by David Brin
Gillian coughed behind her hand. The Niss bowed.
"Forgive. I meant to say, Terran lore."
"Can you give an example?"
"I can. Consider the contrast between the word,concepts discrete and continuous.
"According to Galactic science, anything and everything can be accomplished by using arithmetic. By counting and dividing, using integers and rational fractions. Sophisticated arithmetic algorithms enable us to understand the behavior of a star, for instance, by partitioning it into ever-smaller pieces, modeling those pieces in a simple fashion, then recombining the parts. That is the digital way."
"It must call for vast amounts of memory and raw computing power."
"True, but these are cheaply provided, enough for any task you might require.
"Now look back at pre-contact human wolflings. Your race spent many centuries as semicivilized beings, mentally ready to ask sophisticated questions, but completely • lacking access to transistors, quantum switches, or binary ' processing. Until your great savants, Turing and Von Neumann, finally expressed the power of digital computers, generations of mathematicians had to cope by using pencil and paper.
"The result? A mix of the brilliant and the inane. Abstract differential analysis and cabalistic numerology. Algebra, astrology, and geometrical topology. Much of this amalgam was based on patently absurd concepts, such as j continuity, or aptly named irrational numbering, or the astonishing notion that there are layered infinities of the divisibly small."
Gillian sighed an old frustration.
"Earth's best minds tried to explain our math, soon after contact. Again and again we showed it was self-consistent. That it worked."
"Yet it accomplished nothing that could not be outmatched in moments by calculating engines like myself. Galactic seers dismissed all the clever equations as trickery and shortcuts, or else the abstract ravings of savages." She acceded with a nod.
"This happened once before, you know. In Earth's twentieth century, after the Second World War, the victors quickly split into opposing camps. Those experts you mentioned-Turing and von Whoever-they worked in the west, helping set off our own digital revolution.
"Meanwhile, the east was ruled by a single dictator, I think his name was Steel."
"Accessing the Britannica . . . You mean 'Stalin? Yes, I see the connection. Until his death, Stalin obstructed Russo-Soviet science for ideological reasons. He banished work on genetics because it contradicted notions of communist perfectibility. Moreover, he quashed work on computers, calling them 'decadent.' Even after his passing, many in the east held that calculation was crude, inele- gant . . . only good for quick approximations. For truth, one needed pure mathematics."
"So that's why many practitioners in the Old Math still come from Russia." Gillian chuckled. "It sounds like yet
another inverted image of what happened to Earth, after contact."
The Niss pondered this for a moment.
"What are you implying, Doctor? That Stalin was partly right? That you -Terra ns were right? That you were onto something the rest of the universe bos missed?"
"It seems unlikely, eh? And yet, isn't that slim possibility the very reason why your makers assigned you to this ship?"
Again, the meshed lines whirled.
"Point well taken, Dr. Baskin."
Gillian stood up to start moving her body through a series of stretching exercises. The brief sleep period had helped. Still, there were a hundred problems to address.
"Look," she asked the Niss Machine. "Is there some point where all this is heading? Haven't you a clue what problem Uriel is trying to solve?"
She gestured toward the recorded image of pulleys, leather straps, and spinning disks.
"In a word. Doctor? No.
"Oh, I can tell that Uriel is modeling a set a,simultaneous differential equations-to use old wolfling terminal- '• ogy. The range of numerical values being considered I appears to be simple, even trivial. I could outcalculate her so-called computer with a mere one quadrilliontb of my processing power."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because to me the problem first calls for unlocking the code of a lost language. I need an opening, a Rosetta stone, after which all should be instantly clear.
"In short, I need help from an Earthling, to suggest what the expressions might be for."
Gillian shrugged.
"Another tough break, then. We've plumb run out of mathematicians aboard this crate. Creideiki and Tom both used to play with the Old Math. I know Charles Dart dabbled, and Takkata-Jim. . . ."
She sighed. "And Emerson D'Anite. He was the last one who could have helped you."
Gillian moved toward her reference console. "I suppose we can scan the personnel files to see if there's anyone else-"
"That may not be necessary," the Niss cut in. "It might
be possible to access one of the experts you already mentioned. "
Gillian blinked, unable to believe she heard right.
"What are you talking about?"
"You assigned me another problem-to find out what the feral-sapient tytlal named 'Mudfoot' was staring at, after the council meeting. To achieve that, I enhanced the spy camera's last scene, before the privacy wasps closed in.
"Please watch carefully, Doctor."
The big display now showed the final clear picture sent by the lost probe. Gillian found it physically painful to watch the insect's beating wings, and felt relief when the Niss zoomed toward a corner of the field, pushing the privacy wasp off-screen. What ballooned outward was a section of the ornate contraption of Uriel the Smith-a marvel of pure ingenuity and resourcefulness.
I did take one course in the Old Math, before heading to medical school. I could try to help. The Niss can supply precontact texts. All it wants is insight. Some wolfling intu- ition . . .
Her thoughts veered, distracted by the vivid enhancement. Looming around her now was a maze of improvised scaffolding, filled with shadows that were split, here and there, by glaring points of light.
All this incredible activity must add up to something important.
Gillian saw the apparent goal sought by the Niss-a set of shadows that had the soft curves of life-forms, precariously balanced in the crisscrossing trusswork. Some figures were small, with snakelike torsos and tiny legs, brandishing tools with slim, many-jointed hands.
Miniature urs, she realized. The maintenance crew?
A larger silhouette loomed over these. Gillian gasped when she saw it must be human! Then she recalled.
Of course. Humans are among Uriel's allies, and skilled technicians. They're also good climbers, perfect to help keep things running.
The Niss must now be straining its ability to enhance the grainy image. The rate of magnification slowed, and remaining shadows peeled grudgingly before the onslaught of computing power. But soon she knew the human was male, from the shape of neck and shoulders. He was pointing, perhaps indicating a task for the little urs to perform.
Gillian saw that he had long hair, brushed left over a cruel scar. For an instant she stared at the puckered wound in his temple.
A moment later, the image clarified to show a smile.
Recognition hit like a blast of chill water.
"My God ... It can't be!"
The Niss crooned, expressing both satisfaction and intrigue.
"You confirm the resemblance?
"It does appear to be engineer Emerson D'Anite.
"Our crew mate whom we thought killed by the Old Ones, back at the Fractal System.
"He whose scout vessel was enveloped by a globe of devouring light, as the Streaker made its getaway, fleeing by a circuitous route toward Jijo."
The Tymbrimi machine shared one trait with its makers, a deep love of surprise. That pleasure it now expressed in a hum of satisfaction.
"You ask frequently how anyone could have,allowed us to this forlorn corner of the universe. Dr. Baskin.
"I believe the question just acquired new l
evels of cogency. "
Kaa
HE NEVER GOT TO PUT UP MUCH OF A FIGHT. How could he, with all his weapons sabotaged from , the start? Besides, Kaa wasn't sure he could bring him- '< self to harm one of his own kind.
Clearly, the assailants who attacked the dome had fewer scruples.
The ruined habitat lay far below, its pieces strewn across ' the continental shelf. Along with Peepoe and Brookida, Kaa barely dodged being pinned by the collapsing walls, j escaping the maelstrom of metal and froth only to face the gun barrels of well-armed captors. Herded to the surface, he and the others panted in nervous exhaustion under the ) waning afternoon sun. !
In contrast, Mopol's sleek form rested almost languidly atop the speed sled that Peepoe had brought from Streaker's hiding place, governing the engines and armaments with impulses sent down his neural tap. Swimming nearby-wearing a fully charged tool harness-Zhaki explained the situation.
"It's like this, p-pilot-t. . . ." He slurred the words in his eagerness. "The three of you are gonna do what we sssay, or else."
Kaa tossed his head, using his lower jaw to splash water at Zhaki's eye.
* Silly threats from one
* Who's watched too many movies!
* Just say it, fool. Now! *
Mopol hissed angrily, but Peepoe laughed at Zhaki's predicament. To continue his menacing speech now would be an act of obedience to Kaa's command. It was a minor matter-not exactly a logical checkmate. But Kaa felt it valuable to recover even a little initiative.
"We ..." Zhaki blew air and tried again. "Mopol and I are resigning from the Streaker crew. We're not going back-k, and you can't make us."
So that's what it's about, Kaa thought.
"Desertion!" Brookida sputtered indignantly. "Letting your crew mates down when they need you mossst!"
Mopol let out a skirl of rejection.
"Our legal term of ssservice ended almossst two years ago."
"Right-t," Zhaki agreed. "Anyway, we never signed on for this insanity . . . fleeing like wounded mullet across the galaxies."
"You plan to go sooner," Peepoe fluted, her voice bemused. "Living wild, in this sea."
Mopol nodded. "Some were already talkin' about it, before we left-t the ship. This world's a paradise for our kind. The whole crew oughta do it!"
"But even if they don't-t," Zhaki added, "we're gonna."
Then he added a haiku for emphasis.
* Six or seven clans
* Did this already, on shore.
* We have precedent! *
Kaa realized there was nothing he could do to change their minds. The sea would answer his best arguments with its fine mineral smoothness and the enticing echoes of tasty fish. in time, the deserters would come to miss the comforts of civilized life, or grow bored, or realize there are dangers even on a world without big predators. The water had a faint, prescient choppiness, and Kaa wondered if either of the rebel fins had ever been outside during a truly vicious storm.
But then, hadn 't other waves of settlers faced the same choice? The g'Keks, qbeuens, and even human beings?
"The Jophur may make it hard on you," he told them.
"We'll take our chancess."
"And if you're caught by the Institutes?" Brookida asked. "Your presence here would be a crime, reflecting badly on-"
Mopol and Zhaki laughed. Even Kaa found that argument easy to dismiss. Humans and chimps were already on Jijo. If Earthclan suffered collective punishment for that crime, a few dolphins living offshore could hardly make things worse.
"So, what do you plan to do with us?" Kaa asked.
"Why, nothing much-ch. You and Brookida are free to swim back to your precious Gillian Basssskin, if you like."
"That could take a week!" Brookida complained. But Kaa struggled against involuntary spasms in his harness arms, set off by Zhaki's implication. Before he could unstrangle his speech centers, Peepoe expressed his dread.
"Jussst Kaa and Brookida? You're insisting that I stay?"
Mopol chittered assent with such glee that it came out sounding more like gutter Primal Delphin than Trinary.
"That's the p-plan," Zhaki confirmed. "We'd make a poor excuse for a c-colony without at least one female."
Kaa abruptly saw their long-term scheme. Mopol's spell of malingering sickness had been meant to draw one of Makanee's nurses out here from the ship. Most were young females, with Peepoe the best catch of all.
"Will you add kidnap-ping to the crime of desertion?" she asked, sounding as fascinated as fearful.
Kaa's blood surged hot as Zhaki flipped around to streak past Peepoe, gliding along her belly, upside down.
"You won't call it that-t after a while," Zhaki promised, leaving a trail of bubbles as he rolled suggestively. "In time, you'll c-call this your luckiessst day."
At that point, Kaa reached the limit of his endurance. With a lashing of flukes, he charged-
• • •
There was a blank time after that . . . and some more that went by all in a haze-half-numb and half-pained.
Drifting, Kaa was sustained by instinct as his body performed the needed motions. Staying upright. Kicking to bring his blowhole above the watery surface. Breathing. Submerging once again. Allowing his unraveled self to knit slowly back together.
"C-come on now, my boy," the helper told him. "It'sss only a bit farther."
Dutifully, Kaa swam alongside, doing as he .was told. You learned this at an early age . . . when injured, always obey the helper. It might be your mother, or an auntie, or even some older male in the pod. Someone always was the helper ... or else the sea would claim you.
In time, he recalled this helper's name-Brookida. He also began recognizing the peculiar lap and texture of littoral water, not far from shore. Kaa even recalled part of what put him in this condition ... a state so dazed that all speech thoughts were driven from his mind.
There had been a fight. He had charged against harsh odds, hoping to take his enemies by surprise ... by the sheer audacity of the attack.
It took just one blast of concentrated sound to knock him in a double flip, with tremors shaking every muscle. Paralyzed, he distantly sensed the two male foes move off . . . taking his love with them.
"You feeling better now?" Brookida asked. The older dolphin cast a sonar sweep through Kaa's innards, checking on his progress. Some mental clouds were parting. Enough to recall a few more facts. The shattered habitat- not worth revisiting. The hopelessness of pursuing a speed sled, even one burdened with three passengers, since night was soon approaching.
Both arms of his harness twitched as his rattled brain sent spasmodic commands down the neural link. Kaa managed to lift his head a bit, the next time he breathed, and recognized the shape of nearby coastal hills. Brookida was herding him closer to the native fishing town.
"Mopol and Zhaki wrecked the cables and transmittersss, back at the dome. But-t I figure we can find the lines leading to the spy drones in Wuphon Port, tap into those, and contact the ship-p."
Some order was slipping into Kaa's chaotic thoughts. Enough to comprehend a bit of what the old fin said. This return of sapiency left him with mixed feelings-relieved that the loss was not permanent, plus regretful longing for the simplicity that must now go away, replaced by urgent, hopeless needs.
Trinary came back more easily than Anglic.
* We must pursue the-
* Spawn of syphilitic worms,
* While their sound spoor's fresh! *
"Yes, of course. I agree. How awful for Peepoe, poor lass. But first let's contact Streaker. Maybe our crew mates can help."
Kaa hearkened to the sense in that. One of the first principles of human legality that dolphins clearly understood was that of a posse, which had analogies in natural cetacean society. When an offense is committed against the pod, you can call for help. You should not face trouble alone.
He let Brookida lead him to the site where fiber cables from the onshore spy eyes all converged below. Booming
surf reminded Kaa unhappily of this morning's lovemaking. The sound made him squeal a Primal protest, railing against the unfairness of it all. To find a mate and lose her on the same day.
The water tasted of qheuens and hoons . . . plus wooden planks and tar. Kaa rested at the surface, sifting his mind back together while Brookida dived down to establish the link.