Free Infinity's Shore by David Brin

were other ideas.
    Ship sensors may not penetrate far underground
, one human techie proposed.
    Or else
, suggested an urrish smith,
a nearby lava flow may foil alien eyes.
    The other hostages—Ro-kenn and Rann—had been taken to such places, in hopes of holding on to at least one prisoner. With the lives of every child and grub of the Six at stake, anything seemed worth trying. The job Lark had been given was important. Yet he chafed, wishing for more to do than waiting for the world to end. Rumors told that others were preparing to fight the star criminals. Lark knew little about weapons—his expertise was the natural flux of living species. Still, he envied them.
    A burbling, wheezing sound called him rushing to the far end of the tent, where his friend Uthen squatted like an ash-colored chitin mound. Lark took up a makeshift aspirator he had fashioned out of boo stems, a cleft pig’s bladder, and congealed mulc sap. He pushed the nozzle into one of the big qheuen’s leg apertures and pumped away, siphoning phlegmy fluid that threatened Uthen’s ventilation tubes. He repeated the process with all five legs, till his partner and fellow biologist breathed easier. The qheuen’s central cupola lifted and Uthen’s seeing stripe brightened.
    â€œTh-thank you, L-Lark-ark … I am—I am sorry to be so—be so—to be a burden-en-en. …”
    Emerging uncoordinated, the separate leg voices sounded like five miniature qheuens, getting in each other’s way. Or like a traeki whose carelessly stacked oration rings all had minds of their own. Uthen’s fevered weakness filled Lark’s chest with a burning ache. A choking throat made it hard to respond with cheerful-sounding lies.
    â€œYou just rest up, claw brother. Soon we’ll be back in thefield … digging fossils and inventing more theories to turn your mothers blue with embarrassment.”
    That brought a faint, gurgling laugh. “S-speaking-king of heresies … it looks as if you and Haru … Haru … Harullen-ullen, will be getting your wish.”
    Mention of Lark’s other gray qheuen friend made him wince with doubled grief. Uthen didn’t know about his cousin’s fate, and Lark wasn’t about to tell him.
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œIt seems-eems the raiders-raiders found a way to rid Jijo of at least
one
of the S-S-Six P-p-pests.…”
    â€œDon’t say that,” Lark urged. But Uthen voiced a common thought. His sickness baffled the g’Kek medic resting in the next shelter, all four eyes curled in exhaustion. The malady frightened the militia guards. All knew that Uthen had been with Lark in the ruined Danik station, poking among forbidden things.
    â€œI felt sorrow when-hen zealots-lots blew up the alien base.” Uthen’s carapace shuddered as he fought for breath. “Even when the Rothen tried to misuse our Holy Egg … sending false dreams as wedges-edges … to drive the Six Races apart-part.… Even
that
did not justify the … inhospitable-able murder of strangers.”
    Lark wiped an eye. “You’re more charitable than most.”
    â€œLet me finish-ish. I was-as going to say that
now
we know what the outsiders were up to all along-long … something worse than dreams. Designing-ing
bugs
to bring us down-own-own.”
    So, Uthen must have overheard the rumors—or else worked it out for himself.
    Biological warfare. Genocide.
    â€œLike in
War of the Worlds
” It was one of Uthen’s favorite old novels. “Only with the roles reversed.”
    Lark’s comparison made the gray qheuen laugh—a raspy, uneven whistle.
    â€œI … always-ways did identify … with those … with those poor Martians-ans-ans.…”
    The ribbon eye went foggy, losing the light of consciousness as the cupola sank. Lark