by now.
Oh, Tom, we could use your endurance now. Are you on your way back? Is your little glider even now winging home to Toshio's island?
Who am I fooling? Since the first psi-bomb we've detected nothing, only noise from the space battle, some of it indicating fighting over his last known position. He's set off none of the message globes. So either he's decided not to send an ambiguous message or worse…
Without word from Tom, how can we decide what to do, once we enter the Seahorse? Do we take off and try our luck, or hide within the hulk as long as we can?
It will be Hikahi's decision when the time comes.
Gillian closed the journal and applied her thumbprint to the fail-safe self-destruct. She got up and turned off the light.
On her way out of the lab, she passed the stasis-bier of the ancient cadaver they had reclaimed at such cost from the Shallow Cluster. Herbie just lay there grinning under a tiny spotlight, an ancient enigma. A mystery.
A troublemaker.
Battered, battle-scarred, Streaker moved slowly along the valley floor, her engines turning over with gentle, suppressed power. A dark, foamy mist rose below her where impellers kicked up the surface ooze.
The nubby cylinder slid over gloomy black rills and abysses, skirting the edges of seamounts and valley walls. Tiny sleds paced alongside, guiding the ship by sonar-speak.
Creideiki watched his ship in motion once again. He listened to the clipped reports of the scouts and sentries, and the replies of the bridge staff. He couldn't follow the messages in detail; the sophisticated technical argot was as out of reach to him as last year's wine. But he could sense the under-meaning; the crew had things well in hand.
Streaker couldn't really shine in this light, dim and blue, fifty meters down, but he could listen — his own sonar clicked softly in accompaniment as he savored the deep rumble of her engines, and he imagined he could be with her when she flew again.
: Never Again Creideiki : You Shall Never Fly With Her Again :
The spectre, K-K-Kph-kree, came into being gradually alongside him, a ghostly figure of silver and sonic shadows. The presence of the god did not surprise, or even bother Creideiki. He had been expecting It to come. It swam lazily, easily keeping pace alongside the sled.
: You Escaped Us : Yet Now You Purposely Sculpt Me Out Of Song : Because Of The Old Voices You Heard? : The Voices From Below? :
: Yes :
Creideiki thought not in Anglic or Trinary, but in the new language he had been learning.
: There is ancient anger within this world : I have heard its song :
The dream-god's great brow sparkled starlight. Its small jaw opened. Teeth shone.
: And What Do You Plan To Do? :
Creideiki sensed that It already knew the answer.
: My Duty : He replied in Its own speech.
: What Else Can I Ever Do? :
From the depths of the Whale Dream, It sighed approval.
Creideiki turned up the gain on his hydrophones. There were faraway excited echoes from up ahead — joyous sounds of greeting.
Creideiki looked at his sled's sonar display. At the far edge of its range was a small cluster of dots coming inward. They joined the specks that were Streaker's scouts. The first group had to be Tsh't's party from the Seahorse.
Making sure no one was nearby to take note, he turned his sled aside into a small side canyon. He slipped behind the shadows of a rock outcrop and turned off his engine. He waited then, watching Streaker pass below his aerie, until she vanished, along with the last of her flankers, around a curve in the long canyon.
'Good-bye…' He concentrated on the Anglic words, one at a time. 'Good-bye… and… good luck…'
When it was safe, he turned on his sled and rose out of the little niche. He swung about and headed northward, toward the place they had left twenty hours before.
: You Can Come Along If You Like : he told the god — part figment of his mind, part something else. The ghostly figure answered in un-words made up from Creideiki's own sonar sounds.
: I Accompany You : I Would Not Miss This For The Song of the World :
PART SEVEN
The Food Chain
73 ::: Akki
It was a scream that curdled his marrow. Only a monster could make a sound like that. He fled it almost as hard as he fled the creature that voiced it.
By noontime Akki realized it was nearly over.
His exhaustion showed in a laboring heart and heavy breathing, but also in a painful sloughing of the outer layers of his skin. His allergic reaction to the water seemed to be aggravated by fatigue. It had grown worse as he frantically dodged in and out amongst tiny islets. His once-smooth, dynamically supple hide was now a rough mass of sores. His mind felt little more agile than his body.
Several times he had escaped traps that should have left him meat. Once he had fled a sonar reflection almost into K'tha-Jon's jaws. The giant had grinned and flourished his laser rifle as Akki turned away frantically. It hadn't been by speed or cleverness that Akki escaped. He realized that his enemy was just toying with him.
He had hoped to flee northward, toward Toshio's island, but now he was all turned around, and north was lost to him. Perhaps if he could wait until sunset…
No. I won't last that long. It's time to end it.
The chilling hunt-scream pealed out again. The ululation seemed to coagulate the water around him.
A large part of Akki's fatigue had come from the involuntary terror that cry sent through him. What devil was it, that chased him?
A little while ago he thought he had distantly heard another cry. It sounded like a Tursiops search call. But he was probably imagining things. Whatever was going on back at Streaker, they couldn't have spared anyone to look for him. Even if they had, how could anyone ever find him in this wide ocean?
He had done Streaker one service, in distracting the monster K'tha-Jon, in leading him away from where he could do worse harm.
I hope Gillian and Hikahi got back and straightened things out, he thought. I'm sure they did.
He took quiet breaths in the shadow of a rock cleft. K'tha-Jon knew where he was, of course. It was only a matter of time until he grew bored with the chase and came to collect his prey.
I'm fading, Akki thought. I've got to finish this while there's a chance to win something from it — even if it's just the honor of choosing my own time to die.
He checked the charge on his harness cells. There was only enough for two good shots from his cutter torch. Those would have to be from very short range, and no doubt K'tha-Jon's rifle was almost fully charged.
With his harness-hands Akki plugged his breather back over his blowmouth. Ten minutes of oxygen remained. More than enough.
The high scream echoed again, chilling, taunting.
All right, monster. He clenched his jaw to keep from shivering again. Hold your horses. I'm coming.
