Startide Rising by David Brin Read Free Book Online

as it seemed, Streaker would have to find a way to get the information to Earth, and let wiser heads figure out what to do with it.
    “You just keep contemplating, then,” he told the Niss. “Meanwhile I’ll do my best to see that the Galactics stay off our backs. Now, can you tell me…”
    “Of course I can,” the Niss interrupted again. “The corridor outside is clear. Don’t you think I would let you know if anyone were outside?”
    Tom shook his head, certain the machine had been programmed to do this now and again. It would be typical of the Tymbrimi. Earth’s greatest allies were also practical jokers. When a dozen other calamitous priorities had been settled, he intended taking a monkey wrench to the machine, and explaining the mess to his Tymbrimi friends as “an unfortunate accident.”
    As the door panel slipped aside, Tom grabbed the rim and swung out to drop onto the dim hallway ceiling below. The door hummed shut automatically. Red alert lights flashed at intervals down the gently curved corridor.
    All right, he thought. Our hopes for a quick getaway are dashed, but I’ve already thought out some contingency plans.
    A few he had discussed with the captain. One or two he had kept to himself.
    I’ll have to set a few into motion, he thought, knowing from experience that chance diverts all schemes. As likely as not, it will be something totally unexpected that turns up to offer us our last real hope.
     

----
::: Galactics
    « ^ »
    T he first phase of the fight was a free-for-all. A score of warring factions scratched and probed at each other, exploring for weaknesses. Already a number of wrecks drifted in orbit torn and twisted and ominously luminous. Glowing clouds of plasma spread along the path of battle, and jagged metal fragments sparkled as they tumbled.
    In her flagship, a leathery queen looked upon viewscreens that showed her the battlefield. She lay on a broad, soft cushion and stroked the brown scales of her belly in contemplation.
    The displays that rimmed Krat’s settee showed many dangers. One panel was an overlay of curling lines, indicating zones of anomalous probability. Others pointed out where the slough from psychic weapons was still dangerous.
    Clusters of lights were the other fleets, now regrouping as the first phase drew to a close. Fighting still raged on the fringes.
    Krat lounged on a cushion of vletoor skin. She shifted her weight to ease the pressure in her third abdomen. Battle hormones always accelerated the quickening within her. It was an inconvenience which, in ancient days, had forced her female ancestors to stay in the nest, leaving to stupid males the fighting.
    No longer, though.
    A small, bird-like creature approached her side. Krat took a ling-plum from the tray it proffered. She bit it and savored the juices that ran over her tongue and down her whiskers. The little Forski put down the tray and began to sing a crooning ballad about the joys of battle.
    The avian Forski had been uplifted to full sapiency, of course. It would have been against the Code of Uplift to do less with a client race. But while they could talk, and even fly spacecraft in a pinch, independent ambition had been bred out of them. They were too useful as domestics and entertainers to be fated anything but specialization. Adaptability might interfere with their graceful and intelligent performance of those functions.
    One of her smaller screens suddenly went dark. A destroyer in the Soro rearguard had been destroyed. Krat hardly noticed. The consolidation had been inexpensive so far.
    The command room was divided into pie sections. From the center, Krat could look into every baffled unit from her couch of command. Her crew bustled about, each a member of a Soro client race, each hurrying to do her will in its own sub-specialty.
    From the sectors for navigation, combat, and detection, there was a quieting of the hectic battle pace at last. In planning, though, she saw increased activity as the