Reversion is the ultimate sanctuary from worry.
Makanee approved of the decision of Lieutenant Tsh’t and Gillian Baskin, not to release the journal of Alvin the Hoon to the crew at large.
If there’s one thing the crew don’t need right now, it’s to hear of a religion preaching that it’s okay to devolve.
Peepoe finished feeding the reverted adults, while her partner took care of the children and Kiqui. On spying Makanee, she did an agile flip and swam across the chamber in two powerful fluke strokes, resurfacing amid a burst of spray.
“Yesss, Doctor? You want to see me?”
Who wouldn’t want to see Peepoe? Her skin shone with youthful luster, and her good spirits never flagged, not even when the crew had to flee Kithrup, abandoning so many friends.
“We need a qualified nurse for a mission. A long one, I’m afraid.”
Ratcheting clicks spread from Peepoe’s brow as she pondered.
“Kaa’s outpost. Is someone hurt-t?”
“I’m not sure. It may be food poisoning … or else kingree fever.”
Peepoe’s worried expression eased. “In that case, can’t Kaa take care of it himself? I have duties here.”
“Olachan can handle things while you are away.”
Peepoe shook her head, a human gesture by now so ingrained that even reverted fins used it. “There must be two teachers. We can’t mix the children and Kiqui with the hapless ones too much.”
Just five dolphin infants had been born to crew members so far, despite a growing number of signatures on the irksome Breeding Petition. But those five youngsters deserved careful guidance. And that counted double for the Kiqui — presentients who appeared ripe for uplift by some lucky Galactic clan who won the right to adopt them. That laid a heavy moral burden on the Streaker crew.
“I’ll keep a personal eye on the Kiqui … and we’ll free the kids’ parents from duty on a rotating basis, to join the creche as teachers’ aidesss. That’s the best I can do, Peepoe.”
The younger dolphin acquiesced, but grumbled. “This’ll turn out to be a wild tuna chase. Knowing Kaa, he prob’ly forgot to clean the water filters.”
Everyone knew the pilot had a long-standing yearning for Peepoe. Dolphins could sonar-scan each other’s innards, so there was no concealing simple, persistent passions.
Poor Kaa. No wonder he lost his nickname.
“There is a second reason you’re going,” Makanee revealed in a low voice.
“I thought so. Does it have to do with gravitic signals and depth bombsss?”
“This hideout is jeopardized,” Makanee affirmed. “Gillian and Tsh’t plan to move Streaker soon.”
“You want me to help find another refuge? By scanning more of these huge junk piles, along the way?” Peepoe blew a sigh. “What else? Shall I compose a symphony, invent a star drive, and dicker treaties with the natives while I’m at it?”
Makanee chuttered. “By all accounts, the sunlit sea above is the most pleasant we’ve encountered since departing Calafia. Everyone will envy you.”
When Peepoe snorted dubiously, Makanee added in Trinary—
This time, Peepoe laughed appreciatively. It was the sort of thing Captain Creideiki might have said, if he were still around.
Back in sick bay, Makanee finished treating her last patient and closed shop for the day. There had been the usual psychosomatic ailments, and inevitable accidental injuries from working outside in armored suits, bending and welding metal under a mountainous heap of discarded ships. At least the number of digestive complaints had gone down since teams with nets began harvesting native food. Jijo’s upper sea teemed with life, much of it wholesome, if properly supplemented. Tsh’t had even been preparing to allow liberty parties outside … before sensors picked up starships entering orbit.
Was it pursuit? More angry fleets chasing Streaker for her secrets? No one should have been able to trace Gillian’s sneaky path by a nearby supergiant whose sooty winds had disabled the robot guards of the Migration Institute.
But the idea wasn’t as original as we hoped. Others came earlier, including a rogue band of humans. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised if it occurs to our pursuers, as well.
Makanee’s chronometer beeped a reminder. The ship’s council — two dolphins, two humans, and a mad computer — was meeting once more to ponder how to thwart an implacable universe.
There was a sixth member who silently attended, offering fresh mixtures of opportunity and disaster at every turn. Without that member’s contributions, Streaker would have died or been captured long ago.
Or else, without her, we’d all be safe at home.
Either way, there was no escaping her participation.
Ifni, capricious goddess of chance.
Hannes
IT WAS HARD TO GET ANYTHING DONE. DR. BASKIN kept stripping away members of his engine-room gang, assigning them other tasks.
He groused. “It’s too soon to give up on Streaker, I tell you!”
“I’m not giving her up quite yet,” Gillian answered. “But with that carbonite coating weighing the hull down —”
“We’ve been able to analyze the stuff, at last. It seems the stellar wind blowing off Izmunuti wasn’t just atomic or molecular carbon, but a kind of star soot made up of tubes, coils, spheres, and such.”
Gillian nodded, as if she had expected this.
“Buckyballs. Or in GalTwo—” Pursed lips let out a clicking trill that meant container home for individual atoms. “I did some research in the captured Library cube. It seems an interlaced mesh of these microshapes can become superconducting, carrying away vast amounts of heat. You’re not going to peel it off easily with any of the tools we have.”
“There could be advantages to such stuff.”
“The Library says just a few clans have managed to synthesize the material. But what good is it, if it makes the hull heavy and seals our weapons ports so we can’t fight?”
Suessi argued that her alternative was hardly any better. True, a great heap of ancient starships surrounded them, and they had reactivated the engines of a few. But that was a far cry from finding a fit replacement for the Snark-class survey craft that had served this crew so well.
These are ships the Buyur didn’t think worth taking with them, when they evacuated this system!
Above all, how were dolphins supposed to operate a starship that had been built back when humans were learning to chip tools out of flint? Streaker was a marvel of clever compromises, redesigned so beings lacking legs or arms could move about and get their jobs done — either striding in six-legged walker units, or by swimming through broad flooded chambers.
Dolphins are crackerjack pilots and specialists. Someday lots of Galactic clans may hire one or two at a time, offering them special facilities as pampered professionals. But few races will ever want a ship like Streaker, with all the hassles involved.
Gillian was insistent.
“We’ve adapted before. Surely some of these old ships have designs we might use.”
Before the meeting broke up, he offered one last objection.
“You know, all this fiddling with other engines, as well as our own, may let a trace signal slip out, even through all the water above us.”
“I know, Hannes.” Her eyes were grim. “But speed is crucial now. Our pursuers already know roughly where we are. They may be otherwise occupied for the moment, but they’ll be coming soon. We must prepare to move Streaker to another hiding place, or else evacuate to a different ship altogether.”
