“I recall her getting close enough to the Builders’ shelter to ping it,” says Broadtail.
“Do you recall the reason for not stopping her?” asks Sharpfrill.
“She is a very large barbarian bandit. I am not. And it is not my property to fight on.”
Those who know his history tap quiet explanations to the others.
“I remember specifically asking Broadtail to avoid violence,” says Longpincer. “It is never proper to attack a visitor who commits no harm or theft.”
“But now they go to tell the Squatters what they remember hearing,” Broadtail points out. “I suggest we plan our course.”
“Your Builder friends are my guests,” says Longpincer. “They are under my protection.”
“Then how do we protect them?” asks Broadtail. “Builder 1 says he fears the Squatters coming here and attempting to recapture them.”
“I am sending out scouts now to alert us of their coming,” says Longpincer. “Beyond that, we simply wait. My apprentices and tenants all know what to do in case of attack.”
“Now that they know, maybe we should give up,” said Rob.
“You are afraid?” asked Alicia.
“Of course I’m afraid! In particular I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.
Last time it was just the two of us and they could afford to be careful. This time—it’s going to be ugly. There’s going to be microtorps flying all over, and it sounds like the Sholen have some Ilmataran thugs working for them, and God knows what else.”
“We will think of ways to trick them. You have been very clever.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Maybe we can fool a drone, but what about a Sholen microtorp? They blew up Dickie when he tried to fight.”
She was quiet for a while. “I cannot simply give up, Robert. And we have no place we can run away to.”
“Will you promise me one thing, at least? That you’ll surrender? No glorious last stand?”
“I promise—if you will do the same.”
“Okay, then. I’ll try to be very clever one last time.”
Tizhos and Irona stood on the sea bottom near the moon pool entrance to Hitode Station. Their Ilmataran allies floated a few meters away while one laboriously tapped out a message.
“He says they have found the Terrans,” said Tizhos. “Excellent!” said Irona. “Tell them we leave in—oh, six hours. That should be enough time for everyone to rest and prepare. He must show us where they are.”
“He does mention what sounds like a problem. The humans have taken refuge in an Ilmataran community.”
“As we suspected. That does sound bad. Ask him how large a community. We need to know how many Ilmatarans know about them.”
“If the community includes a large number of individuals I fear we cannot preserve the secret.”
“Never mind that,” said Irona. “Get specific directions to this community and try to locate it on the maps we have of the sea bottom. I must begin preparing the Guardians.”
As Irona paddled up into the station, Tizhos consulted her lexicon and tapped out a message to the waiting Ilmatarans. “Immobility here. Food. Multiple swimming. Fighting.”
They seemed to understand, and Tizhos handed out the supplies of small creatures from the drift nets. She tried to engage the pair who understood the number-code language in conversation.
“Adults grasp fighting?” she asked.
“Grasp fighting quickly,” the Ilmataran replied, and Tizhos found that highly depressing. The more she understood about the Ilmatarans, the more she found herself disliking these allies Irona had recruited. They seemed little more than thieves, preying upon the labor of the vent settlements.
She knew how they must appear to Irona—small groups with a tight consensus, living in wild regions, attacking those who sought to manipulate the environment instead of accomodating to it. Noble primitives. But to Tizhos they seemed like entropy itself, constantly warring with the little outposts of knowledge and order.
Two of the larger Ilmatarans snatched the food away from one of the others and threatened him with their big pincers when he tried to take some back. Tizhos tossed a few extra dead swimmers his way. He got one or two, but the bigger ones grabbed the rest.
When they finished eating, she called up the map display and began trying to figure out where the Terrans had hidden. The Ilmatarans used prevailing currents rather than the inertial grid of her own navigation system, which made the task much more difficult. Fortunately they had a reasonably standardized and accurate system for measuring distance.
After more than twenty minutes she believed she had an accurate fix. All their route descriptions seemed to lead back to one isolated vent community—the one where the human Henri Kerlerec had died.
Scientists. The Ilmatarans at the vent had dissected Henri Kerlerec because they wanted to learn. Now Irona wanted to attack them and prevent them from learning. Tizhos felt ill.
ROB surfaced in the hatchway of the repurposed elevator capsule and opened his helmet. “They’re coming! Broadtail says one of Longpincer’s scouts just reported in.”“How long do we have?” Alicia called down from her hammock.
“No way to tell. Quantified linear time is still a crazy theory around here. I figure a minimum of one hour. Probably more than that—if they’re smart they’ll let their ’tarans rest up before the fighting starts. Broadtail and Longpincer are having a war council down at the main house. Wake up Josef and come on when you’re ready.”
Fourteen
The scout gives her report to the assembled company. “I remember swimming as far as these stones on my patrol. I remember resting there and hearing this sound.” She imitates it: a steady chaotic churning noise superimposed on a heavy rhythmic swish-swish.
“I hear swimming adults and a towfin, but what is that other noise?” asks Longpincer.
“The Squatters,” says Broadtail. “They make paddling noises like the Builders, but with a tail beat.”
“Can we study how your Builders swim?” asks Raggedclaw.
“Certainly,” says Broadtail. “After the battle.”
“What battle?”
“The Squatters come here to fight,” Longpincer explains gently.
“What? Why?” Raggedclaw sounds highly irritated at the news.
“They wish to steal Broadtail’s Builders.”
“That is impossible! I still wish to learn how they can stand erect without a shell,” says Raggedclaw.
“Which is why we fight the Squatters,” says Longpincer.
“How many do you remember hearing?” Broadtail asks the scout, desperate to get the conversation back on course.
“Twenty-two adults and one large towfin, and maybe twelve of the alien swimmers.”
“The adults are bandits and wild children,” says Broadtail. “They carry spears and their own strong pincers, but little else.”
“My people all remember many fights with bandits,” says Longpincer. “Raiders are only brave if they are winning. Stand firm against them and they flee.”
There is a loud commotion of scrapes and thumps, and three of the Builders come into the room. Builder 2 raises a forelimb. “Greeting. Adults build fight reel.”
“Yes,” says Broadtail. “We know how to fight the bandits, but not the Squatters. Can you tell us what to expect?”
Builder confers with the other two before replying.
“Squatters carry”—a long pause and much Builder chatter—“spear tools stab adult one cable.”
“How is this possible?” asks Longpincer. “No creature, not even an alien, can carry a spear a cable long.”
“It is possible we are not understanding something,” says Broadtail. He asks Builder, “How can a spear be a cable?”