Knight

by Timothy Zahn

And promptly fell flat on her back and butt and started sliding down the channel, the gun bouncing noisily along behind her.

  For that first horrible second she wondered if she would be able to slow down, or whether she would careen at full speed around the next curve and slam full-speed into a stack of rocks. But to her relief the channel started flattening out almost immediately, and by the time she’d gone fifty feet and was under the cover of the tree branches the slope had become something she could handle. She dug in with her elbows and managed to coast to a stop.

  She scrambled to her feet and looked around. The channel was only waist high, but from this angle it was hard to tell exactly where she was. Still, the slope of the riverbanks seemed sharper than it had been where she’d crossed earlier, so that spot was probably still downstream. Keeping one eye on the branches above her, watching for gaps the Shipmasters might be able to see her through, she headed down.

  Still no boulders. She wondered about that as she half ran, half leaped down the slope until she spotted a set of small openings low on the channel sides at one of the curves. She couldn’t tell for sure without stopping for a closer look, but they looked like the jets from the hot tub in that hotel she’d gone to once for a swimming party. If that’s what they were, maybe the white water she’d thought was rocks was just extra water and air being squirted into the main stream.

  Which made sense, now that she thought about it. Having boulders that might break loose and damage the channel as they tumbled down the river could be pretty risky. The only problem that jets might cause was if they clogged up.

  Almost to the crossing spot now. She was still waist-deep in a pit, but without the flowing water battering at her she should be able to get a grip on the plants along the riverside and pull herself up once she got there.

  And then, from above and behind her, she heard the sudden roar of the water starting up again.

  For a horrified second she just stood there. No—the water couldn’t be back on. She was the Protector, and she’d ordered the Fyrantha to shut it off.

  In a part of the ship where the Shipmasters held their strongest control.

  A wave of cold water washing across her feet and ankles snapped her out of it. Cursing, she took off, loping down the slope as fast as she could.

  But it was already too late. The rushing water had risen to the level of her calves, and her mad dash began to falter as the current threatened to sweep her feet out from under her. She unslung the paintball gun as she fought for balance, watching the trees above her in hopes there might be a root or tree branch sticking out that she could loop the gun’s sling around and pull herself out of the river before she was overwhelmed. The water reached her knees, and then midway up her thighs—

  And then, suddenly, she was there.

  Too late. Already she was going too fast to stop. A sudden wave rose up and slapped her in the middle of her back, throwing her into a forward stumble. Reflexively, she tossed the paintball gun up onto the bank to free her hands as she fought for balance—caught a glimpse of the top of Kahkitah’s head as he hurried toward the river—lost her battle for stability as another wave hit her back—

  And suddenly she was on her stomach in the river, her hands splashing frantically to try to keep her head above water, riding the current helplessly down the channel.

  The foam and spray were all around her, splashing up into her face, threatening to choke her as it washed into her nose and mouth, sometimes rolling completely over her head. She gasped and coughed and fought, her old fear of water filling her mind and freezing any chance for clear thought. She curved around each corner in terror that she would hit the side or that there might still be rocks down here that she would slam into with bone-shattering force. A horrible thought bubbled up through the rest of the terror: that if the tide was out, the river would throw her face-first into the sand of the beach. She tried to swivel around, trying to position herself so that she might at least land with her feet forward instead of her head. But the current was too strong. Ahead, barely visible through the water slapping into her face and dripping into her eyes, she saw the twin bluffs that marked the end of the river—

  She barely had time to register that when there was a final surge and the river threw her into the ocean.

  Her first reaction was relief that she’d hit water instead of getting dumped onto hard sand. The current continued to push her outward, the chaotic white water of the river fading into the calmer ocean waves. She sputtered the last bit of water from her nose and mouth and turned herself upright, letting her feet down toward the ocean floor.

  An instant later she dropped completely underwater again as her head dipped below the waves without her feet ever finding the bottom.

  She flailed her way back to the surface, a new wave of panic sending her heart pounding. Fighting to keep her head clear, she managed to turn around enough to look back toward shore.

  She was way farther out than she’d realized. Thirty, maybe even forty yards from the bluffs and the shore.

  Three or four feet deep, Jeff had said the water was. But that was only near the bluffs. Clearly, it got a lot deeper a lot faster than she’d expected it to.

  She clenched her teeth. She’d never learned to swim, but she’d better figure it out, and fast. Still splashing awkwardly, she managed to work herself all the way around to face the beach. At least now the waves coming in from the end of the ocean were hitting the back of her head instead of slapping her in the face. She tried changing the angle of her splashing hands—was there something about kicking her feet, too?—and started moving toward the shore.

  At least, she hoped she was moving. Between the washing movement of the waves and the fact that her eyes were barely above the water she couldn’t really tell if she was making any progress. But all she could do was try.

  And then, directly ahead of her, between her and the shore, something dark surged briefly above the waves.

  Nicole froze, forgetting to keep paddling until she dunked herself underwater again. She clawed her way back to the surface, swiping one hand across her eyes and looking frantically around. Had it been a trick of her eyes? A fish? Jeff hadn’t said anything about fish. A really big fish?

  A shark?

  Too frightened even to curse, she raised her eyes back to the shore.

  The shark was suddenly forgotten. Gliding across each of the beaches, moving along the water’s edge from the arena’s sides toward the river, were six Wisps.

  Each group accompanied by a centaur-armored Shipmaster.

  And with that, it was over. Nicole could drown out here, or get eaten by a shark, or make it back to land and be killed by the Shipmasters. How it happened didn’t matter. She was dead, and the Shipmasters had won, and the Fyrantha had lost.

  And suddenly, directly in front of her, the object she’d seen again surged out of the water.

  Nicole gasped, catching half a mouthful of water in the process. But before she could do anything, it dropped back out of view. She felt something glide past her legs and come up behind her—

  And a pair or arms or tentacles or something snaked around her waist, locking her in an unbreakable grip against a hard body pressed against her back. The arms and the body lifted her upward, bringing her face fully out of the water for the first time since she’d been thrown into the river.

  With her ears full of water, and her brain full of panic, she didn’t hear the birdsong. But in her head, the translation came through.

  “Relax, Nicole. I have you. You’re safe.”

  “Kah—?” Nicole sputtered out some water. “Kahkitah?”

  This time, she heard his birdsong, sounding strangely bubbly as the water surged up around his neck gills. “Yes,” the translation came. “I have you.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she gasped, sucking in lungfuls of air. “How did—? Never mind. They’re on the beach. You see them? They’re on the beach.”

  “I know,” Kahkitah said, his tone going grim. “There’s
only one way now to escape, Nicole. Do you trust me?”

  Nicole looked back at the beach, her mind racing, Kahkitah’s words barely registering. If they could get to the bluffs before the Wisps closed the gap … but no, they were already too close. Could she and Kahkitah go up the river? Not a chance, not against the current that had tossed her here. What if she stopped the water again—could they climb up the channel? But the Shipmasters knew how to turn it back on. The emergency exits? But even if there were any that opened up above the ocean the Shipmasters had already seen her use one of those.

  Besides, the centaur armor meant a stash of greenfire weapons. Long before she and Kahkitah could haul themselves up from the water into a doorway the Shipmasters could pull out the weapons and shoot them down.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?” the Ghorf repeated.

  Nicole shrugged, or did the best she could with her arms pinned to her sides. She had no idea what he was talking about, or what he might be thinking. But whatever it was, she had nothing better to offer. “Sure,” she said. “What do you—?”

  “Brace yourself,” he said. “Breathe in and out quickly and deeply—many times—to empty your lungs of carbon dioxide. When I tell you, take a final deep breath and hold it.”

  Nicole frowned. Crisp, clear orders, plus some words she’d never heard him use before. Was this really Kahkitah?

  But even as she wondered she was obeying, inhaling and exhaling as deeply and quickly as she could. They were heading away from the beach now, Kahkitah swimming far faster than Nicole could ever have managed. She watched the Shipmasters tensely, waiting for one of them to reach behind him and pop the cover on his little arsenal. But both aliens just stood there, watching the Ghorf and the Fyrantha’s Protector swimming away from them. Probably also wondering what the hell Kahkitah was doing.

  The waves washing around Nicole seemed to be getting stronger. She turned her head, still breathing deeply like Kahkitah had told her, trying to see where they were. They had to be getting close to the end of the arena by now. She could hear a new sound over the waves, a sort of rhythmic thumping like some of the Fyrantha’s pumps.

  “Now!” Kahkitah ordered. “Deep breath, and hold it.”

  Nicole did so, her heart thudding again. The pump sound was getting louder …

  And then, without warning, the ocean seemed to drop out from under them. Kahkitah fell backward, still clutching Nicole to his chest, as the water closed around them. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the urge to gasp or scream. Something slammed hard against Kahkitah’s back, half turning them over and sending them skidding down at an angle. The water pressed even harder against them, swirling across Nicole’s face and tearing at her hair and jumpsuit. One of Kahkitah’s hands let go of her waist and wrapped around her face, protecting her and keeping her from exhaling. There was a roar in her ears … small white spots danced in front of her closed eyes …

  And then everything went dark.

  * * *

  The first thing she noticed as she drifted back to consciousness was that she could breathe again. The second thing she noticed was that she wasn’t wet anymore. The third was that she was lying on something soft, a little stiffer than the mattress in her room, but comfortable enough.

  The fourth was that there were Ghorf birdsongs coming from somewhere in the distance.

  More than one set, too. They were too soft for her translator to pick up, but she could tell that there were at least three or four different voices. And she wasn’t completely sure, but she didn’t think any of the voices belonged to Kahkitah.

  Darkness seemed to be pressing against her eyelids. She opened her eyes, only to find that wasn’t much help—the room she was in was large, featureless, and only dimly lit. Above her, maybe a dozen feet away, was a ceiling made of corrugated metal. She frowned at that pattern, wondering why it looked familiar.

  Abruptly, it clicked. It was the same ceiling as in the lowermost level of the Fyrantha, the one just above the recycling area, where she’d found Wesowee wandering around.

  She rolled over onto her side and pushed herself up on one elbow. Sure enough, that was where she was. The open space stretched out in all directions around her, the widely separated lights creating small islands of visibility in the gloom. Beneath her was the metal grating of the floor, with the dark and odd-smelling mass beneath, while the lights showed the familiar pattern of pillars stretching from floor to ceiling as if they were holding up the rest of the ship.

  She frowned. Unlike the Q4 basement, though, something new had been added here. Filling the space between the support pillars to her left, stretching out as far as she could see, were neat rows of slender, waist-high cylinders, each about as big around as the tubes of red-and-green paper her grandmother used to wrap Christmas presents in. The cylinders were standing upright on the floor grate, with just enough space between them for a person to walk. It reminded her of the fields of corn she’d seen on TV, except that these were just tubes instead of big green corn plants.

  The Ghorf voices were coming from the opposite direction, and she turned to look. About a hundred yards away was a clump of lights moving among what looked like a group of chairs, couches, tables, and consoles.

  She frowned. In Q4, anyway, this part of the ship wasn’t set up for people to live in. Could these be more lost Ghorfs who’d given up any hope of escape and set up housekeeping?

  She rolled off the mattress and got to her feet. Her clothes and hair were dry, as she’d already noted, but there was a hollow feeling in her stomach that felt like she hadn’t eaten in a while. How long had she been asleep, anyway?

  The Ghorfs with the lights didn’t seem to have noticed she was awake. She thought about calling to them, decided that would be a bad idea if there were any Wisps around. Better to walk over herself. A wave of dizziness ran through her, and she grabbed one of the tubes beside her for balance.

  Abruptly, a head appeared, floating in the air above the tube.

  Nicole snatched her hand back, twitching back in reaction as the head vanished. For a moment she stood there, catching her breath, staring at the cylinder. Now that she was standing, she could see there were two sets of tiny letters etched into the top of each cylinder: one set made up of the kind of letters the Fyrantha used, the other something she’d never seen before. Cautiously, she reached out and again touched the top of the cylinder.

  The head reappeared. It wasn’t a real head, she saw now, but a hologram like Ushkai. Except that while the Caretaker’s whole body was there, this was just a human head. “Hello?” she murmured toward it.

  The head didn’t change. She let go of the cylinder—the head vanished. She touched it again—the head reappeared. “Hello?” she tried again.

  Still no answer. She pressed a little harder on the cylinder …

  The head suddenly shrank to a quarter of its size and rose higher into the air. Lines of writing appeared below it, in both sets of letters, and the head and the words began scrolling slowly upward.

  A soft birdsong came from directly behind her. She twitched, spinning around—“Welcome, Protector,” the translation came as she found herself facing yet another Ghorf. “I trust you are recovered?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Nicole said, feeling her lip twist. Up to now she’d tried to keep her new title private. But Kahkitah had heard Ushkai call her that, and apparently he’d blabbed. “Where’s Kahkitah?”

  “Returned to your people in the Q1 arena.” The Ghorf gestured to the rows of cylinders beside her. “To your other people, I mean.”

  “What do you mean, my other people?”

  The Ghorf waved at the cylinders again. “I assumed you were paying your respects to those gone before.”

  “To those gone—?” Nicole broke off, a sudden horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was he saying—? “Are these graves?”

  “Memorials,” the Ghorf corrected. “The images and li
fe stories of those who long ago served aboard the Fyrantha.”

  Nicole gazed across the field of cylinders. Not rows of corn, like she’d first thought, but rows of tombstones. “That’s … a lot of slaves,” she managed.

  “Slaves?” The Ghorf shook his head. “No, these weren’t slaves. The slaves’ memorial is in Q2.” His tone turned darker. “That one includes the fallen Ghorfs, as well as humans. This memorial is for the workers who served alongside the Lillilli as they rebuilt the Fyrantha into a zoo.”

  “So, the original slaves.”

  “No, not slaves at all,” the Ghorf insisted. “Fellow workers. The Lillilli invited them aboard some thousands of years ago to work alongside them on the renovations.”

  “Wait a second,” Nicole asked, frowning. “So they were—? No. Why would they get invited? And how would you know that, anyway?”

  “We can read.” The Ghorf reached over and touched one of the other cylinders. Another image appeared, this one the head of a woman. “The life stories listed make their relationships with the Lillilli very clear. We thought you would be able to tell us more.”

  “You thought I could—? Is that why you brought me here?”

  “Along with saving you from the Shipmasters,” a new Ghorf voice added from behind her.

  Nicole turned as another of the big aliens came up behind her. To her surprise, this one was familiar. “Wesowee?”

  “Indeed, Protector,” Wesowee said, bowing his head toward her. “A long way from the Q3 arena, is it not?”

  “I don’t know,” Nicole said, looking back and forth between the two Ghorfs. “Because I don’t have the faintest idea where I am, or how I got here.”

  “You are in the deepest part of the Q1 section,” Wesowee said. “As to how you got here, that’s simple. The ocean flow took you over the spill water, from which Kahkitah took you through the guide, around the filters and sifters, into the reservoir and aerator, and out through the maintenance level. From there he brought you here.” He gave the sort of whistle Nicole had always associated with a Ghorf shrug. “Along the way your oxygen level unfortunately dropped to where you became unconscious.”