Summertide

CHAPTER 9 Sumnmertide minus twenty

“She’s not dead, and not dying. She’s healing. The correct Cecropian response to trauma and physical insult is unconsciousness.”

In the middle of Opal’s brief night, Julius Graves and Hans Rebka stood by the table that held Atvar H’sial’s motionless body. Part of one side of the dark-red carapace had been coated with a thick layer of gypsum and agglutinate, hardening to a gleaming white shell. The proboscis was pleated and secured in its chin pouch, while the antennas lay furled over the broad head. The whistle of air pumping through spiracles was barely audible.

“And it is amazingly effective by human standards,” Graves continued. “Recovery from an injury which does not kill a Cecropian outright is fast — two or three days, at most. And Darya Lang and J’merlia consider that Atvar H’sial is already recovered enough to renew a request for access to Quake.” He smiled, a death’s-head grin. “Not welcome news to Commander Perry, eh? Has he asked you to delay everything until after Summertide?”

Hans Rebka hid his surprise — tried to. He was becoming used to the feeling that Julius Graves possessed limitless knowledge of every species in the spiral arm. After all, the mnemonic twin had been created for exactly that purpose, and from the moment that they had arrived at the scene of the crash Steven Graves had dictated the treatment for Atvar H’sial’s injuries: the shell must be sealed, the legs taped, the broken wing case removed entirely — it would regenerate — and the crushed antenna and yellow auditory horns left to heal themselves.

But it was harder to accept Graves’s knowledge and understanding of humans.

It occurred to Rebka that he and Julius Graves should switch jobs. If anyone could find out what had changed Max Perry from an up-and-coming leader to a career drop-out and impenetrable mental mystery, Graves could do it. Whereas Rebka was the man who could explore the surface of Quake and find the Carmel twins, no matter where they tried to hide.

“And your own views, Captain,” Graves went on. “You have been to Quake. Should Darya Lang and Atvar H’sial be permitted to go there once they have recovered? Or should they be refused access?”

That was exactly what Rebka had been asking himself. It was left unsaid that Graves intended to go to Quake, no matter who opposed him. Perry would accompany him, as his guide. And although Rebka had said nothing, he intended to go, too. His job required it, and anyway Max Perry was biased and unreliable on anything to do with Quake. But what about the others?

He travels fastest who travels alone.

“I’m opposed to the idea. The more people, the more dangerous, no matter what specialized knowledge they bring along. And that applies to Cecropians as well as humans.”

Or even more so for Cecropians. He stared down at the unconscious alien, fought off a shiver, and walked away toward the door of the building.

He had no trouble with J’merlia, with his downtrodden look and pleading yellow eyes. But it made him uncomfortable just looking at Atvar H’sial. And he considered himself an educated, reasonable man. There was some hidden quality to the aliens that he found hard to tolerate.

“Cecropians still make you uneasy, Captain.” It was Graves, following him to the door and reading his mind again — making a statement, not asking a question.

“I guess they do. Don’t worry, I’ll get used to them.”

He would — slowly. But it was hard going. The miracle was that Cecropians and humans had not embarked on total war when the two species had first encountered each other.

And they would have, Rebka’s inner voice assured him, if they could have found anything worth fighting about. Cecropians looked like demons. If they had not sought planets around red dwarf stars, while humans were looking for Sol analogs, the two would have encountered each other in the outward crawl. But the unmanned probes and the slow Arks of both species had been targeted for quite different stellar types, and they had missed each other for a thousand years. By the time humans discovered the Bose Drive and found the Cecropians already using the same Network through the spiral arm, both species had had experience with other alien organisms; enough to allow them to coexist with other clades whose needs were for stellar environments so different from their own, even if they could not be viscerally comfortable.

“Vertebrate chauvinism is all too common.” Graves fell into step at his side. He was silent for another moment; then he giggled. “Yet according to Steven — who says that he speaks as someone who lacks both a backbone and an exoskeleton — we should think of ourselves as the outsiders. Of the four thousand two hundred and nine worlds known to possess life, Steven says that internal skeletons have developed on only nine hundred and eighty-six. Whereas arthropod invertebrates thrive on three thousand three hundred and eleven. In a galactic popularity contest, Atvar H’sial, J’merlia, or any other arthropod would beat you, me, or Commander Perry hands down. And even, if I dare say it, your Professor Lang.”

Rebka started to walk faster. It would serve no purpose to point out to Julius Graves that Steven was on the way to becoming a bore. It was all right to know everything in the universe — but did he have to tell it?

Rebka was not willing to admit the real cause of his irritation. He hated being with someone who knew far more than he did, but worse still he hated to be with a man who saw through him with no effort at all. No one was supposed to know that he had a soft spot for Lang. Damn it, he had only realized it himself when he had pulled her out of the crashed aircar. She was something more than a nuisance, more than an unwanted addition to his problems with Quake and Max Perry.

Why had she come, to make life more complicated? It was obvious that she was out of her depth on Opal, a scientist who should have stayed quietly in her lab to do her research. They would have to look after her. He would have to look after her. And the best way to do that was to keep her on Opal when he went to Quake.

The Level Five storm was over, and there was a rare break in Opal’s night clouds. It was near midnight, but not dark. Amaranth had been swinging in on the final stages of its slow approach to Mandel. It was high in the sky, big enough to show a glowing disk of bright orange. In two more days, the dwarf companion would begin to cast shadows.

Half a sky away from it, lurking near the horizon, lay Gargantua, beginning its own dive toward the furnace of Mandel. It was still no more than a rosy point, but it was brighter than all the stars. In another week the gas-giant would show its own circular disk, barred with stripes of umber and pale yellow.

Rebka headed across the starport to one of the four main buildings. Graves was still tagging along beside him.

“You are heading to meet with Louis Nenda?” the councilor asked.

“I hope so. How much do you know about him?” If Rebka was stuck with Graves, he might as well try to use his superior knowledge.

“Only what the request told you,” Graves said. “Plus our own knowledge of members of the Zardalu Communion — which is less than we would like. The Communion worlds are not noted for their cooperation.”

Which might qualify as the best understatement yet, Rebka thought.

Twelve thousand years earlier, long before humans had begun the Expansion, the land-cephalopods of Zardalu had tried to create something that neither humans nor Cecropians had ever been foolish enough to attempt: the Zardalu Communion, a genuine empire, a thousand planets ruled ruthlessly from Genizee, the homeworld of the Zardalu clade. It had failed disastrously. But that failure might have been the object lesson saving humans and Cecropians from the same mistake.

“Louis Nenda is basically human,” Graves went on, “but with some Zardalu augmentation.”

“Mental or physical?”

“I do not know. But whatever was done, it must be fairly minor. There’s no mention of rear-skull or fingertip eyes, no hermaphroditism, no deboning or quadrimanuals or quadripedals. No gigantism or compaction — he’s male, and standard size and weight according to the manifest. Of course, there are hundreds of modifications that don’t appear on any standard list.

“As for the pet that he brings with him, I can tell you even less. It is a Hymenopt, and needless to say, it is another arthropod — though similar to Earth’s Hymenoptera only by analogy. But whether it is a plaything, or a sexual partner, or even a food supply for Nenda — that we will have to wait and see.”

And not wait long, Rebka thought. The newly arrived ship sat in the middle of Starside Port, its occupants already in screening for organisms at the arrival building. Since tests for endo- and ecto-parasites took only a few minutes, the newcomers had to be in the final stages of entry.

Rebka and Graves moved to where Max Perry and three officials from Port Entry were already waiting.

“How much longer?” Rebka asked.

Instead of replying, Perry gestured to the sealed double doors of Decontamination. They were beginning to open.

After Graves’s suggestions and Rebka’s imaginings, Louis Nenda looked surprisingly normal. Short, swarthy, and muscular, he could have passed for an inhabitant of one of the denser worlds of the Phemus Circle. He was a little unsteady on his feet, probably the result of half a dozen changes of gravity in the past few hours, but he had plenty of pep, and his self-confidence showed in his walk. He glared arrogantly around with bloodshot eyes as he strutted out of the exobiology test unit; trotting by his side, mimicking his head movements, came a chubby little alien. It halted when it saw the group of waiting humans.

“Kallik!” Louis Nenda tugged on the harness that passed around the Hymenopt’s thorax and encased the abdomen. “Heel.”

Then, without a look at anyone except Perry, he said, “Good morning Commander. I think you’ll find I test negative. Kallik also. Here’s my access request.”

The other men were still staring at the Hymenopt. Julius Graves had seen one in travels through the Zardalu territories, but the rest of them knew only pictures and stuffed specimens.

The alien was hard to match to the Hymenopt’s fierce reputation. It was less than half the height of Louis Nenda, with a small, smooth head dominated by powerful traplike mandibles and by multiple pairs of bright black eyes set in a ring around the perimeter. They were in constant motion, independently tracking different objects around it.

The Hymenopt’s body was rotund and barrel-shaped and covered with short black fur, a centimeter or two long. That was the prized Hymantel, a tough, water-resistant, and insulating coat.

What was not visible was the gleaming yellow sting, retracted into the end of the blunt abdomen. The hollow needle delivered squirts of neurotoxins, whose strength and composition the Hymenopt could vary at will. No standard serum could be effective as an antidote. Also invisible was the nervous system that provided a Hymenopt with a reaction speed ten times as fast as any human’s. Eight wiry legs could carry it a hundred meters in a couple of seconds, or fifteen meters into the air under standard gravity. The Hymantel had been a seldom-seen item of human clothing, even before the Hymenopts had been declared a protected species.

“Welcome to the Dobelle system.” Perry’s voice said the opposite of his words. He took the access requests from Louis Nenda and glanced through them. “Your original request said little about the reason why you wish to visit Quake. Do you have more details here?”

“Sure do.” Nenda’s manner was as cocky as his walk. “I want to look at big land tides, and that means Quake. At Summertide. No problem in that, is there?”

“Quake is dangerous at Summertide. More dangerous than ever, with Amaranth coming so close.”

“Hell, I don’t care about danger.” Nenda stuck out his chest. “Me and Kallik, we eat danger. We were down on Jellyroll when they had the hyperflare. Spent nine days in an aircar, chasing round in Jellyroll’s shadow to avoid being roasted, got out without even a tan. Before that we were on the next-to-last ship out of Castlemaine.” He laughed. “Lucky for us. Last ship out had no supplies and a forty-day crawl to a Bose Node. They had to eat each other. But for a real experience let me tell you what happened on Mousehole—”

“As soon as we’ve had a chance to review your request.” Perry gave Nenda an angry glance. Even on one minute’s exposure it was clear that the newcomer would not take it well if his application were rejected. “We’ll show you to temporary accommodation, then some of us need to have a meeting. Is there anything special that he” — he gestured at the Hymenopt — “needs to eat?”

“She. Kallik is female. No, she’s an omnivore. Like me.” Nenda laughed with no trace of humor. “Hey, I hope I’m not hearing what I think I’m hearing. What’s all this ‘need to have a meeting’ stuff? I’ve come a damned long way for this. Too far to get the runaround now.”

“We’ll see what we can do.” Perry glanced down at Kallik. At the fury in Louis Nenda’s voice a couple of inches of yellow sting had slid from its sheath. “I’m sure we agree on one thing: You don’t want to go to Quake and be killed there.”

“Don’t you worry your head about us. We don’t kill easy. Just approve that access request and let me get over there. It’ll take more than Quake to do me in.”

Maybe it would. Rebka watched as Perry led the newcomer away. Quake was dangerous, no doubt about it; but if self-confidence were any protection, Louis Nenda would be safe anywhere. Maybe it was Quake that needed the protection.

“I would like to hear your recommendation, Commander.”

But Perry won’t look at me, Rebka thought. He thinks he knows my decision. But he’s wrong — because I don’t know it myself.

“I oppose Summertide access, as you know.” Perry’s voice was barely audible, and his face was pale.

“Oppose access for anyone?”

“That’s right.”

“You know that Graves will simply overrule whatever we decide? He has the authority to hunt for the Carmel twins on Quake, anytime he wants to.”

“He has that authority, and we both assume that he will go. But authority won’t protect him. Quake at Summertide is a killer.” Perry’s voice rose on the final word.

“Very well. What about the others? They are willing to pay Dobelle very substantial amounts for the privilege of visiting Quake.”

“I would approve their visits — well after Summertide. Darya Lang can study the Umbilical without being on the surface; Atvar H’sial has the whole rest of the year to study species under environmental stress.”

“They’ll never agree. Refuse access at Summertide, and you lose them and the money they would pay to Dobelle. What about Louis Nenda?”

Perry finally met Rebka’s eye, and a different tone came into his voice. He even managed a smile. “He’s lying, isn’t he?”

“I certainly think so.”

“And he’s not very good at it.”

“He doesn’t give a damn. He should have picked a more plausible story. He strikes me as the last man in the spiral arm to be interested in land tides — I’m tempted to get Steven Graves to ask him a few technical questions about them. But that wouldn’t solve anything. He came a long way to get here, nearly nine hundred light-years — unless he’s lying about everything else, as well. But he certainly came from the Zardalu Communion, and that’s at least four Bose Nodes. Any suggestions as to what he’s really after?”

“I have no idea.” Perry went quiet again and looked far off at something invisible. “But I don’t think he’s the only one who’s lying. The inquiry you sent to Circle intelligence about Darya Lang confirmed that she’s an expert on Builder artifacts, but there’s no reason for her to go down to the surface of Quake. She could do all her work here, or on the Umbilical itself. But whether she’s telling the truth or not doesn’t make any difference to my opinion. You asked for a recommendation. I’m giving it: no access for Lang, no access for Atvar H’sial, no access for anyone until after Summertide. And if Graves chooses to override us, that’s up to him.”

“You would let him go to Quake alone?”

“God, no.” Perry was genuinely shocked. “You might as well kill him here. I’d go with him.”

“I thought so.” Rebka had made up his mind. “And so will I.”

And for all the wrong reasons, he thought. If I allow access to Quake, I may find out why everyone is so keen to go there. But if I refuse access, I’ll find out just how keen they are. And I’ll probably force some of them to take action. That, I know how to deal with.

“Commander Perry,” he continued. “I have made my decision. I agree with your recommendation.” He smiled inwardly at the surprise on Perry’s face. “We will refuse access to Quake for all parties until Summertide is over.”

“I feel sure that’s the right decision.” Perry’s self-control was excellent, but the expression of relief could not be hidden.

“Which leaves us one more decision to make,” Rebka said. “Maybe we should toss a coin for it. Who is going to give the bad news to Darya Lang and to Atvar H’sial? Worst of all, who will tell Louis Nenda?”