by Timothy Zahn
Faraday grimaced. "He was a typical self-absorbed twenty-two-year-old who watched his grandiose plans for the future crash down around his ears. What did you expect?"
"I expected some of the bitterness to wear off after a while," Sprenkle countered. "I also expected a little more gratitude after we and the Qanska gave him back something resembling a real life. It's something called maturity."
"I know," Faraday had to agree. "And unfortunately, Drusni's rejection seems to have simply solidified that poor-me attitude of his."
"Unfortunately," Sprenkle said. "He also has a bad tendency to throw the blame for everything onto other people instead of accepting his fair share."
"So what are you saying?" Faraday asked. "That the more unlikable Raimey is when the crunch comes, the less likely the team will stick their necks out for him?"
"Do you blame them?"
"Not really," Faraday conceded. "Trouble is, it looks like we've only got two months before that crunch. Any chance at all he can get his act straightened out by then?"
"I suppose it's possible," Sprenkle said, getting to his feet. "Back when he was a Midling, making friends with Drusni and Pranlo was what drew him out of himself and his self-pity, at least a little. If this Vuukan incident affects him the same way, he may end up as both a better Qanska and a better human being."
"Yes," Faraday murmured. "We can hope, anyway."
"Regardless, I wish you luck, Colonel," Sprenkle added. "For whatever it's worth, I admire your stand on this."
"Thank you," Faraday said. "I notice you're not also offering your unqualified support."
Sprenkle smiled tightly. "As I said, it's easy to be brave when the threat isn't actually looming over you. I'd like to believe I'll be noble when the time comes... but I also know better than to make a promise I don't know if I can keep."
"I understand," Faraday said. "If I can't have loyalty, at least give me honesty."
Sprenkle inclined his head in an ironic bow. "Nicely put, Colonel, and expertly manipulative. You should have been a psychologist."
He stepped to the door, then paused. "One other question, if I may," he said, turning around again. "I've studied everything we've got on Raimey—his family, schooling, psychological and social profiles, and all that. But I've never seen anything in his files that would have caught my eye if I'd been looking for a likely candidate for this job. May I ask how exactly you and the Five Hundred picked him out?"
Faraday sighed. "We didn't," he said. "We made the same offer to forty-seven other quadriplegics around the System. Raimey was the only one who took us up on it."
"Oh," Sprenkle said, sounding a little taken aback. "I see. Well... good night, Colonel."
"Good night."
He left. For a moment Faraday gazed at the door, trying to marshal his thoughts. Then, stepping over to his desk, he sat down and flipped on his computer. If Liadof had brought a group of men aboard, their travel files must be in the station's log somewhere.
After all, the first step to befriending someone was to learn his name.
FOURTEEN
"The brown ones are called ranshay," Beltrenini said, waggling her tails at the clumps floating past. "The silvery-blue ones are jeptris. Try them together."
Obediently, Raimey scooped up a half mouthful of each. "Whoa," he said, his eyes and mouth both tingling with the reaction. It was like some kind of food he vaguely remembered from his previous existence. Italian, maybe? Or was it Mexican? "That's... intense."
"Isn't it?" Beltrenini agreed, sounding rather pleased with herself. "Alone, they're not so terrific—the jeptris is a little too spicy, and the ranshay is disgustingly bland. But together, they're truly a taste to swim for."
"Sure are," Raimey said. "Ah, the joys of being a Breeder."
"What's this?" Nistreali put in, flapping over beside them. "Did you say the joys of being a Breeder? I thought you weren't interested in meeting my friends."
"I was referring to this ranshay and jeptris combination," Raimey said, wishing mightily that he'd picked a different way of phrasing it. Nistreali had been all over his fins for five ninedays now, nagging him to let her fix him up with some of those female Breeders she knew up on Level Three.
And for five ninedays now he'd been dodging and weaving like a Youth trying to avoid a particularly persistent Vuuka. He had no doubt that Nistreali's friends were nice young Breeders, but he wasn't interested in trying to replace his memories of Drusni just yet. If indeed he ever could.
"What do you mean?" Nistreali asked, clearly puzzled. "What does eating have to do with being a Breeder?"
"I just meant that being big enough to get down to Level Four has its advantages," he said. One of these days, he told himself firmly, he would have to stop making idle comments in Nistreali's earshot. The complications were never worth it. "I never had food like this when I was a Youth."
"What do size and age have to do with it?" Nistreali asked, sounding more puzzled than ever. "Ranshay and jeptris grow all the way from Level One to Level Five."
Raimey twisted around to stare at her. "What?" he demanded. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nistreali never kids about food, Raimilo," Beltrenini said dryly. "Or nice young female Breeders, either—"
"Wait a second," Raimey said. "You say this stuff grows on Level One? Then how come I've never seen it before?"
"Maybe you have another name for it back on Centerline," Nistreali suggested. "It looks a little bit different up there, too."
"How different?" Raimey asked.
"Well, it's in smaller clumps, for one thing," Nistreali said. "The air's thinner up there, after all."
"The ranshay is usually a lighter brown, too," Beltrenini added. There was suddenly something odd about her tone. "Though the jeptris looks pretty much the same as it does here."
Raimey flipped his tails in a negative. "No," he said. "There was nothing even remotely similar where I grew up."
Beltrenini gave a deep sigh. "It's true, then," she said quietly. "The Time of Valediction really is coming."
"You don't know that," Nistreali warned, her voice filled with dread. "I mean, we've only got the experiences of one Centerline Breeder here."
"But he didn't know about the Brolka, either," Beltrenini said heavily. "He'd never seen them before."
"Clouds above, I hope not," Nistreali murmured. Suddenly, she seemed uninterested in the food floating past her. "I hope not."
"What is this Time of Valediction?" Raimey asked, a shiver of darkness sweeping over him. The sudden somber mood was contagious. "I've never heard of that, either."
"You haven't heard of much of anything, have you?" Beltrenini said, sounding distracted. "Did you sleep through all your herd's story circles, or what?"
"I didn't sleep through any of them," Raimey insisted. "I listened as well as any child there; and I tell you, no one mentioned any Time of Valediction. I don't even know what it means."
"Valediction: leaving or farewell," Beltrenini said. "It's when our world begins to change, and those who are wise enough and worthy enough leave to seek a new home."
Raimey felt his breath freeze in his throats. The Qanskan stardrive! Faraday and Hesse had spun him that idea once, he remembered, just before Drusni had broken his heart.
But in the long, lonely days since then he'd concluded they were either delusional or simply biting wishful thoughts at the air. There was no way the Qanska could possibly have built themselves anything mechanical or electrical. Not here. No way at all.
But if Beltrenini was right, they had. Somehow, they had.
Unless, of course, the Time of Valediction was nothing but a myth. More biting at the air.
"I never heard of that," he said carefully. "How does all this happen?"
Nistreali flipped her fins in a shrug. "Well, obviously, we've never seen it ourselves," she said.
"Or ever known anyone who remembers, either," Beltrenini added. "The Wise who came here did so well before our time."
&nb
sp; "But they did come here from somewhere else, right?" Raimey persisted. "I mean, somewhere else, not just another part of the planet."
"From outside the clouds, to within the clouds," Nistreali said. "At least, that's how the story goes. You sure you never heard it?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Raimey said. "But how does it happen? Where do they go?"
"They go here," Beltrenini said. "Or places like here."
"Yes, but from where?" Raimey asked impatiently. "What I mean is, where do they go to go to places like here?"
Beltrenini gave him a perplexed look. "You use the strangest sentence constructions I've ever heard," she said. "Is that a Centerline thing?"
"No, just a Raimilo thing." Raimey said with a sigh. Clearly, this was getting him nowhere. Either they didn't want to talk about the stardrive's location, or they really didn't know where it was. Probably the latter.
But now he knew that Faraday's fever-dream speculations had been right after all. The Qanska really were visitors from somewhere else.
Five ninedays ago, facing down four Vuukan throats, he'd felt a stirring of the human spirit that he'd thought was buried too deeply to ever see again. Now, with this revelation, he felt an even stronger stirring of that same spirit. A stardrive. Mankind's dream ever since he began looking up at the sundark sky.
And it was here. Here.
Nistreali was saying something. "Sorry," Raimey said, dragging his attention back to her. "What did you say?"
"I asked if you wanted me to help you go down to Level Five and go hunt up some feemis," she said. "That's always good for clearing your mouth after a ranshay/jeptris experience."
Raimey frowned. "How can you think about eating at a time like this?" he asked.
"A time like what?" Nistreali asked.
"Nistreali can always think about eating," Beltrenini said.
"You said the Time of Valediction was coming," Raimey reminded them. "Don't we need to start getting ready or something?"
Both Qanska burst into laughter. "Oh, my, Raimilo," Nistreali chuckled when she could talk again. "You really are a flap-fin hurry-up sort, aren't you?"
"I just said the Time of Valediction was coming," Beltrenini pointed out. "I didn't say it was coming anytime soon. Certainly not in our lifetimes."
"Oh," Raimey said, feeling stupid.
"Though I suppose it could be in your lifetime," Beltrenini conceded, eying him. "You'll undoubtedly be one of the Wise someday, and you'll have a say in the whole thing."
Raimey grimaced. "If I live that long."
"A Breeder who can chase off four Vuuka?" Nistreali said with a sniff. "There's no doubt in my mind. And anyway, if you really want to get ready for the Time of Valediction, you ought to come down with me and scoop a few mouthfuls of feemis."
"Thanks." Raimey took a deep breath. "But I think it's time for me to go back to Centerline. At least for a while."
"You ready to heal matters between you and Drusni?" Beltrenini asked quietly.
"I—well, I'm willing to give it a try," Raimey hedged.
"I'm glad," Beltrenini said. "You know where she is?"
"I suppose she's still with the herd where we grew up," Raimey said, frowning. With the variable wind speeds at the different latitudes, he realized, getting back to their herd area was going to take some tricky navigation. "I just hope I can find it."
"You won't have any trouble," Beltrenini assured him. Sidling up alongside him, she stroked his fin gently with hers. "I've enjoyed having you around, Raimilo. If you decide you don't want to stay in Centerline after you talk with her, you'll always have a home with us."
"Thank you," Raimey said, his throats oddly tight at the thought of leaving. To have gotten so comfortable in so short a time was a new experience for him.
Especially here on this alien world.
"You'd better go, then," Beltrenini said, all brisk business now. "Come and see us again, all right?"
"I will," Raimey promised. "Good-bye. Good-bye, Nistreali."
"Take care, Raimilo," she said, her own voice heavy with emotion. "Chase a Vuuka for me, okay?"
"Every chance I get," Raimey said, smiling.
With a flip of his tails, he turned and swam away. Back toward the equatorial regions, and the center of Qanskan civilization.
Because in reality, healing his relationship with Drusni was the last thing on his mind, even if such a thing was possible. What he did need to do was get in contact with Faraday and the rest of the humans; and back along Centerline was where they had always talked to him before.
Apparently the only place they could do so, too. There had been some talk about relay probes, he remembered, but nothing ever seemed to have come of it. Certainly they'd been silent since he and Drusni had had their big fight and he'd struck out on his own for the northern latitudes.
But now, after over five dayherds of living on Jupiter, he finally had proof that a Qanskan stardrive did indeed exist. Or if not proof, at least some strong anecdotal evidence.
He would love to see Faraday's face when he told them. But he would settle for hearing the sound of his voice.
"He's still heading southward," Milligan confirmed. "Looks like he really is heading back."
"Very good," Liadof said. Her voice and expression were calm and controlled, with even a hint of feigned indifference.
But in her eyes was a glint that sent a chill down Faraday's back. After years of quiet hope, heated argument, and rampant speculation, they finally had at least folklore-level proof that the Qanskan stardrive really did exist.
And Liadof wanted it. Wanted it very, very badly. "How long until he's back at the equator?" she asked.
"Hard to say," Milligan said. "It took him a couple of months to get that far north, but he wasn't in any hurry then. If he keeps up this pace, he could do it in a month. Possibly less."
"Or possibly more," McCollum put in. "The variety and concentration of food in the equatorial regions seems to be lower than at the latitudes where he is now. There also seem to be more Vuuka near the equator, or at least more Vuukan attacks. The extra grazing and dodging around is bound to cost him some time."
"Well, it doesn't really matter," Liadof said. "We know now that they definitely have a stardrive. It's just a matter of finding it."
"Which is not exactly a trivial problem," Faraday pointed out. "May I ask how you intend to accomplish that?"
"At the moment, that's still classified," Liadof said absently, studying the displays. "Ms. McCollum, do you know where Raimey's old herd is?"
"Yes," McCollum said. "They've drifted a little ahead of our position, but we still have a good track on them. There's obviously been some shuffling in the personnel, of course."
"And that female—Drusni—is she still with them?"
"Yes, Arbiter," McCollum confirmed. "And pregnant with her third child, too."
"Are you planning to wait until Raimey talks to Drusni before you contact him?" Faraday asked.
Liadof's answer was a surprise. "I'm not interested in contacting Raimey at all. If I wanted to talk to him, I could do it now."
Faraday frowned. "Then why is his destination important?"
"That herd is the one that knew Raimey the best," Liadof said, toying thoughtfully with the tooled ruby pendant she always wore. Faraday glanced at her fingers, feeling the same faint queasiness he always did in the pendant's presence. The bright red stone looked far too much like a trickling drop of blood for his comfort. Knowing Liadof, of course, it would undoubtedly be someone else's blood. "Since they were presumably hand-picked by the Qanskan chiefs, that implies the herd's leaders know a fair amount about humanity," Liadof went on. "That should make our upcoming conversation easier."
"Ah—so we're going to talk to the herd," Faraday said, nodding as if he actually understood where Liadof was going with this. "What are we going to talk to them about?"
Liadof glanced back at him. "Did anyone ever mention that you ask a lot of questions, Colonel?"
; Did anyone ever mention that I'm still officially in charge of this project? the retort shot through Faraday's mind. "I'm concerned about Raimey's future," he said instead. "I'd like to know how he fits into your plans."
Liadof turned back to the displays. "What makes you think he fits in anywhere at all?"
"He's part of Project Changeling," Faraday reminded her. "Whatever else we do here, his well-being has to be taken into account."
"Especially since he'll be reaching the herd about the time your probe is ready to go," Beach added.
Liadof's head snapped toward him like a striking rattlesnake. "What do you know about the probe?" she demanded.
Beach's large form seemed to melt into his chair in the sudden heat of that gaze, his round face visibly paling, "I—well, your people have taken over a probe bay," he floundered. "I just assumed you had a probe you were getting ready."
"How did you know I'd taken over a bay?" Liadof persisted. "Who told you?"
"No one told him," Faraday jumped to his rescue. "No one had to. Station space allocations are a matter of public record."
Liadof spun back, and for a stretched-out pair of seconds she just glared at him. "Colonel, let's get something straight," she said, her voice quiet and controlled but with a quiver of compressed anger beneath it. "Your people run the equipment. You run your people. But I am Project Changeling now. Your people will do their jobs, and will keep their noses to themselves. Or they will get them broken."
She gave a little huff. "And that goes for you, too. Behave yourself, and you get to keep your name on this project. Otherwise, you'll find yourself locked away, waiting for the next transport back to Earth. Do I make myself clear?"
"Very clear, Arbiter," Faraday said stiffly, feeling his face reddening. Every rule of civilized behavior said you didn't speak to a person this way in front of his subordinates.
But then, rules like that probably didn't apply to the Five Hundred And of course, she probably didn't consider them to be his subordinates, anyway.
"Good." Deliberately, she turned her back and resumed her study of the displays.
