by Timothy Zahn
"What was it?" Faraday asked.
"That's the problem: I don't know," Beach said. "Maybe it wasn't something he said, exactly, but the way he was talking. Something in his voice, or the way he was using the tonals."
"Yes," Sprenkle spoke up slowly. "Now that you mention it, I remember noticing something in his voice, too."
"Well, what was it?" Faraday asked again. "Come on; between the two of you, you know as much about the way Manta talks and thinks as any ten other people in the System. Was he mad at Liadof for what she was doing? Mad at the rest of us for letting her do it?"
"I don't think it was anger," Sprenkle said. "Not exactly."
"I agree," Beach said. "It was—" He groped for words.
"Keep working on it," Faraday said tightly. "Mr. Milligan, what's he doing? Is he bothering the weapon?"
"Not at all," Milligan said. "He just seems to be riding down along with it."
"Where is it now?"
"Near the top of Level Two," Milligan said. "And unless we do something, we're going to be losing sight of it pretty soon, too. You want me to drop Four to keep an eye on it?"
Faraday hesitated, studying the locator display. "Nothing new on Seven's status, I take it?"
"Nope," Milligan said. "The thing's still doing lazy circles down on Level Three. Whatever went wrong with its rudder and control system is still wrong."
Faraday made a face. Murphy's Law in action. The one day they needed every single probe was naturally the day one of them would choose to go out of commission. Already their probes were spread too thin across the region, scattered strategically around to help Latranesto and the other Qanska make sure no one accidentally wandered into the blast zone. With Probe Seven making useless donuts in the air, leaving Probe Four where it was would mean the nuke would be out of their sight until it got near Probe Twelve, way down on Level Five. "And Manta's staying with the package?"
"Like he was glued there," Milligan said. "Maybe he's just giving it an escort."
Faraday pursed his lips. Still, what could happen to the weapon between Levels One and Five? "You'd better leave Four where it is," he decided. "It's the only one we've got that can cover that part of Level One. If Pranlo suddenly finds there's someone missing from the gathering point, we may need it available to do a fast search."
"Right," Milligan said. "Package is falling out of view... there goes Manta with it."
Faraday nodded. "Any headway, Mr. Beach?"
"It had to do with Liadof," Beach said. "You were right about that. But it wasn't just anger. It was something deeper. Like his world view had just gotten altered or something."
"And you're getting all this just from the tonals?"
Beach waved a hand helplessly. "I know it sounds crazy," he admitted. "But I know Qanskan tonals, and I know Manta. I know what I heard; I just can't put it into words."
Faraday grimaced. "This isn't getting us anywhere," he said. "Dr. Sprenkle, get on the computer and pull up the record of that conversation. We need something more than vague recollections of what Manta might have been feeling about whatever was sort of being said."
"I remember something," McCollum said suddenly. "We were talking about how the blast itself might stimulate the trigger genes and bring about a surge of alternate life forms. But I remember thinking that he wasn't really listening."
"Right," Beach said, snapping his fingers. "He was still back on how we were going to deploy the nuke. He wanted to know if we were going to use a tether on it."
"And he made some other comment," McCollum said. thing I remember really wondering about."
"Do you remember what it was?" Faraday asked.
She shook her head. "Just that it was something really odd. I'm sorry."
Faraday hissed between his teeth. But then, he wasn't doing any better at pulling out the memories, either. The last week had been just too hectic. "Dr. Sprenkle, find me that record," he ordered. "I want to know what the hell Manta's got planned."
Beside him, the massive human weapon lowered itself ponderously along on its relatively thin tether line. Even through all the shielding and pressure protection, Manta imagined he could see the faint glow of its internal radiation leaking out. All around him, the world was brightening as the sun made its all too rapid passage across the sky.
And above him, the humans' spy probe was fading into the mists of Level One.
It was almost time.
He found himself staring at the weapon as it sank through the air beside him. The very thought of what he was planning was turning his stomach into an agonized knot.
But it had to be done. Already the human Liadof had shown the kind of negotiator she was; and Manta had studied humans like that in his business classes. Humans like Liadof never let a deal remain fixed. They would push and prod and argue and threaten and renege until they had everything they wanted.
And there was more Liadof wanted from the Qanska. Manta couldn't imagine what that might be, but it was sure as sundark that there was something. People like Liadof always wanted more. And the time she would most likely choose to spring her next demand would be right as the answer to their desperate problem was already in sight.
In other words, right about now.
Only the Qanska didn't have anything else to give her. And so she would push and prod and argue and threaten and renege... and when she didn't get whatever it was she thought they were holding back, she would reel the weapon back in and take it away from them.
It was up to Manta to make sure that didn't happen.
Up above, the watchful probe had completely vanished now. He and the weapon were out of the humans' sight.
Time to go.
He dived away from the glowing weapon casing, heading at a sharp angle downward toward Level Three. The tether was going to be the only really tricky part, but he'd had two and a half ninedays to come up with a plan.
He would find out now just how good a problem-solver he really was.
The probe he'd sabotaged was still where he'd left it, circling in the winds, its propellers spinning bravely but uselessly away. He approached it cautiously, making sure to keep out of view of its cameras. Timing it just right, he darted in and locked his teeth solidly around one of its stabilizer fins. Turning around, wondering what the humans would make of the abrupt change in the probe's view, he turned and headed back.
The weapon had made better progress than he'd expected during his absence, and he arrived at his projected interception point to find only the tether stretching downward toward the Deep. Flipping over, fighting against the strange tendency of the probe to turn sideways as he did, he started down the tether.
He caught up with the weapon near the bottom of Level Three. The connection between the tether and the pressure casing, he'd already decided, was probably his best bet. Gripping the probe in his mouth as tightly as he could, he began swinging its back end carefully against the casing, feeling like a diamond cutter working on an immensely valuable gem. This was the trickiest part of the whole plan, he knew, where a single careless mistake would ruin everything.
But he'd planned it carefully; and after only three impacts he saw that he'd succeeded. The protective cowling on one of the propellers had been crumpled back just far enough to expose an edge of the spinning blades without damaging the propeller itself.
And he was ready. For you, human Liadof, he thought toward the clouds above, and swung the spinning propeller into the side of the tether.
The alarm from Milligan's control panel cut through the Control Room like a trapped banshee. "Collision!" Milligan snapped. "Something's hit the tether!"
"Hit, nothing," McCollum corrected, jabbing a finger at the reading on one of the displays. "It's had a whole slice taken out of it."
"Abort deployment!" Faraday ordered, taking a long stride to Milligan's side. What the hell was happening? "Tether ship, you hear me? Stop it now."
"No!" Milligan insisted. "Colonel, we can't. Look at the tensile strength readings
. You try to bring it up now, or even stop it, and the whole tether could snap."
Faraday ground his teeth helplessly as he looked at the readings. But Milligan was right. "Countermand that, tether ship," he said. "Keep it moving down, as smooth and steady as possible. Mr. Milligan, get Probe Four down there."
"On its way."
Faraday looked at Four's video display as the probe drove downward through the atmosphere. So far nothing but swirling air and the long black tether line...
And then, right at the edge of the display, there it was. The nuke, the now half-cut tether line—
And Manta, the rogue Probe Seven gripped in his mouth like a dolphin holding a prize salmon.
Using one of the probe's propellers to cut away at the tether line.
"Manta, stop!" he shouted. "Manta? Damn it. Milligan, get that probe into hearing range."
"He can hear you," McCollum said with a sigh. "He's just not listening."
"Get it down there anyway." Faraday gritted his teeth. With almost half the tether cut away, the nuke was being held up by little more now than a wing and a prayer. Any extra jostling, and they would lose it completely. "Sprenkle, what's the wind situation?"
"Holding steady," Sprenkle said. "And for whatever it's worth, I've got that conversation now. I think I've found the part we were all thinking of."
Faraday nodded grimly. "Go."
There was a soft click, and the computer's translation of Manta's voice came on the speaker. "Strength is important," the voice said thoughtfully. "But it's mostly only a matter of size. With enough extra weight, even a Breeder could probably get through."
"That was it," McCollum said quietly. " 'With enough weight, even a Breeder could get through.' We'd been talking about Level Eight and the Wise. Why mention Breeders at all?"
"Unless he was thinking about himself," Sprenkle murmured.
"Wait a second," Milligan said slowly. "Are you saying he's thinking about taking the nuke down himself?"
"Not thinking about it," Beach corrected, his voice dark. "By cutting the tether that way, he's pretty much committed himself to it. It'll never make it through the turbulence layers now. Not without some protection."
"But how does he think he's going to carry it?" Milligan demanded. "He can't just—oh, hell."
"You got it," McCollum said, her voice dark with dread. "He'll carry it the only way a Qanska can carry something that big."
"But why?" Milligan demanded, sounding bewildered. "Why is he doing this?"
"Because of Liadof," Faraday said. Now, too late, the whole thing was obvious. "Liadof, and the underhanded way she threatened to back out of the agreement so as to squeeze out the stargate's location. Manta's making sure she can't do it again."
On Probe Four's display, Manta had shifted his grip on the probe in his mouth, working it around so that the propeller end lay over the intersection of his body and his right fin. From looking like a prize salmon, the thought flicked through Faraday's mind, to becoming a giant back scratcher. "And there's no way for you to shut down the propellers?" he asked Milligan, just to make sure.
Milligan shook his head. "I've been trying for the last two minutes," he said. "He must have taken out the control lines when he wrecked the rudder. They'll keep spinning till they run out of fuel."
Faraday nodded heavily. "Then there's nothing we can do." On the display, Manta jerked suddenly; and with a splash of bright yellow blood, the exposed propeller dug into the skin on his back. "He's ready," McCollum murmured. "All he has to do now—"
She broke off as, without warning, a dark shape cut suddenly across the view from Probe Four's camera.
And as they watched, dropped straight toward Manta.
Manta winced in pain as the propeller blades sliced into his skin. An unpleasant but very necessary part of his plan. By making sure that Liadof couldn't suddenly pull the weapon back above the clouds, he had at the same time also doomed it to failure. With its tether damaged, it would never make it through the turbulence below without snapping the rest of the line, including the core signal wire necessary for setting it off.
Which meant that the only way for the mission to succeed would be if the weapon could be guided through to its target as a protected part of a Qanskan body.
He let go of the probe; and as it spun away, droplets of blood flying off its propeller, he thought back to the Qanskan Wise who had done the same thing for Chippawa and Faraday in their Skydiver over two suncycles ago. He had covered them with his own skin to protect them from the pressure and turbulence before returning them to the upper levels.
What had happened to that Wise afterward? Had he returned to Level Eight safely? Or had the huge bleeding wound left by the Skydiver's departure drawn too many Vuuka for him to fight off? With a flush of shame, Manta realized he'd never asked about that. For that matter, he'd never even bothered to learn the Qanska's name.
Maybe generations to come would better remember Manta's name. Then again, maybe they wouldn't. Feeling the blood trickling along his fin, he maneuvered himself beneath the descending weapon—
And with a suddenness that made him gasp, something large and heavy slammed into his back.
He reacted instantly, twisting over and shoving back with his fins as hard as he could, trying to force his attacker away. But the other apparently knew that trick. He stayed right with Manta, pressing even harder against his back and the open wound there. Manta slashed his tails up, trying to startle or distract the other—
"Ow!" Pranlo's voice grunted in his ear. "Take it easy, will you?"
Sheer surprise froze Manta's muscles. "Pranlo? What are you doing here?"
"At this particular pulse, trying to keep your blood from spreading all the way to Level Six," Pranlo said shortly. "Hold still, will you?"
"That's not what I meant," Manta growled. "Come on, get off. I've got a job to do."
Pranlo didn't budge. "What, you mean the job of getting yourself killed?" he asked. "Sorry, but we're not letting you do that."
Manta winced. We? "Drusni's here, too?"
"Of course I am," Drusni answered, swimming around into Manta's line of sight. "Manta, how could you even think of doing something like this?"
Manta sighed. "I have to," he told her, his heart aching as he looked at her. "If I don't, the machine will never make it where it needs to go. And our world will continue to die."
"But it doesn't have to be you, does it?" Drusni asked, her voice pleading. "Why does it have to be you?"
"Because I'm the one who's here," Manta said. "Please, Drusni; Pranlo. This was hard enough before, when no one knew about it. All you're doing is making it worse. Please just leave and let me do it."
"No," Pranlo said firmly. "If it has to be done, then it has to be done. But Drusni's right. You're not the one who's going to do it."
A sudden suspicion sliced into Manta like a pack of Sivra. Was Pranlo suggesting—? "No," he insisted. "You're not going to do this."
"No, he's not," a new voice rumbled from the side. "I am."
Drusni gave a startled little gasp, twisting around to look. Manta jerked with surprise of his own, rotating under Pranlo's weight to turn toward the voice. Another Qanska was swimming toward them, a big Protector.
And from his markings...
"Who are you?" Drusni demanded, her voice quavering.
"Oh, come now," the Protector said mildly. "I know it's been a long time, Breeder Druskani; but don't tell me you don't remember me?"
"It has indeed been a long time," Manta murmured. "Hello, Protector Virtamco."
"I greet you in turn, Breeder Manta," Virtamco said gravely. "I've come to do what has to be done."
"And I wouldn't argue with him if I were you, Manta," Pranlo advised. "I've already tried, and he's bigger than both of us."
"I don't care how big he is," Manta growled. What in the Deep was going on here, anyway? Was the whole world lining up to pile across his back? "What gives you the right to take this job?"
"You know, Manta, for a smart Qanska you can be really dumb sometimes," Pranlo said. "Or do you think you're the only one on Jupiter with feelings?"
Manta frowned. "I don't understand."
"I failed you," Virtamco said; and even through the preoccupation of his own fear and annoyance, Manta found himself wincing at the shame in the Protector's voice. "I was assigned by the Counselors and the Leaders and the Wise to protect you. Not only did I not fulfill that duty, but it was my words and my attitude that drove you from Centerline. I sent you alone into the outer regions."
He lashed his tails. "So I've come here today to ask your forgiveness, and to do whatever I can to make it right."
Manta grimaced. He'd hated Virtamco at the time for what he'd said then. Hated him for a long time, in fact.
Now, from the perspective of age, those harsh words hardly even seemed worth mentioning.
They certainly weren't worth dying for.
"I don't put any blame on you for that," he told Virtamco. "I was... well, let's all admit that I wasn't very pleasant to be around back then. And on top of that, it must have sounded like the height of arrogance for me to be asking you... what it was I asked."
He flipped his tails. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't consider you having done anything that requires my forgiveness. But if you think so, then you certainly have it."
Virtamco rippled his fins. "Thank you," he said quietly. "But one may not simply accept forgiveness without also offering restitution. I'm ready for that part."
"But this is crazy," Manta objected. "Didn't you already receive punishment from the Counselors over that? That should be all the restitution you need to make."
"Except that there was no punishment," Virtamco told him. "The Counselors merely reminded me of my failure, and again gave me the task of protecting you."
"So why are you just showing up now?" Manta shot back. It was cruel, he knew, but he had to snap Virtamco out of his ridiculous guilty mood and get this conversation over with. The weapon was still sinking through the air, and he could feel his buoyancy sacs collapsing as he and the others drifted downward alongside it. A little more delay, and it would be too deep for him to get to.
