luck this hiding place didn't work as planned.'
Creideiki refrained from pointing out that they were still concealed on this hiding place. Surrounded, but not yet in anyone's net. 'Go on,' he suggested.
'Well, so long as there was the possibility we could avoid capture altogether, your strategy of flight was good. However things have changed. The chance of escape is now next to nil. Kithrup remains useful as a refuge from the chaos of battle, but it can't hide us for long once there is a final victor overhead.'
'You're suggesting we can't hope to avoid eventual capture?'
'Exactly. I think we should consider our priorities, and plan for unpleasant contingencies.'
'What priorities do you consider important?' Creideiki already knew the answer to expect.
'Why, the survival of this ship and crew, of course! And the data for evaluating the performance of both! After all, what was our main purpose out here. Hmm?' Metz stopped swimming and treaded water, regarding Creideiki like a teacher quizzing a pupil.
Creideiki could list a half-dozen tasks that had been set for Streaker, from Library veracity checks, to establishing contact with potential allies, to Thomas Orley's military intelligence work.
Those tasks were important. But the primary purpose of this mission was to evaluate the performance of a dolphin-crewed and dolphin-commanded spacecraft. Streaker and her complement were the experiment.
But everything had changed since they had found the derelict fleet! He couldn't operate under the priorities he had been given at the beginning of the cruise. How could he explain that to a man like Metz?
Judgment, Creideiki mused, thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason… Sometimes he thought that the Bard must have been half dolphin, himself.
'I understand your point, Dr. Metz. But I don't see how it calls for a change in strategy. We still face destruction should we poke our beaks above the Kithrup's sea.'
'Only if we do so before there's a winner overhead! Certainly, we shouldn't expose ourselves until the crossfire is over. However, we are in a position to negotiate, once there is a victor! And if we negotiate cleverly we may win success for this mission!'
Creideiki resumed his slow spiral, forcing the geneticist to swim again toward the bridge lock.
'Can you suggest what we might have to offer in negotiation, Dr. Metz?'
Metz smiled. 'For one thing, we have the information Brookida and Charles Dart have literally dug up. The Institutes reward those who report ecological crimes. Most of the factions fighting over us are traditionalist conservatives of one stripe or another and would appreciate our discovery'
Creideiki refrained from expressing in razzberries his contempt for the man's naivete. 'Go on, Doctor,' he said levelly. 'What-t else have we to offer?'
'Well, Captain, there's also the honor of our mission. Even if our captors decided to hold onto Streaker for a while, they'd certainly be sympathetic to our purpose. Teaching clients to use spaceships is one of the basic tasks of uplift. Surely they'd let us send a few men and fen home with our behavior-evaluation data, so progress toward future dolphin-crewed ships can continue. For them to do otherwise would be like a stranger interfering in the development of a child because of an argument with its parent!'
And how many human children were tortured and killed because of the sins of their parents, back in your own Dark Ages? Creideiki wanted to ask who would be the emissary to carry the uplift data back to Earth, while Streaker was held captive.
'Dr. Metz, I think you underestimate the fanaticism of those involved. But is there more?'
'Of course. I saved the most important for last.' Metz touched Creideiki's flank for emphasis. 'We must consider, Captain, giving the Galactics what they want.'
Creideiki had expected it. 'You think we should give them the location of the derelict fleet.'
'Yes, and whatever souvenirs or data we picked up there.'
Creideiki wore his poker face. How much does he know about Gillian's 'Herbie,' he wondered. Great Dreamer! But that cadaver's caused problems!
'You'll recall, Captain, the one brief message we got from Earth ordered us to go into hiding and keep our data secret, if possible! They also said we should use our own best judgment!
'Will our silence really delay the rediscovery of that Sargasso of lost ships for long, now that it's known to exist? No doubt half the patron-lines in the Five Galaxies have swarms of scouts out now, trying to duplicate our discovery. They already know to look in a poorly linked, dim globular cluster. It's only a matter of time until they stumble across the right gravitational tide pool, in the right cluster.'
Creideiki thought that debatable. Galactics didn't often think like the Earthborn, and wouldn't conduct a search in the same way. Witness how long the fleet had lain undiscovered. Still, Metz was probably right in the long run.
'In that case, Doctor, why don't we simply broadcast the location to the Library? It'll be public knowledge, and no longer our affair. Surely this important discovery should be investigated by a licensed team from the Institutesss?' Creideiki was sarcastic, but he realized, as Metz smiled patronizingly, that the human took him seriously.
'You are being naive, Captain. The fanatics overhead care little about loose Galactic codes when they believe the millennium is at hand! If everyone knows where the derelict fleet is, the battleground will simply move out there! Those ancient ships will be destroyed in a crossfire, no matter how powerful that weird protective field that surrounds them. And the Galactics will still strive to capture us, in case we lied!'
They had arrived at the bridge lock. Creideiki paused there. 'So it would be better if only one of the contesting groups got the data, and proceeded to investigate the fleet alone?'
'Yes! After all, what is that bunch of floating hulks to us? Just a dangerous place where we lost a scoutboat and a dozen fine crewfen. We're not ancestor- worshipers like those ET fanatics fighting over us, and we don't give a damn except intellectually whether the derelict fleet is a remnant from the days of Progenitors, or even the returning Progenitors themselves! It sure isn't worth dying over. If we've learned one thing in the last two hundred years, it's that a little clan of newcomers like us Earthfolk has got to duck out of the way when big boys like the Soro and Gubru get something up their snoots!'
Dr. Metz's silvery hair waved as he bobbed his head for emphasis. A fizzing halo of effervescence collected amongst the strands.
Creideiki didn't want to go back to respecting Ignacio Metz, but when the man became passionate enough to drop his stuffy facade, he became almost likable.
Unfortunately, Metz was fundamentally wrong.
Creideiki's harness clock chimed. Creideiki realized with a start how late it had become.
'You make an interesting argument, Doctor Metz. I don't have time to go into it any further, right now. But nothing will be decided until a full staff review by the ship's council. Does that sound fair?'
'Yes, I think so, although…'
'And, speaking of the battle over Kithrup, I must go now and see what Takkata-Jim has to say.' He hadn't intended to spend so much time with Metz. He did not plan to miss his long-delayed exercise period.
Metz seemed unwilling to let go. 'Ah. Your mention of Takkata-Jim reminds me of something else I wanted to bring up, Captain. I'm concerned about feelings of social isolation expressed by some of the crewfen who happen to come from various experimental sub-breeds. They complain of ostracism, and seem to be under discipline a disproportionate amount of the time.'
'You're referring to some of the Stenos, I assume.'
Metz looked uncomfortable. 'A colloquial term that seems to have caught on, although all neo-fen are taxonomically Tursiops amicus…'
'I have my jaws on the situation, Dr. Metz,' Creideiki no longer cared if he interrupted the mel. 'Subtle group dynamics are involved, and I am applying what I believe are effective techniques to maintain crew solidarity.'
Only about a dozen of the Stenos showed disaffection. Creideiki suspected an infection of stress atavism, a decay of sapiency under fear and pressure. The supposed expert, Dr. Metz, seemed to think the majority of Streaker's crew was practicing racial discrimination.
'Are you implying that Takkata-Jim is also having problems?' Creideiki asked.
'Certainly not! He's a most impressive officer. Mention of his name reminded me because…' Metz paused.
Because he's a Stenos, Creideiki finished for him silently. Shall I tell Metz that I'm considering moving Hikahi into the vice-captaincy? For all of Takkata-Jim's skill, his moody isolation is becoming a drag on crew morale. I cannot have that in my pod-second.
Creideiki sorely missed Lieutenant Yachapa-Jean, who had died back at the Shallow Cluster.
'Dr. Metz, since you bring up the subject, I have noticed discrepancies between the pre-launch psycho-biological profiles of certain members of the crew and their subsequent performance, even before we discovered the derelict fleet. I'm not a cetapsychologist, per se, but in certain cases I am convinced that the fen did not belong on this ship in the first place. Have you a comment?'
Metz's face was blank. 'I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Captain.'
Creideiki's harness whirred as one arm snaked out to scratch an itch above his right eye. 'I have little to go on, but soon I think I'll want to invoke command privilege and look over your notes. Strictly informally, of course. Please prepare them for…'
A chime interrupted Creideiki. It came from the comm link on his harness. 'Yess, speak!' he commanded. He listened for a few moments to a buzzing voice on his neural tap.
'Hold everything,' he replied. 'I'll be right up. Creideiki out.'
He focused a burst of sonar at the sensitive plate by the door lock. The hatch hummed open.
'That was the bridge,' he told Metz. 'A scout has returned with a report from Tsh't and Thomas Orley. I'm needed, but we will discuss these matters again, sssoon, Doctor.'
With two powerful fluke strokes Creideiki was through the lock doors and on his way to the bridge.
Ignacio Metz watched the captain go.
Creideiki suspects, he thought. He suspects my special studies. I'll have to do something. But what?
These conditions of siege-pressure were providing fantastic data, especially on the dolphins Metz had inveigled into Streaker's complement. But now things were starting to come apart. Some of his subjects were showing stress symptoms he had never expected.
