'But how… ?' Metz started to ask.
Charlie hefted a large, heavy waterproof sack from the locker to a man-seat next to Metz. 'I used deductive reasoning,' he said as he climbed up. 'I figured Gillian's boys'd only be watching out for misbehavin' by a few grumbling Stenos. So, thought I, why not get to the longboat by a route they wouldn't even think of watching?'
Metz's eyes widened. 'The sleeve! You crawled into one of the sealed maintenance ways that the builders used on Earth, and made your way to the boat's access panels, down by the thrust motors…'
'Righto!' Charlie beamed as he buckled his seatbelt.
'You probably had to remove some plates in the sleeve wall, using a jack-pry. No dolphin could manage such a thing in an enclosed space, so they didn't think of it.'
'No, they didn't.'
Metz looked Charlie up and down. 'You passed pretty close to the thrusters. Did you get cooked?'
'Hmmm. My suit rad-meter says raw to medium rare.' Charlie mocked blowing on his fingertips.
Metz grinned. 'I shall, indeed, take note of this rare display of ingenuity, Dr. Dart! And welcome aboard. I'll be too busy anyway, inspecting the Kiqui, to take proper care of that robot of yours. Now you can do it right.'
Dart nodded eagerly. 'That's why I'm here.'
'Excellent. Perhaps we can have a few games of chess, as well.'
'I'd like that.'
They sat back and watched as the ocean ridges passed by. Every few minutes one would look at the other, and would burst out laughing. The Stenos were silent.
'What's in the sack?' Metz pointed to the large satchel on Dart's lap.
Charlie shrugged. 'Personal effects, instruments. Only the barest, most minuscule, most Spartan necessities.'
Metz nodded and settled back again. It would, indeed, be nice to have the chimpanzee along on the trip. Dolphins were fine people, of course. But Mankind's older client race had always struck him as better conversationalists. And dolphins didn't play chess worth a damn.
It was an hour later that Metz recalled Charlie's first words, on announcing his presence aboard. Just what did the chimp mean when he accused Takkata-Jim of 'destroying evidence'? That was a very strange thing to say.
He put the question to Dart. 'Ask the lieutenant,' Charlie suggested. 'He seemed to know what I meant. We're not exactly on speaking terms,' he grumbled.
Metz nodded earnestly. 'I will ask him. As soon as we get settled on the island, I will certainly do that.'
63 ::: Tom Orley
In the tangled shadows below the weed carpet, he made his way cautiously from airhole to airhole. The facemask helped him stretch a deep breath a long way, especially when he got near the island and had to search for an opening to the shore.
Tom finally crawled out onto land just as the orange sun Kthsemenee slipped behind a large bank of clouds to the west. The long Kithrup day would last for a while yet, but he missed the direct warming of the sun's rays. Evaporation-chill made him shiver as he pulled himself through a gap in the weeds, and up the rocky shoreline. He climbed on his hands and knees to a hummock a few meters above the sea, and sat back heavily against the rough basalt. Then he pulled the breathing mask down around his neck.
The island seemed to rock slowly, as if it were a cork bobbing in the sea. It would take a while to grow used to solid ground again — just long enough, he realized ironically, for him to finish what he had to do here and get back into the water again.
He pulled clumps of green slime from his shoulders, and shivered as the damp slowly evaporated.
Hunger. Ah, there was that, too.
It took his mind off the damp and chill, at least. He thought about pulling out his last foodbar, but decided it could wait. It was all within a thousand kilometers that he could eat, barring what he might find in alien wreckage.
Smoke still rose where the small ET scout had crashed, just over the shoulder of the mountain. The thin stream climbed to merge high above with sooty drifts from the volcano's crater. Once in a while, Tom heard the mountain itself growl.
Okay. Let's move.
He gathered his feet beneath him and pushed off.
The world wavered about him unsteadily. Still, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself standing without too much trouble.
Maybe Jill's right, he thought. Maybe I have reserves I'd never touched before.
He turned to his right, took a step, and almost tripped. He recovered, then stumbled along the rocky slope, thankful for his webbed gloves when it came to climbing over jagged rocks, serrated like chipped flint. One step after another, he drew near the source of the smoke.
Topping a small rise, he came into view of the wreck.
The scout had broken into three pieces. The stern section lay submerged, only its torn front end protruding from the charred weeds in the shallows. Tom checked the radiation meter at the rim of his facemask. He could stand the dose for a few days, if necessary.
The forward half of the wreck had split longitudinally, spilling the contents of the cockpit along a stony strand. Loose banners of fine wire wafted above metal bulkheads which had been pulled and twisted apart like taffy.
He thought about drawing his needier, but decided it would be better to have both hands free in case he fell.
Looks easy enough, Tom thought. I just go down and inspect the damned thing. One step at a time.
He moved carefully down the slope, and made it without catastrophe.
There wasn't much left.
Tom poked through the scattered small pieces, recognizing bits of various machines. But nothing told him what he wanted to know.
And there was no food.
Large bent sheets of metal lay everywhere. Tom approached one that seemed to have cooled off, and tried to lift it. It was too heavy to budge more than a few inches before he had to let it drop.
Tom panted with his hands on his knees for a moment, breathing heavily.
A few meters away was a great pile of driftwood. He went over and pulled out a few of the thicker stumps of dried seaweed. They were tough, but too springy to use as pry-bars. Tom scratched his stubble and thought. He looked at the sea, covered all the way to the horizon with vile, slimy vines. Finally he started gathering dried vines together into two piles.
After dark he sat by a driftwood fire, weaving tough strands of vine into a pair of large flat fans, somewhat like tennis rackets with loops on one side. He wasn't sure they would work as desired, but tomorrow he would find out.
He sang softly in Trinary, to distract himself from his hunger. The whistled nursery rhyme echoed softly from the nearby cliffside.
* Hands and fire?
Hands and fire!
* Use them, use them
To leap higher!
* Dreams and song?
Dreams and song!
* Use them, use them
To leap-long! *
Tom stopped suddenly, and cocked his head. After a silent moment he slid his needier out of its holster.
Had he heard a sound? Or was it his imagination?
He rolled quietly out of the firelight and crouched in the shadows. He looked into the darkness, and like a dolphin, tried to listen to the shape of things. In a stalker's crouch, from cover to cover, he made a slow circuit of the wreckage strewn beach.
'Barkeemkleph Annatan P'Klenno. V'hoominph?'
Tom dove behind a hull-shard and rolled over. Breathing open-mouthed to keep silent, he listened.
'V'hoomin Kent'thoon ph?'
The voice resonated, as if from a metal cavity… from under one of the large pieces of wreckage? A survivor? Who would have imagined?
Tom called out. 'Birkech'kleph. V'human ides'k. V'Thennan' kleph ph?'
He waited. When the voice in the darkness answered, Tom was up and running.
'idatess. V'Thennan'kleeph…'
He dove once again and fetched up against another shard of metal. He crawled on his elbows and took a quick look around the side of the bulkhead.
And aimed his weapon directly into the eyes of a large, reptiloid face, only a meter away. The face grimaced in the dim starlight.
He had only met Thennanin once, and studied them at the school on Cathrhennlin for one week. The creature was half-squashed under a massive, warped metal plate. Tom could guess its expression was one of agony. The scout's arms and back had been broken under the piece of hull.
'V'hoomin t'barrchit pa…'
