Manta's Gift

EIGHT

The Song of Change had been sung, the newly graduated Breeders had been congratulated by the parents, children, Protectors, and Nurturers, and the herd had split back up into individual family groups for perhaps their last private time together before the Breeders struck off on their own.

Drusni and Pranlo had each invited Raimey back to join their families; he had politely but firmly refused them both.

He was swimming alone at the edge of the herd, wondering what in the world he was doing here, when one of the Protectors brought him a message.

Counselor Latranesto wanted to see him on Level Four. Now.

Latranesto and a small group of Protectors were waiting when Raimey and the messenger arrived.

"Greetings to you, Counselor Latranesto of the Qanska," Raimey said, trying to flip his fins in the pattern of respect he'd been taught.

He didn't do a very good job of it. The air at this level was awkwardly dense, and he needed all his strength and fin-work to keep himself from popping back up to Level Three like a newborn without any buoyancy sac control. "I'm honored by your presence and attention," he said, hoping that quoting the proper words would help cover up the lack of postural respect.

"And greetings to you, Breeder Manta of the Qanska," Latranesto replied. His fins were also beating hard against the air as he struggled to hold position in what was—for him—very rarefied air indeed.

If he was offended by Raimey's lack of a complete greeting, he didn't comment on it. "I greet you in the name of the Counselors, and the Leaders, and the Wise."

Raimey grimaced to himself. So this was indeed going to be an official meeting and conversation.

The messenger's attitude had implied it would be, but Raimey had still privately hoped that Latranesto merely wanted to congratulate him on his passage to adulthood. "I'm honored in turn by their attention," he said. "What gift of service may I perform for you?"

"We are disturbed by the events that took place just prior to your herd's Song of Change," Latranesto said, his voice controlled and emotionless. "The events which ended in the death of Protector Tigrallo. We would like your explanation."

"I'm not sure what there is to explain," Raimey said cautiously. "He and I were feeding on Level Three and ran into a Sivra hunting pack. Tigrallo ordered me to leave, then stayed behind to fight them."

Latranesto's eyes turned pointedly to the fresh protuberance on Raimey's right fin. "And did you obey him?"

"I left as quickly as I could," Raimey said. "One of my companions had joined us by that time, and she was also attacked. It took me a few ninepulses to break up that attack and save her."

"You are a Breeder," Latranesto said, a hint of severity peeking through the flat official tone. "You are to protect yourself, not others."

"Not even when they're friends?"

"Not even then," Latranesto said. "Defense of others is the task of Protectors. You will have time enough to exercise such courage and concern when you are ready for it. Now. Continue."

It took Raimey a moment to find his tongue. What kind of people, he wondered darkly, forbade the protection of friends? "I drove away or killed the two Sivra who had attacked us," he went on. "Then she and I swam back to Level One. That's all."

"That is not all," Latranesto retorted. "Tell me why you were on Level Three hunting for food instead of preparing for the Song of Change with your herd."

I was hungry, was Raimey's first reactive answer. But somehow he didn't think flippancy was going to digest well with Latranesto today. "I didn't think any preparation was needed," he said instead.

"The ceremony wasn't going to start for at least a ninth-part."

"You did intend to join your herd for the ceremony, then?"

Raimey hesitated, smelling a verbal trap. Did Latranesto suspect that he'd been planning to skip the thing entirely? Could he even have spoken to Drusni already, or else had someone else question her about the incident? "I had felt uncomfortable at the thought of the ceremony," he said carefully, trying hard to read Latranesto's expression. But the big Counselor wasn't giving anything away. He would have made a great executive sales manager. "As you may know, my mother was killed when I was a Youth. Ever since then, herd activities that center on families and family life have been painful for me."

"All Qanska have experienced pain," Latranesto countered. "It's a part of all life, here or anywhere else. You cannot permit it to control your actions or define your decisions."

"No, of course not," Raimey agreed, trying to decide whether or not he was hearing a note of sympathy in the Counselor's voice. If so, it might be something he could capitalize on. If not—if this was a straight lecture—he would have to play it differently. "I'm not excusing my thoughts, but merely explaining them."

"I understand," Latranesto said, sounding a bit mollified. "You did intend to join your herd for the ceremony, then?"

"As I said, I had thought of not attending," Raimey said, choosing his words carefully. "But after further consideration, I realized it was both right and proper for me to do so. And so I did."

For a long minute Latranesto just hovered there, flapping away and gazing intently at him. Raimey tried to hold the gaze without flinching, and mostly succeeded. What he had said was the truth, he told himself firmly, at least in a way. In any case, Latranesto certainly couldn't prove otherwise.

At last, the old Qanska gave an unreadable flip of his tails. "You are a thought puzzle, young Manta," he said. "It was part of our agreement with your people that you would be brought here to become one of the Qanska. Yet, while you have certainly done so in body, your heart and spirit are still those of a human."

"Does that displease you?" Raimey asked, wondering what in the world he was going to do about it if it did.

Latranesto seemed to sigh. "Pleasure and displeasure are also parts of life," he said. "We will continue with the experiment. But you are an adult now, and you must behave like one."

Raimey grimaced again. "I'll try," he said. "But there's so much I still don't understand."

"I know that," Latranesto said. "And we'll help you as best we can."

He gave a rumble of summons, and one of the Protectors floating around him flapped his way forward. "This is Protector Virtamco," the Counselor identified him. "He will be your guardian now."

"I thought I was an adult," Raimey pointed out, frowning at Virtamco. For all the subtleties that he still couldn't read in Qanskan expressions, he was having no trouble at all with this one. Virtamco wasn't at all happy with his new assignment. "What do I need a Protector for?"

"As you yourself said, there is still much you don't know," Latranesto reminded him. "Protector Virtamco will teach you."

"And protect me, too, I suppose?"

"You object to being protected?"

"I don't want any special treatment," Raimey said firmly.

"You don't have a choice," Latranesto said, just as firmly. "By your very nature you're a special person, with a special reason for your life among us. Everything about you must necessarily be special." He flipped his tails with finality. "You will have a Protector. The Counselors and the Leaders and the Wise have decided."

And with that, Raimey realized sourly, the discussion was over. "I obey the Counselors and the Leaders and the Wise," he said with as much grace as he could muster.

"Go, then," Latranesto said. He hesitated—"And may you swim in peace and contentment all the days of your life," he added.

"May you also," Raimey said, suddenly seeing the Counselor's heavy swimming in a new light.

Level Four, he knew, was typically as high as a Counselor could reach without assistance. But from the way Latranesto was struggling to stay afloat, the big Qanska must be getting close to Leader age by now, not to mention sheer Leader size. At the same time, though, Level Four was typically as deep as even a full-grown Breeder could reach.

Which meant that this could be the last meeting the two of them would ever have.

With an effort, Raimey shook off that oddly depressing thought. There would be other opportunities, he told himself firmly, certainly once he himself was large and heavy enough to make his way down to Level Five.

Assuming, of course, he and Latranesto both survived that long.

"Farewell, Breeder Manta," Latranesto said; and in his voice, Raimey could hear the same note of finality that he himself was feeling. Perhaps Latranesto knew this was their last meeting, too.

Slowing his fins, the big Qanska began to sink downward. The rest of his Protector escort followed, keeping their formation around him.

"Farewell, Counselor Latranesto," Raimey murmured as he watched the other depart. A moment later, the group had faded from sight into the mists.

Leaving Raimey and Virtamco alone.

Raimey eyed Virtamco. The Protector eyed him back. "Fine," Raimey said with a sigh. "Now what?"

"We return to your herd," Virtamco said.

No hellos or how-are-yous or it's-an-honor-to-be-of-service-to-yous. Just a simple, straightforward instruction.

Or an order.

"Why?" Raimey asked, more as a test than anything else. Certainly he had no desire to hang around down here. Not after what had happened to Tigrallo.

"As Counselor Latranesto said, you've got a lot to learn about being a Qanska," Virtamco said.

"You'll say good-bye to the Protectors and Nurturers of your herd, and pay the respect that's due them. Then you'll leave Level One and not return."

Raimey frowned. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, I won't return?"

"Is there something complicated about the words?" Virtamco asked sarcastically. "Young unmated adults aren't permitted in the breeding and birth grounds."

"Fine. Whatever," Raimey said, stretching out his buoyancy sacs and increasing his speed upward.

Jupiter was a big place, and if he didn't get back before Drusni said her own good-byes and left, he might never find her again. "So let's go."

"And as we travel," Virtamco added, flapping his fins to rise alongside Raimey, "you can decide how you're going to change your name."

Raimey had just about had it with comments and complaints and misunderstandings about his name.

"What about my name needs to be changed?" he demanded.

"You're a Breeder now," Virtamco said with an air of strained patience. "Breeders may add an extra syllable to their names."

Raimey snorted under his breath. "Thanks, but 'Manta' will do just fine."

Virtamco turned sideways to look at him. "It's not an option," he said. "You will add a syllable to your name."

"No, I will not," Raimey told him firmly. "Apparently, you weren't listening to Counselor Latranesto closely enough. Everything about me is special, remember? I don't have to follow rules like that if I don't want to."

"You wish to always be thought of as a child?" Virtamco countered. "Because that's what will happen."

"Oh, really?" Raimey said. "All the Qanska I meet from now on are going to mistake a six-size Breeder for a one-size Baby? I guess I'll have to reevaluate my assessment of your species' eyesight.

Or maybe their intelligence."

For a moment Virtamco just glowered at him. Then, with a contemptuous flip of his fins, he rolled over and headed for the surface. "Have it your way," he called over his back. "Come back to your herd. Manta."

As it turned out, this particular set of worries had been for nothing. Drusni and Pranlo were still there, waiting for him just beneath the herd as he arrived at Level One. "What happened?" Pranlo asked anxiously. "We heard you'd been hauled down to Level Four for a tail-whipping from a Counselor."

"It's okay," Raimey assured them. "Counselor Latranesto just wanted to know what happened with Tigrallo."

"Two Protectors came and talked to me about that, too," Drusni put in. "They kept asking why we almost missed the Song of Change."

Raimey frowned. So they had talked to her, and apparently at some length. And assuming she'd been honest, Latranesto must have known that Raimey had never really changed his mind about the ceremony.

So why had he let him off the hook?

"But it's all okay now?" Pranlo asked.

"It's all okay," Raimey said, wondering if it really was. "I was just heading up to pay my respects to the Protectors and Nurturers."

"We've already done that," Pranlo said. "They told us we had to leave Level One, but we've been stalling down here. We wanted to make sure we didn't disappear before you came back."

"Thanks," Raimey said. "I didn't want to lose you, either. So where do we go next?"

Pranlo flipped his tails in a shrug. "We wander around Levels Two or Three, I suppose. Eating and getting bigger and eventually—" He broke off. "Well, you know. All they said was that we had to stay off Level One."

"You'll come with us, won't you?" Drusni asked. "At least for now. That way, we can figure out this whole adult thing together."

"I'd like that," Raimey said. "Did they say anything to you about changing your names?"

"Oh, yes, that was the other thing," Pranlo said. "We're all supposed to add a syllable. I'm changing mine to Prantrulo."

"I'm going to be Druskani," Drusni said. "They said we get to add another one when we become Counselors."

"Prantrulo and Druskani." Raimey flipped his tails. "Sorry, but that's going to take some getting used to."

"Actually, you don't have to," Drusni said with a smile. "They said family and close friends are allowed to use the old names."

She flipped her tails. "And the three of us are both family and friends, right?"

"I've always thought so," Raimey said, feeling warm all over. Sweet, radiant Drusni...

"What's your new name going to be?" Pranlo asked.

"I'm keeping it just plain Manta," Raimey told him.

"They'll let you do that?" Drusni asked, frowning.

"Of course," Raimey said loftily. "I'm a special case."

"I guess so," Drusni said. "Well, I'm hungry. You wouldn't happen to have noticed any kachtis on your way to and from your big meeting, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I spotted a few runs down on Level Three," Raimey said. "Come on, I'll take you there."

"Great," Pranlo said with a grin. "The Three Musketta, together again."

"Forever," Drusni added.

"Yes," Raimey said, strange feelings seeping through him as he gazed at her. "Forever."

"Raimey!" Faraday called yet again. "Raimey! Can you hear me?"

"No use, Colonel," Beach said, shaking his head as he peered at his board. "We're just not getting through."

"That's impossible," Hesse objected angrily. "I can hear the sounds of the wind. If we can hear him, why can't he hear us?"

"Because we've got computers up here to scrub out the static," Milligan told him. "He doesn't. Even with the relay probe, the signal getting to him is pretty weak."

"He'd probably be able to hear us if he was awake," McCollum added helpfully. "But your voice is just too buried in static for him to notice while he's sleeping."

Faraday nodded, his mind flashing back to that barely controlled fall so many years ago. He'd learned firsthand how hungrily the ionization in Jupiter's atmosphere could swallow radio signals.

"We'll just have to wait for him to wake up, then," he said.

"No," Hesse said.

Faraday frowned. "No?"

"I told you before, I don't want to have this conversation with other Qanska wandering around,"

Hesse said, glaring at the displays. "What if he were higher up? Could we get his attention then?"

Beach threw a sideways look at Faraday. "Probably," he said cautiously. "Are you suggesting...?"

"What else is it there for?" Hesse countered. "Bring him up."

Beach looked again at Faraday. "Colonel?"

"I gave you an order, Mr. Beach," Hesse said before Faraday could respond.

"Go ahead, Mr. Beach," Faraday confirmed.

Beach took a deep breath and turned to the panel between him and McCollum. The one they'd never used before... "Yes, sir."

"I hope this is a good idea," Faraday warned Hesse quietly. "The McCarthy setup was only supposed to be used in emergencies. We don't even know if the thing will work."

"I have full confidence in the Five Hundred's techs," Hesse said. "Mr. Beach, you'd better bring him all the way up to Level One."

"He's not supposed to be that high," Sprenkle put in.

"Just keep him away from the herds and there shouldn't be a problem," Hesse said.

"I'm not so sure," Sprenkle persisted. "The Qanska have shown a strong propensity for strict letter-ofthe- law thinking."

"Raimey's a special case, remember?" Hesse countered. "It'll be all right."

He looked back at Faraday. "It has to be done," he insisted. "You said yourself he's started thinking of himself as a Qanska. We need to realign any loyalties that might have drifted off-beam."

"And what if we can't?" Faraday asked. "What are you going to do, fire him?"

"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes," Hesse said, his voice grim. "But I don't anticipate any serious trouble. After all, he got into this in order to carve himself a big fat historical legacy. This is made to order."

"He's moving," Beach announced, his voice oddly strained. "Heading upward."

"Good," Hesse said. "I am curious, though, Colonel. Why did you name this thing after an old United States senator?"

"What are you talking about?" Faraday asked, frowning.

"The McCarthy setup," Hesse said. "It is named after Senator Joe McCarthy of the 1950s communist witch hunts, isn't it?"

"No," Faraday said, shaking his head. "It's named after Charlie McCarthy."

Hesse frowned. "Who was he?"

"An associate of Edgar Bergen's," Faraday said. "A wooden-head."

Hesse frowned even harder. "A what?"

Faraday looked at the displays, thinking back to the Golden Age vids he'd loved as a child. When life had been so much simpler.

And you never had to worry about whether you were betraying someone who had trusted you. "He was a ventriloquist's dummy," he told Hesse. "In other words... a puppet."

"Mr. Raimey?"

Raimey awoke with a start. Had someone actually called him by his old Earth name? Or had he just dreamed it?

"Mr. Raimey?"

He flicked his tails in annoyance. It was real, all right. It was them. "I'm here," he growled. "What do you want?"

There was a short pause, no doubt as their computers worked busily to decipher the tonals. Shaking the sleep out of his eyes, wondering why no one up there had bothered to learn the language, he looked around him.

And with a jolt came fully awake. This wasn't Level Three, where he'd gone to sleep. This was Level One.

Level One?

"Mr. Raimey, this is Hesse," Hesse's voice spoke up in the back of his brain. "Sorry to have wakened you, but we needed to talk to you privately."

"You could have called when I was already awake," Raimey growled, still trying to figure this out.

Had he been sleepwalking or something? He'd never done it before, not as a Qanska or even back when he was a human.

Unless the adults or the Protectors of his herd had always just nudged him back to the rest of the group before.

"We didn't want anyone else to even know we'd been in contact," Hesse said. "Do you remember when Colonel Faraday first recruited you for this job? He told you you'd go down in history as the first man to live in and study an alien culture."

"Of course I remember," Raimey said tartly. If this was one of Dr. Sprenkle's stupid memory tests, he was going to have some choice words to say to all of them.

"Good," Hesse said. "As it turns out, the truth is even more exciting than that. The Qanska—"

"Wait a ninepulse," Raimey cut him off. "What do you mean, 'the truth'? What was the rest of it, a lie?"

"No, no, not at all," Hesse said hastily. "It's just that there's more truth than we first told you."

"Oh, good—bonus truth," Raimey said sarcastically. "How nice. Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"It was a decision made at the highest levels," Hesse said. He was starting to sound a little rattled now. "I promise you, there was no intent to—what I mean—"

"It was decided we couldn't afford the risk of it leaking out to the Qanska," Colonel Faraday's calmer voice put in. "I'm sorry for the deception. You'll understand when you hear."

"I'm listening," Raimey said, keeping his voice neutral. Off to his left he could hear the distant squeaking of hungry babies beginning to awaken, along with the much deeper rumblings of Protectors telling them to be patient. There must be a herd that direction.

And he'd been told to stay away from herds. He'd better get this over with and drop back down where he belonged.

"We've been exploring Jupiter by telescope since Galileo, and by space probes since the late twentieth century," Faraday said. "In all that time, right up to the point where Chippawa and I literally ran into them, we never spotted even a hint that the Qanska existed."

"They live underneath the clouds," Raimey reminded him patiently. They'd dragged him out of a good sleep for this? "Of course you didn't see them."

"And we'd been using deep probes and tethered capsules for twenty years before we ran into them,"

Faraday went on as if Raimey hadn't spoken. "I've seen the data, and we had the planet pretty well bracketed."

"Which is a big help, considering that they keep mostly to the equatorial regions," Raimey pointed out.

"Well, we know that now," Faraday conceded. "We also know there are only a few million of them, far fewer than our first estimates."

"Which is maybe why you kept missing them?"

"Perhaps," Faraday said. "But perhaps not."

Raimey sighed. "I assume there's a point buried in here somewhere?"

"An extremely important point," Faraday assured him. "Even taking all the rest of it into account, those who have reviewed the data have come to the conclusion that the Qanska are not native to Jupiter."

Raimey frowned. "What do you mean, not native? Then where in hell did they—?"

He broke off as it suddenly struck him. "No," he murmured. "That's crazy."

"It's not crazy," Faraday said quietly. "There is a very strong probability that your Qanskan friends came here from somewhere outside our Solar System. Which means that they have a stardrive.

"And I'm afraid we want it."