Toshio heard a soft growling sound to the south — a low whine that rose and fell unevenly.

A rustle of movement to the north caught his eye. He saw Ignacio Metz hurrying southward down the forest trail, carrying bundles of records. Behind him trooped four sturdy Kiqui volunteers from the village. Their air-sacks were puffed up proudly, but they obviously did not like approaching the rough engine noises. They carried crude bundles in front of them.

From the foliage, several dozen pairs of wide eyes watched the procession nervously.

Toshio listened to the sound of the engines, and wondered how much time was left. Takkata-Jim had finished recycling the bombs sooner than expected. Perhaps they had underestimated the dolphin lieutenant. How much else had he jury-rigged to make the longboat serviceable ahead of schedule?

Should I try to delay their takeoff? If I stay any longer it's unlikely I'd ever reach Streaker in tine.

"What about you, Dr. Dart? Are you ready to finish up and hop aboard when Takkata-Jim calls?"

Dart glanced to his console. He shook his head. "I need another six hours," he grumbled. "Maybe we've got a common interest in delaying th' longboat takin' off. You got any ideas?"

Toshio considered.

Well, this is it, isn't it? This is where you decide. Leave now, if you plan to go at all.

Toshio exhaled deeply. Ah, well.

"If I think of a way to delay them for a while, Dr. Dart, will you help me? It may be a little risky."

Dart shrugged. 'All I'm doin' right now is waiting for my 'bot to dig into the crust to bury a… an instrument. I'm free until then. What do I have to do?"

Toshio unhooked the monofilament feeder coil from his sled and cut the free end. "Well, for starters I think we'll need someone to climb some trees."

Charlie grimaced. "Stereotypes," he muttered to himself. 'Allatime gettin' trapped by stereotypes."

89 ::: Gillian

She shook her head slowly. Maybe it was her tiredness, but she couldn't understand more than a fraction of the Niss machine's explanation. Every time she tried to get it to simplify some subtle point of Galactic tradition, it insisted on bringing in examples that only muddied things further.

She felt like a Cro-Magnon trying to understand the intrigues in the court of Louis XIV. The Niss seemed to be saying that Streakers discoveries would have consequences that reached beyond the immediate crisis over the derelict fleet. But the subtleties eluded her.

"Dr. Baskin." The machine tried again. "Every epoch has its turning point. Sometimes it occurs on the battlefield. Sometimes it takes the form of a technological advance. On occasion, the pivotal event is philosophical and so obscure that the species in existence at the time are hardly aware that anything has changed before their world-view is turned topsy-turvy around them.

"But often, very often, these upheavals are preceded by a legend. I know of no other Anglic word to use for it… a story whose images will stand out in the minds of almost all sophonts… a true story of prodigious deeds and powerful archetypal symbols, which presages the change to come."

"You're saying we may become one of these legends?"

"That is what I am saying."

Gillian could not remember ever feeling so small. She couldn't lift the weight of what the Niss was implying. Her duty to Earth and the lives of one hundred and fifty friends and crewmates were burdens enough.

"Archetype symbols, you say…"

"What could be more symbolic, Dr. Baskin, than Streaker and her discoveries? Just one, the derelict fleet, has turned the Five Galaxies upside down. Now add the fact that the discovery was made by the newest of all client races, whose patrons are wolflings, claiming no patrons at all. Here on Kithrup, where no pre-sentient life was supposed to be able to arise, they find a ripe pre-sentient race and take great risks to protect the innocents from a Galactic civilization grown rigid and calcified…"

"Now just a…"

"Now add the Karrank%. In all of the recent epochs, no sapient race has been treated so foully, so abused by the system which was supposed to protect them.

"So what were the chances that this ship would happen to flee to the very planet that was their last refuge? Can you not see the overlying images, Dr. Baskin? From the Progenitors down to the very newest race, what one sees is a powerful sermon about the Uplift System.

"Whatever the outcome of your attempt to escape Kithrup, whether you succeed or fail, the stars cannot help but make a great song of your adventure. This song, I believe, will change more than you can imagine." The voice of Niss finished, with a hushed, almost reverent tone. It's implication was left spinning in the silence.

Gillian stood on the sloping ceiling of the dark, lopsided room, blinking in the sparkling light cast by the swirling motes. The silence hung. Finally, she shook her head.

"Another damned Tymbrimi practical joke," she sighed. "A goddamn shaggy dog story. You've been pulling my leg."

The motes spun silently for a long moment. "Would it make you feel any better if I said I were, Dr. Baskin? And would it change what you have to do one bit if I said I weren't?"

She shrugged. "I guess not. At least you pulled me back from my own troubles for a little while. I feel a bit lightheaded from all that philosophical crap, and maybe even ready to get some sleep."

"I am always ready to be of service."

Gillian smirked. "Sure you are." She climbed up on a packing crate to reach the door-plate but before opening the door she looked back up at the machine.

"Tell me one thing, Niss. Did you give Creideiki any of this bullshit you were feeding me just now?"

"Not in Anglic words, no. But we did cover most of the same themes."

"And he believed you?"

"Yes. I believe he did. Frankly, I was a bit surprised. It was almost as if he had heard it all before, from another source."

That explained part of the mystery of the captain's disappearance, then. And there was nothing that could be done about it now.

"Assuming he did believe you, just what does Creideiki think he's going to accomplish out there?"

The motes spun for a few seconds.

"I suppose, Dr. Baskin, he is first off looking for allies. On an entirely different level, I think he is out there trying to add a few choice stanzas to the legend."

90 ::: Creideiki

They moaned. They had always been in pain. For aeons life had hurt them.

:Listen:

He called out in the language of the ancient gods, coaxing the Karrank% to answer him.

:Listen: You Deep, Hidden Ones — You Sad, Abused Ones : I Call From The Outside : I Crave an Audience :

The doleful singing paused. He felt a hint of irritation. It came in both sound and psi, a shrug to shake a bothersome flea away.

The song of lamentation resumed.

Creideiki kept at it, pushing, probing. He floated at the relay link Streaker had left behind, breathing from his sled's airdome, trying to get the attention of the ancient misanthropes, using the electrical buzz of a distant robot to amplify his faint message.

: I Call From The Outside : Seeking Aid : Your Ancient Tormentors Are Our Enemies Too :

That stretched the truth slightly, but not in essence. He hurried on, sculpting sound images as he felt their attention finally swing his way.

: We Are Your Brothers : Will You Help Us? :

The growling drone suddenly erupted. The psi portion felt angry and alien. The part that was sound grated like static. Without his apprenticeship in the Sea of Dreams, Creideiki felt certain he would have found it unfathomable.

+ DO NOT BOTHER US -

— DO NOT STAY ! WE +

+ HAVE NO BROTHERS -