Startide Rising (49 page)

Gillian paced the sloping ceiling of the lopsided room. An occasional clanking, transmitted by the metal walls, told of the final fittings being made to secure Streaker into the Trojan Seahorse.

“You aren’t saying the Kiqui have anything to do with these ancient…”

“No. They appear to be a genuine find, and a major reason why you should endeavor to escape this trap and return to Earth with what you have learned.”

Gillian smiled ironically. “Thanks. We’ll do our best.

“So, what was done to the Karr … the Karrank%,” she did her best with the double glottal stop, “to make them want to hide away on Kithrup, never to associate with Galactic culture again?”

The Niss explained. “In their pre-sentient form, they were mole-like creatures on a metal-rich world like this one. They had carbon-oxygen metabolisms, such as yours, but they were excellent diggers.”

“Let me guess. They were bred as miners, to extract ores on metal-poor worlds. It would be cheaper to import and breed Karrank% miners than to ship large quantities of metals across interstellar space.”

“A very good guess, Dr. Baskin. The client-Karrank% were indeed transformed into miners, and in the process converted to a metabolism extracting energy directly from radioactives. Their patrons thought it would help serve as an incentive.”

Gillian whistled. “Such a drastic shift in their structure couldn’t have been very successful! Ifni, they must have suffered!”

“It was a perversion,” the Niss agreed. “When it was discovered, the Karrank% were freed and offered recompense. But after a few millennia trying to adapt to standard starfaring life, they chose to retire to Kithrup. This planet was ceded them for the duration of their race. No one expected them to survive for long.

“Instead of dying out, however, they seem to have continued to modify themselves, on their own. They appear to have adopted a life style unique in known space.”

Gillian brought together the threads of the earlier part of the conversation, and made an inference. Her eyes widened. “You mean to tell me the metal-mounds …?”

“Are larvae of an intelligent life form which dwells in the crust of this planet. Yes. I might have surmised this from the latest data sent by Dr. Dennie Sudman, but Creideiki had leapt to the conclusion before we had even heard from her. That is why he came to see me, to get confirmation of his hypothesis.”

“Sah’ot’s voices,” Gillian whispered. “They’re Karrank%!”

“An acceptable tentative deduction,” the Niss approved. “It would have been the discovery of the century, were it not for the other things you’ve already turned up on this expedition. I believe you humans have an old expression in English—‘It doesn’t rain but it pours’—it’s quaint, but apropos.”

Gillian wasn’t listening. “The bombs!” She slapped her forehead.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I let Charlie Dart steal some low-yield bombs from our armory. I knew Takkata-Jim would confiscate them and begin transforming them into fuel. It was part of a plan I had cooked up. But…”

“You assumed Takkata-Jim would confiscate all of the bombs?”

“Yes! I was going to call him and tip him off if he overlooked them, but he was quite efficient and discovered them right away. I had to lie to Toshio about it, but that couldn’t be helped.”

“If all went according to plan, I do not see the problem.”

“The problem is that Takkata-Jim may not have seized all of the bombs! It never occurred to me that Charlie could harm living sophonts if he still had one! Now, though … I’ve got to get in touch with Toshio, at once!”

“Can it wait a few minutes? Takkata-Jim probably was thorough, and there is another matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“No! You don’t understand. Toshio’s about to sabotage his comm set! It’s part of my plan! If there’s even a chance Charlie’s got a bomb we have to find out quickly!”

The holo patterns were agitated.

“I’ll make the connection at once,” the Niss announced. “It will take me a few moments to worm through Streaker’s comm system without being detected. Stand by.”

Gillian paced the sloping floor, hoping they would be in time.

T
oshio finished the re-wiring, slapped the cover over the transmitter on Thomas Orley’s sled, and spread a light smear of mud on the plate to make it seem long unopened.

Then he unhitched the monofilament line from the unit, tied a small red marker ribbon to the end, and let the almost invisible fiber drift down into the depths.

Now he was out of touch with Streaker. It made him feel more alone than ever—even lonelier than when Dennie and Sah’ot had departed early in the morning.

He hoped Takkata-Jim would follow orders and wait here until Streaker left. If he did, Gillian would call down as they blasted away, and warn him of the modifications that had been made to the longboat and this transmitter.

But what if Takkata-Jim were, indeed, a traitor? What if he took off early?

Charles Dart would probably be aboard then, as well as Ignacio Metz, three Stenos, and perhaps three or four Kiqui. Toshio wished none of them harm. It was an agonizing choice.

He looked up and saw Charles Dart happily muttering to himself as he played with his new robot.

Toshio shook his head, glad that the chimp, at least, was happy.

He slid into the water and swam over to his own sled. He had jettisoned its tiny radio an hour ago. He strapped himself in and turned on the motors.

He still had to make one more splice below the island. The old robot, the damaged probe Charles Dart had abandoned down near the bottom of the drill-tree shaft, had one last customer. Creideiki, hanging around Streaker’s old site, still wanted to talk to Sah’ot’s “voices.” Toshio figured he owed the captain the favor, even if it did feel like he was humoring a delusion.

As the sled sank, Toshio thought about the rest of his job here … the things he might have to do before he could leave.

Let Tom Orley be waiting for me when I come back up, he wished fervently. That would solve everything. Let Mr. Orley be finished with his job up in the north, and land up there while I’m below.

Toshio smiled ironically. And while you’re at it, Ifni, why not throw in a giant fleet of good guys to clear the skies of baddies, hmmmm?

He descended down the narrow shaft, into the gloom.

D
rat! Triple hell! The line’s dead. Toshio’s already cut it.”

“Don’t be overly alarmed.” The Niss spoke reassuringly. “It is quite likely that Takkata-Jim confiscated all of the bombs. Did not Midshipman Iwashika report that he saw several being dismantled for fuel, as you expected?”

“Yes, and I told him not to worry about it. But it never occurred to me to ask him to count them. I was caught up in the minutiae of moving the ship, and I didn’t think Charlie would do any real harm even if, by some chance, he managed to keep one!”

“Now, of course, we know better.”

Gillian looked up, wondering if the Tymbrimi machine was being tactful or obliquely sarcastic.

“Well,” she said, “what’s done is done. Whatever happens can’t affect us here. I just hope we don’t add a crime against a sentient race to our dubious record on this voyage.”

She sighed. “Now, will you tell me again how all this is going to become some sort of legend?”

T
he connection was made. Now Creideiki could listen to the underground sounds to his heart’s content. Toshio let the monofilament drop into the mud. He emptied ballast, and the sled rose in a spiral toward the drill-tree shaft.

When he surfaced, Toshio knew at once that something had changed. The second sled, the one belonging to Tom Orley, had been dragged up the steep embankment and lay on the sward to the south of the pool. Wires dangled from an open section in the control panel.

Charles Dart squatted by the water’s edge. The chimp leaned forward with his finger to his lips.

Toshio cut the motors and loosened his straps. He sat up and looked about the clearing, but saw only the waving forest fronds.

Charlie said in a guttural whisper, “I think Takkata-Jim and Metz are planning to take off soon, Toshio, with or without me.” Dart looked confused, as if dazed by the foolishness of the idea.

Toshio kept his expression guarded. “What makes you think that, Dr. Dart?”

“As soon as you went down, two of Takkata-Jim’s Stenos came to take that sled’s radio. Also, when you were below, they tested the engines. They sounded kinda ragged at first, but they’re working on ‘em now. I think now they don’t even care if you report back anymore.”

Toshio heard a soft growling sound to the south—a low whine that rose and fell unevenly.

A rustle of movement to the north caught his eye. He saw Ignacio Metz hurrying southward down the forest trail, carrying bundles of records. Behind him trooped four sturdy Kiqui volunteers from the village. Their air-sacks were puffed up proudly, but they obviously did not like approaching the rough engine noises. They carried crude bundles in front of them.

From the foliage, several dozen pairs of wide eyes watched the procession nervously.

Toshio listened to the sound of the engines, and wondered how much time was left. Takkata-Jim had finished recycling the bombs sooner than expected. Perhaps they had underestimated the dolphin lieutenant. How much else had he jury-rigged to make the longboat serviceable ahead of schedule?

Should I try to delay their takeoff? If I stay any longer it’s unlikely I’d ever reach Streaker in tine.

“What about you, Dr. Dart? Are you ready to finish up and hop aboard when Takkata-Jim calls?”

Dart glanced to his console. He shook his head. “I need another six hours,” he grumbled. “Maybe we’ve got a common interest in delaying th’ longboat takin’ off. You got any ideas?”

Toshio considered.

Well, this is it, isn’t it? This is where you decide. Leave now, if you plan to go at all.

Toshio exhaled deeply. Ah, well.

“If I think of a way to delay them for a while, Dr. Dart, will you help me? It may be a little risky.”

Dart shrugged. “All I’m doin’ right now is waiting for my ‘bot to dig into the crust to bury a … an instrument. I’m free until then. What do I have to do?”

Toshio unhooked the monofilament feeder coil from his sled and cut the free end. “Well, for starters I think we’ll need someone to climb some trees.”

Charlie grimaced. “Stereotypes,” he muttered to himself. “Allatime gettin’ trapped by stereotypes.”

S
he shook her head slowly. Maybe it was her tiredness, but she couldn’t understand more than a fraction of the Niss machine’s explanation. Every time she tried to get it to simplify some subtle point of Galactic tradition, it insisted on bringing in examples that only muddied things further.

She felt like a Cro-Magnon trying to understand the intrigues in the court of Louis XIV. The Niss seemed to be saying that Streaker’s discoveries would have consequences that reached beyond the immediate crisis over the derelict fleet. But the subtleties eluded her.

“Dr. Baskin.” The machine tried again. “Every epoch has its turning point. Sometimes it occurs on the battlefield. Sometimes it takes the form of a technological advance. On occasion, the pivotal event is philosophical and so obscure that the species in existence at the time are hardly aware that anything has changed before their world-view is turned topsy-turvy around them.

“But often, very often, these upheavals are preceded by a legend. I know of no other Anglic word to use for it … a story whose images will stand out in the minds of almost all sophonts … a true story of prodigious deeds and powerful archetypal symbols, which presages the change to come.”

“You’re saying we may become one of these legends?”

“That is what I am saying.”

Gillian could not remember ever feeling so small. She couldn’t lift the weight of what the Niss was implying. Her duty to Earth and the lives of one hundred and fifty friends and crewmates were burdens enough.

“Archetype symbols, you say…”

“What could be more symbolic, Dr. Baskin, than Streaker and her discoveries? Just one, the derelict fleet, has turned the Five Galaxies upside down. Now add the fact that the discovery was made by the newest of all client races, whose patrons are wolflings, claiming no patrons at all. Here on Kithrup, where no pre-sentient life was supposed to be able to arise, they find a ripe pre-sentient race and take great risks to protect the innocents from a Galactic civilization grown rigid and calcified…”

“Now just a…”

“Now add the Karrank%. In all of the recent epochs, no sapient race has been treated so foully, so abused by the system which was supposed to protect them.

“So what were the chances that this ship would happen to flee to the very planet that was their last refuge? Can you not see the overlying images, Dr. Baskin? From the Progenitors down to the very newest race, what one sees is a powerful sermon about the Uplift System.

“Whatever the outcome of your attempt to escape Kithrup, whether you succeed or fail, the stars cannot help but make a great song of your adventure. This song, I believe, will change more than you can imagine.” The voice of Niss finished, with a hushed, almost reverent tone. It’s implication was left spinning in the silence.

Gillian stood on the sloping ceiling of the dark, lopsided room, blinking in the sparkling light cast by the swirling motes. The silence hung. Finally, she shook her head.

“Another damned Tymbrimi practical joke,” she sighed. “A goddamn shaggy dog story. You’ve been pulling my leg.”

The motes spun silently for a long moment. “Would it make you feel any better if I said I were, Dr. Baskin? And would it change what you have to do one bit if I said I weren’t?”

She shrugged. “I guess not. At least you pulled me back from my own troubles for a little while. I feel a bit lightheaded from all that philosophical crap, and maybe even ready to get some sleep.”