he hated the idea of leaving his friend behind.

  “Is something wrong?” Torno asked, turning his canine face toward Bandicut. His eyes bulged as usual.

  Bandicut wasn’t sure what to say.

  Torno’s bushy eyebrows twitched. “Is it that your crewmate Li-Jared does not want to leave?”

  “How did you know that?”

  The Skakolloan blew out a fishy-smelling breath through his whiskers. “He has been audible for some time now.”

  “Can you blame him?” Ocellet Quin asked—sounding, Bandicut thought, more than a little annoyed. “His people are here.”

  “Ah yes,” Torno said, fluttering his whiskers again. “His original people are here. But his people now are at Shipworld.”

  “No, but don’t you see—?”

  “I think you misunderstand,” Torno said sharply. “His people at Shipworld need him to come back. It is not a matter of wanting to control his life, or of exacting some—feh!—some tax for our services.” He paused to pick delicately at his teeth with a hairy hand.

  “Then what—?” Quin began.

  “It is,” Torno said, “a matter of the very livelihood and stability of Shipworld itself.”

  Bandicut started to protest, but Torno waved him to silence. “You see, Shipworld holds in protectorate many, many worlds throughout the galaxy. Thousands of worlds, probably. I do not know the actual number. Mostly this is at a distance, with little or no contact. But for each of these it must have a base of information, knowledge, tools with which to understand the people, insights to guide actions that might be needed in the future.”

  “So?” Bandicut said. “There is a wealth of knowledge to be gained right here! Li-Jared here could do so much!”

  “That is true. But is that the greatest need of Shipworld? You see, they must think about all these worlds—not just as individuals, but all together, and . . .” Torno paused and stroked his snout. “Well. Do you know really what the purpose of Shipworld is?”

  “I—” Bandicut opened his hands. “As far I can tell, it exists to rescue planets in distress—or maybe that’s just a hobby. It apparently provides shelter for displaced—”

  “Yes, yes!” Torno snorted. “That much anyone can see! But it’s more than a protector of worlds. Shipworld is a lifeboat! That is how I see it.”

  “A lifeboat for what?” That came from a new voice. Li-Jared had stalked up in the middle of Torno’s discourse, and now he was waving a hand under the nose of the Skakolloan. “If we’re not saving worlds—”

  “We are saving worlds—when we can. But more than that, we’re saving civilization itself!” Torno barked. “Not just individual civilizations like yours—or yours—” he pointed to Bandicut “—or mine.” He reared his head back, and his teeth showed. “Yes, my world was imperiled by a radiation storm, and most died. But my ancestors came to Shipworld, and that is where they have made themselves a part of a larger civilization.”

  Li-Jared stared at him.

  As Bandicut too struggled to absorb that, he felt a nudge from his stones, reminding him of his own situation. He had offered his life, and then his service, in order to save Earth from annihilation from a rogue comet. It had seemed a bitter but acceptable trade at the time. Was this so different? Who could say? He had never had the option to visit his homeworld again. “So,” he began cautiously, “you’re trying to say that we’re just being petty—”

  “Not petty! You have your rightful concerns.”

  “Parochial, then?”

  Torno appeared to struggle with the translation. “Not that, no.”

  “What, then?” Li-Jared cried.

  Torno flung his arms wide—and they were long arms. “Big picture! You must think of the big picture! We are trying to protect intelligent civilization from possible extinction!”

  Bandicut blinked at that. “Possible extinction? All of us? From what cause? I can see any particular world blowing up. Or the Mindaru or something like them killing us. But—”

  “Yes, it could be that! It could be anything. Galactic core explosion. Galactic merger—and we have one of those coming up, you know, in just a few million years!”

  “So, really big picture,” Bandicut murmured, as Li-Jared made a sound somewhere between a snort and a burp.

  Torno’s eyes bulged even more than usual out of his terrier face. “Really big picture,” he agreed. “And that is why, in the end, what they reall
y care about is gathering and protecting knowledge and wisdom.”

  “Well, that’s just—” Li-Jared began.

  “That’s just what I was trying to say but did not know how,” gonged another voice, and Bandicut turned, startled to see that Ruall had also floated up to join the conversation.

  Li-Jared looked startled, too, and for a moment, he seemed about to flare up. But then he let his breath out, half-closed his eyes, and said softly, as though to no one in particular, “I am not so sure how much any of them know about wisdom.” And with that he walked silently from the room, not pausing even for an outstretched hand from Ocellet Quin.

  Chapter 33

  Many Departures

  DAKOTA CAME OVER with the Plato ground team the following ship-day, to confer with everyone one last time before Plato departed for the starstream. Due to Plato’s slower cruising speed compared to The Long View’s, they were leaving first with a planned rendezvous point not far from the starstream.

  Dakota stayed after the rest of her crew had returned to Plato, and Copernicus reconfigured the meeting room into a more intimate den for them. Coffee steamed from a pot on the side table, which caught Dakota’s eye. “I nearly gave up coffee a couple of hundred years ago, because it seemed like a lost art.” She bent and inhaled the vapors. “This smells better than the stuff we drink on Plato—and it comes from Shipworld!”

  Bandicut laughed and poured two cups. “It wasn’t easy, getting to this from what they first served me. The first few attempts were pretty awful. But I have to tell you, I got a rush drinking the real thing over on Plato. You don’t think yours is better? Milk?”

  “Nope. This beats ours, hands down. Milk, yes.” She took her cup and sat in one of the armchairs Copernicus had created for them. An Eames chair, the robot had called it. She was dressed in dark blue uniform slacks and blouse, and looked every bit the competent officer. Bandicut thought her eyes looked tired. It had been a hectic visit planetside to Karellia, they had all agreed, since they were trying to pack a full “first contact” visit into just a couple of days. It had been fascinating, though no one cared to guess how long it would take before a return expedition would be sent.

  “I’d invite you one more time to come back to humanity with us,” Dakota said, “but I hear they wouldn’t let you off this boat even if you wanted to come.” Her voice was joking, but in her gaze he saw worry. Was her uncle being held against his will? she seemed to be wondering.

  “That got around fast,” Bandicut said, surprised but not that surprised. “Anyway, I’d love to see your world, but I do have, er, two ladies waiting for me. I hope.”

  “Two ladies? You sure you want to go?” she teased.

  He laughed. “Point taken. Are you sure you don’t want to come see Shipworld? Lots of men there. Well, males. Some of them even bipeds. Anyway, the view is spectacular.”

  Dakota grinned, but there was a crease of pain across her brow. She gave a heavy sigh. He could almost see a vision of that boyfriend back home in her eyes. What was his name? Better be worthy of her, Bandicut thought. “Sorry, I’m giving you a hard time. But it really is a wrench to see you go, after all these centuries.”

  Dakota said nothing for a moment. She seemed to be swallowing hard. “Yes,” she said finally, so softly he leaned forward to hear, after the syllable was spoken.

  “Yeh.” He sipped his coffee. He had trouble swallowing, too, because of the constriction in his throat. He barked a laugh. “This is just great! I invite you over for a last family visit, and I feel as if I’ve brought you over for a funeral instead!”

  She echoed his laugh. “Uncle John, do you remember when I was little, and you used to ask me what I wanted to be if I grew up? If I grew up?”

  He searched his memory. Had he asked her that way? He wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t have put it past himself. “I guess so,” he said.

  She peered over the top of her cup at him, eyes twinkling. “Well, do you know how many years I fretted over that? Because I thought you meant, I might not live to grow up!”

  He stared back at her in horror. “You mean I traumatized you by saying that?”

  “Yes! Yes, you did!” She rocked back in laughter. “Oh God—for years you did! I’m glad I can laugh about it now!” She clinked her cup down and wiped tears from her eyes. Then she leaned forward and reached to take his hands. “Oh, you were a good uncle—are a good uncle—but man, you could be exasperating, even to a kid.” She rose up, bent forward, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I am so going to miss you, too.”

  ***

  At the airlock, Dakota turned one last time to face her uncle. She put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes shone bright. “Write me, okay? Send a message if you hear of any more missions from Shipworld to the starstream. No—don’t write. Come! Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said huskily. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help feeling somehow that this parting was his fault. Hold it together. Who’s the strong uncle here?

  “You think there’s any chance of that happening, ever?” she asked.

  “Who knows?” he said, with a chuckle that turned into a shiver of sadness. “Who would have thought we’d meet up here at Karellia, of all places?”

  “True.” She squeezed him close for a hug, and they held each other for a long moment. When they stepped apart, their hands catching, there was a sudden ripple of connection between his stones and hers, an electric tingle that went up his arms. “Whoa!” she cried, letting go with a laugh. “Be good!” she said, and stepping back toward the connection tunnel, blew him a kiss. Then she turned and floated back to Plato.

  Bandicut rubbed his wrists as he watched her disappear with a final wave into the other ship’s airlock. So far as he knew, no images or memories had passed in that brief connection of the translator-stones. But something had. Maybe the stones were wrapping up their own conversation? He would have to ask them later.

  Once she was back inside her ship, and both hatches closed, he whispered to Copernicus, “Release the crossover tube.” And he turned and headed back for the bridge.

  Forty-five minutes later, he watched in the viewspace as Plato started her maneuvering engines and moved slowly away from The Long View. When she was sufficiently clear, Plato’s main engines lit up, rippling violet, and she accelerated away toward the dark emptiness of interstellar space. Bandicut swelled with pride and wistfulness, watching it go. Unlike the ship that carried him, Plato was the work of human hands and human ingenuity. It did him good to see how far human space-faring technology had come since his departure, and that slightly softened the blow of seeing Dakota depart.

  ***

  The two Uduon were the next to go. The Shipworld frigate Stem had sent a small craft over to fetch them. Li-Jared saw the two off, after Bandie and Quin had said their good-byes. Li-Jared wasn’t especially in the mood to be nice—he was still furious at Ruall—but he had grown closer to Akura and Sheeawn than anyone else on the ship, and it only seemed right.

  He knew he was being stiff and awkward, and his hearts were pounding out of sync because of all that was on his mind. Akura sensed his mood and made no attempt at conversation. But when they faced each other at the airlock door, she took his hands and said, “Li-Jared, I am sorry for your troubles. Truly. I feel honored to know you, and I thank you for helping us to end this war and avoid a terrible catastrophe. If you do chance to come this way again, it would gladden me to see you. Any time.” And as he stood speechless and trembling with conflicting emotions, she drew him close and pressed her forehead to his. That contact made something surge through him. He didn’t know what, but his hearts fell back into rhythm, and he immediately felt calmer.

  When she stepped away and raised her hood, he was able to whistle in gladness, and even give Sheeawn a genuine nod of affection. Then they were gone, and Li-Jared was on his way back to prepare to say good-bye to the Ocellet Quin.

  She was waiting in the common room, sipping tea and talking to Bandicut. She t
ouched his arm as he slid into the seat next to her. “Bandie John and I were just discussing whether or not there might someday be regular travel, or at least communication between Karellia and Shipworld. Our discussion was inconclusive. What do you think?”

  Li-Jared flicked his fingers in a shrug. “They wouldn’t tell us, even if they were thinking of it.”

  “That’s exactly what Bandie said.”

  At that, Bandicut chuckled and stood up. “I’m going to let the two of you talk. Your shuttle will be docking soon.”

  Quin’s gaze followed Bandicut as he left the commons room. Then she shifted around the little table to face Li-Jared more directly. “He is a good friend, I think.”

  “That is so,” Li-Jared acknowledged. Though he could have done more to stand up for me.

  Quin’s gaze was intense now. “You would do well, I think, to give weight to that friendship.”

  “Given the circumstances—”

  “Especially given the circumstances,” Quin said. “You need your friends more than ever.”

  Li-Jared gave his fingers a little flick, a shrug.

  Quin eyed him. “Li-Jared, I am heartbroken that you need to leave. But please don’t—”

  He clapped a hand to his chest, wincing at a stab of pain.

  “Li-Jared, are you all right?”

  He grunted and lowered his hand. The pain had diminished to a burning sensation near his breastbone. Wait, don’t tell me—

  *Please hold still a moment,* said his knowing-stones.

  He did so, thinking, If one of my hearts is going, they can help me.

  *Don’t be dramatic. We’ve done this before.*

  Oh . . .

  “Li-Jared—” Quin began, and was taking a breath, probably to call out for help, when two sparks of light flew out from Li-Jared’s chest and embedded in precisely the same spot in Quin’s, right over the breastbone. She yelped, started to cry out, and then sank back in her seat, looking stunned. After a moment, she put a hand over her breastbone, felt what was there, and tried to look down to see it.