83 ::: Gillian

"All I can tell you, Gillian Baskin, is that he knew how to find me. He came here aboard a 'walker,' and spoke to me from the hallway."

"Creideiki was here? Tom and I figured he'd deduce we had a private high-level computer, but the location should have been impossible…"

"I was not terribly surprised, Dr. Baskin," the Niss machine interrupted, covering the impoliteness with a soothing pattern of abstract images. "The captain clearly knows his ship. I had expected him to guess my location."

Gillian sat by the door and shook her head. "I should have come when you first signaled for me. I might have been able to stop him from leaving."

"It is not your fault," the machine answered with uncharacteristic sensitivity. "I would have made the request more demanding if I thought the situation urgent."

"Oh sure," Gillian was sarcastic. "It's not urgent when a valuable fleet officer succumbs to pressure atavism and subsequently gets lost out in a deadly alien wilderness!"

The patterns danced. "You are mistaken. Captain Creideiki has not fallen prey to reversion schizophrenia."

"How would you know?" Gillian said hotly. "Over a third of the crew of this vessel have shown signs since the ambush at Morgran, including all but a few of the Stenos-grafted fen. How can you say Creideiki hasn't reverted after all he's suffered? How can he practice Keneenk when he can't even talk!"

The Niss answered calmly. "He came here seeking specific information. He knew I had access not only to Streaker's micro-branch Library, but the more complete one taken from the Thennanin wreck. He could not tell me what it was he wanted to know, but we found a way to get across the speech barrier."

"How?" Gillian was fascinated in spite of her anger and guilt.

"By pictograms, visual and sound pictures of alternate choices which I presented to him quite rapidly. He made quick yes or no sounds to tell when I was getting — as you humans say — hotter or colder. Before long he was leading me, making associations I had not even begun to consider."

"Like what?"

The light-motes sparkled. "Like the way many of the mysteries regarding this unique world seem to come together, the strangely long time this planet has lain fallow since its last tenants became degenerate and settled here to die, the unnatural ecological niche of the so-called drill-tree mounds, Sah'ot's strange 'voices from the depths'…"

"Dolphins of Sah'ot's temperament are always hearing 'voices." Gillian sighed. "And don't forget he's another of those experimental Stenos. I'm sure some of them were passed into this crew without the normal stress tests."

After a short pause, the machine answered matter-of-factly.

"There is evidence, Dr. Baskin. Apparently Dr. Ignacio Metz is a representative of an impatient faction at the Center for Uplift…"

Gillian stood up. "Uplift! Dammit! I know what Metz did! You think I'm blind? I've lost several dear friends and irreplaceable crewmates because of his crazy scheme. Oh, he 'hot-tested' his sports, all right. And some of the new models failed under pressure!

"But all that's finished! What does uplift have to do with voices from below, or drill-tree mounds, or the history of Kithrup, or our friendly cadaver Herbie, for that matter? What does any of it have to do with rescuing our lost people and getting away from here!"

Her heart raced, and Gillian found that her fists were clenched.

"Doctor Baskin," the Niss replied smoothly. "That was exactly what I asked your Captain Creideiki. When he put the pieces together for me I, too, realized that uplift is not an irrelevant question here. It is the only question. Here at Kithrup all that is good and evil about this several-billion-year-old system is represented. It is almost as if the very basis of Galactic society has been placed on trial."

Gillian blinked at the abstract images.

"How ironic," the disembodied voice went on, "that the question rests with you humans, the first sophont race in aeons to claim 'evolved' intelligence.

"Your discovery in the so-called Shallow Cluster may result in a war that fills the Five Galaxies, or it may fade away like so many other chimerical crises. But what is done here on Kithrup will become a legend. All of the elements are there.

"And legends have a tendency to affect events long after wars are forgotten."

Gillian stared at the hologram for a long moment. Then she shook her head.

"Will you please tell me what the bloody damn hell you are talking about?"

84 ::: Hikahi/Keepiru

"We mussst hurry!" the pilot insisted.

Keepiru lay strapped to a porta-doc. Catheters and tubes ran from the webbing that kept him suspended above the water's surface. The sound of the skiffs engines filled the tiny chamber.

"You must relax," Hikahi soothed. "The autopilot is in charge now. We're going as fast as we can underwater. We should be there very soon."

Hikahi was still somewhat numbed by the news about Creideiki, and shaken by Takkata-Jim's treachery. But over it all she could not bring herself to accept Keepiru's frantic urgency. He was obviously driven by his devotion to Gillian Baskin, and wanted to return to her aid instantly, if possible. Hikahi looked at things from another perspective. She knew Gillian probably already had things well under control back at the ship. Compared with the disasters she had been fantasizing the last few days, the news was almost buoyant. Even Creideiki's injury could not suppress Hikahi's relief that Streaker survived intact.

Her harness whined. With one waldo-hand she touched a control to give Keepiru a mild soporific.

"Now I want you to sssleep " she told him. "You must regain your strength. Consider that an order, if, as you say, I am now acting captain."

Keepiru's eye began to recess; the lids drooped together slowly. "I'm shorry, sir. I… I guessss I'm not much-ch more logical than Moki. I'm alwaysss causssing t-trouble…"

His speech slurred as the drug took hold. Hikahi swam almost underneath the drowsy pilot and sighed a brief, soft lullaby.

* Dream, defender -

Dream of those who love you

And bless your courage -

"You're saying these… Karrank%… were the last sophonts to have a license to the planet Kithrup, a hundred million years ago?"

"Correct," the Niss machine replied. "They were savagely abused by their patrons, mutated far beyond the degree allowed by the codes. According to the Thennanin battleship's Library, it caused quite a scandal at the rime. In compensation, the Karrank% were released from their indenture as clients and granted a world suited to their needs, one with low potential for developing pre-sentience. Water worlds make good retirement homes for that reason. Few pre-sophonts ever arise on such planets. The Kiqui seem to be an exception."

Gillian paced the sloping ceiling of the lopsided room. An occasional clanking, transmitted by the metal walls, told of the final fittings being made to secure Streaker into the Trojan Seahorse.

"You aren't saying the Kiqui have anything to do with these ancient…"

"No. They appear to be a genuine find, and a major reason why you should endeavor to escape this trap and return to Earth with what you have learned."

Gillian smiled ironically. "Thanks. We'll do our best.

"So, what was done to the Karr… the Karrank%," she did her best with the double glottal stop, "to make them want to hide away on Kithrup, never to associate with Galactic culture again?"

The Niss explained. "In their pre-sentient form, they were mole-like creatures on a metal-rich world like this one. They had carbon-oxygen metabolisms, such as yours, but they were excellent diggers."