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…"

Tom adjusted to the dialect the other spoke. The Thennanin used a version of Galactic Six.

"… would not kill you, human, had I even the means. I wish only to persuade you to talk to me and distract me for a time."

Tom holstered the needier and moved to sit cross-legged in front of the pilot. It would only be polite to listen to the creature — and be ready to put him out of his misery if he asked the favor.

"I grieve that I am unable to succor you," Tom answered in Galactic Six. "Though you are an enemy I have never been one to call Thennanin wholly evil."

The creature grimaced again. His ridge-crest bumped intermittently against the metal roof and he winced each time.

"Nor do we think of hooman'vlech as totally without promise, though recalcitrant, wild, and irreverent."

Tom bowed, accepting as whole the partial compliment.

"I am prepared to do the service of termination, should you wish it," he offered.

"You are kind, but that is not our way. I will wait as my pain balances my life. The Great Ghosts shall judge me brave."

Tom lowered his gaze. "May they judge you brave."

The Thennanin breathed raggedly, eyes closed. Tom's hand drifted to his waistband. He touched the bulge that was the message bomb. Are they still waiting, back at Streaker? He wondered. What will Creideiki decide to do if he doesn't hear from me?

I must know what's been happening in the battle above Kithrup.

"For conversation and distraction," he offered, "shall we exchange questions?"

The Thennanin opened his eyes. They actually seemed to hold a hint of gratitude. "Nice. A nice idea. As elder, I shall begin. I will ask simple questions, so as not to strain you."

Tom shrugged. Almost three hundred years we've had the Library. We have had six thousand years of intricate civilization. And still nobody believes humans could be anything but ignorant savages.

"Why did you not, from Morgran, flee to a safer haven?" the scout asked. "Earth could not protect you, nor even those scoundrel Tymbrimi who lead you into evil ways. But the Abdicators are strong. You would have found safety with us. Why did you not come into our arms?"

He made it all sound so simple! If only it were so. If only there had been a truly powerful alignment to flee to, one that would not have charged, in return, more than Streaker's crew or Earth could afford to pay. How to tell the Thennanin that his Abdicators were only slightly less unpalatable than most of the other fanatics.

"It is our policy never to surrender to bullying threats," Tom said. "Never. Our history tells us the value of this tradition, more than those brought up on the Library annals could imagine. Our discovery will be given only to the Galactic Institutes, and only by our Terragens Council leaders themselves."

At mention of Streaker's "discovery" the Thennanin's face showed unmistakable interest. But he waited his turn, allowing Tom the next question.

"Are the Thennanin victorious overhead?" Tom asked anxiously. "I saw Tandu. Who prevails in the sky?"

Air whistled through the pilot's breathing vents. "The Glorious fail. The killer Tandu thrive, and Soro pagans abound. We harass where we can, but the Glorious have failed. Heretics shall gain the prize."

It was a bit of a tactless way to put it, with one of the "prizes" sitting in front of him. Tom cursed softly. What was he going to do? Some of the Thennanin survived, but could he tell Creideiki to go ahead and take off on that basis?

Should they try a ruse which, even if successful, would gain them allies too weak to do any good?

The Thennanin breathed raggedly.

Although it was not his turn, Tom asked the next question.

"Are you cold? I will move my fire here. Also, there is work I must do, as we talk. Forgive this junior patron if I offend."

The Thennanin looked at him with purple, cat-irised eyes. "Politely spoken. We are told you humans are without manners. Perhaps you are merely unlearned, yet well-meaning…"

The scout wheezed and blew sand grains from his breathing slits, while Tom quickly moved his camp. By the flickering flame-light, the Thennanin sighed. "It is appropriate that, trapped and dying on a primitive world, I shall be warmed by the crafty fire-making skills of a wolfling. I shall ask you to tell a death-bound being about your discovery. No secrets, just a story…a story about the miracle of the Great Return…"

Tom drew forth a memory, one that still gave him chills.

"Consider ships," he began. "Think of starships — ancient, pitted, and great as moons…"

When he awakened next to the warm coals of his fire, the dawn was barely breaking, casting long dim shadows along the beach.

Tom felt much better. His stomach had become resigned to a fast, and sleep had done him a lot of good. He was still weak, but he felt ready to try a dash for the next possible haven.

He got up, brushed off the multi-colored sand, and peered to the north. Yes the floating derelict was still there. Hope on the horizon.

To his left, under the massive bulkhead, the Thennanin scout breathed softly, slowly dying. It had fallen asleep listening to Tom's story of the Shallow Cluster, of the shining giant ships, and the mysterious symbols on their sides. Tom doubted the creature would ever reawaken.

He was about to turn and pick up the shoes he had woven the night before, when he frowned and peered under a shading hand toward the eastern horizon.

If only the binoculars had been saved!

He squinted, and at last he made out a line of shadows moving slowly against the brightening horizon, spindly-legged figures, and one smaller, shambling thing. A column of tiny silhouettes moved slowly northward.

Tom shivered. They were headed toward the eggshell wreck. Unless he acted quickly, they would cut him off from his only chance at survival.

And he could tell already that they were Tandu.