Transcendence

That did not faze her at all. He studied her intent face. She was looking forward to it.

Could it be done? He did not know. He knew it would not go as smoothly as Darya seemed to imagine — nothing in the real world ever did. But he knew he would never talk her out of trying. And she would need all the help that she could get.

Which left him — where?

Hans Rebka leaned forward and took Darya’s hands in his. She did not seem to notice. She was till talking, shaping, formulating.

He sighed. He had been wrong. Trouble was not ending as the Erebus wound its leisurely and peaceful way out of the Torvil Anfract. Trouble was just begi

EPILOGUE

“ — and here they come.”

Louis Nenda squinted gloomily across the open plain, a flat barren landscape broken in one place by a twisted thicket of the moss plants sprouted beyond gigantism. It was almost nightfall, and the Indulgence, in spite of all his efforts, had skidded to a halt within the elongated shadow of those same jutting sandstone towers where he had first run from the Zardalu.

“The weapons are ready.” Either Atvar H’sial was totally calm, or she had a control of her pheromonal output that Nenda would never achieve. “However, the partial exposure of the target group makes complete success doubtful. With your concurrence I will withhold our fire until they pursue their usual strategy of a mass attack. At that time a more significant number of them will be within range.”

“Okay — unless they try another one of their damn botany tricks. First sign of that you blast ’em — and don’t wait to talk it over with me.”

The side ports of the Indulgence had been opened to permit Atvar H’sial a direct omnidirectional viewing of the area around the scoutship. Her vision unaffected by fading light, she sat at the weapons console. Louis Nenda was by her side in the pilot’s chair. He had modified one of the displays to look directly down. At the first sign of sprouting life beneath them he would propel the Indulgence laterally across the surface. They might not be able to leave the surface of Genizee, but they could certainly try to skim around on it.

The Zardalu were rising from the sea, floating upward one by one to stand a few meters offshore with only their heads showing. Louis Nenda watched thirty of them emerge before he stopped counting. Numbers were not important. One would be more than enough if it reached the ship.

Evening sunlight glittered off bulbous heads of midnight blue. Judging from those same heads, the Zardalu included four of the biggest specimens that Nenda had ever seen. They were twice the size of the still-growing forms who had pursued them into the interior of Genizee. They must be part of the original fourteen, the Zardalu who had been held in stasis on Serenity. Nenda had fought them once and knew how tough they were.

“Get ready.” The first one was wading ashore to stand spraddle-tentacled on the beach. It was close enough for Nenda to see the steady peristalsis of land-breathing in the thick body.

“I am ready, Louis. But I prefer a mass of them as target. One is not enough. And in addition… ????”

The pheromones trailed off into a prolonged question mark. Louis Nenda needed no explanation. An adult Zardalu in upright posture could glide the forty meters between shore and ship in a few seconds. But this Zardalu was not standing. While the rest stood motionless in the water, it had slumped forward like a flattened starfish, tentacles stretched wide and horizontal, head facing the ship. After a few seconds it drew its flexible limbs together into a tight group facing the sea and began to push itself slowly forward toward the Indulgence. The head was lifted just far enough for the huge cerulean eyes to stare at the ship.

“Twelve meters.” Atvar H’sial was touching the button. “I think it is time.”

“Hold just another tick.” Louis Nenda leaned forward to stare out the sea-facing port. “If that’s what I think it is…”

The Zardalu had stopped moving. The long vertical slit below the beak had opened, to produce an odd series of sighs and clicking whistles.

“We request to speak.” The language sounded like a clumsy attempt at Hymenopt. “We request that you listen.”

“What is it saying, Louis?” Atvar H’sial could detect the sonic stream, but she could not interpret it. “I am ready to fire.”

“Not yet. Keep your paw on the button, but hold it there till I say. Mebbe we’re not dead yet. I think it wants to parley.” Nenda switched to simple Hymenopt. “I hear you, Zardalu. What you wa

“I speak for all Zardalu, new-born and old-born.” Thick tentacles writhed to slap the mossy ground, while the main torso held its recumbent posture. “It is difficult to say… to say what must be said, and we beg your patience. But since we returned here, we have learned that before our reawakening we few survivors were held dormant for many mille

Nenda had been giving the Cecropian a simultaneous pheromonal translation, but he kept the last phrase to himself. He did not want the envoy gone in a puff of steam.

The prone Zardalu inched closer. “But now we have met your kind in four separate encounters: one on Serenity, and three on this world. Each time, you seemed helpless. We were sure — we knew — that you could not escape death or slavery. Each time, you won free without effort, leaving us damaged. More than that, since our return to this world we have been unable to leave it. Yet you come and go from here as you choose.”

“Damn right.” Don’t I wish! he added to himself. “We do anythin’ we like, here or anywhere.”

“Louis, what is it saying?” One more gram of pressure from Atvar H’sial’s paw, and the Zardalu would go up in smoke. “It is moving still closer. Should I fire?”

“Relax, At. I think I’m startin’ to enjoy this. Lookatit. It’s gettin’ ready to grovel.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s not talkin’ regular Hymenopt, see, it’s talking Zardalu Communion slave-talk. Anyway, I’ve done enough grovelin’ myself in my time to recognize the signs. Look at that tongue!”

A long, thick organ of royal purple had emerged from the slit in the Zardalu’s head and stretched four feet along the beach. Nenda took three paces forward, but he paused a few inches short of the tongue. He glared down into the wide blue eyes. “All right. You lot are finally learnin’ what we knew all along. You’re a pack of incompetent slimebags, an’ we got you beat any day of the week. We know all that. But what are you proposin’?”

The tongue slid back in. “A — a truce?”

“Forget it.”

“Then — a surrender. On any terms that you demand. Provided only that you will guide us, and teach us the way that you think and function. And help us to leave this planet when we wish to do so. And in return, we are willing to give you—”

“Don’t worry your head about that. We’ll decide what you’ll give us in return. We got some ideas already.” The slimy tongue had come out again. Nenda placed his right boot firmly on top of it. “If we decide to go along with your proposal.”

“We?” with a tongue that could not move, the Zardalu garbled the word.

“Yeah. We. Naturally, I gotta consult my partner on a big decision like this.” Nenda gestured to Atvar H’sial, and read the look of horror in the bulging cerulean eyes of the Zardalu. The great body wriggled, while a gargling sound of apology came from the mouth slit.

Nenda did not lift his foot a millimeter, but he nodded thoughtfully.