call up the mechanicals so we can get these two out of here as quickly as possible.' He touched a button on the rim of his faceplate and whistled quickly in perfect Trinary. The message lasted six seconds. It was said that Thomas Orley could actually speak Primal Dolphin, though no human had ever witnessed it.
'They'll be here in a few minutes. They have to cover their tracks.' He squatted down next to Toshio, who was sitting up now that Suessi had moved over to Hikahi.
'Hello, Mr. Orley,' the boy said. 'I'm sorry we dragged you away from your work.'
'That's all right, son. I've been wanting to have a look around up here, anyway. This gave the captain a good excuse to send me. After we get you started back toward the ship, Hannes and Tsh't and I will be going on to look over that ship that crashed.
'Now, do you think you can lead us to Ssattatta and K'Hith? We want to comb this island clean before the storm passes.'
Toshio nodded. 'Yes, sir. I should be able to stumble around that long. I don't suppose anyone's found Hist-t?'
'No. We're worried about that, but nowhere near as worried as we were when Brookida got back. Keepiru's told us most of the story. That fin thinks rather highly of you, you know. You did quite a job here.'
Toshio turned away, as if ashamed to receive the praise.
Orley looked at him curiously. He had never given much thought to the middie before. During the first part of the voyage, the youth had seemed bright, but a bit irresponsible. Later, after they found the derelict fleet, he had begun to
turn morose, as their chances of ever going home diminished. Now there was this new note. It was too soon to tell what the long-term effects would be, but this had obviously been a rite of passage for Toshio.
Humming sounds drifted up from the beach. Soon two spider-like mechanicals strode into view, a hammocked and harnessed dolphin piloting each of them.
Toshio sighed a little raggedly as Orley helped him up. Then the older man stooped to pick up an object from the ground. He hefted it in his left hand.
'A scraper, isn't it? Made from bits of metal fish spine glued to a wood handle…'
'I guess so.'
'Do they have much of a language yet?'
'No, sir; well, the rudiments. They seem to be stabilized. Strict hunter-gatherers. Hikahi guesses they've been stuck for half a million years.'
Orley nodded. This native species looked ripe, at first glance. A pre-sentient race at just the right stage for uplift. It was a miracle some Galactic patron line hadn't snapped them up already, for client status and an aeon of servitude.
Now the men and fen of Streaker had still another obligation, and secrecy was more important than ever.
He put the artifact in his pocket, then laid his hand on Toshio's shoulder.
'Well, you can tell us all about it back on the ship, son. In the meantime, you have some pondering to do.'
'Sir?' Toshio looked up in confusion.
'Well, it isn't everybody who gets to name a future space-faring race. You know, the fen will be expecting you to make up a song about it.'
Toshio looked at the older man, uncertain if he was joking. But Thomas Orley had on his usual enigmatic expression.
Orley glanced up at the rain clouds, As the mechanicals moved in to claim Hikahi, he stepped back and smiled at the curtain which, temporarily, hung across the theater of the sky.
PART TWO
Currents
14 ::: Dennie
Charles Dart pulled away from the polarization microscope and growled an oath. In a habit he had spent half his life trying to break, he absently laid his forearms over his head and tugged on his hairy ears. It was a simian contortion no one else aboard ship could easily duplicate. Had he noticed he was doing it, he would have quit instantly.
Of a crew of one hundred and fifty only eight aboard the Streaker even had arms… or external ears. One of these shared the drylab with him.
Commenting on Charles Dart's body behaviors did not occur to Dennie Sudman. She had long ceased to notice such things as his loose, rolling gait, his shrieking chimpanzee laughter, or the fur that nearly covered his body.
'What is it?' she asked. 'Are you still having trouble with those core samples?'
Charlie nodded absently, staring at the screen. 'Yeah.'
His voice was low and scratchy. At his best, Charles Dart sounded like a man speaking with gravel in his throat. Sometimes, when he had something complicated to say, he unconsciously moved his hands in the sign language of his youth.
'I can't make any sense out of these isotope concentrations,' he growled. 'And there are minerals in all the wrong places… siderophiles without metals, complex crystals at a depth where there shouldn't be such complexity… Captain Creideiki's silly restrictions are crippling my work! I wish he'd let me do some seismic scans and deep radar.' He swiveled about in his seat to look at Dennie earnestly, as if hoping she would concur.
Dennie's smile was broad under high cheekbones. Her almond eyes narrowed in amusement.
'Sure, Charlie. Why not? Here we are in a crippled ship, hidden under an ocean on a deadly world, with fleets from a dozen arrogant and powerful patron-lines fighting over the right to capture us, and you want to start setting off explosions and casting gravity beams around. Wonderful idea!
'Say! I've got an even better one! Why don't we just take out a large sign and wave it at the sky, something that says 'Yoohoo, beasties! Come and eat us!' Hmmm?'
Charlie cast a sidelong look at her, one of his rare, unhinged, lopsided grins. 'Oh, they wouldn't have to be big gravity scans. And I'd only need a few teeny, tiny explosions for seismography. The ETs wouldn't notice those, you think?'
Dennie laughed. What Charlie wanted was to make the planet ring like a bell, so he could trace the patterns of seismic waves in the interior. Teeny tiny explosions, indeed! More likely detonations in the kiloton range! Sometimes Charlie seemed so single-minded a planetologist that it bothered Dennie. This time, however, he was obviously having some fun at his own expense.
He laughed as well, letting out brief whoops that echoed off the stark, white walls of the dry lab. He thumped the table beside him.
Grinning, Dennie filled a zip case with papers. 'You know, Charlie, there are volcanoes going off all the time, a few degrees away from here. If you're lucky, one might start right near us.'
Charlie looked hopeful. 'Gee, you think so?'
'Sure. And if the ETs start bombing the planet to get at us, you'll have plenty of data from all the near misses. That is, if they don't bomb so hard as to make geophysical analyses of Kithrup moot. I envy you your potential silver lining. In the meantime, I intend to forget about it, and my own frustrating research, and go get some lunch. Coming?'
'Naw. Thanks, though. I brought my own. I think I'll stay and work for a while.'
'Suit yourself. Still, you might try to see more of the ship, other than your quarters and this lab.'
'I talk to Metz and Brookida all the time on screen. I don't need to wander around gawking at this Rube Goldberg contraption that can't even fly any more.'
'And besides…' she prompted.
Charlie grinned. 'And besides, I hate getting wet. I still think you humans should have worked on dogs second, after casting your spells on us Pan types. Dolphins are all right — some of my best friends are fins. But they were a funny bunch to try to make into a space-traveling race!'
He shook his head with an expression of sad wisdom. Obviously he thought the whole uplift process on Earth would have been better handled had his people been in charge.
'Well, they're superb space pilots, for one thing,' Dennie suggested. 'Look at how hot a star jockey Keepiru is.'
'Yeah, and look at what a jerk-off that fin can be when he's not piloting. Honestly, Dennie, this trip has made me wonder if fins are really ready for spaceflight. Have you seen how some of 'em have been acting since we got into trouble? All the pressure is making some of 'em unravel, especially some of Metz's big Stenos.'
'You're not being very charitable,' Dennie chided. 'Nobody ever expected this mission to be so stressful. I think most of the fen are doing marvelously. Look at
