“Not spear. Push swim spear stab adult. Or swim spear loud sound.”
The remaining Bitterwater Company scholars listen in puzzlement. “Sounds like babble to me,” says Raggedclaw.
Broadtail asks Builder 2 to show them what it means. There follows a remarkable demonstration as the alien takes several items and uses its upper limbs to propel them through the water away from it. No adult has limbs that can do that, and all the company present think it is quite impressive.
“I think it means bolt-launchers!” says Broadtail. Longpincer orders several bolt-launchers brought and demonstrated for the Builders. They chatter excitedly, and Builder 2 says “Yes” several times.
“Well, if that’s all we have to worry about there is little danger,” says Longpincer. “Bolt-launchers may be a threat to soft-skinned beings like Builders or Squatters, but I know my shell is thick enough to stop one unless it is very close.”
But something is nagging at Broadtail’s thoughts. “I remember capturing the hanging shelter. The Squatter makes Crestback fly apart. I think that may be what the Builders mean.”
“Builder 2 may exaggerate.”
“Or not.” Broadtail clicks a question to Builder 2: “Launch bolt cable?”
“Cable, two cable,” it laboriously replies. “Bolt swim.”
“I think I understand,” says Broadtail to the Company. “The Squatter weapons have bolts which swim through the water—like the Builder moving shelter, only smaller. And then they burst apart like a thin-walled pipe. They may be very dangerous indeed.”
“I imagine having such a weapon,” says Longpincer. “In battle I stay far from my enemies and slay them with bolts, but they cannot stab me because they cannot reach me.”
They all think about that for a while. The Company members who are craftworkers are intrigued, imagining a town protecting itself against raiders with a handful of armed militia. Those who own remote properties like Longpincer imagine bandits capable of standing off and slaughtering defenders.
“We must fight them as though stalking swift prey,” says Holdhard. “Stay silent until they are close enough to grasp.”
Broadtail keeps up a running translation of the important remarks for the benefit of the aliens.
“Builder head silent,” Builder 1 points out. “Squatter head silent.”
Broadtail reminds the others. “The Squatters have the same silent sense as the Builders. They can find us without pinging. We must do more than remain still and quiet to surprise them.”
Rob and Broadtail were placed well forward, watching and listening for signs of the Sholen force. If the attackers were trying to be silent, they’d need lights to keep together and see where they were going. If they were staying dark, they’d need the occasional active sonar ping. Either way, one of the two scouts would notice.
It occurred to Rob that just a few days ago it would have been impossible for him to sit on the sea bottom in silence and total darkness this long without completely freaking. Now it almost felt restful. He had deliberately chosen an uncomfortable spot so that the hard stones pressing into his chest and thighs would help him keep awake.
He felt around for his spear. It was a two-meter piece of “wood” (more like biological fiberglass, really) from an Ilmataran “plant.” The tip was a leaf-shaped piece of carved obsidian, wickedly sharp. If everything went according to plan, at some point in the near future Rob was going to try to push that obsidian spearpoint into the vital organs of a Sholen or enemy Ilmataran.
Back before the ultimatum, or even during the first “camping trip” period in the Coquille, such a thought would have been completely absurd, like imagining himself biting off his own left thumb. Except for one or two inconclusive grade-school spats and an embarrassing drunken shoving match in college, Rob had never intentionally harmed another person.
Now he felt no reluctance at all. He’d been angry with the Sholen pretty much constantly since Gishora and Tizhos had first stepped out of the elevator. Now at least he could let it out. He was afraid for himself, of course, and for Alicia. Just about any injury here would be fatal, and she would certainly be in the thick of it, carrying the same kind of spear.
He held the spear loosely, just resting his hand on the shaft, ready to pick it up.
Something caught his attention. Out in the blackness he could see a faint spark. No, two sparks. Were they tiny and close up, or far away? He moved his head around, trying to get some parallax. The sparks stayed put. They looked like two stars now, faintly green.
He reached over to Broadtail and tapped from memory, “Adu lts come.”
The Ilmataran clicked softly in acknowledgement, and the two of them turned and began moving back to the defensive positions around the Bitterwater vent. Rob didn’t dare show a light, so he held onto a trailing line attached to Broadtail’s harness and did his best to keep up.
They followed a wide zigzag course, pausing occasionally for Broadtail to quietly ping out a warning to the fighters lying hidden on the seafloor. Nearly a quarter of Longpincer’s retainers were currently dispersed on the silty bottom about a hundred meters in front of the vent mound, buried under a thin layer of mud and old netting. The Ilmatarans were very good at masking their sonar signatures, but the humans had been hard-pressed to make sure they couldn’t be seen by Sholen eyes. How do you teach a blind being how not to be seen? Ultimately, the answer was just to cover them up and hope for the best.
The plan was for the camouflaged fighters to wait until the invaders were among them, then suddenly attack at close range. According to Broadtail, this was a well-known tactic mentioned in many of the Ilmataran classic books on warfare. They were gambling that neither the alien Sholen nor their semiliterate Ilmataran bandit allies had heard of the ploy.
Up ahead Rob could hear the faint constant rumble of the Bitterwater vent. There were tall nets rigged all around the heart of Longpincer’s holding. Again, standard tactics against barbarian raiders. They had to either try to get through the nets, in which case the defenders could move in with spears, or swim up over the barrier, exposing their thin-shelled undersides to bolts from below.
Broadtail clicked out a password and one of Longpincer’s apprentices untied a section of net to let them in. Rob left Broadtail and followed a guideline to where his drones were waiting. There were two of them still operational, and Rob had spent an afternoon converting them into weapons. There was nothing subtle about the armed drones: since he couldn’t come up with a decent explosive warhead, Rob had just attached the largest of Alicia’s dissecting knives to the front of each drone, just above its camera eye. Once the fighters outside the netting engaged the enemy, Rob was to pilot the two drones and attack as many of the Sholen as he could. A few ripped suits and damaged hoses would certainly hamper them.
He covered himself with camouflage netting—no sense in letting the Sholen see him—and warmed up the link to the drones. His poor robot fish were weeks overdue for maintenance, but they were performing superbly. In a little while they’d be scrap metal corroding in the silt of Ilmatar.
Josef and the sub were gone. It had taken a long argument but at last they’d convinced him that their most important remaining asset shouldn’t be anywhere near the battlefield. If the Sholen captured the last camp, it would be up to Josef to decide whether he should give up or fight on. Rob knew that Josef would never let the Mishka fall into enemy hands. He hoped Josef would find a way to scuttle the sub and then surrender, rather than going out like Captain Nemo.
Rob reached down and found his spear. It might still come to that. He sent Alicia a quick message over their local network.