Steel smiled. All five of the other were here; the Fragment
had smuggled himself all back. But gone were the radio cloaks. The members
stood naked, their pelts covered with oozing sores. The radio bomb would be
useless. Perhaps it didn't matter; Steel had seen corpses that looked
healthier than these. Out of sight, he raised his bows. "I have come to kill
you."
The death's heads shrugged. "You have come to try."
Jaws on claws, Steel would have had no trouble killing the other. But
the Fragment had positioned three of himself above, by cargo bins that
looked strangely off-balance. A straight forward rush could be fatal. But if
he could get good bow shots... Steel eased forward, to just short of where
the cargo bins would fall. "Do you really expect to live, Fragment? I am not
your only enemy." He waved a nose back up the corridor. "There are thousands
out there who hunger for your death."
The other bobbed its heads in a ghastly smile. New blood oozed from the
wounds that were opened. "Dear Steel, you never seem to understand. You have
made it possible for me to survive. Don't you see? I have saved the
children. Even now, I am preventing you from harming the starship. In the
end this will win me a conditional surrender. I will be weak for a few
years, but I will survive."
The old Flenser glittered through the pain and the wounds. The old
opportunism.
"But you are a fragment. Three-fifths of you is -- "
"The little school teacher?" Flenser lowered his heads and blinked
shyly. "She was stronger than I expected. For a while she ruled this pack,
but bit by bit I forced my way back. In the end, even without the others, I
am whole."
Flenser whole once more. Steel edged back, almost in retreat. Yet there
was something strange here. Yes, the Flenser was at peace with himself,
self-satisfied. But now that Steel could see the pack all together, he saw
something in its body language that... Insight came then, and with it a
flash of intensest pride. For once in my life, I understand better than the
Master. "Whole, you say? Think. We both know how souls do battle within, the
little rationalizations, the great unknowings. You think you've killed the
other, but whence comes your recent confidence? What you're doing is exactly
what Tyrathect would do now. All thought is yours now, but the foundation is
her soul. And whatever you think, it's the little school teacher who won!"
The Fragment hesitated, understanding. Its inattention lasted only a
fraction of a second, but Steel was ready: He leaped into the open, loosing
his arrows, lunging across the open space for the other's throats.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
CHAPTER 40
Any time before now, the climb through the walls would have been fun.
Even though it was pitch dark, Amdi was in front and behind him, and his
noses gave him a good feel for the way. Anytime before now there would have
been the thrill of discovery, of giggling at Amdi's strung-out mental state.
But now Amdi's confusion was simply scary. He kept bumping into Jefri's
heels. "I'm going as fast as I can." The fabric of Jefri's pants' knees was
already torn apart on the rough stone. He hustled faster, the stabbing beat
of rock on knees barely penetrating his consciousness. He bumped into the
puppy ahead of him. The puppy had stopped, seemed to be twisting sideways.
"There's a fork. I say we ... what should I say, Jefri?"
Jefri rolled back, knocking his head on top of the wormhole. For most
of a year, it had been Amdi's confidence, his cheeky cleverness, that had
kept him going. Now ... suddenly he was aware of the tonnes of rock that
were pressing in from all directions. If the tunnel narrowed just a few
centimeters, they would be stuck here forever.
"Jefri?"
"I-- " Think! "Which side seems to be going up?"
"Just a second." The lead member ran off a little ways down one fork.
"Don't go too far!" Jefri shouted.
"Don't worry. I ... he'll know to get back." Then he heard the patter
of return, and the lead member was touching its nose to his cheek. "The one
on the right goes up."
They hadn't gone more than fifteen meters before Amdi started hearing
things. "People chasing us?" asked Jefri.
"No. I'm mean, I'm not sure. Stop. Listen.... Hear that? Gluppy,
syrupy." Oil.
No more stopping. Jefri moved faster than ever up the tunnel. His head
bumped into the ceiling and he stumbled to his elbows, recovered without
thinking and raced on. A trickle of blood dripped down his cheek.
Even he could hear the oil now.
The sides of the tunnel closed down on his shoulders. Ahead of him,
Amdi said, "Dead end -- or we're at an exit!" Scritching sounds. "I can't
move it." The puppy turned around and wiggled back between Jefri's legs.
"Push at the top, Jefri. If it's like the one I found in the dome, it opens
at the top."
The darn tunnel got narrow right before the door. Jefri hunched his
shoulders and squeezed forward. He pushed at the top of the door. It moved,
maybe a centimeter. He crawled forward a little further, squished so tightly
between the walls that he couldn't even take a deep breath. Now he pushed
hard as he could. The stone turned all the way and light spilled onto his
face. It wasn't full daylight; they were still hidden from the outside
behind angles of stone -- but it was the happiest sight Jefri had ever seen.
Half a meter more and he would be out -- only now he was jammed.
He twisted forward a fraction, and things only seemed to get worse.
Behind him, Amdi was piling up. "Jefri! My rear paws are in the oil. It's
filled the tunnel all up behind us."
Panic. For a second Jefri couldn't think of anything. So close, so
close. He could see color now, the bloody smears on his hands. "Back up!
I'll take off my jacket and try again."
Backing up was itself almost impossible, so thoroughly wedged had he
become. Finally he'd done it. He turned on his side, shrugged out of the
jacket.
"Jefri! Two of me under ... oil. Can't breathe." The puppies jammed up
around him, their pelts slick with oil. Slick!
"Jus' second!" Jefri wiped the fur, smeared his shoulders with the oil.
He extended his arms straight past his head and used his heels to push back
into the narrowness. Then the stone closed in on his shoulders. Behind him,
what was left of Amdi was making whistling noises. Jam. Push. Push. A
centimeter, another. And then he was out to his armpits and it was easy.
He dropped to the ground and reached back to grab the nearest part of
Amdi. The pup wriggled out of his hands. It blubbered something not Tinish
and not human. Jefri could see the dark shadows of several members pulling
at something out of sight. A second later, a cold, wet blob of fur rolled
out of the darkness into his arms. A second more, and out came another.
Jefri lowered the two to the ground and wiped goo away from their muzzles.
One rolled onto its legs and began to shake itself. The other started
choking and coughing.
Meanwhile the rest of Amdi dropped out of the hole. All eight were
covered with some amount of oil. They straggled drunkenly into a heap,
licking each another's tympana. Their buzzing and croaking made no sense.
Jefri turned from his friend and walked toward the light. They were
hidden by a turn in the stone ... fortunately. From around the corner he
could hear the marshaling calls of Steel's troopers. He crept to the edge
and peered around. For an instant he thought he and Amdi were back inside
the castle yard; there were so many troopers. But then he saw the unbounded
sweep of the hillside and the smoke rising out of the valley.
What next? He glanced back at Amdi, who was still frantically grooming
his tympana. The chords and hums were sounding more rational now, and all of
Amdi was moving. He turned back to the hillside. For an instant he almost
felt like rushing out to the troops. They had been his protectors for so
long.
One of Amdi bumped against his legs, and looked out for himself. "Wow.
There's a regular lake of oil between us and Mr. Steel's soldiers. I -- "
The booming sound was loud, but not like a gunpowder blast. It lasted
almost a second, then became a background roar. Two more of Amdi stretched
necks around the corner. The lake had become a roaring sea of flame.
Blueshell had maneuvered the boat within two hundred meters of the
castle wall, opposite the point where the packs had bunched up. Now the
lander floated just a man's height off the moss. "Just our being here is
driving the packs away," said Pilgrim.
Pham glanced over his shoulder. Woodcarver's troops had regained the
field and were racing toward the castle walls. Another sixty seconds, max,
and they would be in contact with Steel's packs.
There was a loud brap from Blueshell's voder, and Pham looked forward.
"By the Fleet," he said softly. Packs on the ramparts had fired some kind of
flamethrowers into the pools of oil below the castle walls. Blueshell flew
in a little closer. Long pools of oil lay parallel to the walls. The enemy's
packs on the outside were all but cut off from their castle now. Except for
one thirty-meter-wide gap, the section they had been guarding was high fire.
The boat bobbed a little higher, tilting and sliding in the fire-driven
whirl of air. In most places the oil lapped the sloped base of the walls.
Those walls were more intricate than the castles of Canberra -- in many
places it looked like there were little mazes or caves built into the base.
Looks damn stupid in a defensive structure.
"Jefri!" screamed Johanna, and pointed toward the middle of the
unburning section. Pham had a glimpse of something withdrawing behind the
stonework.
"I saw him too." Blueshell tilted the boat over and slid downwards,
toward the wall. Johanna's hand closed on Pham's arm, pushing and shaking.
He could barely hear her voice over the Pilgrim's shouting. "Please, please,
please," she was saying.
For a moment it looked like they would make it: Steel's troops were
well back from them and -- though there were ponds of oil below them -- they
were not yet alight. Even the air seemed quieter than before. For all that,
Blueshell managed to lose control. A gentle tipping went uncorrected, and
the boat slid sideways into the ground. It was a slow collision, but Pham
heard one of the landing pods cracking. Blueshell played with the controls
and the other side of the craft settled to earth. The beamer was stuck
muzzle first into the earth.
Pham's gaze snapped up at the Skroderider. He'd known it would come to
this.
Ravna: "What happened? Can you get up?"
Blueshell dithered with the controls a moment longer, then gave a
Riderish shrug. "Yes. But it will take too long -- " He was undoing his
restraints, unclamping his skrode from the deck. The hatch in front of him
slid open, and the noise of battle and fire came loud.
"What in hell do you think you're doing, Blueshell!"
The Rider's fronds angled attention at Pham, "To rescue the boy. This
will all be afire in a moment."
"And this boat could fry if we leave it here. You're not going
anywhere, Blueshell." He leaned forward, far enough to grab the other by his
lower fronds.
Johanna was looking wildly from one to the other in an uncomprehending
panic. "No! Please -- " And Ravna was shouting at him too. Pham tensed, all
his attention on the Rider.
Blueshell rocked toward him in the cramped space and pushed his fronds
close to Pham's face. The voder voice frayed into nonlinearity: "And what
will you do if I disobey? You need me whole or the boat is useless. I go,
Sir Pham. I prove I am not the thrall of some Power. Can you prove as much?"
He paused, and for a moment Rider and human stared at each other from
centimeters apart. But Pham did not grab him.
Brap. Blueshell's fronds withdrew. He rolled back onto the lip of the
hatch. The skrode's third axle reached the ground, and he descended in a
controlled teeter. Still Pham had not moved. I am not some Power's program.
"Pham?" The girl was looking up at him, and tugging at his sleeve.
Nuwen shook the nightmare away and saw again. The Pilgrim pack was already
out of the boat. Short swords were held in the mouths of the four adults;
steel claws gleamed on their forepaws.
"Okay." He flipped open a panel, withdrew the pistol he'd hidden there.
Since Blueshell had crashed the damn boat, there was no choice but to make
the best of it.
The realization was a cool breath of freedom. He pulled free of the
crash restraints and clambered down. Pilgrim stood all around him. The two
with puppies were unlimbering some kind of shields. Even with all his mouths
full, the critter's voice was as clear as ever: "Maybe we can find a way
closer in -- " between the flames. There were no more arrows from the
ramparts. The air above the fire was just too hot for the archers.
Pham and Johanna followed Pilgrim as he skirted pools of black goo.
"Stay as far from the oil as we can."
The packs of Mr. Steel were rounding the flames. Pham couldn't tell if
they were charging the lander or simply fleeing the friendlies that chased
them. And maybe it didn't matter. He dropped to one knee and sprayed the
oncoming packs with his handgun. It was nothing like the beamer, especially
at this range, but it was not to be ignored: the front dogs tumbled. Others
bounded over them. They reached the far edge of the oil. Only a few ventured
into the goo -- they knew what it could become. Others shifted out of Pham's
sight, behind the landing boat.
Was there a dry approach? Pham ran along the edge of the oil. There had
to be a gap in the "moat", or surely the fire would have spread. Ahead of
him the flames towered twenty meters into the air, the heat a physical
battering on his skin. Above the top of the glow, tarry smoke swept back
over the field, turning the sunlight into reddish murk. "Can't see a thing,"
came Ravna's voice in his ear, despairing.
"There's still a chance, Rav." If he could hold them off long enough
for Woodcarver's troops....
Steel's packs had found a safe path inwards and were coming closer.
Something sighed past him -- an arrow. He dropped to the ground and sprayed
the enemy packs at full rate. If they had known how fast he was getting to
empty they might have kept coming, but after a few seconds of ripping
carnage, the advance halted. The enemy sweep broke apart and the dogthings
were running away, taking their chances with Woodcarver's packs.
Pham turned and looked back at the castle. Johanna and Pilgrim stood
ten meters nearer the walls. She was pulling against the pack's grasp. Pham
followed her gaze.... There was the Skroderider. Blueshell had paid no
attention to the packs that ran around the edge of the fire. He rolled
steadily inwards, oily tracks marking his progress. The Rider had drawn in
all his externals and pulled his cargo scarf close to his central stalk. He
was driving blind through the superheated air, deeper and deeper into the
narrowing gap between the flames.
He was less than fifteen meters from the walls. Abruptly two fronds
extended out from his trunk, into the heat. There. Through the heat shimmer,
Pham could see the kid, walking uncertainly out from the cover of stone.
Small shapes sat on the boy's shoulders, and walked beside him. Pham ran up
the slope. He could move faster over this terrain than any Rider. Maybe
there was time.
A single burst of flame arched down from the castle, into the pond of
oil between him and the Rider at the wall. What had been a narrow channel of
safety was gone, and the flames spread unbroken before him.
"There's still lots of clear space," Amdi said. He reached a few meters
out from their hiding place to reconnoiter around the corners. "The flier is
down! Some ... strange thing ... is coming our way. Blueshell or
Greenstalk?"
There were lots of Steel's packs out there too, but not close --
probably because of the flier. That was a weird one, with none of the
symmetry of Straumer aircraft. It looked all tilted over, almost as if it
had crashed. A tall human raced across their field of view, firing at
Steel's troops. Jefri looked further out, and his hand tightened almost
unconsciously on the nearest puppy. Coming toward them was a wheeled
vehicle, like something out of a Nyjoran historical. The sides were painted
with jagged stripes. A thick pole grew up from the top.
The two children stepped a little ways out from their protection. The
Spacer saw them! It slewed about, spraying oil and moss from under its
wheels. Two frail somethings reached out from its bluish trunk. Its voice
was squeaky Samnorsk. "Quickly, Sir Jefri. We have little time." Behind the
creature, beyond the pond of oil, Jefri could see ... Johanna.
And then the pond exploded, the fire on both sides sprouting across all
escape routes. Still the Spacer was waving its tendrils, urging them onto
the flat of its hull. Jefri grasped at the few handholds available. The
puppies jumped up after him, clinging to his shirt and pants. Up close,
Jefri could see that the stalk was the person: the skin was smudged and dry,
but it was soft and it moved.
Two of Amdi were still on the ground, ranging out on either side of the
cart for a better view of the fire. "Wah!" shrieked Amdi by his ear. Even so
close, he could scarcely be heard over the thunder of the fire. "We can
never get through that, Jefri. Our only chance is to stay here."
The Spacer's voice came from a little plate at the base of its stalk.
"No. If you stay here, you will die. The fire is spreading." Jefri had
huddled as much behind the Rider's stalk as possible, and still he could
feel the heat. Much more and the oil in Amdi's fur would catch fire.
The Rider's tendrils lifted the colored cloth that lay on its hull.
"Pull this over you." It waggled a tendril at the rest of Amdi. "All of
you."
The two on the ground were crouched behind the creature's front wheels.
"Too hot, too hot," came Amdi's voice. But the two jumped up and buried
themselves under the peculiar tarpaulin.
"Cover yourself, all the way!" Jefri felt the Rider pulling the cover
over them. The cart was already rolling back, toward the flames. Pain burned
through every gap in the tarp. The boy reached frantically, first with one
hand and then the other, trying to get the cloth over his legs. Their course
was a wild bouncing ride, and Jefri could barely keep hold. Around him he
felt Amdi straining with his free jaws to keep the tarpaulin in place. The
sound of fire was a roaring beast, and the tarp itself was searing hot
against his skin. Every new jolt bounced him up from the hull, threatening
to break his grip. For a time, panic obliterated thought. It was not till
much later that he remembered the tiny sounds that came from the voder
plate, and understood what those sounds must mean.
Pham ran toward the new flames. Agony. He raised his arms across his
face and felt the skin on his hands blistering. He backed away.
"This way, this way!" Pilgrim's voice came from behind him, guiding him
out. He ran back, stumbling. The pack was in a shallow gully. It had shifted
its shields around to face the new stretch of fire. Two of the pack moved
out of his way as he dived behind them.
Both Johanna and the pack were slapping at his head.
"Your hair's on fire!" the girl shouted. In seconds they had the fire
out. The Pilgrim looked a bit singed, too. Its shoulder pouches were tucked
safely shut; for the first time, no inquisitive puppy eyes peeked out.
"I still can't see anything, Pham." It was Ravna from high above.
"What's going on?"
Quick glance behind him. "We're okay," he gasped. "Woodcarver's packs
are tearing up Steel's. But Blueshell -- " He peered between in the shields.
It was like looking into a kiln. Right by the castle wall there might be a
breathing space. A slim hope, but --
"Something is moving in there." Pilgrim had tucked one head briefly
around the shield. He withdrew it now, licking his nose from both sides.
Pham looked again through the crack. The fire had internal shadows,
places of not-so-bright that wavered ... moved? "I see it too." He felt
Johanna stick her head close to his, peering frantically. "It's Blueshell,
Rav.... By the Fleet." This last said too softly to carry over the fire
sound. There was no sign of Jefri Olsndot, but -- "Blueshell is rolling
through the middle of the fire, Rav."
The skrode wheeled out of the deeper oil. Slowly, steadily making its
way. And now Pham could see fire within fire, Blueshell's trunk flaring in
rivulets of flame. His fronds were no longer gathered into himself. They
extended, writhing with their own fire. "He's still coming, driving straight
out."
The skrode cleared the wall of fire, rolled with jerky abandon down the
slope. Blueshell didn't turn toward them, but just before he reached the
landing boat, all six wheels grated to a fast stop.
Pham stood and raced back toward the Skroderider. Pilgrim was already
unlimbering his shields and turning to follow him. Johanna Olsndot stood for
a second, sad and slight and alone, her gaze stuck hopelessly on the fire
and smoke on the castle side. One of the Pilgrim grabbed her sleeve, drawing
her back from the fire.
Pham was at the Rider now. He stared silently for a second. "...
Blueshell's dead, Rav, no way you could doubt if you could see." The fronds
were burnt away, leaving stubs along the stalk. The stalk itself had burst.
Ravna's voice in his ear was shuddery. "He drove through that even
while he was burning?"
"Can't be. He must have been dead after the first few meters. This must
all have been on autopilot." Pham tried to forget the agonized reaching of
fronds he had seen back in the fire. He blanked out for a moment, staring at
the fire-split flesh.
The skrode itself radiated heat. Pilgrim sniffed around it, shying away
abruptly when a nose came too close. Abruptly he reached out a steel-tined
paw and pulled hard on the scarf that covered the hull.
Johanna screamed and rushed forward. The forms beneath the scarf were
unmoving, but unburned. She grabbed her brother by the shoulders, pulling
him to the ground. Pham knelt beside her. Is the kid breathing? He was
distantly aware of Ravna shouting in his ear, and Pilgrim plucking tiny
dogthings off the metal.
Seconds later the boy started coughing. His arms windmilled against his
sister. "Amdi, Amdi!" His eyes opened, widened. "Sis!" And then again.
"Amdi?"
"I don't know," said the Pilgrim, standing close to the seven -- no,
eight -- grease-covered forms. "There are some mind sounds but not
coherent." He nosed at three of puppies, doing something that might have
been rescue breathing.
After a moment the little boy began crying, a sound lost in the fire
sounds. He crawled across to the puppies, his face right next to one of
Pilgrim's. Johanna was right behind him, holding his shoulders, looking
first to Pilgrim and then at the still creatures.
Pham came to his knees and looked back at the castle. The fire was a
little lower now. He stared a long time at the blackened stump that had been
Blueshell. Wondering and remembering. Wondering if all the suspicion had
been for naught. Wondering what mix of courage and autopilot had been behind
the rescue.
Remembering all the months he had spent with Blueshell, the liking and
then the hate -- Oh, Blueshell, my friend.
The fires slowly ebbed. Pham paced the edge of receding heat. He felt
the godshatter coming finally back upon him. For once he welcomed it,
welcomed the drive and the mania, the blunting of irrelevant feeling. He
looked at Pilgrim and Johanna and Jefri and the recovering puppy pack. It
was all a meaningless diversion. No, not quite meaningless: It had had an
effect, of slowing down progress on what was deadly important.
He glanced upwards. There were gaps in the sooty clouds, places where
he could see the reddish haze of high-level ash and occasional splotches of
blue. The castle's ramparts appeared abandoned, and the battle around the
walls had died. "What news?" he said impatiently at the sky.
Ravna: "I still can't see much around you, Pham. Large numbers of Tines
are retreating northwards. Looks like a fast, coordinated retreat. Nothing
like the 'fight-to-the-last' that we were seeing before. There are no fires
within the castle -- or evidence of remaining packs either."
Decision. Pham turned back to the others. He struggled to turn sharp
commands into reasonable-sounding requests. "Pilgrim! Pilgrim! I need
Woodcarver's help. We have to get inside the castle."
Pilgrim didn't need any special persuasion, though he was full of
questions. "You're going to fly over the walls?" he asked as he bounded
toward him.
Pham was already jogging toward the boat. He boosted Pilgrim aboard,
then clambered up. No, he wasn't going to try to fly the damn thing. "No,
just use the loudspeaker to get your boss to find a way in."
Seconds later, packtalk was echoing across the hillside. Just minutes
more. Just minutes more and I will be facing the Countermeasure. And though
he had no conscious notion what might come of that, he felt the godshatter
bubbling up for one final takeover, one final effort to do Old One's will.
"Where is the Blighter fleet, Rav?"
Her answer came back immediately. She had watched the battle below, and
the hammer coming down from above. "Forty-eight light-years out." Mumbled
conversation off-mike. "They've speeded up a little. They'll be in-system in
four-six hours.... I'm sorry, Pham."
-=*=-
Crypto: 0
As received by: OOB shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Triskweline, SjK units
Apparently From: Sandor Arbitration Intelligence [Not the usual
originator, but verified by intermediate sites. Originator may be a branch
office or a back-up site.]
Subject: Our final message?
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, War Trackers Interest Group, Where Are They Now, Extinctions Log
Date: 72.78 days since the Fall of Sjandra Kei
Key phrases: vast new attack, the Fall of Sandor Arbitration
Text of message:
As best we can tell, all our High Beyond sites have been absorbed by
the Blight. If you can, please ignore all messages from those sites.
Until four hours ago, our organization comprised twenty civilizations
at the Top. What is left of us doesn't know what to say or what to do.
Things are so slow and murky and dull now; we were not meant to live this
low. We intend to disband after this mailing.
For those who can continue, we want to tell what happened. The new
attack was an abrupt thing. Our last recollections from Above are of the
Blight suddenly reaching in all directions, sacrificing all its immediate
security to acquire as much processing power as possible. We don't know if
we had simply underestimated its power, or if the Blight itself is somehow
now desperate -- and taking desperate risks.
Up to 3000 seconds ago we were under heavy assault along our
organization's internal networks. That has ceased. Temporarily? Or is this
the limit of the attack? We don't know, but if you hear from us again, you
will know that the Blight has us.
Farewell.
-=*=-
Crypto: 0
As received by: OOB shipboard ad hoc
Language path: Optima->Acquileron->Triskweline, SjK units
From: Society for Rational Investigation [Probably a single system in
the Middle Beyond, 7500 light-years antispinward of Sjandra Kei]
Subject: The Big Picture
Key phrases: The Blight, Nature's Beauty, Unprecedented Opportunities
Summary: Life goes on
Distribution:
Threat of the Blight, Society for Rational Network Management, War Trackers Interest Group Date: 72.80 days since the Fall of Sjandra Kei
Text of message:
It's always amusing to see people who think themselves the center of
the universe. Take the recent spread of the Blight [references follow for
readers not on those threads and newsgroups]. The Blight is an unprecedented
change in a limited portion of the Top of the Beyond -- far away from most
of my readers. I'm sure it's the ultimate catastrophe for many, and I
certainly feel sympathy for such, but a little humor too, that these people
somehow think their disaster is the end of everything. Life goes on, folks.
At the same time, it's clear that many readers are not paying proper
attention to these events -- certainly not seeing what is truly significant
about them. In the last year, we have witnessed the apparent murders of
several Powers and the establishment of a new ecosystem in a portion of the
High Beyond. Though far away, these events are without precedent.
Often before, I have called this the Net of a Million Lies. Well,
people, we now have an opportunity to view things while the truth is still
manifest. With luck we may solve some fundamental mysteries about the Zones
and the Powers.
I urge readers to watch events below the Blight from as many angles as
possible. In particular, we should take advantage of the remaining relay at
Debley Down to coordinate observations on both sides of the Blight-affected
region. This will be expensive and tedious, since only Middle and Low Beyond
sites are available in the affected region, but it will be well worth it.
General topics to follow:
The nature of the Blight Net communications: The creature is part Power
and part High Beyond, and infinitely interesting.
The nature of the recent Great Surge in the Low Beyond beneath the
Blight: This is another event without clear precedent. Now is the time to
study it.
...
The nature of the Blighter fleet now closing on an off-net site in the
Low Beyond: This fleet has been of great interest to War Trackers over the
last weeks, but mainly for asinine reasons (who cares about Sjandra Kei and
the Aprahant Hegemony; local politics is for locals). The real question
should be obvious to all but the brain damaged: Why has the Blight made this
great effort so far out its natural depth?
If there are any ships still in the vicinity of the Blight's fleet, I
urge them to keep War Trackers posted. Failing that, local civilizations
should be reimbursed for forwarding ultrawave traces.
This is all very expensive, but worth it, the observations of the aeon.
And the expense will not continue long. The Blight's fleet should arrive at
the target star momentarily. Will it stop and retrieve? Or will we see how a
Power destroys the systems which oppose it? Either way, we are blessed with
opportunity.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
CHAPTER 41
Ravna walked across the field toward the waiting packs. The thick smoke
had been blown away, but its smell was still heavy in the air. The hillside
was burned-over desolation. From above, Steel's castle had looked like the
center of a great, black nipple, hectares of natural and pack-made
destruction capping the hill.
The soldiers silently made way for her. More than one cast an uneasy
glance at the starship grounded behind her. She walked slowly past them
toward the ones who waited. Eerie the way they sat, like picnickers but all
uneasy about each other's presence. This must be the equivalent of a close
staff conference for them. Ravna walked toward the pack at the center, the
one sitting on silken mats. Intricate wooden filigree hung around the necks
of the adults, but some of those looked sick, old. And there were two
puppies sitting out front of it. They stepped precisely forward as Ravna
crossed the last stretch of open ground.
"Er, you're the Woodcarver?" she asked.
A woman's voice, incredibly human, came from one of the larger members.
"Yes, Ravna. I'm Woodcarver. But it's Peregrine you want. He's up in the
castle, with the children.
"Oh."
"We have a wagon. We can take you inwards right away." One of them
pointed at a vehicle being drawn up the hillside. "But you could have landed
much closer, could you not?"
Ravna shook her head. "No. Not ... anymore." This was the best landing
that she and Greenstalk could make.
The heads cocked at her, all a coordinated gesture. "I thought you were
in a terrible hurry. Peregrine says there is a fleet of spacers coming hot
on your trail."
For an instant Ravna didn't say anything. So Pham had told them of the
Blight? But she was glad he had. She shook her head, trying to clear it of
the numbness. "Y-yes. We are in a great hurry." The dataset on her wrist was
linked to the OOB. Its tiny display showed the steady approach of the
Blight's fleet.
All the heads twisted, a gesture that Ravna couldn't interpret. "And
you despair. I fear I understand."
How can you? And if you can, how can you forgive us? But all that Ravna
said aloud was, "I'm sorry."
The Queen mounted her wagon and they rolled across the hillside toward
the castle walls. Ravna looked back once. Down slope, the OOB lay like a
great, dying moth. Its topside drive spines arched a hundred meters into the
air. They glistened a wet, metallic green. Their landing had not been quite
a crash. Even now, agrav canceled some of the craft's weight. But the drive
spines on the ground side were crumpled. Beyond the ship, the hillside fell
steeply away to the water and the islands. The westering sun cast hazy
shadows across the islands and on the castle beyond the straits. A fantasy
scene of castles and starships.
The display on her wrist serenely counted down the seconds.
"Steel put gunpowder bombs all around the dome." Woodcarver swept a
couple of noses, pointing upwards. Ravna followed her gesture. The arches
were more like a Princess cathedral than military architecture: pink marble
challenging the sky. And if it all came down, it would surely wreck the
spacecraft parked beneath.
Woodcarver said that Pham was in there now. They rolled indoors,
through dark, cool rooms. Ravna glimpsed row after row of coldsleep boxes.
How many might still be revivable? Will we ever find out? The shadows were
deep. "You're sure that Steel's troops are gone?"
Woodcarver hesitated, her heads staring in different directions. So
far, pack expressions were impossible for Ravna to read. "Reasonably sure.
Anybody still in the castle would need to be behind lots of stone, or my
search parties would have found them. More important, we have what's left of
Steel." The Queen seemed to read Ravna's questioning expression perfectly.
"You didn't know? Apparently Lord Steel came down here to blow all the
bombs. It would have been suicide, but that pack was always a crazy one.
Someone stopped him. There was blood all over. Two of him are dead. We found
the rest wandering around, a whimpering mess... Whoever did Steel in is also
behind the rapid retreat. That someone is doing his best to avoid any
confrontation. He won't be back soon, though I fear I'll have to face dear
Flenser eventually."
Under the circumstances, Ravna figured that was one problem that would
never materialize. Her dataset showed forty-five hours till the Blight's
arrival.
Jefri and Johanna were by their starship, under the main dome. They sat
on the steps of the landing ramp, holding hands. When the wide doors opened
and Woodcarver's wagon drove through, the girl stood and waved. Then they
saw Ravna. The boy walked first quickly then more slowly across the wide
floor. "Jefri Olsndot?" Ravna called softly. He had a tentative, dignified
posture that seemed much too old for an eight-year-old. Poor Jefri had lost
much, and lived with so little for so long. She stepped down from the wagon
and walked toward him.
The boy advanced out of the shadows. He was surrounded by a near mob of
small-size pack members. One of them hung on his shoulder; others tumbled
around his feet without ever seeming to get in his way; still others
followed his path both in front and behind. Jefri stopped well back from
her. "Ravna?"
She nodded.
"Could you step a little closer? The Queen's mind sound is too close."
The voice was still the boy's, but his lips hadn't moved. She walked the few
meters that still separated them. Puppies and boy advanced hesitantly. Up
close she could see the rips in his clothing, and what looked like wound
dressings on his shoulders and elbows and knees. His face looked recently
washed, but his hair was a sticky mess. He looked up at her solemnly, then
raised his arms to hug her. "Thank you for coming." His voice was muffled
against her, but he wasn't crying. "Yes, thank you, thank poor Mr.
Blueshell." His voice again, sad but unmuffled, coming from the pack of
puppies all around them.
Johanna Olsndot had advanced to stand just behind them. Only fourteen
is she? Ravna reached a hand toward her. "From what I hear, you were a
rescue force all by yourself."
Woodcarver's voice came from the wagon. "Johanna was that. She changed
our world."
Ravna gestured up the ship's ramp, at the glow of the interior
lighting. "Pham's up there?"
The girl started to nod, was preempted by the pack of puppies. "Yes, he
is. He and the Pilgrim are up there." The pups disentangled themselves and
started up the steps, one remaining behind to tug Ravna toward the ramp. She
started after them, with Jefri close beside her.
"Who is this pack?" she said abruptly to Jefri, pointing to the
puppies.
The boy stopped in surprise. "Amdi of course."
"I'm sorry," Jefri's voice came from the puppies. "I've talked to you
so much, I forget you don't know -- " There was a chorus of tones and chords
that ended in a human giggle. She looked down at the bobbing heads, and was
certain the little devil was quite aware of his misrepresentations. Suddenly
a mystery was solved. "Pleased to meet you," she said, angered and charmed
at the same time. "Now -- "
"Right, there are much more important things now." The pack continued
to hop up the stairs. "Amdi" seemed to alternate between shy sadness and
manic activity. "I don't know what they're up to. They kicked us out as soon
as we showed them around."
Ravna followed the pack, Jefri close behind. It didn't sound like
anything was going on. The interior of the dome was like a tomb, echoing
with the talk of the few packs who guarded it. But here, halfway up the
steps, even those sounds were muted, and there was nothing coming through
the hatch at the top. "Pham?"
"He's up there." It was Johanna, at the base of the stairs. She and
Woodcarver were looking up at them. She hesitated, "I'm not sure if he's
okay. After the battle, he -- he seemed strange."
Woodcarver's heads weaved about, as if she were trying to get a good
look at them through the glare of the hatch lights. "The acoustics in this
ship of yours are awful. How can humans stand it?"
Amdi: "Ah, it's not so bad. Jefri and I spent lots of time up here. I
got used to it." Two of his heads were pushing at the hatch. "I don't know
why Pham and Pilgrim kicked us out; we could have stayed in the other room
and been real quiet."
Ravna stepped carefully between the pack's lead puppies and pounded on
the hull metal. It wasn't hard-latched; now she could hear the ship's
ventilation. "Pham, what progress?"
There was a rustling sound and the click of claws. The hatch slid
partway back. Bright, flickering light spilled down the ramp. A single doggy
head appeared. Ravna could see white all around its eyes. Did that mean
anything? "Hi," it said. "Uh, look. Things are a bit tense just now. Pham --
I don't think Pham should be bothered."
Ravna slipped her hand past the gap. "I'm not here to bother him. But I
am coming in." How long we've fought for this moment. How many billions have
died along the way. And now some talking dog tells me things are a bit
tense.
The Pilgrim looked down at her hand. "Okay." He slid the hatch far
enough open to let her through. The pups were quick around her heels, but
they recoiled before the Pilgrim's glance. Ravna didn't notice....
The "ship" was scarcely more than a freight container, a cargo hull.
The cargo this time -- the coldsleep boxes -- had been removed, leaving a
mostly level floor, dotted with hundreds of fittings.
All this she scarcely noticed. It was the light, the thing that held
her. It grew out from the walls and gathered almost too bright to bear at
the center of the hold. Its shape changed and changed again, the colors
shifting from red to violet to green. Pham sat crosslegged by the
apparition, within it. Half his hair was burned away. His hands and arms
were shivering, and he mumbled in some language she didn't recognize.
Godshatter. Two times it had been the companion to disaster. A dying Power's
madness ... and now it was the only hope. Oh Pham.
Ravna took a step toward him, felt jaws close on her sleeve. "Please,
he mustn't be disturbed." The one that was holding her arm was a big dog,
battle-scarred. The rest of the pack -- Pilgrim -- all faced inwards on
Pham. The savage stared at her, somehow saw the anger rising in her face.
Then the pack said, "Look ma'am, your Pham's in some sort of fugue state,
all the normal personality traded for computation."
Huh? This Pilgrim had the jargon, but probably not much else. Pham must
have been talking to him. She made a shushing gesture. "Yes, yes. I
understand." She stared into the light. The changing shape, so hard to look
at, was something like the graphics you can generate on most displays, the
silly cross-sections of high-dimensional froths. It glowed in purest
monochrome, but shifted through the colors. Much of the light must be
coherent: interference speckles crawled on every solid surface. In places
the interference banded up, stripes of dark and light that slid across the
hull as the color changed.
She walked slowly closer, staring at Pham and ... the Countermeasure.
For what else could it be? The scum in the walls, now grown out to meet
godshatter. This was not simply data, a message to be relayed. This was a
Transcendent machine. Ravna had read of such things: devices made in the
Transcend, but for use at the Bottom of the Beyond. There would be nothing
sentient about it, nothing that violated the constraints of the Lower Zones
-- yet it would make the best possible use of nature here, to do whatever
its builder had desired: Its builder? The Blight? An enemy of the Blight?
She stepped closer. The thing was deep in Pham's chest, but there was
no blood, no torn flesh. She might have thought it all trick holography
except that she could see him shudder at its writhing. The fractal arms were
feathered by long teeth, twisting at him. She gasped and almost called his
name. But Pham wasn't resisting. He seemed deeper into godshatter than ever
before, and more at peace. The hope and fear came suddenly out of hiding:
hope that maybe, even now, godshatter could do something about the Blight;
and fear, that Pham would die in the process.
The artifact's twisting evolution slowed. The light hung at the pale
edge of blue. Pham's eyes opened. His head turned toward her. "The Riders'
Myth is real, Ravna." His voice was distant. She heard the whisper of a
laugh. "The Riders should know, I guess. They learned the last time. There
are Things that don't like the Blight. Things my Old One only guessed
at...."
Powers beyond the Powers? Ravna sank to the floor. The display on her
wrist glowed up at here. Less than forty-five hours left.
Pham saw her downward glance, "I know. Nothing has slowed the fleet.
It's a pitiful thing so far down here ... but more than powerful enough to
destroy this world, this solar system. And that's what the Blight wants now.
The Blight knows I can destroy it ... just as it was destroyed before."
Ravna was vaguely aware that Pilgrim had crawled in close on all sides.
Every face was fixed on the blue froth and the human enmeshed within. "How,
Pham?" Ravna whispered.
Silence. Then, "All the zone turbulence ... that was Countermeasure
trying to act, but without coordination. Now I'm guiding it. I've begun ...
the reverse surge. It's drawing on local energy sources. Can't you feel it?"
Reverse surge? What was Pham talking about? She glanced again at her
wrist -- and gasped. Enemy speed had jumped to twenty light-years per hour,
as fast as might be expected in the Middle Beyond. What had been almost two
days of grace was barely two hours. And now the display said twenty-five
light-years per hour. Thirty.
Someone was pounding on the hatch.
Scrupilo was delinquent. He should be supervising the move up the
hillside. He knew that, and really felt quite guilty -- but he persevered in
his dereliction. Like an addict chewing krima leaves, some things are too
delicious to give up.
Scrupilo dawdled behind, carrying Dataset carefully between him so that
its floppy pink ears would not drag on the ground. In fact, guarding Dataset
was certainly more important than hassling his troopers. In any case, he was
close enough to give advice. And his lieutenants were more clever than he at
everyday work.
During the last few hours, the coastal winds had taken the smoke clouds
inland, and the air was clean and salty. On this part of the hill, not
everything was burned. There were even some flowers and fluffy seed pods.
Bob-tailed birds sailed up the rising air from the sea valley, their cries a
happy music, as if promising that the world would soon be as before.
Scrupilo knew it could not be. He turned all his heads to look down the
hillside, at Ravna Bergsndot's starship. He estimated the surviving drive
spines as one hundred meters long. The hull itself was more than one hundred
and twenty. He hunkered down around Dataset, and popped open its cushioned
Oliphaunt face. Dataset knew lots about spacecraft. Actually, this ship was
not a human design, but the overall shape was fairly ordinary; he knew that
from his previous readings. Twenty to thirty thousand tonnes, equipped with
antigravity floats and faster-than-light drive. All very ordinary for the
Beyond.... But to see it here, through the eyes of his very own members!
Scrupilo couldn't keep his gaze from the thing. Three of him worked with
Dataset while the other two stared at the iridescent green hull. The
troopers and guncarts around him faded to insignificance. For all its mass,
the ship seemed to rest gently on the hillside. How long will it be before
we can build such? Centuries, without outside help, the histories in Dataset
claimed. What I wouldn't give for a dayaround aboard her!
Yet this ship was being chased by something mightier. Scrupilo shivered
in the summer sun. He had often enough heard Pilgrim's story of the first
landing, and he had seen the human's beam weapon. He had read much in
Dataset about planet-wrecker bombs and the other weapons of the Beyond.
While he worked on Woodcarver's cannon -- the best weapons he could bring to
be -- he had dreamed and wondered. Until he saw the starship floating above,
he had never quite felt the reality in his innermost hearts. Now he did. So
a fleet of killers lay close behind Ravna Bergsndot. The hours of the world
might be few indeed. He tabbed quickly through Dataset's search paths,
looking for articles about space piloting. If there be only hours, at least
learn what there is time to learn.
So Scrupilo was lost in the sound and vision of Dataset. He had three
windows open, each on a different aspect of the piloting experience.
Loud shouts from the hillside. He looked up with one head, more
irritated than anything else. It wasn't a battle alarm they were calling,
just a general unease. Strange, the afternoon air seemed pleasantly cool.
Two of him looked high, but there was no haze. "Scrupilo! Look, Look!"
His gunners were dancing in panic. They were pointing at the sky ... at
the sun. He folded the pink covers over Dataset's face, at the same time
looking sunward with shaded view. The sun was still high in the south,
dazzling bright. Yet the air was cool, and the birds were making the cooing
sounds of low-sun nesting. And suddenly he realized that he was looking
straight at the sun's disk, had been for five seconds -- without pain or
even watering of his eyes. And there was still no haze that he could see. An
inner chill spread across his mind.
The sunlight was fading. He could see black dots on its disk. Sunspots.
He had seen them often enough with Scriber's telescopes. But that had been
through heavy filters. Something stood between him and the sun, something
that sucked away its light and warmth.
The packs on the hillside moaned. It was a frightened sound Scrupilo
had never heard in battle, the sound of someone confronted by unknowable
terror.
Blue faded from the sky. The air was suddenly cold as deep dark night.
And the sun's color was a gray luminescence, like a faded moon. Less.
Scrupilo hunkered bellies to ground. Some of him was whistling deep in the
throat. Weapons, weapons. But Dataset never spoke of this.
The stars were the brightest light on the hillside.
"Pham, Pham. They'll be here in an hour. What have you done?" A
miracle, but of ill?
Pham Nuwen swayed in Countermeasure's bright embrace. His voice was
almost normal, the godshatter receding. "What have I done? Not much. And
more than any Power. Even Old One only guessed, Ravna. The thing the
Straumers brought here is the Rider Myth. We -- I, it -- just moved the Zone
boundary back. A local change, but intense. We're in the equivalent of the
High Beyond now, maybe even the Low Transcend locally. That's why the
Blighter fleet can move so fast."
"But -- "
Pilgrim was back from the hatch. He interrupted Ravna's incoherent
panic with a matter-of-fact, "The sun just went out." His heads bobbed in an
expression she couldn't fathom.
Pham answered, "That's temporary. Something has to power this
maneuver."
"W-why, Pham?" Even if the Blight was sure to win, why help it?
The man's face went blank, Pham Nuwen almost disappearing behind the
other programs at work in his mind. Then, "I'm ... focusing Countermeasure.
I see now, Countermeasure, what it is.... It was designed by something
beyond the Powers. Maybe there are Cloud People, maybe this is signaling
them. Or maybe what it's just done is like an insect bite, something that
will cause a much greater reaction. The Bottom of the Beyond has just
receded, like the waterline before a tsunami." The Countermeasure glared
red-orange, its arcs and barbs embracing Pham more tightly than before. "And
now that we've bootstrapped to a decent Zone ... things can really happen.
Oh, the ghost of Old One is amused. Seeing beyond the Powers was almost
worth dying for."
The fleet stats flowed across Ravna's wrist. The Blight was coming on
even faster than before. "Five minutes, Pham." Even though they were still
thirty light-years out.
Laughter. "Oh, the Blight knows, too. I see this is what it feared all
along. This is what killed it those aeons ago. It's racing forward now, but
it's too late." The glow brightened; the mask of light that was Pham's face
seemed to relax. "Something very ... far ... away has heard me, Rav. It's
coming."
"What? What's coming?"
"The Surge. So big. It makes what hit us before seem a gentle wave.
This is the one nobody believes, because no one's left to record it. The
Bottom will be blown out beyond the fleet.
Sudden understanding. Sudden wild hope. "... And they'll be trapped out
there, won't they?" So Kjet Svensndot had not fought in vain, and Pham's
advice had not been nonsense: Now there wasn't a single ramscoop in the
Blighter fleet.
"Yes. They're thirty-light years out. We killed all the speed-capable
ones. They'll be a thousand years getting here...." The artifact abruptly
contracted, and Pham moaned. "Not much time. We're at maximum recession.
When the surge comes, it will -- " Again a sound of pain. "I can see it! By
the Powers, Ravna, it will sweep high and last long."
"How high, Pham?" Ravna said softly. She thought of all the
civilizations above them. There were the Butterflies and the treacherous
types who supported the pogrom at Sjandra Kei.... And there were trillions
who lived in peace and made their own way toward the heights.
"A thousand light-years? Ten thousand? I'm not sure. The ghosts in
Countermeasure -- Arne and Sjana thought it might rise so high it would
punch into the Transcend, encyst the Blight right where it sits.... That
must be what happened Before."
Arne and Sjana?
The Countermeasure's writhing had slowed. Its light flickered bright
and then out. Bright and then out. She heard Pham's breath gasp with every
darkness. Countermeasure, a savior that was going to kill a million
civilizations. And was killing the man who had triggered it.
Almost unthinking, she dodged past the thing, reaching for Pham. But
razors on razors blocked her, raking her arms.
Pham was looking up at her. He was trying to say something more.
Then the light went out for a final time. From the darkness all around
came a hissing sound and a growing, bitter smell that Ravna would never
forget.
For Pham Nuwen, there was no pain. The last minutes of his life were
beyond any description that might be rendered in the Slowness or even in the
Beyond.
So try metaphor and simile: It was like ... it was like ... Pham stood
with Old One on a vast and empty beach. Ravna and Tines were tiny creatures
at their feet. Planets and stars were the grains of sand. And the sea had
drawn briefly back, letting the brightness of thought reach here where
before had been darkness. The Transcendence would be brief. At the horizon,
the drawn-back sea was building, a dark wall higher than any mountain,
rushing back upon them. He looked up at the enormity of it. Pham and
godshatter and Countermeasure would not survive that submergence, not even
separately. They had triggered catastrophe beyond mind, a vast section of
the Galaxy plunged into Slowness, as deep as Old Earth itself, and as
permanent.
Arne and Sjana and Straumers and Old One were avenged ... and
Countermeasure was complete.
And as for Pham Nuwen? A tool made, and used, and now to be discarded.
A man who never was.
The surge was upon him then, plunging depths. Down from the
Transcendent light. Outside, the Tines' world sun would be shining bright
once more, but inside Pham's mind everything was closing down, senses
returning to what eyes can see and ears can hear. He felt Countermeasure
slough toward nonexistence, its task done without ever a conscious thought.
Old One's ghost hung on for a little longer, huddling and retreating as
thought's potential ebbed. But it let Pham's awareness be. For once it did
not push him aside. For once it was gentle, brushing at the surface of
Pham's mind, as a human might pet a loyal dog.
More a brave wolf, you are, Pham Nuwen. There were only seconds left
before they were fully in the depths, where the merged bodies of
Countermeasure and Pham Nuwen would die forever and all thought cease.
Memories shifted. The ghost of Old One stepped aside, revealing certainties
it had hidden all along. Yes, I built you from several bodies in the
junkyard by Relay. But there was only one mind and one set of memories that
I could revive. A strong, brave wolf -- so strong I could never control you
without first casting you into doubt....
Somewhere barriers slipped aside, the final failing of Old One's
control, or His final gift. It did not matter which now, for whatever the
ghost said, the truth was obvious to Pham Nuwen and he would not be denied:
Canberra, Cindi, the centuries avoyaging with Qeng Ho, the final flight
of the Wild Goose. It was all real.
He looked up at Ravna. She had done so much. She had put up with so
much. And even disbelieving, she had loved. It's okay. It's okay. He tried
to reach out to her, to tell her. Oh, Ravna, I am real!
Then the full weight of the depths was upon him, and he knew no more.
There was more pounding on the door. She heard Pilgrim walk to the
hatch. A crack of light shone in. Ravna heard Jefri's piping voice: "The sun
is back! The sun is back!... Hei, why is it so dark in here?"
Pilgrim: "The artifact -- the thing Pham was helping -- its light went
out."
"Geez, you mean you left off the main lights?" The hatch slid all the
way open, and the boy's head, along with several puppies', was silhouetted
against the torchlight beyond. He scrambled over the lip of the hatch. The
girl was right behind him. "The control is right over here ... see?"
And soft white light shone on the curving walls. All was ordinary and
human, except.... Jefri stood very still, his eyes wide, his hand over his
mouth. He turned to hold onto his sister. "What is it? What is it?" his
voice said from the opened hatch.
Now Ravna wished she could not see. She dropped back to her knees.
"Pham?" she said softly, knowing there would be no answer. What was left of
Pham Nuwen lay amid the Countermeasure. The artifact didn't glow any more.
Its tortuous boundaries were blunted and dark. More than anything it looked
like rotted wood.... but wood that embraced and impaled the man who lay with
it. There was no blood, and no charring. Where the artifact had pierced Pham
there was an ashy stain, and the flesh and the thing seemed to merge.
Pilgrim was close around her, his noses almost touching the still form.
The bitter smell still hung in the air. It was the smell of death, but not
the simple rotting of flesh; what had died here was flesh and something
else.
She glanced at her wrist. The display had simplified to a few
alphanumeric lines. No ultradrives could be detected. OOB status showed
problems with attitude control. They were deep in the Slow Zone, out of
reach of all help, out of reach of the Blight's fleet. She looked into
Pham's face. "You did it, Pham. You really did it," she said the words
softly, to herself.
The arches and loops of Countermeasure were a fragile, brittle thing
now. The body of Pham Nuwen was part of that. How could they break those
arches without breaking...? Pilgrim and Johanna gently urged Ravna out of
the cargo hold. She didn't remember much of the next few minutes, of them
bringing out the body. Blueshell and Pham, both gone beyond all retrieval.
They left her after a while. There was no lack of compassion, but
disaster and strangeness and emergency were in too abundant a supply. There
were the wounded. There was the possibility of counterattack. There was
great confusion, and a desperate need for order. It made scarcely any
impression on her. She was at the end of her long desperate run, at the end
of all her energy.
Ravna must have sat by the ramp for much of the afternoon, so deep in
loss as not to think, scarcely aware of the sea song that Greenstalk shared
with her through the dataset. Eventually she realized she was not alone.
Besides Greenstalk's comfort ... sometime earlier, the little boy had
returned. He sat beside her, and around them all the puppies, all silent.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
EPILOGS
Peace had come to what had once been Flenser's Domain. At least there
was no sign of belligerent forces. Whoever had pulled them back had done it
very cleverly. As the days passed, local peasantry showed themselves. Where
the people weren't simply dazed, they seemed glad to be rid of the old
regime. Life picked up in the farmlands, peasants doing their best to
recover from the worst fire season of recent memory, compounded by the most
fighting the region had ever known.
The Queen had sent messengers south to report on the victory, but she
seemed in no rush to return to her city. Her troops helped with some of the
farm work, and did their best not to be a burden on the locals. But they
also scouted through the castle on Starship Hill, and the huge old castle on
Hidden Island. Down there were all the horrors that had been whispered about
over the years. But still there was no sign of the forces that had escaped.
The locals were eager with their own stories, and most were ominously
credible: That before Flenser had undertaken his attempt upon the Republic,
he had created redoubts further north. There had been reserves there --
though some thought that Steel had long since used them. Peasants from the
northern valley had seen the Flenserist troops retreating. Some said they
had seen Flenser himself -- or at least a pack wearing the colors of a lord.
Even the locals did not believe all the stories, the ones about Flenser
being here and there, singletons separated by kilometers, coordinating the
pull out.
Ravna and the Queen had reason to believe the story, but not the
foolhardiness to check it out. Woodcarver's expeditionary force was not a
large one, and the forests and valleys stretched on for more than one
hundred kilometers to where the Icefangs curved west to meet the sea. That
territory was unknown to Woodcarver. If Flenser had been preparing it for
decades -- as was that pack's normal method of operation -- there would be
deadly surprises, even for a large army hunting just a few dozens of
partisans. Let Flenser be, and hope that his redoubts had been gutted by
Lord Steel.
Woodcarver worried that this would be the great peril of the next
century.
But things were resolved much sooner than that. It was Flenser who
sought them out, and not with a counterattack: About twenty days after the
battle, at the end of a day when the sun dipped just behind the northern
hills, there was the sound of signal horns. Ravna and Johanna were wakened
and shortly found themselves on the castle's parapet, peering into something
like a sunset, all orange and gold silhouetting the hills beyond the
northern fjord. Woodcarver's aides were gazing from many eyes at the
ridgeline. A few had telescopes.
Ravna shared her binocs with Johanna. "Someone's up there." Stark
against the sky glow, a pack carried a long banner with separate poles for
each member.
Woodcarver was using two telescopes, probably more effective than
Ravna's gear, considering the pack's eye separation. "Yes, I see it. That's
a truce flag, by the way. And I think I know who's carrying it." She
yammered something at Peregrine. "It's been a long time since I've talked to
that one."
Johanna was still looking through the binoculars. finally she said, "He
... made Steel, didn't he?"
"Yes, dear."
The girl lowered the binocs. "I ... think I'll pass up meeting him."
Her voice was distant.
They met on the hillside north of the castle just eight hours later.
Woodcarver's troops had spent the intervening time scouting the valley. It
was only partly a matter of protecting against treachery from the other
side: one very special pack of the enemy would be coming, and there were
plenty of locals who would like that one dead.
Woodcarver walked to where the hill fell off in supersteepness toward
forest. Ravna and Pilgrim followed behind her at a Tinishly close ten
meters. Woodcarver wasn't saying much about this meeting, but Pilgrim had
turned out to be a very talkative sort. "This is just the way I came
originally, a year ago when the first ship landed. You can see how some of
the trees were burned by the torch. Good thing it wasn't as dry that summer
as this."
The forest was dense, but they were looking down over the treetops.
Even in the dryness, there was a sweet, resinous smell in the air. To their
left was a tiny waterfall and a path that led to the valley floor -- the
path their truce visitor had agreed to take. Farmland, Peregrine called the
valley bottom. It was undisciplined chaos to Ravna's eyes. The Tines grew
different crops together in the same fields, and she saw no fences, not even
to hold back livestock. Here and there were wooden lodges with steep roofs
and outward curving walls; what you might expect in a region with snowy
winters.
"Quite a mob down there," said Pilgrim.
It didn't look crowded to her: little clumps, each a pack, each
well-separated from the others. They clustered around the lodge buildings.
More were scattered across the fields. Woodcarver packs were stationed along
the little road that crossed the valley.
She felt Pilgrim tense next to her. A head extended past her waist,
pointing. "That must be him. All alone, as promised. And -- " part of him
was looking through a telescope, "now that's a surprise."
A single pack trekked slowly down the road, past Woodcarver's guards.
It was pulling a small cart -- containing one of its own members,
apparently. A cripple?
The peasants in the fields drifted toward the edge of the field,
paralleling the lone pack's course. She heard the gobble of Tinish talk.
When they wanted to be loud, they could be very, very loud. The troopers
moved to chase back any local who got too close to the road.
"I thought they were grateful to us?" This was the closest thing to
violence she had seen since the battle of Starship Hill.
"They are. Most of those are shouting death to Flenser."
Flenser, Skinner, the pack who had rescued Jefri Olsndot. "They can
hate one pack so much?"
"Love and hate and fear, all together. More than a century they've been
under his knife. And now he is here, half-crippled, and without his troops.
Yet they are still afraid. There are enough cotters down there to overwhelm
our guard, but they're not pushing hard. This was Flenser's Domain, and he
treated it like a good farmer might treat his yard. Worse, he treated the
people and the land like some grand experiment. From reading Dataset, I see
he is a monster ahead of his time. There are some out there who might still
kill for the Master, and no one is sure who they are...." He paused a
second, just watching.
"And you know the greatest reason for fear? That he would come here
alone, so far from any help we can conceive."
So. Ravna shifted Pham's pistol forward on her belt. It was a bulky,
blatant thing ... and she was glad to have it. She glanced westward towards
Hidden Island. OOB was safely grounded against the battlements of the castle
there. Unless Greenstalk could do some basic reprogramming, it would not fly
again. And Greenstalk was not optimistic. But she and Ravna had mounted the
beam gun in one of its cargo bays, and that remote was dead simple. Flenser
might have his surprises, but so did Ravna.
The fivesome disappeared beneath the steepness.
"It will be a while yet," said Pilgrim. One of his pups stood on his
shoulders and leaned against Ravna's arm. She grinned: her private
information feed. She picked it up and placed it on her shoulder. The rest
of Peregrine sat his rumps on the ground and watched expectantly.
Ravna looked at the others of the Queen's party. Woodcarver had posted
crossbow packs to her right and left. Flenser would sit directly before her
and a little downslope. Ravna thought she could see nervousness in
Woodcarver. The members kept licking their lips, the narrow pink tongues
slipping in and out with snake-like quickness. The Queen had arranged
herself as if for a group portrait, the taller members behind and the two
little ones sitting erect in front. Most of her gaze seem focused on the
break in the verge, where the path from below reached the terrace they sat
upon.
Finally she heard the scritching of claws on stone. One head appeared
over the drop off, and then more. Flenser walked out onto the moss, two of
his members pulling the wheeled cart. The one in the cart sat erect, its
hindquarters covered by a blanket. Except for its white-tipped ears, it
seemed unremarkable.
The pack's heads peered in every direction. One stayed disconcertingly
focused on Ravna as the pack proceeded up the slope toward the Queen.
Skinner -- Flenser -- was the one who had worn the radio cloaks. None were
worn now. Through gaps in the jackets Ravna could see scabby splotches,
where the fur had been rubbed away.
"Mangy fellow, isn't he?" came the little voice in Ravna's ear. "But
cool too. Catch his insolent look." The Queen hadn't moved. She seemed
frozen, every member staring at the oncoming pack. Some of her noses were
trembling.
Four of Flenser tipped the cart forward, helping the white-tipped one
slide to the ground. Now Ravna could see that under the blanket, its
hindquarters were unnaturally twisted and still. The five settled themselves
rumps together. Their necks arched up and out, almost like the limbs of a
single creature. The pack gobbled something that sounded to Ravna like
strangling songbirds.
Pilgrim's translation came immediately from the puppy on Ravna's
shoulder. The pup spoke in a new voice, a traditional villain voice from
children's stories, a dry and sardonic voice. "Greetings ... Parent. It has
been many years."
Woodcarver said nothing for a moment. Then she gobbled something back,
and Pilgrim translated: "You recognize me?"
One of Flenser's heads jabbed out toward Woodcarver. "Not the members
of course, but your soul is obvious."
Again, silence from the Queen. Peregrine, annotating: "My poor
Woodcarver. I never thought she would be this flummoxed." Abruptly he spoke
loud, addressing Flenser in Samnorsk. "Well, you are not so obvious to me, O
former traveling companion. I remember you as Tyrathect, the timid teacher
from the Long Lakes."
Several the heads turned toward Peregrine and Ravna. The creature
replied in pretty good Samnorsk, but with a childish voice. "Greetings,
Peregrine. And greetings, Ravna Bergsndot? Yes. Flenser Tyrathect I am." The
heads angled downwards, eyes blinking slowly.
"Sly bugger," Peregrine muttered.
"Is Amdijefri safe?" the Flenser suddenly asked.
"What?" said Ravna, not recognizing the name at first. Then, "Yes, they
are fine."
"Good." Now all the heads turned back to the Queen, and the creature
continued in Pack talk; "Like a dutiful creation, I have come to make peace
with my Parent, dear Woodcarver."
"Does he really talk like that?" Ravna hissed at the puppy on her
shoulder.
"Hei, would I exaggerate?"
Woodcarver gobbled back, and Pilgrim picked up the translation, now in
the Queen's human voice: "Peace. I doubt it, Flenser. More likely you want
breathing space to build again, to try to kill us all again."
"I wish to build again, that is true. But I have changed. The 'timid
teacher' has made me a little ... softer. Something you could never do,
Parent."
"What?" Pilgrim managed to inject a tone of injured surprise into the
word.
"Woodcarver, have you never thought on it? You are the most brilliant
pack to live in this part of the world, perhaps the most brilliant of all
time. And the packs you made, they are mostly brilliant, too. But have you
not wondered on the most successful of them? You created too brilliantly.
You ignored inbreeding and [things that I can't translate easily], and you
got ... me. With all the ... quirks that have so pained you over the last
century."
"I-I have thought on that mistake, and done better since."
"Yes, as with Vendacious? [Oh, look at my Queen's faces. He really hurt
her there.] Never mind, never mind. Vendacious may well have been a
different sort of error. The point is, you made me. Before, I thought that
your greatest act of genius. Now ... I'm not so sure. I want to make amends.
Live in peace." One of the heads jabbed at Ravna, another at the OOB down by
Hidden Island. "And there are other things in the universe to point our
genius at."
"I hear the arrogance of old. Why should I trust you now?"
"I helped to save the children. I saved the ship."
"And you were always the world's greatest opportunist."
Flenser's flanking heads shifted back. "[That's a kind of dismissing
shrug.] You have the advantage, Parent, but some of my power is left in the
north. Make peace, or you will have more decades of maneuvering and war."
Woodcarver's response was a piercing shriek. "[And that's a sign of
irritation, in case you didn't guess.] Impudence! I can kill you here and
now, and have a century of certain peace."
"I've bet that you won't harm me. You gave me safe passage, separately
and in the whole. And one of the strongest things in your soul is your hate
for lies."
The back members of Woodcarver's pack hunkered down, and the little
ones at the front took several quick steps toward the Flenser. "It's been
many decades since we last met, Flenser! If you can change, might not I?"
For an instant every one of Flenser's members was frozen. Then part of
him came slowly to its feet, and slowly, slowly edged toward Woodcarver. The
crossbow packs on either side of the meeting ground raised their weapons,
tracking him. Flenser stopped six or seven meters from Woodcarver. His heads
weaved from side to side, all attention on the Queen. Finally, a wondering
voice, almost abashed: "Yes, you might. Woodcarver, after all the centuries
... you've given up yourself? These new ones are ..."
"Not all mine. Quite right." For some reason, Pilgrim was chuckling in
Ravna's ear.
"Oh. Well...." The Flenser backed to its previous position, "I still
want peace."
"[Woodcarver looks surprised.] You sound changed, too. How many of you
are really of Flenser?"
A long pause. "Two."
"... Very well. Depending on the terms, there will be peace."
Maps were brought out. Woodcarver demanded the location of Flenser's
main troops. She wanted them disarmed, with two or three of her packs
assigned to each unit, reporting by heliograph. Flenser would give up the
radio cloaks, and submit to observation. Hidden Island and Starship Hill
would be ceded to Woodcarver. The two sketched new borders, and wrangled on
the oversight the Queen would have in his remaining lands.
The sun reached its noon point in the southern sky. In the fields
below, the peasants had long since given up their angry vigil. The only
tensely watchful people left were the Queen's crossbow packs.
Finally Flenser stepped back from his end of the maps. "Yes, yes, your
folk can watch all my work. No more ... ghastly experiments. I will be a
gentle gatherer of knowledge [is this sarcasm?], like yourself."
Woodcarver's heads bobbed in rippling synchrony. "Perhaps so; with the
Two-Legs on my side, I'm willing to chance it."
Flenser rose again from his seated posture. He turned to help his
crippled member back on the cart. Then he paused. "Ah, one last thing, dear
Woodcarver. A detail. I killed two of Steel when he tried to destroy Jefri's
starship. [Squashed them like bugs, actually. Now we know how Flenser hurt
himself.] Do you have the rest of him?"
"Yes." Ravna had seen what was left of Steel. She and Johanna had
visited most of the wounded. It should be possible to adapt OOB first aid
for the Tines. But in the case of Steel, there had been a bit of vengeful
curiosity; that creature had been responsible for so much unnecessary death.
What was left of Steel didn't really need medical attention: There were some
bloody scratches (self-inflicted, Johanna guessed), and one twisted leg. But
the pack was a pitiable, almost an unnerving, thing. It had cowered at the
back of its pen, all shivering in terror, heads shifting this way and that.
Every so often the creature's jaws would snap open and shut, or one member
would make an aborted run at the fence. A pack of three was not of human
intelligence, but this one could talk. When it saw Ravna and Johanna, its
eyes went wide, the whites showing all around, and it rattled barely
intelligible Samnorsk at them. The speech was a nightmare mix of threats and
pleas that they "not cut, not cut!" Poor Johanna started crying then. She
had spent most of a year hating the pack these were from, yet -- "They seem
to be victims, too. It's b-bad to be three, and no one will ever let them be
more."
"Well," continued Flenser, "I would like custody of what remains, I --
"
"Never! That one was almost as smart as you, even if crazy enough to
defeat. You're not going to build him back."
Flenser came together, all eyes staring at the Queen. His "voice" was
soft: "Please, Woodcarver. This is a small matter, but I will throw over
everything," he jabbed at the maps, "rather than be denied in it."
"[Oh, oh.]" The crossbow packs were suddenly at the ready. Woodcarver
came partly around the maps, close enough to Flenser that their mind noise
must collide. She brought all her heads together in a concerted glare. "If
it is so unimportant, why risk everything for it?"
Flenser bumped around for an instant, his members actually staring at
one another. It was a gesture Ravna had not seen till now. "That is my
affair! I mean ... Steel was my greatest creation. In a way, I am proud of
him. But ... I am also responsible for him. Don't you feel the same about
Vendacious?"
"I've got my plans for Vendacious," the response was grudging. "[In
fact, Vendacious is still whole; I fear the Queen made too many promises to
do much with him now.]"
"I want to make up to Steel the harm I made him. You understand."
"I understand. I've seen Steel and I understand your methods: the
knives, the fear, the pain. You're not going to get another chance at it!"
It sounded to Ravna like faint music, something from far beyond the
valley, an alien blending of chords. But it was Flenser answering back.
Pilgrim's translating voice held no hint of sarcasm: "No knives, no cutting.
I keep my name because it is for others to rename me when they finally
accept that ... in her way, Tyrathect won. Give me this chance, Woodcarver.
I am begging."
The two packs stared at each other for more than ten seconds. Ravna
looked from one to the other, trying to divine their expressions. No one
said anything. There was not even Pilgrim's voice in her ear to speculate on
whether this was a lie or the baring of a new soul.
It was Woodcarver who decided: "Very well. You may have him."
Peregrine Wickwrackscar was flying. A pilgrim with legends that went
back almost a thousand years -- and not one of them could come near to this!
He would have burst into song except that it would pain his passengers. They
were already unhappy enough with his rough piloting, even though they
thought it was simply his inexperience.
Peregrine stepped across clouds, flew among and through them, danced
with an occasional thunderstorm. How many hours of his life had he stared up
at the clouds, gauging their depths -- and now he was in them, exploring the
caves within caves within caves, the cathedrals of light.
Between scattered clouds, the Great Western Ocean stretched forever. By
the sun and the flier's instruments, he knew that they had nearly reached
the equator, and were already some eight thousand kilometers southwest of
Woodcarver's Domain. There were islands out here, the OOB's pictures from
space said so, and so did the Pilgrim's own memories. But it had been long
since he ventured here, and he had not expected to see the island kingdoms
in the lifetime of his current members.
Now suddenly he was going back. Flying back!
The OOB's landing boat was a wonderful thing, and not nearly as strange
as it had seemed in the midst of battle. True, they had not yet figured out
how to program it for automatic flight. Perhaps they never would. In the
meantime, this little flier worked with electronics that were barely more
than glorified moving parts. The agrav itself required constant adjustment,
and the controls were scattered across the bow periphery -- conveniently
placed for the fronds of a Skroderider, or the members of a pack. With the
Spacers' help and OOB's documentation, it had taken Pilgrim only a few days
to get the hang of flying the thing. It was all a matter of spreading one's
mind across all the various tasks. The learning had been happy hours, a
little bit scary, floating nearly out of control, once in a screwball
configuration that accelerated endlessly upward. But in the end, the machine
was like an extension of his jaws and paws.
Since they descended from the purpling heights and began playing in the
cloud tops, Ravna had been looking more and more uncomfortable. After a
particularly stomachs-lurching bump and drop, she said, "Will you be able to
land okay? Maybe we should have postponed this till -- " unh! "-- you can
fly better."
"Oh yes, oh yes. We'll be past this, um, weather front real soon." He
dived beneath the clouds and swerved a few tens of kilometers eastwards. The
weather was clear here, and it was actually more on a line with their
destination. Secretly chastened, he resolved to do no more joy-riding ... on
the inbound leg, anyway.
His second passenger spoke up then, only the second time in the
two-hour flight. "I liked it," said Greenstalk. Her voder voice charmed
Pilgrim: mostly narrow-band, but with little frets high up, from the
squarewaves. "It was ... it was like riding just beneath the surf, feeling
your fronds moving with the sea."
Peregrine had tried hard to know the Skroderider. The creature was the
only nonhuman alien in the world, and harder to know than the Two-Legs. She
seemed to dream most of the time, and forgot all but things that happened
again and again to her. It was her primitive skrode that accounted for part
of that, Ravna told him. Remembering the run that Greenstalk's mate had made
through the flames, Pilgrim believed. Out among the stars, there were things
even stranger than Two-Legs -- it made Pilgrim's imagination ache.
Near the horizon he saw a dark ring -- and another, beyond. "We'll have
you in real surf very soon."
Ravna: "These are the islands?"
Peregrine looked over the map displays as he took a shot on the sun.
"Yes, indeed," though it didn't really matter. The Western Ocean was over
twelve thousand kilometers across, and all through the tropics it was dotted
with atolls and island chains. This group was just a bit more isolated than
others; the nearest Islander settlement was almost two thousand kilometers
away.
They were over the nearest island. Pilgrim took a swing around it,
admiring the tropic ferns that clung to the coral. At this tide, their bony
roots were exposed. Not any flat land here at all; he flew on to the next, a
larger one with a pretty glade just within the ringwall. He floated the boat
down in a smooth glide that touched the ground without even the tiniest
bump.
Ravna Bergsndot looked at him with something like suspicion. Oh oh.
"Hei, I'm getting better, don't you think?" he said weakly.
An uninhabited little island, surrounded by endless sea. The original
memories were blurred now; it had been his Rum member who had been a native
of the island kingdoms. Yet what he remembered all fit: the high sun, the
intoxicating humidity of the air, the heat soaking through his paws.
Paradise. The Rum aspect that still lived within him was most joyous of all.
The years seemed to melt away; part of him had come home.
They helped Greenstalk down to the ground. Ravna said her skrode was an
inferior imitation, its new wheels an ad hoc addition. Still, Pilgrim was
impressed: the four balloon tires each had a separate axle. The Rider was
able to make it almost to the crest of the coral without any help from Ravna
or himself. But near the top, where the tropic ferns were thickest and their
roots grew across every path, there he and Ravna had to help a bit, lifting
and pulling.
Then they were on the other side, and they could see the ocean.
Now part of Pilgrim ran ahead, partly to find the easiest descent,
partly to get close to the water and smell the salt and the rotting
floatweed. The tide was nearly out now, and a million little pools -- some
no more than stony-walled puddles -- lay exposed to the sun. Three of him
ran from pool to pool, eyeing the creatures that lay within. The strangest
things in the world they had seemed to him when he first came to the
islands. Creatures with shells, slugs of all dimensions and colors,
animal-plants that would become tropic ferns if they ever got trapped far
enough inland.
"Where would you like to sit?" he asked the Skroderider. "If we go all
the way out to the surf right now, you'll be a meter underwater at high
tide."
The Rider didn't reply. But all her fronds were angled toward the water
now. The wheels on her skrode slipped and spun with a strange lack of
coordination. "Let's take her closer," Ravna said after a moment.
They reached a fairly level stretch of coral, pocked with holes and
gullies not more than a few centimeters deep. "I'll go for a swim, find a
good place," Peregrine said. All of him ran down to where the coral broke
the water; going for a swim was not something you did by parts. Heh heh.
Fact was, damn few mainland packs could swim and think at the same time.
Most mainlanders thought that there was a craziness in water. Now Peregrine
knew it was simply the great difference in sound speed between air and
water. Thinking with all tympana immersed must be a little like using the
radio cloaks: it took discipline and practice to do it, and some were never
able to learn. But the Island folk had always been great swimmers, using it
for meditation. Ravna even thought the Packs might be descended from of
whales!
Peregrine came to the edge of the coral and looked down. Suddenly the
surf did not seem a completely friendly thing. He would soon find out if
Rum's spirit and his own memories of swimming were up to the real thing. He
pulled off his jackets.
All at once. It's best done all at once. He gathered himself and
plopped awkwardly into the water. Confusion, heads out and in. Keep all
under. He paddled about, holding all his heads down. Every few seconds, he'd
poke a single nose into the air and refresh that member. I still can do it!
The six of him slipped through swarms of squidlets, dived separately through
arching green fronds. The hiss of the sea was all around, like the mindsound
of a vast sleeping pack.
After a few minutes he'd found a nice level spot, sand all about and
shielded from the worst fury of the sea. He paddled back to where the sea
crashed against stony coral.... and almost broke some legs scrambling out.
It was just impossible to exit all at once, and for a few moments it was
every member for itself. "Hei, over here!" He shouted to Greenstalk and
Ravna. He sat licking at coral cuts as they crossed the white rock. "Found a
place, more peaceful than this -- " He waved at the crash and spray.
Greenstalk rolled a little closer to the edge, then hesitated. Her
fronds turned back and forth along the curving sweep of the shore. Does she
need help? Pilgrim started forward, but Ravna just sat down beside the Rider
and leaned against the wheeled platform. After a moment, Pilgrim joined
them. They sat for a time, human looking out to the sea, Rider looking he
wasn't sure quite where, and pack looking in most all directions.... There
was peace here, even with (or because of?) the booming surf and the haze of
spray. He felt his hearts slowing, and just lazed in the sunlight. On every
pelt the drying sea water was leaving a glittery powder of salt. Grooming
himself tasted good at first, but ... yech, too much dry salt was one of the
bad memories. Greenstalk's fronds settled lightly across him, too fine and
narrow to provide much shade, but a light and gentle comfort.
They sat for a long while -- long enough so that later some of Pilgrims
noses were blistered, and even darkskinned Ravna was sun burned.
The Rider was humming now, a sort of song that after long minutes came
to be speech. "It is a good sea, a good edge. It is what I need now. To sit
and think at my own pace for a while."
And Ravna said, "How long? We will miss you." That was not just
politeness. Everyone would miss her. Even in her mind adrift, Greenstalk was
the expert on OOB's surviving automation.
"Long by your measure, I fear. A few decades...." She watched (?) the
waves a few minutes more. "I am eager to get down there. Ha ha. Almost like
a human in that.... Ravna, you know my memories are muddled now. I had two
hundred years with Blueshell. Sometimes he was petty and a little spineful,
but he was a great trader. We had many wonderful times. And at the end even
you could see his courage."
Ravna nodded.
"We found a terrible secret on this last journey. I think that hurt him
as much as the final ... burning. I am grateful to you for protecting us.
Now I want to think, to let the surf and the time work with my memories and
sort them out. Maybe if this poor imitation skrode is up to it, I'll even
make a chronicle of our quest."
She touched Peregrine on two of his heads. "One thing, Sir Pilgrim. You
trust much to give me freedom of your seas.... But you should know,
Blueshell and I were pregnant. I have a mist of our common eggs within me.
Leave me here and there will be new Riders by this island in future years.
Please do not take that as betrayal. I want to remember Blueshell with
children -- but modestly; our kind has shared ten million worlds and never
been bad neighbors ... except in a way that, Ravna can tell you, cannot
happen here."
In the end, Greenstalk was not at all interested in the protected
stretch of water that Peregrine had discovered. She wanted -- of all the
places here -- the one where the ocean crashed most ferociously. It took
them more than an hour to find a path down to that violent place, and
another half hour to get Rider and skrode safely into the water. Peregrine
didn't even try to swim here. The coral rock came in close from all sides,
slimy green in patches, razor jagged in others. Five minutes in that meat
grinder and he might be too weak to get out. Strange that there was so much
green in the water here. It was all but opaque with sea grasses and swarms
of foam midges.
Ravna was a little better off; at the water's greatest height, she
could still keep feet to ground -- at least most of the time. She stood in
the foam, bracing herself with feet and an arm, and helped the skrodeling
over the lip of rock. Once in, the mechanical crashed firmly to the bottom
beside the human.
Ravna looked up at Pilgrim, made an "okay" gesture. Then she huddled
down for a moment, holding to the skrode to keep her place. The surf crashed
over the two, obscuring all but Greenstalk's tallest standing fronds. When
the foam moved back, he could see that the lower fronds draped across the
human's back, and hear a voder buzzing that wasn't quite intelligible
against all the other noise.
The human stood and slogged through the waist deep-water toward the
rocks Peregrine occupied. Peregrine grabbed onto himself, reached down to
give Ravna some paws. She scrambled up the slime green and coral white.
He followed the limping Two-Legs toward the crest of tropical ferns.
They stopped under the shade, and she sat down, leaned back into the mat of
a fern's trunk. Cut and bruised, she looked almost as hurt as Johanna ever
had.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she ran her hands back through disheveled hair. Then she looked
at him and laughed. "We both look like casualties."
Um, yes. Sometime soon he needed a fresh-water bath. He looked around
and out. From the crest of the atoll ring they had a view of Greenstalk's
niche. Ravna was looking down there too, minor injuries forgotten.
"How can she like that spot?" Peregrine said wonderingly. "Imagine
being smashed and smashed and smashed."
There was a smile on Ravna's face, but she kept her two eyes on the
surf. "There are strange things in the universe, Pilgrim; I'm glad there are
some you have not read about yet. Where the surf meets the shore -- lots of
neat things can happen there. You saw all the life that floated in that
madness. Just as plants love the sun, there are creatures that can use the
energy differences down at that edge. There they have the sun and the surge
and the richness of the suspension.... Still, we should keep watch a little
longer." Between each insurge of the waves, they could still see
Greenstalk's fronds. He already knew that those limbs weren't strong, but he
was beginning to realize that they must be very tough. "She'll be okay,
though that cheap skrode may not last long. Poor Greenstalk may end up
without any automation at all ... she and her children, the lowest of all
Riders."
Ravna turned to look at the pack. There was still that smile on her
face. Wondering, yet pleased? "You know the secret Greenstalk spoke of?"
"Woodcarver told me what you told her."
"I'm glad -- surprised -- she was willing to let Greenstalk come here.
Medieval minds -- sorry, most any minds -- would want to kill before taking
even the faintest risk with something like this."
"Then why did you tell the Queen?" About the skrode's perversion.
"It's your world. I was tired of playing god with the Secret. And
Greenstalk agreed. Even if the Queen had refused, Greenstalk could have used
a cold box on the OOB." And likely slept forever. "But Woodcarver didn't
refuse. Somehow she understood what I was saying: it's the true skrodes that
can be perverted, but Greenstalk no longer has one of those. In a decade,
this island's shore will be populated with hundreds of young Riders, but
they would never colonize beyond this archipelago without permission of the
locals. The risk is vanishingly small ... but I was still surprised
Woodcarver took it."
Peregrine settled down around Ravna, only one pair of eyes still
watching the Rider's fronds down in the foam. Best to give some explanation.
He cocked a head a Ravna, "Oh, we are medieval, Ravna -- even if changing
fast, now. We admired Blueshell's courage in the fire. Such deserves reward.
And medieval types are used to courting treachery. So what if the risk is of
cosmic size? To us, here, it is no more deadly for that. We poor primitives
live with such all the time."
"Ha!" Her smile spread at his flippant tone.
Peregrine chuckled, heads bobbing. His explanation was the truth, but
not all the truth, or even the most important part. He remembered back to
the day before, when he and Woodcarver had decided what to do with
Greenstalk's request. Woodcarver had been afraid at first, statecraftly
cautious before an evil secret billions of years old. Even leaving such a
being in cold sleep was a risk. The statecraftly ... the medieval ... thing
to do, would be to grant the request, leave the Rider ashore on this distant
island ... and then sneak back a day or two later and kill it.
Peregrine had settled down by his Queen, closer than any but mates and
relations could ever do without losing their train of thought. "You showed
more honor to Vendacious," he had said. Scriber's murderer still walked the
earth, complete, scarcely punished at all.
Woodcarver snapped at the empty air; Peregrine knew that sparing
Vendacious hurt her too. "...Yes. And these Skroderiders have shown us
nothing but courage and honesty. I will not harm Greenstalk. Yet I am
afraid. With her, there's a risk that goes beyond the stars."
Peregrine laughed. It might be pilgrim madness but -- "and that's to be
expected, My Queen. Great risks for great gains. I like being around the
humans; I like touching another creature and still being able to think at
the same time." He darted forward to nuzzle the nearest of Woodcarver, and
then retreated to a more rational distance. "Even without their starships
and their datasets, they would make our world over. Have you noticed ... how
easy it is for us to learn what they know? Even now, Ravna can't seem to
accept our fluency. Even now, she doesn't understand how thoroughly we have
studied Dataset. And their ship is easy, my Queen. I don't mean I understand
the physics behind it -- few even among star folk do. But the equipment is
easy to learn, even with the failures it has suffered. I suspect Ravna will
never be able to fly the agrav boat as well as I."
"Hmmf. But you can reach all the controls at once."
"That's only part of it. I think we Tines are more flexibly minded than
the poor Two-Legs. Can you imagine what it will be like when we make more
radio cloaks, when we make our own flying machines?"
Woodcarver smiled, a little sadly now. "Pilgrim, you dream. This is the
Slow Zone. The agrav will wear out in a few years. Whatever we make will be
far short of what you play with now."
"So? Look at human history. It took less than two centuries for Nyjora
to regain spaceflight after their dark age. And we have better records than
their archaeologists. We and the humans are a wonderful team; they have
freed us to be everything we can be." A century till their own spaceships,
perhaps another century to start building sub- light-speed starships. And
someday they would get out of the Slow Zone. I wonder if packs can be bigger
than eight up in the Transcend.
The younger parts of Woodcarver were up, pacing around the rest. The
Queen was intrigued. "So you think, like Steel seemed to, that we are some
kind of special race, something with a happy destiny in the Beyond?
Interesting, except for one thing: These humans are all we know from Out
There. How do they compare with other races there? Dataset can't fully
answer that."
"Ah, and there, Woodcarver, is why Greenstalk is so important. We do
need experience of more than one other race. Apparently the Riders are among
the most common throughout the Beyond. We need them to talk to. We need to
discover if they are as much fun, as useful, as the Two-Legs. Even if the
risk was ten times what it seems, I would still want to grant this Rider her
wish."
"... Yes. If we are to be all we can be, we need