Infinity's Shore Read Free

almost as much as
Sara.
It feels good to think their names, the slick way all words used to come, in the days before his mangling.
    One recent prize he is especially proud of.
    Emerson
 …
    It is his own name, for so long beyond reach. Violent shocks had jarred it free, less than a day ago—shortly after he provoked a band of human rebels to betray their urrish allies in a slashing knife fight that made a space battle seemantiseptic by comparison. That bloody frenzy ended with an explosive blast, shattering the grubby caravan tent, spearing light past Emerson’s closed lids, overwhelming the guardians of reason.
    And then, amid the dazzling rays, he had briefly glimpsed … his captain!
    Creideiki
 …
    The blinding glow became a luminous foam, whipped by thrashing flukes. Out of that froth emerged a long gray form whose bottle snout bared glittering teeth. The sleek head
grinned
, despite bearing an awful wound behind its left eye … much like the hurt that robbed Emerson of speech.
    Utterance shapes formed out of scalloped bubbles, in a language like none spoken by Jijo’s natives, or by any great Galactic clan.
    *
In the turning

of the cycloid
,
    *
Comes a time
to break for surface.
    *
Time to resume
breathing,
doing.
    *
To rejoin the
great sea’s
dreaming.
    *
Time has come for
you my old friend.
    *
Time to
wake
and
see what’s churning.
… *
    Stunned recognition accompanied waves of stinging misery, worse than any fleshy woe or galling numbness.
    Shame had nearly overwhelmed him then. For no injury short of death could ever excuse his forgetting—
    Creideiki
 …
    Terra
 …
    The dolphins
 …
    Hannes
 …
    Gillian
 …
    How could they have slipped his mind during the months he wandered this barbarian world, by boat, barge, and caravan?
    Guilt might have engulfed him during that instant of recollection … except that his new friends urgently needed him to act, to seize the brief advantage offered by the explosion, to overcome their captors and take them prisoner. As dusk fell across the shredded tent and torn bodies, he had helped Sara and Kurt tie up their surviving foes—both urrish and human—although Sara seemed to think their reprieve temporary.
    More fanatic reinforcements were expected soon.
    Emerson knew what the rebels wanted. They wanted
him.
It was no secret that he came from the stars. The rebels would trade him to sky hunters, hoping to exchange his battered carcass for guaranteed survival.
    As if anything could save Jijo’s castaway races, now that the Five Galaxies had found them.
    Huddled round a wan fire, lacking any shelter but tent rags, Sara and the others watched as terrifying portents crossed bitter-cold constellations.
    First came a mighty titan of space, growling as it plunged toward nearby mountains, bent on awful vengeance.
    Later, following the very same path, there came a
second
behemoth, this one so enormous that Jijo’s pull seemed to lighten as it passed overhead, filling everyone with deep foreboding.
    Not long after that, golden lightning flickered amid the mountain peaks—a bickering of giants. But Emerson did not care who won. He could tell that neither vessel was
his
ship, the home in space he yearned for … and prayed he would never see again.
    With luck,
Streaker
was far away from this doomed world, bearing in its hold a trove of ancient mysteries—perhaps the key to a new galactic era.
    Had not all his sacrifices been aimed at helping her escape?
    After the leviathans passed, there remained only stars and a chill wind, blowing through the dry steppe grass, while Emerson went off searching for the caravan’s scatteredpack animals. With donkeys, his friends just might yet escape before more fanatics arrived.…
    Then came a rumbling noise, jarring the ground beneath his feet. A rhythmic cadence that seemed to go—
    taranta taranta
    taranta