The Singers of Time

20

Because photons have no clocks, even the longest voyage in a wave-drive ship winds somewhen to its end. This particular voyage was, to be sure, a very long one—a matter of several billion years ... or of several billion light-years, which as Einstein told the human world long ago are the same. Long before they had reached the end of it Krake was counting the remaining food supplies aboard The Golden Hind with the beginnings of real worry.

But there was still a reasonable margin left when the voyage ended. The external galaxies had receded to their proper remote places. The closer stars around them had swirled into nearly familiar constellations, and Marco's spectroscope confirmed that more and more of them had become the metal-rich objects of later generations.

When they came out of wave-drive at last, the space that surrounded the Mother planet was as Krake had first seen it, long and long ago. There was no great wormhole to threaten in the nearby sky. Instead, the baleful accretion disk of the old black hole hung on one side of their screens, menacing, dangerous, pocked with lightnings of hard radiation; the Sh'shrane-generated wormhole that had swallowed the Mother planet had not yet been formed. But the neutron star was in its proper place, looking no different, and the Mother planet itself swung just below them, to all appearances quite permanent there, exactly where Thrayl had promised.

The Taur gazed down at the stark, dimly lit planet in benign silence, his horns glowing with their milky light. Beside him Litlun was aquiver with excitement, his claws drumming on his belly plate. "It has really happened!" he rasped, almost like a prayer. "One can yet save the Brotherhood! We must land at once!"

Francis Krake didn't question that, but he had problems to solve. He had to plan a landing in the shadow of the planet itself, precisely navigated to avoid as much as possible of the deadly radiation from the black hole and the neutron star. More, he had to decide who was to make the trip down to the surface in the scout ship.

Two possible candidates were ruled out at once: There wasn't any way to bring the still unconscious Kiri/Sork (or Sork/Kiri) Quintero down to the surface of the planet; so he was naturally excluded. So was Sue-ling Quong, who flatly would not consider leaving the waveship without him. "And we have to leave at least two behind in the waveship," Krake said, considering. "Marco, Daisy Fay—I want you two to stay aboard to crew the ship, in case—"

He stopped there. He did not say in case of what. It wasn't necessary, and he didn't have the opportunity. Litlun was already squawking urgently at him.

"That must be all, Captain Krake! No more persons are to stay aboard! One requires as many in the landing party as possible," the Turtle said peremptorily.

Krake stared at him. "Why? Are you looking for witnesses?" he asked. "Are you trying to tell us that the Turtle Mother would take our word for all this, and not yours?"

"It is not a question of doubting one's word," Lidun croaked, defensive, almost abject. "It is a matter of that which must be said. The things which one must tell the Mother are—" he hesitated. "Are shunned," he finished.

Marco Ramos put in wisely, "Because they're about quantum mechanics and all that sort of thing, right? I see his point, Francis. But since that's what we have to talk about, don't you think I ought to go, since I've been listening to those old lecture chips more than anyone else?"

Krake didn't answer that. He just shook his head. "Everybody else goes, then. Let's do it," he said to the others, and the four remaining—Moon Bunderan and her Taur, the Turtle and the captain himself—sorted themselves out and squeezed themselves into the scout ship. "Buckle in," he ordered as soon as they were all inside, and took the controls. And the little scout lurched away from the waveship, and began its long drop toward the surface of the great, dark planet, with its immense, faintly gleaming caps of ice. . . .

Then, suddenly, they were no longer alone in their descent.

Out of nowhere, a cluster of Turtle spacecraft appeared to orbit them, close in, escorting them—or threatening.

Moon Bunderan gasped, and the Turtle cawed incomprehensibly to himself. "It's all right," Krake said. "They were bound to detect us and they aren't going to harm us ... I think." But then he took a second look and swallowed. The ships that surrounded them were not like The Golden Hind. They were of an older and cruder design, and they possessed something no Turtle ship of his experience had ever had.

Each one of the ships around them carried a cluster of ominous-looking housings on its hull.

"Those are weapons!" Krake said in astonishment. "They're armed."

And Lidun echoed, "They arc armed, yes. Captain Krake, do you understand what that means? No ship of the Brotherhood has been armed since the war with the Sh'shrane! We arc at a time before the Sh'shrane ever reached here!"

That was inarguably true, if fantastic. There were plenty of other proofs. The mere fact that they had to make a powered landing was evidence enough that they had wound up at a long earlier time, for everyone knew that the Mother planet had had a skyhook of its own for many Mother-generations. The only question was, why) Krake puzzled over that with part of his mind, while concentrating with most of it on the reentry of the scout ship into the atmosphere of the planet. He accepted the fact that The Golden Hind had been performing what was in fact a kind of time-travel, first reentering their own universe at a very early point in its history, then cruising at wavespeed until they approached their own present. That was crazy enough, but he admitted it was true. But then why stop short? Thousands ofyears short? He glanced at the Taur, who was purring contentedly. "Thrayl says it's all right, Francis," the girl whispered. Fatalistically, Krake put the question out of his mind.

In any case, it was taking all his skill to keep the ship from excessive turbulence. As the lurching vessel threw them all against the straps, Lidun squawked rasping complaints.

"Arc you functioning properly, Captain Krake?" the Turtle demanded. "Shall one take over the controls for you?"

"Fat chance," Krake said shortly. Moon touched his shoulder from behind.

"I think you're doing fine, Francis," she offered. "And things will be all right when we land. Thrayl says so."

"Glad to hear it," he muttered. It was true that the Taur seemed quite relaxed where he was strapped in beside his mistress. His eyes were gently reassuring, and his horns now glowed softly in rainbow colors. It was obvious that Thrayl had completely recovered from his ordeal. All it had taken was a little sleep and a few meals and the Taur was back to normal. It was taking more than that for the rest of the Hind's crew; Krake wondered if there would ever be a time when his world would be "normal" again.

But he didn't really want it to be normal—at least, he surely did not want to return to the kind of normal, empty existence he had been living through ever since the Turtles picked him out of the Coral Sea. The trouble was that what he wanted, he told himself with resignation, was out of his reach forever. He accepted the fact that his brief time with Sue-ling Quong was over and would never come again . . . but acceptance did not imply contentment. There was still a yearning space in his heart that cried out to be filled.

Then the scout ship was screaming through the less tenuous stretches of the planet's atmosphere, and Krake had no time to think of anything but guiding the little ship.

"Hold on!" he yelled, while Lidun was tugging at him with one clawed hand, pointing toward a mountain range near a pole of the planet. The turbulent atmosphere shook them all up, but it had one pleasing consequence. The guardian ships were unable to maintain station in the buffeting, and they fell away, out of sight.

Krake swore at Litlun to shut him up; he knew where he was meant to land. He dived the scout ship down and away, pouring on power, heading for the chosen point at the fringe of the northern ice cap. The Turtle was craning his leathery neck to see with one eye, while the other eye roamed around to see if the escort ships were following.

"There," he squawked through his transposer, waving one stubby arm. "On that plain, just before the ice!"

"I know," Krake gritted, fighting the controls. It was not the proper way to land a scout ship. What you did normally was to orbit close in until you had spotted the best possible place, then come down to the surface in a long, careful spiral —halfway around the planet if necessary. But normally you did not have armed ships herding you along.

Krake swore as he scanned the images that were growing in the screen. "There's nothing there," he snapped. "Isn't there supposed to be a city somewhere?"

Even in that moment Litlun managed to sound indignant. "The Brotherhood does not huddle in cities,'''' he croaked, his wattles flushing. "Do as one instructs you now! Put this vessel down!"

Krake swore again—hadn't stopped swearing, really, for the last several minutes—and had reason to go on swearing, because his job was getting harder. This was a planet of high winds and rocky peaks, and the landing approach was bumpy. Only the rugged restraints kept him from flying off the control seat. In the window he saw the reflection of Moon Bunderan quickly raising a hand to her mouth, her face greenish in distress.

Krake thanked heaven that there were no clouds. At least he had unlimited visibility for the approach to the spot Litlun had chosen for landing. Krake caught a glimpse of an opening in the ice cap that yawned a few kilometers from the edge and blinked in surprise. Any gap in that massive ice cap was wholly unexpected; but he had no time to study it. He had no time for anything but landing the scout, for now the winds coming down off the ice were the strongest of all. Gusts tried to flip the little scout ship over as it came almost to the ground; Krake had to wrestle it level to get it down in one piece.

Then the ship touched down, skidding to a halt almost in the face of the giant cliff of ice.

Thunder above them told Krake that at least one of the escort vessels had managed to keep pace. Squinting out, he watched the Turtle ship slide to a halt on the ground a hundred meters away. Even before it had quite stopped its exit hatches were flying open.

At once a pair of giant Turtles leaped out of the ship, waddling rapidly toward them.

"Open the hatch," Litlun begged. "We must go out at once—hands raised—to show them we mean no harm to the Mother!"

"Not yet!" Krake snapped. "Radiation suits first—we'd be fried in a minute out there!"

"Then do it quickly and follow me!" the Turtle squawked. Needing no suit for himself, he was already scrabbling at the scout ship's hatch. The rest of them were struggling in the confined space to pull out the capes and hoods that would— that Krake hoped would—protect them, at least for a while, from the lethal radiation that drenched the Mother planet from the inferno in its sky.

By the time Krake got outside Litlun and the Turtles from the guard ship were already screeching raucously at each other. It didn't sound like a friendly discussion. In Krake's opinion, the two new Turtles weren't acting much like a welcoming committee. But at least no weapons had been drawn.

Krake was careful to stand a good, non-threatening distance away from the shouting match. Moon Bunderan was between him and Thrayl, their backs to the blast of dank, bone-chilling air from the ice cliff. The Taur's great, glowing horns swung watchfully from side to side, but there was no serious alarm on the broad face. Out of the corner of his eye Krake saw half a dozen more Turtles racing toward them from a new source—not from a ship, this time; the new ones were coming from a gray stone construction that seemed to penetrate right into the face of the glacier itself.

Krake stole a moment to look around. Overhead the sky of the Mother planet was a dusty pink, curiously brilliant. The black hole was out of sight, but near the horizon the neutron star blazed wickedly. It gave little heat. Krake felt the girl

trembling beside him, and it was only when he looked at her that he realized he was shivering with cold himself. Their cloaks might protect them from the wicked radiation, but they were doing nothing to keep them warm. Thunder from overhead told him that another of the escort ships had finally managed to catch up with them. It landed as precipitously as the first, and two more of the mean-looking, ancient ships were following it down.

The odds were getting worse.

Krake grinned to himself at the thought. Of course that made no difference: the four of them against an entire planet, what difference did a few more Turtles make? He watched with resignation as more Turdes leaped from the ships and waddled toward them at high speed.

"Francis?" the girl whispered. "Isn't Lidun waving to us?"

He turned back and saw it was true. The rust-red litdc Turtle was gesturing frantically for them to join him. As they approached he engaged his transposer. "One has been granted permission!" he croaked in triumph. "We are permitted to see the Mother herself!"

"She'll help you, then?" Moon asked.

The Turde's gestures slowed. "One does not know that with certainty," he said, the words coming with reluctance. "But we must not delay! These Brothers will take us to her at once!"

To be taken to the Mother meant first penetrating through that wall of ice, Moon Bunderan discovered as they followed the first pair of Turtles toward that old stone structure at its base. Two other Turtles swung in behind them—a guard of honor? Or a prison guard?

Moon didn't know the answer to that. There was so much she didn't know! For Moon Bunderan, all these experiences had been coming too fast and too unexpectedly. She took reassurance from the presence of her dearest friend, the Taur, not to mention that other rather dear person, Captain Francis Krake; whatever happened, at least they were all together.

All the same, she was glad to get into the tunnel through the ice. It was good to be out of the sight of that awful neutron star in the sky, though it was no warmer inside. She saw that the tunnel stretched a long way into the glacier, but there was little time for sight-seeing. The Turtles were herding them onto a thing like a farm cart. It had no motor that Moon could see. Nevertheless, as soon as they were all aboard it began to roll steadily into the tunnel, under the ice, in a gloom that was not quite total darkness.

There was light enough for Moon, though, and it came from the familiar, friendly glow of Thrayl's horns. In that illumination she could see Francis Krake's face, pinched in worry as he stared ahead into the gloom. Poor Francis, she thought, though she could not have said why.

She burrowed closer to Thrayl's warm, firm body. At least, she told herself, there was something to be accomplished here. Litlun's dreams might be realized in this place, and obviously he was on tenterhooks about it. The Turtle was fidgeting nervously, muttering to himself, transposer off. She wondered what it might mean if the Turtle's hopes were realized. Suppose Litlun did persuade this ancient Mother to come with them. Suppose it meant that the Turtles had a new rebirth of life in their own time. Suppose they returned successfully . . . but what, she wondered, would they return to? Could she ever go back to her life on the New Mexican ranch again?

To her surprise, Thrayl bent his great head to nesde against hers. "Do not fear, Moon," he lowed gently, his warm, sweet breath stirring her hair. "Your wish. It is my wish, too."

She sighed, not asking for an explanation, committed to trust. She could not believe it was a guarantee of any kind— but if Thrayl told her not to be afraid, why, then she would not.

As the car came to a jolting stop Moon gasped and squinted as bright light struck her eyes. They had emerged from the tunnel into a brilliant vista.

They were in a vast, circular pit, like the caldera of an ancient volcano. All around them steep granite cliffs rose high above, shutting out the direct rays of that awful neutron star. There was no sign of the ice that she knew was all around them, held back by the towering granite.

The whole scene was as brightly lit as a summer day on the ranch, though there was no sun in the sky. When Moon squinted up she saw that the light came from shifting curtains of multicolored fire in the sky itself.

"An aurora," Francis Krake muttered, staring up at the pink sky. Energetic particles from those dead stars were making the heavens blaze. "A hell of a bright one, too! But I don't think we'll need the radiation suits anymore."

Not even to keep the cold out, Moon thought, because, astonishingly, in this sheltered place it was warm. As she looked at the sight before them she felt a sudden, unexpected stirring of pleasure. It was quite beautiful! In the center of the deep, round valley they were in there was a wide and handsome lake, dotted with islands.

It was no passive landscape, either. The scene was filled with activity. She saw that the meadows were alive with Turtles—all kinds of Turtles, tiny ones, medium-sized ones, even some very large ones with silvery carapaces, which seemed to be in charge of the others.

Krake was staring with marveling eyes as well. He said, "This must be their hatchery, Moon! I've heard of this place, but I never expected to see it for myself. What we're looking at is the next generation of Turtles, and the Mother herself must be somewhere near!"

The Turtles who had brought them this far got out of the cart and stood there, backs to their guests—or prisoners. They seemed to be waiting for something. Litlun was trying to question them, but they ignored his nervous cawing. They were looking across the meadow, where another Turde was unhurriedly waddling toward them.

The newcomer was one of the huge, silvery-bodied ones, and Krake caught his breath at the sight. "Do you know what that is, Moon?" he demanded. "I think it's afemaL?! It must be one of the nymphs!"

Moon stared at the new arrival. It was taller than most of the Turtles she had seen, but slimmer as well. The rudimentary winglets of male Turtles were well developed in this one, and its carapace gleamed like polished metal. Moon looked at Francis Krake in puzzlement. "A nymph?"

"It's an immature female," he explained. "I've heard that they're supposed to always keep a number of them around—in case anything happens to the Mother, you know. But nobody's ever seen one before."

One of Litlun's eyes wandered to them. "A nymph, of course," he agreed through the transposer. "They do not simply idle here. It is the honor of the nymphs that they tend the Mother in all her needs. How could it be otherwise? It could ijot be done by males, since very few males are permitted to see the Mother in person." He hesitated there, then added in a rush: "Or so it was in one's own time."

"You think it's different now?"

Litlun made the equivalent of a fatalistic shrug. "One does not know," he admitted. Then he added another admission. "One was unsure of the Taur's purpose in bringing us here at such an early stage," he said thoughtfully, "but perhaps that is best. This is a ruder, less sophisticated time in the life of the Brotherhood. It is possible that one's requests may be granted more easily now." He seemed to meditate for a moment, then roused himself. "Still," he said, "there are certain rules one must follow, even now, when one appears before the Mother—"

But he did not get a chance to explain them just then. The nymph was speaking to him, her voice a higher, softer version of his own. Hastily Litlun disengaged his transposer to answer her.

The conversation lasted for a few seconds, then the nymph gestured. Obedient to her wish, the male Turde stepped back. She entered the cart and began to drive it directly toward the lake, with Litlun croaking and squawking deferentially to her all the while.

The closer they got to the lake, the younger and smaller the Turtles around them seemed to become. Then Moon saw that at the water's edge there were row upon row of ebon-colored objects like small footballs. Eggs! Basking in the light from the auroral display above, with nymphs moving among them and helping hatchlings to emerge as they cracked their enclosing shells. The tiny Turtles that emerged were damp-looking and soft, but they began to move their little limbs as soon as they were free.

"They're darling," Moon said, unable to restrain herself.

Litlun turned both eyes to give her a scorching look. He was making no progress with talking to the nymph; he turned on his transposer and addressed the others. "This nymph does not wish to discuss what the Mother may decide," he said worriedly. Then he added, "One has a concern."

"Which is?" Krake demanded.

Litlun drummed his claws fretfully on his platen. "She knows nothing of the Sh'shrane," he said, sounding disturbed. "Nor does she know anything of Taurs—she was quite startled to see this one, and to see you two, as well—or even of wave-drive ships. It is for this reason that one is concerned, Captain Krake. We are so many Motherlives in the past— thousands of years at least—that one may find it difficult to explain one's needs."

He scratched unhappily for a moment, then seemed to brighten as he glanced around. "Ah, but what a joy it is to see this place again! One remembers one's own hatching, and the cycles of growing and learning here before the great journey into the world beyond the ice, where we adapt to the radiation from the neutron star and the accretion disk. . . ."

The cart jolted and stopped for a moment, halting Litlun in mid-reminiscence. Then it slowly began to mount a bridge to the nearest island.

Litlun's claws drummed more ecstatically than ever. "We are almost there!" he cawed, his wattles suddenly pale. "See the glory of the way our Mother lives!" He turned off the transposer to speak pleadingly to the nymph.

But Moon wasn't listening. She had followed his instructions, gazing at the things the island held, and her eyes widened as her mouth formed a tiny O of surprise and delight. What she saw was opulent. Bright gems flashed everywhere in the aurora light. There was a sort of great tepee in the center of the island, its loosely draped sides encrusted with glittering stones. The drapes hid whatever was inside, but out of the far side of the tent Moon could see a procession of nymphs lovingly carrying eggs away, to be deposited in boats and taken to the lake shores. The paths the nymphs trod were paved with jewels! Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires—the treasures, Moon thought, of more than one world. All was beauty wherever she looked—

Almost all. She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell, Francis?" she complained.

"It's not just Turtle," Krake told her. "I think it's sulfur compounds—probably from the water. Maybe that's why it's warm here; I think this lake comes from geothermal springs. A good place for the Mother to produce her eggs!"

Scandalized, Litlun broke off his attempts at conversation with the nymph and slapped his transposer back on. "Do not speculate in that offensive manner!" he barked, his eyes glaring reprovingly at them. "One requires that you show respect, for in that nest is the Mother herself! You must listen attentively to these instructions: In the event that you are admitted to the Mother's presence you will always stand. Never turn your back on her. Your arms must remain lifted in the position of her wings, which is the attitude of worship." He raised his knobby elbows to demonstrate.

Moon tried to follow his example. "When will we see her?" she ventured.

The Turtle gave her a hostile glare. "One has not promised that!" he screeched. "It is entirely her decision, but if it should come you must behave properly!"

The cart stopped, a dozen meters from the tepee. The nymph looked over the group with non-committal eyes, then spoke quickly to Litlun. He looked surprised, then engaged his transposer again.

"It seems that one is to have an audience with the Mother alone," he said, trembling. "You will therefore wait here for instructions."

And he waddled nervously away, the nymph at his side, to enter the sacred presence of the Mother.

Time passed.

No one came near them, though half a dozen tiny Turtles came waddling with tiny steps to the edge of the lake to stare at them, until a nymph arrived to herd them back to where they belonged. Moon Bunderan began to feel warm again, after so chilling a time in the outer world. The nasty sulfur stink began to fade—or she had become used to it. "What do you suppose is happening, Francis?" she whispered.

He gave up craning his neck in the effort to see what was going on in the tent. "We'll find out," he promised—an ambiguous kind of promise, she thought, but took comfort from the fact that Thrayl, beside her, was rumbling softly and contentedly to himself. Thrayl did not seem curious, though both Moon and the captain were doing their best to understand the occasional brief glimpses they caught. They could see figures moving around—Litlun, for certain, his elbows upraised in the worship gesture, others they could not identify. Though they could hear distant screeches and gurgles from within the Mother's birthing nest, they could not guess at meanings. Still no one came near them, though several nymphs loitered conspicuously near the side of the tent, talking among themselves and now and then glancing one-eyed at the visitors.

A new figure appeared as it moved behind the tent flaps, dimly seen. "Is that the Mother?" Moon whispered, pointing.

Krake tugged at his beard. "It could be," he said. Except for her bloated abdomen, she looked no larger than the nymphs around her. Her shell was yellowed, though, and cracked and bleached with time. "She looks like she's had a hard life. Well, I suppose she has. Giving birth to an entire race by herself can't be easy! . . . But I wish Litlun would come out."

"And I," Moon said practically, "wish I knew what time it was. I bet Sue-ling's worrying about us."

Francis Krake gave her a surprised look, then an amused one. "I imagine so. / am."

She put her hand on his. "Oh," she said, her voice serene, "didn't you hear what Thrayl said? It's not necessary to worry. He told us there's nothing to worry about."

He managed an actual laugh at that. "No?" he asked, gently mocking. "Not even about whether they'll throw us out of here—or maybe even decide to have us for dinner, to feed the babies?"

"Oh, Francis," she cried in reproach. "How can you say that? They wouldn't. Anyway," she went on, "don't you remember that both Lidun and Chief Thunderbird gave us their word that things would be better when we got back?"

Krake didn't have the heart to point out that Chief Thunderbird, at least, would not be coming back anywhere. He couldn't help saying at least, "I remember just fine, Moon. But what has Litlun got to say about anything now?" She shrugged, serenely at ease. "And even if we do get out of here with everything Lidun wants, what then? We're still thousands of years from our own time, aren't we?"

"Thrayl said not to worry," she pointed out. "Not even about how we get back to our own time, I guess—after all, we can just do some more time-dilation travel and wait for our time to catch up with us, can't we?"

"Yes, but—" Krake began, and stopped himself. He did not want to cause any more worries for Moon Bunderan than the situation itself forced on her.

She patted his hand. "Thrayl would never disappoint me, Francis," she told him. "Please remember that."

"Of course," he said, to end the conversation. He could not share her childlike faith in the future, but it touched him in spite of himself. He looked at her curiously. Moon Bunderan was certainly not a child in any physical sense. Not in intelligence, either. She had proved that by the quick wit she displayed in learning her way around the waveship, her display of prompt skills in surgery—in everything she did. But to Francis Krake she seemed so hopelessly, helplessly . . . "naive" was the only word that fit the case. Perhaps it was because of her sheltered upbringing on the ranch. Perhaps it was simply her nature.

It occurred to him to wonder whether being naive was necessarily a bad thing.

He hadn't reached a decision on that question when Thrayl made a soft warning sound. Krake looked up to see Litlun coming out of the tent, followed closely by his silvery guardian nymph.

"Is something the matter, Facilitator?" Moon Bunderan called.

The Turtle turned both eyes to regard them. His watdes were purplish with suppressed anger, but his demeanor reflected hopeless gloom.

He engaged his transposer. "Something is the matter, yes," he croaked. "The Mother and her nymphs heard me out. But they do not accept what one has told them. They have refused to give any assistance at all."

Krake stared at the Turtle. "Maybe you didn't put it right. What did you ask her for?" he asked.

"For help simply," Lidun cawed dejectedly. "For a nymph which one could take back to our own time, so that the Brotherhood might be reborn. Nothing more!" He turned a resentful glare on his guard. "One thought the nymphs at least would be pleased to have the chance for one of them to become a Mother quickly, but they gave no support at all."

Looking at the particular nymph escorting him, Krake could well believe it. In fact, she seemed actively hostile. Her eyes cold with detestation, she peremptorily gestured them all into the cart, squawking harshly as she climbed in after them. She slammed the cart around in an especially rough turn as she headed it back toward the tunnel.

Clinging to the edge of the cart, Moon asked, "What went wrong, Facilitator? Did the Mother think that you were lying to her?"

Litlun gave the girl a full glare from both eyes. "That is a ridiculous question, and an offensive one! Members of the Brotherhood do not lie!" he screeched. "The Mother would never think such a thing. No, she—" He paused, wounded. When he went on his tone was hopeless. "It was worse than that. She stated that one is unfit," he said.

"Unfit?" Krake asked. "You mean she thought you were crazy?"

Litlun cawed wordlessly for a moment, then surrendered. "Perhaps a condition of that sort, yes. One suggested she interview you for corroboration, but she stated there was no value to be obtained from discussing matters with strange and possibly dangerous animals."

Krake bristled. "Animals! What does that mean?"

"One cannot say," Litlun wailed. "One cannot even say what will now be done. It is known that those who are unfit are not permitted to survive. Nor is it customary to permit dangerous beasts to exist where they might do harm."

There was a faint gasp from Moon Bunderan, and Krake demanded, "What are you trying to tell me? Do you think they might try to execute us?"

Litlun gave him a severe look. "That is not important, Captain Krake. Only one thing is important, and that is that one has failed in the attempt to preserve the precious Brotherhood!"

"The hell you say," Krake raged. "It's important enough to me. We're not beasts, and they can't slaughter us at will." Then he clamped his lips shut, planning. He watched the nymph at the control of the cart. There was a lever that seemed to control both direction and speed; simple enough, Krake thought. He could do that. So when the nymph got out and turned them over to the male Turtles, for whatever purpose they intended, it was worth a try for him to grab the lever, try to barrel their way through the Turtles, through the tunnel, out the other side, back to their ship—

What the chances of success were he did not bother to calculate. It didn't matter, though. Things didn't happen that way.

As the nymph stopped the car and rose, Thrayl rose with her.

The nymph turned toward the Taur, imperiously questioning. Thrayl simply reached out with one three-fingered paw and touched her shoulder. He bent the massive head to hers, the purple-blue eyes gazing into her pale ones. The nymph flinched, but then stood still and mute for a long second.

Enraged squawks came from the male Turtles, waddling hastily toward them. Krake turned to face them, the movement a reflex without hope of accomplishing anything, weaponless as he was—but not willing to submit tamely to whatever they might do.

What they did was quite unexpected. They stopped short as the nymph shrilled a peremptory word at them. She gazed into Thrayl's eyes for a moment, then at Litlun.

Then, without speaking, she turned back to the control lever and the cart began to move again. The male Turtles stood silent and confused, staring after them as the cart entered the tunnel and began to pick up speed.

As they were racing through the ice wall toward the outside world Krake held the side of the cart against the jolts and swaying. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to gasp, "What—what did Thrayl do to her?"

"He simply let her know that Litlun was telling the truth," Moon Bunderan said comfortably. "I told you there was nothing to worry about, didn't I? And Thrayl never disappoints me.

Krake stared at her, hardly able to believe—hardly able then, as they came out onto the barren, cold plain and the Turtles there scattered before them, hardly even when they reached the side of their ship and the nymph hissed dismissal to the Turtles waiting there—hardly even when the nymph herself followed them into the ship and motioned Litlun to secure the hatch. But then Moon said, in a different tone, "Hurry, please, Francis. Let's get out of here before they change their minds!"

In the sweet songs of the aiodoi there are phrases and melodies of myriad other songs and myriad other singers. The songs of Einstein, Mach and Bohr join with the songs of the aiodoi, and are not found wanting. So do the songs of Dirac and Schrodinger, Newton and Aristotle, Davies and Thome, Hawking and Heisenberg, Hubble and Higgs, Chandrasekhar and Anaxagoras, Foucault and Feynman, Coleman and Carter, Klein and Kaluza, Gott and Guth, Planck and Pythagoras, Boltzmann, Wheeler, Alvarez, Ed-dington, Maxwell ... it is only the aiodoi who can know all the singers, for their number, like the aiodoi themselves, is without end. There are myriad others known to the singers from Earth, as well as myriad not known to them, and myriad myriad never to be known at all until that timeless time when all songs and all singers sing together. . . .

And all the songs are sweet.