by Timothy Zahn
"Me, too," Drusni said, flipping her tails in a nod. "Maybe he just wasn't listening."
"Come on, this is no time to be funny," Manta snapped. "It was you two who weren't listening. If they catch you with me, you're going to be with me permanently. All of us with our ears bitten off, exiled to who knows where. What happens to you then? What happens to your children then?"
"We'd be in trouble," Drusni agreed, her voice steady. "But that's not going to happen, because you're going to come up with the answer Latranesto wants."
"And what if I don't?" Manta shot back. "Because I sure as the Deep don't know if I can pull this off. I don't mind risking my own future; I don't even mind risking Latranesto's. But I don't want to risk yours."
"What about the future of the Qanska?" Pranlo asked quietly. "Are you willing to risk that?"
Manta felt his throats tighten. "I already said I was going to do my best."
"Good," Drusni said. "In that case, we're going with you. I don't know how it is with humans, but in my experience Qanska never really do their best alone. It always takes at least two, working together, for each one to achieve that."
"In this case, it takes three," Pranlo put in. "The Three Musketta swim again!"
Manta sighed, his heart aching inside him. "I know you're being serious," he said quietly. "Both of you. And I'll never be able to tell you how much it means to me. But I don't even know what use I'm going to be on this. I can't even begin to guess what kind of help you can be."
"Maybe all we'll do is listen," Drusni said. "A long time ago I told you that talking about a problem with friends was sometimes the best way to solve it."
"Yes, I remember," Manta said reluctantly. "But I doubt this is exactly what you had in mind."
Pranlo snorted. "Oh, come on, Manta. Show me a Qanska who gets to pick his problems, and that's the herd I want to swim with."
"Then it's settled," Drusni said firmly. "Right, Manta?"
Manta sighed again. "It looks like I'm outvoted," he said, giving up. "If you want to know the truth, I would appreciate the company."
"See?" Pranlo said. "Already you're making better decisions."
He flipped his tails and started off again across the wind. "Come on, let's go—we've got a job to do. The Three Musketta, on their finest adventure yet."
"Yeah," Manta murmured as he turned to follow. "Let's just hope it's not their last."
Early on in his house arrest, pacing restlessly around his increasingly cramped quarters, Faraday's frustration had conjured up images of himself as a prisoner in one of those seventeenth-century period vids he'd loved as a child. He pictured himself locked in the dungeon of some medieval fortress, with only a tiny window available to let in light and air.
Still, mental dramatics aside, he had to admit his position was hardly that desperate. His quarters weren't made of stone, they weren't dank and cold or even particularly uncomfortable, and he certainly hadn't been totally forgotten by the outside world. Hesse's nervously furtive visits proved that much.
And of course, his single window had a scope and power which his seventeenth-century counterpart could never have dreamed of.
The main newsnets, not surprisingly, weren't particularly useful. The public activities and pronouncements of the Five Hundred were duly reported, discussed, and analyzed, but nowhere was there even a hint of the turmoil and power struggles Hesse had said were going on behind the scenes.
But then, Faraday would hardly expect there to be. Secret power struggles were, by definition, secret. Fortunately, the public channels weren't his only resources. Patiently, methodically, he scoured through them, looking for some clue as to what Arbiter Liadof was up to.
And it was on one of the more obscure Sol/Guard data channels that he finally found it.
"I got your message," Hesse said as the ever-present Sanctum cop closed the door of Faraday's quarters behind him. "Is anything wrong?"
"That's the question of the hour," Faraday told him, getting up from his desk chair and gesturing the other to sit down. "The last time you were here you told me that Liadof had been talking with the top Sol/Guard generals, but that you didn't know what all that was about. Right?"
"Right," Hesse said cautiously, settling gingerly into the chair. "Don't tell me you've got it figured out."
"Not all of it, but I think I've found a piece of the puzzle," Faraday said. "Have you ever heard of the Nemesis Project?"
Hesse's eyes narrowed. "That's a multi-megaton nuclear arsenal sitting out in Mars orbit somewhere, right? Set up about fifty years ago as a defense against potential Earth-collision asteroids?"
"That's the one," Faraday nodded. "Or rather, that's the group. Now that we've got so many colonies scattered around, Nemesis isn't a single arsenal anymore but about a dozen stockpiles set up in strategic places around the System."
He leaned over Hesse's shoulder and tapped a spot on the display. "I was sifting through a listing of Sol/Guard daily status reports when I ran across this."
"Wait a second," Hesse said, frowning up at him. "How come you still have access to military infonets?"
"Because I'm still a military officer," Faraday reminded him mildly. "Why shouldn't I have access?"
"I just thought—" Hesse broke off. "No, of course you do. You've never been charged, so none of your clearances have ever been revoked."
"Exactly," Faraday said. "Playing games with the legal structure doesn't always work out exactly the way the player had in mind."
"Indeed." Hesse gestured to the display. "So what exactly am I looking at?"
"The current status report on Nemesis Six," Faraday said, tapping the display again. "Sol/Guard General John Achmadi in command. Formerly of leading Jovian orbit."
Hesse gave him a sideways look. " 'Formerly'?"
"Formerly," Faraday confirmed. "My reading of astrogation data is a little rusty; but as near as I can figure, Nemesis Six is on its way here."
"You've got to be kidding," Hesse said, staring at the display. His voice sounded sandbagged. "It's coming here?"
"Sure looks like it." Faraday lifted his eyebrows slightly. "The question is, what does Arbiter Liadof want with a nuclear weapons platform?"
There was an odd tension around Hesse's eyes as he gazed at the display. "My God," he murmured. "Well... you tell me. What do you think she could be up to?"
"Well, I doubt she's declaring war on Jupiter Prime," Faraday said dryly. "Aside from that, I haven't got a clue. I take it your reaction means your people haven't heard anything about this?"
Hesse lifted his hands helplessly. "If they have, they haven't said anything to me," he said, starting to sound on balance again. The shock of the revelation must be passing. "I'll get a message to them right away. The implications..." He shook his head.
"Run even deeper than you probably realize," Faraday said. "Are you by any chance familiar with military procedure concerning the transfer of Sol/Guard equipment or personnel?"
Hesse looked up at him, an odd expression on his face. "No. Why?"
"I didn't think you would be," Faraday said. "And I'd bet ocean-front real estate that Arbiter Liadof isn't, either."
He gestured to the display. "General Achmadi is coming here. Presumably to Jupiter Prime; presumably to turn over something or someone under his command to Project Changeling."
"Under authorization from Sol/Guard."
"And after discussing the matter with Liadof and the Five Hundred," Faraday agreed. "That part's all well and good. And I presume that when she talked with Sol/Guard about this, she did so as an agent of the project. Anyone connected with Changeling—you, me, even Mr. Beach—can represent us in making arrangements like that. But."
He let the word hover in the air a moment. "But, under Sol/Guard regulations, Achmadi can only turn whatever it is over to the head of the project."
Something flashed across Hesse's face. "Which is you," he said.
Faraday smiled tightly. "Exactly. Liadof may have taken practical c
ontrol of Changeling, but my name is still the one at the top of the mission statement."
"That's right," Hesse breathed. "Because she hasn't dared petition the Five Hundred to replace you."
"As you've said, I've got the name and the prestige," Faraday reminded him. "Which puts her square in the middle of a box with only two ways out. One, she has to go ahead and take that risk, which ought to play right into the hands of your group. Or two, she's going to have to come to me when Achmadi arrives."
"Yes, I see," Hesse murmured, his fingertips drumming thoughtfully on the edge of the desk. "This may very well be the opportunity we've been waiting for."
He stood up abruptly. "I'll get in touch with my backers right away," he promised. "Let's see what they can come up with."
"Do that," Faraday urged. "At the very least they need to be told that Nemesis Six is on the move."
"Right," Hesse said. "What else should I tell them?"
"You could give them the likely timetable," Faraday suggested. "Nemesis platforms aren't designed for speed, and Six was pretty far in front of Jupiter to begin with. Depending on how much of a hurry Liadof's in, I'd guess we've got another three to four weeks before Achmadi gets here."
"Good," Hesse said grimly. "That's about the speed the Five Hundred seems to move at anyway."
He stepped to the door. "I'll be back before Achmadi arrives," he promised. "One way or another, I think this is about to come to a head."
"Indeed," Faraday said quietly. "Good luck."
Hesse rapped on the door. The guard opened it, Hesse stepped through, and the door closed again behind him.
Slowly, Faraday sat back down at the desk. Yes, it was coming to a head, all right. The big question now was whether all of the players in this little game would react the way he was expecting them to.
Only time would tell. Three to four weeks worth of time.
Hissing softly between his teeth, he went back to his search of the military databases.
And wondered what in hell Liadof wanted with a nuclear weapons platform.
TWENTY-FIVE
The Brolka spooked as Manta eased up alongside it, scattering fomprur in all directions with its fins as it darted away. It jerked again as Pranlo suddenly appeared in front of it, twisting into a right-angle turn to duck away from him. Straight toward Drusni; but even as she lunged forward to intercept, the Brolka made another twisting turn that ending up with it pointed toward open air. Another splash of fomprur, and it was off and running.
Manta muttered a curse under his breath. So much for that approach.
"Nimble little guys, aren't they?" Pranlo commented, watching the Brolka disappearing in the distance as he swam up beside Manta. "You sure we need to catch one of them?"
"I'm not sure of anything," Manta growled, feeling disgusted with the whole thing. "I just thought it might be useful to see one up close."
"What for?" Drusni asked as she coasted up to join them. "I mean, I'm sure it's for something useful," she added hastily. "I just don't understand exactly what."
"Don't worry about hurting my feelings," Manta assured her with a sigh. "I don't even know if any of this is useful anymore. As far as I can tell, all we've been doing for the last nineday is treading wind and chewing air."
"Then why exactly are we doing it?" she asked reasonably.
"Because I'm out of ideas," Manta confessed.
"That was fast," Pranlo murmured. "A whole nineday, and we're giving up already?"
Manta flipped his tails helplessly. "I warned you," he reminded them, a cloud of depression starting to blow across his feelings. What in the world had he been thinking, agreeing to tackle this problem? "I told you this wasn't my area of expertise."
"Well, area of expertise or not, we're not giving up," Drusni insisted. "I still have faith in you."
"So does Latranesto," Manta muttered.
"Yes, but I have more," Drusni said. "Because I know you better than he does. And because I've seen you in action."
Manta winced. "With the probe?"
"That too," she said calmly. "But I was thinking more about that time we spotted that Sivra pack riding on a Vuuka."
Manta flicked his tails. "I don't remember being particularly clever with that one."
"You weren't exactly stupid, though," Drusni said. "You recognized the danger, even though Sivra normally couldn't get up to Level One. And you quickly took strokes to solve it: You sent me for the Protectors, and you kept attacking the Sivra so they couldn't get a solid grip on the Breeder they were attacking."
She touched his fin. "But mostly I was thinking about the fact that you didn't give up and quit until the Protectors arrived. And you're not going to give up now."
Manta shrugged his fins. "I'm not so sure."
"I am," Drusni said firmly. "You don't give up, and you're smarter than you think. That's a good combination. So just relax and let it happen, okay?"
Manta grimaced. Relax. With his life, Pranlo's and Drusni's lives, and the future of the entire Qanskan people balanced across his back. Relax.
"Let's try going over what we already know," Pranlo suggested. "Maybe you'll see something you hadn't noticed before."
Manta flipped his tails. Sure, why not? "Fine," he said. "Okay. The plants and animals start dying out, certain ones first, a list of which is available if we think it'll do us any good."
"And it starts in Centerline," Drusni added.
"Right," Pranlo said. "Now, what's different about Centerline?"
"It's not as warm as the southern regions," Drusni offered. "Did we decide it's darker at sundark, too?"
"Yes," Manta confirmed. "I made some observations back near Centerline while I was waiting for Pranlo to bring you to see me."
"Right," Pranlo said. "And you said that was because...?"
"Because of extra radiation in the outer regions," Manta said. "I don't know why that would be, though I seem to remember that the magnetic field gets stronger as you head toward the poles. That could have something to do with it."
"Whatever all that means," Pranlo said. "You sure you're not just making up all these words to impress us?"
"You're not the ones I have to impress," Manta reminded him dryly.
"Right," Pranlo said, just as dryly. Then he sobered. "You know, though, that might be something to consider if it comes down to that."
"If what comes down to what?" Manta asked, frowning.
"If we can't come up with a solution, maybe you should just make something up that sounds impressive even if it doesn't mean anything," Pranlo said. "At least that would get Latranesto and the other Counselors off your back."
"Pranlo!" Drusni said, sounding shocked. "That's lying. How can you even suggest such a thing?"
"Well, why not?" Pranlo countered. "Manta didn't ask to have this oversized Vuuka dropped on him. Besides, you heard Latranesto—it'll be hundreds of suncycles before things start getting really bad. Why shouldn't Manta get to live out the rest of his life in peace?"
"Because it's dishonest," Drusni said.
"Sure, but this bunch of Counselors will never know," Pranlo shot back. "They might not know even if he does fix the problem. It might take until we're all dead for anyone to notice things getting better."
"I don't care," Drusni said.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," Manta cut in. "This isn't worth arguing about. I appreciate your concern for my life and happiness, Pranlo, but I'm not going to lie to the Counselors. If I can't figure out how to fix this thing, I'll say so."
"So there," Drusni said with a sniff.
"And if you want to know the truth, I'm surprised you'd even suggest such a thing," Manta added. "Don't you want to grow up to be one of the Wise and get to go live on Level Eight?"
"Right," Drusni seconded, "I plan to live there someday. Aren't you coming with me?"
Pranlo flipped his fins. "Personally, I'm not going to worry about it," he said. "I figure some Vuuka's going to get me long before that."
; "Pranlo!" Drusni scolded. "What a thing to say!"
"And speaking of Vuuka," Pranlo said casually, "that's another thing about Centerline. There are more predator attacks back there, Vuuka and Sivra both."
It took Manta a pulse to get his mind back on the original subject. "Maybe," he said. "Though that doesn't necessarily mean there are more predators. The Brolka in the outer regions draw off a lot of the attacks. But that leads us to something else we know: that the bulk of the Qanska live in Centerline. Anything else?"
"There's less interesting food there," Drusni commented, snagging a tendril of silvery-blue jeptris as it floated past her. "This stuff is a lot better."
"And that has to be the key, somehow," Manta said, eying the tendril. "The lack of plant variety in Centerline."
"So what do you think it means?" Drusni asked as she took a bite.
"I wish I knew," Manta said, still staring at the jeptris as it dangled from the corner of her mouth. It had been dayherds since he'd really looked at Jovian plants, he realized suddenly. Probably not since those first heady days as a Baby, in fact. Ever since then, he'd basically followed the usual Qanskan pattern of identifying the various food plants strictly by color and then gobbling up the ones they wanted.
Which meant that he'd never really looked at these outer-region plants at all...
Drusni must have seen something in his expression. "You have something?" she asked.
"I don't know," Manta said. "On Earth, I know, this kind of problem usually mean there's been overgrazing. People or animals have eaten some variety of plant down to almost nothing, which then upsets some other ecological balance."
"Well, if it was a matter of overeating, the chinster and prupsis would be long gone," Pranlo pointed out. "At least from Level One. I loved that stuff when I was a Midling."
"Me, too," Drusni agreed, taking another bite. "I sure wouldn't have passed them up for this stuff, at least back then. What did you call it again?"
"Jeptris," Manta told her. "And you're right; it is a little too spicy for most children to appreciate."
"Tastes change as you get older," Pranlo said. "So you're saying it must have been the adults who—what was that word again? Ate too much of it?"
