Timothy Zahn - Manta's Gift

The humans would have won. They would get the stardrive they wanted, or they would continue to trap Qanskan children until they did.

The probe and cage were starting to lumber across the wind now. Manta drove upward, his eyes searching the sleekly curved metal surfaces desperately for a weakness. But there wasn't one.

Unless...

His eyes fell on the mesh screen covering the intake side of the turboprop cowling. The mesh there was considerably finer than the one that made up the cage. Could a Qanska, swimming at top speed, ram his way through the mesh and into the propeller itself?

The thought was terrifying. In his imagination, he could see himself hitting the blades; could feel the tearing of skin and muscle and bone, a disintegration of his body far worse than even a pack of Sivra could manage.

But at least it would be fast. Faster than living the rest of a Qanskan lifetime with that last, broken image of Drusni haunting his vision wherever he looked.

The probe was picking up speed. Driving hard, he swam forward, trying to get around in front of the nearest engine's intake. He deserved to die anyway. This way, at least, his death could have a purpose.

Maybe that would be how Drusni would remember him. Maybe she could be that forgiving.

But he doubted it.

The whine of Omega's turboprops was starting to fill the Contact Room as the engines revved their way toward full speed. "But what about your demands?" Faraday asked, frustration churning his stomach. If the probe got away now, all of the Qanskans' effort—not to mention Raimey's—would be for nothing.

And this insane standoff would continue.

"What about them?" Liadof countered. "The Leaders know what we want."

"But they won't know where to deliver their answer," Faraday argued. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the inertial indicators at the bottom of the display were flashing. Omega was starting to move.

But Faraday wasn't really watching the indicators. His full attention was on the image coming from the spy probe. Darting up alongside the cage like a minnow swimming past a crab pot, Raimey was charging upward toward the operational part of the Omega probe. Swimming with a determination Faraday had seldom if ever seen in him.

And it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was doing. He was heading for Omega's engines, clearly hoping to prevent the hostages from being whisked away.

And there was only one way Faraday could imagine he might accomplish that.

Don't do it, Faraday pleaded silently with the image. It would cost Raimey his life; and it wouldn't stop Omega from getting away anyway. With one engine gone it would be more sluggish, but it could still outpace any Qanskan attackers in the long run. Surely Raimey could see that. Had he gotten so worked up by the Vuuka attack that he couldn't think straight?

Perhaps he had. Omega was picking up speed, and so was Raimey.

Liadof had noticed him, too. "What's he doing?" she muttered from Faraday's side.

"Trying to stop the probe," Faraday told her, hoping that his reading of Raimey's plan was wrong.

But no. Raimey had already passed the trailing communications and control antennae, and at the rate Omega was accelerating he would never make it to the group at the bow end before the probe got away from him. And there was no other exposed equipment anywhere that Faraday could see.

Which left only the propellers. And the supreme sacrifice.

"He's going for the engines," Liadof said suddenly, her voice a mixture of disbelief and indignation.

"Is there any way he can hurt them? Colonel?"

"Not without hurting himself," Faraday said bitterly. Out of another corner of his eye, he noticed Mulligan fiddling with his sensor controls. "But if he doesn't mind dying for his people, and if he can get through the forward baffle screen—"

"Damn it," Liadof bit out. "Mr. Boschwitz—get Omega up to full speed. Now."

"Yes, Arbiter," Boschwitz's voice confirmed. "I'm running the engines through their prescribed rampup; it'll just be—"

"I said now!" Liadof cut him off. "Full power now!"

"But—acknowledged, Arbiter," Boschwitz interrupted himself. "Full power now." The engine noise jolted suddenly up in pitch and intensity—

And then, to Faraday's astonishment, it just as suddenly dropped off completely.

Liadof literally leaped out of her chair. "Boschwitz!" she shouted. "You bungling little—" She choked back the rest of the curse. "Get them going again. Now!"

"I'm trying," Boschwitz said, his voice cringing. "They're not responding. Any of them."

"He warned you there was a proper ramp-up procedure," Faraday reminded her. "They've probably overheated or safety-locked or something."

"Shut up," Liadof snapped. "Mr. Boschwitz?"

"Still not responding," the controller said tightly. "Colonel Faraday's right—the diagnostic's indicating some kind of safety interlock."

"Then override it," Liadof ordered, striding forward to stand behind McCollum's vacant chair and peering at the diagnostic displays. "Everything can be overridden."

"Yes, ma'am, but I need to know the problem first," Boschwitz explained. "The overrides are specific to the particular interlock—"

"I don't care how you do it," Liadof shouted. "Rip them all out if you have to. But get that probe moving!"

"Too late," Milligan murmured, pointing up at the main display. "They're through."

Faraday looked at the view from the spy probe. Milligan was right: The Vuuka had chewed a hole completely through the mesh, still jostling against each other as they gnawed away at the edges. The hole was still pretty small, but already the youngest of the Qanskan children trapped inside should be able to squeeze through.

"Yes, well, they're not through enough," Liadof said tartly, an odd note creeping into her voice. It was an edge that in a lesser personality might be the first beginnings of panic. "Mr. Boschwitz, you have thirty seconds to get Omega moving. If you don't, I'll have you arrested on a charge of treason."

"Don't be absurd," Faraday said, keeping his voice low. "You can't blame him for this."

"I can blame anyone I want," Liadof said shortly. "I'm an Arbiter of the Five Hundred. This is my project; and it will not fail."

She turned bitter eyes toward Faraday. "Or else."

Above him, the huge driving engines suddenly stopped.

Manta slowed the rippling of his fins, letting himself coast to a confused stop. Was he misreading the sounds here?

No. The engines had stopped, the probe itself coasting to a halt.

What in the Deep were the humans up to now?

He didn't have the haziest idea. But it didn't matter. This was their opportunity to get the children and Breeders out, and he intended to take it.

He rolled over and looked down. From his distance and angle it was hard to tell, but it looked like the Vuuka had succeeded in eating through the metal cage. If the humans would be considerate enough to leave their engines off just a little longer...

A movement to the side caught his eye. A group of perhaps twenty Protectors had gathered a short distance away and were starting to drift toward the thrashing Vuuka. "Wait," Manta called, hoping the Vuuka were too busy to pay attention to him. "Not yet."

"Don't worry," a gruff voice came from his right. "They know what they're doing."

Manta turned, to find a Protector floating beside him. "What?"

"I said they know what they're doing," the other repeated, his eyes on the feeding frenzy below.

"They'll wait until the opening is large enough for all inside to escape before they drive the Vuuka away."

"Good," Manta said, frowning. Maybe it was just that the Protector was concentrating so hard on the events below; but somehow, Manta had the distinct impression he was deliberately not looking at him. "Who are you, anyway?"