Infinity's Shore (6 page)

A daring ambition roused … and by pluck and guts she had made it happen! Rety got to know those haughty men and women—
Ling, Besh, Kunn
, and
Rann
—worming her way into their favor. When asked, she gladly guided fierce Kunn to her tribe's old camp, retracing her earlier epic journey in a mere quarter day, munching Galactic treats while staring through the scout boat's window at wastelands below.

Years of abuse were repaid by her filthy cousins' shocked stares, beholding her transformed from grubby urchin to
Rety, the star god.

If only that triumph could have lasted.

She jerked back when Dwer called her name.

Peering over the edge, Rety saw his windburned face, the wild black hair plastered with dried sweat. One buckskin breech leg was stained ocher brown under a makeshift compress, though Rety saw no sign of new wetness. Trapped by the robots unyielding tendrils, Dwer clutched his precious hand-carved bow, as if it were the last thing he would part with before death. Rety could scarcely believe she once thought the crude weapon worth stealing.

“What do you want now?” she demanded.

The young hunter's eyes met hers. His voice came out as a croak.

“Can I … have some water?”

“Assumin' I have any,” she muttered, “name one reason I'd share it with you!”

Rustling at her waist. A narrow head and neck snaked out of her belt pouch. Three dark eyes glared—two with lids and one pupilless, faceted like a jewel.

“wife be not liar to this one! wife has water bottle! yee smells its bitterness
.”

Rety sighed over this unwelcome interruption by her miniature “husband.”

“There's just half left. No one tol' me I was goin' on a trip!”

The little urrish male hissed disapproval, “wife share with this one, or bad luck come! no hole safe for grubs or larvae!”

Rety almost retorted that her marriage to yee was not real. They would never have “grubs” together. Anyway, yee seemed bent on being her portable conscience, even when it was clearly every creature for herself.

I never should've told him how Dwer saved me from the mulc spider. They say male urs are dumb. Ain't it my luck to marry a genius one?

“Oh … all right!”

The bottle, an alien-made wonder, weighed little more than the liquid it contained. “Don't drop it,” she warned Dwer, lowering the red cord. He grabbed it eagerly.

“No, fool! The top don't
pull
off like a stopper.
Turn
it till it comes off. That's right. Jeekee know-nothin' slopie.”

She didn't add how the concept of a screw cap had mystified her, too, when Kunn and the others first adopted her as a provisional Danik. Of course that was before she became sophisticated.

Rety watched nervously as he drank.

“Don't spill it. An' don't you
dare
drink it all! You hear me? That's enough, Dwer. Stop now.
Dwer
!”

But he ignored her protests, guzzling while she cursed. When the canteen was drained, Dwer smiled at her through cracked lips.

Too stunned to react, Rety knew—she would have done exactly the same.

Yeah
, an inner voice answered.
But I didn't expect it of him.

Her anger spun off when Dwer squirmed, tilting his body toward the robot's headlong rush. Squinting against the wind, he held the loop cord in one hand and the bottle in the other, as if waiting for something to happen. The flying machine crested a low hill, hopping over some thorny thickets, then plunged down the other side, barely avoiding several tree branches. Rety held tight, keeping yee secure in his pouch. When the worst jouncing ended she peered down again … and rocked back from a pair of black, beady eyes!

It was the damned
noor
again. The one Dwer called
Mudfoot.
Several times the dark, lithe creature had tried to clamber up from his niche, between Dwer's torso and a cleft in the robot's frame But Rety didn't like the way he salivated at yee, past needle-sharp teeth. Now Mudfoot stood on Dwer's rib cage, using his forepaws to probe for another effort.

“Get lost!” She swatted at the narrow, grinning face. “I want to see what Dwer's doin'.”

Sighing, the noor returned to his nest under the robot's flank.

A flash of blue came into view just as Dwer threw the bottle. It struck watery shallows with a splash, pressing a furrowed wake. The young man had to make several attempts
to get the cord twisted so the canteen dragged with its opening forward. The container sloshed when Dwer reeled it back in.

I'd've thought of that, too. If I was close enough to try it.

Dwer had lost blood, so it was only fair to let him drink and refill a few more times before passing it back up.

Yeah Only fair. And he'll do it, too. He'll give it back full.

Rety faced an uncomfortable thought.

You trust him.

He's the enemy. He caused you and the Daniks heaps of trouble. But you'd trust Dwer with your life.

She had no similar confidence in Kunn, when it came time to face the Rothen-loving stellar warrior.

Dwer refilled the bottle one last time and held it up toward her. “Thanks, Rety … I owe you.”

Her cheeks flushed, a sensation she disliked. “Forget it. Just toss the cord.”

He tried. Rety felt it brush her fingertips, but after half a dozen efforts she could never quite hook the loop.
What happens if I don't get it back!

The noor beast emerged from his narrow niche and took the cord in his teeth. Clambering over Dwer's chest, then using the robot's shattered laser tube as a support, Mudfoot slithered closer to Rety's hand.
Well
, she thought.
If it's gonna be helpful
 …

As she reached for the loop, the noor sprang, using his claws as if her arm were a handy climbing vine. Rety howled, but before she could react, Mudfoot was already up on top, grinning smugly.

Little yee let out a yelp. The urrish male pulled his head inside her pouch and drew the zipper shut.

Rety saw blood spots well along her sleeve and lashed in anger, trying to kick the crazy noor off. But Mudfoot dodged easily, inching close, grinning appealingly and rumbling a low sound, presenting the water bottle with two agile forepaws.

Sighing heavily, Rety accepted it and let the noor settle down nearby—on the opposite side from yee.

“I can't seem to shake myself loose of
any
of you guys, can I?” she asked aloud.

Mudfoot chittered. And from below, Dwer uttered a short laugh—ironic and tired.

Alvin

I
T WAS A LONELY TIME, CONFINED IN GNAWING PAIN to a cramped metal cell. The distant, humming engine reminded me of umble lullabies my father used to sing, when I came down with toe pox or itchysac. Sometimes the noise changed pitch and made my scales frickle, sounding like the moan of a doomed wooden ship when it runs aground.

Finally I slept …

 … then wakened in terror to find that a pair of metalclad, six-legged monsters were tying me into a contraption of steel tubes and straps! At first, it looked like a pre-contact torture device I once saw in the Doré-illustrated edition of
Don Quixote.
Thrashing and resisting accomplished nothing, but hurt like bloody blue blazes.

Finally, with some embarrassment, I realized. It was no instrument of torment but a makeshift
back brace
, shaped to fit my form and take weight off my injured spine. I fought to suppress panic at the tight metal touch, as they set me on my feet. Swaying with surprise and relief, I found I could walk a little, though wincing with each step.

“Well thanks, you big ugly bugs,” I told the nearest of the giant phuvnthus. “But you might've warned me first.”

I expected no answer, but one of them turned its armored torso—with a humped back and wide flare at the rear—and tilted toward me. I took the gesture as a polite bow, though perhaps it meant something different to them.

They left the door open when they exited this time. Slowly, cringing at the effort, I stepped out for the first time
from my steel coffin, following as the massive creatures stomped down a narrow corridor.

I already figured I was aboard a submarine of some sort, big enough to carry in its hold the greatest hoonish craft sailing Jijo's seas.

Despite that, it was a hodgepodge. I thought of Frankenstein's monster, pieced together from the parts of many corpses. So seemed the monstrous vessel hauling me to who-knows-where. Each time we crossed a hatch, it seemed as if we'd pass into a distinct ship, made by different artisans … by a whole different
civilization.
In one section, the decks and bulkheads were made of riveted steel sheets. Another zone was fashioned from some fibrous substance—flexible but strong. The corridors changed proportions—from wide to painfully narrow. Half the time I had to stoop under low ceilings … not a lot of fun in the state my back was in.

Finally, a sliding door hissed open. A phuvnthu motioned me ahead with a crooked mandible and I entered a dim chamber much larger than my former cell.

My hearts surged with joy. Before me stood my friends! All of them—alive!

They were gathered round a circular viewing port, staring at inky ocean depths. I might've tried sneaking in to surprise them, but qheuens and g'Keks literally have “eyes in the back of their heads,” making it a challenge to startle Huck and Pincer.

(I
have
managed it, a couple of times.)

When they shouted my name, Ur-ronn whirled her long neck and outraced them on four clattering hooves. We plunged into a multispecies embrace.

Huck was first to bring things back to normal, snapping at Pincer.

“Watch the claws, Crab Face! You'll snap a spoke! Back off, all of you. Can't you see Alvin's hurt? Give him room!”

“Look who talks,” Ur-ronn replied. “Your left wheel just squished his toes, Octofus Head!”

I hadn't noticed till she pointed it out, so happy was I to hear their testy, adolescent whining once more.

“Hr-rm. Let me look at you all. Ur-ronn, you seem so much … 
drier
than I saw you last.”

Our urrish buddy blew a rueful laugh through her nostril fringe. Her pelt showed large bare patches where fur had sloughed after her dousing. “It took our hosts a while to adjust the hunidity of ny guest suite, vut they finally got it right,” she said. Her torso showed tracks of hasty needle-work—the phuvnthus' rough stitching to close Ur-ronn's gashes after she smashed through the glass port of
Wuphon's Dream.
Fortunately, her folk don't play the same mating games as some races. To urs, what matters is not appearance, but
status.
A visible dent or two will help Ur-ronn show the other smiths she's been around.

“Yeah. And now we know what an urs smells like after actually taking a
bath
,” Huck added. “They oughta try it more often.”