ke no long trips,
and don't let any one person see all the threads of your plan. While Steel
thought he was seeking Rangolith, Flenser was talking to Amdi and Jefri.
The human's face was wet with tears. "F-four times we've missed
R-ravna. What has happened to her?" His voice screeched up. Flenser hadn't
realized there was such flexibility in the belching mechanism that humans
use to make sound.
Most of Amdi clustered round the boy. He licked Jefri's cheeks. "It
could be our ultrawave. Maybe it's broken." He looked beseechingly at
Flenser. There were tears in the puppies' eyes, too. "Tyrathect, please ask
Steel again. Let us stay in the ship all the dayaround. Maybe there are
messages that have come through and not been recorded."
Flenser with Steel descended the northern stairs, crossed the parade
ground. He gave a sliver of attention to the other's complaints about the
sloppy maintenance around the practice stands. At least Steel was smart
enough to keep the discipline scaffolds over on Hidden Island.
Flenser with Rangolith's troopers splashed through a mountain stream.
Even in high summer, in the middle of a Drywind, there were still snow
patches, and the streams running from under them were icy cold.
Flenser with Amdijefri edged forward, let two of Amdi rest against his
sides. Both children liked physical contact, and he was the only one they
had besides each other. It was all perversion of course, but Flenser had
based his life on manipulating others' weakness, and -- but for the pain --
welcomed it. Flenser buzzed a deep purring sound through his shoulders,
caressing the puppy next to him. "I'll ask our Lord Steel the very next time
I see him."
"Thank you." A puppy nuzzled at his cloak, then mercifully moved away;
Flenser was a mass of sores beneath that cover. Perhaps Amdi realized that,
or perhaps -- more and more Flenser saw a reticence in the children. His
comment to Steel had been a slip into the truth: these two really didn't
trust him. That was Tyrathect's fault. On his own, Flenser would have had no
trouble winning Amdijefri's love. Flenser had none of Steel's killing temper
and fragile dignity. Flenser could chat for casual pleasure, all the while
mixing truth with lies. One of his greatest talents was empathy; no sadist
can aspire to perfection without that diagnostic ability. But just when he
was doing well, when they seemed about to open to him -- then Ty or Ra or
Thect would pop up, twisting his expression or poisoning his choice of
phrase. Perhaps he should content himself with undermining the children's
respect for Steel (without, of course, ever saying anything directly against
him). Flenser sighed, and patted Jefri's arm comfortingly. "Ravna will be
back. I'm sure of it." The human sniffled a little, then reached out to pet
the part of Flenser's head that was not shrouded by the cloak. They sat in
companionable silence for a moment, and his attention drifted back to --
-- the forest and Rangolith's troops. The group had been moving uphill
for almost ten minutes. The others were lightly burdened and used to this
sort of exercise. Flenser's two members were lagging. He hissed at the group
leader.
The group leader sidled back, his squad shifting briskly out of his
way. He stopped when his nearest was fifteen feet from Flenser's. The
soldier's heads cocked this way and that. "Your wishes ... My Lord?" This
one was new; he had been briefed about the cloaks, but Flenser knew the
fellow didn't understand the new rules. The gold and silver that glinted in
the darkness of the cloaks -- those colors were reserved for the Lords of
the Domain. Yet there only two of Flenser here; normally such a fragment
could barely carry on a conversation, much less give reasonable orders. Just
as disconcerting, Flenser knew, was his lack of mind sound. "Zombie" was the
word some of the troops used when they thought themselves alone.
Flenser pointed up the hill; the timberline was only a few yards away.
"Farscout Rangolith is on the other side. We will take a short cut," he said
weakly.
Part of the other was already looking up the hill. "That is not good,
sir." The trooper spoke slowly. Stupid damn duo, his posture said. "The bad
ones will see us."
Flenser glowered at the other, a hard thing to do properly when you are
just two. "Soldier, do you see the gold on my shoulders? Even one of me is
worth all of you. If I say take a short cut, we do it -- even if it means
walking belly deep through brimstone." Actually, Flenser knew exactly where
Vendacious had put lookouts. There was no risk in crossing the open ground
here. And he was so tired.
The group leader still didn't know quite what Flenser was, but he saw
the dark-cloaks were at least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed
off humbly, bellies dragging on the ground. The group turned up hill and a
few minutes later were walking across open heather.
Rangolith's command post was less than a half mile away along this path
--
Flenser with Steel walked into the inner keep. The stone was freshly
cut, the walls thrown up with the feverish speed of all this castle's
construction. Thirty feet over their heads, where vault met buttresses,
there were small holes set in the stonework. Those holes would soon be
filled with gunpowder -- as would slots in the wall surrounding the landing
field. Steel called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to
Flenser. "So what does Rangolith say?"
"Sorry. He's been out on patrol. He should be here -- I mean, he should
be in camp -- any minute." Flenser did his best to conceal his own trips
with the scouts. Such recons were not forbidden, but Steel would have
demanded explanations if he knew.
Flenser with Rangolith's troops sloshed through water-soaked heather.
The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool
tongues partway under his wretched cloaks.
Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were
in a slight depression at the edge of a large summer pond. A hundred yards
away, a huge patch of a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond,
and kept the air pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight from below,
yet the site was so high in the hills that from the edge of the depression
there was a clear view across three points of the compass, centered on the
south. Resupply could be accomplished from the north with little chance of
detection, and even if the damn fires struck the forests below, this post
would be untouched.
Farscout Rangolith was lounging about his signal mirrors, oiling the
aiming gears. One of his subordinates lay with snouts stuck over the lip of
the hill, scanning the landscape with its telescopes. He came to attention
at the sight of Flenser, but his gaze wasn't full of fear. Like most
long-range scouts, he wasn't completely terrorized by castle politics.
Besides, Flenser had cultivated an "us against the prigs" relationship with
the fellow. Now Rangolith growled at the group leader: "The next time you
come prancing across the open like that, your asses go on report."
"My fault, Farscout," put in Flenser. "I have some important news."
They walked away from the others, down toward Rangolith's tent.
"See something interesting, did you?" Rangolith was smiling oddly. He
had long ago figured out that Flenser was not a brilliant duo, but part of a
pack with members back at the castle.
"When is your next session with Craddleheads?" That was the fieldname
for Vendacious.
"Just past noon. He hasn't missed in four days. The Southerners seem to
be on one big squat."
"That will change." Flenser repeated Steel's orders for Vendacious. The
words came hard. The traitor within him was restive; he felt the beginnings
of a major attack.
"Wow! You're going to move everything over to Margrum Climb in less
than two -- Never mind, that's something I'd best not know."
Under his cloaks, Flenser bristled. There are limits to chumminess.
Rangolith had his points, but maybe after all this was over he could be
smoothed into something less ... ad hoc.
"Is that all, My Lord?"
"Yes -- No." Flenser shivered with uncharacteristic puzzlement. The
trouble with these cloaks, sometimes they made it hard to remember things.
By the Great Pack, no! It was that Tyrathect again. Steel had ordered the
killing of Woodcarver's human -- all things considered, a perfectly sensible
move, but...
Flenser with Steel shook his head angrily, his teeth clicking together.
"Something the matter?" said Lord Steel. He really seemed to love the pain
that the radio cloaks caused Flenser.
"Nothing, my lord. Just a touch of the static." In fact there was no
static, yet Flenser felt himself disintegrating. What had given the other
such sudden power?
Flenser with Amdijefri snapped his jaws open and shut, open and shut.
The children jumped back from him, eyes wide. "It's okay," he said grimly,
even as his two bodies thrashed against each other. There really were lots
of good reasons why they should keep Johanna Olsndot alive: In the long run,
it assured Jefri's good will. And it could be Flenser's secret human.
Perhaps he could fake the Two Leg's death to Steel and -- No. No. No!
Flenser grabbed back control, jamming the rationalizations out of mind. The
very tricks he had used against Tyrathect, she thought to turn against him.
It won't work on me. I am the master of lies.
And then her attack twisted again, became a massive bludgeoning that
destroyed all thought.
With Flenser, with Rangolith, with Amdijefri -- all of him was making
little gibbering noises now. Lord Steel danced around him, unsure whether to
laugh or be concerned. Rangolith goggled at him in frank amazement.
The two children edged back to touch him, "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"
The human slipped those remarkable hands under the radio cloak and brushed
softly at Flenser's bleeding fur. The world blurred in a surge of static.
"No. Don't do that. It might hurt him more," came Amdi's voice. The puppies'
tiny muzzles reached out, trying to help with the cloaks.
Flenser felt his being pushed downwards, towards oblivion. Tyrathect's
final attack was a frontal assault, without rationalizations or sly
infiltration, and...
... And she looked out upon herself in astonishment. After so many
days, I am me. And in control. Enough butchering of innocents. If anyone is
to die, it is Steel and Flenser. Her head followed Steel's prancing forms,
picked out the most articulate member. She gathered her legs beneath her,
and prepared to leap at its throat. Come just a little closer ... and die.
Tyrathect's last moment of consciousness probably didn't last longer
than five seconds. Her attack on Flenser was a desperate, all-out thing that
left her without reserves or internal defense. Even as she tensed to leap
upon Steel, she felt her soul being pulled back and down, and Flenser rising
up from the darkness. She felt the member's legs spasm and collapse, the
ground smash into its face...
... And Flenser was back in control. The weakling's attack had been
astonishing. She really had cared for the ones who were to be destroyed,
cared so much she was willing to sacrifice herself if it would kill Flenser.
And that had been her undoing. Suicide is never something to hang pack
dominance on. Her very resolve had weakened her hold on the hindmind -- and
given The Master his chance. He was back in control, and with a great
opportunity. Tyrathect's assault had left her defenseless. The innermost
mental barriers around her three members were suddenly as thin as the skin
of an overripe fruit. Flenser slashed through the membrane, pawed at the
flesh of her mind, spattering it across his own. The three who had been her
core would still live, but never again would they have a soul separate from
his.
Flenser with Steel sprawled as though unconscious, his convulsions
subsiding. Let Steel think him incapacitated. It would give him time to
think of the most advantageous explanation.
Flenser with Rangolith came slowly to his feet, though the two members
were still in a posture of confusion. Flenser pulled them together. No
explanations were due here, but it would be best if Farscout didn't suspect
soulstrife. "The cloaks are powerful tools, dear Rangolith; sometimes a bit
too powerful."
"Yes, my lord."
Flenser let a smile spread across his features. For a moment he was
silent, savoring what he would say next. No, there was no sign of the
weak-willed one. This had been her last, best try at domination -- her last
and biggest mistake. Flenser's smile spread further, all the way to the two
with Amdijefri. It suddenly occurred to him that Johanna Olsndot would be
the first person he had ordered killed since his return to Hidden Island.
Johanna Olsndot would therefore be the first blood on three of his muzzles.
"There's one more item for Craddleheads, Farscout. An execution...." As
he spoke the details, the warmth of a decision well-made spread through his
members.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
CHAPTER 35
The only good thing about all the waiting had been the chance it gave
the wounded. Now that Vendacious had found a way past the Flenserist
defenses, everyone was anxious to break camp, but....
Johanna spent the last afternoon at the field hospital. The hospital
was laid off in rough rectangles, each about six meters across. Some of the
plots had ragged tents -- those belonging to wounded who were still smart
enough to care for themselves. Others were surrounded by stranded fencing;
inside each of those was a single member, the survivor of what had once been
an entire pack. The singletons could easily have jumped the fences, but most
seemed to recognize their purpose, and stayed within.
Johanna pulled the food cart through the area, stopping at first one
patient and then another. The cart was a bit too large for her, and
sometimes it got caught in the roots that grew across the the forest floor.
Yet this was a job that she could do better than any pack, and it was nice
to find a way she could help.
In the forest around the hospital there was the sound of kherhogs being
coaxed up to wagon ties, the shouts of crews securing the cannons and
getting the camp gear stowed. From the maps Vendacious had shown at the
meeting, it was clear the next two days would be an exhausting time -- but
at the end of it they would have the high ground behind unsuspecting
Flenserists.
She stopped at the first little tent. The threesome inside had heard
her coming and was outside now, running little circles around her cart.
"Johanna! Johanna!" it said in her own voice. This was all that was left of
one of Woodcarver's minor strategists; once upon a time, it had known some
Samnorsk. The pack had originally been six; three had been killed by the
wolves. What was left was the "talker" part -- about as bright as a five
year old, though with an odd vocabulary. "Thank you for food. Thank you."
Its muzzles pushed at her. She patted the heads before reaching into the
cart and pulling out bowls of lukewarm stew. Two of them dug in right away,
but the third sat back for a moment and chatted. "I hear, we fight soon."
Not you anymore, but "Yes. We are going up by the dry fall, just east
of here."
"Uh, oh." It said. "Uh, oh. That's bad. Poor seeing, no control, ambush
scary." Apparently the fragment had some memories of its own tactical work.
But there was no way Johanna could explain Vendacious's reasoning to it.
"Don't worry, we will make it okay."
"You sure? You promise?"
Johanna smiled gently at what was left of a rather nice fellow. "Yes. I
promise."
"Ah-ah-ah.... Okay." Now all three had their muzzles stuck into stew
bowls. This was one of the lucky ones, really. It showed plenty of interest
in what went on around it. Just as important, it had childlike enthusiasms.
Pilgrim said that fragments like this could grow back easily if they were
just treated right long enough to bear a puppy or two.
She pushed the cart a few meters further, to the fenced square that was
the symbolic corral for a singleton. There was a faint odor of shit in the
air. Some of the singletons and duos were not housebroken; in any case, the
camp latrines were a hundred meters away.
"Here, Blacky. Blacky?" Johanna banged an empty bowl against the side
of the cart. A single head eased up from behind some root bushes; sometimes
this one wouldn't even do that much. Johanna got on her knees so her eyes
weren't much higher than the black-faced one. "Blacky?"
The creature pulled himself out of the bushes and slowly approached.
This was all that was left of one of Scrupilo's cannoneers. She vaguely
remembered the pack, a handsome sixsome all large and fast. But now, even
"Blacky" wasn't whole: a falling gun had crushed his rear legs. He dragged
his legless rear on a little wagon with thirty centimeter wheels... sort of
like a Skroderider with forelegs. She pushed a bowl of stew toward him, and
made the noises that Pilgrim coached her in. Blacky had refused food the
last three days, but today he rolled and walked close enough that she could
pet his head. After a moment he lowered his muzzle to the stew.
Johanna grinned in surprised pleasure. This hospital was a strange
place. A year ago she would have been horrified by it; even now she didn't
have the proper Tinish outlook on the wounded. As she continued to pet
Blacky's lowered head, Johanna looked across the forest floor at the crude
tents, the patients and parts of patients. It really was a hospital. The
surgeons did try to save lives, even if the medical science was a horrifying
process of cutting and splinting without anesthetics. In that regard, it was
quite comparable to the medieval human medicine that Johanna had seen on
Dataset. But with the Tines there was something more. This place was almost
a spare parts warehouse. The medics were interested in the welfare of packs.
To them, singletons were pieces that might have a use in making larger
fragments workable, at least temporarily. Injured singletons were at the
bottom of all medical priorities. "There's not much left to save in such
cases," one medic had said to her via Pilgrim, "And even if there was, would
you want a crippled, loose-bonded member in your self?" The fellow had been
too tired to notice the absurdity of his question. His muzzles had been
dripping blood; he'd been working for hours to save wounded members of whole
packs.
Besides, most wounded singletons just stopped eating and died in less
than a tenday. Even after a year with Tines, Johanna couldn't quite accept
it. Every singleton reminded her of dear Scriber; she wanted them to have a
better chance than his last remnant had. She had taken over the food cart
and spent as much time with the wounded singletons as she did with any of
the other patients. It had worked out well. She could get close to each
patient without mindsound interference. Her help gave the brood kenners more
time to study the larger fragments and the uninjured singletons, and try to
build working packs from the wreckage.
And now maybe this one wouldn't starve. She'd tell Pilgrim. He'd done
miracles with some of the other match ups, and seemed to be the only pack
who shared some of her feelings for damaged singletons. "If they don't
starve it often means a strength of mind. Even crippled, they could be an
advantage to a pack," he'd said to her. "I've been crippled off and on in my
travels; you can't always pick and choose when you're down to three and
you're a thousand miles into an unknown land."
Johanna set a bowl of water beside the stew. After a moment, the
crippled member turned on his axle and took some shallow sips. "Hang on,
Blacky, we'll find someone for you to be."
Chitiratte was where he was supposed to be, walking his post exactly as
expected. Nevertheless, he felt a thrill of nervousness. He always kept at
least one head gazing at the mantis creature, the Two-Legs. Nothing
suspicious about that posture either. He was supposed to be doing security
duty here, and that meant keeping a lookout in all directions. He shifted
his crossbow nervously about from jaws to field pack and back to jaws. Just
a few more minutes....
Chitiratte circled the hospital compound once more. It was soft duty.
Even though this stretch of wood had been spared, the drywind fires had
chased the bigger wildlife downstream. This close to the river, the ground
was covered with softbush, and there was scarcely a thorn to be found.
Pacing around the hospital was like a walk on Woodcarver's Green down south.
A few hundred yards east was harder work -- getting the wagons and supplies
in shape for the climb.
The fragments knew that something was up. Here and there, heads stuck
up from pallets and burrows. They watched the wagons being loaded, heard the
familiar voices of friends. The dumbest ones felt a call to duty; he had
chased three able-bodied singles back into the compound. No way such feebs
could be of any help. When the army marched up Margrum Climb, the hospital
would stay behind. Chitiratte wished he could too. He'd been working for the
Boss long enough to guess whence his orders ultimately came; Chitiratte
suspected that not many would be coming back from Margrum Climb.
He turned three pairs of eyes toward the mantis creature. This latest
job was the riskiest thing he'd been a part of. If it worked out he might
just demand that the Boss leave him with the hospital. Just be careful, old
fellow. Vendacious didn't get where he is by leaving loose ends. Chitiratte
had seen what happened to that easterner who nosed a little too close into
the Boss's business.
Damn but the human was slow! She'd been grunting at that one singleton
for five minutes. You'd think she was having sex with these frags for all
the time she spent with them. Well, she'd pay for the familiarity very soon.
He started to cock his bow, then thought better of it. Accident, accident.
It must all look like an accident.
Aha. The Two-legs was collecting food and water bowls and stowing them
on the meal cart. Chitiratte made unobtrusive haste around the hospital
perimeter, positioning himself in view of the Kratzi duo -- the fragment
that would actually do the killing.
Kratzinissinari had been a foot trooper before losing the Nissinari
parts of himself. He had no connection with the Boss or Security. But he'd
been known as a crazy-headed get of bitches, a pack that was always on the
edge of combat rage. Getting killed back to two members normally has a
gentling influence. In this case -- well, the Boss claimed that Kratzi was
specially prepared, a trap ready to be sprung. All Chitiratte need do was
give the signal, and the duo would tear the mantis apart. A great tragedy.
Of course, Chitiratte would be there, the alert hospital warden. He would
quickly put arrows through Kratzi's brains ... but alas, not in time to save
the Two-Legs.
The human dragged the meal cart awkwardly around root bushes toward
Kratzi, her next patient. The duo came out of its burrow, speaking
half-witted greetings that even Chitiratte could not understand. There were
undertones though, a killing anger that edged its friendly mien. Of course,
the mantis thing didn't notice. She stopped the cart, began filling food and
water bowls, all the time grunting away at the twosome. In a moment, she
would bend down to put the food on the ground.... For half an instant,
Chitiratte considered shooting the mantis himself if Kratzi were not
immediately successful. He could claim it was a tragic miss. He really
didn't like the Two-Legs. The mantis creature was a menacing thing; it was
so tall and moved so weirdly. By now he knew it was fragile compared to
packs, but it was scary to think of a single animal so smart as this. He
shelved the temptation even faster than he had thought it. No telling what
price he might pay for that, even if they believed his shot was an accident.
No altruism today, thank you very much; Kratzi's jaws and claws would have
to do.
One of Kratzi's heads was looking in Chitiratte's general direction.
Now the mantis picked up the bowls and turned from the meal cart --
"Hei, Johanna! How is it going?"
Johanna looked up from the stew to see Peregrine Wickwrackscar walking
along the edge of the hospital. He was moving to get as close as possible
without invading the mind sounds of the patients. The guard who had stopped
there a moment before retreated before his advance and stopped a few meters
further on. "Pretty good," she called back. "You know the one on wheels? He
actually ate some stew tonight."
"Good. I've been thinking about him and the threesome on the other side
of the hospital."
"The wounded medic?"
"Yes. What's left of Trellelak is all female, you know. I've been
listening to mind sounds and -- " Pilgrim's explanation was delivered in
fluent Samnorsk, but it didn't make much sense to Johanna. Brood kenning had
so many concepts without referents in human language that even Pilgrim
couldn't make it clear. The only obvious part was that since Blacky was a
male, there was a chance that he and the medic threesome might have pups
early enough to bind the group. The rest was talk of "mood resonance" and
"meshing weak points with strong". Pilgrim claimed to be an amateur at brood
kenning, but it was interesting the way the docs -- and even Woodcarver
sometimes -- deferred to him. In his travels he had been through a lot. His
matchups seemed to "take" more often than anybody's. She waved him to
silence. "Okay. We'll try it soon as I've fed everybody."
Pilgrim cocked a head or two at the nearby hospital plots. "Something
strange is going on. Can't quite 'put my finger on it', but ... all the
fragments are watching you. Even more than usual. Do you feel it?"
Johanna shrugged. "No." She knelt to set the water and stew bowls
before the twosome patient. The pair had been vibrating with eagerness,
though they had been quite polite in not interrupting. Out of the corner of
her eye, she noticed the hospital guard make a strange dipping motion with
its two middle heads, and --
The blows were like two great fists smashing into her chest and face.
Johanna fell to the ground, and they were on her. She raised bloody arms
against the slashing jaws and claws.
When Chitiratte gave the signal, both of Kratzi leaped into action --
crashing into each other, almost incidentally knocking the mantis on her
back. Their claws and teeth were tearing at empty air and each other as much
as the Two-legs. For an instant, Chitiratte was struck motionless with
surprise. She might not be dead. Then he remembered himself and jumped over
the fence, at the same time cocking and loading his bow. Maybe he could miss
the first shot. Kratzi was shredding the mantis, but slow --
Suddenly, there was no possibility of shooting the twosome. A wave of
snarling black and white surged over Kratzi and the mantis. Every
able-bodied fragment in the hospital seemed to be running to the attack. It
was instant killing rage, far wilder than anything that could come from
whole packs. Chitiratte fell back in astonishment before the sight and the
mindsound of it.
Even the pilgrim seemed caught up in it; the pack raced past Chitiratte
and circled the melee. The pilgrim never quite plunged in, but nipped here
and there, screaming words that were lost in the general uproar.
A splash of coordinated mindsound boomed out from the mob, so loud it
numbed Chitiratte twenty yards away. The mob seemed to shrink in on itself,
the frenzy gone from most of its members. What had been near a single beast
with two dozen bodies was suddenly a confused and bloody crowd of random
members.
The pilgrim still ran around the edge, somehow keeping his mind and
purpose. His huge, scarred member dived in and out of the remaining crowd,
clawing at anything that still fought.
The patients dragged themselves away from the killing ground. Some that
had gone in as threesomes or duos came out single. Others seemed more
numerous than before. The ground that was left was soaked with blood. At
least five members had died. Near the middle, a pair of prosthetic wheels
lay incongruously.
The pilgrim paid it all no attention. The four of him stood around and
over the bloody mound at the center.
Chitiratte smiled to himself. Mantis splatter. Such a tragedy.
Johanna never quite lost consciousness, but the pain and the
suffocating weight of dozens of bodies left no room for thought. Now the
pressure eased. Somewhere beyond the local din she could hear shouts of
normal Tinish talk. She looked up and saw Pilgrim standing all around her.
Scarbutt was straddling her, its muzzle centimeters away. It reached down
and licked her face. Johanna smiled and tried to speak.
Vendacious had arranged to be in conference with Scrupilo and
Woodcarver. Just now the "Commander of Cannoneers" was deep into tactics,
using Dataset to illustrate his scheme for Margrum Climb.
Squalls of rage sounded from down by the river.
Scrupilo looked up peevishly from the Pink Oliphaunt. "What the muddy
hell -- "
The sounds continued, more than a casual brawl. Woodcarver and
Vendacious exchanged worried glances even as they arched necks to see among
the trees. "A fight in the hospital?" said the Queen.
Vendacious dropped his note board and lunged out of the meeting area,
shouting for the local guards to stay with the Queen. As he raced across the
camp, he could see that his roving guards were already converging on the
hospital. Everything seemed as smooth as a program on Dataset ... except,
why so much noise?
The last few hundred yards, Scrupilo caught up with him and pulled
ahead. The cannoneer raced into the hospital and stumbled over himself in
abrupt horror. Vendacious burst into the clearing all prepared to display
his own shock combined with alert resolve.
Peregrine Wickwrackscar was standing by a meal cart, Chitiratte not far
behind him. The pilgrim was standing over the Two-Legs in a litter of
carnage. By the Pack of Packs, what happened? There was too much blood by
far. "Everybody back except the doctors," Vendacious bellowed at the
soldiers who crowded at the edge of the compound. He picked his way along a
path that avoided the loudest-minded patients. There were a lot of fresh
wounds, and here and there speckles of blood dark on the pale tree trunks.
Something had gone wrong.
Meanwhile Scrupilo had run around the edge of the hospital and was
standing just a few dozen yards from the Pilgrim. Most of him was staring at
the ground under Wickwrackscar. "It's Johanna! Johanna!" For a moment it
looked like the fool would jump over the fence.
"I think she's okay, Scrupilo." Wickwrackscar said. "She was just
feeding one of the duos and it went nuts -- attacked her."
One of the doctors looked over the carnage. There were three corpses on
the ground, and blood enough for more. "I wonder what she did to provoke
them."
"Nothing, I tell you! But when she went down, half the hospital went
after Whatsits here." He waggled a nose at unidentifiable remains.
Vendacious looked at Chitiratte, at the same time saw Woodcarver
arrive. "What about it, Soldier?" he asked. Don't screw up, Chitiratte.
"I-it's just like the pilgrim says, my lord. I've never seen anything
like it." He sounded properly astounded by the whole affair.
Vendacious stepped a little closer to the Pilgrim. "If you'll let me
take a closer look, Pilgrim?"
Wickwrackscar hesitated. He had been snuffling around the girl, looking
for wounds that might need immediate attention. Then the girl nodded weakly
to him, and he backed off.
Vendacious approached, all solemn and solicitous. Inside he raged. He'd
never heard of anything like this. But even if the whole damn hospital had
come to her aid, she should still be dead; the Kratzi duo could have ripped
her throat out in half a second. His plan had seemed fool-proof (and even
now the failure would cause no lasting damage), but he was just beginning to
understand what had gone wrong: For days, the human had been in contact with
these patients, even Kratzi. No Tinish doctor could approach and touch them
like the Two-Legs. Even some whole packs felt the effect; for fragments it
must be overwhelming. In their inner soul, most of the patients considered
the alien part of themselves.
He looked at the Two-Legs from three sides, mindful that fifty packs of
eyes were watching his every move. Very little of the blood was from the
Two-Legs. The cuts on her neck and arms were long and shallow, aimless
slashings. At the last minute, Kratzi's conditioning had failed before the
notion of the human as pack member. Even now, a quick flick of a forepaw
would rip the girl's throat open. He briefly considered putting her under
Security medical protection. The ploy had worked well with Scriber, but it
would be very risky here. Pilgrim had been nose to nose with Johanna; he
would be suspicious of any claims about "unexpected complications". No. Even
good plans sometimes fail. Count it as experience for the future. He smiled
at the girl and spoke in Samnorsk, "You're quite safe now," for the moment
and quite unfortunately. The human's head turned to the side, looking off in
the direction of Chitiratte.
Scrupilo had been pacing back and forth along the fence, so close to
Chitiratte and Pilgrim that the two had been forced back. "I won't have it!"
The cannoneer said loudly. "Our most important person attacked like this. It
smells of enemy action!"
Wickwrackscar goggled at him. "But how?"
"I don't know!" Scrupilo said, his voice a desperate shout. "But she
needs protection as much as nursing. Vendacious must find some place to keep
her."
The pilgrim pack was clearly impressed by the argument -- and unnerved
by it. He inclined a head at Vendacious and spoke with uncharacteristic
respect, "What do you think?"
Of course, Vendacious had been watching the Two-legs. It was
interesting how little humans could disguise their point of attention.
Johanna had been staring at Chitiratte, now she was looking up at
Vendacious, her shifty little close-set eyes narrowing. Vendacious had made
a project this last year of studying human expressions, both on Johanna and
in stories in Dataset. She suspected something. And she also must have
understood part of Scrupilo's speech. Her back arched and one arm fell
raised weakly. Fortunately for Vendacious, her shout came out a whisper that
even he could scarcely hear: "No ... not like Scriber."
Vendacious was a pack who believed in careful planning. He also knew
that the best-made schemes must be altered by circumstances. He looked down
at Johanna and smiled with the gentlest public sympathy. It would be risky
to kill her like Scriber's frag, but now he saw that the alternatives were
far more dangerous. Thank goodness Woodcarver was stuck with her limper on
the other side of the camp. He nodded back at Pilgrim and drew himself
together. "I fear Scrupilo is right. Just how it might have been done, I
don't know, but we can't take a chance. We'll take Johanna to my den. Tell
the Queen." He pulled cloaks from his backs and began gently to wrap the
human for the last trip she would ever make. Only her eyes protested.
Johanna drifted in and out of consciousness, horrified at her inability
to scream her fears. Her strongest cries were less than whispers. Her arms
and legs responded with little more than twitches, even that lost in
Vendacious's swaddling. Concussion, maybe, something like that, the
explanation came from some absurdly rational corner of her mind. Everything
seemed so far away, so dark....
Johanna woke in her cabin at Woodcarver's. What a terrible dream! That
she had been so cut up, unable to move, and then thinking Vendacious was a
traitor. She tried to shrug herself to a sitting position, but nothing
moved. Darn sheets are all wrapped around me. She lay quiet for a second,
still massively disoriented by the dream. "Woodcarver?" she tried to say,
but only a little moan came out. Some member moved gently around the
firepit. The room was only dimly lit, and something was wrong with it.
Johanna wasn't lying in her usual place. There was a moment of puzzled
lassitude as she tried to make sense of the orientation of the dark walls.
Funny. The ceiling was awfully low. Everything smelled like raw meat. The
side of her face hurt, and she tasted blood on her lips. She wasn't at
Woodcarver's and that terrible dream was --
Three Tinish heads drifted in silhouette nearby. One came closer, and
in the dim light she recognized the pattern of white and black on its face.
Vendacious.
"Good," he said, "You are awake."
"Where am I?" the words came out slurred and weak. The terror was back.
"The abandoned cotter's hut at the east end of the camp. I've taken it
over. As a security den, you know." His Samnorsk was quiet and fluent,
spoken in one of the generic voices of Dataset. One of his jaws carried a
dagger, the blade a glint in the dimness.
Johanna twisted in the tied cloaks and whispered screams. Something was
wrong with her; it was like shouting on empty breath.
One of Vendacious paced the hut's upper level. Daylight splashed across
its muzzle as it peered out first one and then another of the narrow slits
cut in the timbers. "Ah, it's good that you don't pretend. I could see that
you somehow guessed about my second career. My hobby. But screaming -- even
loud -- won't help either. We have only a brief time to chat. I'm sure the
Queen will come visiting soon ... and I will kill you just before she
arrives. So sad. Your hidden wounds were tragically severe...."
Johanna wasn't sure of all he said. Her vision blurred every time she
moved her head. Even now she couldn't remember the details of what had
happened back in the hospital compound. Somehow Vendacious was a traitor,
but how ... memories wriggled past the pain. "You did murder Scriber, didn't
you? Why?" Her voice came louder than before, and she choked on blood
dribbling back down her throat.
Soft, human, laughter came from all around her. "He learned the truth
about me. Ironic that such an incompetent would be the only one to see
through me.... Or do you mean a larger why?" The three nearby muzzles moved
closer still, and the blade in one's jaw patted the side of Johanna's cheek.
"Poor Two-Legs, I'm not sure you could ever understand. Some of it, the will
to power maybe. I've read what Dataset has to say about human motivation,
the 'freudian' stuff. We Tines are much more complicated. I am almost
entirely male, did you know that? A dangerous thing to be, all one sex.
Madness lurks. Yet it was my decision. I was tired of being an indifferently
good inventor, of living in Woodcarver's shadow. So many of us are her get,
and she dominates most all of us. She was quite happy about my going into
Security, you know. She doesn't quite have the combination of members for
it. She thought that all male but one would make me controllably devious."
His sentry member made another round of the window slits. Again there
was a human chuckle. "I've been planning a long time. It's not just
Woodcarver I'm up against. The power-side of her soul is scattered all over
the arctic coast; Flenser had almost a century headstart on me; Steel is
new, but he has the empire Flenser built. I made myself indispensable to all
of them: I'm Woodcarver's chief of security ... and Steel's most valued spy.
Played aright, I will end up with Dataset and all the others will be dead."
His blade tapped her face again. "Do you think you can help me?" Eyes
peered close into her terror. "I doubt it very much. If my proper plan had
succeeded, you would be neatly dead now." A sigh breathed around the room.
"But that failed, and I'm stuck with carving you up myself. And yet it may
all turn out for the best. Dataset is a torrent of information about most
things, but it scarcely acknowledges the existence of torture. In some ways,
your race seems so fragile, so easily killable. You die before your minds
can be dismembered. Yet I know you can feel pain and terror; the trick is to
apply force without quite killing."
The three nearby members snuggled into more comfortable positions, like
a human settling down for serious talk. "And there are some questions you
may be able to answer, things I couldn't really ask before. Steel is very
confident, you know, and it's not just because he has me with Woodcarver.
That pack has some other advantage. Could he have his own Dataset?"
Vendacious paused. Johanna didn't answer, her silence a combination of
terror and stubbornness. This was the monster that killed Scriber.
The muzzle with the knife slid between the blankets and Johanna's skin,
and pain shot up Johanna's arm. She screamed. "Ah, Dataset said a human
could be hurt there. No need to answer that one, Johanna. Do you know what I
think is Steel's secret? I think one of your family survived -- most likely
your little brother, considering what you've told us about the massacre."
Jefri? Alive? For an instant she forgot the pain, almost forgot the
fear. "How...?"
Vendacious gave a Tinish shrug. "You never saw him dead. You can be
sure Steel wanted a live Two-Legs, and after reading about cold sleep in
Dataset, I doubt he could have revived any of the others. And he's got
something up there. He's been eager for information from Dataset, but he's
never demanded I steal the device for him."
Johanna closed her eyes, denying the traitor pack's existence. Jefri
lives! Memories rose before her: Jefri's playful joy, his childish tears,
his trusting courage aboard the refugee ship.... things she had thought
forever lost to her. For a moment they seemed more real than the slashing
violence of the last few minutes. But what could Jefri do to help the
Flenserists? The other datasets had surely burned. There's something more
here, something that Vendacious still is missing.
Vendacious grabbed her chin, and gave her head a little shake. "Open
your eyes; I've learned to read them, and I want to see.... Hmm, I don't
know if you believe me or not. No matter. If we have time, I will learn just
what he might have done for Steel. There are other, sharper questions.
Dataset is clearly the key to all. In less than half a year, I and
Woodcarver and Pilgrim have learned an enormous amount about your race and
civilization. I daresay we know your people better than you do -- sometimes
I think we know them even better than we know our own world. When all the
violence is over, the winner will be the pack that still controls Dataset. I
intend to be that pack. And I've often wondered if there are other
passwords, or programs I can run that would actually watch for my safety --
"
The babysitter code.
The watching heads bobbed a grin, "Aha, so there is such a thing!
Perhaps this morning's bad luck is all for the best. I might never have
learned -- " his voice broke into dischords. Two of Vendacious jumped up to
join the one already at the window slits. Softly by her ear, the voice
continued, "It's the Pilgrim, still far away, but coming toward us.... I
don't know. You would be much better safely dead. One deep wound, all out of
sight." The knife slide further down. Johanna arched futilely back from the
point. Then the blade withdrew, the point poised gently against her skin.
"Let's hear what Pilgrim has to say. No point in killing you this instant if
he doesn't insist on seeing you." He pushed a cloth into her mouth and tied
it tight.
There was a moment of silence, maybe the crunch of paws in the brush
right around the cabin. Then she heard a pack warble loud from beyond the
timbered walls. Johanna doubted that she would ever learn to recognize packs
by their voices, but ... her mind stumbled through the sounds, trying to
decode the Tinish chords that were words piled on top of one another:
"Johanna
something interrogative
screech safe."
Vendacious gobbled back,
"Hail Peregrine Wrickwrackscar
Johanna trill
not visible hurts
sad uncertain squeak."
And the traitor murmured in her ear: "Now he'll ask if I need medical
help, and if he insists ... our chat will have an early end."
But the only reply Pilgrim made was a chorus of sympathetic worry.
"Damn assholes are just sitting down out there," came Vendacious's irritated
whisper.
The silence stretched on a moment, and then Peregrine's human voice,
the Joker from Dataset, said in clear Samnorsk. "Don't do anything foolish,
Vendacious, old man."
Vendacious made a sound of polite surprise -- and tensed around her.
His knife jabbed a centimeter deep between Johanna's ribs, a thorn of pain.
She could feel the blade trembling, could feel his member's breath on her
bloody skin.
Pilgrim's voice continued, confident and knowing: "I mean we know what
you're up to. Your pack at the hospital has gone completely to pieces,
confessed what little he knew to Woodcarver. Do you think your lies can get
by her? If Johanna is dead, you'll be bloody shreds." He hummed an ominous
tune from Dataset. "I know her well, the Queen. She seems such a gracious
pack ... but where do you think Flenser got his gruesome creativity? Kill
Johanna and you'll find just how far her genius in that exceeds Flenser's."
The knife pulled back. One more of Vendacious leaped to the window
slits, and the two by Johanna loosened their grip. He stroked the blade
gently across her skin. Thinking? Is Woodcarver really that fearsome? The
four at the windows were looking in all directions; no doubt Vendacious was
counting guard packs and planning furiously. When he finally replied, it was
in Samnorsk: "The threat would be more credible if it were not at second
hand."
Pilgrim chuckled. "True. But we guessed what would happen if she
approached. You're a cautious fellow; you'd have killed Johanna instantly,
and been full of lying explanation before you even heard what the Queen
knows. But seeing a poor pilgrim amble over ... I know you think me a fool,
only one step better than Scriber Jaqueramaphan." Peregrine stumbled on the
name, and for an instant lost his flippant tone. "Anyway, now you know the
situation. If you doubt, send your guards beyond the brush; look at what the
Queen has surrounding you. Johanna dead only kills you. Speaking of which, I
assume this conversation has some point?"
"Yes. She lives." Vendacious slipped the gag from Johanna's mouth. She
turned her head, choking. There were tears running down the sides of her
face. "Pilgrim, oh Pilgrim!" The words were scarcely more than a whisper.
She drew a painful breath, concentrated on making noise. Bright spots danced
before her eyes. "Hei Pilgrim!"
"Hei Johanna. Has he hurt you?"
"Some, I -- "
"That's enough. She's alive, Pilgrim, but that's easily corrected."
Vendacious didn't jam the gag back in her mouth. Johanna could see him
rubbing heads nervously as he paced round and round the ledge. He trilled
something about "stalemated game".
Peregrine replied, "Speak Samnorsk, Vendacious. I want Johanna to
understand -- and you can't talk quite as slick as in pack talk."
"Whatever." The traitor's voice was unconcerned, but his members kept
up their nervous pacing. "The Queen must realize we have a standoff here.
Certainly I'll kill Johanna if I'm not treated properly. But even then,
Woodcarver could not afford to hurt me. Do you realize the trap Steel has
set on Margrum Climb? I'm the only one who knows how to avoid it."
"Big deal. I never wanted to go up Margrum anyway."
"Yes, but you don't count, Pilgrim. You're a mongrel patchwork.
Woodcarver will understand how dangerous this situation is. Steel's forces
are everything I said they weren't, and I've been sending them every secret
I could write down from my investigations of Dataset."
"My brother is alive, Pilgrim," Johanna said.
"Oh.... You're kind of a record setter for treason aren't you,
Vendacious? Everything to us was a lie, while Steel learned all the truth
about us. You figure that means we daren't kill you now?"
Laughter, and Vendacious's pacing stopped. He sees control coming back
to him. "More, you need my full-membered cooperation. See, I exaggerated the
number of enemy agents in Woodcarver's troops, but I do have a few -- and
maybe Steel has planted others I don't know about. If you even arrest me,
word will get back to the Flenser armies. Much of what I know will be
useless -- and you'll face an immediate, overwhelming attack. You see? The
Queen needs me."
"And how do we know this is not more lies?"
"That is a problem, isn't it? Matched only by how I can be guaranteed
safety once I've saved the expedition. No doubt it's beyond your mongrel
mind. Woodcarver and I must have a talk, someplace mutually safe and unseen.
Carry that message back to her. She can't have this traitor's hides, but if
she cooperates she may be able to save her own!"
There was silence from outside, punctuated by the squeaking of animals
in the nearer trees. Finally, surprisingly, Pilgrim laughed. "Mongrel mind,
eh? Well, you have me in one thing, Vendacious. I've been all the world
round, and I remember back half a thousand years
-- but of all the villains and traitors and geniuses, you take the
record for bald impudence!"
Vendacious gave a Tinish chord, untranslatable but as a sign of smug
pleasure. "I'm honored."
"Very well, I'll take your points back to the Queen. I hope the two of
you are clever enough to work something out.... One thing more: the Queen
requires that Johanna come with me."
"The Queen requires? That sounds more like your mongrel sentiment to
me."
"Perhaps. But it will prove you are serious in your confidence. View it
as my price for cooperation."
Vendacious turned all his heads toward Johanna, silently regarding.
Then he scanned out all the windows one last time. "Very well, you may have
her." Two jumped down to the cabin's hatch while another pair pulled her
toward it. His voice was soft and near her ear. "Damn Pilgrim. Alive, you're
just going to cause me trouble with the Queen." His knife slid across her
field of view. "Don't oppose me with her. I am going to survive this affair
still powerful."
He lifted back the hatch and daylight spilled blindingly across her
face. She squinted; there was a sweep of branches and the side of the hut.
Vendacious pushed and pulled her cot onto the forest floor, and the same
time gobbling at his guards to keep their positions. He and Peregrine
chatted politely, agreeing on when the pilgrim would return.
One by one, Vendacious trotted back through the cabin's hatch. Pilgrim
advanced and grabbed the handles at the front of the cot. One of his pups
reached out from his jacket to nuzzled her face. "You okay?"
"I'm not sure. I got bashed in the head ... and it seems kind of hard
to breathe."
He loosened the blankets from around her chest as the rest of him
dragged the cot away from the hut. The forest shade was peaceful and deep
... and Vendacious's guards were stationed here and there about the area.
How many were really in on the treason? Two hours ago, Johanna had looked to
them for protection. Now their every glance sent a shiver through her. She
rolled back to the center of the cot, dizzy again, and stared up into the
branches and leaves and patches of smoke-stained sky. Things like Straumli
tree squigglies chased each other back and forth, chittering in seeming
debate.
Funny. Almost a year ago Pilgrim and Scriber were dragging me around,
and I was even worse hurt, and terrified of everything -- including them.
And now ... she had never been so glad to see another person. Even Scarbutt
was a reassuring strength, walking beside her.
The waves of terror slowly subsided. What was left was an anger as
intense, though more reasoning, than the year before. She knew what had
happened here; the players were not strangers, the betrayal was not random
murder. After all Vendacious's treachery, after all his murders, and his
planning to kill them all ... he was going to go free! Pilgrim and
Woodcarver were just going to overlook that, "He killed Scriber, Pilgrim. He
killed Scriber...." He cut Scriber to pieces, then chased down what was left
and killed that right out of our arms. "And Woodcarver is going to let him
go free? How can she do it? How can you do it?" The tears were coming again.
"Sh, sh." Two of Pilgrim's heads came into view. They looked down at
her, then swiveled around almost nervously. She reached out, touching the
short plush fur. Pilgrim was shivering! One of him dipped close; his voice
didn't sound jaunty at all. "I don't know what the Queen will do, Johanna.
She doesn't know about any of this."
"Wha -- "
"Sh." And his voice became scarcely a buzzing through her hand. "His
people can still see us. He could still figure things out.... Only you and I
know, Johanna. I don't think anyone else suspects."
"But the pack that confessed ...?"
"Bluff, all bluff. I've done some crazy things in my life but next to
following Scriber down to your starship, this takes the prize.... After
Vendacious took you away, I began to think. You weren't that badly injured.
It was all too much like what happened to Jaqueramaphan, but I had no
proof."
"And you haven't told anyone?"
"No. Foolish as poor Scriber, aren't I?" His heads looked in all
directions. "If I was right, he'd be silly not to kill you immediately. I
was so afraid I was already too late...."
You would have been, if Vendacious weren't quite the monster I know he
is.
"Anyway, I learned the truth just like poor Scriber -- almost by
accident. But if we can get another seventy meters away, we won't die like
him. And everything I claimed to Vendacious will be true."
She patted his nearest shoulder, and looked back. The tiny cabin and
its ring of guards disappeared behind the forest brush.
...and Jefri lives!
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
Crypto: 0 [95 encrypted packets have been discarded]
As received by: Ølvira shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Tredeschk->Triskweline, SjK units
From: Zonograph Eidolon [Co-op (or religious order) in Middle Beyond
maintained by subscription of several thousand Low Beyond civilizations, in
particular those threatened by immersion]
Subject: Surge Bulletin Update and Ping
Distribution:
Zonograph Eidolon Subscribers, Zonometric Interest Group, Threats Interest Group, subgroup: navigational, Ping participants
Date: 1087892301 seconds since Calibration Event 239011, Eidolon Frame
[66.91 days since Fall of Sjandra Kei]
Key phrases: galactic scale event, superluminal, charitable emergency
announcement
Text of message:
(Please include accurate local time in any ping responses.)
If you receive this, you know that the monster surge has receded. The
new zone surface appears to be a stable froth of low dimensionality (between
2.1 and 2.3). At least five civilizations are trapped in the new
configuration. Thirty virgin solar systems have achieved the Beyond.
(Subscribers may find specifics in the encrypted data that follow this
bulletin.)
The change corresponds to what is seen in a normal period of two years
across the whole galaxy's Slow Zone surface. Yet this surge happened in less
than a two hundred hours and less than one thousandth of that surface.
Even these numbers do not show the scale of the event. (The following
can only be estimates, since so many sites were destroyed, and no
instruments were calibrated for this size event.) At its maximum, the surge
reached 1000 light-years above Zone Surface Standard. Surge rates of more
than thirty million times lightspeed (about one light-year per second) were
sustained for periods of more than 100 seconds. Reports from subscribers
show more than ten billion normalized sophont deaths directly attributable
to the Surge (local network failures, failures leading to environment
collapse, medical collapse, vehicle crashes, security failures). Posted
economic damage is much greater.
The important question now is what can we expect in aftersurges. Our
predictions are based on instrumented sites and zonometric surveys, combined
with historical data from our archives. Except for long-term trends,
predicting zone changes has never been a science, but we have served our
subscribers well in advising of aftersurges and in identifying available new
worlds. The present situation makes all previous work almost useless. We
have precise documentation going back ten million years. Faster than light
surges happen about every twenty thousand years (usually with speeds under
7.0c). Nothing like this monster is on file. The surge just seen is the kind
described at third-hand in old and glutted databases: Sculptor had one this
size fifty million years ago. The [Perseus Arm] in our galaxy probably
suffered something like this half a billion years ago.
This uncertainty makes our Mission nearly impossible, and is an
important reason for this public message to the Zonometry newsgroup and
others: Everyone interested in zonometry and navigation must pool resources
on this problem. Ideas, archive access, algorithms -- all these things could
help. We pledge significant contributions to non-subscribers, and
one-for-one trades to those with important information. Note: We are also
addressing this message to the Swndwp oracle, and direct beaming it to
points in the Transcend thought to be inhabited. Surely an event such as
this must be of interest even there? We appeal to the Powers Above: Let us
send you what we know. Give us some hint if you have ideas about this event.
To demonstrate our good faith, here are the estimates we have
currently. These are based on naive scale-up of well-documented surges in
this region. Details are in the non-crypted appendix to this sending. Over
the next year there will be five or six aftersurges, of diminishing speed
and range. During this time at least two more civilizations (see risk list)
will likely be permanently immersed. Zone storm conditions will prevail even
when aftersurges are not in progress. Navigation in the the volume
[coordinate specification] will be extremely dangerous during this period;
we recommend that shipping in the volume be suspended. The time line is
probably too short to admit feasible rescue plans for the civilizations at
risk. Our long-range prediction (probably the least uncertain of all): The
million-year-scale secular shrinkage will not be affected at all. The next
hundred thousand years will however show a retardation in the shrinkage of
the Slow Zone boundary in this portion of the galaxy.
Finally, a philosophical note. We of Zonographic Eidolon watch the zone
boundary and the orbits of border stars. For the most part, the zone changes
are very slow: 700 meters per second in the case of the long-term secular
shrinkage. Yet these changes together with orbital motion affect billions of
lives each year. Just as the glaciers and droughts of a pretechnical world
must affect a people, so must we accept these long-term changes. Storms and
surges are obvious tragedies, near-instant death for some civilizations. Yet
these are as far beyond our control as the slower movements. Over the last
few weeks, some newsgroups have been full of tales of war and battle fleets,
of billions dying in the clash of species. To all such -- and those living
more peaceably around them -- we say: Look out on the universe. It does not
care, and even with all our science there are some disasters that we can not
avert. All evil and good is petty before Nature. Personally, we take comfort
from this, that there is a universe to admire that can not be twisted to
villainy or good, but which simply is.
-=*=-
Crypto: 0
As received by: Ølvira shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Arbwyth->Trade24->Cherguelen->Triskweline, SjK
units
From: Twirlip of the Mists [Who knows what this is, though probably not
a propaganda voice. Very sparse priors.]
Subject: The cause of the recent Great Surge
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, Great Secrets of Creation, Zonometric Interest Group
Date: 66.47 days since Fall of Sjandra Kei
Key phrases: Zone Instability and the Blight, Hexapodia as the key
insight
Text of message:
Apologies if I am repeating obvious conclusions. My only gateway onto
the Net is very expensive, and I miss many important postings. The Great
Surge now in progress appears by all accounts to be an event of cosmic scope
and rarity. Furthermore, the other posters put its epicenter less than 6,000
light-years from recent warfare related to the Blight. Can this be mere
coincidence? As has long been theorized [citations from various sources,
three known to Ølvira; the theories cited are of long standing and
nondisprovable] the Zones themselves may be an artifact, perhaps created by
something beyond Transcendence for the protection of lesser forms, or
[hypothetical] sentient gas clouds in galactic cores.
Now for the first time in Net history we have a Transcendent form, the
Blight, that can effectively dominate the Beyond. Many on the Net [cites
Hanse and Sandor at the Zoo] believe that it is searching for an artifact
near the Bottom. Is it no wonder that this could upset the Natural Balance
and provoke the recent Event?
Please write to me and tell me what you think. I don't get much mail.
-=*=-
Crypto: 0
As received by: Ølvira shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Baeloresk->Triskweline, SjK units
From: Alliance for the Defense [Claimed union of five empires below
Straumli Realm. No references prior to the Fall of the Straumli Realm.
Numerous counter claims (including from Out of Band II) that this Alliance
is a front for the old Aprahant Hegemony. Cf, Butterfly Terror.]
Subject: Courageous Mission Accomplished
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, War Trackers Interest Group, Homo Sapiens Interest Group
Date: 67.07 days since Fall of Sjandra Kei
Key phrases: Action, not talk
Text of message:
Subsequent to our action against the human nest at [Sjandra Kei] a part
of our fleet pursued human and other Blight-controlled forces toward the
Bottom of the Beyond. Evidently, the Perversion hoped to protect these
forces by putting them in an environment too dangerous to challenge. That
thinking did not count on the courage of Alliance commanders and crews. We
can now report the substantial destruction of those escaping forces.
The first major operation of your Alliance has been an enormous
success. With the extermination of their most important supporters, Blight
encroachment on the Middle Beyond has been brought to a standstill. Yet much
remains to be done:
The Alliance Fleet is returning to the Middle Beyond. We've suffered
some casualties and need substantial reprovisioning. We know that there are
still scattered pockets of humanity in the Beyond, and we've identified
secondary races that are aiding humanity. The defense of the Middle Beyond
must be the goal of every sophont of good will. Elements of your Alliance
Fleet will soon visit systems in the volume [parameter specification]. We
ask for your aid and support against what is left of this terrible enemy.
Death to vermin.
-=*=-
CHAPTER 36
Kjet Svensndot was alone on Ølvira's bridge when the Surge
passed. They had long since done all the preparations that were meaningful,
and the ship had no realistic means of propulsion in the Slowness that
surrounded it. Yet the Group Captain spent much of his time up here, trying
to program some sort of responsiveness into the automation that remained.
Half- assed programming was a time-filler that, like knitting, must date to
the beginning of the human experience.
Of course, the actual transition out of Slowness would have been
totally unnoticed if not for all the alarms he and the Dirokimes had
installed. As it was, the noise and lights blew him out of a half-drowse
into hair-raised wakefulness. He punched the ship's comm: "Glimfrelle!
Tirolle! Get your tails up here."
By the time the brothers reached the command deck, preliminary nav
displays had been computed, and a jump sequence was awaiting confirmation.
The two were grinning from ear to ear as they bounced in, and strapped
themselves down at action posts. For a few moments there was little
chitchat, only an occasional whistle of pleasure from the Dirokimes. They
had rehearsed this over and over during the last hundred plus hours, and
with the poor automation there was a lot for them to do. Gradually the view
from the deck's windows sharpened. Where at first there had only been vague
blurs, the ultrawave sensors were posting individual traces with steadily
improving information on range and rates. The communication window showed
the queue of fleet comm messages getting longer and longer.
Tirolle looked up from his work "Hei, Boss, these jump figures look
okay -- at least as a first cut."
"Good. Commit and allow autocommit." In the hours after the Surge, they
had decided that their initial priority should be to continue with the
pursuit. What they did then ... they had talked long on that, and Group
Captain Svensndot had thought even longer. Nothing was routine any more.
"Yes, sir!" The Dirokime's longfingers danced across the controls, and
'Rolle added some verbal control. "Bingo!"
Status showed five jumps completed, ten. Kjet stared out the true-view
window for a few seconds. No change, no change ... then he noticed that one
of the brightest stars in the field had moved, was sliding imperceptibly
across the sky. Like a juggler getting her pace, Ølvira was coming up
to speed.
"Hei, hei!" Glimfrelle leaned over to see his brother's work. "We're
making 1.2 light-years per hour. That's better than before the Surge."
"Good. Comm and Surveillance?" Where was everybody else and what were
they up to?
"Yup. Yup. I'm on it." Glimfrelle bent his slender frame back to the
console. For some seconds, he was almost silent. Svensndot began paging
through the mail. There was nothing yet from Owner Limmende. Twenty-five
years Kjet had worked for Limmende and SjK Commercial Security. Could he
mutiny? And if he did, would any follow?
"Okay. Here's the situation, Boss." Glimfrelle shifted the main window
to show his interpretation of the ship's reports. "It's like we guessed,
maybe a little more extreme." They had realized almost from the beginning
that the surge was bigger than anything in recorded history; that's not what
the Dirokime meant by "extreme". He swept his shortfingers down, making a
hazy blue line across the window. "We guessed that the leading edge of the
Surge moved normal to this line. That would account for it taking Boss
Limmende out four hundred seconds before it hit the Out of Band, and hitting
us ten seconds after that.... Now if the trailing edge were similar to
ordinary surges" -- upgraded a million times -- "then we, and then the rest
of the pursuing fleets should come out well before Out of Band." He pointed
at a single glowing dot that represented the Ølvira. Around and just
ahead of it dozens of points of light were popping into existence as the
ship's detectors reported seeing the initiation of ultradrive jumps. It was
like a cold fire sweeping away from them into the darkness. Eventually
Limmende and the heart of the anonymous fleet would all be back in business.
"Our pickup log shows that's about what happened. Most all the pursuing
fleets will be out of the surge before the Out of Band."
"Hm. So it'll lose part of its lead."
"Yup. But if it's going where we think -- " a G-star eighty light-years
ahead "-- it'll still get there before they kill it." He paused, pointed at
a haze that was spreading sideways from the growing knot of light. "Not
everybody is still chasing."
"Yeah...." Svensndot had been reading the News even as he listened to
'Frelle's summary. "... according to the Net, that's the Alliance for the
Defense departing the battle field, victorious."
"Say what?" Tirolle twisted abruptly in his harness. His large, dark
eyes held none of their usual humor.
"You heard me." Kjet put the item where the brothers could see it. The
two read rapidly, 'Frelle mumbling phrases aloud, "... courage of Alliance
commanders.... substantial destruction of escaping forces...."
Glimfrelle shuddered, all flippancy departed. "They don't even mention
the Surge. Everything they say is a cowardly lie!" His voice shifted up to
its normal speaking range and he continued in his own language. Kjet could
understand parts of it. The Dirokimes that left their dream habitats were
normally light-hearted folk, full of whimsy and gentle sarcasm. Glimfrelle
sounded almost that way now, except for the high edges to his whistling and
the insults more colorful than Svensndot had ever heard from them: "... get
from a verminous cow-pie ... killers of innocent dreams ..." even in
Samnorsk the words were strong, but in Dirokime "verminous cow-pie" was
drenched in explicit imagery that almost brought the smell of such a thing
into the room. Glimfrelle's voice went higher and higher, then beyond the
human register. Abruptly, he collapsed, shuddering and moaning low.
Dirokimes could cry, though Svensndot had never seen such a thing before.
Glimfrelle rocked in his brother's arms.
Tirolle looked over Glimfrelle's shoulder at Kjet. "Where does revenge
take us now, Group Captain?"
For a moment, Kjet looked back silently. "I'll let you know,
Lieutenant." He looked at the displays. Listen and watch a little longer,
and maybe we'll know. "Meantime, get us nearer the center of pursuit," he
said gently.
"Aye, sir." Tirolle patted his brother's back gently and turned back to
the console.
During the next five hours, Ølvira's crew watched the Alliance
fleet race helter-skelter for the higher spaces. It could not even be called
a retreat, more a panicked dissolution. Great opportunists, they had not
hesitated to kill by treachery, and to give chase when they thought there
might be treasure at the end. Now that they were confronted with the
possibility of being trapped in the Slowness, of dying between the stars,
they raced for their separate safety. Their bulletins to the newsgroups were
full of bravado, but their maneuver couldn't be disguised. Former neutrals
pointed to the discrepancy; more and more it was accepted that the Alliance
was built around the Aprahanti Hegemony and perhaps had other motives than
altruistic opposition to the Blight. There was nervous speculation about who
might next receive Alliance attention.
Major transceivers still targeted the fleets. They might as well have
been on a network trunk. The news traffic was a vast waterfall, totally
beyond Ølvira's present ability to receive. Nevertheless, Svensndot
kept an eye on it. Somewhere there might be some clue, some insight.... The
majority of War Trackers and Threats seemed to have little interest in the
Alliance or the death of Sjandra Kei, per se. Most were terrified of the
Blight that was still spreading through the Top of the Beyond. None of the
Highest had successfully resisted, and there were rumors that two more
interfering Powers had been destroyed. There were some (secret mouths of the
Blight?) who welcomed the new stability at the Top, even one based on
permanent parasitization.
In fact, the chase down here at the Bottom, the flight of the Out of
Band and its pursuers, seemed the only place where the Blight was not
completely triumphant. No wonder they were the subject of 10,000 messages an
hour.
The geometry of emergence was enormously favorable to Ølvira.
They had been on the outskirts of the action, but now they had hours
headstart on the main fleets. Glimfrelle and Tirolle were busier than they
had ever been in their lives, monitoring the fleets' emergence and
establishing Ølvira's identity with the other vessels of Commercial
Security. Until Scrits and Limmende emerged from the Slowness, Kjet
Svensndot was the ranking officer of the organization. Furthermore, he was
personally known to most of the commanders. Kjet had never been the admiral
type; his Group Captaincy had been a reward for piloting skills, in a
Sjandra Kei at peace. He had always been content to defer to his employers.
But now...
The Group Captain used his ranking status. The Alliance vessels were
not pursued. ("Wait till we can all act together," ordered Svensndot.)
Possible game plans bounced back and forth across the emerging fleet,
including schemes that assumed HQ was destroyed. With certain commanders,
Kjet hinted that this last might be the case, that Limmende's flag ship was
in enemy hands, and that the Alliance was somehow just a side effect of that
true enemy. Very soon, Kjet would be committed to the "treason" he planned.
The Limmende flag ships and the core of the Blighter fleet came out of
the Slowness almost simultaneously. Comm alarms went off across
Ølvira's deck as priority mail arrived and passed through the ship's
crypto. "Source: Limmende at HQ. Star Breaker Priority," said the ship's
voice.
Glimfrelle put the message on the main window, and Svensndot felt a
chill certainty spread up his neck.
... All units are to pursue fleeing vessels. These are the enemy, the
killers of our people. WARNING: Masquerades suspected. Destroy any vessels
countermanding these orders. Order of Battle and validation codes follow....
Order of Battle was simple, even by Commercial Security standards.
Limmende wanted them to split up and be gone, staying only long enough to
destroy "masqueraders". Kjet said to Glimfrelle, "How about the validation
codes?"
The Dirokime seemed his usual self again: "They're clean. We wouldn't
be receiving the message at all unless the sender had today's one-time
pad.... We're beginning to receive queries from the others, Boss. Audio and
video channels. They want to know what to do."
If he hadn't prepared the ground during the last few hours, Kjet's
mutiny wouldn't have had a chance. If Commercial Security had been a real
military organization, the Limmende order might have been obeyed without
question. As it was, the other commanders pondered the questions that
Svensndot had raised: At these ranges, video communication was easy and the
fleet had one-time ciphers large enough to support enormous amounts of it.
Yet "Limmende" had chosen printed mail for her priority message. It made
perfect military sense given that the encryption was correct, but it was
also what Svensndot had predicted: The supposed HQ was not quite willing to
show its face down here where perfect visual masquerades were not possible.
Their commands would be by mail, or evocations that a sharp observer might
suspect.
Such a slender thread of reason Kjet and his friends were hanging from.
Kjet eyed the knot of light that represented the Blighter fleet. It was
suffering from no indecision. None of its vessels were straggling back
toward safer heights. Whatever commanded there had discipline beyond most
human militaries. It would sacrifice everything in its single-minded pursuit
of one small starship. What next, Group Captain?
Just ahead of that cold smear of light, a single tiny gleam appeared.
"The Out of Band!" said Glimfrelle. "Sixty-five light-years out now."
"I'm getting encrypted video from them, Boss. The same half-crocked xor
pad as before." He put the signal on the main window without waiting for
Kjet's direction.
It was Ravna Bergsndot. The background was a jumble of motion and
shouting, the strange human and a Skroderider arguing. Bergsndot was facing
away from the pickup, and doing her share of shouting. Things looked even
worse than Kjet's recollection of the first moments of his ship's emergence.
"It doesn't matter just now, I tell you! Let him be. We've got to
contact -- " she must have seen the signal Glimfrelle was sending back to
her. "They're here! By the Powers, Pham, please -- " She waved her hand
angrily and turned to the camera. "Group Captain. We're -- "
"I know. We've been out of the surge for hours. We're near the center
of the pursuit now."
She caught her breath. Even with a hundred hours of planning, events
were moving too fast for her. And for me too. "That's something," she said
after an instant. "Everything we said before holds, Group Captain. We need
your help. That's the Blight that's coming behind us. Please!"
Svensndot noticed a telltale by the window. Sassy Glimfrelle was
retransmitting this to all the fleet they could trust. Good. He had talked
about the situation with the others these last hours, but it meant something
more to see Ravna Bergsndot on the comm, to see someone from Sjandra Kei who
still survived and needed their help. You can spend the rest of your life
chasing revenge in the Middle Beyond, but all you kill will be the vultures.
What's chasing Ravna Bergsndot may be the first cause.
The Butterflies were long gone, still singing their courage across the
Net. Less than one percent of Commercial Security had followed "Limmende's"
order to chase after them. Those were not the problem: it was the ten
percent that stayed behind and arrayed themselves with the Blight's forces
that bothered Kjet Svensndot. Some of those ships might not be subverted,
might simply be loyal to orders they believed. It would be very hard to fire
on them.
And there would be fighting, no doubt of that. Maneuvering for conflict
while under ultradrive was difficult -- if the other side attempted to
evade. But Blight's fleet was unwavering in its pursuit of the Out of Band.
Slowly, slowly the two fleets were coming to occupy the same volume. At
present they were scattered across cubic light-years, but with every jump,
the Group Captain's Aniara fleet was more finely tuned to the stutter of
their quarries' drives. Some ships were actually within a few hundred
million kilometers of the enemy -- or where the enemy had been or would be.
Targeting tactics were set. First fire was only a few hundred seconds away.
"With the Aprahanti gone, we have numerical superiority. A normal enemy
would back off now -- "
"But of course, that is one thing the Blight fleet is not." It was the
red-haired guy who was doing the talking now. It was a good thing Glimfrelle
hadn't relayed his face to the rest of Svensndot's fleet. The guy acted edgy
and alien most of the time. Just now, he seemed intent on bashing every idea
Svensndot advanced. "The Blight doesn't care what its losses are as long as
it arrives with the upper hand."
Svensndot shrugged. "Look, we'll do our best. First fire is seventy
seconds off. If they don't have any secret advantage, we may win this one."
He looked sharply at the other. "Or is that your point? Could the Blight --
" Stories were still coming down about the Blight's progress across the Top
of the Beyond. Without a doubt, it was a transhuman intelligence. An unarmed
man might be outnumbered by a pack of dogs, yet still defeat them. So might
the Blight...?
Pham Nuwen shook his head. "No, no, no. The Blight's tactics down here
will probably be inferior to yours. Its great advantage is at the Top, where
it can control its slaves like fingers on a hand. Its creatures down here
are like badly-synched waldoes." Nuwen frowned at something off camera. "No,
what we have to fear is its strategic cleverness." His voice suddenly had a
detached quality that was more unsettling than the earlier impatience. It
wasn't the calm of someone facing up to a threat; it was more the calm of
the demented. "One hundred seconds to contact.... Group Captain, we have a
chance, if you concentrate your forces on the right points." Ravna floated
down from the top of the picture, put one hand on the red-head's shoulder.
Godshatter, she said he was, their secret edge against the enemy.
Godshatter, a Power's dying message; garbage or treasure, who really knew?
Damn. If the other guys are badly-synched waldoes, what does following
Pham Nuwen make us? But he motioned Tirolle to mark the targets Nuwen was
saying. Ninety seconds. Decision time. Kjet pointed at the red marks Tirolle
had scattered through the enemy fleet. "Anything special about those
targets, 'Rolle?"
The Dirokime whistled for a moment. Correlations popped up agonizingly
slowly on the windows before him. "The ships he's targeting aren't the
biggest or the fastest. It's gonna take extra time to position on them."
Command vessels? "One other thing. Some of 'em show high real velocities,
not natural residuals at all." Ships with ram drives? Planet busters?
"Hm." Svensndot looked at the display just a second more. Thirty
seconds and Jo Haugen's ship Lynsnar would be in contact, but not with one
of Nuwen's targets. "Get on the comm, Glimfrelle. Tell Lynsnar to back off,
retarget." Retarget everything.
The lights that were Aniara fleet slid slowly around the core of the
Blighter fleet, searching for their new targets. Twenty minutes passed, and
not a few arguments with the other captains. Commercial Security was not
built for military combat. What had made Kjet Svensndot's appeal successful
was also the cause of constant questioning and countersuggestions. And then
there were the threats that came from Owner Limmende's channel: kill the
mutineers, death to all those disloyal to the company. The encryption was
valid but the tone was totally alien to the mild, profit-oriented Giske
Limmende. Everyone could now see that disbelieving Limmende was one correct
decision, anyway.
Johanna Haugen was the first to achieve synch with the new targets.
Glimfrelle opened the main window on the Lynsnar's data stream: The view was
almost natural, a night sky of slowly shifting stars. The target was less
than thirty million kilometers from Lynsnar, but about a millisecond out of
synch. Haugen was arriving just before or just after the other had jumped.
"Drones away," Haugen's voice said. Now they had a true view of Lynsnar
from a few meters away, from a camera aboard one of the first weapons drones
launched. The ship was barely visible, a darkness obscuring the stars beyond
-- a great fish in the depths of an endless sea. A fish that was now giving
spawn. The picture flickered, Lynsnar disappearing, reappearing, as the
drone lost synch momentarily. A swarm of blue lights spilled from the ship's
hold. Weapon drones. The swarm hung by Lynsnar, calibrating itself,
orienting on the enemy.
The light faded from around Lynsnar as the drones moving fractionally
out of synch in space and time. Tirolle opened a window on a hundred-million
klick sphere centered at Lynsnar. The target vessel was a red dot that
flickered around the sphere like a maddened insect. Lynsnar was stalking
prey at eight thousand times the speed of light. Sometimes the target
disappeared for a second, synch almost lost; other times Lynsnar and the
target merged for an instant as the two craft spent a tenth of a second at
less than a million kilometers remove. What could not be accurately
displayed was the disposition of the drones. The spawn diffused on a myriad
trajectories, their sensors extended for sign of the enemy ship.
"What about the target, is it swarming back? Do you need back up?" said
Svensndot. Tirolle gave a Dirokime shrug. What they were watching was three
light-years away. No way he could know.
But Jo Haugen replied, "I don't think my bogie is swarming. I've lost
only five drones, no more'n you'd expect from fratricide. We'll see -- " She
paused, but Lynsnar's trace and signal remained strong. Kjet looked out the
other windows. Five of Aniara were already engaged and three had completed
swarm deploy. Nuwen looked on silently from Out of Band. The godshatter had
had its way, and now Kjet and his people were committed.
And now good news and bad came in very fast:
"Got him!" from Jo Haugen. The red dot in Lynsnar's swarm was no more.
It had passed within a few thousand kilometers of one of the drones. In the
milliseconds necessary to compute a new jump, the drone had discovered its
presence and detonated. Even that would not have been fatal if the target
had jumped before the blast front hit it; there had been several near misses
in earlier seconds. This time the jump did not reach commit in time. A
mini-star was born, one whose light would be years in reaching the rest of
the battle volume.
Glimfrelle gave a rasping whistle, an untranslatable curse, "We just
lost Ablsndot and Holder, Boss. Their target must have counter-swarmed."
"Send in Gliwing and Trance." Something in the back of his head curled
up in horror. These were his friends who were dying. Kjet had seen death
before, but never like this. In police action, no one took lethal chances
except in a rescue. And yet... he turned from the field summary to order
more ships on a target that had acquired defending vessels. Tirolle was
moving in others on his own. Ganging up on a few nonessential targets might
lose in the long run, but in the short term ... the enemy was being hurt.
For the first time since the fall of Sjandra Kei, Commercial Security was
hurting someone back.
Haugen: "Powers, that guy was moving! Secondary drone got EM spectrum
on the kill. Target was going 15000 kps true speed." A rocket bomb ramping
up? Damn. They should be postponing those till after they controlled the
battlefield.
Tirolle: "More kills, far side of battle volume. The enemy is
repositioning. Somehow they've guessed which we're after -- "
Glimfrelle: Triumph whistle. "Get 'em, get 'em -- oops. Boss, I think
Limmende has figured we're coordinating things -- "
A new window had opened over Tirolle's post. It showed the five million
kilometers around Ølvira. Two other ships were there now: the window
identified them as Limmende's flag and one of the vessels that had not
responded to Svensndot's recruiting.
There was an instant of stillness on Ølvira's command deck. The
voices of triumph and panic coming from the rest of the fleet seemed
suddenly far away. Svensndot and his crew were looking at death close up.
"Tirolle! How long till swarm -- "
"They're on us already -- just missed a drone by ten milliseconds."
"Tirolle! Finish running current engagements. Glimfrelle, tell Lynsnar
and Trance to chain command if we lose contact." Those ships had already
spent their drones, and Jo Haugen was known to all the other captains.
Then the thought was gone, and he was busy coordinating Ølvira's
own battle swarm. The local tactics window showed the cloud dissipating,
taking on colors coded by whether they were lagging or leading in time
relative to Ølvira.
Their two attackers had matched pseudospeeds perfectly. Ten times per
second all three ships jumped a tiny fraction of a light-year. Like rocks
skipping across the surface of a pond, they appeared in real space in
perfectly measured hops -- and the distance between them at every emergence
was less that five million kilometers. The only thing that separated them
now was millisecond differences in jump times, and the fact the light itself
could not pass between them in the brief time they spent at each jump point.
Three actinic flashes lit the deck, casting shadows back from Svensndot
and the Dirokimes. It was second-hand light, the display's emergency signal
of nearby detonation. Run like hell was the message any rational person
should take from that awful light. It would be easy enough to break synch
... and lose tactical control of Aniara fleet. Tirolle and Glimfrelle bent
their heads away from the local window, shying from the glare of nearby
death. Their whistling voices scarcely broke cadence, and the commands from
Ølvira to the others continued. There were dozens of other battles
going on out there. Just now Ølvira was the only source of precision
and control available to their side. Every second they remained on station
meant protection and advantage to Aniara. Breaking off would mean minutes of
chaos till Lynsnar or Trance could pick up control.
Nearly two thirds of Pham Nuwen's targets were destroyed now. The price
had been high, half of Svensdot's friends. The enemy had lost much to
protect those targets, yet much of its fleet survived.
An unseen hand smashed Ølvira, driving Svensndot hard against
his combat harness. The lights went out, even the glow from the windows.
Then dim red light came from the floor. The Dirokimes were silhouetted by
one small monitor. 'Rolle whistled softly, "We're out of the game, Boss,
least while it counts. I didn't know you could get misses that near."
Maybe it wasn't a miss. Kjet scrambled out of his harness and boosted
across the room to float head-down over the tiny monitor. Maybe we're
already dead. Somewhere very close by a drone had detonated, the wave front
reaching Ølvira before she jumped. The concussion had been the outer
part of the ship's hull exploding as it absorbed the soft-xray component of
the enemy ordnance. He stared at the red letters marching slowly across the
damage display. Most likely, the electronics was permanently dead; chances
were they had all received a fatal dose of gamma. The smell of burnt
insulation floated across the room on the ventilator's breeze.
"Iiya! Look at that. Five nanoseconds more and we wouldn't have been
clipped at all. We actually committed the jump after the front hit!" And
somehow the electronics had survived long enough to complete the jump. The
gamma flux through the command deck had been 300 rem, nothing that would
slow them down over the next few hours, and easily managed by a ship's
surgeon. As for the surgeon and all the rest of the Ølvira's
automation ...
Tirolle typed several long queries at the box; there was no voice
recognition left. Several seconds passed before a response marched across
the screen. "Central automation suspended. Display management suspended.
Drive computation suspended." Tirolle dug an elbow at his brother. "Hei,
'Frelle, it looks like 'Vira managed a clean disconnect. We can bring most
of this back!"
Dirokimes were known for being drifty optimists, but in this case
Tirolle wasn't far from the truth. Their encounter with the drone bomb had
been a one-in-billion thing, the tiniest fraction of an exposure. Over the
next hour and a half, the Dirokimes ran reboots off the monitor's hardened
processor, bringing up first one utility and then another. Some things were
beyond recovery: parsing intelligence was gone from the comm automation, and
the ultradrive spines on one side of the craft were partially melted.
(Absurdly, the burning smell had been a vagrant diagnostic, something that
should have been disabled along with all the rest of Ølvira's
automation.) They were far behind the Blighter fleet.
... and there was still a Blighter fleet. The knot of enemy lights was
smaller than before, but on the same unwavering trajectory. The battle was
long over. What was left of Commercial Security was scattered across four
light-years of abandoned battlefield; they had started the battle with
numerical superiority. If they'd fought properly, they might have won.
Instead they'd destroyed the vessels with significant real velocities -- and
knocked out only about half the others. Some of the largest enemy vessels
survived. These outnumbered the corresponding Aniara survivors by more than
four to one. Blight could have could have easily destroyed all that remained
of Commercial Security. But that would have meant a detour from the pursuit,
and that pursuit was the one constant in the enemy's behavior.
Tirolle and Glimfrelle spent hours reestablishing communications and
trying to discover who had died and who might be rescued. Five ships had
lost all drive capability but still had surviving crew. Some ships had been
hit at known locations, and Svensndot dispatched vessels with drone swarms
to find the wrecks. Ship-to-ship warfare was a sanitary, intellectual
exercise for most of the survivors, but the rubble and the destruction were
as real as in any ground war, only spread over a trillion times more space.
Finally the time for miracle rescues and sad discoveries was passed.
The SjK commanders gathered on a common channel to decide a common future.
It might better have been a wake -- for Sjandra Kei and Aniara fleet. Part
way through the meeting, a new window appeared, a view onto the bridge of
the Out of Band. Ravna Bergsndot watched the proceedings silently. The
erstwhile "godshatter" was nowhere in evidence.
"What more to do?" said Johanna Haugen. "The damn Butterflies are long
gone."
"Are we sure we have rescued everyone?" asked Jan Trenglets. Svensndot
bit back an angry reply. The commander of Trance had become a recording loop
on that issue. He had lost too many friends in the battle; all the rest of
his life Jan Trenglets would live with nightmares of ships slowly dying in
the deep night.
"We've accounted for everything, even to vapor," Haugen spoke as gently
as the words allowed. "The question is where to go now."
Ravna made a small throat-clearing sound, "Gentlemen and Ladies, if --
"
Trenglets looked up at her transceived image. All his hurt transformed
into a blaze of anger. "We're not your gentlemen, slut! You're not some
princess we happily die for. You deserve our deadly fire now, nothing more."
The woman shrank from Trenglets rage. "I -- "
"You put us into this suicidal battle," shouted Trenglets. "You made us
attack secondary targets. And then you did nothing to help. The Blight is
locked on you like a dumshark on a squid. If you had just altered your
course the tiniest fraction, you could have thrown the Blighters off our
path."
"I doubt that would have helped, sir," said Ravna. "The Blight seems
most interested in where we're bound." The solar system just fifty-five
light-years beyond the Out of Band. The fugitives would arrive there just
over two days before their pursuers.
Jo Haugen shrugged. "You must realize what your friend's crazy battle
plan has done. If we had attacked rationally, the enemy would be a fraction
of its present size. If it chose to continue, we might have been able to
protect you at this, this Tines' world." She seemed to taste the strange
name, wondering at its meaning. "Now ... no way am I going to chase them
there. What's left of the enemy could wipe us out." She glanced at
Svensndot's viewpoint. Kjet forced himself to look back. No matter who might
blame Out of Band, it had been Group Captain Kjet Svensndot's word that had
persuaded the fleet to fight as they did. Aniara's sacrifice had been ill-
spent, and he wondered that Haugen and Trenglets and the others talked to
him at all now. "Suggest we continue the business meeting later. Rendezvous
in one thousand seconds, Kjet."
"I'll be ready."
"Good." Jo cut the link without saying anything more to Ravna
Bergsndot. Seconds later, Trenglets and the other commanders were gone. It
was just Svensndot and the two Dirokimes -- and Ravna Bergsndot looking out
her window from Out of Band.
Finally, Bergsndot said, "When I was a little girl on Herte, sometimes
we would play kidnappers and Commercial Security. I always dreamed of being
rescued by your company from fates worse than death."
Kjet smiled bleakly, "Well, you got the rescue attempt," and you not
even a currently subscribed customer. "This was far the biggest gun fight
we've ever been in."
"I'm sorry, Kje -- Group Captain."
He looked into her dark features. A lass from Sjandra Kei, down to the
violet eyes. No way this could be a simulation, not here. He had bet
everything that she was not; he still believed she was not. Yet -- "What
does your friend say about all this?" Pham Nuwen had not been seen since his
so-impressive godshatter act at the beginning of the battle.
Ravna's glance shifted to something off-camera. "He's not saying much,
Group Captain. He's wandering around even more upset than your Captain
Trenglets. Pham remembers being absolutely convinced he was demanding the
right thing, but now he can't figure out why it was right."
"Hmm." A little late for second thoughts. "What are you going to do
now? Haugen is right, you know. It would be useless suicide for us to follow
the Blighters to your destination. I daresay it's useless suicide for you,
too. You'll arrive maybe fifty-five hours before them. What can you do in
that time?"
Ravna Bergsndot looked back at him, and her expression slowly collapsed
into sobbing grief. "I don't know. I ... don't know." She shook her head,
her face hidden behind her hands and a sweep of black hair. Finally she
looked up and brushed back her hair. Her voice was calm but very quiet. "But
we are going ahead. It's what we came for. Things could still work out....
You know there's something down there, s