Manta's Gift

ELEVEN

The Protector was a big one, nearly twice as long as Raimey, with a skin that was so lumpy and scarred he was almost unrecognizable as a Qanska. Clearly, he'd been in a lot of fights throughout his lifetime.

And unless Raimey did something quick, he was going to be in one more.

"I asked you a question, Breeder," the Protector rumbled warningly. "What in Pakra worms do you think you're doing in my drokmur patch?"

"I'm sorry, Protector," Raimey said, fighting to control the trembling in his voice. The shaking wasn't so much fear—though there was some of that, too—but simple hunger. He hadn't found anything to eat in the past four days, and his whole body was starting to shake in reaction.

And of course, now that he had finally found food, he'd also found a crazed Protector who seemed to think he owned it.

Which was blatantly unlawful, of course. But here, several ninedays' journey north of the equator and the center of Qanskan culture and authority, laws were apparently only followed when it was convenient.

"Well?" the Protector demanded. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm very hungry, sir," Raimey said, the trembling even worse now. Simple hunger; but of course, the Protector would assume it was fear.

And why on Jupiter should he bother to give away any of his precious drokmur to a Breeder who was obviously scared to death of him?

Apparently, the Protector couldn't think of a reason, either. "Then go find yourself some food," the other growled. "But do it somewhere else. Now go away, or I'll give you more than just your belly to worry about."

Raimey thought longingly of the days with Tigrallo, or even those with Virtamco. If he'd had a Protector of his own here to back him up...

But he didn't. And there was no point in arguing the point any further. With a sigh, he flipped over and swam slowly away. Okay, he told himself firmly. Just a little setback. That's all. Just a little setback.

But the pep talk didn't help. Mainly because lately, it seemed, life had become nothing but a continuing series of setbacks.

It hadn't always been so. The first dayherd had been decent enough, once he'd gotten used to the solitude. He'd had to outfight or outrun quite a few predators along the way, and had turned a small Vuuka and two more Sivra into distended lumps on various parts of his body and fins. But the food supplies had been plentiful enough, and there had been other Qanska swimming around to talk to when the loneliness became too much to bear. That potential for companionship, even of such a brief and superficial sort, was the main reason he'd abandoned his original plan of leaving Qanskan territory entirely.

But now, midway through his second dayherd, things seemed to be on a downward dive. The food supplies had been slowly but steadily dwindling, at least the ones he could find, with more and more Qanska nudging or bullying or flat-out chasing him away from it. As his body grew heavier, and he ranged lower and lower into the atmosphere, the resident Qanska seemed to grow less and less friendly and hospitable, particularly to strangers. It was almost as if, once the breeding stage was passed, the Qanska out here had gathered into informal herds again.

Or maybe it was like that everywhere, even back at the equator. There was so much he still didn't know.

But for this particular ninepulse, academic curiosity was definitely somewhere way back in the slipstream. Food was the top priority, and he wasn't finding any. Perhaps, as his old business school buddies used to say, it was time for Option B.

Trouble was, there was no Option B.

True, he could continue on northward as he'd originally planned and try to leave Qanskan territory behind. But that would require him to become a complete hermit, and he'd already discovered he wasn't wired for that kind of life.

Or he could head up to Level One, avoiding the herds and their Protectors, and try to contact Jupiter Prime. But they'd want to know why he'd been silent for so long, and he absolutely didn't want to talk to them about what had happened. Anyway, there wasn't a whole lot of anything they could do for him.

Or he could go back, cross the equator the other direction, and see if life in the southern areas was any better than it was here in the north. But that would mean passing through the center of Qanskan activity, and Latranesto probably had every Breeder and Protector and Counselor down there on the lookout for him. If he wasn't ready for a lecture from Hesse and Faraday, he sure as the Deep wasn't ready for one from Latranesto.

Besides, somewhere back there in the equatorial region Pranlo and Drusni were swimming along together. And seeing them right now would very likely kill him.

He sighed again, the dull ache within him throbbing to life again. Drusni. A hundred forty ninedays later, and he still hadn't gotten over her.

He probably never would. He would hold her image next to his heart, wrapped in his quiet pain, until his death.

Death. Maybe that was the only real Option B left to him. There didn't seem any real point to his life now. Better for everyone if he was just gone. Maybe the next time the Sivra attacked, he would just let them have him. Better for him. Better for everyone.

Back in that shadowy former life, back when he'd been a paralyzed human being, Faraday had talked about this being a glorious gift he and the Qanska were offering him.

Some gift.

"Falkaro giving you a hard time?" a voice asked from behind him.

Raimey spun around, startled. A large female was hovering there, bigger even than the Protector who'd chased him away from his private drokmur patch. Probably a Counselor, he guessed. Like the grouchy Protector, her skin was also studded with the lumps and distortions of past battles. "I'm sorry?" he asked. "Who is...?"

"Falkaro," she repeated, flipping her tails back in the direction Raimey had just come from. "That grouch of a Protector back there. I asked if he gave you a hard time."

"Not really, I suppose," Raimey said. "I mean, he didn't hurt me, but he wouldn't let me eat anything.

Seems to think he owns all the food within swimming distance."

"Yes, you get that around here sometimes," she said with a shrug. "It's probably a lot less civilized than what you're used to."

Raimey frowned. "How do you know what I'm used to?"

"Oh, come on," she said with a smile. "Your accent gives you away. You're from the Centerline.

What are you doing this far across the winds?"

"Just sort of exploring," Raimey said cautiously. Could Latranesto's all-points bulletin have reached all the way out here?

"Right," she said, her tone making it clear that she didn't believe that for a ninepulse. "But mostly, you're going hungry? Hmm? Tell me I'm wrong."

"No, you're not wrong," he admitted. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know if there's any food nearby?" He flipped a tail back toward Falkaro's private kingdom. "Unclaimed food, that is?"

"Mm," she said, looking him up and down. "I might. Tell me, how are you with pressures?"

Raimey frowned. "I can usually handle them okay. Why?"

"Well, I just happen to know where there's a very good run down on Level Five."

He grimaced. Level Five. It might as well have been on Europa. "I don't think I can get that far down."

"Yes, I figured that," she said. "But if you could get there, do you think you could handle the pressures?"

"I don't know," Raimey said, starting to feel a little annoyed. What point was there to discussing pressures if he couldn't get down there in the first place? "Probably."

"Good," she said. "Then hold still."

She swam up over his back, as if she was leaving, then stopped directly above him. "What are you doing?" he said, frowning up at her.

"I said hold still," she said, her fins rippling almost delicately as she adjusted her position. "Here we go."

And with an audible whoosh of collapsing buoyancy sacs, she began to sink.

With Raimey, held firmly in place beneath her massive fin, sinking right along with her.

"My name's Beltrenini," she said, her voice sounding oddly muffled in this position. "What's yours?"

"Uh—Raimo," Raimey improvised. Even out here, the Qanska might have heard of the strange halfhuman, half-Qanskan monster named Manta.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Raimilo," he corrected, remembering this time to add the extra Breeder syllable.

"Ah," she said. "Interesting name. Don't think I've ever heard it before. How come you're out here alone?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean without a mate," she said. "You're a Breeder, right? Why aren't you busy breeding?"

Raimey grimaced. "It's not something I want to talk about."

"Oh, come on," she cajoled. "I'm a Counselor, right?"

"That's purely an age thing," Raimey reminded her tartly. "It doesn't necessarily mean you've got any actual skill at counseling people."

"A little respect, there, Breeder Raimilo," she warned testily. "Maybe all I've got is age and experience; but that's already more than you have. Hmm? Tell me I'm wrong."

For a moment, Raimey was sorely tempted to rattle off a list of his achievements and knowledge, from the business and organizational classes he'd taken right up to the experience of skiing down a snowy mountain with solid ground beneath his feet. That might shut her up.

He resisted the temptation. "You're right," he said humbly. "I apologize."

"That's better," she said. "So let's hear your story. Starting with why you're not swimming with some nice female Breeder."

"I appreciate your concern," Raimey hedged, coming to a decision. Wherever she was taking him, food or no food, it wasn't worth having to float through an interrogation. He didn't even want to think about Drusni, let alone talk about her to some nosy-snouted stranger. Flexing his fins, he tried to wiggle his way free.

And to his shock, discovered that he couldn't.

He tried again, putting all his strength into it. But it was no use. He was nestled solidly into the slightly concave area where Beltrenini's fin joined her body, and they were already deep enough that his own natural buoyancy was pinning him there. And with her three-to-one size advantage, there was no way he was going to physically shove her aside.

Which meant he was helpless. Beltrenini could basically take him anywhere she wanted, however she wanted, whenever she wanted. Back to the equatorial regions, maybe, or directly to Latranesto for punishment.

Or even to his death.

His muscles tensed uselessly against the massive bulk as a horrible suspicion suddenly struck him.

Beltrenini had as good as admitted that the usual Qanskan rules didn't apply out here. And it also occurred to him that he hadn't seen too many Vuuka prowling around lately.

Could she have possibly have made some sort of devil's bargain with them? After all, Earth predators were typically more intelligent than their prey. He'd never heard a hint about Vuukan intelligence; but then there was a lot the Qanska hadn't told him. Maybe they could be talked to, even bargained with.

And the simplest bargain a prey could make a predator would be to deliver food in exchange for not becoming food herself.

Could he, Raimey, be Beltrenini's latest sacrifice to them?

He wiggled again, with the same nonresults. "Hold still," Beltrenini ordered, giving a little wiggle of her own in emphasis. Raimey had a quick flash of boyhood memory: his uncle shaking him by the shoulders to get his attention when he'd been misbehaving. "This is hard enough without you flailing around like a newborn."

"Where are you taking me?" he asked tightly.

"Where do you think?" she retorted. "To get food."

Or to be food? Still, unless she wanted to risk getting bit herself, she would have to release him before the Vuuka attacked. That would give him one last chance...

Something brushed past his fins. He tensed, focusing his attention on the air.

To discover a stream of delicate reddish-silver leaves flowing past them.

"Here we are," Beltrenini announced, settling them into the middle of the fast-moving river. "Food for two. Wait a pulse—let me turn around into the flow. Makes it easier."

She swiveled a hundred eighty degrees around, turning them to face the winds that were sweeping the silvery plants along. Raimey opened his mouth, and let them flow in.

Even with four days of hunger to add spice to the menu, he quickly decided that the stuff looked better than it tasted. Still, it wasn't bad, and it was definitely filling. Best of all, there weren't any big ugly Protectors around to chase him away from it.

"How's the feemis?" Beltrenini called down around a mouthful of food.

" 'sgood," Raimey said, his own mouth almost too stuffed to get the words out.

"Take it easy," she warned. "Don't choke yourself. There's plenty to go around."

"You sound like my mother," Raimey muttered, swallowing that bite and looking around as he opened his mouth wide for the next. Just because there were no Protectors around, of course, didn't mean they had the silver stream all to themselves. There were two more of the big Counselors ahead and a little bit below them, grazing along at the bottom edge of the run. And in the distance off to the left he could see what appeared to be a group of Qanskan children feeding in the middle like he and Beltrenini were.

He frowned suddenly in midbite. Qanskan children?

"Well, I was a mother myself once, you know," Beltrenini reminded him. "Your mother still alive?"

"No, she was killed by a Vuuka," Raimey said mechanically, peering hard off to the left. No mistake; there were at least a dozen small Qanska over there. Or at least they looked like Qanska.

They certainly weren't Vuuka or Sivra or Pakra.

Trouble was, whatever they were, they were far too small to have made it this deep without the kind of elevator ride Beltrenini had given him. And there were no larger Qanska anywhere nearby.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Could the silvery glint of the plants be messing up his estimation of distance?

"I'm sorry," Beltrenini said. "When did it happen?"

"It was a long time ago," Raimey said. "Just before I switched from Midling to Youth."

She let out a low, vibrating rumble of surprise. "And you survived to adulthood? Whoa. You must have had a really supportive herd."

"One of the Protectors kind of looked after me," Raimey told her. "Look over to the left. Are those children over there?"

"What?" she said, swiveling her whole body around. "Where?"

"Those small Qanska," Raimey said, trying to point. But his tails were squeezed up against Beltrenini's belly, and she wouldn't have been able to see the gesture anyway. "Looks like twelve or fifteen of them."

"You mean those Brolka?" she said. "There are thirteen of them over there."

Brolka? "Yes, if that's what they are," Raimey said. "I've never seen one before."

"You're joking."

A cold chill ran through Raimey from snout to tailtips. In that single heartpulse, Beltrenini's voice had gone from casually chatty to something dark and ominous.

What had he said? Had admitting his ignorance about these Brolka somehow given away his true identity? "I—uh—" he stammered.

"There aren't any in Centerline?" she demanded harshly. "None at all?"

"I don't know," Raimey said. "All I said was I'd never seen one. Maybe our herd just didn't run into any."

For along ninepulse she was silent. Raimey held his breath, oblivious to the silvery feemis streaming past his snout. What in the name of Pakra droppings had he said?

"Maybe," she said at last. "I guess there's no point in worrying about it. Well, eat up."

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. Raimey keep an eye on the Brolka, trying to figure out what was so important about them. They didn't move quite like regular Qanska, he decided, but that was about the only conclusion he was able to come to. They kept drifting farther away as they ate, eventually vanishing completely from his sight.

"How are you doing?" Beltrenini called. Her tone, Raimey noted, had regained most of its earlier good cheer. "About done filling that empty hole yet?"

"Sure, I could call it a day," Raimey agreed. "I'm ready to leave. Unless you weren't planning to go back to Level Four?"

"No, no, we can go together," Beltrenini said. "It's getting late, and I like Level Four best for sleeping. Besides, you still haven't told me why you're out here alone."

"How about you?" Raimey countered as Beltrenini started easing them upward out of the feemis stream. "You're here alone, aren't you?"

"That's different," Beltrenini said quietly. "I was bonded, once. He died."

Raimey grimaced. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject. When did it happen?"

"A long time ago, just like you," she said. "Back when he was a Protector and I was a Nurturer. He was killed defending our children's herd."

She waggled her fins in emphasis. "But we weren't talking about me. We were talking about you, and your lack of companionship."

"But I have companionship," Raimey protested smoothly. "I've got you, right?"

"Flattery won't grow the drokmur," she said, waggling again. Still, she sounded secretly pleased by his comment. "Come on, quit stalling. Or were you going to try and tell me all the female Breeders from your herd had already died? Along with all the female Breeders from the nine neighboring herds?"

Raimey sighed. "No, she's still alive. She just picked someone else to bond with, that's all."

"So why didn't you just pick someone else yourself?"

Raimey grimaced. "It's not that simple."

"Of course it's that simple," Beltrenini persisted. "Okay, so you liked this one better. Big deal.

Weren't there any others you could have chosen? Besides, didn't the Nurturers insist? Oh," she interrupted herself. "So that's why you took off across the winds. They ordered you to bond with someone else, and you were too stubborn to do so."

"Actually, I left before anyone had a chance to give any orders," Raimey admitted. "Though if they had... I probably would still have run."

She snorted. "You have got to be the strangest Qanska I've ever met, Raimilo," she said. "Okay, let's hear the story. The whole story."