Uplift - Infinity's Shore Part 19

The spinning voice said there were sound "pickups" next to the moving camera lens, which explained the swishing, gurgling noises. Pincer shifted his carapace, whistling a homesick lament from all five vents, nostalgic for the tidal pens of his red qheuen rookery. But Ur-ronn soon had quite enough, turning her sleek head with a queasy whine, made ill by the sight of all that swishing water.

Slanting upward, the surf grew briefly violent. Then water fled the camera's eye in foamy sheets as our viewpoint emerged onto a low sandscape. The remote unit scurried inland, low to the ground.

"Normally, we would send a drone ash.o.r.e at night. But the matter is urgent. We must count on the land's hot glare to mask its emergence." Ur-ronn let out a sigh, relieved to see no more liquid turbulence.

"It forces one to wonder," she said, "why you have not sent sleuthy agents vefore."

"In fact several were dispatched to seek signs of civilization. Two are long overdue, but others reported startling scenes."

"Such as?" Huck asked. "Such as hoon mariners, crowing wooden sailing ships on the high seas."

"Hr-rr . . . What's strange about that?"

"And red qheuens, living unsupervised by grays or blues, beholden to no one, trading peacefully with their hoonish neighbors."

Pincer huffed and vented, but the voice continued. "Intrigued, we sent a submarine expedition beyond the Rift. Our explorers followed one of your dross ships, collecting samples from its sacred discharge. Then, returning to base, our scout vessel happened on the urrish 'cache' you were sent to recover. Naturally, we a.s.sumed the original owners must be extinct."

"Oh?" Ur-ronn asked, archly. "Why is that?"

"Because we had seen living hoon! Who would conceive of urs and hoon cohabiting peacefully within a shared volume less broad than a cubic pa.r.s.ec? If hoon lived, we a.s.sumed all urs on Jijo must have died."

"Oh," Ur-ronn commented, turning her long neck to glare at me.

"Imagine our surprise when a crude vessel plummeted toward our submarine. A hollowed-out tree trunk containing-"

The voice cut off. The remote unit was in motion again. We edged forward as the camera eye skittered across sand mixed with scrubby vegetation.

"Hey," Ur-ronn objected. "I thought you couldn't use radio or anything that can ve detected from sface!"

"Correct."

"Then how are you getting these Pictures in real tine?"

"An excellent question, coming from one with no direct experience in such matters. In this case, the drone needs only to travel a kilometer or so ash.o.r.e. It can deploy a fiber cable, conveying images undetectably."

I twitched. Something in the words just spoken jarred me, in an eerie-familiar way.

"Does it have to do with the exflosions?" Ur-ronn asked. "The recent attack on this site vy those who would destroy you?"

The spinning shape contracted, then expanded.

"You four truly are quick and imaginative. It has been an unusual experience conversing with you. And I was created to appreciate unusual experiences."

"In other words, yes," Huck said gruffly.

"Some time ago, a flying machine began sifting this sea with tentacles of sound. Hours later, it switched to dropping depth charges in a clear effort to dislodge us from our mound of concealing wreckage.

"Matters were growing dire when gravitic fields of a second craft entered the area. We picked up rhythms of aerial combat. Missiles and deadly rays were exchanged in a brief, desperate struggle."

Pincer rocked from foot to foot. "Gosh-osh-osh!" he sighed, ruining our pose of nonchalance.

"Then both vessels abruptly stopped flying. Their inertial signatures ceased close to the drone's present location."

"How close?" Ur-ronn asked.

"Very close," the voice replied.

Transfixed, we watched a hypnotic scene of rapid motion. An ankle-high panorama of scrubby plants, whipping past with blurry speed. The camera eye dodged clumps of saber fronds, skittering with frantic speed, as the drone sought height overlooking a vast marshy fen.

All at once, a glint of silver! Two glints. Curving flanks of- That was when it happened.

Without warning, just as we had our first thrilling glimpse of crashed flyships, the screen was abruptly filled by a grinning face.

We rocked back, shouting in surprise. I recoiled so fast, even the high-tech back brace could not save my spine from surging pain. Huphu's claws dug in my shoulder as she trilled an amazed cry.

The face bared a glittering, gleeful display of pointy teeth. Black, beady eyes stared at us, inanely magnified, so full of feral amus.e.m.e.nt that we all groaned with recognition.

Our tiny drone pitched, trying to escape, but the grinning demon held it firmly with both forepaws. The creature raised sharp claws, preparing to strike.

The spinning voice spoke then-a sound that flew out, then came back to us through the drone's tiny pickups. There were just three words, in a queerly accented form of GalSeven, very high-pitched, almost beyond a hoon's range.

"Brother, " the voice said quickly to the strange noor.

"Please stop."

wasx WORD COMES THAT WE HAVE LOST TRACK OF A Corvette!

Our light cruiser sent to pursue an aircraft of the Rothen bandits.

Trouble was not antic.i.p.ated in such a routine ch.o.r.e. It raises disturbing questions. Might we have underestimated the prowess of this brigand band?

You, our second ring-of-cognition-you provide access to many memories and thoughts once acc.u.mulated by our stack, before I joined to become your master ring. Memories from a time when we,you were merely Asx.

You recall hearing the human gene thieves making preposterous claims. For instance, that their patrons-these mysterious "Rothen"-are unknown to Galactic society at large. That the Rothen wield strong influence in hidden ways. That they scarcely fear the mighty battle fleets of the great clans of the Five Galaxies.

We of the battleship Polkjhy heard similar tall tales before arriving at this world. We took it all for mere bluff. A pathetic cover story, attempting futilely to hide the outlaws' true ident.i.ty.

BUT WHAT IF THE STORY IS TRUE?.

No one can doubt that mysterious forces do exist-ancient, aloof, influential. Might we have crossed fates with some cryptic power, here in an abandoned galaxy, far from home?

OR TAKE THE IDEA MORE BROADLY. Might such a puissant race of cloaked ones stand secretly behind all Terrans, guiding their destiny? Protecting them against the fate that generally befalls wolflihg breeds? It would explain much strangeness in recent events. It could also bode ill for our Obeyer Alliance, in these dangerous times.

BUT NO! Facts do not support that fear.

You primitive, rustic rings would not know this, so let Me explain.

NOT LONG AGO, the Polkjhy was contacted by certain petty data merchants, unscrupulous vermin offering news for sale. Through human agents, these "Rothen" approached us-the great and devout Jophur-because our ship happened to be on search patrol nearby. Also, they calculated Jophur would pay twice as much for the information they wanted to sell.

ONCE for clues to find the main quarry we seek, a missing Earth vessel that ten thousand ships have pursued for years, as great a prize as any in the Five Galaxies- AND A SECOND TIME for information about the ancestor-cursed g'Kek, a surviving remnant who took refuge here many planet cycles ago, thwarting our righteous, extinguishing wrath.

The Rothen and their henchmen hoped to reap handsome profit by selling us this information, added to whatever genetic sc.r.a.ps they might steal from this unripe world. The arrangement must have seemed ideal to them, for both sides would be well advised to keep the transaction secret forever.

Is that the behavior of some great, exalted power? One risen above trivial mortal concerns?

Would deity-level beings have been so rudely surprised by local savages, who vanquished their buried station with mere chemical explosives?

Did they prove so mighty when we turned our rings around half circle in an act of pious betrayal, and pounced upon their ship? Freezing it in stasis by means of a not unclever trick?

No, this cannot be a reasonable line of inquiry, My rings. It worries me that you would waste our combined mental resources pursuing a blind pathway. , This digression-IS IT YET.ANOTHER VAIN EFFORT TO ( DISTRACT ME FROM THE NARROWNESS OF PURPOSE ' THAT IS MY PRINc.i.p.aL CONTRIBUTION TO THE STACK? I Is that also why some of you keep trying to tune in socalled guidance ^patterns from that silly rock you call a "Holy Egg"?

Are these vague, disjointed efforts aimed at yet another rebellion?

HAVE YOU NOT YET LEARNED?.

Shall I demonstrate, once again, why the Oailie made My kind, and named us "master rings"?

LET US drop these silly cogitations and consider alternative explanations for the disappearance of the corvette. Perhaps, when our crew hunted down the scout boat of the Rothen, they stumbled onto something else instead?

Something more powerful and important, by far? . . . ?

Is this true? You truly have no idea what I am hinting at?

Not even a clue? Why, most of the inhabitants of the Five Galaxies-even the enigmatic Zang-know of the ship we seek. A vessel pursued by half the armadas in known s.p.a.ce.

You have indeed lived in isolation, My rustic rings! My primitive subselves. My temporary pretties, who have not heard of a ship crewed by half-animal dolphins.

How very strange indeed.

Sara WITHOUT DARK GLa.s.sES PROVIDED BY THE HORSE riding Illias, Sara feared she might go blind or insane. A few stray glints were enough to stab her nerves with unnatural colors, cooing for attention, shouting dangerously, begging her to remove the coverings, to stare . . . perhaps losing herself in a world of shifted light.

Even in sepia tones, the surrounding bluffs seemed laden with cryptic meaning. Sara recalled how legendary Odysseus, sailing near the fabled Sirens, ordered his men to fill their ears with wax, then lashed himself to the mast so he alone might hear the temptresses' call, while the crew rowed frantically past bright, alluring shoals.

Would it hurt to take the gla.s.ses off and stare at the rippled landscape? If transfixed, wouldn't her friends rescue her? Or might her mind be forever absorbed by the panorama?

People seldom mentioned the Spectral Flow-a blindspot on maps of the Slope. Even those hardy men who roamed the sharp-sand desert, spearing roul shamblers beneath the hollow dunes, kept awed distance from this poison landscape. A realm supposedly bereft of life.

Only now Sara recalled a day almost two years ago, when her mother lay dying in the house near the paper mill, with the Dolo waterwheel groaning a low background lament. From outside Melina's sickroom, Sara overheard Dwer discussing this place in a low voice.

Of course her younger brother was specially licensed to patrol the Slope and beyond, seeking violations of the Covenant and Scrolls. It surprised Sara only a little to learn he had visited the toxic land of psychotic colors. But from snippets wafting through the open door, it sounded as if Melina had also seen the Spectral Flow-before coming north to marry Nelo and raise a family by the quiet green Roney. The conversation had been in hushed tones of deathbed confidentiality, and Dwer never spoke of it after. Above all, Sara was moved by the wistful tone of her dying mother's voice.

"Dwer . . . remind me again about the colors. ..." The horses did not seem to need eye protections, and the two drivers wore theirs lackadaisically, as to stave off a well-known irritation rather than dire peril. Relieved to be out of the Buyur tunnel, Kepha murmured to Nuli, sharing the first laughter Sara had heard from any Illias.

She found her thoughts more coherent now, with surprise giving way to curiosity. What about people and races who are naturally color-blind? The effect must involve more than mere frequency variations on the electromagnetic spectrum, as the urrish gla.s.ses probably did more than merely darken. There must be some other effect. Light polarization? Or psi?

Emerson's rewq satisfied his own need for goggles. But Sara felt concern when he peeled back the filmy symbiont to take an unprotected peek. He winced, visibly recoiling from sensory overflow, as ir a hoonish grooming fork had plunged into his eye. She started toward him-but that initial reaction was brief. A moment later the starman grinned at her, an expression of agonized delight.

Well, anything you can do-she thought, nudging her gla.s.ses forward. . . .

Her first surprise was the pain that wasn't. Her irises adjusted, so the sheer volume of illumination was bearable.

Rather, Sara felt waves of nausea as the world seemed to shift and dissolve ... as if she were peering through layer after layer of overlapping images.

The land's mundane topography was a terrain of layered lava flows, eroded canyons, and jutting mesas. Only now that seemed only the blank tapestry screen on which some mad g'Kek artist had embroidered an apparition in luminous paint and textured thread. Each time Sara blinked, her impressions shifted.

Towering b.u.t.tes were fairy castles, their fluttering pennants made of glowing shreds of windblown haze. ...

Dusty basins became shimmering pools. Rivers of mercury and currents of blood seemed to flow uphill as merging swirls of immiscible fluid. . . .

Rippling like memory, a nearby cliff recalled Buyur architecture-the spires of Tarek Town-only with blank windows replaced by a million splendid glowing lights. . . .

Her gaze shifted to the dusty road, with pumice flying from the wagon wheels. But on another plane it seemed the spray made up countless glittering stars. . . .

Then the trail crested a small hill, revealing the most unlikely mirage of all ... several narrow, fingerlike valleys, each surrounded by steep hills like ocean waves, frozen in their spuming torrent. Underneath those sheltering heights, the valley bottoms appeared verdant green, covered with impossible meadows and preposterous trees.

"Xi," announced Kepha, murmuring happily in that accent Sara found eerily strange-familiar . . .

. . . and she abruptly knew why!

Surprise made Sara release the gla.s.ses, dropping them back over her eyes.

The castles and stars vanished . . .

. . . but the meadows remained. Four-footed shapes could be seen grazing on real gra.s.s, drinking from a very real stream.

Kurt and Jomah sighed. Emerson laughed and Prity clapped her hands. But Sara was too astonished to utter a sound. For now she knew the truth about Melina the Southerner, the woman who long ago came to the Roney, supposedly from the far-off Vale, to become Nelo's bride. Melina the happy eccentric, who raised three unusual children by the ceaseless drone of Dolo Dam.

Mother . . . Sara thought, in numb amazement. This must have been your home.

The rest of the horsewomen arrived a few miduras later with their urrish companions, dirty and tired. The Illias unsaddled their faithful beasts before stripping off their riding gear and plunging into a warm volcanic spring, beneath jutting rocks where Sara and the other visitors rested.

Watching Emerson, Sara verified that one more portion of his battered brain must be intact, for the s.p.a.ceman's eyes tracked the riders' nude femininity with normal male appreciation.

She squelched a jealous pang, knowing that her own form could never compete with those tanned, athletic figures below.

The starman glanced Sara's way and flushed several shades darker, so sheepishly rueful that she had to laugh out loud.

"Look, but don't touch," she said, with an exaggerated waggle of one finger. He might not grasp every word, but the affectionate admonishment got through.

Grinning, he shrugged as if to say, Who, me? I wouldn 't think of it!

The wagon pa.s.sengers had already bathed, though more modestly. Not that nakedness was taboo elsewhere on the Slope. But the Illias women behaved as if they did not know-or care-about the simplest fact all human girls were taught about the opposite s.e.x. That male h.o.m.o sapiens have primitive" arousal responses inextricably bound up in their optic nerves.

Perhaps it's because they have no men, Sara thought.

Indeed, she saw only female youths and adults, tending ch.o.r.es amid the barns and shelters. There were also urs, of Ulashtu's friendly tribe, tending their precious simla and donkey herds at the fringes of the oasis. The two sapient races did not avoid each other-Sara glimpsed friendly encounters. But in this narrow realm, each had its favored terrain.

Ulashtu knew Kurt, and must have spent time in the outer Slope. In fact, some Illias women also probably went forth, now and then, moving among unsuspecting villagers of the Six Races.