While a few dolphins do believe in missing patrons, a majority are like Makanee. I hey hold that we humans must have done it ourselves, struggling against darkness without the slightest Intervention by outsiders.

How did Chaplain Creideiki put it, once" Oh yes.

1 Hr,Kt are racial memories, lorn and Jill. Recollections that can be accessed through deep keeneenk meditation. One particular image comes down from our dreamlike legends-of an apelike creature paddling to sea on a tree trunk, proudly proclaiming that he had carved it, all by himself, with a stone ax, and demanding congratulations from an indifferent cosmos.

Now I ask you, would any decent patron let its client act in such a way a manner that made you look so ridiculous'

INO. From the beginning we could tell that you humans were being raised by amateurs. Dy yourselves.

AT least thats how I remember Creidelki's remark, lorn found it hilarious, but I recall suspecting that our captain was withholding part of the story. There was more, that he was saving for another time.

Only another time never came.

Even as we dined with Creideiki that evening, Streaker was wriggling her way by an obscure back route into the Shallow duster.

A day or two later, everything changed.

It is late and I should finish these notes. Try to catch some sleep.

Mannes reports mixed results from engineering, lie and larkaett found a way to remove some of the carbon coating from Streaker's hull, but a more thorough job would only wind up damaging our already weak Ranges, so that's out for now.

On the other hand, the control parameters I hoaxed out or the Library cube enabled Suessi's crew to bring a couple or these derelict dross starships back to lire! They re still Junk, or else the Buyur would have taken them along when they lett. Out immersion in icy water appears to have made little difference since then. perhaps some use might be found for one or two of the hulks. Anyway, it gives the engineers something to do.

We need distraction, now that Streaker seems to be trapped once more. Galactic cruisers have yet again chased us down to a far corner or the universe, coveting our lives and our secrets.

How?

I've pondered this over and over. How did they follow our trail?

The course past l?munuti seemed well hidden. Others made successful escapes this way before. The ancestors of the Six Races, for instance.

It should have worked.

ACROSS this narrow room, I stare at a small figure in a centered spotlight. My closest companion since lorn went away.

Herbie.

Our prize from the Shallow cl.u.s.ter.

Bearer of hopes and evil luck.

Was there a curse on the vast fleet of translucent vessels we discovered at that strange dip in s.p.a.ce? When Tom lound a way through their shimmering fields and s.n.a.t.c.hed Herb as a souvenir, did he bring back a Jinx that will haunt us until we put the d.a.m.ned corpse back in its billion-year-old tomb!

I used to find the ancient mummy entrancing. Its hint of a humanoid smile seemed almost whimsical.

But I've grown to hate the thing, and alt the s.p.a.ce this discovery has sent us Heeing across.

I'd give it all to have Tom back. To make the last three years go away. To recover those innocent old days, when the rive Galaxies were merely very, very dangerous, and there was still such a thing as home.

B-BUT YOU SAID HOONS WERE OUR ENEMIESSS!" Zhaki's tone was defiant, though his body posture- head down and flukes raised-betrayed uncertainty. Kaa took advantage, stirring water with his pectoral fins, taking the firm upright stance of an officer in the Terragens Survey Service.

"Those were different hoons," he answered. "The NuDawn disaster happened a long time ago."

Zhaki shook his bottle snout, flicking spray across the humid dome. "Eatees are eateesss. They'll crush Earthlings any chance they get, just like the Soro and Tandu and all the other muckety Galactics-cs!"

Kaa winced at the blanket generalization, but after two years on the run, such att.i.tudes were common among the ranks. Kaa also nursed the self-pitying image of Earth against the entire universe. But if that were true, the torment would have ended with annihilation long ago.

We have allies, a few friends . . . and the grudging sympathy of neutral clans, who hold meetings debating what to do about a plague of fanaticism sweeping the Five Galaxies. Eventually, the majority may reach a consensus and act to reestablish civilization. They may even penalize our murderers . . . for all the good it will do us.

"Actually," said Brookida, turning from his workbench in the far corner of the cramped shelter. "I would not put the hoon in the same category as our other persecutors. They aren't religious radicals, or power-hungry conquerors. Sourpuss bureaucrats-that's a better description. Officious sticklers for rules, which is why so many enter service with Galactic Inst.i.tutes. At NuDawn they were only enforcing the law. When human settlers resisted-"

"They thought they were being invaded!" Zhaki objected.

"Yessss." Brookida nodded. "But Earth's colony hadn't heard about contact, and they lacked equipment to hear Galactic inquiries. When hoonish officials came to give a ritual last warning, they met something not in their manuals ... armed trespa.s.sersss. Barbarians with no Galactic language. Mistakes followed. Military units swarmed in from Joph-"

"This has nothing to do with our present problem." Kaa interrupted Brookida's history lecture. "Zhaki, you must stop cutting the local hoons' fishing netsss! It draws attention to us."

"Angry attention," Brookida added. "They grow wary against your dep-p-predations, Zhaki. Last time, they cast many spears."

The young dolphin snorted.

Let the whalers throw!

As in autumn storms of old- Waves come, two-legs drown! *

Kaa flinched. Moments ago, Zhaki was eager to avenge humans who had died on a lost colony, back when dolphins could barely speak. Now the irate youth lumped all bipeds together,, dredging up a grudge from days before men and women became caretakers of Earth. There was no arguing with a mind that worked that way. Still, it was Kaa's job to enforce discipline.

If you repeat this act, No harpoon will sting your backside Like my snapping teeth! *

It wasn't great haiku-not poetical Trinary like Captain Creideiki used to dazzle his crew with, Grafting devoted loyalty from waves of gorgeous sound. But the warning rocked Zhaki. Kaa followed up, projecting a beam of intense sonar from his brow, piercing Zhaki's body, betraying fear churnings within.

When in doubt, he thought, fall back on the ancestors' ways.

"You are dismisssssed," he finished. "Go rest. Tomorrow's another long day."

Zhaki swerved obediently, retreating to the curtained alcove he shared with Mopol.

Alas, despite this brief success, Kaa also knew it would not last.

Tsh't told us this was an important mission. But I bet she a.s.signed us all here because we're the ones Streaker could most easily do without.

That night he dreamed of piloting.

Neo-dolphins had a flair for it-a precocious talent for the newest sapient species in all Five Galaxies. Just three hundred years after human geneticists began modifying natural bottlenose dolphins, starship Streaker was dispatched in a n.o.ble experiment to prove the skill of dolphin crews. The Terragens Council thought it might help solidify Earth's shaky position to become known as a source of crackerjack pilots.

"Lucky" Kaa had naturally been pleased to be chosen for the mission, though it brought home one glaring fact.

I was good . . . but not the best.

In half slumber, Kaa relived the terrifying ambush at Morgan, a narrow escape that still rocked him, even after -all this time.

Socketed in his station on the bridge, helpless to do anything but go along for the ride, as Chief Pilot Keepiru sent the old Snark-cla.s.s survey ship through maneuvers a Tandu fighter ship would envy, neatly evading lurk mines and snare fields, then diving back into the Morgan maelstrom, without benefit of guidance computation.

The memory lost no vividness after two long years.

Transit threads swarmed around them, a dizzying blur of dimensional singularities. By a whim of cerebral evolution, trained dolphin pilots excelled at picturing the shimmering s.p.a.ce-time clefts with sonar imagery. But Kaa had never rushed through such a tangle,A tornado of knotted strands. Any shining cord, caught at the wrong angle, might burl the ship back into normal s.p.a.ce with the consistency of quark stew ...

. . . Yet somehow, the ship sped nimbly from one thread to the next, Keepiru escaped the pursuers, dodged past the normal trade routes, and finally brought Streaker to a refuge Captain Creideiki chose.

Kithrup, where resources for repairs could be found as pure isotopic metal, growing like coral in a poison sea . . .

. . . Kithrup, homeworld of two unknown races, one sinking in an ancient wallow of despair, and the other hopeful, new ...

. . . Kithrup, where no one should have been able to follow ...

. . . But they did. Galactics, feuding and battling insanely overhead . . .

. . . And soon Keepiru was gone, along with Toshio, Hikahi, and Mr. Orley . . .

. . . and Kaa learned that some wishes were better not coming true.

He learned that he did not really want to be chief pilot, after all.

In the years since, he has gained experience. The escapes he piloted-from Oakka and the Fractal System- were performed well, if not as brilliantly.

Not quite good enough to preserve Kaa's nickname.

I never heard anyone else say they could do better.

All in all, it was not a restful sleep.

Zhaki and Mopol were at it again, before dawn, rubbing and squealing beyond a slim curtain they nearly shredded with their slashing tails. They should have gone outside to frolic, but Kaa dared not order it.

"It is typical postadolescent behavior," Brookida told him, by the food dispenser. "Young males grow agitated. Among natural dolphins, unis.e.x play ceases to be sufficient as youths turn their thoughts to winning the companionship of females. Young allies often test their status by jointly challenging older males."

Of course Kaa knew all that. But he could not agree with the "typical" part. I never acted that way. Oh sure, I was an obnoxious, arrogant young fin. But I never acted intentionally gross, or like some reverted animal.

"Maybe Tsh't should have a.s.signed females to our team." He pondered aloud.

"Wouldn't help," answered the elderly metallurgist. "If those two schtorks weren't getting any aboard ship, they wouldn't do any better here. Our fern-fins have high standards."

Kaa sputtered out a lump of half-chewed mullet as he laughed, grateful for Brookida's lapse into coa.r.s.e humor- though it grazed by a touchy subject among Streaker's crew, the pet.i.tion to breed that some had been circulating and signing.

Kaa changed the subject. "How goes your a.n.a.lysis of the matter the hoons dumped overboard?"

Brookida nodded toward his workbench, where several ribboned casks lay cracked open. Bits of bone and crystal glittered amid piles of ashen dust.

"So far, the contents confirm what the hoonish boy wrote in his journal."

"Amazing. I was sure it must be a fake, planted by our enemies." Transcripts of the handwritten diary, pa.s.sed on by Streaker's command, seemed too incredible to believe.

"Apparently the story is true. Six races do live together on this world. As part of ecology-oriented rituals, they send their unrecyclable wastes-called dross-to sea for burial in special disposal zones. This includes parts of their processed bodies."

"And you found-"

"Human remainsss." Brookida nodded. "As well as chimps, hoons, urs . . . the whole crowd this young 'Alvin' wrote about."

Kaa was still dazed by it all.

"And there are ... J-Jophur." He could hardly speak the word aloud.

Brookida frowned. "A matter of definition, it seems. I've exchanged message queries with Gillian and the Niss Machine. They suggest these so-called traeki might have the other races fooled as part of an elaborate, long-range plot."

"How could that be?"

"I am not sure. It would not require that every traeki be in on the scheme. Just a few, with secret master rings, * and the hidden equipment to dominate their fellow beings. I cannot quite fathom it. But Gillian has questioned the captured Library unit. And that seems a possssible scenario."

Kaa had no answer for that. Such matters seemed so complex, so far beyond his grasp, his only response was to shiver from the tip of his rostrum all the way down to his trembling tail.

They spent another day spying on the local sooners. The hoonish seaport, Wuphon, seemed to match the descriptions in Alvin's journal . . . though more crude and shabby in the eyes of beings who had seen the sky towers of Tanith and bright cities on Earth's moon. The hoons appeared to pour more lavish attention on their boats than their homes. The graceful sailing ships bore delicate carving work, down to proud figureheads shaped like garish deities.

When a vessel swept past Kaa, he overheard the deep, rumbling sounds of singing, as the sailors boomed evident joy across the whitecaps.

It's hard to believe these are the same folk Brookida described as pa.s.sionless prigs. Maybe there are two races that look alike, and have similar-sounding names. Kaa made a mental note to send an inquiry in tonight's report.

Hoons weren't alone on deck. He peered at smaller creatures, scrambling nimbly over the rigging, but when he tried using a portable camera, the image swept by too fast to catch much more than a blur.

Streaker also wanted better images of the volcano, which apparently was a center of industrial activity among the sooner races. Gillian and Tsh't were considering sending another independent robot ash.o.r.e, though earlier drones had been lost. Kaa got spectral readings of the mountain's steaming emissions, and discovered the trace of a slender tramway, camouflaged against the rocky slopes.

He checked frequently on Zhaki and Mopol, who seemed to be behaving for a change, sticking close to their a.s.signed task of eavesdropping on the red qheuen colony.

But later, when all three of them were on their way back to base, Mopol lagged sluggishly behind.

"It must-t have been some-thing I ate," the blue dolphin murmured, as unpleasant gurglings erupted within his abdomen.

Oh great, Kaa thought. I warned him a hundred times not to sample local critters before Brookida had a chance to test them!

Mopol swore it was nothing. But as the water surrounding their shelter dimmed with the setting sun, he started moaning again. Brookida used their tiny med scanner, but was at a loss to tell what had gone wrong.

NOMINALLY, SHE COMMANDED EARTH'S MOST Famous s.p.a.ceship-a beauty almost new by Galactic standards, just nine hundred years old when the Terragens Council purchased it from a Puntictin used-vessel dealer, then altered and renamed it Streaker to show off the skills of neo-dolphin voyagers.

Alas, the bedraggled craft seemed unlikely ever again to cruise the great spiral ways. Burdened by a thick coat of refractory stardust-and now trapped deep underwater while pursuers probed the abyss with sonic bombs-to all outward appearances, it seemed doomed to join the surrounding great pile of ghost ships, sinking in the slowly devouring mud of an oceanic ravine.

Gone was the excitement that first led Tsh't into the service. The thrill of flight. The exhilaration. Nor was there much relish in "authority," since she did not make policies or crucial decisions. Gillian Baskin had that role.

What remained was handling ten thousand details . . . like when a disgruntled cook accosted her in a water-filled hallway, wheedling for permission to go up to the realm of light.

"It'ssss too dark and c-cold to go fishing down here!" complained Bulla-jo, whose job it was to help provide meals for a hundred finicky dolphins. "My harvesst team can hardly move, wearing all that pressure armor. And have you seen the so-called fish we catch in our nets? Weird things, all sspiky and glowing!"