each time the surfaces pressed together.
He zipped up the coverall the Streaker crew had given him — a fine garment that covered all but his feet, hands, and head. It had never occurred to him to ask for more.
But right now space gloves and a helmet would be nice.
No matter. The next time the spheres touched, he concentrated for the right frame of mind, and made his move.
Sara
SHE LEFT THE CONTROL ROOM WHEN HER SKIN started puckering from too much exposure to fizzy water. Anyway, there seemed no point hanging around. The same news could be had in her comfortable suite — once the home of a great Earthling sage named Ignacio Metz.
Sara dried herself and changed into simple shipboard garments, snug pants and a pullover shirt that posed no mystery even to an unsophisticated sooner. They were wonders of softness and comfort nevertheless.
When she asked the room to provide a tactical display, vivid 3-D images burst forth, showing that the Jophur dreadnought had once again chosen the wrong decoy swarm, and was just finishing firing missiles. Meanwhile, its string of earlier victims merged with the red glow, as if it were gobbling them one by one.
At her voice command, the viewscreen showed Streaker’s goal, the red giant star, magnified tremendously, the whirling filamentary structure of its inflamed chromosphere extending beyond the width of any normal solar system. Izmunuti’s bloated surface seethed, sending out tongues of ionized gas, rich with the heavy elements that made up Sara’s own body.
Purofsky thinks the Buyur had ways to meddle with a star.
Even without that awesome thought, it was a stirring sight to behold. Past those raging fires had come all the sneakships that deposited their illicit seed on Jijo, along with the varied hopes of each founding generation. Their aspirations had ranged from pure survival, for humans and g’Keks, all the way to the hoonish ancestors who apparently came a long way in order to play hooky.
All those hopes will come crashing down, unless Streaker can make it to Izmunuti’s fires.
Sara still had no idea how Gillian Baskin hoped to save Jijo. Would she let the enemy catch up and then blow this ship up, in order to take the Jophur out, as well?
A brave ploy, but surely the enemy would be prepared for that, and take precautions.
Then what?
It seemed Sara would find out when the time came.
She felt bad about the kids — Huck, Alvin, and the others. But they were adults now, and volunteers.
Anyway, the sages say it’s a good omen for members of all six races to be present when something vital is about to happen.
Sara’s own reasons for coming went beyond that.
Purofsky said one of us had to take the risk — either him or me — and go with Streaker, on the slim chance that she makes it.
One of us should try to find out if it’s true. What we figured out about the Buyur.
All her life’s work, in mathematical physics and linguistics, seemed to agree with Purofsky’s conclusion.
Jijo was no accident.
Oh, if she delved into psychology, she might find other motives underlying her insistence on being the one to go.
To continue taking care of Emerson, perhaps?
But the wounded starman was now with those who loved him. Shipmates he had risked death alongside, many times before. After overcoming initial shame, Emerson had found ways to be useful. He did not need Sara anymore.
No one really needs me.
Face it. You’re going out of curiosity.
Because you are Melina’s child.
Because you want to see what happens next.
Dwer
IT WAS A GOOD THING HE REMEMBERED ABOUT AIR.
There would be none on the other side.
By twisting through the barrier, writhing, and making his body into a hoop, Dwer managed to create a tunnel opening from his prison sphere into the next. A brief hurricane swiftly emptied the atmosphere from his former cell until the pressure equalized. He then pushed through, letting the opening close behind him.
Dwer’s ears popped and his pulse pounded. The trick had severely diluted the available air, taking him from near-sea-level pressure to the equivalent of a mountaintop in just half a dura. Speckles danced before his eyes. His body would not last long at this rate.
There was another reason to hurry. As he departed the sphere containing the balloon remnants, he had seen shadows touch beyond the far side. Jophur robots. Come to inspect their first captive.
His gear had settled against the golden surface of his new cell. Dwer grabbed the makeshift pack and moved toward the only possible place of refuge — the nose of the imprisoned starship.
It looked nothing like the massive Jophur vessel, but resembled a pair of spoons, welded face-to-face, with the bulbous end forward. Fortunately, the enclosure barely cleared the ship, fore and aft. A bank of dim windows nearly touched the golden surface.
And there’s a door!
Dwer gathered strength, flexed his legs, and launched toward the beckoning airlock. He sailed across the gap and barely managed to snag a protruding bracket with the tip of his left hand.
If this takes some kind of secret code, I’m screwed.
Fortunately, the dolphin work crews had a standard procedure for entering and converting Buyur wrecks. He had accompanied them on some trips, lending a hand. Dwer was glad to see the makeshift locking mechanism still in place, set to work in a fashion that even a Jijoan hunter might understand.
To open … turn knob.
Dwer’s luck held. It rotated.
If there’s air inside, the wind will blow out. If there’s none, I’ll be blown in … and die.
He had to brace his feet against the hull and pull in order to get the hatch moving. Vision narrowed to a tunnel and Dwer knew he was just duras away from blacking out.…
A sudden breeze rushed at him, whistling with force from the ship’s interior.
Stale air. Stinky, stale, dank, wonderful air.
Gillian
THE BAD NEWS WAS NOT EXACTLY UNANTICIPATED. Still, she had hoped for better.
As the Jophur ship finished adding another swarm of decoys to its prison chain, the cruiser shifted its attention elsewhere, accelerating to pursue the next chosen group.
Soon the truth became clear.
Streaker’s luck had just run out.
Well, they chose right this time, she thought. It had to happen, sooner or later.
Streaker was square in the enemy’s sights, with seven mictaars of hyperspace yet to cross before reaching safety.
The Sages
THERE ARE OTHERS ON JIJO NOW, PHWHOON-DAU thought, knowing that even eight would not be enough for long. In time, the new dolphin colonists must be invited to join.
