“Let me lead, guy. Stay out of range, OK?”
As their relationship had progressed, Drin found Mary, more and more frequently, talking cow-to-calf. It was something they would have to discuss—sometime later. Despite the minor humiliation, her suggestion made sense, particularly since some of these primitivist humans would resist non-human monitors. But he had a suggestion of his own.
Pollution! Make that an order—he was senior.
“Mary, out of range shall be about a charter unit under the ship for me—and relay your voice through your sonar—I can handle the frequency shift. And you stay in the sub! They can see you easily enough through your canopy, and it’s solid diamond, which you are not. Also, let’s get Do Tor and Go Ton involved now.”
A macrobeat later, as Drin and Mary paced the ship below its horizon, the Kleth’s contrails traced a white vector toward their destination.
“Weapons not visible,” Do Tor sent, with an “oh, yes,” echo from his mate. “But two decks likely below what we see.”
“You stay in the aircraft, too.” Drin sent back. “No heroics.”
“Roger, stay in aircraft. Heroics depend on situation.”
Any other monitors would be treating him with beak-dragging deference—a danger in this situation. But Mary, Do Tor and Go Ton had been through too much to be awed by his new status; they’d spout before he wandered onto the wrong beach, thank providence!
Two turns of Trimus ago, Drin thought, I was waiting to receive a literary reward. Chaos and pollution!
“Ready when you are,” Mary sent.
“Let’s go in,” Drin ordered, vacated his lungs in a big steamy cloud, then sounded deep and headed toward the ship at an energy spendthrift charter unit a second, his undulating tail and body shoving water efficiently and purposefully behind him. He closed his eyes to protect them from the pressure and relied on the deeper but fuzzier audio image, illuminated as much by the noise of Mary’s submarine as by chirps of his own voice far above the range that she could hear. They were below the small ship in minutes. Drin stuck a hand out of his beak and gave her an OK sign, and watched her sub shoot toward the surface.
Mary hit them with her loudspeakers. “Sailing vessel, this is Monitor Lieutenant Mary Pearce. You are unregistered and in an ecologically sensitive area. Be advised that hunting large life forms is prohibited in these waters, and that I have back-up immediately available. Please state your business.”
Mary’s use of rank surprised Drin. Was this the same woman who, three years ago, had undertaken an interrogation in the tropics by walking up to another human completely naked and saying, essentially, “Hi, I’m Mary?” Well, she swam in colder waters now. As they all would until the council decided what to do with the primitiv-ists—and, somehow, did it.
“Mary Pearce?” the response came. “Should have known that by the way you ran that ship of yours up to me, lee side, smart and pretty. Yohin Bretz a Landend. Harbor pilot, ’till Lord Thet decided his mistress’ brother should have the job. Got this as a consolation prize.”
Drin released a bubble with his tension. This rustic human sailor had guided them through the harbor on their first eventful visit to Thet’s city state, and lived there all his adult life. In spite of his wildly different values concerning technology and sentient relations, Yohin had been a competent professional with a sense of his duty. Drin wondered how many of these wooden ships might get stuck in the polluted mud flats of Thet’s choked river delta, now that Yohin was no longer on the job. Thet used his harbor as a sewer.
“Yohin!” Mary cried out with relief. “Tell me you’re not poaching, please.”
“Not poaching a thing, don’t think so anyway. We take enough fish to eat. Small ones—nothin’ the size o’ your fish-man friend. Say, he your backup today?”
Rustic, but no idiot at all, Drin thought, laughing to himself. Still, he stayed under the boat, hiding his chirps in the random ocean noise while slowly building up a sonar image of the lower decks. Cabins, it seemed. No metal in contact with the hull.
“Now there, Yohin!” Mary laughed. “I’m supposed to ask the questions. No guns on board?”
“Got a rifle. Another consolation prize from Lord Thet—after what you folks did to his guard, he decided to get a little more advanced. Shoots good, too. Don’t think it would bother the fish-man though, and I’ve got other ways of catching fish. Hell, the way Lord Thet’s going he’ll just be another Trimus City in less than a century.”
Drin had heard and seen enough below; it was clearly a passenger vessel. He flicked his tail and rounded the hull, then slammed the ocean aside twice and shot two charter units out of the water. The decks were clear of anything suspicious as well. He dove in and surfaced beside Mary, taking care to minimize the splash.
The humans seemed to appreciate his athletic show—they were pointing and some of them clapping. At the rail of the ship was the lanky, thatchhaired human male he remembered; the man made a motion with his head that might have been surprise, or a greeting.
He pitched his voice low to carry clearly through the sea noise and the walls of the vessel. “Mr. Bretz a Land-end, Councilor Drinnil’ib, Commander of Monitors.”
“Well met, Commander. Impressive jump there. Getting used to you folks now.”
“How so?”
“Running tourists out of Trimus City since I left Thet. And, Lieutenant Pearce, I am registered—but I left the gadget on the dock. This is wood, wind, and sail here, no compromises.”
Mary laughed. “Drin, I don’t think they’re any threat to us. Yohin, do you still have slaves?”
“Yeah, but they can’t be slaves up here, so they’re crew. Recruited some more. Look up in the riggin—”
Drin looked, too. A human, heavily clothed, waved down at them. Did he remember the face from their adventure at Thet? Do’utian’s didn’t forget, he told himself, that was what all the extra brain mass was for. But connecting memories in real time was something else—and he’d gotten a lot of patterns stored in his two gross of Trimus years.
He looked at the side of the ship. It had two eights of ports all along the deck below the top deck, and there was a human face in every port but two—and those were Kleth! The ship was loaded with tourists! He even recognized some of the people from the awards event—Gorman Stendt’s black beard and the wild red hair of Nelle Yvle, the humorist. How embarrassing!
“Mr. Bretz a Landend,” Drin rumbled, “Next time, take that one polluting gadget with you. Then we can get to you if you need us, and we won’t bother you when you don’t.”
“Look, fish-man — Commander. That’s like being half pregnant. When I say I’m wood, wind and sail only I mean—hey, Mary Pearce what are you doing?”
Mary had emerged from the hatch behind her canopy and was pointing a marker gun at the wooden vessel. Drin barely heard the snap above the sea noise, but he saw the dart planted just above the waterline.
“You’re marked now, Yohin,” Mary shouted. “I’ve tagged you with a transponder. and your customers can’t arbitrate because it’s not your fault.”
Yohin scowled and shrugged.
“By the way, where are you headed?” Mary added.
“Hot Springs Island. Landfall tonight, if we don’t have any other delays.” Yohin replied, ignoring the dart. The volcanic island was about midway from Trimus City to their destination.
Drin’s ear coinset tone sounded. The Kleth wanted to speak to him.