by David Brin
"Run, " was all Ling said.
Jeni took off with a pair of excited noor beasts yapping at her heels.
• • •
Any return to the imprisoned ship would have to wait for dawn. Even a well-tuned rewq could not amplify light that was not there.
Ling wanted to keep the two rescued Daniks busy producing antidotes against every pathogen listed in the little Library, in case other plagues were loose that no one knew about, but Lark vetoed the idea. Since the Dooden disaster, all computers made him nervous. He wanted this one turned on as little as possible. Let the Rothen produce extra vaccines inside their vessel and bring them out along with ? other supplies, he said, if and when a new tunnel wasj made. Ling seemed about to argue the point, but then her| lips pressed hard and she shrugged. Taking one of the I lanterns, she retreated to a corner of the cave, far from Rann and her former comrades. .
Lark spent some time composing a report to the High!, Sages, requesting more bottles of the traeki dissolving fluid' and describing the preliminary outlines of an alliance be-f tween the Six Races and their former enemies. Not that he, had much confidence in such a coalition.
They promise weapons and other help, he wrote. But I urge caution. Given Phwhoon-dau's description of the Rothen as Galactic "petty criminals, " and the relative ease with which they were overwhelmed, we should prefer almost any advantageous deal that can be worked out with the Jophur, short of letting them commit mass murder.
Insurrection ought to be considered a last resort.
The sages might find his recommendation odd, since his own plan made the Rothen alliance possible in the first place. But Lark saw no contradiction. Unlocking a door did not mean you had to walk through it. He just believed in exploring alternatives.
There was little to do then but wait, hoping news from the medics would be happy and swift. The party could not even light a fire in the dank cavern.
"It's cold," Ling commented when Lark passed near her niche. He had been looking for a place to unroll his sleeping bag . . . not so close he'd seem intrusive, yet nearby in case she called. Now he paused, wondering what she meant.
Was that an invitation? Or an accusation?
The latter seemed more likely. Ling might have been much better off remaining forever in the warmth of hightech habitats, basking in the glow of a messianic faith.
"It is that," he murmured. "Cold."
It was hard to move closer. Hard to expect anything but rejection. For months, their relationship had been based on a consensual game, a tense battle of wits that was part inquisition and part one-upmanship . . . with moments of intense, semierotic flirting stirred in. Eventually he won that game, but not through any credit of his own. The sins of her Rothen gods gave him a weapon out of proportion to personal traits either of them possessed, leaving him just one option-to lay waste to all her beliefs. Ever since, they had labored together toward shared goals without once trading a private word.
In effect, he had conquered her to become Jijo's ally, only to lose what they had before.
Lark did not feel like a conqueror.
"I can see why they call you a heretic," Ling said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Either out of shyness or diffidence, Lark had not looked at her directly. Now he saw she had a book open on her lap, with one page illuminated by the faint beam of her glow lamp. It was the Jijoan biology text he had written with Uthen. His life's work.
"I ... tried not to let it interfere with the research," he answered.
"How could it not interfere? Your use of cladistic taxonomy clashes with the way Galactic science has defined and organized species for a billion years."
Lark saw what she was doing, and felt gladdened by it. Their shared love of biology was neutral ground where issues of guilt or shame needn't interfere. He moved closer to sit on a stony outcrop.
"I thought you were talking about my Jijoan heresy. I used to be part of a movement"-he winced, remembering his friend Harullen-"whose goal was to persuade the Six Races to end our illegal colony ... by voluntary means."
She nodded. "A virtuous stance, by Galactic standards. Though not easy for organic beings, who are programmed for sex and propagation."
Lark felt his face flush, and was grateful for the dim light.
"Well, the question is out of our hands now," he said. "Even if Ro-kenn's plagues are cured, the Jophur can wipe us out if they like. Or else they'll hand us over to the Institutes, and we'll have the Judgment Day described in the Sacred Scrolls. That might come as a relief, after the last few months. At least it's how we always imagined things would end."
"Though your people hoped it wouldn't happen till you'd been redeemed. Yes, I know that's yourJijoan orthodoxy. But I was talking about a heresy of science-the way you and Uthen organized animal types in your work-by species, genus, phylum, and so on. You use the old cladistic system of pre-contact Earthling taxonomy."
He nodded. "We do have a few texts explaining Galactic nomenclature. But most of our books came from Earth archives. Few human biologists had changed over to Galactic systematics by the time the Tabernacle took off."
"I never saw cladistics used in a real ecosystem," Ling commented. "You present a strong argument for it."
"Well, in our case it's making a virtue out of necessity. We're trying to understand Jijo's past and present by studying a single slice of time-the one we're living in. For evidence, all we have to go on are the common traits of living animals . . . and the fossils we dig up. That's comparable to mapping the history of a continent by studying layers of rocks. Earthlings did a lot of that kind of science before contact, like piecing together evidence of a crime, long after the body has grown cold. Galactics never needed those interpolative techniques. Over the course of eons they simply watch and record the rise and fall of mountains, and the divergence of species. Or else they make new species through gene-splicing and uplift."
Ling nodded, considering this. "We're taught contempt for wolfling science. I suppose it affected the way I treated you, back when . . . well, you know."
If that was an apology, Lark accepted it gladly.
"I wasn't exactly honest with you either, as I recall."
She laughed dryly. "No, you weren't."
Another silence stretched. Lark was about to talk some more about biology, when he realized that was exactly the wrong thing to do. What had earlier served to bridge an uncomfortable silence would now only maintain a reserve, a neutrality he did not want anymore. Awkwardly, he moved to change the subject.
"What kind of . . ." He swallowed and tried again. "I have a brother, and a sister. I may have mentioned them before. Do you have family . . . back at ..."
He let the question hang, and for a moment Lark worried he had dredged a subject too painful and personal. But her relieved look showed Ling, too, wanted to move on.
"I had a baby brother," she said. "And a share daughter, whose up-parents were very nice. I miss them all very much."
For the next midura, Lark listened in confusion to the complex Danik way of life on far-off Poria Outpost. Mostly, he let Ling pour out her sadness, now that even her liberated crew mates were like aliens to her, and nothing would ever be the same.
Later, it seemed wholly natural to stretch his sleeping bag next to hers. Divided by layers of cloth and fluffy torg, their bodies shared warmth without touching. Yet, in his heart, Lark felt a comfort he had lacked till now.
She doesn 't hate me.
It was a good place to start.
The second dive seemed to go quicker, at first. They had a better knack for underwater travel now, though several human volunteers had to fill in for blue qheuens who were sick.
About the illness, recent word from topside was encouraging. The vaccine samples seemed to help the first few victims. Better yet, the molecules could be traeki-synthesized. Still, it was too soon for cheers. Even in the event of a complete cure, there were problems of distribution. Could cures reach all the far-flung communi
ties before whole populations of qheuens and hoons were devastated?
Back at the Rothen ship, they found the airlock already occupied by crew members wearing diving gear-three humans and a Rothen-along with slim crates of supplies. Like wax figures, they stood immobile while Lark and Ling trained new assistants in the strange art they had learned the day before. Then it was time to begin making another tunnel through the golden time-stuff.
Again, they went through turnaround sweeps, letting those inside the hatch prepare. Again, volunteers swam close with mule preservation beads that had been hollowed and turned into bottles for the special dissolving fluid. Once more, the actual act of embedding had to take place in a shroud of nescience, without anyone watching directly. Nothing happened the first few tries . . . until Jeni caught one of the new helpers peeking, out of curiosity. Despite watery resistance, she smacked him so hard the sound traveled as a sharp crack.
Finally, they got the hang of it. Six beads lay in place, at varying distances inside the barrier. As yesterday, Lark applied the "can opener," turning on an ancient Buyur machine, which in turn pulled a wax plug, setting in motion a chain reaction to eat a gap through the viscous material. He backed up, fascinated again by creepy visions as the red foam spread and a cavity began to form.
Someone abruptly tapped his shoulder.
It was Jeni, the young militia sergeant, urgently holding a wax board.
WHERE IS RANN?
He blinked, then joined Ling in a shrug. The tall Danik leader had been nearby till a moment ago. Jeni's expression was anguished. Lark wrote on his own board.
WE'RE NOT NEEDED NOW. LING AND I WILL LOOK NORTH. SEND OTHERS SOUTH, EAST. YOU STAY.
Grudgingly, Jeni accepted the logic. Lark's job was largely done. If the tunnel opened as planned, another batch of escapees would wriggle through and Jeni must coordinate moving them and their baggage back to the caves.
With a nod, Ling assented. They headed off together, kicking hard. United, they should be a match for Rann if he put up a fight. Anyway, where would the big man go? It wasn't as if he had much choice, these days.
Still, Lark worried. With a head start, Rann might reach the lakeshore and make good an escape. He could cause mischief, or worse, be caught and questioned by the Jophur. Rann was tough, but how long could he hold out against Galactic interrogation techniques?
Ling caught his arm. Lark turned to follow her jabbing motion up toward the surface of the lake. There he saw a pair of nippers, waving slowly at the end of two strong
What's he doing up there? Lark wondered as they propelled after the absconded Danik. Getting close, they saw Rann had actually broached the surface! His head and shoulders were out of the water. Is he taking a look at the [Jophur ship? We all want to, but no one dared. Lark felt acutely the shadow of the giant vessel as they kicked upward. For the first time, he got a sense of its | roughly globular shape and mammoth dimensions, comIpletely blocking the narrow Festival Glade, creating this 'lake with its bulk. Having grown up next to a dam, Lark had a sense of the pressure all this water exerted. There would be an awful flood when the ship took off, returning to its home among the stars.
The tube in his mouth squirmed disconcertingly. The traeki air ring struggled as they rose upward, hissing and throbbing to adapt to changing pressure. But Lark was more worried about Rann being spotted by the Jophur.
With luck, the skink skins will make him look like apiece of flotsam . . . which is what he'll feel like once I'm through with him! Lark felt a powerful wrath build as he reached to seize the big man's ankle.
The leg gave a startled twitch . . . then kicked savagely, knocking his hand away.
Ling tugged Lark's other arm, pointing a second time.
Rann had an object in front of him-the Rothen minicomputer! He was tapping away at the controls, even as he tread water.
Bastard! Lark thrust toward the surface, grabbing for the device, no longer caring if his mere body happened to be visible from afar. Rann might as well have been waving a searchlight while beating a drum!
As soon as Lark broke through, the starman aimed a punch at him-no doubt a well-trained, expert blow, if delivered on dry land. Here, watery reaction threw Rann off balance and the clout glanced stingingly off Lark's ear,
Amid a shock of pain, he sensed Ling erupt behind her former colleague, throwing her arms around his neck. Lark took advantage of the distraction, planting his feet against Rann's chest and hauling back until the computer popped free of the big man's grasp.
Alas, that wasn't enough to end the danger. The screen was still lit. He cried to Ling: "I don't know how to turn the damned thing off!"
She had troubles of her own, with Rann's powerful arms reaching around to pummel and yank at her. Lark realized the Danik must be put out of commission, and quickly. So with both hands he raised the computer as high as he could-and brought it down hard on Rann's crew cut.
Without leverage, it struck less forcefully than he hoped, but the blow pulled Rann's attention away from Ling.
The second impact was better, giving a resounding smack. Rann groaned, slumping in the water.
Unfortunately, the jolt did not break the durable computer, which kept shining, even after Lark landed a final blow.
Rann floated, arms spread wide, breathing shallowly but' noisily from his traeki ring. Ling thrashed toward Lark, gasping as she threw an arm over his shoulder for support. Finally, she reached out to stroke a precise spot on the computer's case, turning it off.
That's better . . . though it's said. Galactics can trace digital cognizance, even when a machine is unpowered.
Lark closed the cover, letting the machine drop from his grasp. He needed both hands to hold Ling.
Especially when a new, umbral shadow fell across them causing her body to stiffen in his arms.
Suddenly, things felt very cold.
Tremulously, they turned together, looking up to see what had come for them.
Dwer
THAT NIGHT WAS AMONG THE STRANGEST OF Dwer's life, though it started in the most natural way- bickering with Rety.
"I ain't goin' there!" She swore.
"No one asked you to. When I start downhill, you'll take off the other way. Go half a league west, to that forested rise we passed on the way here. I saw good game signs. You can set snares, or look for clamette bubbles on the beach. They're best roasted, but you oughtn't trust a fire-"
"I'm supposed to wait for you, I s'pose? Have a nice meal ready for the great hunter, after he finishes takin' on the whole dam' universe, single-handed?"
Her biting sarcasm failed to mask tremors of real fear. Dwer didn't flatter himself that Rety worried about him. No doubt she hated to face being alone.
Dusk fell on the dunes and mudflats, and mountains so distant they were but a jagged horizon cutting the bloated sun. Failing light gave the two of them a chance at last to worm out from the sand, then slither beyond sight of the crashed ships. Once safely over the verge, they brushed grit out of clothes and body crevices while arguing in heated whispers.
"I'm telling you, we don't haveta do anything! I'm sure Kunn had time to holler for help before he went down. The Rothen ship was due back soon, and musta heard him. Any dura now it's gonna swoop down, rescue Kunn, and pick up its prize. All we gotta do then is stand and shout."
Rety had been thinking during the long, uncomfortable wait. She held that the fighter craft full of untraeki rings was the very target Kunn had been looking for, dropping depth bombs to flush his prey out of hiding. By that logic, the brief sky battle was a desperate lashing out by a cornered foe. But Kunn got his own licks in, and now the quarry lay helpless in the swamp, where frantic efforts at repair had so far failed to dislodge it.
Soon, by Rety's reasoning, the Rothen lords would come to complete the job, taking the untraeki into custody. The Rothen would surely be pleased at this success. Enough to overlook Dwer's earlier mistakes. And hers.
It was a neat theory. But then, why did the untra
eki ship attack from the west, instead of rising out of the water where Kunn dropped his bombs? Dwer was no expert on the way star gods brawled among themselves, but instinct said Kunn had been caught with his pants down.
"In that case, what I'm about to try should put me in good with your friends," he told Rety.
"If you survive till they come, which I doubt! Those varmints down there will spot you, soon as you go back over the dune."
"Maybe. But I've been watching. Remember when a herd of bog stompers sloshed by, munching tubers torn up by the crash? Large critters passed both hulls and were ignored. I'm guessing the guard robots will take me for a crude native beast-"
"You got that right," Rety muttered.
"-and leave me alone, at least till I'm real close."
