Copyright © 1983, by David Brin. All rights reserved. No duplication or resale without permission.

8
Galactics

"Slay them!" The Jophur high priest demanded. "Slay the isolated Thennanin battlecruisers on our sixth quadrant!"
     The Jophur chief of staff bowed its twelve-ringed trunk before the high priest.
     "The Thennanin are our allies-of-the-moment! How can we urn on them without first performing the secret rituals of betrayal? Their ancestors will not be appeased!"
     The Jophur high priest expanded its six outer sap-rings. It rose high upon its dais at the rear of the command chamber.
     "There is no time to perform the rites! Now, as our alliance finishes sweeping this sector, as our alliance has become the strongest! Now, while this phase of the battle still rages. Now, while the foolish Thennanin have opened up their flanks to us. Now may we harm them greatly!"
     The chief of staff pulsed in agitation, its outer sap-rings discoloring with emotion.
     We may change alliances as it suits us, agreed. We may betray our allies, agreed. We may do anything to win the prize, agreed. But we may not do so without performing the rituals! The rituals are what makes us the appropriate vessels for the will of the ancients! You would bring us down to the level of the heretics!"
     The dais shook with the high priest's anger.
     "My rings decide! My rings are those of priesthood! My rings..."
     The oration-peak of the pyramidal high priest erupted in a geyser of hot, multi-hued sap. The explosion spewed sticky amber liquid across the bridge of the Jophur flagship.
     "Continue fighting." The chief of staff waved the crew back to work with its sidearm. "Call the Quartermaster of Religiosity. Have it send up rings to make up a new priest. Continue fighting while we prepare to perform the rituals of betrayal."
     The chief of staff bowed to the staring section chiefs. "We shall appease the ancestors of the Thennanin before we turn on them.
     "But remember to make certain the Thennanin themselves do not sense our intentions!

It's been some time since I've been able to make an entry in this personal log. Since the Shallow Cluster it seems we've constantly been in frantic motion... making the discovery of the millennia, getting ambushed at Morgran, and fighting for our lives from then on. I hardly ever see Tom anymore. He's always down in the engine or weapons pods. I'm either here in the lab or helping out in sick bay.
     Ship's surgeon Makanee has a mouthful of problems. Fen have always had a talent for hypochondria. A fifth of the crew shows up every sick call with psychosomatic complaints. You can't just tell them it's all in their heads, so we stroke them and tell them what brave fellows they are, and that everything's going to be all right.
     I think if it weren't for the captain, half of this crew would be hysterical by now. To many of them he seems almost like a hero out of the Whale Dream. Creideiki moves about the ship, supervising repairs and giving little lessons in Keneenk logic. The fen seem to buck up whenever he's nearby.
     Still, reports keep coming in about the space battle. Instead of tapering off, it's only getting thicker and heavier!
     And we're all getting more than a little worried about Hikahi's party.

Gillian put down her stylus. From the small circle of her desk lamp, the rest of the laboratory appeared dark and gloomy. The only other light came from the far end of the room. Silhouetted against the spots was a vaguely humanoid shape, a mysterious shadow, lying on a stasis table.
     "Hikahi," she sighed. "Where in Ifni's name are you?"
     That Hikahi's survey party hasn't even sent back a monopulse confirmation of the recall order was now of great concern. Streaker couldn't afford to lose those crewfen. For all of his frequent unreliability outside the bridge, Keepiru was their best pilot. Even Toshio Iwashiki had a lot of promise.
     But most of all, the loss of Hikahi would hurt. Without her, how could Creideiki manage?
     Hikahi was Gillian's best dolphin friend, at least as close to her as Tom was to Creideiki or Tsh't. Gillian wondered why Takkata-Jim had been appointed vice-captain instead of Hikahi. It made no sense. She could only imagine that politics was behind it. Takkata-Jim was a Stenos. Perhaps Ignacio Metz had had a hand in choosing the complement for this mission. Metz was a passionate advocate of certain dolphin racial types back on Earth.
     Gillian didn't write these thoughts down. They were idle speculations, and she didn't have time for speculation.
     Anyway, it's time I got back to Herbie.
     She closed her journal and headed over to the stasis table, where a dry, desiccated figure floated in a heavily shielded field of suspended time.
     The ancient cadaver grinned back at her through the glass.
     It wasn't human. There hadn't even been multi-cellular creatures on Earth when this thing had lived and breathed and flown spaceships. Yet it looked eerily humanoid. It had straight arms and legs, and a very man-like head and neck. Its jaw and eye orbits were strange-looking, but its skull still had an Earth-like grin.
     How old are you, Herbie? she asked in her thoughts. One billion years? Two?
     How is it your fleet of ancient hulks waited undiscovered by Galactic civilization for so long, waited until we came along... a bunch of wolfling humans and newly uplifted dolphins? Why were we the ones to find you?
     And why did one little hologram of you, beamed home to Earth, make half the patron-lines in the galaxy go crazy?
     Streaker's micro-Library was no help. It refused to recognize Herbie at all. Maybe it was holding back. Or perhaps it was simply too small an archive to remember an obscure race so long extinct.
     Tom had asked the Niss machine to look into it. So far the sarcastic Tymbrimi artifact had been unable to cozen out an answer.
     Meanwhile, between sick bay and her other duties, Gillian had to find a few hours a day to examine this relict nondestructively, and maybe figure out what was stirring up the Eatees so. If she didn't do it, no one would.
     Somehow she would make it until tonight.
     Poor Tom, Gillian thought, smiling. He'll be coming back from his engines, wiped out, and I'll be feeling amorous. It's a damned good thing he's a sport.
     She picked up a pion microprobe.
     Okay Herbie, let's see if we can find out what kind of a brain you had.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Metz. The captain is with Thomasss Orley in the weapons section. If there's anything I can do...?"
     As usual, Vice-Captain Takkata-Jim was unfailingly polite. His Anglic diction, even while breathing oxywater, almost perfect. Ignacio Metz couldn't help smiling in approval. He had a particular interest in Takkata-Jim.
     "No, Vice-Captain. I just stopped by the bridge to see if the survey party had reported in."
     They haven't. We can only wait.
     Metz tsked. He had already concluded that Hikahi's party was destroyed.
     "All, well, I don't suppose there has been any offer of negotiations by the Galactics yet?"
     Takkata-Jim shook his large, mottled-gray head left to right.
     "Regrettably, no sir. They appear more interested in slaughtering each other. Every few hours, it seems, yet another battle fleet enters Kthsemenee's system to join in the free-for-all. It may be a while before anyone initiates diplomacy."
     Dr. Metz frowned at the illogic of it. If the Galactics were rational, they'd let Streaker hand her discovery over to the Library Institute and have done with it! Then everyone would share equally!
     But Galactic civilization was unified more in the breach than in fact. And too many angry species had big ships and guns.
     Here we are, he thought, in the middle, with something they all want.
     It can't just be that giant fleet of ancient ships. Something more must have set them off. Gillian Baskin and Tom Orley picked something up out there in the Shallow Cluster. I wonder what it was.
     "Will you be wanting me to join you for dinner this evening, Dr. Metz?"
     Metz blinked. What day was it? Ah, yes. Wednesday. "Of course, Vice-Captain. Your company and conversation would be appreciated, as usual. Shall we say sixish?"
     "Perhapsss nineteen-hundred hours would be better, sir. I get off duty then."
     "Very well. Until then."
     Takkata-Jim nodded. He turned and swam back to his duty station.
     Metz watched the fin appreciatively.
     He's the best of my Stenos, Metz thought. He doesn't know I'm his godfather... his gene-father. But I am proud nonetheless.
     All the dolphins aboard were of Tursiops amicus stock. But some had genetic grafts from Stenos bredanensis, the deep-water dolphin that had always been the closest to the bottlenose in intelligence.
     Wild bredanensis had a reputation for insatiable curiosity and reckless disregard for danger. Metz had led the effort to have DNA from that species added to the neo-fin gene pool. On Earth many of the new Stenos had turned out very well, showing streams of initiative and individual brilliance.
     But a reputation for harsh temperament had lately caused some resentment in Earth's coastal communities. He had worked hard to convince the Council that it would be an important gesture to appoint a few Stenos to positions of responsibility on the first dolphin-crowed starship.
     Takkata-Jim was his proof. Coldly logical, primly correct, the fin used Anglic almost to the exclusion of Trinary, and seemed impervious to the Whale Dream that so enthralled older models like Creideiki. Takkata-Jim was the most man-like dolphin Metz had ever met.
     He watched the vice-captain manage the bridge crew, with none of the little Keneenk parables Creideiki was always inserting, but rather with Anglic precision and brevity. Never a word wasted.
     Yes, he thought, this one is going to get a good report when we get home.
     "Doctor Metssss?"
     Metz turned, and recoiled at the size of the dolphin that had silently come up beside him. "Wha...? Oh, K'tha-Jon, You startled me. What can I do for you?"
     A truly large dolphin grinned at him. His blunt mouth, his counter-shaded body and bulging eyes, would have told Metz everything about him... if he hadn't already known.
     Feresa attenuata, the human savored the thought. So beautiful and savage. My most secret project, and nobody, not even you, K'tha-Jon, knows that you are more than just another Stenos.
     "Forgive the interruption, Dr. Metsss, but the chimp scientist Charlesss Dart-t has asked to speak with you. I think the little ape wantsss to bitch to somebody again."
     Metz frowned. K'tha-Jon was only a bosun, and not expected to be as refined as Takkata-Jim. Still, there were limits, even considering the giant's hidden background.
     I will have to talk to this fellow, he reminded himself. This kind of attitude will never do.
     "Please inform Dr. Dart that I'm on my way," he told the fin. "I'm finished here for now."

"So we're armed again," Creideiki sighed. "After a fashion."
     Thomas Orley looked up from the newly repaired missile tubes and nodded. "It's about as good as we're going to get, Creideiki. We weren't expecting trouble when we popped into a battle at Morgran transfer point. We were lucky to get away with as little damage as we took."
     Creideiki agreed. "Just ssso. If only I had reacted faster."
     Orley noticed his friend's mood. He pursed his lips and whistled. His breather mask amplified a faint sound-shadow picture. The little echo danced and hopped like a mad elf from corner to corner in the oxywater-filled chamber. Workers in the weapons pod lifted their narrow, sound-sensitive jaws to follow the skipping sonar image as it scampered unseen, chittering in mock sympathy.

* When one commands,
     One is envied by people --
          But, oh! the demands! *

     The wind-wraith vanished, but laughter remained. The crew of the weapons pod spluttered and squawled.
     Creideiki let the mirth settle. Then, from his brow came a pattern of chamber-filling clicks that merged to mimic the sounds of thunderclouds gathering. In the closed room those present heard raindrops blown before the wind. Tom closed his eyes to let the sound-image of a sea squall close over him.

* They stand in my road,
     The mad, ancient, nasty things
          Tell them "move, or else!" *

     Orley bowed his head, acknowledging defeat. No one had ever beaten Creideiki at Trinary haiku. The admiring sighs of the fen only confirmed this.
     Nothing had changed, of course. As Orley and Creideiki turned to leave the weapons pod, they knew that defiance alone would not get this crew through the crisis. There must be hope, as well.
     Hope was scarce. Tom knew that Creideiki was desperately worried about Hikahi, though he hid it well.
     When they were out of earshot, the captain asked, "Has Gillian made any progress studying that thing we found... the cause of all this trouble?"
     Tom shook his head, "I haven't spent more than an hour with her in two days."
     Creideild sighed. "It would have been nice to know what the Galacticsss think we found, Ah, well..."
     They were stopped by a sudden whistle. Tsh't, the ship's fourth officer, flew into the hallway in a cloud of bubbles.
     "Creideiki! Tom! Sonar reports a dolphin at long range, to the eassst, swimming this way at high speed!"
     Creideiki and Orley looked at each other. Then Tom nodded at the captain's unspoken command.
     "Can I take Tsh't and twenty fen?"
     "Yesss. Get a team ready. But don't leave till we find out more. You may want to take more than twenty. Or it may be hopeless to go at all."
     Tom saw pain in the captain's eye. He motioned for Lieutenant Tsh't to follow and swam rapidly down the flooded corridor toward the outlock.

To continue reading, purchase Startide Rising.