Infinity's Shore (88 page)

T
HE ULTIMATUM BLANKETED ALL ETHERIC WAVE-lengths—a scratchy caterwauling that filled
Streaker
's bridge, making the oxy-water fizz. Streams of bubbles swelled and popped with each Galactic Four syntax phrase.

Most neo-dolphin crew members read a text translation prepared by the Niss Machine. Anglic letters and GalSeven glyphs flowed across the main holo screen.

HEAR AND COMPREHEND OUR FINAL COMMAND/OFFER!

Gillian listened for nuance in the original Jophur dialect, hoping to glean something new. It was the third repetition since the enemy dreadnought began broadcasting from high in the atmosphere.

“
YOU WHOM WE SEEK—YOU HAVE PERFORMED CLEVER MANEUVERS, WORTHY OF RESPECT AT THIS JUNCTURE, WE SHALL NO LONGER WASTE BOMBS. WE SHALL CEASE USELESSLY INSPECTING DECOYS
.”

The change in tactics was expected. At first, the foe had sent robots into the lightless depths, to examine and eliminate reactivated Buyur ships, one by one. But it was a simple matter for Hannes Suessi's team to fix booby traps. Each derelict would self-destruct when a probe approached, taking the automaton along with it.

The usual hierarchy of battle was thus reversed. Here in the Midden, big noisy ships were far cheaper than robots to hunt them. Suessi had scores more ready to peel off from widely separated dross piles. It was doubtful the Jophur could spend drones at the same rate.

There was a downside. The decoy ships were discards, in ill repair when abandoned, half a million years ago. Only the incredible hardiness of Galactic manufacture left them marginally useful, and dozens had already burned out, littering the Midden once more with their dead hulks.

“
FAILING TO COERCE YOU BY THAT MEANS, WE ARE NOW PREPARED TO OFFER YOU GENEROUS TERMS…
”

This was the part Gillian paid close attention to, the first couple of times it played. Unfortunately, Jophur “generosity” wasn't tempting. In exchange for
Streaker
's data, charts, and samples, the Captain-Leader of the Greatship
Polkjhy
promised cryonic internment for the crew, with a
guarantee of revival and free release in a mere thousand years. “After the present troubles have been resolved.”

In other words, the Jophur wanted to have
Streaker
's secrets … 
and
to make sure no one else shared them for a long time to come.

While the message laid out this offer, Gillian's second-in-command swam alongside.

“We've managed to c-come up with most of the suppliesss the local wizard asked for,” Tsh't reported. One of the results of making contact with the Commons of Six Races had been a shopping list of items desperately wanted by the urrish smith, Uriel.

“Several decoy ships are being diverted close to shore, as you requested. Kaa and his new t-team can strip them of the stuff Uriel wants, as they swing by.”

The dolphin lieutenant paused. “I suppose I needn't add that this increases our danger? The enemy might detect a rhythm in these movementsss, and target their attention on the hoonish seaport-t.”

“The Niss came up with a swarming pattern to prevent that,” Gillian answered. “What about the crew separation? How are Makanee's preparations coming along?”

Tsh't nodded her sleek head. Taking a break from the laborious, underwater version of Anglic, she replied in Trinary.

To which she added a punctuating coda:

Gillian winced. What she planned—least awful of a dozen grievous options—would sever close bonds among a crew that had shared great trials. An epic journey Earthlings might sing about for ages to come.

Providing there are still Earthlings, after the Time of Changes.

In fact, she had no choice. Half of
Streaker
's neo-dolphin
complement were showing signs of stress atavism—a decay of the faculties needed for critical thought. Fear and exhaustion had finally taken their toll. No client race as young as
Tursiops amicus
had ever endured so much for so long, almost alone.

It's time to make the sacrifice we all knew would someday come.

The chamber still vibrated with Jophur threats. Coming from some other race, she might have factored in an element of bluster and bravado, but she took these adversaries precisely at their word.

The holo display glowed with menacing letters.

WE ARE THE ONLY GALACTIC WARSHIP IN THIS REGION. NO ONE IS COMING TO HELP YOU. NOR WILL ANY COMPETITORS DISTRACT US, AS HAPPENED ON OTHER OCCASIONS.

WE CAN AFFORD TO WAIT YOU OUT, INVESTIGATING AND ELIMINATING DECOYS FROM SAFE RANGE. OR ELSE, IF NECESSARY, THIS NOBLE SHIP WILL FORGO SOLE HONOR AND SEND FOR HELP FROM THE VAST JOPHUR ARMADA.

DELAY MERELY INCREASES OUR WRATH. IT AUGMENTS THE HARM WE SHALL DO TO YOUR TERRAN COUSINS, AND THE OTHER SOONERS WHO DWELL ILLICITLY ON FORBIDDEN LAND.…

Gillian thought of Alvin, Huck, and Ur-ronn, listening in a nearby dry cabin—and Pincer-Tip, who represented them on the bridge, darting to and fro with flicks of his red claws.

We already drew hell down on the locals, when the Rothen somehow tracked us to Jijo. There must be a way to spare them further punishment on our account.

Soon it will be time to end this.

Gillian turned back to Tsh't. “How much longer before it's our turn?”

The lieutenant communed with the tactics-and-movement officer.

“We'll slip in to shore between the fourth and fifth decoys … about eight hours from now.”

Gillian glanced at Pincer, his reddish carapace covered with oxy-water bubbles, the qheuen visor spinning madly, taking in everything with the avidness of adolescence. The local youths should be glad about what was about to happen.
And so will Dwer Koolhan. I hope this pleases him … though it's not quite what he wanted.

Gillian admitted to herself she would miss the young man who reminded her so much of Tom.

“All right, then,” she told Tsh't. “Let's take the kids home.”

Lark

T
OGETHER, THEY PROVED ONLY HALF-BLIND, STUMBLING down the musty corridors of a vast alien ship filled with hostile beings. Ling knew more than he did about starships, but Lark was the one who kept them from getting completely lost.

For one thing, there were few symbols on the walls, so their knowledge of several Galactic dialects proved almost useless. Instead, each closed aperture or intersection seemed to project its own, unique
smell
, effective at short range. As a Jijoan, Lark could sniff some of these and dimly grasp the simplest pheromone indicators—about as well as a bright human four-year-old might read street signs in a metropolis.

One bitter tang reminded him of the scent worn by traeki proctors at Gathering Festival, when they had to break up a fight or subdue a belligerent drunk.

SECURITY, the odor seemed to say. He steered Ling around that hallway.

She had a goal, however, which was one up on him. With his head full of fragrant miasmas, Lark gladly left the destination up to her. No doubt any path they chose would eventually lead to the same place—their old prison cell.

Three more times, they encountered solitary Jophur. But
puffs from the purple ring caused them to be ignored. Doors continued sliding open on command. The gift from Asx was incredible. A little too good, in fact.

I can't believe this trick will work for long
, he thought as they hurried deeper into the battleship's heart.
Asx probably expected us to need it for a midura or so, just till we made it outside.
Once the crew was alerted about escaped prisoners, the ruse must surely fail. The Jophur would use countermeasures, wouldn't they?

Then he realized.

Maybe there's been no alert. The Jophur may assume we already fled the ship!

Perhaps.

Still, each encounter with a gleaming ring stack in some dank passage left him feeling eerie. Lark had lived among traeki all his life, but till this moment he never grasped how different their consciousness must be. How strange for a sapient being to look right at you and not
see
, simply because you gave off the right safe-conduct aroma.…

At the next intersection, he sniffed all three corridor branches carefully, and found the indicator Ling wanted—a simple scent that meant LIFE. He pointed, and she nodded.

“As I thought. The layout isn't too different from a type-seventy cargo ship. They keep it at the center.”

“Keep
what
at the center?” Lark asked, but she was already hurrying ahead. Two human fugitives, bearing their only tools—she cradling the wounded red traeki ring, while he carried the purple one.

When the next door opened, Ling stepped back briefly from a glare. The place was more brightly lit than the normal dim corridors. The air smelled better, too. Less cloying with meanings he could not comprehend. Lark's first impression was of a large chamber, filled with color.

“As I hoped,” Ling said, nodding. “The layout's standard. We may actually have a chance.”

“A chance for what?”

She turned back to look into the vault, which Lark now saw to be quite vast, filled with a maze of crisscrossing support beams … all of them draped with varied types of vegetation.

“A chance to survive,” she answered, and took his hand, drawing him inside.

A jungle surrounded them, neatly organized and regimented. Tier after tier of shelves and platforms preceded from view, serviced by machines moving slowly along tracks. Arrayed on this vast network there flourished a riot of living forms, broad leaves and hanging vines, creepers and glistening tubers. Water dripped along some of the twisted green cables, and the two of them rushea to the nearest trickle, lapping eagerly.

Now Lark understood the meaning of the aroma symbol that had led them here.