Uplift - Startide Rising Part 25

Tom tried to rise, but his body sagged back against the bed of vines.

Okay, try again.

He rolled over onto one elbow, paused to marshal his strength, then pushed upright.

Kithrup's small, dim moons were absent, but there was enough starlight to make out the eerie weedscape. Water sluiced through the s.h.i.+fting mora.s.s. There were croaking and slithering sounds. Once he heard a tiny scream that choked off-some small prey suddenly dying, he supposed.

He was thankful for the obstinacy that had brought him to this modest height. Even two meters made a difference. He couldn't have survived a night down in that loathsome mess.

He turned stiffly and began groping through his meager supplies on the crude sledge. First priority was to get warm. He pulled the top piece of his wetsuit from the jumbled pile, and gingerly slid into it.

Tom knew he should give some attention to his wounds, but they could wait just a little longer. So could a full meal-he had salvaged enough stores for a few of those.

Munching on a foodbar and taking sparing sips from a canteen, Tom appraised his small pile of equipment. At the moment what mattered were his three psi-bombs.

He looked up at the sky. Except for a faint purple haze near one bright star, there were no more signs of the battle. Yet that one glimpse had been enough. Tom already knew which bomb to set off.

Gillian had spent a few hours with the Niss machine before leaving Streaker to meet him at Tos.h.i.+o's island. She had connected the Tymbrimi device to the Thennanin micro branch Library he had salvaged. Then she and the Niss had worked out the proper signals to load into the bombs.

The most important was the Thennanin distress call. Ifni's fickle luck permitting, it would let Tom perform the crucial experiment, to find out if the Plan would work.

All of the work Suessi and Tsh't and the others had put into the "Trojan Seahorse" would come to naught if Thennanin were not amongst those left in the war. What use would it be for Streaker to slip inside a hollowed-out Thennanin hulk, to rise into s.p.a.ce in disguise, if all the combatants would shoot anyway at a remnant of a faction which had already lost?

Tom picked up one psi-bomb. It was spherical, and rested in his hand like an orb. At the top was a safety switch and timer. Gillian had carefully labeled each bomb on a strip of tape. On this one she had added a flowing signature and a small heart with an arrow through it.

Tom smiled and brought the bomb to his lips.

He had felt guilty of machismo, insisting on being the one to come here while she remained behind. Now he knew he had been right. Tough and competent as Gillian was, she wasn't as good a pilot as he, and probably would have died in the crash. She certainly wouldn't have had the physical strength to haul the sledge this far.

h.e.l.l, he thought. I'm glad because she's safe with friends who'll protect her. That's reason enough. She may be able to lick ten Blenchuq cave lizards with one hand tied, but she's my lady, and I'll not let harm come near her if I can help it.

Tom washed down the last of the protein bar. He hefted the bomb and considered strategy. His original plan had been to land near the volcano, wait until the glider had recharged for launching, then plant the bomb and take flight before it went off. He could have ridden thermals from the volcano to a good alt.i.tude and found another island from which to watch the results of his experiment.

Lacking another island, he still could have gone far enough, landed in the ocean, and used his telescope to watch from there.

It was a nice plan, foiled by a raging storm and an unexpected jungle of mad vines. His telescope had joined the metal detritus at the bottom of Kithrup's world-sea, along with most of the wreckage of his solar plane.

Tom rose carefully to his feet. Food and warmth made it merely an exercise in controlled agony.

Rummaging through his few belongings, he tore a long, narrow strip of cloth from the tattered ruins of his sleeping bag. The swatch of tough insu-silk seemed adequate.

The psi-bomb felt heavy and substantial in his hand. It was hard to imagine that the globe was stuffed with powerful illusions-a super-potent counterfeit, ready to burst free on command.

He set the timer for two hours and thumbed the safety release, arming the thing.

He laid it carefully into his makes.h.i.+ft sling. Tom knew he was being dramatic. Distance wouldn't help him much. Sensors all over the Kithrup system would light up when it went off. He might as well set it off at his feet.

Still, one never knew. He'd toss it as far away as he could.

He let the sling sway a few times to get the feel of it, then he began swinging it. Slowly, at first, he built up momentum, while a strange feeling of well-being spread outward from his chest into his arms and legs. Fatigue seemed to fall away. He started to sing.

Oh, Daddy was a caveman, He played ball in skins, with s.h.i.+rts.

He dreamed of lights up in the sky, While scratching in the dirt.

You ETs and your stars ...

Oh, Daddy was a fighter, He killed his cousins, fourth and third.

He dreamed of peace eternally, And died speared to the earth.

You ETs and your stars ...

Oh, Daddy was a lover, And yet he beat his wife.

He dreamed, longing for sanity Regretting all his life.

You ETs and your stars ...

Oh, Daddy was a leader, He dreamed, yet still told lies.

He got the frightened ma.s.ses, To put missiles in the skies.

You ETs and your stars ...

Oh, Daddy was unlearned, But ever on he tried.

He hated his d.a.m.ned ignorance, And struggled with his pride ...

He stepped up on a bootstrap, then And, up on nothing, cried.

That tragic orphan willed to me, A mind and heart, then died.

So scorn me as a wolfling, Sneer at my orphan's scars!

But tell me, boys, "WHAT'S YOUR EXCUSE?"

You ETs, and your stars?

You Eatees and your stars!

Tom's shoulders flexed as he took a step. His arm snapped straight, and he released the sling. The bomb sailed high into the night, whirling like a top. The spinning sphere shone briefly, still climbing, sparkling until it disappeared from sight. He listened, but never heard it land.

Tom stood still for a while, breathing deeply.

Well, he thought at last. That built an appet.i.te. I have two hours in which to eat, tend my wounds, and prepare a shelter. Any time I get after that, O Lord, will be accepted with humble grat.i.tude.

He laid the ragged strip of cloth over his shoulder and turned to prepare himself a meal by starlight.

PART FIVE.

Concussion

"In a world older and more complex than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear ... they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time ..."

HENRY BATESON.

46 ::: Sah'ot.

It was evening, and the Kiqui were leaving for their hunting grounds. Sah'ot heard them squeaking excitedly as they gathered in a clearing west of the toppled drill-tree. The hunters pa.s.sed not far from the pool on their way to a rock chimney on the southern slope of the island, chittering and puffing their lung sacks in pomp.

Sah'ot listened until the abos were gone. Then he sank a meter below the surface and blew depressed bubbles. Nothing was going right.

Dennie had changed, and he didn't like it. Instead of her usual delightful skittishness, she virtually ignored him. She had listened to two of his best limericks and answered seriously, completely missing the delicious double entendres.

In spite of the importance of her studies of the Kiqui, Takkata-Jim had ordered her also to a.n.a.lyze the drill-tree system for Charles Dart. Twice she had gone into the water to collect samples from below the metal-mound. She had ignored Sah'ot's nuzzling advances or, even more disturbing, petted him absently in return.

Sah'ot realized that, for all of his previous efforts to break her down, he hadn't really wanted her to change. At least, not this way.

He drifted unhappily until a tether attached to one of the sleds brought him up short. His new a.s.signment kept him linked to this electrical obscenity, chafed and cramped in a tiny pool while his real work was out in the open sea with the pre-sentients!

When Gillian and Keepiru left, he had a.s.sumed their absence would free him to do pretty much what he wanted. Hah! No sooner had the pilot and the human physician left, than did Tos.h.i.+o-Tos.h.i.+o, of all persons-step in and a.s.sume command.

I should have been able to talk rings around him. How in the Five Galaxies did the boy manage to get the upper hand?

It was hard to remember how. But here he was, stuck monitoring a d.a.m.ned robot for a pompous, egocentric chimpanzee who cared only about rocks! The dumb little robot didn't even have a brain one could TALK to! You don't have conversations with microprocessors. You tell them what to do, then helplessly watch the disaster when they take you literally!

His harness gave of a chime. It was time to check on the probe. Sah'ot clucked a sarcastic response.

Yes indoody, Lord and master!

Metal moron, And disaster!

Beep again, I'll work faster!

Sah'ot brought his left eye even with the sled's screen. He sent a pulse-code to the robot, and a stream of data returned.

The 'bot had finally digested the most recent rock sample. He ordered the probe's small memory emptied into the sled's data banks. Tos.h.i.+o had run him through the drill until Sah'ot could control the 'bot almost unconsciously.

He made it anchor one end of a monofilament line to the rough rock, then lower itself another fifty meters.

The old explanation for the hole beneath the metal-mound had been discarded. The drill-tree couldn't have needed to dig a tunnel a kilometer deep in search of nutrients. It shouldn't have been able to pierce the crust that far. The ma.s.s of the drill root was clearly too great to have been rotated by the modest tree that once stood atop the mound.

The amount of material excavated wouldn't fit atop ten metal-mounds. It was found as sediment all around the high ridge on which the mound sat.

To Sah'ot these mysteries weren't enticing. They only proved once again that the universe was weird, and that maybe humans and dolphins and chimps ought to wait a while before challenging its deeper puzzles.

The robot finished its descent. Sah'ot made it reach out and seize the cavity wall with diamond-tipped claws, then retract its tether from above.

Down in stages it would go. For this little machine there would be no rising. Sah'ot felt that way himself, sometimes, especially since coming to Kithrup. He didn't really expect ever to leave this deadly world.

Fortunately, the probe's sampling routine was fairly automatic once triggered. Even Charles Dart should have little excuse to complain. Unless ...

Sah'ot cursed. There it was again-the static that had plagued the probe since it had pa.s.sed the half-kilometer mark. Tos.h.i.+o and Keepiru had worked on it, and couldn't find the problem.

The crackling was unlike any static Sah'ot had ever heard ... not that he was an expert on static. It had a syncopation of sorts, not all that unpleasant to listen to, actually. Sah'ot had heard that some people liked to listen to white noise. Certainly nothing was more undemanding.

The clock on his harness ticked away. Sah'ot listened to the static, and thought about perversities, about love and loneliness.

[Scanner's note: Again, a mono-s.p.a.ced font like Courrier is required to see the following 6 lines laid out properly. Other future pa.s.sages like this will not be marked with a note like this.]

I swim- circles -- like the others And learn * -- sadly -- I am Sightlessly * -- Sighing -- alone Slowly Sah'ot realized he had adopted the rhythm of the "noise" below. He shook his head. But when he listened again it was still there.

A song. It was a song!

Sah'ot concentrated. It was like trying to follow all parts of a six-part fugue at the same time. The patterns interleaved with an incredible complexity.

No wonder they had all thought it noise! Even he had barely caught on!

His harness timer chimed, but Sah'ot didn't notice. He was too busy listening to the planet sing to him.

47 ::: Streaker Moki and Haoke had both volunteered for guard duty, but for different reasons.

Both enjoyed getting out of the s.h.i.+p for a change. And neither dolphin particularly minded having to stay plugged in to a sled for hours at a stretch in the dark, silent waters outside the s.h.i.+p.

But beyond that they differed. Haoke was there because he felt it was a necessary job. Moki, on the other hand, hoped guard duty would give him a chance to kill something.

"I wissshh Takkata-Jim sent me after Akki, instead of K'tha-Jon," Moki rasped. "I could've tracked the smarta.s.ss just as well."

Moki's sled rested about twenty yards from Haoke's, on the high underwater bluff overlooking the s.h.i.+p. Arc lamps still shone on Streaker's hull, but the area was deserted now off-limits to all but those few cleared by the vice-captain.

Moki looked at Haoke through the flexible bubble-dome of his sled. Haoke was silent, as usual. He had ignored Moki's comment completely.

Arrogant sp.a.w.n of a stink-squid! Haoke was another Tursiops smart-aleck, like Creideiki and that stuck up little mids.h.i.+pfin, Akki.