by David Brin
Gillian saw that he had long hair, brushed left over a cruel scar. For an instant she stared at the puckered wound in his temple.
A moment later, the image clarified to show a smile.
Recognition hit like a blast of chill water.
“My God … It can’t be!”
The Niss crooned, expressing both satisfaction and intrigue.
“You confirm the resemblance?
“It does appear to be engineer Emerson D’Anite.
“Our crew mate whom we thought killed by the Old Ones, back at the Fractal System.
“He whose scout vessel was enveloped by a globe of devouring light, as the Streaker made its getaway, fleeing by a circuitous route toward Jijo.”
The Tymbrimi machine shared one trait with its makers, a deep love of surprise. That pleasure it now expressed in a hum of satisfaction.
“You ask frequently how anyone could have followed us to this forlorn corner of the universe, Dr. Baskin.
“I believe the question just acquired new levels of cogency.”
Kaa
HE NEVER GOT TO PUT UP MUCH OF A FIGHT.
How could he, with all his weapons sabotaged from the start? Besides, Kaa wasn’t sure he could bring himself to harm one of his own kind.
Clearly, the assailants who attacked the dome had fewer scruples.
The ruined habitat lay far below, its pieces strewn across the continental shelf. Along with Peepoe and Brookida, Kaa barely dodged being pinned by the collapsing walls, escaping the maelstrom of metal and froth only to face the gun barrels of well-armed captors. Herded to the surface, he and the others panted in nervous exhaustion under the waning afternoon sun.
In contrast, Mopol’s sleek form rested almost languidly atop the speed sled that Peepoe had brought from Streaker’s hiding place, governing the engines and armaments with impulses sent down his neural tap. Swimming nearby — wearing a fully charged tool harness — Zhaki explained the situation.
“It’s like this, p-pilot-t.…” He slurred the words in his eagerness. “The three of you are gonna do what we sssay, or else.”
Kaa tossed his head, using his lower jaw to splash water at Zhaki’s eye.
Silly threats from one
Who’s watched too many movies!
Just say it, fool. Now!
Mopol hissed angrily, but Peepoe laughed at Zhaki’s predicament. To continue his menacing speech now would be an act of obedience to Kaa’s command. It was a minor matter — not exactly a logical checkmate. But Kaa felt it valuable to recover even a little initiative.
“We …” Zhaki blew air and tried again. “Mopol and I are resigning from the Streaker crew. We’re not going back-k, and you can’t make us.”
So that’s what it’s about, Kaa thought.
“Desertion!” Brookida sputtered indignantly. “Letting your crew mates down when they need you mossst!”
Mopol let out a skirl of rejection.
“Our legal term of ssservice ended almossst two years ago.”
“Right-t,” Zhaki agreed. “Anyway, we never signed on for this insanity … fleeing like wounded mullet across the galaxies.”
“You plan to go sooner,” Peepoe fluted, her voice bemused. “Living wild, in this sea.”
Mopol nodded. “Some were already talkin’ about it, before we left-t the ship. This world’s a paradise for our kind. The whole crew oughta do it!”
“But even if they don’t-t,” Zhaki added, “we’re gonna.”
Then he added a haiku for emphasis.
Six or seven clans
Did this already, on shore.
We have precedent!
Kaa realized there was nothing he could do to change their minds. The sea would answer his best arguments with its fine mineral smoothness and the enticing echoes of tasty fish. In time, the deserters would come to miss the comforts of civilized life, or grow bored, or realize there are dangers even on a world without big predators. The water had a faint, prescient choppiness, and Kaa wondered if either of the rebel fins had ever been outside during a truly vicious storm.
But then, hadn’t other waves of settlers faced the same choice? The g’Keks, qheuens, and even human beings?
“The Jophur may make it hard on you,” he told them.
“We’ll take our chancess.”
“And if you’re caught by the Institutes?” Brookida asked. “Your presence here would be a crime, reflecting badly on—”
Mopol and Zhaki laughed. Even Kaa found that argument easy to dismiss. Humans and chimps were already on Jijo. If Earthclan suffered collective punishment for that crime, a few dolphins living offshore could hardly make things worse.
“So, what do you plan to do with us?” Kaa asked.
“Why, nothing much-ch. You and Brookida are free to swim back to your precious Gillian Basssskin, if you like.”
“That could take a week!” Brookida complained. But Kaa struggled against involuntary spasms in his harness arms, set off by Zhaki’s implication. Before he could unstrangle his speech centers, Peepoe expressed his dread.
“Jussst Kaa and Brookida? You’re insisting that I stay?”
Mopol chittered assent with such glee that it came out sounding more like gutter Primal Delphin than Trinary.
“That’s the p-plan,” Zhaki confirmed. “We’d make a poor excuse for a c-colony without at least one female.”
Kaa abruptly saw their long-term scheme. Mopol’s spell of malingering sickness had been meant to draw one of Makanee’s nurses out here from the ship. Most were young females, with Peepoe the best catch of all.
“Will you add kidnap-ping to the crime of desertion?” she asked, sounding as fascinated as fearful.
Kaa’s blood surged hot as Zhaki flipped around to streak past Peepoe, gliding along her belly, upside down.
“You won’t call it that-t after a while,” Zhaki promised, leaving a trail of bubbles as he rolled suggestively. “In time, you’ll c-call this your luckiessst day.”
At that point, Kaa reached the limit of his endurance. With a lashing of flukes, he charged—
• • •
There was a blank time after that … and some more that went by all in a haze — half-numb and half-pained.
Drifting, Kaa was sustained by instinct as his body performed the needed motions. Staying upright. Kicking to bring his blowhole above the watery surface. Breathing. Submerging once again. Allowing his unraveled self to knit slowly back together.
“C-come on now, my boy,” the helper told him. “It’sss only a bit farther.”
Dutifully, Kaa swam alongside, doing as he was told. You learned this at an early age … when injured, always obey the helper. It might be your mother, or an auntie, or even some older male in the pod. Someone always was the helper … or else the sea would claim you.
In time, he recalled this helper’s name—Brookida. He also began recognizing the peculiar lap and texture of littoral water, not far from shore. Kaa even recalled part of what put him in this condition … a state so dazed that all speech thoughts were driven from his mind.
There had been a fight. He had charged against harsh odds, hoping to take his enemies by surprise … by the sheer audacity of the attack.
It took just one blast of concentrated sound to knock him in a double flip, with tremors shaking every muscle. Paralyzed, he distantly sensed the two male foes move off … taking his love with them.
“You feeling better now?” Brookida asked. The older dolphin cast a sonar sweep through Kaa’s innards, checking on his progress. Some mental clouds were parting. Enough to recall a few more facts. The shattered habitat — not worth revisiting. The hopelessness of pursuing a speed sled, even one burdened with three passengers, since night was soon approaching.
Both arms of his harness twitched as his rattled brain sent spasmodic commands down the neural link. Kaa managed to lift his head a bit, the next time he breathed, and recognized the shape of nearby coastal hills. Brookida was herding him closer to the
native fishing town.
“Mopol and Zhaki wrecked the cables and transmittersss, back at the dome. But-t I figure we can find the lines leading to the spy drones in Wuphon Port, tap into those, and contact the ship-p.”
Some order was slipping into Kaa’s chaotic thoughts. Enough to comprehend a bit of what the old fin said. This return of sapiency left him with mixed feelings — relieved that the loss was not permanent, plus regretful longing for the simplicity that must now go away, replaced by urgent, hopeless needs.
Trinary came back more easily than Anglic.
We must pursue the—
Spawn of syphilitic worms,
While their sound spoor’s
fresh!
“Yes, of course. I agree. How awful for Peepoe, poor lass. But first let’s contact Streaker. Maybe our crew mates can help.”
Kaa hearkened to the sense in that. One of the first principles of human legality that dolphins clearly understood was that of a posse, which had analogies in natural cetacean society. When an offense is committed against the pod, you can call for help. You should not face trouble alone.
He let Brookida lead him to the site where fiber cables from the onshore spy eyes all converged below. Booming surf reminded Kaa unhappily of this morning’s lovemaking. The sound made him squeal a Primal protest, railing against the unfairness of it all. To find a mate and lose her on the same day.
The water tasted of qheuens and hoons … plus wooden planks and tar. Kaa rested at the surface, sifting his mind back together while Brookida dived down to establish the link.
A saser … Zhaki shot me with a saser beam.
Dimly he realized that Zhaki might have saved his life. If that bolt hadn’t stopped him, Mopol would surely have fired next, using the more powerful unit on the sled.
But saved me … for what?
Ifni tell me … what’s the point?
Kaa didn’t figure he still had his nickname anymore.
A few hours … now it’s gone again. She took it with her.
Brookida surfaced next to him, sputtering elation, having achieved quick success.
“Got it-t! Come on, Kaa. I’ve got Gillian on the line. She wants to talk to you.”
Sometimes life is filled with choices. You get to select which current to ride, which tide to pull your destiny.
Other times leave you torn … wrenched apart … as if two orcas had a grip on you, one biting hard on your flukes while the other plays tug-of-war with your snout.
Kaa heard the order. He understood it.
He wasn’t at all sure he could obey.
“I’m sorry about Peepoe,” Gillian Baskin said, her voice crackling over the makeshift comm line, conveyed directly to Kaa’s auditory nerves. “We’ll rescue her, and deal with the deserters, when opportunity permits. Believe me, it’s a high priority.
“But this other task is crucial. Our lives may depend on it, Kaa.”
The human paused.
“I want you to head straight into Wuphon Harbor.
“It’s time one of us went to town.”
Sooners
Ewasx
MY RINGS, IT HAS FINALLY HAPPENED. Rejoice! Your master torus has ultimately managed to recover some of the fatty memories you/we/I had thought forever lost! Those valuable recall tracks that were erased when brave-foolish Asx melted the wax!
That act of wrong loyalty stymied the usefulness of this hybrid ring stack for much too long. Some of the Polkjhy crew called us/Me a failed experiment. Even the CaptainLeader questioned this effort … this attempt to convert a wild traeki into our loyal authority on Jijoan affairs.
Admittedly, our/My expertise about the Six Races has been uneven and fitful. Mistakes were made despite/ because of our advice.
BUT NOW I/WE HAVE REACQUIRED THIS SECRET! This conviction that once filled the mulch center of the diffuse being called Asx.
Deep beneath the melted layers, a few memory tracks remained.
DO NOT SQUIRM SO! Instead you should exult in this recovery of something so important.
The Egg.
So far, we have seen only insolence from the sooner races — delays and grudging cooperation with the survey teams we send forth.
No voluntary gathering of g’Kek vermin at designated collection points.
No migration of traeki stacks for appraisal-and-conversion.
Swarms of supervised robots have begun sifting the countryside for groups of g’Kek and traeki, herding them toward enclosures where their numbers can be concentrated at higher density. But this task proves laborious and inefficient. It would be far more convenient if the locals were persuaded to perform the task on their own.
Worse, these fallen beings still refuse to admit any knowledge of the Earthling prey ship.
IT PROVES DIFFICULT TO COERCE GREATER COOPERATION.
Attacks on population centers are met with resignation and dispersal.
Their dour religion confounds us with stoic passivity. It is hard to deprive hope from a folk that never had much.
BUT NOW WE HAVE A NEW TARGET!
One more meaningful to the Six Races than any of their campsite villages. A target to convince them of our ruthless resolve.
We already knew something of this Great Egg. Its throbbing radiations were an irritant, disrupting our instruments, but we dismissed it as a geophysical anomaly. Psi-resonant formations exist on some worlds. Despite local mythology, our onboard Library cube can cite other cases. A rare phenomenon, but understood.
Only now we realize how deeply this stone is rooted in the savages’ religion. It is their central object of reverence. Their “soul.”
How amusing.
How pathetic.
And how very convenient.
Vubben
THE LAST TIME HIS AGED WHEELS HAD ROLLED along this dusty trail, it was in the company of twelve twelves of white-robed pilgrims — the finest eyes, minds, and rings of all six races — winding their way past sheer cliffs and steam vents in a sacred quest to seek guidance from the Holy Egg. For a time, that hopeful procession had made the canyon walls reverberate with fellowship vibrations — the Commons united and at peace.
Alas, before reaching its goal, the company fell into a maelstrom of fire, bloodshed, and despair. Soon the sages and their followers were too busy with survival to spend time meditating on the ineffable. But during the weeks since, Vubben could never shake a sense of unfinished business. Of something vital, left undone.
Hence this solitary return journey, even though it brought his frail wheels all too near the Jophur foe ship. Vubben’s axles and motive spindles throbbed from the cruel climb, and he longingly recalled that a brave qheuen had volunteered to carry him all the way here, riding in comfort on a broad gray back.
But he could not accept. Despite creakiness and age, Vubben had to come alone.
At last he reached the final turn before entering the Nest. Vubben paused to catch his breath and smooth his ruffled thoughts in preparation for the trial ahead. He used a soft rag to wipe green sweat off all four eye hoods and stalks.
It is said that g’Kek bodies could never have evolved on a planet. Our wheels and whiplike limbs better suit the artificial worlds where our star-god ancestors dwelled, before they gambled a great wager, won their bet, and lost everything.
He often wondered what it must have been like to abide in some vast spinning city whose inner space was spanned by countless slender roadways that arched like ribbons of spun sugar. Intelligent paths that would twist, gyre, and reconnect at your command, so the way between any two points could be just as straight or deliciously curved as you liked. To live where a planet’s grip did not press you relentlessly, every dura from birth till death, squashing your rims and wearing away your bearings with harsh grit.
More than any other sooner race, the g’Kek had to work hard in order to love Jijo. Our refuge. Our purgatory.
Vubben’s eyestalks contracted involuntarily as the Egg once again made its presence known. A surge of tywu
sh vibrations seemed to rise from the ground. The sporadic patterning tremors had grown more intense, the nearer he came to the source. Now Vubben shivered as another wave front stroked his tense spokes, making his brain resound in its hard case. Words could not express the sensation, even in Galactic Two or Three. The psi-effect provoked no images or dramatic emotions. Rather, a feeling of expectation seemed to build, slowly but steadily, as if some longawaited plan were coming to fruition at long last.
The episode peaked … then passed quickly away, still lacking the coherence he hoped for.
Then let us begin in earnest, Vubben thought. His motor spindles throbbed, helped along by slender pusher legs, as both wheels turned away from the sunset’s dimming glow, toward mystery.
The Egg loomed above, a rounded shelf of stone that stretched ahead for half an arrowflight before curving out of sight. Although a century of pilgrimages had worn a trail of packed pumice, it still took almost a midura for Vubben to roll his first circuit around the base of the ovoid, whose mass pressed a deep basin in the flank of a dormant volcano. Along the way, he raised slender arms and eyestalks, lofting them in gentle benediction, supplementing his mental entreaty with the language of motion.
Help your people.… Vubben urged, seeking to atune his thoughts, harmonizing them with the cyclical vibrations.
Rise up. Waken. Intervene to save us.…
Normally, an effort at communion involved more than one suppliant. Vubben would have merged his contribution with a hoon’s patience, the tenacity of a qheuen, a traeki’s selfless affinity, plus that voracious will to know that made the best urs and humans seem so much alike. But such a large group might be detected moving about close to the Jophur. Anyway, he could not ask others to risk being caught in the company of a g’Kek.
With each pass around the Egg, he sent one eye wafting up to peer at Mount Ingul, whose spire was visible beyond the crater’s rim. There, Phwhoon-dau had promised to station a semaphore crew to alert Vubben in case of any approaching threat — or if there were changes in the tense standoff with the aliens. So far, no warnings were seen flashing from that western peak.
