“HRAH!” IK CRIED, his voice rasping.
“What is it, Ik?” Bandicut asked, alarmed by Ik’s sudden change of mood. “What’s happened?”
“Hrah! Hrah!” Clearly distraught, Ik slapped and prodded at the controls, trying to turn things that wouldn’t turn, and pressing and swiping at others. Nothing had any effect on the display; it remained dark, both the large window and the smaller screens on the control board. Ik grew increasingly agitated. He snapped out words that meant nothing to Bandicut, and looked up and down from the controls, holding his long-fingered hands rigidly in front of him, as though they had betrayed him.
Bandicut put a hand on Ik’s shoulder. The Hraachee’an twisted and stared at him with such intensity Bandicut stepped back. Was Ik angry? Not with him, Bandicut thought. But about something. Ik sighed noisily and extended a hand, as if offering something to Bandicut—and then curled it closed, pulling it back to his chest. Taking back what he’d been offering? Ik growled, said something else under his breath, and turned back to the display. After several more minutes of futile gestures and adjustments, he slapped his hands on the console and wagged his head slowly back and forth.
“Ik, I’m sorry,” Bandicut said. “Maybe you can show me another time? Whatever it was?”
“Hrah,” Ik said, straightening up. He seemed to be trying to decide something. After a moment, he turned and gestured toward the door. They ducked out of the strange little control room, and located the path back toward the camp.
As they strode through the woods, Bandicut felt Ik’s frustration and unhappiness like waves reverberating up from the ground. But he had no clue to the reason. Ik had located some of the kraykets, which to Bandicut was a good thing, a sign maybe that they would eventually see something familiar in this incomprehensible world. The four of them had varying lengths of history in Shipworld, but since their return from Starmaker, none of them had yet seen a familiar location, even on a map.
But apparently the kraykets weren’t what Ik had wanted to show him. Whatever it was would have to wait. They emerged into the clearing by the lake and could once again walk side-by-side. “Let’s try to get some sleep, while there’s still some night left,” Bandicut said.
“Hrah-h-h,” Ik said sadly.
***
Antares and Li-Jared greeted them at the camp with sleepy relief, which only seemed to deepen the Hraachee’an’s gloom. /Please,/ Bandicut said to Charli, or to his translator-stones, whoever was listening. /Isn’t there some way we can get Ik some new stones? This is impossible./
/// I’ve asked.
Your stones just counsel patience.
I don’t know why. ///
Patience! Bandicut thought. He sighed and told Antares and Li-Jared what he had seen.
Antares looked thoughtful. “May I?” she asked, approaching Ik and placing a hand on his arm. She spent a moment silently studying and absorbing feelings from him, then stepped away. “Uhhll,” she sighed. “John, you are prominent in his thoughts right now. I believe he feels hope on your behalf, though I don’t know why. It’s odd, though, because he also seems to be carrying regret, as though he feels he’s let you down in some way.” She gazed at Ik, no doubt hoping he would understand and explain himself. But Ik’s deep-set eyes gave no clue to his thoughts, and after a moment, he walked over to his sleep-pad, sat down in a meditative pose, and gazed silently out across the lake.
Li-Jared rubbed his fingertips thoughtfully against his chest.
“What?” Bandicut asked.
“Well, in a way, it seems as though Ik has accomplished more here without stones, than the rest of us have with stones.”
Bandicut cocked his head. “I don’t follow.”
“Well, he’s gone off and found this control node thing, or whatever it is, and at least made some kind of contact outside where we are now. What are we doing here? Camping by a lake?”
“We’re resting, I think. That’s not nothing.” Even as he said it, Bandicut knew Li-Jared was at least partly right. They were resting, yes—but only because they could get no handle on what they should be doing next. But they’d needed R&R since about two missions ago. They were so used to being run ragged that they didn’t know what to do with themselves when they were left alone. To Li-Jared he said, “Isn’t rest what you said you wanted, when we were at the waystation squawking at Jeaves about never giving us a break?”
Li-Jared looked annoyed, the blue band across the centers of his eyes flickering in the dark. “Yes, but we weren’t on Shipworld then. Now we are. We should be getting some answers. And Ik’s right, we could be looking for our own people, if there are any.” The Karellian stood with his small hands balled into fists. Gazing out over the lake, he said, “Don’t you ever wonder what’s over there, while we sit here having a—” rasp “—picnic?”
“Well, sure.”
“And don’t you wonder why they’ve put us—” rasp “—on ice like this?” The stones hiccuped briefly on the translation of the vernacular.
“You know perfectly well I do,” Bandicut said with a sigh, suddenly aware of how sleepy he was. “But I don’t think we’re going to solve it tonight. Can we talk about it in the morning?”
Li-Jared rubbed his fingers together, in the equivalent of a shrug; and with that, the subject was dropped, and they all crawled back into their sleeping rolls. It took Bandicut a long time to get back to sleep. But when he did, he slept soundly until daylight.
***
It was a sound in the woods that woke him, followed by Antares saying, without moving, “Is that Napoleon I hear?” Bandicut blinked open his eyes to a predawn light and listened. Mechanical footsteps, approaching. Soon the two-legged robot strode out of the woods from somewhere beyond the supply hut at the top of the clearing.
Bandicut pushed himself to a sitting position. “Napoleon!” he rumbled hoarsely. “Welcome home, partner. How did your scouting expedition go?”
The robot, looking like some sculptor’s droll, mechanical impression of a praying mantis, trotted down into their camp and stood among them. “I searched long and found little,” he replied, rotating his head to take in all four of them. “But I’ve received a message from Jeaves. He has found something of interest, and he wants us all to come see it.”
“Right now?” Bandicut asked, yawning. “Where is he—or it—whatever it is he wants us to see?”
Napoleon made a vague gesture with a mechanical arm. “That way up the lake. He asked me to bring you the message. He’s arranging transportation and asks you to be ready to go this afternoon. He’s still acquiring information. He says don’t worry about eating later; he’ll have dinner for us.” Napoleon turned to Ik, who was standing a little apart, and spoke in the pidgin Hraachee’an that he’d been learning for limited communication with Ik. Ik gave a little grunt of acknowledgment and started to ask a question. But Napoleon had already turned back to the others. “Is that acceptable to all of you?”
“Okay with me,” Bandicut said, as the others indicated agreement. “But what is this all about?”
“I don’t exactly know,” said Napoleon. “But I gather it’s important.”
Li-Jared made a twanging sound: Bwang. “It isn’t the damn boojum again, is it?” When they had last been on Shipworld, a mysterious problem with the iceline information network had turned out to be the work of a malicious AI called the boojum. It had threatened all of Shipworld, and them personally, before they’d managed to destroy it.
“He didn’t say. But as far as I know, the boojum is still dead,” said the robot.
“Good,” said Li-Jared.
“But,” Napoleon continued, “whatever it is, I think you’re going to want to see it. Can you be ready?”
“Oh, I think so,” Bandicut said, barking a laugh.
“I’ll be back with your ride, then,” Napoleon said. “You may go back to sleep now, if you wish.” And with that, he sprang up the slope and disappeared the way he had come.
Bandicut stared after the robot in wonder. Li-Jared and Antares promptly crawled back into their sleeping bags—and after a moment Bandicut shivered and did likewise. Only Ik remained sitting upright, hand outstretched to where the robot had been.
***
Napoleon was true to his word. When he returned in the warm midday light, his arrival was heralded by a buzzing sound on the water. Bandicut and the others hurried down to the shore to see what the noise was. An open-cockpit watercraft was pulling up, a catamaran large enough to carry the four of them easily. Napoleon was perched at the controls like a sports fisherman from any coastline in North America. “Come aboard!” he called.
“Where are you taking us, sailor?” Bandicut asked, stepping carefully onto the bow deck, then extending a hand back to help Antares, and then Li-Jared and Ik. The boat rocked a little as water slapped at its twin hulls; but it was steady enough for them to make their way to the back, where they took seats on either side, facing inward with their backs to the water. With a brrr’ing sound, the boat backed away from the shore, then swung around and headed for deep water.
“Far end of the lake,” the robot said. “Jeaves is waiting at an iceline station there. He found other facilities, as well.”
“Hrrm,” Ik said, after Napoleon attempted to translate for him.
“Where’d you get this boat?” Li-Jared asked, twisting nervously in his seat to glance over the side.
“Don’t you like boat rides?” Napoleon said. “They’re available for borrowing if you know where to ask.” He opened the throttle, and the boat rose in the water, knifing through the gentle swells. Li-Jared didn’t look any happier, but Bandicut sat back, dangled one hand over into the spray, and took Antares’ hand in the other. For a little while his cares dropped away, and he felt more relaxed with the motion of the boat than he had felt in a long time. Ik sat a little apart, looking troubled. He glanced a few times at Napoleon, but did not speak.
As they pounded up the length of the lake, Bandicut gazed along the far shore which, last night, had seemed such a place of beckoning mystery and enticing lights in the dark. His eyes caught a movement through the distant trees, and he realized that it was a train, speeding through the woods just above the shoreline. He had a moment to wonder if it was part of the streaktrain network that he and the others had once ridden, in another part of Shipworld; and then it was gone. He never got a clear look at it, but it left him pondering where that train was coming from, and where it was going—and who lived on that far shore.
The boat ride took most of an hour. As they neared the tip of the lake, Bandicut smiled a little at the sight of Antares with her face turned up to the sky, her eyes closed. Antares sensed his gaze and crinkled a smile in return. Napoleon throttled back. A small cove marked their destination, along with a group of buildings with a wharf jutting out. Napoleon eased the boat to the dock. A black-and-maroon robot floated in the air to meet them and handle the mooring lines. The lines weren’t exactly ropes but thin, stretchy bands that the robot simply tamped down onto the dock.
Ik muttered to himself, patting the intelligent rope that he had carried coiled at his waist for as long as Bandicut had known him. The docking ropes, it seemed, were of a similar nature.
Li-Jared was the first to hop off, clearly not wanting to stay on the water any longer than necessary.
“Welcome,” the dock robot said, in a low-pitched chirp. Then its voice changed and it spoke again, in Jeaves' voice. “Hi folks! I’m in the upper building, holding a table for all of us. If you follow my friend here, he’ll bring you to join me.”
“Holding a table?” Li-Jared asked.
“There’s a nice little pub. I thought you might be hungry,” Jeaves said, and then clicked off.
“If you will follow me . . .” said the small robot in its own voice.
They followed.
The robot led them up the walk toward the nearest building, a natural-wood structure overlooking the lake. The robot spoke in the casual, practiced voice of a tour guide. “This is the lower level of the Knowledge Branch campus, the local arm of a distributed learning center, what you might call a university.”
“Huh,” Bandicut said. “Very nice.” What he was thinking was, Do they have answers for us at this university?
“You will be dining in the Observatory Pub,” the robot continued.
“Observatory?” Li-Jared twanged. “What sky can we see from here? Aside from this fake one, I mean?” He waved an agitated hand overhead.
The robot answered without missing a beat. “That? I wouldn’t call it a fake. It’s a reproduction.”
“Reproduction?” Li-Jared said. “Reproduction of what sky?”
“Currently, our indoor overhead is displaying the sky of a world known as Pardolus Four. It’s perhaps not so noticeable in the daytime. But at night, if you were to be out under the stars, you would recognize the night constellations of Pardolus Four.”
Bandicut nodded. Sure we would.
Bwang came a sound from deep in Li-Jared’s throat. “So the sky here is programmable? To different worlds?”
“Oh yes.”
Li-Jared rubbed his chest thoughtfully. “And are these worlds . . . all places that . . . well . . .” He paused, struggling with the words.
“I think Li-Jared is trying to say, do these skies all represent people who have been brought here from these worlds? Brought to live on Shipworld?” Bandicut asked. “The way we were?”
The robot seemed to be pondering the question. It glanced at Napoleon, as though for help. “I do not know much about the people you speak of, or how they might have come to be on Shipworld. I’m sorry, I do not know how you came to be on Shipworld.” It turned back to Bandicut. “But many of the worlds whose skies we show are represented by local inhabitants, yes. It is a point of pride to the designers.”
Antares spoke at that. “What about our worlds? Will we see our own skies sometime?”
The robot swiveled one way and another, as though trying to identify their species. “I really don’t know. You see, I—”
It hesitated for a moment, and then changed tack. “Well. You came here for a purpose, and perhaps it would be best if we proceeded with that. Now, if you’ll please follow me, we’ll be entering an active study and research area.” The robot floated up a flight of shallow stairs, paused for the others to catch up, and continued through a glass door on the terraced second floor of the building.
Inside, the structure looked to Bandicut’s eye much like any university building’s lobby, except that the bulletin boards were holographic, with movement and sound as well as text, no part of them comprehensible at first glance. The lobby also, at first glance, was deserted.
The second glance came when Antares said, “Look!” and pointed up toward the far end of the ceiling. The structure was see-through, and what he saw was a maze of glassed-in corridors above them, crisscrossing at impossible angles. There seemed far too many corridors for the space. Were they like the n-space compartments on The Long View? They were buzzing with activity; he saw beings walking, rolling, crawling, and floating. None of them were human, nor were any Hraachee’an, Karellian, or Thespi. Some were metal, some furred, some naked, some clothed, some in shimmer-suits. Other than that, the corridors looked like university hallways anywhere, full of Brownian motion. No matter which direction he looked, Bandicut couldn’t seem to get a good look at any of the individuals.
The robot urged them onward. “Just a little farther.” It led them into a clear-walled elevator, which whisked them upward right through the tangle of glass corridors, and discharged them onto what seemed like a mezzanine several floors up. Ik trailed a little behind, speaking to Napoleon. He seemed to be trying to ask Napoleon something, but either Ik could not make himself understood or Napoleon didn’t know how to answer, because Ik seemed increasingly frustrated. The dock robot led them to the entrance to a darkened establishment—a restaurant, judging by the smells. “Here’s where I leave you,” it said, with a small bow. “If you proceed in, you will find Jeaves.”
Stepping through the shimmering door curtain, Bandicut blinked until his eyes adapted to the low light, and then he saw that they were in a remarkably close simulacrum of a cozy English pub on Earth, but without the crowding and noise. Jeaves floated out of the shadows toward them and ushered them toward the back. “I’ve been holding a table for you. Please come, and we’ll order you all some dinner.”
“You’re in a real body!” Li-Jared exclaimed, reaching out to touch the robot in wonder. He looked much as he had as a holo—a metallic, humanoid form, with a ring around the crown of his head containing his many eyes.
“Thank you for noticing,” Jeaves said with a little bow. “I’ve just moved back into it. I hope you like it. I’m still getting the feel of it. Quite different from living as a holo.”
Bandicut nodded approval and glanced around. Only a few tables were occupied, and most of those had privacy screens shimmering around them, making it impossible to see their occupants. “Thanks for saving us a table,” he said. The robot showed no recognition of the irony in his voice, but gestured to them to take seats around a circular table in a back corner. When they were all seated, a privacy shroud enclosed them, a night sky appeared over their heads, and their places at the table glowed with menu items. It took a few moments before the text resolved into something Bandicut could read; once it did, he scanned down the list and ordered something that looked vaguely like a veggie burger and a beer. Antares picked some form of seafood and a glass of local wine—living dangerously, choosing unknown seafood, Bandicut thought. On his other side, Ik and Napoleon were conferring on a reading of the menu. After a minute, Ik growled to himself and stabbed an item with a fingertip. He looked up at Bandicut, his gaze unreadable.
/There must be something we can do to cheer him up,/ Bandicut thought to Charli. Inside his head, the noncorporeal alien, his companion since Triton, responded without much hope.
/// That kind of depression is beyond my experience.
If anyone can help him, it would be Antares. ///
Almost as if she had heard the thought, Antares placed her left hand over Bandicut’s right, and with a slight tilt of her head, indicated that she too was thinking about Ik’s condition. Charli was right, of course; her empathic abilities stood a better chance of getting through to him than anything short of a new set of translator-stones. Perhaps later, after they were done with whatever Jeaves had planned here, he and Li-Jared could give Ik and Antares a little space to work.
The drinks arrived, borne by a mole-headed waiter who carried each of the four drinks in a different hand. Jeaves called for a surprisingly human-sounding toast, and they all—even Ik—raised their glasses or mugs and drank.
Bandicut felt the almost-beer slide down his throat, leaving an aftertaste that told him whoever had brewed the stuff was still trying. He took another swallow, and a third, and by then could hardly tell the difference. Setting the glass down and wiping his lips, he said, “So, Jeaves, I’m sure we’re all wondering why you called us in here. Did you finally find someone to report to?”
The robot made some clucking sounds, and then said, “Yes and no. I was able to submit our report, yes, though not in person in the way we’d hoped. But I did make an important contact in the area of planetary protective services; and from that contact, I gleaned some interesting, if troubling, information.”
Bwang. “That’s nice,” said Li-Jared in a voice that conveyed just a hint of sarcasm. Perhaps he was feeling mellow and unusually kindly toward Jeaves tonight.
Jeaves continued matter-of-factly, “I’m waiting for one more data packet from my source. I want to explain this with as complete a picture as possible.”
“And you expect that—?” Bandicut asked, with upturned hands.
“By the end of dinner,” Jeaves said. “By dessert, for sure.”
“We’re holding you to that,” Bandicut answered.
“And I’m happy to see all of you, too,” Jeaves said, with a twinkle of a tiny eye-light on his brow.