centauroid stood on the windowsill, prancing with all four delicate feet, reaching out with his long neck to nip Rety’s shoulder, then gesture at the view outside.
“look, wife! look at this sight!”
“I seen it before,” she muttered sourly. “Scenery. Mountains an’ bushes an’ dirt. Lots of dirt. No ’lectricity or computers, but all the dirt you could ever want to—”
“not scenery!” yee interrupted, “turn and see fireworks!”
Rety stayed obdurate. But others hurried to find out what the little fellow meant. “Douse interior lights,” Harry ordered so glare from the observation deck would not drown the view outside.
Jijo’s night stretched below, a dark coverlet that might come ablaze with city lights within a few generations, no matter who won the coming battle. Now, though, the expanse showed no visible sign of sapience that Harry could detect, even with instruments. Well, the Six Races have been hiding for a long time, he thought. They must be good at it by now.
It was interesting to imagine what kind of starfaring civilization might arise out of the Jijoan Commons, with its fervent traditions of environmental protection and tolerance, and yet an easygoing individualism when it came to endeavor and new ideas. Something pretty interesting, assuming it survived the coming crisis.
At first, Harry saw nothing to justify yee’s excitement. Then Dwer nudged him, pointing to the right.
“Look. A spark.”
“How pretty,” Kiwei commented.
It did look like a flickering ember, blown upward from a campfire, wafting — gently and very slowly — out from that thin film of atmosphere into the black sky above.
“Observer mode,” Harry commanded. “Zero in on the anomaly I’m looking at, and magnify.”
The computer scanned his eyes, judged the focus of his attention, and complied. A holo image erupted, showing the strangest object Harry had ever seen, despite years spent exploring the weird memic corners of E Space.
A long, slender tube hurtled upward pointy-end first … and from its tail poured gouts of white-hot fire.
“It … looks like a burning tree!” Kiwei murmured in amazement.
“Not a tree,” Dwer corrected. “It’s boo!”
Curiosity finally overcame Rety, who turned around at last — barely in time to see the flame go out. While the slim missile coasted for several seconds, Harry’s instruments measured its size, which was many times bigger than his station!
Abruptly, the pencil-shaped object split in half. The rear portion tumbled away, still smoldering, while the front part erupted anew from its aft end.
Kiwei uttered hushed perplexity.
“But, what natural phenomenon could—”
“not natural, silly raccoon!” yee cried, “boo rocket made by urs-hooman-traekis! shoot rocket high to welcome Rety-yee home!”
Harry blinked, twice. Then he grinned.
“Well, I’ll be. That’s what it is, all right. A multistage rocket made of hollowed-out tree trunks … or whatever you call ’em, Dwer.”
He called again to the computer. “Zoom in at the front terminus. The part that’s farthest from the flames.”
Like the tip of a spear, that end flared a bit before tapering to a point. It rotated slowly, along with the rest of the crude rocket.
A brief glint told them everything. A pane of some kind of glass. A pale light shining from within. And a pair of brief silhouettes. A snakelike neck. A crablike claw.
Then Harry’s station swerved, making everyone stumble. Kaa reported they were entering the planet’s atmosphere.
“T-time to buckle up-p!” the pilot commanded. Soon, a different kind of flame would surround them. If they survived the coming plummet, it would not be long before their feet stood on solid ground.
Yet, Harry and the others remained transfixed for a moment longer, watching the rocket as long as possible. The computer calculated its estimated trajectory, and reported that it seemed aimed at Jijo’s biggest moon.
At last, Rety commented. She stomped her feet on the deck, but this time it was no tantrum — only an expression of pure joy.
“Uttergloss!” she cried. “Do you know what this means?”
Harry and Dwer both shook their heads.
“It means I’m not trapped on Jijo! It means there’s a way off that miserable dirtball. And you can bet your grampa’s dross barrel that I’m gonna use it.”
Her eyes seemed to shine with the same light as that of the flickering ember, till their orbital descent took it out of sight. Even when Harry ushered her to a seat and belted her in for landing, Rety’s wiry frame throbbed with longing, and the grim inexorability of her ambition.
“I’ll do whatever it takes.
“I’m headin’ out again, just as fast an’ as far as this grubby ol’ universe lets me.”
Harry nodded agreeably. One of the last things he ever wanted to be was someone standing in Rety’s way.
“I’m sure you will,” he said without the slightest doubt or patronizing tone of voice.
Soon the windows licked with fire as Jijo reached out to welcome them.
Home
TERRIBLE WOUNDS MARRED THE HAGGARD vessel as it prepared to drop back into normal space. Most of Streaker’s stasis flanges hung loose, or had vaporized. The rotating gravity wheel was half melted into the hull.
As for the protective sheathing which had safeguarded the crew — that gift of the Transcendents now sparked and unraveled, writhing away its last, like some dying creature with a brave soul.
Gillian mourned for its lost friendship. As she had mourned other misfortunes. And now, for the loss of hope.
Our plan was to avoid destruction, leading the enemy on a wild chase away from Earth.
Our foes planned to thwart and destroy us.
It looks like we each got half of what we wanted.
Suessi was down in the engine room, working alongside Emerson and the rest of their weary team, trying to restore power. As things stood, the ship had barely enough reserve energy to reach the one level of space where there weren’t swarms of mines — or other deadly things — converging from all sides.
No, we’re headed back to face living enemies. Oxy-beings, just like us.
At least it should be possible to surrender to the battleships, and see her crew treated as prisoners of war. Assuming the victors did not instantly start fighting over the spoils.
Of course, Gillian couldn’t let herself be captured. The information in her head must not fall into enemy hands.
She let out a deep sigh. The ninety-second battle had been awfully close. Her tactics had almost worked. Each time a mine went off, or a quantum horde attacked, or a chaos aftershock passed through, it disrupted the neat volley of converging missiles, shoving their careful formations, reducing their numbers, until the detonation — when it occurred — was off center. Inefficient.
Even so, it was bad enough.
As Streaker finished its last, groaning transition into the normal vacuum of home space, surrounded by clouds of blinding debris, she knew the grand old vessel could not defeat a corvette, or an armed lifeboat, let alone the armada awaiting them.
