"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."