But I can’t help them. I’m useless here. She ought to let me go.
Most of the salvaged ships were under robotic control, programmed to follow simple sets of instructions. Volunteers rode a few derelicts, keeping close to Streaker, performing special tasks. Rety had volunteered for one of those teams, surprising Dwer and worrying him at the same time.
She never does anything unless there’s an angle.
If he had gone along, there might have been a chance to veer the decoy close to shore, and jump off.…
But no, he had no right to mess up Gillian’s plan.
Dammit, I’m used to action! I can’t handle being a passive observer.
But handle it he must.
Dwer tried to cultivate patience, ignoring an itch where the bulky suit would not let him scratch, watching the lights disperse — most heading for the mouth of the Rift, spilling into the vast oceanic abyss of the Great Midden itself.
“Starship enginesss!” The gravitics detector officer announced, thrashing her tail flukes in the water, causing bubbles in the supercharged liquid.
“P-passive detectors show Nova class or higher … it’sss following the path of the Riffft.…”
Ewasx
REALIZATION EMERGES, ALONG WITH A STENCH OF frustration.
The vast fleet of vessels that we briefly feared has proved not to be a threat, after all. They are not warships, but decommissioned vessels, long ago abandoned as useless for efficient function.
Nevertheless, they baffle and thwart our goal/mission.
A blast of leadership pheromones cuts through the disappointed mist.
“TO WORK THEN,” our Captain-Leader proclaims.
“WE ARE SKILLED. WE ARE MIGHTY. SO LET US DO YOUR/OUR JOBS WELL.
“PIERCE THIS MYSTERY. FIND THE PREY. WE ARE JOPHUR. WE SHALL PREVAIL.”
Dwer
R GLITTERING LIGHT ENTERED THE DISPLAY ZONE, much higher and much larger than any of the others, and cruising well above the imaginary waterline.
That must be the battleship, he thought. His mind tried to come up with an image. Something huge and terrible. Clawed and swift.
Suddenly, the detection officer’s voice went shrill. “They’re dropping ordnance!”
Sparks began falling from the big glow.
Bombs, Dwer realized. He had seen this happen before, but not on such a profuse scale.
Lieutenant Tsh’t shouted a warning.
“All handsss, prepare for shock waves!”
Sara
A HOONISH WORK CREW SWARMED OVER THE TRAM after the passengers debarked, filling the car with stacks of folded cloth. Teams had been sending the stuff up to the forge since dawn, stripping every ship of its sails. But the urrish smith hardly glanced at the cargo. Instead, Uriel trotted off, leading the way down to the cove with a haughty centauroid gait.
The dense, salty air of sea level affected everybody. Sara kept an eye on Emerson, who sniffed the breeze and commented in song.
“A storm is a-brewin’
You can bet on it tonight.
A blow is a-stewin’
So you better batten tight.”
The khutas and warehouses of the little port were shaded by a dense lattice of melon vines and nectar creepers, growing with a lush, tropical abundance characteristic of southern climes. The alleys were deserted though. Everyone was either working for Uriel or else down by the bay, where a crowd of hoons and qheuens babbled excitedly. Several hoons — males and females with beards of seniority — knelt by the edge of a quay, conversing toward the water, using animated gestures. But the town officials made way when Uriel’s party neared.
Sara kept her attention on Emerson, whose expression stayed casually curious until the last moment, when a sleek gray figure lifted its glossy head from the water.
The starman stopped and stared, blinking rapidly.
He’s surprised, Sara thought. Could we be wrong? Perhaps he has nothing to do with the dolphin ship.
Then the cetacean emissary lifted its body higher, thrashing water with its tail.
“Sssso, it’s true.…” the fishlike Terran said in thickly accented Anglic, inspecting Emerson with one eye, then the other.
“Glad to see you living. Engineer D-D’Anite. Though it hardly seems possible, after what we saw happen to you back at the Fractal world.
“I confessss, I can’t see how you followed us to this whale-forsaken planet.”
Powerful emotions fought across Emerson’s face. Sara read astonishment, battling surges of both curiosity and frustrated despair.
“K-K-K—”
The dismal effort to speak ended in a groan.
“A-ah-ahh …”
The dolphin seemed upset by this response, chuttering dismay over the human’s condition.
But then Emerson shook his head, seeking to draw on other resources. At last, he found a way to express his feelings, releasing a burst stream of song.
“How quaint the ways of paradox!
At common sense she gaily mocks!
We’ve quips and quibbles heard in
flocks,
But none to beat this paradox!”
Gillian
THE ULTIMATUM BLANKETED ALL ETHERIC WAVE-lengths — a scratchy caterwauling that filled Streaker’s bridge, making the oxy-water fizz. Streams of bubbles swelled and popped with each Galactic Four syntax phrase.
Most neo-dolphin crew members read a text translation prepared by the Niss Machine. Anglic letters and GalSeven glyphs flowed across the main holo screen.
HEAR AND COMPREHEND OUR FINAL COMMAND/OFFER!
• • •
Gillian listened for nuance in the original Jophur dialect, hoping to glean something new. It was the third repetition since the enemy dreadnought began broadcasting from high in the atmosphere.
“YOU WHOM WE SEEK — YOU HAVE PERFORMED CLEVER MANEUVERS, WORTHY OF RESPECT AT THIS JUNCTURE, WE SHALL NO LONGER WASTE BOMBS. WE SHALL CEASE USELESSLY INSPECTING DECOYS.”
The change in tactics was expected. At first, the foe had sent robots into the lightless depths, to examine
