David Brin - Infinity's Shore

According to Alvin’s Journal, their chief source on Jijo, some natives believed that ancient beings lived beyond the continental shelf, fierce and dangerous. Such hints prompted Gillian Baskin to order the spying continued.

So long as Streaker doesn’t need a pilot, I might as well play secret agent. Anyway, it’s a job Peepoe might respect.

Beyond all that, Kaa relearned how fine it was to cruise in tandem with another strong swimmer, jetting along on powerful fluke strokes, building momentum each time you plunged, then soaring through each upper arc, like flying. The true peak of exhilaration could never be achieved alone. Two or more dolphins must move in unison, each surf-riding the other’s wake. When done right, surface tension nearly vanished and the planet merged seamlessly, from core to rock, from sea to sky.

And then … to bitter-clear vacuum?

A modern poet might make that extrapolation, but it never occurred to natural cetaceans — not even species whose eyesight could make out stars — not until humans stopped hunting and started teaching.

They changed us. Showed us the universe beyond sun, moon, and tides. They even turned some of us into pilots. Wormhole divers. I guess that makes up for their ancestors’ crimes.

Still, some things never change. Like the semierotic stroke of whitecaps against flesh, or the spume of hot breath meeting air. The raw, earthy pleasure of this outing offered much that he felt lacking aboard Streaker.

It also made a terrific opening to courtship.

Assuming she thinks the same way I do.

Assuming I can start winning her esteem.

They were approaching shore. He could tell by the echoes of rock-churned surf up ahead. A mist-shrouded mountain could be glimpsed from the top of each forward leap. Soon they would reach the hidden cave where his spy equipment lay. Then Kaa must go back to dealing with Peepoe in awkward, inadequate words.

I wish this could just go on without end, he thought.

A brief touch of sonar, and he knew Peepoe felt the same. She, too, yearned for this moment of primitive release to last.

Kaa’s sonic sense picked out a school of pseudo-tunny, darting through nearby shoals, tempting after a pallid breakfast of synthi flesh. The tunny weren’t quite in their path — it would mean a detour. Still, Kaa squirted a burst of Trinary.

In summer sunlight,

Fish attract like edible

Singularities!

Kaa felt proud of the haiku — impulsive, yet punning as it mixed both space-and planet-bound images. Of course, free foraging was still not officially sanctioned. He awaited Peepoe’s rejection.

Passing an abyss, or bright reef,

Or black hole — what sustains us?

Our navigator!

Her agreement filled Kaa’s pounding heart, offering a basis for hope.

Peepoe’s strong, rhythmic strokes easily kept pace alongside as he angled toward a vigorous early lunch.

Lark

I ’VE BEEN ABOARD A FLYING MACHINE BEFORE, HE told himself. I’m no simple nature child, astonished by doors, metal panels, and artificial light.

This place should not terrify me.

The walls aren’t about to close in.

His body wasn’t convinced. His heart raced and he could not rest. Lark kept experiencing a disturbing impression that the little room was getting smaller.

He knew it must be an illusion. Neither Ling nor Rann showed outward concern over being crushed in a diminishing space. They were used to hard gray surfaces, but the metal enclosure seemed harsh to one who grew up scampering along the branch-top skyways of a garu forest. The floor plates brought a distant vibration, rhythmic and incessant.

Lark suddenly realized what it reminded him of — the machinery of his father’s paper mill — the grinders and pulping hammers — designed to crush scrap cloth into a fine white slurry. That pounding noise used to drive him away into the wilderness, on long journeys seeking living things to study.

“Welcome to a starship, sooner,” Rann mumbled, nursing both a headache and a grudge after their fight in the lake. “How do you like it?”

All three human prisoners still wore their damp underwear, having been stripped of their tools and wet suits. For some reason, the Jophur let them keep their rewq symbionts, though Rann had torn his off, leaving red welts at his temples where the crumpled creature had had no time to withdraw its feeding suckers.

At least no one had been injured during the swift capture, when a swarm of tapered cone beings swept down from the mammoth ship, each Jophur riding its own platform of shimmering metal. Suspensor fields pressed the lake, surrounding the human swimmers between disklike watery depressions. Hovering robots crackled with restrained energy — one even dived beneath the surface to cut off escape — crowding the captives toward one of the antigravity sleds, and then to prison.

To Lark’s surprise, they were put in the same cell. By accounts from Earth’s dark ages, it used to be standard practice to separate prisoners, to break their spirits. Then he realized.

If Jophur are like traeki, they can’t quite grasp the notion of being alone. A solitary traeki would be happy arguing among its rings till the Progenitors came home.

“They are probably at a loss, trawling through their database for information about Earthlings,” Ling explained.

“Till recently, there wasn’t much available.”

“But it’s been three hundred years since contact!”

“That may seem long to us, Lark. But Earth was minor news for most of that time — a back-page sensation. By now the first detailed Institute studies of our homeworld have barely made it through the sector-branch Library, on Tanith.”

“Then why not …” He sought a word she had used several times. “Why not upload Earthling books. Our encyclopedias, medical texts, self-analyses … the knowledge we spent thousands of years accumulating about ourselves?”

She lifted her eyes. “Wolfling superstitions. Even we Daniks are taught to think that way.” She glanced at Rann. “It took your thesis, Lark — the one you wrote with Uthen — to convince me things might be different.”

Though flushed at the compliment, Lark reined in his imagination. He tried not to let his eyes drop to her nearly bare figure. Skimpy underclothes would not hide his physical arousal. Besides, this was hardly the time.

“I still find their attitude hard to credit. The Galactics would rather wait centuries for a formal report on us?”

“Oh, I’m sure the great powers — like the Soro and Jophur — got access to early drafts. And they’ve urgently sought more data since the Streaker crisis began. Their strategic agencies almost certainly kidnapped and dissected some humans, for instance. But they could hardly update every star cruiser with illicit data. That would risk contaminating the onboard Libraiy cubes. I’d have to guess this crew has been improvising — not a skill much encouraged in Galactic society.”

“But humans are known for it. Is that why your ship came to Jijo? Improvising an opportunity?”

Ling nodded, rubbing her bare shoulders. “Our Rothen lor …” She paused, then chose another phrasing. “The Inner Circle received a message. A time-drop capsule, tuned for pickup by anyone with a Rothen cognition wave.”

“Who sent it?”

“Apparently, a secret believer living among the crew of the dolphin ship. Or one desperate enough to break from Terragens orders, and summon help from a higher source.”

“A believer …” Lark mused. “In the Danik faith, you mean. But Daniks teach that humans are the secret recipients of Rothen patronhood.”

“And by tradition, that means a dolphin crew could also call on Rothen help, in case of dire need … which those poor creatures surely face.”