If he'd been hoping to be able to detect a moment of decision, to sense the interaction between the two trilateral and the planetary mind, he was disappointed. He sensed nothing.
For a long moment, he thought nothing was happening. But then, in his peripheral vision, he saw movement.
From this spot, on the soft "grass" of the meadow, he could see through the great rent in the squid ship's hull, into the bilges. The light from the speeding mini-suns shone down through the open cargo hatch, then through the hole blown in the cargo deck itself, illuminating the smashed keel. In the yellow-orange light Teldin saw the wood of the keel shift-saw it flex slightly, watched as the individual wood fibers interwove with one another, knitting themselves back together.
He felt the almost uncontrollable urge to recoil from the sight, to deny it, to refuse to accept that such things were possible. But with a titanic effort of will, he forced himself to watch the process through to its conclusion.
It didn't take long. Within three or four minutes, Teldin found he couldn't tell anymore where the breaks had been. Under even the closest scrutiny, the thick keel looked like one solid piece of wood again. He reached in through the hull breach, ran his hand over the smooth wood. Under his fingers, the only evidence of the damage was that certain regions were slightly warmer than others.
Major damage [satisfaction] undone. Ship [expectation] function with other damage?
Teldin turned to face the two trilateral. It was Speaks First who'd "spoken." He glanced up at Djan, at the rail above. "It wants to know if we can fly with the other damage," he relayed.
The half-elf shrugged dispiritedly. He hadn't seen the miracle in the bilges, Teldin reminded himself. "The only thing that matters is the keel," Djan replied. "We can fix everything else while we're underway, but without that keel…"
"Be careful what you ask for. You might just get it," Teldin said with a quick grin. Djan stared at him for a few moments as though the half-elf thought the captain had lost his mind. Then the first mate's eyes widened with surprise, and he disappeared. Teldin heard his friend's running footsteps thundering down the ladder into the cargo deck. With a smile, he turned back to the trilaterals.
"The other damage doesn't matter," he told Speaks First. "Thank you for our keel."
The creature waved its tentacles-dismissively, the Cloak-master thought. Then Cloakmaster [certainty]should from [impatience] World of the People, it "said" firmly. World of the People [decision] not for the Cloakmaster, Mind of the World [detachment] not for the Cloakmaster. And with that, the two creatures strode away for the edge of the forest.
'What was all that about?" Julia called down to him.
The Cloakmaster shrugged. "I think we've just been dismissed."
From within the hull, he heard Djan's yell of astonishment and joy as the half-elf saw the mended keel.
Teldin stood on the afterdeck of the Boundless. Julia and Djan were still leaning on the rails of the grounded ship, staring at the periphery of the meadow. Since the departure of Speaks First and Message Bearer, nobody had seen any sign of the trilaterals. It's almost as if they've decided the Incomplete animals" are off-limits, the Cloakmaster mused. Certainly, the creatures seemed to have no curiosity about Teldin and the others, or what they'd do now that the ship's keel was fixed. That, perhaps, was the most alien thing about them, he mused. Virtually every other race he'd ever encountered had some touch of what his grandfather had called "monkey curiosity."
"A mending spell," Djan breathed for the dozenth time, amazement still sounding in his voice. "A mending spell, that's all it was that fixed the keel. Rudimentary magic, the kind of thing any wizard's apprentice learns in his first year of training. But the scale, a whole ship's keel…" He shook his head. "If we could find some way to harness this Mind-"
"No," he cut himself off sharply. "Forget I said that. I don't want anything to do with those… those things, and the sooner we're back in space, the better."
Teldin turned, surprised at his friend's vehemence. Although he, too, wanted to get clear of Nex-and intended to, as soon as the crew had the ship spaceworthy again-he didn't have any particular negative feelings toward the trilaterals. "Why's that?" he asked.
"It's this whole 'Mind of the World' thing," Djan replied. He shrugged apologetically, visibly forcing himself to calm down. "This whole business of the world-mind cherishing and protecting the People. It scares me."
Julia had turned to regard the half-elf as well. "What's wrong with it?" she asked. She grinned. "I wouldn't mind a little cherishing from time to time."
"But what does that cherishing mean?" Djan asked. "Doesn't it mean that the People get their every need met? Maybe even before they realize they've got a need. Remember what Teldin said about that rat creature bringing Message Bearer a fruit'"
Teldin nodded slowly. He thought he knew where the half-elf was going with this.
Julia obviously hadn't guessed yet, however. "So what's wrong with that'" she repeated blankly.
"It's stagnation," Djan answered, his voice cold. "That's what's wrong with it. The People are living in this… "-he struggled for words-"this terrestrial paradise. The Mind protects them from anything that might threaten them. The Mind gives them food whenever they need it, probably gives them warmth. Maybe reassurance, too, I don't know.
"So what's left for them to strive for?" he demanded. "What goals are they pursuing? Name me one thing they need and want that's just a little bit out of their reach, that they have to struggle to achieve. There's nothing, is there?"
Neither Teldin nor Julia had an answer for him.
"And that's stagnation," Djan concluded more quietly. "They're not progressing, they're not advancing. They're just there." He turned to the Cloakmaster. "Teldin, you think they evolved from some species-the equivalent of a monkey, perhaps-the Juna left behind, don't you?"
Teldin nodded wordlessly.
"So they evolved, the People," the half-elf went on. "They evolved to the point where the Mind of the World decided that they were no longer animals, that they were different from the rat-things, and the birds, and who knows what else. That's when the Mind started to 'cherish' them.
"And at that moment, evolution stopped." Djan sighed. "If we could travel a thousand years into the past, I'm convinced we'd find the People living exactly the same way. And a thousand years into the future, the same thing: nothing would be changed.
"If the People ever had a destiny as a race," he said, his voice little more than a whisper, "I think the Mind has made sure they'll never reach it. All from the highest of motives, of course." He looked steadily at Teldin, then Julia. "And that's what bothers me."
*****
Teldin watched the mini-suns crisscrossing the sky overhead and felt the fear in his chest. One of those things almost got us once, he thought, and that was on the way down, when we could use the planet's gravity to give us more speed. Can we evade them on the way up?
He knew his tension was shared by the rest of the crew; he could feel it in the air around him like the sense of waiting before a thunderstorm breaks. But they weren't talking about it-not in his hearing, anyway-and it didn't seem to be interfering with their work as they readied the ship for space. Maybe the fear's a good thing, the Cloakmaster mused. If it makes somebody jump just that bit faster, it might help keep us alive.