Uriel was overjoyed.

"The little sneak canera that scared us so ... the device came fron the Earthling ship! Perhaps the Jophur have not found us, after all!"

That mattered. The sky battleship was said to be on the move, perhaps heading in their direction. But Uriel could not evacuate the forge with several projects still under way. Her teams had never been busier.

"I'll go see the Terran at once," the smith declared.

There was no lack of volunteers to come along. Riding the first tram, Sara watched Prity flip through Emerson's wrinkled sketchpad, lingering over a page where sleek figures with finned backs and tails arched ecstatically through . crashing waves. An image drawn from memory.

"They look other than I imagined," commented Uriel, curling her long neck past the chimp's shoulder. "Till now, I only knew the race from descripshuns in books."

"You should read the kind with pictures in 'em." Kurt the Exploser laughed, nudging his nephew. But Jomah kept his face pressed to the window next to Emerson, taking turns pointing at features of the fast-changing landscape. Ever-cheerful, the starman showed no awareness of what this trip was about.

Sara knew what tugged her heart. Beyond all other worries and pangs, she realized, It may be time for the bird to fly back to his own kind.

Watching the robust person she had nursed from the brink of death, Sara saw no more she could offer him. No cure for a ravaged brain, whose sole hope lay back in the Civilization of the Five Galaxies. Even with omnipotent foes in pursuit, who wouldn't choose that life over a shadow existence, huddling on a stranded sh.o.r.e?

The ancestors, that's who. The Tabernacle crew, and all the other sneakships.

Sara recalled what Sage Purofsky said, only a day ago. "There are no accidents, Sara. Too many ships came to Jijo, in too short time."

"The scrolls speak of destiny, " she had replied. "Destiny!" The sage snorted disdain. "A word made up by people who don't understand how they got where they are, and are blind to where they're going." ' "Are you saying you know how we got here, Master?"

Despite all the recent commotion and tragedy, Sara found her mind still hooked by Purofsky's reply.

"Of course I do, Sara. It seems quite clear to me.

"We were invited."

E. wasx FOOLS!" THE CAPTAIN-LEADER DECLARES. "ALL BUT one of these emanations must come from decoy torpedoes, tuned to imitate the emission patterns of a starship. It is a standard tactical ruse in deep s.p.a.ce. But such artifice cannot avail if we linger circ.u.mspectly at short range!

"Use standard techniques to sift the emanations.

"FIND THE TRUE VESSEL WE SEEK!"

Ah, My rings. Can you discern the colors swarming down the glossy flanks of our Captain-Leader? See how glorious, how l.u.s.trous they are. Witness the true dignity of Jophur wrath in its finest form.

Such indignation! Such egotistic rage! The Oailie would be proud of this commander of ours, especially as we all hear impossible news.

THESE ARE NOT DECOY DRONES AT ALL.

The myriad objects we detect . . . moving out of the Rift toward open ocean . . . EVERY ONE OF THEM IS A REAL STARSHIP!

The bridge mists with fearful vapors. A great fleet of ships! How did the Earthers acquire such allies?

Even our Polkjhy is no match for this many.

We will be overwhelmed!

Dwer I AM SORRY," GILLIAN BASKIN TOLD HIM. "THE Decision came suddenly. There was no time to arrange a special ride to sh.o.r.e."

She seemed irked, as if his request were unexpected. But in fact, Dwer had asked for nothing else since his second day aboard this vessel.

The two humans drifted near each other in a s.p.a.cious, water-filled chamber, the control center of starship Streaker. Dolphins flew past them across the spherical room, breathing oxygen-charged fluid with lungs that had been modified to make it almost second nature. At consoles and workstations, they switched to bubble domes or tubes attached directly to their blowholes. It seemed as strange an environment as Dwer had ever dreamed, yet the fins seemed in their element. By contrast, Dwer and Gillian wore balloonlike garments, seeming quite out of place.

"I'm not doing any good here," he repeated, hearing the words narrowly projected by his globe helmet. "I got no skills you can use. I can hardly breathe the stuff you call air. Most important, there are folks waiting for me. Who need me. Can't you just cut me loose in some kind of a boat?"

Gillian closed her eyes and sighed-a brief, eerie set of clicks and chuttering moans. "Look, I understand your predicament," she said in Anglic. "But I have over a hundred lives to look after . . . and a lot more at stake, in a larger sense. I'm sorry, Dwer. All I can hope is that you'll understand."

He knew it useless to pursue the matter further. A dolphin at one of the bridge stations called for attention, and Gillian was soon huddled with that fin and Lieutenant Tsh't, solving the latest crisis.

The groan of Streaker's engines made Dwer's head itch-a residual effect, perhaps, of the way his brain was palped and bruised by the Danik robot. He had no proof things would really be any better if he found his way back to sh.o.r.e. But his legs, arms, and lungs all pined for wilderness-for wind on his face and the feel of rough ground underfoot.

A ghostly map traced its way across the bridge. The realm of dry land was a grayish border r.i.m.m.i.n.g both sides of a submerged canyon-the Rift-now filled with moving lights, dispersing like fire bees abandoning their hives. So it seemed to Dwer as over a hundred ancient Buyur vessels came alive after half a million years, departing the trash heap where they were consigned long ago.

The tactic was familiar. Many creatures used flocking to confuse predators. He approved the cleverness of Gillian and her crew, and wished them luck.

But I can't help them. I'm useless here. She ought to let me go.

Most of the salvaged ships were under robotic control, programmed to follow simple sets of instructions. Volunteers rode a few derelicts, keeping close to Streaker, performing special tasks. Rety had volunteered for one of those teams, surprising Dwer and worrying him at the same time.

She never does anything unless there's an angle.

If he had gone along, there might have been a chance to veer the decoy close to sh.o.r.e, and jump off. . . .

But no, he had no right to mess up Gillian's plan.

Dammit, I'm used to action! I can't handle being a pa.s.sive observer.

But handle it he must.

Dwer tried to cultivate patience, ignoring an itch where the bulky suit would not let him scratch, watching the lights disperse-most heading for the mouth of the Rift, spilling into the vast oceanic abyss of the Great Midden itself.

"Starship enginesss!" The gravities detector officer announced, thrashing her tail flukes in the water, causing j bubbles in the supercharged liquid.

"P-pa.s.sive detectors show Nova cla.s.s or higher it'sss following the path of the Riff ft. . . ."

wasx REALIZATION EMERGES, ALONG WITH A STENCH OF frustration.

The vast fleet of vessels that we briefly feared has proved not to be a threat, after all. They are not warships, but decommissioned vessels, long ago abandoned as useless for efficient function.

Nevertheless, they baffle and thwart our goal/mission. A blast of leadership pheromones cuts through the disappointed mist.

"TO WORK THEN," our Captain-Leader proclaims. "WE ARE SKILLED, WE ARE MIGHTY. SO LET US DO YOUR/OUR JOBS WELL.

"PIERCE THIS MYSTERY. FIND THE PREY. WE ARE JOPHUR, WE SHALL PREVAIL."

Dwer B GLITTERING LIGHT ENTERED THE DISPLAY ZONE, much higher and much larger than any of the others, and cruising well above the imaginary waterline.

That must be the battleship, he thought. His mind tried to come up with an image. Something huge and terrible. Clawed and swift.

Suddenly, the detection officer's voice went shrill. "They're dropping ordnance!" Sparks began falling from the big glow. Bombs, Dwer realized. He had seen this happen before, but not on such a profuse scale. Lieutenant Tsh't shouted a warning. "All handsss, prepare for shock waves!"

Sara HOONISH WORK CREW SWARMED OVER THE TRAM after the pa.s.sengers debarked, filling the car with stacks of folded cloth. Teams had been sending the stuff up to the forge since dawn, stripping every ship of its sails. But the urrish smith hardly glanced at the cargo. Instead, Uriel trotted off, leading the way down to the cove with a haughty centauroid gait.

The dense, salty air of sea level affected everybody. Sara kept an eye on Emerson, who sniffed the breeze and commented in song.

"A storm is a-brewin' You can bet on it tonight. A blow is a-stewin' So you better batten tight."

The khutas and warehouses of the little port were shaded by a dense lattice of melon vines and nectar creepers, growing with a lush, tropical abundance characteristic of southern climes. The alleys were deserted though. Everyone was either working for Uriel or else down by the bay, where a crowd of hoons and qheuens babbled excitedly. Several hoons-males and females with beards of seniority-knelt by the edge of a quay, conversing toward the water, using animated gestures. But the town officials made way when Uriel's party neared.

Sara kept her attention on Emerson, whose expression stayed casually curious until the last moment, when a sleek gray figure lifted its glossy head from the water.

The starman stopped and stared, blinking rapidly.

He's surprised, Sara thought. Could we be wrong? Perhaps he has nothing to do with the dolphin ship.

Then the cetacean emissary lifted its body higher, thrashing water with its tail.

"Sssso, it's true. . . ." the fishlike Terran said in thickly accented Anglic, inspecting Emerson with one eye, then the other.

"Glad to see you living, Engineer D-D'Anite. Though it hardly seems possible, after what we saw happen to you back at the Fractal world.

"I confessss, I can't see how you followed us to this whale-forsaken planet."

Powerful emotions fought across Emerson's face. Sara read astonishment, battling surges of both curiosity and frustrated despair.

"K-K-K-"

The dismal effort to speak ended in a groan.

"A-ah-ahh ..."

The dolphin seemed upset by this response, chuttering dismay over the human's condition.

But then Emerson shook his head, seeking to draw on other resources. At last, he found a way to express his feelings, releasing a burst stream of song.

"How quaint the ways of paradox! At common sense she gaily mocks! We've quips and quibbles heard in flocks, But none to beat this paradox!"

Gillian THE ULTIMATUM BLANKETED ALL ETHERIC WAVElengths-a scratchy caterwauling that filled Streaker's bridge, making the oxy-water fizz. Streams of bubbles swelled and popped with each Galactic Four syntax phrase.

Most neo-dolphin crew members read a text translation prepared by the Niss Machine. Anglic letters and GalSeven glyphs flowed across the main holo screen.

HEAR AND COMPREHEND OUR FINAL COMMAND,OFFER!.

Gillian listened for nuance in the original Jophur dialect, hoping to glean something new. It was the third repet.i.tion since the enemy dreadnought began broadcasting from high in the atmosphere.

"YOU WHOM WE SEEK-YOU HAVE PERFORMED CLEVER MANEUVERS, WORTHY OF RESPECT. AT THIS JUNCTURE, WE SHALL NO LONGER WASTE BOMBS. WE SHALL CEASE USELESSLY INSPECTING DECOYS."

The change in tactics was expected. At first, the foe had sent robots into the lightless depths, to examine and eliminate reactivated Buyur ships, one by one. But it was a simple matter for Hannes Suessi's team to fix b.o.o.by traps. Each derelict would self-destruct when a probe approached, taking the automaton along with it.

The usual hierarchy of battle was thus reversed. Here in the Midden, big noisy ships were far cheaper than robots to hunt them. Suessi had scores more ready to peel off from widely separated dross piles. It was doubtful the Jophur could spend drones at the same rate.

There was a downside. The decoy ships were discards, in ill repair when abandoned, half a million years ago. Only the incredible hardiness of Galactic manufacture left them marginally useful, and dozens had already burned out, littering the Midden once more with their dead hulks.

"FAILING TO COERCE YOU BY THAT MEANS, WE ARE NOW PREPARED TO OFFER YOU GENEROUS TERMS. ..."

This was the part Gillian paid close attention to, the first couple of times it played. Unfortunately, Jophur "generosity" wasn't tempting. In exchange for Streaker's data, charts, and samples, the Captain-Leader of the Greatship Polkjhy promised cryonic internment for the crew, with a guarantee of revival and free release in a mere thousand years. "After the present troubles have been resolved."

In other words, the Jophur wanted to have Streaker's secrets . . . and to make sure no one else shared them for a long time to come.

While the message laid out this offer, Gillian's second-in command swam alongside.

"We've managed to c-come up with most of the suppliesss the local wizard asked for," Tsh't reported. One of the results of making contact with the Commons of Six Races had been a shopping list of items desperately wanted by the urrish smith, Uriel.

"Several decoy ships are being diverted close to sh.o.r.e, as you requested. Kaa and his new t-team can strip them of the stuff Uriel wants, as they swing by."

The dolphin lieutenant paused. "I suppose I needn't add that this increases our danger? The enemy might detect a rhythm in these movementsss, and target their attention on the hoonish seaport-t."

"The Niss came up with a swarming pattern to prevent that," Gillian answered. "What about the crew separation? How are Makanee's preparations coming along?"

Tsh't nodded her sleek head. Taking a break from the laborious, underwater version of Anglic, she replied in Trinary.

Seasons change the tides, That tug us toward our fates, And divide loved ones . .'. *

To which she added a punctuating coda: "'. . . forever. ... *

Gillian winced. What she planned-least awful of a dozen grievous options-would sever close bonds among a crew that had shared great trials. An epic journey Earthlings might sing about for ages to come.

Providing there are still Earthlings, after the Time of Changes.

In fact, she had no choice. Half of Streaker's neo-dolphin complement were showing signs of stress atavism-a decay of the faculties needed for critical thought. Fear and exhaustion had finally taken their toll. No client race as young as Tursiops amicus had ever endured so much for so long, almost alone.

It's time to make the sacrifice we all knew would someday come.

The chamber still vibrated with Jophur threats. Coming from some other race, she might have factored in an element of bl.u.s.ter and bravado, but she took these adversaries precisely at their word.

The holo display glowed with menacing letters "We'll slip in to sh.o.r.e between the fourth and fifth decoys . . . about eight hours from now."

Gillian glanced at Pincer, his reddish carapace covered with oxy-water bubbles, the qheuen visor spinning madly, taking in everything with the avidness of adolescence. The local youths should be glad about what was about to happen. And so will Dwer Koolhan. I hope this pleases him . . . though it's not quite what he wanted.

Gillian admitted to herself she would miss the young man who reminded her so much of Tom.

"All right, then," she told Tsh't. "Let's take the kids home."

WE ARE THE ONLY GALACTIC WARSHIP IN THIS REGION. NO ONE IS COMING TO HELP YOU. NOR WILL ANY COMPEt.i.tORS DISTRACT US, AS HAPPENED ON OTHER OCCASIONS.