“What’s—Why are they doing that?” he asked.

“We are returning their acoustic signals to them. As a kind of test.”

“Not smart.”

“Oh?” Tseng turned with interest. “Why?”

“I can’t really tell you but—”

“It is a technique of progression. We play their songs back to them, appropriately modulated. We see how they react. The dolphins eventually did well with this approach.”

“These aren’t dolphins.”

“So. Yes.” Tseng seemed to lose interest in the splashing forms in the lagoon. He turned, hands placed neatly behind his back, and led Warren through the group of advisers around them. “But you must admit they are giving a kind of response.”

Warren swore. “Would you talk to somebody if they kept poking you in the eye?”

“Not a good analogy.”

“Yeah?”

“Still …” Tseng slowed, peering out through the brush and palm trees at the glistening water. “You are the only one who got the material about how they came here. Getting scooped up and going on a long voyage and then being dumped into the ocean—you got that. I had not heard it before.”

“Uh. Huh.”

“It does make a certain kind of sense. Fish like that—they might make printed messages, yes. They have shown they can put together our own wreckage and make a kind of electrostatic printing press—underwater, even. But to build a rocket? A ship that goes between, stars? No.”

“Somebody brought them.”

“I am beginning to believe that. But why? To spread these diseases?”

“I dunno. Let me go out and—”

“Later, when we are more sure. Yes, then. But tomorrow we have more tests.”

“Have you counted the number of them out there?”

“No. They are hard to keep track of. I—”

“There are a lot less of ’em now. I can see. You know what happens when you drive them away?”

“Warren, you will get your turn.” Tseng put a restraining hand on his sleeve. “I know you have had a hard time here and on that raft, but believe me, we are able to—”

Gijan approached, carrying some pieces of paper. He rattled off something in Chinese and Tseng nodded. “I am afraid we are being interrupted once more. Those incidents last night—you saw them?—have involved us, a research party, in—Well, the Americans have been humiliated again. Their missiles we knocked down with ease.”

“You’re sure that stuff was theirs?”

“They are the ones complaining—isn’t the conclusion obvious? I believe they and perhaps, too, their lackeys, the Japanese, have discovered how much progress we are making. They would very much like to turn the Swarmers and their larva to their own nationalistic advantage. These messages”—he waved the pack of them—”are more diplomatic notices. The Japanese have given my government an ultimatum of sorts. Ha! Imagine them—!” He snorted derisively.

“Think they have forces near here?” Warren asked.

“Improbable. Other powers, however …” He eyed Warren. “One of our men is missing.”

“Oh?”

“We gather he sneaked off to go fishing last night. On the beach—no one is stupid enough to go out on the water alone, not even a trooper. He did not return.”

“Huh. The Skimmers usually go out beyond the reef at sundown. Shouldn’t be anything in the lagoon at night. Fishing’s lousy then, anyway.”

“A trooper would not know that. He perhaps thought to get fresh meat. Understandable.” Tseng frowned for a moment and then said formally, “I am sure even you understand that this is part of a larger game. China does not, of course, wish to use the Swarmers against other powers. Even if we knew how to do so.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“But I thought you were American.”

“I don’t think I said.”

“I see. I think it is time to have Underofficer Gijan take you back to your little room, then.”

PART EIGHT

Near Ross 128

One

Nigel made his slow way along a rocky corridor. He preferred the low-g sections of the ship, where a stumble could be turned into a slight imbalance, rather than a resounding, bone-splintering crash. Crew members passed him easily, since he moved with deliberate caution. He recognized few of them now. He had spent most of the voyage from Isis working by himself, and the faces he saw no longer called up automatic names and associations. But one did catch his attention and he slowed, reached out—

“Nigel,” the man said, “I didn’t want it to come like this. I need a few weeks more of, of getting used to—”

Then it struck him. The similarities were too close, and yet—

“Carlotta!”

“Honestly, I was going to leave a letter for you and Nikka, but at the last minute, somehow I couldn’t get it down right and—”

“You’ve, you’ve …” Carlotta had the same wiry build, but the softening curves were gone, replaced by slabs of muscle. The face was more chunky, but beneath the changes he had instantly seen the same bone structure. The muscles still gave the same slightly askew smile, the backward tilt to the head when she spoke.

“Let’s get away from here. I can see you—Well, we need to talk.” Her voice was a deeper version of the familiar Californian accent.

He followed her, confused and inarticulate. They sat in a bower overlooking Lurkey’s brimming yellow vat. Carlotta spoke simply, slowly, detailing her reasons. He could not follow much of what she meant. When she began to speak of Nikka it became clearer to him.

“There is a thing between men and women,” Carlotta said. “Not deeper, maybe, but certainly different from the relationship of women to each other, no matter how hard you try to make it—” She stopped. “I’m not getting through, am I ?”

“I … You seem to be saying, indirectly, that you’ve done this because of Nikka? That you’re my rival, now?”

“Bad choice of words. But if you want it that way, then, yes. I always was.”

“But you and me, we slept together—”

“So did Nikka and I.”

“You understood … I mean, ’I knew, that was all right.”

“Yes. But—”

“I’ve got nothing against it. Look, Ted Landon’s been sleeping with some guy in BioEngineering for years, and it never undermined his position. Nobody gives a damn anymore.”

“You’re saying that’s okay, but what I’ve just done—”

“That’s different.”

“I knew you wouldn’t—”

“How could you expect me to—”

“Wait. Just wait, Nigel. Look, on a long expedition like this, what’s the point of being a woman? Having kids takes too much time, and anyway shipboard population shouldn’t be increased beyond—”

“Theoretical reasons.”

“Okay. I want to be in charge of, of a relationship. Not just helpful and supportive. And I wanted to try it. See what being a man—”

“Ummmm.”

“That damned ‘ummmm’ of yours! Sitting back, judging—a very male noise, Nigel. Well, I want to make that noise, too.” He made a sound halfway between a murmur and a grunt.

Nigel smiled slightly. “Carlotta, there’s more to—”

“Carlos.”

Something in the tone of the word made Nigel stiffen. “If you’re going to come between Nikka and me, I—”

“I wasn’t between you before?”

“Not this way, not—”

“Not as a ‘rival,’ as you so charmingly put it?”

“You’re twisting what I say.”

“Not as much as you think, what you really think.”

Nigel said coldly, “That remains—”

“Notice how much of a confrontation this has turned into? Two men, not giving an inch.”

“Why should I give—”

“You don’t have to. I’m not changing everything. We’ll still have a loose triangle. My relationship with Nikka will be different, but there’s no reason—”

“No. I don’t like it.”

“I want to, to face the world with a new persona. Try out this heavy, bulky body. You have no idea how it is.” Carlos rolled his thick shoulder muscles experimentally.

Despite himself, Nigel asked, “How different … is it?”