Диана Дуэйн - Lifeboats

“I think so,” said the sibik.

Kit thought of that intense wave of experience, of emotion, that had washed over him before and after the little Tevaralti boy seizing his pet again and cuddling it close. Something’s happened. To it? To me? Or both? Who even knows, right now? He turned his attention back to the sibik. “You remember what these are called?”

“Saltines.”

“That’s right. Now we’ll learn a new word, yeah?”

“Yeah please.”

“Good. We’re going to share.”

“Yes share, please and thank you,” said the sibik with enthusiasm, hauling itself up wholly into Kit’s lap.

Kit laughed. “Okay. Do you know what share means?”

It eyed him. “Tell me?”

“It means you get some, and I get some.”

“That sounds good,” the sibik said. “Who gets more?”

Kit snickered, then shook his head. “We both get the same. That’s what sharing is.” At least most of the time, Kit thought. Certainly the definition broke down somewhat with Nita where Ben ‘n’ Jerry’s “Cherry Garcia” ice cream was involved.

“Okay,” said the sibik, sounding just slightly regretful. “Please share the saltine crackers now.”

It was very demurely keeping its tentacles to itself, though they were twitching. There was no way Kit could delay rewarding such good behavior. “So this is how we do it,” he said. “I give you one. Then I give me one. And that’s the way it goes until we’re done and they’re all gone.”

“That will be sad,” said the sibik solemnly, its eyes not leaving the saltine package for a moment.

“Yes it will,” Kit said. He pulled the first cracker out and looked at it with a sigh. “Just so long as you’re clear that these are the very last saltines on this planet, and the next nearest ones are…”

“A long way away,” said the sibik.

“That’s right. So here.” He handed the sibik the first saltine.

It took it reverentially, stuffed it into that blunt-toothed, half-hidden eating orifice, and started crunching.

Kit took out the next one and crunched it up too, sighing just once at the thought of the ketchup which would not be going on any of these. Oh well, he thought. Mamvish’ll be putting that to good use. Some good use. One of these days, when all this was over, he was going to find out exactly what good use. I just hope it’s something that won’t make me need to reach for the brain bleach afterward.

“So,” Kit said. “Want another?”

“I would like another saltine please,” said the sibik.

“Your syntax is really improving, you know that?” Kit said as he pulled out another saltine.

“What’s syntax?” said the sibik as it reached out and took the cracker.

“The way you speak. Sort of.”

It stuffed the second cracker into the eating orifice and started crunching again. “All right,” the sibik said perfectly clearly.

“Interesting,” Kit said. “Whatever you use to talk, it’s not the mouth you eat with…” He had his next cracker, and looked out past the sibik toward the plain, trying to work out in his head approximately where he and Ronan had found this one’s people the other day. I could take the pad over instead of walking all that way, he thought. The manual will have rough coordinates for the edge of the encampment…

“Another please?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Here.” Kit handed the sibik its next cracker while feeling faint amusement at the roles that the Powers that Be appeared to have dropped him into here. Official Shouter at Machinery, he thought, pulling out a cracker for himself. Provider of Probably Controlled Substances to Species Archivists. And Freelance Animal Control Officer and Rehomer. …For certain values of rehoming.

But that thought made Kit pause. This entire project—the whole business of rafting life away from a doomed world—was in its way a gigantic rehoming effort. If no one was paying attention to the effect it had on the pets, if everybody was concentrating on the dominant species, maybe that was reason enough for his presence here, gates or no gates. Even if I can only help one of them. ‘All is done for each,’ isn’t that the saying about wizardry?

And anyway, what makes me think I know what job’s most important for me here? Kit thought about the little moulting Tevaralti boy, desperate to have his lost pet back, overjoyed to have him in his arms again. If somebody had sent a wizard to help Ponch if he’d been in trouble when I was just a kid, I’d have thought that wizard was the most important one in the world… no matter what the wizard thought he was doing.

“You’re not eating yours,” said the sibik.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

“If you gave it to me,” the sibik said thoughtfully, “I could have more.”

More dog biscuits, said a familiar voice in Kit’s memory, yay!

Kit absently gave the cracker to the sibik, smiling slightly. Yet still he found himself wondering. He’s spoken to me before, often enough, through other people’s pets. Especially the doggy ones. These guys are doggy enough. Why’s he being so quiet? It was strange. Once Ponch had found out that he could communicate with Kit, when he was still a dog, it had been impossible to shut him up. Even now, when off about his newer, much larger business, he often found time to break through to Kit and have a word.

But not here, not now. Not directly.

Something’s definitely going on.

“You could let me have another more,” said the sibik pointedly.

“So I could,” Kit said, and handed the sibik another saltine to buy himself time to think.

Sometimes the Powers have refused to do anything but whisper when they didn’t dare discuss something in the open, Kit thought. In the Pullulus War, they couldn’t tell us about the Hesper. They could only hint and give us clues, because if we knew for certain who was coming, the Lone Power would’ve known what we knew, and would have moved against her. Not even the Winged Defender was sure what was going on until nearly the end.

Kit took a cracker for himself. But if the Powers could whisper… then the One could too. It, or one of Its avatars. Leaving the one who heard the whispers to work out what they meant, forge the connections: find the way through.

Pathfinder.

Kit ate his cracker and swallowed with some difficulty: his mouth was dry. He wished he could get up and fetch some water from his puptent, but he didn’t dare move. The sudden certainty of all this being intended had fallen across Kit’s mind like having a heavy wet coat dropped on him, and the effect was much the same: it made him shiver.

Yet after a moment he found himself sitting up straighter in response. He wasn’t in this alone. He had help: the very best help imaginable… even if for some reason that help wasn’t able to come out into the open and make itself available directly.

Now all he had to do was figure out exactly how to use it.

“Okay,” Kit said, “who’s ahead?”

“I am,” the sibik said. “You should take a more now.”

“Thank you,” Kit said, and had another cracker, while the sibik’s eyes all followed it with stark interest. When he finished the cracker, he said to the sibik, “Ready for another one?”

“Yes please.”

“Then here’s yours… and here’s mine.”

They ate their crackers together. “These are very good,” the sibik said.

“Yes they are,” Kit said, looking mournfully at the half-empty package. And soon I’ll be sitting here with a space octopus in my lap and no crackers left but Ritz. It was a bleak prospect. “Another?”

“Another more.”

“So you mean you want two.”

“I thought I said that.”

“Not exactly,” Kit said. “But here.” He gave the sibik two crackers, which it took from him each in a separate tentacle. Then it began regarding them alternately, unable to make up its mind which to eat first.