Infinity's Shore (76 page)

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.

“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.

A saser … Zhaki shot me with a saser beam.

Dimly he realized that Zhaki might have saved his life. If that bolt hadn't stopped him, Mopol would surely have fired next, using the more powerful unit on the sled.

But saved me … for what?

Ifni tell me … what's the point?

Kaa didn't figure he still had his nickname anymore.

A few hours … now it's gone again. She took it with her.

Brookida surfaced next to him, sputtering elation, having achieved quick success.

“Got it-t! Come on, Kaa. I've got Gillian on the line. She wants to talk to you.”

Sometimes life is filled with choices. You get to select which current to ride, which tide to pull your destiny.

Other times leave you torn … wrenched apart … as if two orcas had a grip on you, one biting hard on your flukes while the other plays tug-of-war with your snout.

Kaa heard the order. He understood it.

He wasn't at all sure he could obey.

“
I'm sorry about Peepoe
,” Gillian Baskin said, her voice crackling over the makeshift comm line, conveyed directly to Kaa's auditory nerves. “
We'll rescue her, and deal with the deserters, when opportunity permits. Believe me, it's a high priority.

“
But this other task is crucial. Our lives may depend on it, Kaa
.”

The human paused.

“
I want you to head straight into Wuphon Harbor.

“
It's time one of us went to town
.”

Ewasx

M
Y RINGS, IT HAS FINALLY HAPPENED. Rejoice! Your master torus has ultimately managed to recover some of the fatty memories you/we/I had thought forever lost! Those valuable recall tracks that were erased when brave-foolish Asx melted the wax!

That act of wrong loyalty stymied the usefulness of this hybrid ring stack for much too long. Some of the
Polkjhy
crew called us/Me a failed experiment. Even the CaptainLeader questioned this effort … this attempt to convert a wild traeki into our loyal authority on Jijoan affairs.

Admittedly, our/My expertise about the Six Races has been uneven and fitful. Mistakes were made despite/ because of our advice.

BUT NOW I/WE HAVE REACQUIRED THIS SECRET! This conviction that once filled the mulch center of the diffuse being called
Asx.

Deep beneath the melted layers, a few memory tracks remained.

DO NOT SQUIRM SO! Instead you should exult in this recovery of something so important.

The Egg.

So far, we have seen only insolence from the sooner races—delays and grudging cooperation with the survey teams we send forth.

No voluntary gathering of g'Kek vermin at designated collection points.

No migration of traeki stacks for appraisal-and-conversion.

Swarms of supervised robots have begun sifting the countryside for groups of g'Kek and traeki, herding them toward enclosures where their numbers can be concentrated at higher density. But this task proves laborious and inefficient. It would be far more convenient if the locals were persuaded to perform the task on their own.

Worse, these fallen beings still refuse to admit any knowledge of the Earthling prey ship.

IT PROVES DIFFICULT TO COERCE GREATER COOPERATION.

Attacks on population centers are met with resignation and dispersal.

Their dour religion confounds us with stoic passivity. It is hard to deprive hope from a folk that never had much.

BUT NOW WE HAVE A NEW TARGET!

One more meaningful to the Six Races than any of their campsite villages. A target to convince them of our ruthless resolve.

We already knew something of this
Great Egg.
Its throbbing radiations were an irritant, disrupting our instruments, but we dismissed it as a geophysical anomaly. Psi-resonant formations exist on some worlds. Despite local mythology, our onboard Library cube can cite other cases. A rare phenomenon, but understood.

Only now we realize how deeply this stone is rooted in
the savages' religion. It is their central object of reverence. Their “soul.”

How amusing.

How pathetic.

And how very convenient.

Vubben

T
HE LAST TIME HIS AGED WHEELS HAD ROLLED along this dusty trail, it was in the company of twelve twelves of white-robed pilgrims—the finest eyes, minds, and rings of all six races—winding their way past sheer cliffs and steam vents in a sacred quest to seek guidance from the Holy Egg. For a time, that hopeful procession had made the canyon walls reverberate with fellowship vibrations—the Commons united and at peace.

Alas, before reaching its goal, the company fell into a maelstrom of fire, bloodshed, and despair. Soon the sages and their followers were too busy with survival to spend time meditating on the ineffable. But during the weeks since, Vubben could never shake a sense of unfinished business. Of something vital, left undone.

Hence this solitary return journey, even though it brought his frail wheels all too near the Jophur foe ship. Vubben's axles and motive spindles throbbed from the cruel climb, and he longingly recalled that a brave qheuen had volunteered to carry him all the way here, riding in comfort on a broad gray back.

But he could not accept. Despite creakiness and age, Vubben had to come alone.

At last he reached the final turn before entering the Nest. Vubben paused to catch his breath and smooth his ruffled thoughts in preparation for the trial ahead. He used a soft rag to wipe green sweat off all four eye hoods and stalks.

It is said that g'Kek bodies could never have evolved on a planet. Our wheels and whiplike limbs better suit the artificial
worlds where our star-god ancestors dwelled, before they gambled a great wager, won their bet, and lost everything.

He often wondered what it must have been like to abide in some vast spinning city whose inner space was spanned by countless slender roadways that arched like ribbons of spun sugar.
Intelligent
paths that would twist, gyre, and reconnect at your command, so the way between any two points could be just as straight or deliciously curved as you liked. To live where a planet's grip did not press you relentlessly, every dura from birth till death, squashing your rims and wearing away your bearings with harsh grit.

More than any other sooner race, the g'Kek had to work hard in order to love Jijo.
Our refuge. Our purgatory.

Vubben's eyestalks contracted involuntarily as the Egg once again made its presence known. A surge of
tywush
vibrations seemed to rise from the ground. The sporadic patterning tremors had grown more intense, the nearer he came to the source. Now Vubben shivered as another wave front stroked his tense spokes, making his brain resound in its hard case. Words could not express the sensation, even in Galactic Two or Three. The psi-effect provoked no images or dramatic emotions. Rather, a feeling of
expectation
seemed to build, slowly but steadily, as if some longawaited plan were coming to fruition at long last.

The episode peaked … then passed quickly away, still lacking the coherence he hoped for.

Then let us begin in earnest
, Vubben thought. His motor spindles throbbed, helped along by slender pusher legs, as both wheels turned away from the sunset's dimming glow, toward mystery.

The Egg loomed above, a rounded shelf of stone that stretched ahead for half an arrowflight before curving out of sight. Although a century of pilgrimages had worn a trail of packed pumice, it still took almost a midura for Vubben to roll his first circuit around the base of the ovoid, whose mass pressed a deep basin in the flank of a dormant volcano. Along the way, he raised slender arms and eyestalks,
lofting them in gentle benediction, supplementing his mental entreaty with the language of motion.