Timothy Zahn - Manta's Gift

Latranesto grunted something under his breath as he turned to look at the other two Breeders, holding position quietly off to the side. "The message from Gryntaro and Wirkani did not identify them," he said. "It was only because I knew your history that I suspected Breeder Prantrulo was the one involved in your escape. That's why I had my Protectors watching Breeder Druskani."

"Ah," Manta said. "I'd wondered how you found us so fast."

"If you go now, the two of you can leave in peace," Latranesto told them. "But beware. If you're caught in Manta's presence again, there will be consequences for you both."

He flicked his tails. "And as with him, there will be nothing I can do to protect you."

"We understand," Pranlo said. "Thank you."

"And don't worry," Drusni added. "If there's a solution to this problem, Manta will find it."

With an effort, Manta held his tongue. He didn't have even a ninth of Drusni's confidence in his problem-solving abilities. But there was no point in deflating her buoyancy.

"Then go," Latranesto said gravely. "The next time we meet, may you bring me good news."

"That would be nice for a change, wouldn't it?" Manta admitted. "Ever since I got here, it seems I've been a straight run of trouble for you."

"Yet you will fulfill the hopes of those who brought you here," Latranesto said quietly. "I, too, have that trust."

Manta took a deep breath. "I'll do my best," he promised again. "Farewell."

He swiveled to face Pranlo and Drusni. "And thank you," he said. "For everything. I'll be back as soon as I can." Not daring to wait for their response, he flipped around and swam away.

Pranlo had been right, he told himself grimly as he turned his right ear into the wind and headed south. A devastating curse that had defied the best Qanskan thinkers throughout their long history; and this was the problem they were expecting him to solve? This wasn't just the biggest Vuuka swimming; this was all the Vuuka on Jupiter lined up in a row, waiting to take a crack at him.

He had no idea how to begin. None whatsoever. Clouds above and the Deep below, he'd studied business in school. Business. Profit and loss, inflow and outflow, pluses and minuses, sales and bargaining and corporate design. About the only things he knew about ecological disasters were the costs involved in preventing them and how to structure the financial losses that ensued if they happened anyway.

The humans up there on the station might be able to take a crack at it. Faraday and the others had access to information and expertise he couldn't hope to come up with down here. Maybe he should give them a call and see if they would be willing to chew it over.

He flipped his tails viciously. No. Not until he had some idea what the trouble was. Any beings who would swim so crookedly as to try to hold children for ransom could just as easily sell the Qanska a useless bill of goods. Without some idea of where the source of the problem lay, the Qanska would have no way of knowing if the humans were being honest with them or not.

Which unfortunately circled him right back to his original question. How in the Deep was he supposed to begin?

He was still turning the problem over in his mind, trying to get a tooth-hold on it, when he suddenly noticed that Pranlo and Drusni were swimming quietly alongside him.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, frowning as he coasted to a halt.

"What does it look like we're doing?" Pranlo answered. "We're coming with you. So you think the answer lies in the southern regions?"

"Wait a pulse; wait just a Vuuka-mangled pulse," Manta growled. "Let's get something straight right now. You two are in the clear. You can go back to Centerline and your children and pick up your lives where they were before all this other mess happened. So go do it."

Drusni looked over at Pranlo. "He doesn't learn very fast, does he?" she commented.

"You do have to wonder sometimes," Pranlo agreed. "I remember us saying something about friendship. You?"

"Me, too," Drusni said, flipping her tails in a nod. "Maybe he just wasn't listening."

"Come on, this is no time to be funny," Manta snapped. "It was you two who weren't listening. If they catch you with me, you're going to be with me permanently. All of us with our ears bitten off, exiled to who knows where. What happens to you then? What happens to your children then?"

"We'd be in trouble," Drusni agreed, her voice steady. "But that's not going to happen, because you're going to come up with the answer Latranesto wants."

"And what if I don't?" Manta shot back. "Because I sure as the Deep don't know if I can pull this off.

I don't mind risking my own future; I don't even mind risking Latranesto's. But I don't want to risk yours."

"What about the future of the Qanska?" Pranlo asked quietly. "Are you willing to risk that?"

Manta felt his throats tighten. "I already said I was going to do my best."

"Good," Drusni said. "In that case, we're going with you. I don't know how it is with humans, but in my experience Qanska never really do their best alone. It always takes at least two, working together, for each one to achieve that."

"In this case, it takes three," Pranlo put in. "The Three Musketta swim again!"

Manta sighed, his heart aching inside him. "I know you're being serious," he said quietly. "Both of you. And I'll never be able to tell you how much it means to me. But I don't even know what use I'm going to be on this. I can't even begin to guess what kind of help you can be."

"Maybe all we'll do is listen," Drusni said. "A long time ago I told you that talking about a problem with friends was sometimes the best way to solve it."

"Yes, I remember," Manta said reluctantly. "But I doubt this is exactly what you had in mind."

Pranlo snorted. "Oh, come on, Manta. Show me a Qanska who gets to pick his problems, and that's the herd I want to swim with."

"Then it's settled," Drusni said firmly. "Right, Manta?"

Manta sighed again. "It looks like I'm outvoted," he said, giving up. "If you want to know the truth, I would appreciate the company."

"See?" Pranlo said. "Already you're making better decisions."

He flipped his tails and started off again across the wind. "Come on, let's go—we've got a job to do.

The Three Musketta, on their finest adventure yet."

"Yeah," Manta murmured as he turned to follow. "Let's just hope it's not their last."

Early on in his house arrest, pacing restlessly around his increasingly cramped quarters, Faraday's frustration had conjured up images of himself as a prisoner in one of those seventeenth-century period vids he'd loved as a child. He pictured himself locked in the dungeon of some medieval fortress, with only a tiny window available to let in light and air.

Still, mental dramatics aside, he had to admit his position was hardly that desperate. His quarters weren't made of stone, they weren't dank and cold or even particularly uncomfortable, and he certainly hadn't been totally forgotten by the outside world. Hesse's nervously furtive visits proved that much.

And of course, his single window had a scope and power which his seventeenth-century counterpart could never have dreamed of.

The main newsnets, not surprisingly, weren't particularly useful. The public activities and pronouncements of the Five Hundred were duly reported, discussed, and analyzed, but nowhere was there even a hint of the turmoil and power struggles Hesse had said were going on behind the scenes.

But then, Faraday would hardly expect there to be. Secret power struggles were, by definition, secret. Fortunately, the public channels weren't his only resources. Patiently, methodically, he scoured through them, looking for some clue as to what Arbiter Liadof was up to.