by David Brin
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 flippers, waving slowly at the end of two strong legs.
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, completely 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 a piece 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 untraeki 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.”
“And then what? You gonna attack a starship with your bow and arrows?”
Dwer held back from reminding Rety that his bow once seemed a treasure to her — a prize worth risking her life to steal.
“I’m leaving the arrows with you,” he said. “They have steel tips. If I take ’em, they’ll know I’m not an animal.”
“They should ask me. I’d tell ’em real fast that you’re—”
“wife, enough!”
The reedy voice came from Rety’s tiny urrish “husband,” who had been grooming her, flicking sand grains with his agile tongue.
“have sense, wife! brave boy m
ake ship eyes look at him so you and me can get away! all his other talk-talk is fake stuff nice-lies to make us go be safe. be good to brave boy-man! least you can do!”
While Rety blinked at yee’s rebuke, Dwer marveled. Did all urrish males treat their wives this way, chiding them from within the heavy folds of their brood pouches? Or was yee special? Did some prior mate eject him for scolding?
“Iz’ at true, Dwer?” Rety asked. “You’d sacr’fice yourself for me?”
He tried reading her eyes, to judge which answer would make her do as she was told. Fading light forced him to guess.
“No, it’s not true. I do have a plan. It’s risky, but I want to give it a try.”
Rety watched him as carefully as he had scanned her. Finally, she gave a curt laugh.
“What a liar. yee’s right about you. Too dam’ decent to survive without someone to watch over you.”
Huh? Dwer thought. He had tried telling the truth, hoping it would convince her to go. Only Rety reacted in a way he did not expect.
“It’s decided then,” she affirmed with a look of resolve he knew too well. “I’m coming along, Dwer, whichever way you head. So if you want to save me, we better both get on west.”
“This ain’t west!” she whispered sharply, half a midura later.
Dwer ignored Rety as he peered ahead through the swampy gloom with water sloshing past his navel. Too bad we had to leave yee behind with our gear, he thought. The little urrish male provided his “wife” with a healthy dose of prudence and good judgment. But he could not stand getting wet.
Soon, Dwer hoped Rety’s survival instincts would kick in and she’d shut up on her own.
They were nearly naked, wading through the reedy marsh toward a pair of rounded silhouettes, one larger — its smooth flanks glistening except where a sooty stain marred one side. The other lay beyond, crumpled and half-sunk amidships. Both victor and vanquished were silent under the pale yellow glow of Passen, Jijo’s smallest moon.
Colonies of long-necked wallow swans nested in the thickets, dozing after a hard day spent hunting through the shallows and tending their broods. The nearest raised spear-shaped heads to blink at the two humans, then lowered their snouts as Dwer and Rety waded on by.
Mud covered Dwer and the sooner girl from head to toe, concealing some of their heat sign with steady evaporation. According to ancient lore, that should make the patrolling guard machine see them as smaller than they really were. Dwer also took a slow, meandering route, to foster the impression of foraging beasts.
Slender shapes with luminous scales darted below the water’s surface, brushing Dwer’s thighs with their flicking tails. A distant burst of splashing told of some nocturnal hunter at work among the clumps of sword-edged grass. Hungry things moved about in this wet jungle. Rety seemed to grasp this, and did not speak again for some time.
If only she knew how vague Dwer’s plan was, Rety might howl loud enough to send all the sleeping waterfowl flapping for the sky. In fact, he was working from a hunch. He wanted to have a closer look at the untraeki ship … and to check out his impression of this swamp. In order to test his idea, he needed to attain a particular frame of mind.
What was I thinking about, that day when I first contacted — or hallucinated — the voice of One-of-a-Kind?
It happened some years ago. He had been on his first solo trek over the Rimmers, excited to be promoted from apprentice to master hunter, filled with a spirit of freedom and adventure, for now he was one of the few Sixers licensed to roam wherever he wished, even far beyond the settled Slope. The world had seemed boundless.
And yet…
And yet, he still vividly recalled the moment, emerging from a narrow trail through the boo forest — a cathedral aisle as narrow as a man and seemingly high as a moon. Suddenly, the boo just stopped, spilling him onto a bowl-shaped rocky expanse, under a vast blue sky. Before Dwer lay a mulc lake, nestled in the mountain’s flank, surrounded by fields of broken stone.
What he felt during that moment of disorienting transition was much more than welcome release from a closed space. A sense of opening up seemed to fill his mind, briefly expanding his ability to see — especially the tumulus of Buyur ruins. Abruptly, he beheld the ancient towers as they must have stood long ago, shimmering and proud. And for an instant, Dwer had felt strangely at home.
That was when he first heard the spider’s voice, whispering, cajoling, urging him to accept a deal. A fair trade. With its help, Dwer might cease living, but he would never die. He could become one with the glorious past, and join the spider on a voyage into time.
Now, while sloshing under starlight through a murky bog, Dwer tried again for that feeling, that opening sensation. He could tell from the texture of this place — from its smell and feel — that mighty spires had also pierced the sky, only here they were much grander than at any mountain site. The job of demolition was far advanced — little remained to tear down or erase. Yet somehow he knew what stood where, and when.
Here a row of pure-white obelisks once greeted the sun, both mystical and pragmatic in their mathematically precise alignment.
Over there, Buyur legs once ponderously strode down a shopping arcade, filled with exotic goods.
Near that translucent fountain, contemplative Buyur minds occupied themselves with a multitude of tasks beyond his reckoning. And through the sky passed commerce from ten thousand worlds.
Down the avenues were heard voices … not just of Buyur, but a myriad of other types of thinking beings.
Surely it was a glorious time, though also fatiguing for any planet whose flesh must feed such an eager, busy civilization. After a million years of heavy use, Jijo badly needed rest. And the forces of wisdom granted it. All the busy voices moved on. The towers tumbled and a different kind of life took over here, one dedicated to erasing scars — a more patient, less frenzied type of being.…
…?
Yes?
Who … goes …?
Words slithered through Dwer’s mind, hesitantly at first.
Who calls … rousing me from … drowsy musing?
Dwer’s first urge was to dismiss it as merely his imagination. Had not his nervous system been palped and bruised from carrying the robot across icy streams? Delusions would be normal after that battering, followed by days of near starvation. Anyway, his habitual defense against One-of-a-Kind had been to dismiss the mulc spider’s voice as a phantasm.
Who is a phantasm?
I a being who serenely outlasts empires?
Or you, a mayfly, living and dying in the time it
takes for me to dream a dream?
Dwer held off acknowledging the voice, even casually. First he wanted to be sure. Wading cautiously, he sought some of the vines he had glimpsed earlier, from the dune heights. A nearby hummock seemed likely. Despite covering vegetation, it had the orderly outlines of some ruined structure. Sure enough, Dwer soon found his way blocked by cables, some as thick as his wrist, all converging on the ancient building site. His nose twitched at the scent of dilute corrosive fluids, carried by the twisted vines.
“Hey, this is a mulc swamp! We’re walkin’ right into a spider!”
Dwer nodded, acknowledging Rety’s comment without words. If she wanted to leave, she knew the way back.
Spiders were common enough on the Slope. Youngsters went exploring through mulc dens, though you risked getting acid burns if you weren’t careful. Now and then, some village child died of a foolish mistake while venturing too deep, yet the attraction held. High-quality Buyur relics were often found where vine beasts slowly etched the remains of bygone days.
Folk legends flourished about the creatures, whose bodies were made up by the vines themselves. Some described them talking to rare members of the Six, though Dwer had never met anyone else who admitted that it happened to them. He especially never heard of another mulc spider like One-of-a-Kind, who actively lured living prey into its web, sealing “unique” treasures away in coffins of harden
ing jell.
You met that one? The mad spider of the heights?
You actually shared thoughts with it? And escaped?
How exceptionally interesting.
Your mind patterns are very clear for an ephemeral
That is rare, as mayflies go.…
How singular you are.
Yes, that was the way One-of-a-Kind used to speak to him. This creature was consistent. Or else Dwer’s imagination was.
The words returned, carrying a note of pique.
You flatter yourself to think you could imagine an entity as sublime as myself! Though I admit, you are intriguing, for a transitory being.
So you need verification of my objective reality? How might I prove myself?
Rather than answer directly, Dwer kept his thoughts reserved. Languidly, he contemplated that it would be interesting to see the vines in front of him move.
As if at your command? An amusing concept.
But why not?
Come back in just five days. In that brief time, you will find all of them shifted to new locales!
Dwer chuckled contemptuously, under his breath.
Not quickly enough, my wanton friend? You have seen a mulc being move faster?
Ah, but that one was crazed, driven mad by isolation, high altitude, and a diet of psidrenched stone. It grew unwholesomely obsessed with mortality and the nature of time. Surely you do not expect such undignified haste from me?
Like One-of-a-Kind, this spider could somehow tap Dwer’s human memory, using it to make better sentences — more articulate speech — than he ever managed on his own. But Dwer knew better than to bandy words. Instead, he willed himself to turn around.
Wait! You intrigue me. The conversations our kind share among ourselves are so languid. Torpid, you might say, featuring endless comparisons of the varied dross we eat. The slow-talk grows ever more tedious as we age…
Tell me, are you from one of the frantic races who have lately settled down to a skittering life beyond the mountains? The ones who talk and talk, but almost never build?
Behind Dwer, Rety murmured, “What’s goin’ on!” But he only motioned for her to follow him away from the mulc cords.