Toshio move. Still, he kept his right hand on the butt of his needler and held up the lantern to let Hannes Suessi pass underneath. Orley looked carefully around the clearing, taking in the smells and sounds of the living surface of the metal-mound, memorizing details.
“Are they all right?” he asked after a few seconds.
“Shh, ’t’s okay, Toshio. It’s just me, Hannes,” he heard the engineer mutter. The fellow sounded downright maternal. “Yes, Mr. Orley.” Suessi called back, “They’re both awake, but not in much shape for talking.”
Thomas Orley took in the clearing once more, then moved over to set the lamp beside Suessi. “This lightning would cover anything,” he said. “I’m going to call up the mechanicals to get these two out of here, quick as possible.” He touched a button on the rim of his faceplate and whistled quickly in perfect Trinary. The message lasted six seconds. It was said that Thomas Orley could actually speak Primal Delphin, though no human had ever witnessed it.
“They’ll be here in a few minutes.” He squatted next to Toshio, who was sitting up now that Suessi had moved over to Hikahi.
“Hello, Mr. Orley,” the boy said. “I’m sorry we dragged you away from your work.”
“That’s all right, son. I’ve been wanting to have a look around up here, anyway. This gave the captain a good excuse to send me. After we get you started toward the ship, Hannes and Tsh’t and I will go on to look over that ship that crashed.
“Now, do you think you can lead us to Ssattatta and K’Hith? We want to comb this island clean before the storm passes.”
Toshio nodded. “Yes, sir. I should be able to stumble around that long. I don’t suppose anyone’s found Hist-t?”
“No. We’re worried about that, but nowhere near as worried as when Brookida came back alone. Keepiru’s told us most of the story. That fin thinks rather highly of you, you know. You did quite a job here.”
Toshio turned away, as if ashamed to receive the praise.
Orley looked at him curiously. He had never given much thought to the middie. During the first part of the voyage, the youth had seemed bright, but a bit irresponsible. Later, after they found the derelict fleet, he had turned morose, as their chances of ever going home diminished.
Now there was this new note. It was too soon to tell the long-term effects, but this had clearly been a rite of passage for Toshio.
Humming sounds drifted up from the beach. Soon two spider-like mechanicals strode into view, a hammocked and harnessed dolphin piloting each one.
Toshio sighed a little raggedly as Orley helped him stand. Then the older man stooped to pick up an object from the ground. He hefted it in his left hand.
“A scraper, isn’t it? Made from bits of metal fish spine glued to a wood handle …”
“I guess so.”
“Do they have much of a language yet?”
“No, sir; well, the rudiments. They seem to be stabilized. Strict hunter-gatherers. Hikahi guesses they’ve been stuck for half a million years.”
Orley nodded. This native species looked ripe, at first glance. A pre-sentient race at just the right stage for uplift. It was a miracle some Galactic patron line hadn’t snapped them up already, for client status and an aeon of servitude.
Now the men and fen of Streaker had yet another obligation, and secrecy was more important than ever.
He put the artifact in his pocket, then laid his hand on Toshio’s shoulder.
“Well, you can tell us all about it back on the ship, son. In the meantime, you have some pondering to do.”
“Sir?” Toshio looked up in confusion.
“Well, it isn’t everybody who gets to name a future space-faring race. You know, the fen will be expecting you to make up a song about it.”
Toshio looked at the older man, uncertain if he was joking. But Thomas Orley had on his usual enigmatic expression.
Orley glanced up at the rain clouds. As the mechanicals moved in to claim Hikahi, he stepped back and smiled at the curtain which, temporarily, hung across the theater of the sky.
PART TWO
Currents
“For the sky and the sea,
And the sea and the sky,
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead lay at my feet.”
—S. T. COLERIDGE
14
Dennie
Charles Dart pulled away from the polarization microscope and growled an oath. In a habit he had spent half his life trying to break, he absently laid his forearms over his head and tugged on his hairy ears. It was a simian contortion no one else aboard