Infinity's Shore

by David Brin

  Still, Dwer wondered.

  Why was I able to communicate with One-of-a-Kind? And now this spider, as well? We are so different-creatures meant for opposite sides of a planet's cycle.

  His sensitivity, if anything, had increased . . . perhaps from letting the Danik robot conduct force fields down his spine. But the original knack must be related to what made him an exceptional hunter.

  Empathy. An intuitive sense for the needs and desires of living things.

  The Sacred Scrolls spoke darkly of such powers. Psitalents. They were not recommended for the likes of the Six, who must cringe away from the great theater of space. So Dwer never mentioned it, not to Sara and Lark, or even Fallen, though he figured the old chief scout must have suspected.

  Have I done this before? He mused on how he coaxed the spider into action. I always thought my empathy was passive. That I listened to animals, and hunted accordingly. But have I been subtly influencing them, all along? When I shoot an arrow, is it my legendary aim that makes it always strike home? Or do I also nudge the flight of the bush quail so it dodges into the way of the shaft? Do I make the taniger swerve left, just as my stone is about to strike?

  It made him feel guilty. Unsporting.

  Well? What about right now? You're famished. Why not put out a call for nearby fish and fowl to gather round your knees for plucking?

  Somehow, Dwer knew it did not work that way.

  He shook his head, clearing it for matters close at hand. Just ahead, rounded silhouettes took uneven bites out of the arching star field. Two sky boats, unmoving, yet mysterious and deadly as he drew near. He swished a finger through the water and tasted, wincing at some nasty stuff leaking into the fen from one or both fallen cruisers.

  Now Dwer's sensitive ears picked up noise coming from the larger vessel. Clankings and hammerings. No doubt the crew was working around the clock to make repairs. Despite Rety's assurances, he had no faith that the new day would see a Rothen starship looming overhead to claim both its lost comrades and long-sought prey. The opposite seemed rather more likely.

  Either way, he had a job to do.

  Till I hear otherwise from the sages, I've got to keep acting on Danel Ozawa's orders.

  He said we must defend Jijo.

  Star gods don't belong here, any more than sooners do. Less, in fact.

  The cry of a mud wren made Dwer slide his torso lower in the water.

  Rety's mimicked call came from a lookout point on a Buyur ruin near the dunes. He scanned above the reeds, and caught sight of a glimmering shape-a patrol robot sent out by the stranded untraekis, returning from its latest search spiral.

  The mule spider read his concern and expressed curiosity.

  More dross?

  Maintaining aloof reserve, Dwer suggested the creature concentrate on its present task, while he worried about flying things.

  Your memories assert one of these hovering mechanisms slew my brother of the highlands. Mad he may have been, but his job was left undone by that untimely end. Now who will finish it?

  A fair enough question. This time, Dwer formed words.

  If we survive this time of crisis, the sages will have a mule bud planted in the old one's lake. It's our way. By helping get rid ofBuyur remains, each generation of the Six leaves Jijo a little cleaner, making up for the small harm we do. The scrolls say it may ease our penance, when judges finally come. But don't worry about this robot now. You have a goal to focus on. Over there, in that hull of the larger ship, there is a rip, an opening. ...

  Dwer felt hairs on his neck prickle. He crouched low while the unmistakable tingle of gravitic fields swept close. Clearly this was a more powerful robot than the unit he nearly defeated back at the sooner village. That one still cowered in a hole under the sand, while he and Rety took on its enemies.

  He hunched like an animal, and even tried thinking like one as the humming commotion passed, setting the tense surface of the water trembling like a qheuen drum. Dwer closed his eyes, but an onslaught of images assailed him. Sparks flew from an urrish forge. Stinging spray jetted over a drowned village. Starlight glinted off a strange fish whose noorlike mouth opened in a wry grin. ...

  The creepy force receded. He cracked his eyelids to watch the slab-sided drone move east down a line of phosphorescent surf, then vanish among the dunes.

  More vines now clustered and writhed around the base of the larger sky boat, bunching to send shoots snaking higher. This whole crazy idea counted on one assumption-that the ship's defenses, already badly damaged, would be on guard against "unnatural" things, like metals or energy sources. Under normal conditions, mere plants or beasts would pose no threat to a thick-hulled vessel.

  In here?

  The spider's query accompanied mental images of a jagged recess, slashed in the side of the untraeki vessel . . . the result of Kunn's riposte, even as his air boat plunged in flames. The visual impression reaching Dwer was tenuous as a daydream, lacking all but the most vague visual details. Instead, he felt a powerful scent of substance. The spider would not know or care how Galactic machines worked, only what they were made of-and which concocted juices would most swiftly delete this insult to Jijo's fallow peace.

  Yes, in there, Dwer projected. And all over the outside, as well.

  Except the transparent viewing port, he added. No sense warning the creatures by covering their windows with slithering vines. Let them find out in the morning. By then, with Ifni's luck, it would be too late.

  Remember-he began. But the spider interrupted.

  I know. I shall use my strongest cords.

  Mule monofiber was the toughest substance known to the Six. With his own eyes, Dwer had seen one rare loop of reclaimed filament pull gondolas all the way to the heights of Mount Guenn. Still, a crew of star gods would have tools to cut even that staunch material. Unless they were distracted.

  Time passed. By moonlight the marsh seemed alive with movement-ripples and jerky slitherings-as more vines converged on a growing mass surrounding the ship. Snakelike cables squirmed by Dwer, yet he felt none of the heartsick dread that used to come from contact with One-of-a-Kind. Intent is everything. Somehow, he knew this huge entity meant him no harm.

  At uneven intervals, Rety used clever calls to warn him of the guard robot's return. Dwer worried that it might find the cowardly Danik machine, hiding under the sand. If so, the alerted Jophur might emerge, filling the bog with blazing artificial light.

  Dwer moved slowly around the vessel, taking its measure. But as he counted footsteps, his thoughts drifted to the Gray Hills, where Lena Strong and Jenin Worley must be busy right now, uniting Rety's old band with surviving urrish sooners, forging a united tribe.

  Not an easy task, but those two can do it, if anyone can.

  Still, he felt sad for them. They must be lonely, with Danel Ozawa gone. And me, carried off in the claws of a Rotben machine. They must think I'm dead, too.

  Jenin and Lena still had Ozawa's "legacy" of books and tools, and an urrish sage to help them. They might make it, if they were left alone. That was Dwer's job-to make sure no one came across the sky to bother them.

  He knew this scheme of his was farfetched. Lark would surely have thought of something better, if he were here.

  But I'm all there is. Dwer the Wild Boy. Tough luck for Jijo.

  The spider's voice caught him as he was checking the other side of the grounded cruiser, where a long ramp led to a closed hatch.

  In here, as well?

  His mind filled with another image of the vessel's damaged recess. Moonlight shone through a jagged rent in the hull. The clutter of sooty machinery seemed even more crowded as vine after vine crammed through, already dripping caustic nectars. But Dwer felt his attention drawn deeper, to the opposite wall.

  Dim light shone through a crack on that side. Not pale illumination, but sharp, blue, and synthetic, coming from some room beyond.

  The ship probably isn't even airtight anymore.

  Too bad this didn't
happen high in the mountains. Traeki hated cold weather, A glacier wind would be just the thing to send whistling through here!

  No, he answered the spider. Don't go into the lighted space. Not yet.

  The voice returned, pensively serious.

  This light . work?

  it could interfere with my

  Dwer assented. Yeah. The light would interfere, all right. Then he thought no more of it, for at that moment a trace of movement caught his eye, to the southeast. A dark figure waded stealthily, skirting around the teeming mound of mule vines.

  Rety! But she's supposed to be on lookout duty. This was no time for her impulsiveness. With a larger moon due to rise in less than a midura, the two of them had to start making their getaway before the untraeki woke to what was happening.

  With uncanny courtesy, mule cables slithered out of his path as he hurried after the girl, trying not to splash too noisily. Her apparent objective was the other crashed ship, the once-mighty sky steed Kunn had used to drop bombs into the Rift, chasing mysterious prey. From the dunes, Dwer and Rety had seen the sleek dart overwhelmed and sent plunging to the swamp, its two human passengers taken captive.

  That could happen to us, too. More than ever, Dwer regretted leaving behind Rety's urrish "husband," her conscience and voice of good sense.

  About the interfering light.

  I thought you would like to know.

  It is being taken care of.

  Dwer shrugged aside the spider's mind touch as he crossed an open area, feeling exposed. Things improved slightly when he detoured to take advantage of two reedcovered hummocks, cutting off direct sight of the untraeki ship. But the robot guardian still patrolled somewhere out there. Lacking a lookout, Dwer had just his own wary senses to warn him if it neared.

  While wading though a deeper patch, floundering in water up to his armpits, he felt a warning shiver.

  I'm being watched.

  Dwer slowly turned, expecting to see the glassy weapons of a faceless killer. But no smooth-sided machine hovered above the reedy mound. Instead, he found eyes regarding him, perched at the knoll's highest point, a ledge that might have been the wall of a Buyur home. Sharp teeth grinned at Dwer.

  Mudfoot.

  The noor had done it again.

  Someday, I'll get even,or the times you 've scared me half to death.

  Mudfoot had a companion this time, a smaller creature, held between his paws. Some recent prey? It did not struggle, but tiny greenish eyes seemed to glow with cool interest. Mudfoot's grin invited Dwer to guess what this new friend might be.

  Dwer had no time for games. "Enjoy yourselves," he muttered, and moved on, floundering up a muddy bank. He was just rounding the far corner, seeking Rety in the shadows of the Rothen wreck, when a clamor erupted from behind. Loud bangs and thumps reverberated as Dwer crouched, peering back at the large vessel.

  This side appeared undamaged-a glossy chariot of semidivine star gods, ready at an instant to leap into the sky.

  But then a rectangular crack seamed its flank above the ramp, releasing clots of smoke, like foul ghosts charging into the night.

  The interference is taken care of.

  The spider's mind touch seemed satisfied, even proud. Dark figures spilled through the roiling soot, then down the ramp, wheezing in agony. Dwer counted three untraeki . . . then two shambling biped forms, leaning on each other as they fled the noxious billows.

  What followed nauseated Dwer-solitary doughnut shapes, slithering traeki rings shorn from the waxy moorings that once united them as sapient beings. One large torus burst from the murk, galloping on pulsating legs without guidance or direction, trailing mucus and silvery fibers as it plunged off the ramp into deep water. Another hapless circle bumped along unevenly,-staring in all directions with panicky eye patches until surging black vapors overtook it.

  I have not acted thus-with such vigor and decisiveness-since the early days, when stillanimate Buyur servant machines sometimes tried to hide and reproduce amid the ruins, after their masters departed. Back then, we were fierce, we mule agents of deconstruction, before the long centuries of patient erosion set in.

  Now do you see how efficient my kind can be, when we feel a need? And when we have a worthy audience? Now will you acknowledge me, O unique young ephemeral?

  Dwer turned and fled, kicking spray as he ran.

  The Rothen scout boat was a wreck, split in the middle, its wings crumpled. He found an open hatch and clambered inside. The metal deck felt chill and alien beneath his bare feet.

  The interior lacked even pale moonlight, so it took time to find Rety in a far corner, taking treasures from a cabinet and stuffing them in a bag. What's she looking for? Food? After all the star-god poisons that've spilled here since the crash?

  "There's no time for that," he shouted. "We've got to get out of here!"

  "Gimme a dura," the girl replied. "I know it's here. Kunn kept it on one o' these shelfs."

  Dwer craned his head back through the hatch to look outside. The robot guardian had reappeared, hovering over the stricken untraeki vessel, shining stark light on the survivors mired below. As the thick smoke spread out, Dwer whiffed something that felt sweet in the front of his mouth, yet made the back part gag.

  Abmptly, a new thing impacted the senses-sound. A series of twanging notes shook the air. Lines stretched across the water as hundreds of cables tautened, surrounding the skycraft like the tent lines of a festival pavilion. Some vines snapped under the strain, whipping across the landscape. One whirling cord sliced through a surviving stack-of-rings, flinging upper toruses into the swamp while the lower half lurched blindly. Other survivors beat a hasty retreat, deeper into the bog.

  The robot descended, its spotlight narrowing to a slender, cutting beam. One by one, straining mule cables parted under the slashing attack. But it was too little, too late. Something or somebody must already have undermined the muck beneath the ship, for it began sliding into a slimy crypt, gurgling as a muddy slurry poured in through the hatch.

  "Found it!" Rety cried, rare happiness invading her voice. She joined Dwer at the door, cradling her reclaimed prize. Her metal bird. Since the first time he laid eyes on it, the thing had gone through a lot of poking and prodding, till it could hardly be mistaken for a real creature anymore, even in dim light. Another damned robot, he thought. The Ifni-cursed thing had caused Dwer more trouble than he could count. Yet to the sooner girl it was an emblem of hope. The first harbinger of freedom in her life.

  "Come on," he muttered. "This wreck is the only shelter hereabouts. The survivors'll be coming this way. We've got to go."

  Rety had only agreeable smiles descending back into the swamp. She followed his every move with the happy compliance of one who had no further need to rebel.

  Dwer knew he ought to be pleased, as well. His plan had worked beyond all expectation. Yet his sole emotion was emptiness.

  Maybe it's on account of I've been wounded, beat up, exhausted, and starved till I'm too numb to care.

  Or else, it's that I never really enjoyed one part of hunting.

  The killing part.

  They retreated from both ruined sky boats to the nearest concealing thicket. Dwer was trying to select a good route back to the dunes, when a voice spoke up.

  "Hello. I think we ought to talk."

  Dwer was grateful to the mule spider. He owed it the conversation it desired, and acknowledgment of its might. But, he felt too drained for the mental effort. Not now, he projected. Later, I promise, if I survive the night.

  But the voice was persistent. And Dwer soon realized- the words weren't echoing inside his head, but in the air, with a low, familiar quality and tone. They came from just overhead.

  "Hello? Humans in the swamp? Can you hear me?"

  Then the voice went muffled, as if the speaker turned aside to address someone else.

  "Are you sure this thing is working?" it asked.

  Bewildered, and against his better judgment, Dwer found hims
elf answering.

  "How the hell should I know what's working, an' what ain't? Who on Jijo are you?"

  The words returned more clearly, with evident eagerness.

  "Ah! Good. We're in contact, then. That's great."

  Dwer finally saw where the words were coming from. Mudfoot squatted just above, having followed to pester him from this new perch. And the noor had his new companion-the one with green eyes.