FOR A MINUTE or two, they all just stood there, staring at one another, too stunned to speak. They had just finished with the Mindaru, hadn’t they? Shouldn’t that be enough for a lifetime?
Apparently not.
Bandicut became aware of a repeated bonging sound. Finally Li-Jared found his voice. “Wait. Before we get too excited . . . We have Mindaru loose in the galaxy already! Why is this so much worse?”
A fiery light flared somewhere deep in the undersea tank. “The Mindaru that you faced were deadly,” said the Peloi. “But, compared to those of the ancient war, the Mindaru you fought may be a lesser version—long dormant, we think, scattered and only gradually building their strength. What we know of the ancient fighters suggests that they killed mercilessly and with even greater efficiency. They are the surviving creations of dedicated killing machines. We fear they might even now be pouring up the starstream—or, perhaps more accurately, the timestream. Their likely exit point, if they follow the time-tide, is Karellia, where the tide originates.”
Bandicut shuddered, and felt Antares’ dread mirroring his own. Li-Jared’s bonging increased, with a strangled tone behind it.
The Peloi continued, “At present, we are able to confront the Mindaru threat one attack at a time, as you did in the Starmaker Nebula. But we have never met a concerted attack by the original Mindaru. In the ancient war, it took the combined might of a large galactic civilization to defeat them. We could not stand against them here, if they came in force. Perhaps there would be hope, if we were a great military power, with armadas of warships. But we are not.”
Li-Jared managed to choke off his bonging and squinted up at the Peloi. “Aren’t you really powerful?”
Another shifting brought a smaller Peloi to the fore, and in the background, the group of alien agents they had seen earlier once more became visible. “We have certain powers of persuasion, and of logical analysis. But military power? We have some defensive forces, of course. But that is not our primary strength. Most of the influence that we exert is through agents of change such as you—and companies like the one you see here, all assembled from worlds that have been, or will be, aided by us. Without those such as you—and there are many like you—Shipworld could not protect the worlds that we do, from both natural and inflicted harm. Do we always succeed? Obviously not. Sometimes we can only rescue a remnant of a dying population—as we did with your friend Ik’s world. Sometimes we fail altogether, as we did with the Rohengen, who destroyed themselves through war. But still we try.” The Peloi spread its thin, silver arms.
Shivering, Bandicut squinted at the enormous sea jelly. He felt Antares also straining to evaluate these strange Peloi. “All right, then,” Bandicut said. “You’ve got us scared. At least I’m scared. So what is it you want us to do—advise this group? Because—”
“Because we are asking them to travel to the Karellian homeworld, to see if they can intervene in the situation and—”
“What? Intervene how?” Li-Jared barked.
The Peloi bobbed slowly up and down, as though nodding in thought. “By seeking a way to stop or alter the temporal fields that are causing the threat.”
Li-Jared’s eyes grew brighter. The electric blue was turning green, with flecks of orange. He was suppressing some strong emotions, and trying to remain outwardly neutral. “Tell me,” he said slowly. “How are you going to persuade my people to stop this project—which protects my homeworld? And what will you suggest that they put in its place?”
/// Good question! ///
Bandicut let out his breath and stepped closer to Li-Jared, to indicate his solidarity. But when Li-Jared glanced his way, his expression was not entirely friendly. /Uh-oh./
“Are we focused entirely on my people’s contribution to this . . . threat?” he asked. “What about this thing you call the starstream? It sounds as much a part of the problem as anything we’re doing.” He turned to look at Bandicut. “Bandie, what do you know of this?”
Bandicut was slightly taken aback. “Nothing. No more than you do! It’s hundreds of years in my future!”
Li-Jared made a soft growling sound. “Right, but it’s still your people,” he said finally. He turned back to the Peloi. “But you—if you’ve had this all under observation, couldn’t you have stopped it before it came to this?”
The Peloi waved a spidery limb. “We are not all-seeing, Li-Jared. We send out probes, to see what there is to see. Neither are we all-powerful, to intervene in all things that we see. Would you want us to do that even if we could?”
Li-Jared started to answer, then closed his mouth with a grunt.
“Uhhllll,” said Antares. She seemed to be drawing together all of the emotions present here into herself, perhaps to try and make sense of them; and the effort was costing her. “What,” she began with some difficulty, “are you asking us to do?”
“Guide this team,” said the closest Peloi, and as it spoke, the image of the other team drew still closer.
“Advise them on dealing with Karellian interests and politics,” said the next.
Bandicut thought he could read Li-Jared’s thoughts. Karellian politics—after five hundred years?
By now, the image of the other team was close enough that they could see the individual faces. Four creatures looking back at Bandicut and company. Was this a live, two-way feed?
“Prepare them for a difficult mission,” continued a third Peloi.
The leftmost member of the other team, whose head was vaguely reptilian, had its head angled and seemed to be trying to speak. Bandicut could understand it, with some difficulty.
“Can you provide us-s . . . background . . . planet Karellia and near-space environment?”
Li-Jared’s fingertips curled inward with restrained tension. He kept his voice low and measured. “It’s a big planet. What background do you want?”
“Sss. Yess. Foremost, information . . . about the energy clouds that power this, this device, this temporal s-shield. Do you have such information?”
“Not really. What do you want to know? I can tell you what the radiation belt was like several hundred years ago. It probably hasn’t changed much. What’s your concern?” Li-Jared’s fingers were now rubbing anxiously on his chest.
The bearlike creature said, “We, huh, have studied results from the . . . p-probe. We did not learn much, huh, detail about the clouds. But if it powers—hunh—the shield, then we need to know how that works . . . where . . . where it gets its power. Huuu. If the temporal shield device is, uhh, close to the clouds, it may be . . . untended.”
“And if it is?”
“Then, hunnh, this increases the chances we can . . . shut the field down—hah! Short-circuit the cloud, maybe. M-minimal disturbance from the . . . p-planet.”
Li-Jared’s voice dropped through disbelief into menace. “Short-circuit the cloud? Minimal disturbance?”
“Yes. Yesss!” said the reptilian one. “Time iss of the es-s-sence. A negotiated s-shutdown seems unlikely in the time we have, does-s it not?”
Li-Jared took a step backward, as if struck. He spun to the Peloi, drawing a rasping breath. He practically shouted, “Are you serious? Are you planning to send these people to my planet? So they can shut down the only thing that’s protecting the planet from falling asteroids? Are you serious?”
The Peloi shifted several times before answering. The other team was pulled back out of focus. “You do understand the need, don’t you?”
“Moon and stars, yes—I understand the need! But not to be idiots! Not to leave my planet open to attack!” Li-Jared panted for a moment and paused to regather himself. When he spoke again, his voice was even lower and more controlled. “I know you’re worried about the time. But the only sane thing to do is to send someone who knows Karellia, someone who can speak the language, who can engage and talk to the leaders about finding another way to defend the planet!”
There was some stirring among the Peloi, and a different one came forward. “Do you have suggestions?”
“Well, of course I have suggestions!” Bwong-ng-ng. “Moon and stars, what do you think? You’ve got to send me! Send me—and my friends here, if they’ll go!” He glanced at Bandicut and Antares, and then at Napoleon.
Bandicut leaned close to Li-Jared and muttered sotto voce, “Of course we’ll go with you. But are you sure you’re up for it?”
Li-Jared flashed him a look that clearly said, Are you crazy? With my homeworld at stake?
Bandicut bit his lip and nodded. On his other side, Antares had rested a hand on his upper arm while she stared into the enormous tank of water. He could sense her marshaling her thoughts and feelings into what she would display as clear support of Li-Jared. She possessed, he knew, a growing desire to stay here and live a life in the world they had all risked so much to protect. But she would stand with Li-Jared. And Ik. If they could find him, Bandicut had no doubt Ik would go.
The Peloi had begun murmuring among themselves. Then, from a distance, the leader of the other team called out, “Ssss, ah—perhaps you are—hmm, better qualified to go, then?” The creature then seemed to speak to the Peloi. “Why is this person not leading the expedition?”
Bandicut shook his head slowly. He couldn’t believe he was making this argument. But it seemed like the only one to make. “Yes,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “Why aren’t you sending us? It’s clear you can’t do this without engaging with the Karellians, and you need Li-Jared for that!”
It took the Peloi a minute or two. The curtains fluttered and changed, and when they spoke, their tone seemed less certain. “Not long ago, you clearly stated your objection to being sent on repeated missions. You have earned a rest, and we agree.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Li-Jared snapped, his hands clenching and unclenching. “You had not told us that the next mission would affect my homeworld!”
“Well . . .” said one of the Peloi. Then another said, “Well . . .” Then they shifted and a third said, “Truthfully we are concerned that you are too close to the matter. It could be difficult to carry out your mission if—”
“If what?” Li-Jared thundered.
“If there turns out to be a conflict between your world and the greater good of the galaxy. We do not say this will happen.”
A growl came from deep in Li-Jared’s throat. “I just risked my skin helping to stop a hypernova, and you doubt that I can make a decision about what’s important?” He began to bounce up and down slightly, flexing at the knees. “Where do you get the right to doubt me?”
Bandicut stepped forward. “Li-Jared is right. He is trustworthy, and you should send him. And you should send us with him.” He felt Antares close in beside him, with a murmur.
“And,” Li-Jared added, “find Ik and let us bring him, too.”
“We’re a team,” Bandicut said. “As I think you know.”
The water stirred vigorously, and the Peloi gazed back at them, inscrutable. Finally, the one farthest to the left said, “It might be possible—some of what you propose. We have not the power to bring Ik to you, though. Not in the time before you must leave. But—”
“But what?” Li-Jared said.
“We are striving to understand. You are certain you have changed your mind? You are certain you wish to go?”
The three nodded. Napoleon tapped, twice.
“Then . . . we shall adjust our plans accordingly.” The Peloi drifted forward, close to the glass. “The other team is placed on standby. We are processing the requirement to provide you with a ship. We could reactivate the last ship in your use, the one you named The Long View. Would that be acceptable?”
Copernicus! Bandicut thought. “Yes,” he said at once. “Of course. Right, Li-Jared? Provided, however—”
“Provided?” asked the Peloi.
“You leave the AI unchanged. The one known as Copernicus. That remains in control of the ship. Agreed?”
“If the maintenance section has no objection, we have none.”
Bandicut shook his head. “Not good enough. Do what’s needed to make it happen.”
Swish. Swirl. Another Peloi in front. “We have issued that order. It will be obeyed.”
“Good. Then if we’re done here—?”
“Go make whatever preparations you need to. Jeaves can assist you with that,” said the Peloi. “You will hear from us soon.” And with that, the curtains swirled, and the creatures were gone.