Under Nameless Stars

by Christian Schoon

  “Jules. I know what a sphere is.”

  “Naturally you do. In any case, this kind of sleep arose in dolphins to permit us to rest and yet breathe at the same moment. One half of our brain goes into light sleep mode while the other stays awake. One eye is open to keep us oriented toward the water surface so we can breathe and watch for predators – such as sharks and, before the Cetacean Cooperation Treaty, killer whales. First, we rest one side of the brain; next, the other. Generally this goes in eight-hour cycles during nighttime, as with humans. But I’ve been off my cycle a little lately. With the trip and its dislocations.”

  “I’ve heard about this. But only in birds. This isn’t just more dolphin humor? Like, ‘ha ha, humans will believe anything’?”

  “I assure you it’s not.” He sounded indignant. “If I were executing a verbal jibe, the humor would be self-evident.”

  “Right,” Zenn said. “And I’m sorry. I know you weren’t expecting to have a roommate on this trip. I’m sure that’s not helping your internal clock get back to a regular routine.”

  “You mustn’t apologize. It was my decision,” he said. “But yes, I believe we can both use some sleep rest. Let us make a decision to eat our breakfast meal together when we awaken. We can talk about what our plans will be. Yes?”

  “I’d like that,” Zenn told him, and with a small tip of his head that looked something like a bow, the dolphin went into his bedroom.

  In her own room, Zenn fell back on the bed. Katie came in and hopped up to lie on the pillow beside her, just as she’d always done back at the cloister. Zenn thought again about contacting Otha, and how she would accomplish this. She thought of dolphins reading old Earther adventure novels. She thought of her father, of the Skirni who had taken him – the Skirni who was possibly sleeping right now in his own cabin several decks below. The sounds of the starship’s mechanical systems rumbled and creaked distantly, like a giant metal beast, restless in the dark cold of space. She wondered yet again what had become of Liam. Before any other thoughts came, she was asleep.

  After Jules had brought her breakfast the next day, she entered the suite’s sitting room just as the dolphin opened the door to the corridor. In the passageway beyond stood a Gliesian steward pushing a small cart piled with dishes.

  “Your dishes, please?” he said. “If you are finished and have any dishes I would be happy to–”

  Before Zenn could withdraw back into her room, the steward spotted her. She froze.

  “You,” he said, grapefruit-eyes going wide.

  Katie, who’d been lying on the back of one of the easy chairs, leaped to her feet and went into rikkaset blending mode, vanishing from sight.

  Zenn felt the blood drain from her face. She’d been discovered. Her stomach clenched, an acid taste filling her mouth. Caught. After coming so far. How could she be so careless, so stupid, to let herself be seen this way?

  Then the steward’s wide, amphibian face split in a broad, needle-toothed grin.

  “Bodine? The animal doctor. Yes?”

  It was the steward from the cargo bay – that’s how he knew her. Was she safe?

  “Yes, that’s me. And you… are Yed, right?” she said, forcing a smile. Jules looked at her, saying nothing. He stepped aside to let the steward enter.

  “Yed, yes. You are finding your time with us pleasant so far?” Zenn heaved a sigh. She hadn’t been found out. The steward set a metal tray on the table and began stacking their dishes on it. Katie rematerialized and cautiously approached the little Gliesian, sniffing.

  The steward was apparently familiar with rikkasets.

  “Ah. You have a vanishing-appearing rat-cat. These are magical animals, are they not?”

  “Well, no, not magical,” Zenn said. “Their fur bends light so they can camouflage themselves, that’s all.”

  “Yes. Magical. May I ask if you have everything you require?”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “And you as well, Guest Vancouver? All you needs are met?”

  “I am well taken care of. The cabin is more than satisfactory.”

  “And, Guest Bodine, your own cabin is to your liking? For you and your father Bodine?”

  “Um, yes. My father and I are quite happy. With our cabin. On deck eight.” She shot Jules a look, hoping he’d catch on.

  “So, you and Guest Vancouver are long acquainted?”

  “Yes,” Jules said. “Because of course she is my slave–”

  “No,” Zenn cut him off. Confused, the steward looked from one of them to the other. “I mean, yes,” Zenn stammered. “I’m… slavishly devoted to Mister Vancouver. As a good friend should be. It’s a figure of speech.”

  “Of speech, necessarily,” the steward said, nodding, but still looking puzzled.

  “Yes. Indeed. We share a long and well-known friendship,” Jules said, realizing her intention. The steward’s eyes took on the smallest shadow of suspicion at this odd exchange. Jules noticed and quickly produced his relay. “And, to signify our satisfaction in all areas of accommodation and service, you must allow me to give you a monetary tip.” The steward’s face brightened, any sign of doubt instantly erased.

  “Thank you, sir! For your generosity,” he said, holding up his own relay. “Guest Bodine, it is a happy accident, my finding you. If I may impose, might I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “As an animal doctor, would you perhaps know of the creatures called mudlark?”

  “Mudlarks. Yes. They’re native to Tandua.”

  “I’ve never heard this name,” Jules said.

  “It’s a little misleading,” Zenn said. “They’re actually fungal animoids. A plant-animal hybrid. Sort of like a big mushroom. They inhabit the tidal zones of Tandua’s Great Swamp Sea.”

  “But larks are avians of Earth,” Jules said. “Do these mudlarks fly?”

  “No. But they sing. That’s where the name comes from,” Zenn told him. “And they’re mimics. Like parrots or mynah birds. But instead of just being able to copy a person’s voice or a single melody, they can mimic dozens of sounds at once. They can be trained to sing entire symphonies, and they sound just like the real thing. I’ve only heard recordings, but it’s really amazing.”

  “My asking is due to our Captain. Captain Oolo,” the steward explained. “For, you see, he possesses such a mudlark. But it has a problem lately. It languishes and does not eat. It occurred to me that you, as an animal physician, might be in a position to determine what ails it.”

  Zenn understood now what was on the steward’s mind and began to wonder if maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned being an exovet.

  “But does not the Helen have its own creature-physician aboard?” Jules asked.

  “Yes, I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.” The steward regarded her blankly. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to make the ship’s exovet mad by treating one of their patients. It wouldn’t be professional.”

  “Ah, no, this is not a concern,” the steward said eagerly. “Our ship’s animal doctor is absent for this most recent leg of our voyage. He left us at Zeta Reticuli and was unable to rejoin. So you can see the Captain would clearly be most obliged for you looking in upon his pet animal. He cares deeply for it.”

  Leaving Jules’s cabin would be a risk. But, on the other hand, there might be a useful trade-off to be had. A steward’s goodwill could be a valuable commodity.

  “I suppose I could take a look at it. But I might ask for a small favor in return.”

  “But of course. What service can I perform for you?”

  “I’d like you to find out some information for me. About a passenger. A Skirni. I have his cabin number.”

  The steward hesitated at this, his wide lips pursing.

  Jules saw his reluctance, and raised his credit relay.

  “Yes. It is crucial we detect important details about this passenger. Will five credits facilitate this undertaking?”

  The steward raised his relay, reluctan
ce replaced by a conspiratorial smile.

  “This is most suitable, and I thank you, Guest Vancouver. How can I assist you in this matter?”

  Zenn explained that she wanted to know the Skirni’s destination, where he first got on the ship and any details about who he associated with and his other activities since he’d been aboard. “While you are about this,” Jules said, “be certain your sleuthing about does not raise red flags of interest from the Skirni. You must move as a rubber-shoed cat burglar, slinking in shadows.”

  “I must… slink?”

  “Just don’t let anyone know what you’re up to.”

  “Ah, to be discreet. Of course. I am a starliner steward. Discretion is simply one of my duties.”

  “Thank you, Yed,” Zenn said. “Now, tell me more about your Captain’s mudlark. What sort of symptoms does it have?”

  “I know only that for three days now it has been silent. Total and complete. And it refuses its feeding. This I am told is a bad sign for these animals.”

  “Yes, this could be something serious. Any change in dietary habits can mean there’s a problem. And they usually vocalize several times a day. At least, in the wild.”

  “What is the ailment? You can heal it?”

  “I won’t know till I see it. Where is it?”

  “Normally, it resides within the Captain’s quarters. But it has now been removed to the ship’s main sickbay due to this illness. Our ship’s doctor, the doctor for our passengers, has been unable to help it. I could take you there, even now. Unless it’s inconvenient.”

  “No, now is good,” she said. “The sooner we diagnose your mudlark, the sooner we find out what that Skirni is up to.”

  Five minutes later, the three of them were riding a lev-tube to the Helen’s deck eighteen. Making an excuse about being chilly, Zenn had once again wound the scarf around her head.

  When they arrived at the sickbay door, it was locked. The ship’s doctor was apparently out, and after the steward entered a manual passcode on the door’s touchplate, it opened and they entered. The sickbay was spacious, with three examination tables in the central area and various treatment devices and supply cabinets against the wall.

  Yed indicated a doorway at the rear of the room.

  “Captain Oolo’s mudlark is within,” he said. “Its name is Cleevus.” The steward made no move to enter the room. Zenn was on her own.

  “OK, let’s have a look,” she said. The door to the smaller room slid open. It was a dimly lit storage closet with a large, rectangular aquarium-like enclosure set against one wall. Barely visible in the low light, the mudlark squatted in the center of the aquarium, anchored to a spherical rock that jutted up out of six inches of water filling the bottom of the clear-walled box.

  Zenn had just felt her way through the near-darkness to the edge of the cage when the dizziness spun up within her. Even after the half-dozen previous times, she was still unprepared for it. Her knees buckled slightly, her thoughts tangled in sudden confusion. The next instant, her vision flickered, then vanished entirely. She was blind! Blind as a… mudlark. And she had become instantly thirsty, an aching thirst that emanated from somewhere outside of her but, at the same time, inside. Yes, it was happening again. She was feeling what this creature felt, their minds somehow linked, somehow sharing sensations, emotions… blindness. It was impossible. There was no scientific explanation for it. But she felt the mudlark’s overwhelming thirst and discomfort as if they were her own.

  “…are you unwell?” Jules’s voice sounded miles away, but it was enough to bring her back. The feeling fled from her. Vision returned.

  “No. It was just…”

  “You were sharing thoughts?” Jules bent his head low, bringing his dark eyes close to hers. “Just now, is that it?”

  “Yes. But only for a few seconds. I’m better now.”

  The little steward was wringing his hands. “You are not ill, Guest Bodine? You are well?”

  “Yes.” She patted him on the shoulder, and he relaxed. So, whatever was afflicting her around animals in distress, she hadn’t left it behind on Mars. No. That would’ve been too simple. She indicated the mudlark. “I’d say that Cleevus seems to be badly dehydrated.”

  After another moment to clear her head, and several breaths to steady herself, Zenn pulled a lightpatch from her backpack, adhered the patch to her forehead and turned it on. The mudlark reacted to the beam of light, shrinking into itself slightly, but it made no sound. The creature’s central stalk was several inches thick and about a foot and a half high, topped by a foot-wide cap punctuated with multiple small openings – but all the many aspiration orifices were shut tight. The coloration was a deep, muddy green with iridescent purple streaks. This was clearly a diagnostic symptom. A healthy mudlark should be a light, greenish-beige with no streaking.

  “I think it’s got a mineral deficiency,” Zenn said, rummaging in her kit and hoping she was right about the facts from her basic course on Tanduan hybrid fauna.

  Zenn found the foil pressure-pak she was looking for and attached it to the smallest-gauge pneuma-ject syringe she had. Leaning down into the mudlark’s cage, she injected the animoid with the potassium booster solution and stood back to wait.

  As they all watched the creature for any reaction, Yed explained how the Captain had taught the mudlark a variety of musical pieces, and how he enjoyed showing off his pet’s abilities to dignitaries and guests.

  Further conversation was interrupted by a soft, unidentifiable sound, something like bagpipes played inside an echoing cave. Zenn bent down to shine her lightpatch into the cage, where the mudlark had undergone a startling transformation. It stood taller now, the last hints of purple streaks fading, the stalk’s surface flushing with healthy new color even as they watched. The many breath-holes on the cap were open and slowly vibrating. The wheezing sound it was making changed, became more defined and increased in volume, growing until it filled the small room with what could only be described as the sound of musical instruments, accurately reproduced down to the strings, tympani drums and woodwinds, all playing a complex and beautiful melody.

  “This music, I know it,” Jules said after a few moments. “It is Master Beethoven’s of Earth. His number six symphonic composition. The ‘Pastoral’.” The dolphin closed his eyes and raised his mech-arms, waving his hands in the air as if directing a performance.

  “Yes, it sings, it sings.” The steward started to dance to the music, hopping as he spun in a circle, clapping his hands. “The Captain will be joyful. And Yed will be his favored one. I will be favored.”

  Zenn smiled at the impromptu celebration, the miraculous music washing over them all, the mudlark swaying back and forth to the rhythm of its many-throated song. It was while she was peering into the sickbay from within the closet that the new thought came to her in a single flash of recognition.

  “A sickbay…”

  “A sickbay,” Jules said, arms paused in midair. “Yes, it is where we are.”

  “No. That’s what I saw, what the Skirni was remembering. During the break-in at the cloister,” Zenn said, moving out into the main bay and walking to the bank of instruments on the wall. “In my vision, when I saw my father, on that table. It wasn’t a hospital room. It was the sickbay of a starliner. And not just any sickbay. It was this sickbay. I saw this same exam table, the same kind of equipment, the same sort of cabinets and decorations on the wall.”

  She turned around to see Jules and the little steward staring at her outburst.

  “Don’t you see? My father must have been here. He was here!” But even as she said it, the thought was replaced: if Warra Scarlett had in fact been here… where was he now?

  EIGHT

  “Again, I must thank you for the miraculous result you have achieved,” the steward said to Zenn as they rode a lev-car back down toward Jules’s cabin.

  “I’m just glad it worked,” Zenn said, smiling with relief. But seeing Yed’s concerned expression, she added, “I wa
s pretty sure, of course, that it would. Work.”

  “As I have said, it is our very good fortune you came on board the Helen,” Yed told her. “Lucky for the Captain’s Cleevus. Cleevus is lucky in many ways. This animal lives a very good life on this ship. Unlike some other animals, I must say… Ah, we come to Guest Vancouver’s deck.”

  Yed opened the lev-car’s door and gestured for them to exit.

  “Wait, what did you say?” Zenn asked.

  “Oh. I speak out of turn.” The steward’s bright green brow creased, and he looked away. A guilty look? “Yed? What did you mean about the other animals?”

  He muttered something and looked down nervously at his webbed feet.

  “I am sorry, Guest Bodine. I merely spoke my thought aloud. It is of no account.”

  “Yed.” She sounded as firm as she could. “Are animals in trouble? Are they sick? You need to tell me if they are.”

  “But… I am paid not to say,” He popped his round eyes at her and wrung his hands.

  “Steward Yed?” Jules held his credit relay aloft. “What sum are you paid not to say?”

  “Twenty-five units,” he said reluctantly, blinking at them.

  “Here then is thirty,” Jules told him. Yed held his own relay up. “You are now paid to say.”

  Yed blinked a few more times, then looked down at his relay.

  “It is an animal fight I am paid to be quiet about. The Skirni, guest Thrott, has arranged it. Below decks in the steerage levels of the ship.”

  “A fight?” Zenn asked. “With what kind of animals?”

  “Guest Thrott pits his trained slug against a waspworm. The wasp is owned by a Fomalhaut freedman. There are wagers being placed on this event.”

  “When, Yed? When are they going to fight?”

  The steward looked at his sleeve-screen.

  “Soon. In the next hour.”

  Zenn didn’t have to think about it. “You need to take us there now.”

  “You? Take you?” Yed looked from her to Jules. “I am not certain this would be… in order…”