attempts, at least three show high likelihood of escaping the convoy-swarm and making their way to chosen sites in the Civilization of Five Galaxies.
“In other words, the Jophur have succeeded in reporting to their home clan all about Jijo.
“All about the forlorn g’Kek.
“About traeki refugees who for so long escaped dominance by master rings.
“And about humans and other races, ripe for secret experimentation/manipulation, out of sight from law or any other restraint.”
Lark’s shoulders slumped. His heart felt so heavy that flashes of concerned inquiry came from the Zang passenger, worried about his metabolic state.
Jijo is lost, he realized.
Of course that had always been in the cards, one way or another. But Polkjhy’s troubles had made it seem possible — just barely — that the great battleship might meet a gruesome end before reporting what it had discovered in Galaxy Four. For this reason, he and Ling had abandoned the safety of their little nest, hoping to sow confusion in the enemy HQ.
I guess we should have just stayed here, making love and eating fruit till they found us, or till the universe came to an end.
Now he had nothing left, except a desire to free Ling for as long as they might have left together.… And to hurt the enemy, if possible.
Fortunately, a weapon lay at hand. A gift from the crafty old traeki sage, Asx.
The red ring. The one Ling hid in the nursery, before she was captured. It must have been programmed by Asx as a predator, spreading and reproducing through the incubators, filling a wide range of niches. When combat with Zang invaders brought Jophur soldiers to the infirmary, seeking spare parts, they were given descendants of that original ring.
A mutated form of Master-type torus, with differences that only a wise old pharmacist-sage could have come up with, applying lessons learned by the traekis during two thousand years of exile. Tricks that Jophur sophisticates would never have encountered on the space lanes.
Soon, the fortunes of war shifted once again. Instead of beating back the hydros, Jophur forces resumed losing ground. A strange epidemic seemed to afflict many of the troops. Fits of self-doubt, or traeki-style multiple thinking, beset those who had formerly been egotistically self-centered and assured. Some suffered stack dissolution — breakdown into individual components that then crawled off, each seeking its own way. Others grew contemplative, or went catatonic, or began ranting and reeking madly.
A few started entertaining new and unusual notions.
If only we had first spread the disease close to the command center, before they could react.
But the Jophur were quick, clever, and resilient. Retreating and establishing lines of quarantine, they managed to retain control over vital ship functions.
But just barely. For most of Polkjhy, the overall result was chaos. A traveler could not know in advance what the next deck or corridor would be like. Weakened by struggle, no party to the conflict seemed able to do more than hold its home enclaves while anarchy spread everywhere else.
“One additional point merits discussion,” continued X. “I/we picked up information by eavesdropping on the command channel. Reports indicate deep concern on the part of the bridge crew. The captain-leader and priest- stack have been debating the significance of a message, recently received.”
“A message?”
“A warning, recently beamed across the Five Galaxies. If true, this alert bodes ill for a great many races and clans, but especially for this ship and all its varied occupants.”
“Who sent this warning?” Lark asked.
“The homeworld of your own race, Lark Koolhan. Beleaguered Earth, surrounded and threatened by annihilation.
“Apparently, feeling that they have little to lose, the Terragens Council recently broadcast an iconoclastic theory to explain recent disruptions racking the Five Galaxies. A hypothesis derived by some of their sages, after secretly combining wolfling mathematical incantations with Galactic science. So provocative is this concept — so disturbing and frightening its implied accusations — that the Great Institutes have been moved to issue frantic denials. So frantic, in fact, that Earthlings have attained fresh credibility in many quarters!
“Indeed, the reaction has been profound enough that some clans now send armadas to help lift the siege, while others converge bent on wrathful genocide! The fleet battles near Terra have intensified tenfold.”
Lark listened, at first unable to react except by blinking — at least a dozen times — in numb surprise.
“But … what …”
He shook his head, provoking a squishy, nervous response from his blobby passenger.
“But what was the warning?”
The creature he called X puffed colored steam, expressing nervous awe in the manner of a Jijoan traeki.
“They claim that the Great Institutes have been concealing a terrible danger. That most of the links uniting our Five Galaxies may soon dissolve, unleashing turmoil and desolation on the unprepared. In the ensuing violent backlash, many great and noble things may be lost.
“Moreover, if the Earthlings are right — (and not perpetrating a desperate hoax) — we aboard the Polkjhy are in the greatest danger of all. Here, at this sacred locale, where transcendent beings seek enlightenment within the Embrace of Tides.”
Dwer
AT FIRST, HE EXPECTED THE HUNT FOR RETY TO be easy.
How could a human hide in Kazzkark? Everywhere Dwer went, people turned and stared with a variety of sensory organs. Diverse limbs and tendrils pointed, while susurrant comments in a dozen Galactic dialects followed him down every lane. Apparently, Earthlings were infamous.
Even if no one in Kazzkark had any idea what kind of smelly biped Rety was, the girl would draw attention to herself, as surely as stars were fire. In all the time he’d known the young sooner, that trait had never failed.
Dwer’s instincts were more reticent. He preferred slinking quietly through this bizarre noisy place — spacious as a canyon, yet claustrophobic as a boo forest, with a slim roof to keep the precious air from blowing into space. The environment would be unnerving enough without throngs of aliens loudly arguing or gesticulating, then lapsing to hushed murmurs as he passed.
I always hated crowds. But according to Harry Harms, this is just a tiny outpost! I can’t imagine a real city.
Dwer tried not to stare, partly because it was impertinent, and to keep from looking like a total rube. Among the bedtime stories his mother used to read aloud, a standard plot told of some rustic innocent coming to a metropolis, only to be fleeced by urban predators.
Fortunately, I don’t have much to covet or steal, he thought, counting blessings.
At a busy intersection, Dwer paused to consider.
If I were Rety, where would I dash off to?
None of this would have happened if he’d been vigilant. While waiting for Harry at Navigation Institute HQ, Dwer had left Rety to visit the toilet. It took some time, as he studied the strange array of mechanisms designed to remove waste products from many species. Emerging — mussed and damp from several near accidents — he cursed to find Rety gone and the front door gaping to a busy street.
Harry’s gonna be mad, he thought, plunging outside, hoping to catch sight of her. Dwer briefly glimpsed a
