She put her hand on his. "Oh," she said, her voice serene, "didn't you hear what Thrayl said? It's not necessary to worry. He told us there's nothing to worry about."
He managed an actual laugh at that. "No?" he asked, gently mocking. "Not even about whether they'll throw us out of here—or maybe even decide to have us for dinner, to feed the babies?"
"Oh, Francis," she cried in reproach. "How can you say that? They wouldn't. Anyway," she went on, "don't you remember that both Lidun and Chief Thunderbird gave us their word that things would be better when we got back?"
Krake didn't have the heart to point out that Chief Thunderbird, at least, would not be coming back anywhere. He couldn't help saying at least, "I remember just fine, Moon. But what has Litlun got to say about anything now?" She shrugged, serenely at ease. "And even if we do get out of here with everything Lidun wants, what then? We're still thousands of years from our own time, aren't we?"
"Thrayl said not to worry," she pointed out. "Not even about how we get back to our own time, I guess—after all, we can just do some more time-dilation travel and wait for our time to catch up with us, can't we?"
"Yes, but—" Krake began, and stopped himself. He did not want to cause any more worries for Moon Bunderan than the situation itself forced on her.
She patted his hand. "Thrayl would never disappoint me, Francis," she told him. "Please remember that."
"Of course," he said, to end the conversation. He could not share her childlike faith in the future, but it touched him in spite of himself. He looked at her curiously. Moon Bunderan was certainly not a child in any physical sense. Not in intelligence, either. She had proved that by the quick wit she displayed in learning her way around the waveship, her display of prompt skills in surgery—in everything she did. But to Francis Krake she seemed so hopelessly, helplessly . . . "naive" was the only word that fit the case. Perhaps it was because of her sheltered upbringing on the ranch. Perhaps it was simply her nature.
It occurred to him to wonder whether being naive was necessarily a bad thing.
He hadn't reached a decision on that question when Thrayl made a soft warning sound. Krake looked up to see Litlun coming out of the tent, followed closely by his silvery guardian nymph.
"Is something the matter, Facilitator?" Moon Bunderan called.
The Turtle turned both eyes to regard them. His watdes were purplish with suppressed anger, but his demeanor reflected hopeless gloom.
He engaged his transposer. "Something is the matter, yes," he croaked. "The Mother and her nymphs heard me out. But they do not accept what one has told them. They have refused to give any assistance at all."
Krake stared at the Turtle. "Maybe you didn't put it right. What did you ask her for?" he asked.
"For help simply," Lidun cawed dejectedly. "For a nymph which one could take back to our own time, so that the Brotherhood might be reborn. Nothing more!" He turned a resentful glare on his guard. "One thought the nymphs at least would be pleased to have the chance for one of them to become a Mother quickly, but they gave no support at all."
Looking at the particular nymph escorting him, Krake could well believe it. In fact, she seemed actively hostile. Her eyes cold with detestation, she peremptorily gestured them all into the cart, squawking harshly as she climbed in after them. She slammed the cart around in an especially rough turn as she headed it back toward the tunnel.
Clinging to the edge of the cart, Moon asked, "What went wrong, Facilitator? Did the Mother think that you were lying to her?"
Litlun gave the girl a full glare from both eyes. "That is a ridiculous question, and an offensive one! Members of the Brotherhood do not lie!" he screeched. "The Mother would never think such a thing. No, she—" He paused, wounded. When he went on his tone was hopeless. "It was worse than that. She stated that one is unfit," he said.
"Unfit?" Krake asked. "You mean she thought you were crazy?"
Litlun cawed wordlessly for a moment, then surrendered. "Perhaps a condition of that sort, yes. One suggested she interview you for corroboration, but she stated there was no value to be obtained from discussing matters with strange and possibly dangerous animals."
Krake bristled. "Animals! What does that mean?"
"One cannot say," Litlun wailed. "One cannot even say what will now be done. It is known that those who are unfit are not permitted to survive. Nor is it customary to permit dangerous beasts to exist where they might do harm."
There was a faint gasp from Moon Bunderan, and Krake demanded, "What are you trying to tell me? Do you think they might try to execute us?"
Litlun gave him a severe look. "That is not important, Captain Krake. Only one thing is important, and that is that one has failed in the attempt to preserve the precious Brotherhood!"
"The hell you say," Krake raged. "It's important enough to me. We're not beasts, and they can't slaughter us at will." Then he clamped his lips shut, planning. He watched the nymph at the control of the cart. There was a lever that seemed to control both direction and speed; simple enough, Krake thought. He could do that. So when the nymph got out and turned them over to the male Turtles, for whatever purpose they intended, it was worth a try for him to grab the lever, try to barrel their way through the Turtles, through the tunnel, out the other side, back to their ship—
What the chances of success were he did not bother to calculate. It didn't matter, though. Things didn't happen that way.
As the nymph stopped the car and rose, Thrayl rose with her.
The nymph turned toward the Taur, imperiously questioning. Thrayl simply reached out with one three-fingered paw and touched her shoulder. He bent the massive head to hers, the purple-blue eyes gazing into her pale ones. The nymph flinched, but then stood still and mute for a long second.
Enraged squawks came from the male Turtles, waddling hastily toward them. Krake turned to face them, the movement a reflex without hope of accomplishing anything, weaponless as he was—but not willing to submit tamely to whatever they might do.
What they did was quite unexpected. They stopped short as the nymph shrilled a peremptory word at them. She gazed into Thrayl's eyes for a moment, then at Litlun.
Then, without speaking, she turned back to the control lever and the cart began to move again. The male Turtles stood silent and confused, staring after them as the cart entered the tunnel and began to pick up speed.
As they were racing through the ice wall toward the outside world Krake held the side of the cart against the jolts and swaying. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to gasp, "What—what did Thrayl do to her?"
"He simply let her know that Litlun was telling the truth," Moon Bunderan said comfortably. "I told you there was nothing to worry about, didn't I? And Thrayl never disappoints me.
Krake stared at her, hardly able to believe—hardly able then, as they came out onto the barren, cold plain and the Turtles there scattered before them, hardly even when they reached the side of their ship and the nymph hissed dismissal to the Turtles waiting there—hardly even when the nymph herself followed them into the ship and motioned Litlun to secure the hatch. But then Moon said, in a different tone, "Hurry, please, Francis. Let's get out of here before they change their minds!"
In the sweet songs of the aiodoi there are phrases and melodies of myriad other songs and myriad other singers. The songs of Einstein, Mach and Bohr join with the songs of the aiodoi, and are not found wanting. So do the songs of Dirac and Schrodinger, Newton and Aristotle, Davies and Thome, Hawking and Heisenberg, Hubble and Higgs, Chandrasekhar and Anaxagoras, Foucault and Feynman, Coleman and Carter, Klein and Kaluza, Gott and Guth, Planck and Pythagoras, Boltzmann, Wheeler, Alvarez, Ed-dington, Maxwell ... it is only the aiodoi who can know all the singers, for their number, like the aiodoi themselves, is without end. There are myriad others known to the singers from Earth, as well as myriad not known to them, and myriad myriad never to be known at all until that timeless time when all songs and all singers sing together. . . .