by David Brin
In the chronic shimmering of a Kithrupan forest he saw the fragments of rude, torn, woven nets, scattered pieces of wrecked thatching, and bits of sharp metal crudely bound to wooden staves.
In the tree branches he saw fleet little movements. Then, one by one, small, splayed, web-fingered hands appeared -- followed by slowly peeking, shining black eyes that peered back at him from under low, greenish brows.
"Abos!" he whispered. "I saw one earlier, then forgot completely! They look pre-sentient!"
"Yesss," Hikahi sighed. "And this makes secrecy even more vital than ever. Quickly Sharp-Eyes! Tell me what has happened!"
Toshio related only what he had done since the first wave struck, leaving out only the details of his battle with Keepiru. It was hard to concentrate, with the eyes in the trees first staring down at him, then skittishly darting under cover whenever he glanced their way. He barely finished his story as the last wave arrived.
The breakers could be seen driving up the sloping shore with a loud roar and a white foaming. But clearly Hikahi was right. The water wouldn't rise this high.
"Toshio!" Hikahi whistled. "You've done very well. You may have saved these little people, as well as ourselves. Brookida will succeed. He will bring help.
"So saving me is not that important. You must do as I say! Have Keepiru dive at once! He must stay out of sight and remain quiet as possible as he searches for bodies and debris. You must bury Ssattatta and K'Hith and gather the fragments of their harnesses. When help comes we must be able to move quickly!"
"Are you sure you'll be all right? Your wounds ..."
"I'll be fine! My friends keep me wet-t. The trees overhang to keep me hidden. Watch the skies, Sharp-Eyes! Don't be seen! When you're finished I hope to have coaxed our friends here into trusting you."
She sounded tired. Toshio was torn. Finally, he sighed and turned back to the forest. He forced himself to run through the broken foliage, following the receding waters to the shore.
Keepiru was just emerging as he arrived. The fin had removed his breather and wore an airdome instead. He reported finding the body of Phip-pit, the dolphin supposed lost earlier to the killer weed. The sucker-bruised body must have been torn loose during the tsunami.
"Any sign of Hist-t?" Toshio called.
Keepiru answered negative. Toshio passed on Hikahi's command and watched as the sled sank below again.
For a moment he stood there, then, looking out over the west.
Kithrup's reddish sun was setting. A few stars poked rays through the scattered clouds overhead. In the east the clouds were beginning to look ominous. There would be rain during the night. Toshio decided against taking off his drysuit, though he compromised by pulling the rubberized headpiece off. The breeze was chilling, but a huge relief.
He glanced to the south. If the battle in space continued, Toshio saw no sign of it. Kithrup's rotation had taken them past the shining globe of plasma and debris that must be drifting out there now.
Toshio lacked the will to shake his fist, but he grimaced toward the southern sky, hoping the Galactics had wiped each other out.
It wasn't likely. There would be victors. And someday soon they would be down here looking for dolphins and men.
Toshio pulled his shoulders back, in spite of his fatigue, and walked with deliberateness toward the forest, and the protecting, overhanging trees.
They found the young man and the dolphin shortly after landing. The two were huddled together under a crude shelter which dripped warm rain in long rivulets. Lightning flashes drowned out the muffled yellow light from the lamps the rescuers brought. In the first flash, Thomas Orley thought he saw a half-dozen small squat figures clustered around the Earthling and the Calafian. But by the time he and his partner had shoved through the undergrowth for a better view, the animals -- or whatever they were-were gone.
His first fear that they had been carrion-eaters disappeared
when he saw Toshio move. Still, he kept his right hand on the butt of his needler and held up the lantern to let Hannes Suessi pass underneath. He looked carefully around the clearing, taking in the smells and the sounds of the living surface of the metal-mound, memorizing details.
"Are they all right?" he asked after a few seconds.
"Shh, It's okay Toshio. It's just me, Hannes," he heard the engineer mutter. The fellow sounded downright maternal. "Yes, Mr. Orley." Suessi called back, "They're both awake, but not in much shape for talking."
Thomas Orley took in the clearing once more, then moved over to set the lamp down beside Suessi. "This lightning would cover anything," he said. "I'm going to call up the mechanicals so we can get these two out of here as quickly as possible." He touched a button on the rim of his faceplate and whistled quickly in perfect Trinary. The message lasted six seconds. It was said that Thomas Orley could actually speak Primal Dolphin, though no human had ever witnessed it.
"They'll be here in a few minutes. They have to cover their tracks." He squatted down next to Toshio, who was sitting up now that Suessi had moved over to Hikahi.
"Hello, Mr. Orley," the boy said. "I'm sorry we dragged you away from your work."
"That's all right, son. I've been wanting to have a look around up here, anyway. This gave the captain a good excuse to send me. After we get you started back toward the ship, Hannes and Tsh't and I will be going on to look over that ship that crashed.
"Now, do you think you can lead us to Ssattatta and K'Hith? We want to comb this island clean before the storm passes."
Toshio nodded. "Yes, sir. I should be able to stumble around that long. I don't suppose anyone's found Hist-t?"
"No. We're worried about that, but nowhere near as worried as we were when Brookida got back. Keepiru's told us most of the story. That fin thinks rather highly of you, you know. You did quite a job here."
Toshio turned away, as if ashamed to receive the praise.
Orley looked at him curiously. He had never given much thought to the middie before. During the first part of the voyage, the youth had seemed bright, but a bit irresponsible. Later, after they found the derelict fleet, he had begun to
turn morose, as their chances of ever going home diminished. Now there was this new note. It was too soon to tell what the long-term effects would be, but this had obviously been a rite of passage for Toshio.
Humming sounds drifted up from the beach. Soon two spider-like mechanicals strode into view, a hammocked and harnessed dolphin piloting each of them.
Toshio sighed a little raggedly as Orley helped him up. Then the older man stooped to pick up an object from the ground. He hefted it in his left hand.
"A scraper, isn't it? Made from bits of metal fish spine glued to a wood handle ..."
"I guess so."
"Do they have much of a language yet?"
"No, sir; well, the rudiments. They seem to be stabilized. Strict hunter-gatherers. Hikahi guesses they've been stuck for half a million years."
Orley nodded. This native species looked ripe, at first glance. A pre-sentient race at just the right stage for uplift. It was a miracle some Galactic patron line hadn't snapped them up already, for client status and an aeon of servitude.
Now the men and fen of Streaker had still another obligation, and secrecy was more important than ever.
He put the artifact in his pocket, then laid his hand on Toshio's shoulder.
"Well, you can tell us all about it back on the ship, son. In the meantime, you have some pondering to do."
"Sir?" Toshio looked up in confusion.
"Well, it isn't everybody who gets to name a future space-faring race. You know, the fen will be expecting you to make up a song about it."
Toshio looked at the older man, uncertain if he was joking. But Thomas Orley had on his usual enigmatic expression.
Orley glanced up at the rain clouds, As the mechanicals moved in to claim Hikahi, he stepped back and smiled at the curtain which, temporarily, hung across the theater of the sky.
PART TWO
Currents
"For the sky and the sea,
And the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead lay at my feet."
-S. T. COLERIDGE
14 ::: Dennie
Charles Dart pulled away from the polarization microscope and growled an oath. In a habit he had spent half his life trying to break, he absently laid his forearms over his head and tugged on his hairy ears. It was a simian contortion no one else aboard ship could easily duplicate. Had he noticed he was doing it, he would have quit instantly.
Of a crew of one hundred and fifty only eight aboard the Streaker even had arms ... or external ears. One of these shared the drylab with him.
Commenting on Charles Dart's body behaviors did not occur to Dennie Sudman. She had long ceased to notice such things as his loose, rolling gait, his shrieking chimpanzee laughter, or the fur that nearly covered his body.
"What is it?" she asked. "Are you still having trouble with those core samples?"
Charlie nodded absently, staring at the screen. "Yeah."
His voice was low and scratchy. At his best, Charles Dart sounded like a man speaking with gravel in his throat. Sometimes, when he had something complicated to say, he unconsciously moved his hands in the sign language of his youth.
"I can't make any sense out of these isotope concentrations," he growled. `And there are minerals in all the wrong places ... siderophiles without metals, complex crystals at a depth where there shouldn't be such complexity ... Captain Creideiki's silly restrictions are crippling my work! I wish he'd let me do some seismic scans and deep radar." He swiveled about in his seat to look at Dennie earnestly, as if hoping she would concur.
Dennie's smile was broad under high cheekbones. Her almond eyes narrowed in amusement.
"Sure, Charlie. Why not? Here we are in a crippled ship, hidden under an ocean on a deadly world, with fleets from a dozen arrogant and powerful patron-lines fighting over the right to capture us, and you want to start setting off explosions and casting gravity beams around. Wonderful idea!
"Say! I've got an even better one! Why don't we just take out a large sign and wave it at the sky, something that says `Yoohoo, beasties! Come and eat us!' Hmmm?"
Charlie cast a sidelong look at her, one of his rare, unhinged, lopsided grins. "Oh, they wouldn't have to be big gravity scans. And I'd only need a few teeny, tiny explosions for seismography. The ETs wouldn't notice those, you think?"
Dennie laughed. What Charlie wanted was to make the planet ring like a bell, so he could trace the patterns of seismic waves in the interior. Teeny tiny explosions, indeed! More likely detonations in the kiloton range! Sometimes Charlie seemed so single-minded a planetologist that it bothered Dennie. This time, however, he was obviously having some fun at his own expense.
He laughed as well, letting out brief whoops that echoed off the stark, white walls of the dry lab. He thumped the table beside him.
Grinning, Dennie filled a zip case with papers. "You know, Charlie, there are volcanoes going off all the time, a few degrees away from here. If you're lucky, one might start right near us."
Charlie looked hopeful. "Gee, you think so?"
"Sure. And if the ETs start bombing the planet to get at us, you'll have plenty of data from all the near misses. That is, if they don't bomb so hard as to make geophysical analyses of Kithrup moot. I envy you your potential silver lining. In the meantime, I intend to forget about it, and my own frustrating research, and go get some lunch. Coming?"
"Naw. Thanks, though. I brought my own. I think I'll stay and work for a while."
"Suit yourself. Still, you might try to see more of the ship, other than your quarters and this lab."
"I talk to Metz and Brookida all the time on screen. I don't need to wander around gawking at this Rube Goldberg contraption that can't even fly any more."
"And besides ..." she prompted.
Charlie grinned. "And besides, I hate getting wet. I still think you humans should have worked on dogs second, after casting your spells on us Pan types. Dolphins are all right -- some of my best friends are fins. But they were a funny bunch to try to make into a space-traveling race!"
He shook his head with an expression of sad wisdom. Obviously he thought the whole uplift process on Earth would have been better handled had his people been in charge.
"Well, they're superb space pilots, for one thing," Dennie suggested. "Look at how hot a star jockey Keepiru is."
"Yeah, and look at what a jerk-off that fin can be when he's not piloting. Honestly, Dennie, this trip has made me wonder if fins are really ready for spaceflight. Have you seen how some of 'em have been acting since we got into trouble? All the pressure is making some of 'em unravel, especially some of Metz's big Stenos."
"You're not being very charitable," Dennie chided. "Nobody ever expected this mission to be so stressful. I think most of the fen are doing marvelously. Look at how Creideiki slipped us away from that trap at Morgran."
Charlie shook his head. "I dunno. I still wish there were more men and chimps aboard."
One century, that's how much longer than dolphins chimps had been a recognized space-faring species. Dennie figured a million years from now they would still hold a patronizing attitude toward fins.
"Well, if you're not coming, I'm off," Dennie said. She took her notecase and touched the palm-plate by the door. "See you, Charlie."
The chimp called after her, before the door hissed shut behind her.
"Oh, by the way! If you run into Tkaat or Sah'ot, have em call me, eh? I'm thinking these subduction anomalies may be paleotechnic! An archaeologist may be interested!"
Dennie let the door close without answering. If she didn't acknowledge Charlie's request, she could feign ignorance later. There was no way she would go out of her way to speak to Sah'ot, whatever the significance of Charlie's find!
Avoiding that particular dolphin was already taking up too much of her time.
The dry sections of the starship Streaker were extensive, though they served only eight members of the crew. The one hundred and thirty dolphins -- down by thirty-two since they had left Earth -- could only visit the dry-wheel by riding a mechanical walker or "spider."
There were some rooms that should not be flooded with hyper-oxygenated water, nor be left to the gravity fluctuations of the central shaft when the ship was in space. There were stores that had to be kept dry, and machine shops that performed hot processing under gravity. And there were the living quarters for men and chimp.
Dennie stopped at an intersection. She looked down the hallway where most of the humans had their cabins and thought about knocking on the door two cabins down. If Tom Orley were in, this could be the time to ask his advice about a problem that was growing daily more irksome, the way to handle Sah'ot's unusual ... "attentions."
There were few people better qualified to advise her on non-human behavior than Thomas Orley. His official title was Alien Technologies Consultant, but it was clear he was also out here as a psychologist, to help Dr. Metz and Dr. Baskin evaluate the performance of an integrated dolphin crew. He knew cetaceans, and might be able to tell her what Sah'ot wanted from her.
Tom would know what to do, but ...
Her habitual indecision reasserted itself. There were plenty of reasons not to bother Tom right now, like the fact that he was spending every waking moment trying to find a way to save all of their lives. Of course, the same could be said of most of the crew, but experience and reputation suggested that Orley just might be able to come up with a way to get Streaker and her crew away from Kithrup before the ETs captured her.
Dennie sighed. Another reason to put it off was pure embarrassment. It wasn't easy for a young fem to ask personal advice of a mel as worldly as Thomas Orley. Particularly when the subject was how to cope with the advances of an amorous porpoise.
However kind Tom would be, he would also be forced to laugh -- or obviously bite back laughter. The s
ituation, Dennie admitted, would have to seem funny, to anyone but the object of the seduction.
Dennie quickened her pace up the gently curved corridor toward the lift. Why did I ever want to go into space, anyway? she asked herself. Sure, it was an opportunity to advance my career. And my personal life was in a shambles anyway, on Earth. But now where am I? My analysis of Kithrupan biology is getting nowhere. There are thousands of bug-eyed monsters circling over the planet slathering to come down and get me, and a horny dolphin's harassing me with suggestions that would make Catherine the Great blush.
It wasn't fair, of course, but when had life ever been fair?
Streaker had been built from a modified Snark hunterclass exploration vessel. Few Snarks were still in service. As Terrans became more comfortable with the refined technologies of the Library, they learned to combine the old and new -- ancient Galactic designs and indigenous Terran technologies. This process had been in a particularly awkward phase when the Snarks were built.
The ship was a bulb-ended cylinder with jutting, crane-like reality flanges in five bands of five along her hull. In space the flanges anchored her to a protecting sphere of stasis. Now they served as landing legs as the wounded Streaker lay on her side in a muddy canyon, eighty meters below the surface of an alien sea.
Between the third and fourth rings of flanges, the hull bulged outward slightly for the dry-wheel. In free space the wheel rotated, providing a primitive form of artificial gravity. Humans and their clients had learned how to generate gravity fields, but almost every Earth ship still possessed a centrifugal wheel. Some saw it as a trademark, advertising what some friendly species had recommended Terrans keep quiet, that the three races of Sol were different from any others in space ... the "orphans" of Earth.
Streaker's wheel held room for up to forty humans, though right now there were only seven and one chimpanzee. It also held recreation facilities for the dolphin crew, pools for leaping and splashing and sexual play during off-duty hours.