hole, rearing like a cobra inside the sealed room.
It scanned left and right until a lanky bipedal figure came into view, seated on a bench before a small table.
The head lifted, as if reacting to a sound. When the creature turned halfway around, Tsh’t gasped at the sight.
A slanted, narrow face with a jutting, chinless jaw and large, bared teeth.
Yet, the eyes and brow seemed uncannily human, squinting as they caught sight of the spy probe.
Hurriedly, the head turned away again. Shoulders hunched to block her view. Tsh’t saw both arms grope for a box — a bio-support unit designed for maintaining small animals sampled from an ecosystem. Deft hands pulled out something squirmy. She couldn’t follow what was happening, but it seemed as if the biped was eating the wriggly creature, or embracing it.
The shoulders relaxed, arms settling to the tall being’s side as it stood up and gracefully turned around.
The face was transformed. Now it looked more noble than human. More genially amused than a Tymbrimi. More patient and understanding than a god.
Well, well. It is him. The very one.
The Rothen’s face quivered in a few places, where its mask-symbiont was still nestling in — a living creature crafted to become part of his features, providing fine cheekbones, a regal chin, and lips that both covered the teeth and drew a tender, gracious smile.
The Missionary.
Tsh’t remembered his visit to Earth, long ago, when she was still half grown and barely able to speak. It was like yesterday, the image of him preaching in a hidden undersea grotto to a tiny gathering of dolphin converts.
“The universe is a lonely place,” he had said then. “But not as dangerous as it seems. The present government of Earth may consist of Darwinists and unbelievers, but that does not matter. Remember, despite the propaganda of those preaching wolfling pride, that you are not alone. We who crafted the genes of humanity in secret, guiding them toward a great destiny, remain steadfast to that dream. The same glorious goal. We still act behind the scenes, protecting, preserving, preparing for the Day.
“And as we love our human clients, so we also love you. For ours is a special clan, with a future more splendid than any other. Dolphins will play a great role when the time comes. Especially those of you who choose the Danik Way.”
It had felt singular to grow up as a member of an exclusive sect, knowing a great and reassuring Truth. Of course the Terragens Constitution promised religious freedom, but in practice it would only bring on ridicule to reveal too much, too soon. Most dolphins believed the myth that humans must have evolved sapience without intervention from above. An absurd notion, but too strong a current for dissenters to fight openly.
Even among humans and chimps, where Danikenite beliefs were more common, debates raged between conflicting cults. Many had their own candidates for the secret patrons … the mystery race said to have uplifted Homo sapiens long ago. Several Galactic races were called “more likely” than the obscure, secretive Rothen.
So Tsh’t had kept it to herself, through school, training, and early assignments for the TAASF. She bided her time through the disasters at Morgran, Kithrup, and Oakka. Until one day she realized humans just weren’t up to the task. Gillian Baskin was among the best, and could do no more.
It was time to seek help higher up the family tree.
The Rothen would know what to do.
Now her emotions roiled with conflict, complexity, and confusion. She had come here uncertain what to expect.
I knew about the symbiont. The Jijoans saw a Rothen unmasked. It’s all in the reports. And yet, to see that bared face for myself—
The glimpse of Ro-kenn’s natural features had been shocking. And yet, Tsh’t now felt warmed by the same reassuring smile she recalled from childhood.
I can understand the need for a mask. It isn’t necessarily dishonest. Not if it helps them do their work better, guiding Earthlings toward our destiny.
It’s what’s inside that counts.
“Well?” Ro-kenn said, taking a step toward the door. He brought both hands together, his long arms sticking out from the sleeves of a bathrobe made for a tall human. The captive must have been sent in secret by the Sages of Jijo, after capturing him in the highland place they called Festival Glade — perhaps the sole survivor of a mixed Rothen-human expedition that had met treachery and disaster, first from the Six Races and then the crew of the Jophur battleship.
Everything came together in Tsh’t’s heart. The longing she had carried since childhood. The frustration of three horrible years. The guilt over having acted against Gillian’s wishes. The far larger guilt of assassinating two humans — even if it was in the interest of a greater cause.
She had come here intending to confront Ro-kenn. To demand an explanation of what had happened.
The message I sent … tuned to be picked up by a Rothen mind. It told you about Gillian’s destination. You were supposed to come in secret to Jijo … to help us. To rescue us.
Now they say you persecuted the sooners, including Jijo’s human settlers. They say your people sold Jijo to the Jophur for pocket change. They say you are swindlers, who convert gullible Earth lings to follow you, in order to use them as shills and petty thieves.
One of the men I killed — the pilot Kunn — I did it to protect our secret. But how can I be sure.…
None of that came out. The words would not come.
Instead, all the streams coursing through her suddenly combined in an emotional confluence. Despair, which had dominated for so long, cracked and gave way to its only true enemy.
Hope.
Tsh’t had to take several deep breaths, then found the will to speak.
“Massster … there is something I have come to confessssss.”
A look of surprise briefly crossed the Rothen’s face, and his left cheek quivered.
Then a warm smile spread, and with a deep, gentle voice he spoke.
“Indeed, child of the warm seas. I am here. Take your time and I will listen. Be assured that redemption is found in telling all.”
Lark
I WONDER HOW LONG I’VE BEEN IN HERE. IS THERE any way to tell if it’s been hours, days … or months?
If they understand my body chemistry well enough to keep me alive, these beings could turn my consciousness on and off like a lamp. They might change the way I perceive duration, simply by adjusting my metabolism.
That, too, felt like a clue. Lark yearned to compare notes with somebody.
With Ling, the way they used to, when they were wary adversaries, then allies, and finally lovers. He missed her terribly. Her warm skin and rich scent, but most of all her vivid mind. Amid all their ups and downs, it was her unpredictable wit that most fascinated Lark. He would give anything now, just to talk to her.
I was supposed to find a way to rescue her from Rann and the Jophur. Now all I can do is spin fantasies of a space-suited Ling blasting her way through that far wall, lasers in both hands, yanking me out of this awful vault so we can fly off together in some hijacked …
The enticing daydream dissolved as he realized that something had changed. His spine crawled with an uneasy sensation … a feeling of being watched. Lark turned his head … and shuddered reflexively.
A large blobby … thing floated near the membrane barrier, roughly spherical, but with bulges and ripples that swelled rhythmically, in ways that somehow conveyed life … and perhaps even intent. Currents of yellow mist
