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chunky tripod. He set the tripod down with a thump on the walkway, squatted
behind it. The gun muzzle swung around and pointed at Nile.
She didn t move. She d given them some reason not to trust her.
The group reached the platform, spread out. Moga stood near the platform s
edge. The red-harnessed Palachs flanked him, hands clamped on their gun grips.
The guards with the guns took up positions to either side of the Palachs. The
guards with the black nets remained a little to the rear, at the left side of
the platform. There were, Nile thought, indications of as much nervous
tenseness as she was able to make out in a Parahuan visage silently writhing
speech slits, blinking atmosphere eyes. And all eyes were fixed on her, on the
Tuvela. Nobody looked at Ticos Cay.
 Guardian, I shall speak first for myself, Moga s voice said suddenly.
Nile didn t answer. The voice resumed.  I am in great fear for Porad Anz. . .
. When you agreed to address the Everliving, I was certain that your mission
would succeed and that the Balance would shift to reason. And the response of
the Assembly was strongly favorable. Your logic was persuasive. But there has
been an unforeseen development. By violence the Voice of Action has assumed
control of our forces. It is against all custom, an unprecedented Violation of
Rules but that appears to be no longer important. Here, on the -Command Ship
and elsewhere on this world, many Great Palachs and Palachs lie dead. Those
who survive have submitted to the Voice of Action which now alone speaks for
the Everliving. I have come to inform you of what has been decreed. And having
spoken for myself, I shall speak now with the words of the Voice of Action.
Silence.
The group on the platform remained tautly motionless. Nile watched them; they
stared at her. So the red-harnessed Palachs represented the Voice of Action. .
. . The thought came suddenly that these must be very courageous creatures.
They d entered the laboratory to confront a legend. They were braving
gromgorru. They waited now to see what the Tuvela might do in response to
Moga s statement.
The Tuvela also stayed silent and motionless.
The Palach to Moga s right began speaking abruptly in a series of fluctuating
Parahuan hootings, eyes fixed on Nile. After perhaps half a minute he stopped.
Moga promptly began to translate.
 Whatever you call yourself, you are a Tuvela. We know this now. You have
threatened Porad Anz in the name of your kind. That cannot be tolerated. You
have told us that in any hostile encounter with the Guardians the Everliving
must be defeated. Once and for all, that lie shall now be disproved. . . . 
Moga s voice ended. The red-harnessed Palach spoke again. His fellow turned
his head for an instant, addressed the two Oganoon holding the nets. The two
took the nets from their arms, shook them out. Black straps dangled from their
rims. . . .
Moga took up the translation.
 The Voice of Action offers you and Dr. Cay the death of Palachs. It is
painful but honorable. If you accept, you will submit to being enclosed by the
confinement nets. If you attempt to resist, you will be shot down and die here
like Hulons. In either case, Tuvela, your defeat and death signal the
beginning of the hour of our attack on your world. And now, if it is within
the power of a Tuvela to defy our purpose, show what you can do.
Beyond the group, the Parahuan at the door sagged silently forward over the
gun, head and upper body obscured by the curling green fog lifting from a
specimen on the wall beside him. The armed guards on the platform had pointed
their guns at Nile. The red-harnessed Palachs drew their weapons. A dozen or
so of the Harpooneer s pseudoflowers behind the platform quivered and unfurled
in a flick of motion like great yellow-blue eyes blinking open. Nile dropped
flat.
There had been at least two guns aimed directly at her in that instant; and
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fast as the Harpooneer was, it might not be fast enough to keep the guns from
going off.
They didn t go off. There were other sounds instead. Something landed with a
thump on the floor not far away. With a brief shock of surprise her mind
recorded the bag Moga had been carrying. She was coming back up on her feet by
then, scooped two of the gray-shelled wriggler apples from the worktable,
lobbed them across the partitioning wall into the flooded section of the room.
She heard them splash. A detached part of her awareness began counting off
seconds. She looked around.
They were dead up there, nervous systems frozen, unlidded double-lensed eyes
staring hugely. Embedded in their backs were bone-white spikes, tipping the
thick coiled tendrils extended from the pseudoflowers. Four still stood
swaying, transfixed, long legs stretched out rigidly. Three had been lifted
from the platform, were being drawn over to the Harpooneer. Nile upended
Moga s bag, shook out the UW, had it clipped to her climb-belt as the part of
her mind that was counting seconds reached thirty and stopped. There d been a
few violent splashings from beyond the partition, but she heard nothing now.
Ticos, holding the control device in both hands, face taut and white, gave her
a quick nod.
The climb-belt was at half-weight as she reached the partition wall. She
jumped, clapped her hands to the top, went up and over.
Seven years before, she d seen a wriggler swarm hit a human diver. It was
largely a matter of how close one happened to be to the apple when it tumbled
down out of the floatwood forest, struck salt water and split. In the same
moment thousands of tiny writhing black lines spilled from it and flashed
unerringly toward any sizable animal bodies in the immediate vicinity,
striking like a cluster of needle drills, puncturing thick hide or horny
scales in instants.
The three guards lay face down, partly submerged, in the water that covered
the floor. Two were motionless. The third quivered steadily, something like a
haze of black fur still extending along his torso below the surface. All three
were paralyzed now, would be dead in minutes as the swarms spread through
them, feeding as they went.
And the passage was safe for Nile. The wrigglers were committed.
She reached the stand with Ticos communicator on it, flipped switches, turned
dials, paused an instant to steady her breath.
 Sotira-Doncar! she said into the speaker then.  Sotira-Doncar! Parahuans
here! Parahuans here! And cut off the communicator.
No time to wait for a reply. No time at all
 Can you needle the stink-fogs into action?
 Of course. But 
 Hit them! Nile drew the climb-belt tight around his waist, clipped the UW to
the top of her trunks.  If we can get out, we ll be out before it hurts us.
Ticos glanced up at the force-screened window oblong, grunted dubiously.  Hope
you re right! His finger tapped a control.  They re hit. Now?
Nile bent, placed her hands together.  Foot up! Try to keep your balance.
You re minim-weight you ll go up fast. Latch on to the grid and drop me the
belt. I think I can make it to your ankles.
She put all her strength into the heave. He did go up fast, caught the grid
and hooked an arm through it. The climb-belt floated back down. Greasy clouds
boiled about the aroused stink-fogs near the entrance door on the left as Nile [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]