But the instinct for survival drove the life of Droplet as well, and in recent days it had compelled the squales to overcome their timidity and swim closer to the aquashuttles, facing them down threateningly, restricting their movements (at least in the water) beyond the floater colony they’d made their base. They hadn’t attacked yet, still keeping a moderate distance, and Gibruch suspected they might retreat if pressed. But Commander Vale wasn’t ready to test that, feeling they had been antagonized enough.

Instead, Gibruch’s team was assigned to make one more effort to communicate with the squales. Y’lira Modan had taken over Lavena’s role of spokeswoman, brushing up her Selkie for the task; but her dense body structure made her a poor swimmer, so she was relying on hydrophones and submerged speakers, something the squales did not appreciate. It was not going well. Apparently this was a pod consisting of hermaphroditic “mothers” and their children, rather than one specializing in research or governance (if they had governance; the science staff was still uncertain of that). It wasn’t the ideal type of pod to try to communicate with, but it was what they had at the moment. Huilan had volunteered to go out into the water and try his luck; but Gibruch was reluctant to send out the bite-sized counselor under current conditions. In the three standard days since the impact—nearly five Dropletian days—the animal life of the planet had been agitated, aggressive.

“Don’t worry,” Huilan told him. “I can take care of myself. At worst, you can keep a transporter lock on me and beam me to safety.”

“I admire your determination,” Gibruch said. “But my duty is to keep you safe.”

“Our duty is to find the captain and Lavena, if we can. And to try to make amends for our mistakes here. We can’t do that without talking to the squales.”

“That may have to wait,” Y’lira told them, listening to her earpiece. “I’m picking up chatter from the squales. It sounds like a predator alert.”

“Confirmed,” said Eviku at the science console. “I’m picking up something approaching the squale pod. It’s big.”

Soon Eviku was able to call up a magnified image on his screen. He had been right about the creature’s size; it read as over ten meters long. A low-slung, brick-brown shell bulldozed through the water like a boat that had capsized and hadn’t realized it. Behind a heavy, nasty-looking prow, the shell presented a rough, bumpy surface like a magnified crab carapace. Right at the waterline in front were numerous glints suggesting tiny cabochon eyes. Behind the creature, the water roiled in slithering shapes, suggesting multiple vertical fins beneath the surface.

“The squales are forming a defensive circle,” Eviku reported, “protecting their young.” A pause. “Now the two largest hermaphrodites are—yes, they’re heading toward the creature. They’re going to intercept it!”

“Underwater sensors?” Gibruch asked. “What do they reveal of the creature’s underside?” He strode over to view the sensor feed. To his mind, eye and scanner complemented each other.

“Tentacles,” Eviku reported, interpreting the roiling, confused image. “Looks like hundreds of wiggling tentacles, pushing it forward. Several…roughly triangular tailfins. And two thick tentacles coming out of the front, several meters long.” His voice was tense, agitated. Gi bruch was surprised; he hadn’t known Eviku long, but had come to think of him as a reserved, level-headed officer.

“They’re not slowing down,” said Olivia Bolaji from the pilot’s seat. Gibruch looked out the window; now he could see firsthand as the largest of the squales and the dreadnought creature barreled toward a head-on collision. If anything, the dreadnought was picking up speed.

The entire audience winced as one at the mighty impact. Gibruch felt the sinus cavities tighten in his trunk as a bloom of bright vermilion stained the sea. “My God,” came Bolaji’s whisper as the dreadnought trundled forward, carelessly sloughing off the wounded squale’s bulk to push on with its attack.

As the underwater sensors showed, the second squale dodged a head-on crash, swerving around to slam its tail into the monster’s side. The dreadnought fishtailed, as it were, but quickly steadied and swung to meet its foe. “It’s bringing in the tentacles!” Eviku exclaimed.

The squale dodged with all the speed its bulk allowed, barely evading the first ropy limb; but the second brushed its flank and the squale went into convulsions, throwing the surface into turmoil. “I’m picking up electrical discharges!” Eviku reported. “Look at the voltage!”

Normally, Gibruch would have taken him to task for the imprecise and overly emotional report. But Gibruch was too caught up in the drama as the dreadnought wrapped both limbs about the squale, sending a still greater shock into its body. The tentacles managed to hold their grip despite the thrashing they induced. The water warped and crumpled under the onslaught of the squale’s throes, obscuring the scene from view. But before long, the turmoil subsided, revealing the squale motionless, burned, showing the unique limpness of death despite the water’s buoying.

And then the dreadnought moved in to feed. No one much cared to witness that. “What’s the status of the other squale?” Gibruch asked after a pause.

Another pause followed before Eviku responded. “It’s alive, but bleeding severely. The…the others seem to be…yes, they’re gathering around it. I suppose the predator is focused on its kill, so they’re getting their wounded away.”

“Commander?” the pilot spoke up. “They’re heading roughly in our direction.”

“Don’t make any sudden moves. I don’t think they’ll collide with us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you sure, Commander?” Eviku asked, still unwontedly nervous.

“Calm yourself, Lieutenant,” the Chandir replied, opening a sinus cavity in his trunk to add more resonance and authority to his voice. “Given the way the life on this world recoils from technology, I’m sure we have no cause for concern.”

As the diminished pod made haste to clear the scene, the crew spontaneously fell into a respectful silence. The pod left behind a thinning wake of blood that spread until it touched the hull of the Marsalis. It seemed symbolic to Gibruch, as though saying that all life is joined at the pith and that the life and death of one being will touch all others sooner or later, though worlds divide them.