Timothy Zahn - Manta's Gift

"But if you do that, are you going to be able to get away in time?"

"Oh, sure," Manta said. "It'll still have to go all the way down, way past Level Eight. Plenty of time."

"Uh-huh," Drusni said, still frowning. She wasn't buying this, Manta realized with a sinking feeling.

"You know, maybe Pranlo or I should stay and go along with you. I'm sure Latranesto has enough people to check Level One."

"No, that's all right," Manta said quickly. "It's more important that you make sure all the children are out of range of the blast. Besides, there really isn't anything you can do to help me."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts," Manta said firmly. "I don't need your help. You go with Pranlo and make sure everything's clear above."

For a long ninepulse she floated silently beside him. Then, gently, she reached out and stroked his fin again. "Okay," she said. "But you be careful."

"Sure," Manta said. "Anyway. It must be almost sunlight. I might as well head up and get ready."

"Okay," she said. "Unless you want to talk a little longer."

He looked at her, her face and body shimmering in the dim light; and suddenly, completely unbidden, a stray memory flickered to life in the back of his mind. That human woman—Brianna?

Was that her name?—the last human woman he'd ever loved.

Or at least, the last woman he'd thought he loved. Because now, with the perspective of age, and with the end of his life swimming swiftly toward him, he suddenly saw her with fresh eyes. What he'd thought back then was a quick and easy spontaneity had been in reality a lack of forethought and planning. Her version of wit, while funny enough, had relied on jokes and cruelty at other people's expense.

And the unjudgmental acceptance of everything and everyone that he'd so admired had been nothing more than the sign of a lazy, undiscerning, shallow character.

How could he have ever been attracted to such a woman? How could he even have tolerated her presence in the same room with him?

There was only one answer; a painful, embarrassing answer. The young Matthew Raimey, the human he had once been, had been just as shallow and self-centered and foolish as she was.

It was odd, he thought distantly, how you didn't even notice the changes taking place in yourself.

"Manta?"

He focused on Drusni, the memory of Brianna fading thankfully into the mists. Drusni, who had willingly paid a horrible price to protect her people, and had then shrugged it off in an attempt to salve Manta's own conscience.

"I asked if you wanted to talk some more," she repeated.

He sighed. Yes, he wanted to talk longer. He wanted to talk with her until sunlight turned to sundark, and nineday turned to nineday into nineday. He wanted to talk with her, and to laugh with her, and to be with her, until they were both too old to swim through Level Eight and slipped peacefully into death.

But they would never have that time now. And without it, there was no point in trying to squeeze anything more out of a few more ninepulses. "No, that's okay," he told her, flipping his tails. "I'd better get going." He hesitated. "Good-bye, Drusni. And... be sure to say good-bye to Pranlo for me."

With a final flip of his tails, he stretched out his buoyancy sacs and headed up. "Manta?" Drusni called after him. "Wait a pulse."

He ignored her, pushing hard against the air with his fins to put as much distance as he could between them. He had, he knew, begun his life on Jupiter as a royal pain in the tails to everyone around him. Lately, he'd tried to turn that around, to serve his friends and his people as best he could.

Trying to make up for all the pain and frustration and anger he'd caused. Trying to return something good to them for this gift of life he'd been given.

Had he succeeded in bringing the scales back into balance? He didn't know. For that matter, he didn't know if they ever truly could be balanced. How could anyone sweep away an unkind word, or a vicious thought, or an unfair rumor?

Or the death of a loved one's unborn child?

No, there was no balance possible. All he could do was serve them all as best he could, and hope that the past could somehow be put aside.

And now, here at the end, he had one last act of service to perform. One last gift to offer his people.

He continued upward, heading for the spot where the humans would soon be lowering their weapon.

Away to the east, the sunlight was beginning to filter into the darkness.

"Tether ship reporting in," McCollum announced. "They're ready to start lowering the package."

"Tell them to stand by," Faraday said. "Mr. Milligan, you getting anything on any of the probes?"

"Everything seems clear," Milligan said. "Looks like we're good to go."

"Good," Faraday said, glancing one last time over the status displays. All did, indeed, seem to be ready. "Ms. McCollum, order the tether ship to proceed."

"Yes, sir," McCollum said. She repeated the order into her microphone, then leaned over her displays. "Tether ship has begun lowering the package," she reported after a minute. "Time to top of Level One, approximately five minutes."

Faraday nodded, and a taut silence descended on the room. The tether ship crew was the most experienced one on the station, with probably a hundred similar maneuvers under their belts. They knew what they were doing.

On the other hand, they'd never done it with a live half-gigaton nuclear weapon before. This would not be a good time for random mistakes to start creeping in.

"Payload's entering the upper atmosphere," Milligan reported. "No bouncing or instabilities yet."

"Wind is holding within acceptable limits," Sprenkle added. "We've got a storm developing a few kilometers to the northwest, but the projected track shows it staying well clear."

Faraday began to breathe again. Apart from the turbulence layers lurking down around Level Eight, this was the part everyone had worried about the most. Even under the best of conditions, the relatively sudden transition from vacuum to high-speed atmosphere could be a tricky one to handle.

With the weight and bulk of the pressure shielding they'd had to build around the nuke, this was not the best of conditions.

"I'm getting something on Probe Four," Milligan said suddenly. "One Qanska, moving up fast toward the package."

"Who is it?" Faraday asked. "Anyone we know?"

"It's Manta," Beach murmured under his breath.

"It is?" Faraday said, frowning at him. With all the frantic activity of the past week and a half, it suddenly occurred to him that he'd never gotten around to asking Beach about the odd expression he'd seen on him back during that pivotal confrontation between Liadof and Counselor Latranesto.

"How do you know?"

"It's Manta, all right," Milligan confirmed before Beach could reply. "What in the world is he doing here?"

"Maybe he's helping make sure the area's clear," McCollum suggested.

"Or he's here for some other reason," Faraday said, still looking at Beach. That same odd expression was back. "Mr. Beach, do you know something we don't?"

Beach shook his head. "Not really," he said. "It's just a... a feeling, I guess. Something Manta said, back when Arbiter Liadof was trying to bludgeon the stargate's location out of Counselor Latranesto."

"What was it?" Faraday asked.

"That's the problem: I don't know," Beach said. "Maybe it wasn't something he said, exactly, but the way he was talking. Something in his voice, or the way he was using the tonals."

"Yes," Sprenkle spoke up slowly. "Now that you mention it, I remember noticing something in his voice, too."

"Well, what was it?" Faraday asked again. "Come on; between the two of you, you know as much about the way Manta talks and thinks as any ten other people in the System. Was he mad at Liadof for what she was doing? Mad at the rest of us for letting her do it?"