You do that, and I’ll act as your hound, sniffing out and hunting down my own kind.
Lark was being intentionally wry in his thoughts, of course. Only compared to hydrogen breathers could Jophur possibly be called his “kind.” But sardonicism was probably far too subtle for the Zang to read by sifting his blood.
If we’re going to team up, we’ll need much better communications.
He watched the globule for any sign of an answer, or even comprehension. But instead, a few moments later, it seemed to jump in sudden agitation and surprise. Waves of nervous excitement entered Lark’s body from the catheter.
What? What is it!
Spinning around, he sought a reason. Then his gaze passed through the window once again.
Oh, Ifni …
The battleship had already plunged much closer to the great corrugated ball, clearly aiming for the hole in one side. Lark noted at once that it seemed hollow, and glimpsed a compact round flame glowing within. Lark had no idea what to make of the scene, or what the flame could be. Anyway, something else quickly caught his attention.
Sparkling explosions rippled along one edge of the wide cavity. He watched several of the giant quills or spikes break off and drift in slow motion, already dissolving as the aperture widened destructively.
Most of the havoc seemed to be wrought by sharp needles of light, generated somewhere deep inside the great shell. A dozen or so rays converged on a single point, a speck, near a rim of the great wound, creating a painful mote of brilliance. Reflections off this target did most of the glancing damage to the nearby shell.
The speck darted about, sometimes evading the shafts completely, leaving them to hunt as it fled outward from the gap at a rapid clip. Whenever a pursuing ray caught up with it, the distant spark glared so brightly that Lark had to blink and avert his gaze.
What’s going on? What is happening out there?
Once again, he felt like the ignorant savage that he was. Wisdom hovered nearby — the Zang no doubt understood these strange sights. But it might take several miduras of patient puppet shows to explain even the simplest aspect.
An abrupt thrumming vibration shook the floor beneath Lark’s feet. The masters of Polkjhy were doing something.
He recognized the grating tempo of weapons being fired.
Soon, a double handful of glittering objects could be seen darting away from this ship, tracing an arc across space, hurtling at fantastic speed toward the sundered ball-of-spikes.
Are those missiles?
Lark recalled how the Commons of Jijo surprised the Jophur by attacking this very ship with crude chemical rockets. He had a feeling the bright arrows out there were more deadly, by far.
At first he thought the weapons might be joining the attack on the bright speck. But their glitter swept on past it, following each of the cruel rays toward its source.
Another swarm of emotion-laden connotations swept through Lark’s body. This time it was easy to interpret the Zang’s critical commentary.
Hasty.
Unwise.
Self-defeating.
His tutors did not approve of the Jophur action. But there was nothing to be done about it now. The missiles had already vanished into the great cavity.
For lack of anything better to do, Lark nervously watched and waited.
A short time later, the bright beams began winking out, one by one.
Still glowing, their target kept darting toward deep space, while Polkhjy plunged to meet it.
Ewasx
CALMNESS, MY RINGS.
Cultivate serene reflection, I urge you.
Stroke the wax.
Respect the wisdom of our captain-leader.
TRUE, that august stack has not been itself lately. Some of its component rings suffered wounds when human vermin infiltrated our control center, using a crude bomb to attempt sly sabotage.
TRUE, a far worse shipboard infestation has now driven our proud crew from several decks, forcing us to abandon and quarantine portions of our dear Polkjhy-vessel to the Zang blight.
TRUE, our leader’s rings-of-command have fumed odd-smelling flavors and scents lately, prompting a few priest stacks to vent mutinous steam, fomenting rebellious vapors among the crew.
NEVERTHELESS, be assured that I/we shall remain loyal to our commander. After all, was not this conjoined pile of ill-fitting rings put together as an experiment, designed and implemented at the behest of our captain-leader? If another chief takes charge, the new leader might order our/My swift disassembly into spare parts!
MY RINGS, SOME OF YOU DO NOT SEEM ADEQUATELY OUTRAGED AT THAT PROSPECT.
Therefore, as your beloved Master Torus, let Me remind you (with jolts of electric pain/affection) that a Jophur is not the same sort of composite being as the one you composed on feral Jijo, when together you made up the traeki sage, Asx.
We/you/I are much greater now.
Ever since the gracious Oalie intervened, rescuing our race from placid unassertiveness, the Jophur clan has risen to power and eminence among vigorous competing races of the Civilization of Five Galaxies. This is not a destiny to be given up lightly. Especially with signs and auguries now pointing to an onrushing Time of Changes. With each passing jadura it grows clear that fortune may turn around, presenting us with the clues/hints/coordinates/relics carried by the dolphin-wolfling ship.
HENCE, MY/OUR AGREEMENT WITH THE CAPTAIN-LEADER’S DECISION TO INTERVENE!
Let the senior priest stack rant about law and decorum. Should we stand back and allow the Earthlings to be incinerated? After all we have been through, chasing them across vast reaches and five levels of hyperspace, with our prey/prize finally in sight, should we now let panicky members of the Retired Order lash out and destroy the greatest treasure in the known cosmos?
TRUE, we have no legal standing here in Galaxy Four. No formal right to fire missiles into the fractal sanctuary just ahead. But it is their own fault that we were forced to act! The Earthship and its contents are of rightful interest to our life order — we descendants of the Progenitors who still cruise star-speckled lanes. Retirees should mind their own business, contemplating deep thoughts and obscure philosophies, preparing their genetic lines for transcendence, not meddling in affairs that are no longer their concern!
One by one, our superlight projectiles strike their targets on the habitat’s inner shell … and one by one, disintegrator beams flicker out.
BEHOLD! The last one goes dark, leaving the Terran vessel still driving ahead under its own power.
Success!
Now the wolflings sprint with alarmed speed toward the transfer point, hoping to escape this trap toward some unknown sanctuary beyond. But their hope is forlorn.
We are here, in good position to pounce.
{But how is it possible?}
Our second stack of cognition makes this query, venting steam-of-curiosity.
{Truly, we/I are glad to see the Earthlings survive those terrible, destructive rays. But how was it achieved? Should they not have vaporized during the first moments they fell under attack by such voracious beams?}
