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"That's not the point. We are in communication with them. We have a good
general library on board. Original inventors don't know where they're going;
they're groping in the dark. Even the archaeologist/engineers of Nyjora had
to reinvent much. But we know everything about making airplanes and such; we
know hundreds of ways of going at it." Now faced with necessity, Ravna was
suddenly sure they could do it. "We can study all the development paths,
eliminate the dead ends. Even more, we can find the quickest way to go from
medieval to specific inventions, things that can beat whatever barbarians
are attacking Jefri's friends."
Ravna's speech tumbled to a stop. She stared, grinning, first at
Greenstalk and then at Blueshell. But a silent Skroderider is one of the
universe's more impassive audiences. It was hard even to tell if they were
looking at her. After a moment Greenstalk said, "Yes, I see. And rediscovery
being so common in the Slow Zone, most of this may already be worked out in
the ship's library."
That's when it happened: Pham turned from the window. He looked across
the deck at Ravna and the Riders. For the first time since Relay, he spoke.
Even more, the words weren't nonsense, though it took her a moment to
understand. "Guns and radios," he said.
"Ah ... yes." She looked back at him. Think of something to make him
say more. "Why those in particular?"
Pham Nuwen shrugged. "It worked on Canberra."
Then damn Blueshell started talking, something about doing a library
search. Pham stared at them for moment, his face expressionless. He turned
back to watch the stars, and the moment was lost.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
"Pham?" He heard Ravna's voice just behind him. She had stayed on the
bridge after the Riders left, departing on whatever meaningless preparations
their meeting had ordained. He didn't reply, and after a moment she drifted
around and blocked his view of the stars. Almost automatically, he found
himself focussing on her face.
"Thank you for talking to us.... We need you more than ever."
He could still see lots of stars. They were all around her, slowly
moving. Ravna cocked her head, the way she did when she meant friendly
puzzlement. "We can help...."
He didn't answer. What had make him speak just now? Then: "You can't
help the dead," he said, vaguely surprised at his own speaking. Like eye
focussing, the speech must be a reflex.
"You're not dead. You're as alive as I am."
Then words tumbled from him; more than in all the days since Relay.
"True. The illusion of self-awareness. Happy automatons, running on trivial
programs. I'll bet you never guess. From the inside, how can you? From the
outside, from Old One's view -- " He looked away from her, dizzy with a
doubled vision.
Ravna drifted closer till her face was just centimeters from his. She
floated free, except for one foot tucked into the floor. "Dear Pham, you are
wrong. You've been at the Bottom, and at the Top, but never in between. ...
'The illusion of self-awareness'? That's a commonplace of any practical
philosophy in the Beyond. It has some beautiful consequences, and some scary
ones. All you know are the scary ones. Think: the illusion must apply just
as surely to the Powers."
"No. He could make devices like you and I."
"Being dead is a choice, Pham." She reached out to pass her hand down
his shoulder and arm. He had a typical 0-gee change of perspective; "down"
seemed to rotate sideways, and he was looking up at her. Suddenly he was
aware of his splotchy beard, his tangled hair floating all about. He looked
up at Ravna, remembering everything he'd thought about her. Back on Relay
she'd seemed bright; maybe not smarter than he, but as smart as most
competitors of the Qeng Ho. But there were other memories, how Old One had
seen her. As usual, His memories were overwhelming; about this one woman,
there was more insight than from all Pham's life experience. As usual, it
was mostly unintelligible. Even His emotions were hard to interpret. But ...
He had thought of Ravna a little like ... a favored dog. Old One could see
right through her. Ravna Bergsndot was a little manipulative; He had been
pleased/amused(?) by that fact. But behind her talk and argument, He'd seen
a great deal of ... "goodness" might be the human word. Old One had wished
her well. In the end, He had even tried to help. Insight flitted past him,
too fast to catch. Ravna was talking again:
"What happened to you is terrible enough, Pham, but it's happened to
others. I've read of cases. Even the Powers are not immortal. Sometimes they
fight among themselves, and someone gets killed. Sometimes, one commits
suicide. There's a star system, Gods' Doom it's called in the story: A
million years ago, it was in the Transcend. It was visited by a party of the
Powers. There was a Zone surge. Suddenly the system was twenty light-years
deep in the Beyond. That's about the biggest surge there is firm record of.
The Powers at Gods' Doom didn't have a chance. They all died, some to rot
and rusted ruin ... others to the level of mere human minds."
"W-what became of those?"
She hesitated, took one of his hands between hers. "You can look it up.
The point is, it happens. To the victims, it's the end of the world. But
from our side, the human side.... Well, the human Pham Nuwen was lucky;
Greenstalk says the failure of Old One's connections didn't do gross organic
damage. Maybe there's subtle damage; sometimes the remnants just destroy
themselves, whatever is left."
Pham felt tears leaking from his eyes. And knew that part of the
deadness inside had been grief for His own death. "Subtle damage!" He shook
his head and the tears drifted into the air. "My head is stuffed with Him,
with His memories." Memories? They towered over everything else. Yet he
could not understand them. He could not understand the details. He could not
even understand the emotions, except as inane simplifications -- joy,
laughter, wonder, fear and icy-steel determination. Now, he was lost in
those memories, wandering like an idiot in a cathedral. Not understanding,
cowering before icons.
She pivoted around their clasped hands. After a moment, her knee bumped
gently against his. "You're still human, you still have your own -- ", her
own voice broke as she saw the look in his eyes.
"My own memories?" Scattered amid the unintelligible he would stumble
on them: himself at five years, sitting on the straw in the great hall,
alert for the appearance of any adult; royals were not supposed to play in
the filth. Ten years later, making love to Cindi for the first time. A year
after that, seeing his first flying machine, the orbital ferry that landed
on his father's parade field. The decades aspace. "Yes, the Qeng Ho. Pham
Nuwen, the great Trader of the Slowness. All the memories are still there.
And for all I know, it's all the Old One's lie, an afternoon's fraud to fool
the Relayers."
Ravna bit her lip, but didn't say anything. She was too honest to lie,
even now.
He reached with his free hand to brush her hair away from her face. "I
know you said that too, Rav. Don't feel bad: I would have caught on by now
anyway."
"Yeah," she said softly. Then she was looking him straight in the eye.
"But know this. One human to another: You are a human now. And there could
have been a Qeng Ho, and you could have been exactly what you remember. And
whatever the past, you could be great in the future."
Ghostly echoes, more than memory and less than reason: For an instant
he saw her with wiser eyes. She loves you, foolish one. Almost laughter,
kindly laughter.
He slid his arms around her, drawing her tight against him. She was so
real. He felt her slip her leg between his. To laugh. Like heart massage,
unthinking reflex bringing a mind back to life. So foolish, so trivial, but,
"I -- I want to come back." The words came out strangled in sobs. "There's
so much inside me now, so much I can't understand. I'm lost inside my own
head."
She didn't say anything, probably couldn't even understand his speech.
For a moment, all he knew was the feel of her in his arms, hugging back. Oh
please, I do want to come back.
Making it on the bridge of a starship was something Ravna had never
done before. But then she'd never had her own starship before, either. They
don't call this a bottom lugger for nothing. In the excitement, Pham lost
his tiedown. They floated free, occasionally bumping into walls and
discarded clothing, or drifting through tears. After many minutes, they
ended up with their heads just a few centimeters off the floor, the rest of
them angled off toward the ceiling. She was vaguely aware that her pants
were flying like a banner from where they had caught on her ankle. The
affair wasn't quite the stuff of romance fiction. For one thing, floating
free you just couldn't get any leverage. For another.... Pham leaned back
from her, relaxing his grip on her back. She brushed aside his red hair and
looked into bloodshot eyes. "You know," he said shakily, "I never guessed I
could cry so hard my face hurt."
She smiled back. "You've led a charmed life then." She arched her back
against his hands, then drew him gently close. They floated in silence for
several minutes, their bodies relaxing into each other's curves, sensing
nothing but each other.
Then: "Thank you, Ravna."
"... my pleasure." Her voice came dreamy serious, and she hugged him
tighter. Strange, all the things he had been to her, some frightening, some
endearing, some enraging. And some she couldn't have admitted -- even to
herself -- till now. For the first time since the fall of Relay, she felt
real hope. A silly physical reaction maybe ... but maybe not. Here in her
arms was a guy who might be the equal of any story book adventurer, and
more: someone who had been part of a Power.
"Pham ... what do you think really happened back on Relay? Why was Old
One murdered?"
Pham's chuckle seemed unforced, but his arms stiffened around her.
"You're asking me? I was dying at the time, remember.... No, that's wrong.
Old One, He was dying at the time." He was silent for a minute. The bridge
turned slowly around them, silent views on the stars beyond. "My godself was
in pain, I know that. He was desperate, panicked.... But He was also trying
to do something to me before He died." His voice went soft, wondering. "Yes.
It was like I was some cheap piece of luggage, and He was stuffing me with
every piece of crap that he could move. You know, ten kilos in a nine kilo
sack. He knew it was hurting me -- I was part of Him, after all -- but that
didn't matter." He twisted back from her, his face getting a little wild
again. "I'm not a sadist; I don't believe He was either. I -- "
Ravna shook her head. "I ... I think he was downloading."
Pham was silent an instant, trying to fit the idea into his situation.
"That doesn't makes sense. There's not room in me to be superhuman." Fear
chased hope in tight circles.
"No, no, wait. You're right. Even if the dying Power figures
reincarnation is possible, there's not enough space in a normal brain to
store much. But Old One was trying for something else.... Remember how I
begged Him to help with our trip to the Bottom?"
"Yes. I -- He -- was sympathetic, the way you might be with animals
that are confronting some new predator. He never considered that the
Perversion might be a threat to him, not until -- "
"Right. Not until he was under attack. That was a complete surprise to
the Powers; suddenly the Perversion was more than a curious problem for
underminds. Then Old One really did try to help. He jammed plans and
automation down into you. He jammed so much, you nearly died, so much you
can't make sense of it. I've read about things like that in Applied Theology
-- " as much legend as fact. "Godshatter, it's called."
"Godshatter?" He seemed to play with the word, wondering. "What a
strange name. I remember His panic. But if He was doing what you say, why
didn't He just tell me? And if I'm filled with good advice, how come all I
see inside is ..." his gaze became a little like days past, "darkness ...
dark statues with sharp edges, crowding."
Again a long silence. But now she could almost feel Pham thinking. His
arms twitched tight and an occasional shudder swept his body. "Yes ... yes.
Lots of things fit. Most of it I still don't understand, never will. Old One
discovered something right there at the end." His arms tightened again, and
he buried his face against her neck. "It was a very ... personal ... sort of
murder the Perversion committed on Him. Even dying, Old One learned." More
silence. "The Perversion is something very old, Ravna. Probably billions of
years. A threat Old One could only theorize before it actually killed Him.
But ..."
One minute. Two. Yet Pham did not continue. "Don't worry, Pham. Give it
time."
"Yeah." He backed off far enough to look her square in the face. "But I
know this much now: Old One did this for a reason. We aren't on a fool's
chase. There's something on the Bottom, in that Straumer ship, that Old One
thought could make a difference."
He ran his hand lightly across her face, and his smile was sad where
there should have been joy. "But don't you see, Ravna? If you're right,
today may be the most human I'll ever be. I'm full of Old One's download,
this godshatter. Most of it I'll never consciously understand, but if things
work properly, it will eventually come exploding out. His remote device; His
robot at the Bottom of the Beyond."
No! But she made herself shrug. "Maybe. But you're human, and we're
working for the same things.... and I'm not letting you go."
Ravna had known that "jumpstarting" technology must be a topic in the
ship's library. It turned out the subject was a major academic specialty.
Besides ten thousand case studies, there were customizing programs and lots
of very dull-looking theory. Though the "rediscovery problem" was trivial in
the Beyond, down in the Slow Zone almost every conceivable combination of
events had happened. Civilizations in the Slowness could not last more than
a few thousand years. Their collapse was sometimes a short eclipse, a few
decades spent recovering from war or atmosphere-bashing. Others drove
themselves back to medievalism. And of course, most races eventually
exterminated themselves, at least within their single solar system. Those
that didn't exterminate themselves (and even a few of those that did)
eventually struggled back to their original heights.
The study of these variations was called the Applied History of
Technology. Unfortunately for both academicians and the civilizations in the
Slow Zone, true applications were a bit rare: The events of the case studies
were centuries old before news of them reached the Beyond, and few
researchers were willing to do field work in the Slow Zone, where finding
and conducting a single experiment could cost them much of their lives. In
any case, it was a nice hobby for millions of university departments. One of
the favorite games was to devise minimal paths from a given level of
technology back to the highest level that could be supported in the
Slowness. The details depended on many things, including the initial level
of primitiveness, the amount of residual scientific awareness (or
tolerance), and the physical nature of the race. The historians' theories
were captured in programs whose inputs were facts about the civilization's
plight and the desired results, and whose outputs were the steps that would
most quickly produce those results.
Two days later, the four of them were back on the OOB's bridge. And
this time we're all talking. "So we must decide what inventions to shoot
for, something that will defend the Hidden Island Kingdom -- "
"-- and something 'Mister Steel' can make in less than one hundred
days," said Blueshell. He had spent most of the last two days fiddling with
the development programs in OOB's library.
"I still say guns and radios," said Pham.
Firepower and communications. Ravna grinned at him. Pham's human
memories alone would be enough to save the kids on Tines World. He hadn't
talked any more of Old One's plans. Old One's plans ... in Ravna's mind
those were something like fate, perhaps good, perhaps terrible, but unknown
for now. And even fate can be weaseled. "How about it, Blueshell?" she said.
"Is radio something they can produce quickly, from a standing start?" On
Nyjora, radio had come almost contemporary with orbital flight -- a good
century into the renaissance.
"Indeed, My Lady Ravna. There are simple tricks that are almost never
noticed till a very high technology is attained. For instance, quantum
torsion antennas can be built from silver and cobalt steel arrays, if the
geometry is correct. Unfortunately, finding the proper geometry involves
lots of theory and the ability to solve some large partial differential
equations. There are many Slow Zoners who never discover the principle."
"Okay," said Pham. "But there's still a translation problem. Jefri has
probably heard the word 'cobalt' before, but how can he describe it to
people who don't have the referent? Without knowing a lot more about their
world, we couldn't even describe how to find cobalt- bearing ore."
"That will slow things down," Blueshell admitted. "But the program
accounts for it. Mr. Steel seems to understand the concept of
experimentation. For cobalt, we can provide him with a tree of experiments
based on descriptions of likely ores and appropriate chemical tests."
"It's not quite that simple," said Greenstalk. "Some of the chemical
tests themselves involve search/test trees. And there are other experiments
needed to check toxicity. We know far less about the pack creatures than is
usual with this program."
Pham smiled. "I hope these creatures are properly grateful; I never
heard of 'quantum torsional antennas'. The Tines are ending up with comm
gear that Qeng Ho never had."
But the gift could be made. The question was, could it be done in time
to save Jefri and his ship from the Woodcarvers? The four of them ran the
program again and again. They knew so little about the pack creatures
themselves. The Hidden Island Kingdom appeared fairly flexible. If they were
willing to go all out to follow the directions, and if they had good luck in
finding nearby sources for critical materials, then it looked like they
might have limited supplies of firearms and radios inside of one hundred
days. On the other hand, if the packs of Hidden Island ended up chasing down
some worst-case branches of the search trees, things might stretch out to a
few years.
Ravna found it hard to accept that no matter what the four of them did,
saving Jefri from the Woodcarvers would be partly a matter of luck. Sigh. In
the end, she took the best scheme the Riders could produce, translated it
into simple Samnorsk, and sent it down.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
Steel had always admired military architecture. Now he was adding a new
chapter to the book, building a castle that protected against the sky as
well as the land around. By now the boxy "ship" on stilts was known across
the continent. Before another summer passed, there would be enemy armies
here, trying to take -- or at least destroy -- the prize that had come to
him. Far more deadly: the star people would be here. He must be ready.
Steel inspected the work almost every day now. The stone replacement
for the palisade was in place all across the south perimeter. On the
cliffside, overlooking Hidden Island, his new den was almost complete ...
had been complete for some time, a part of him grumbled. He really should
move over here; the safety of Hidden Island was fast becoming illusion.
Starship Hill was already the center of the Movement -- and that wasn't just
propaganda. What the Flenser embassies abroad called "the oracle on Starship
Hill" was more than a glib liar could dream. Whoever stood nearest that
oracle would ultimately rule, no matter how clever Steel might be otherwise.
He had already transferred or executed several attendants, packs who seemed
just a little too friendly with Amdijefri.
Starship Hill: When the aliens landed, it had been heather and rock.
Through the winter, there'd been a palisade and a wooden shelter. But now
construction had resumed on the castle, the crown whose jewel was the
starship. Soon this hill would be the capital of the continent and the
world. And after that.... Steel looked into the blue depths of the sky. How
much further his rule extended would depend on saying just the right thing,
on building this castle in a very special way. Enough dreaming. Lord Steel
pulled himself together and descended from the new wall along fresh-cut
stone stairs. The yard within was twelve acres, mostly mud. The muck was
cold on his paws, but the snow and slush were confined to dwindling piles
away from the work routes. Spring was well-advanced, and the sun was warm in
the chill air. He could see for miles, out over Hidden Island all the way to
the Ocean, and down the coast along the fjord country. Steel walked the last
hundred yards up the hill to the starship. His guards paced him on either
side, with Shreck bringing up the rear. There was enough room that the
workers didn't have to back away -- and he had given orders that no one was
to stop because of his presence. That was partly to maintain the fraud with
Amdijefri, and partly because the Movement needed this fortress soon. Just
how soon was a question that gnawed.
Steel was still looking in all directions, but his attention was where
it should be now, on the construction work. The yard was piled with cut
stone and construction timbers. Now that the ground was thawing, the
foundations for the inner wall were being dug. Where it was still hard,
Steel's engineers were injecting boiling water. Steam rose from the holes,
obscuring the windlasses and the diggers below. The place was louder than a
battle field: windlasses creaking, blades hacking at dirt, leaders shouting
to work teams. It was also as crowded as close combat, though not nearly so
chaotic.
Steel watched a digger pack at the bottom of one of the trenches. There
were thirty members, so close to each other that their shoulders sometimes
touched. It was an enormous mob, but there was nothing of an orgy about the
association. Even before Woodcarver, construction and factory guilds had
been doing this sort of thing: The thirty-member pack below was probably not
as bright as a threesome. The front rank of ten swung mattocks in unison,
carving steadily into the wall of dirt. When their heads and mattocks were
extended high, the ten members behind them darted forward to scoop back the
dirt and rocks that had just been freed. Behind them, a third tier of
members hauled the dirt from the pit. Making it work was a complicated bit
of timing -- the earth was not homogeneous -- but it was well within the
mental ability of the pack. They could go on like this for hours, shifting
first and second ranks every few minutes. In years past, the guilds
jealously guarded the secret of each special melding. After a hard day's
work, such a team would split into normally intelligent packs -- each going
home very well paid. Steel smiled to himself. Woodcarver had improved on the
old guild tricks -- but Flenser had provided an essential refinement
(actually a borrowing from the Tropics). Why let the team break up at the
end of a work shift? Flenser work teams stayed together indefinitely, housed
in barracks so small they could never recover their separate pack minds. It
worked well. After a year or two, and with proper culling, the original
packs in such teams were dull things that scarcely wanted to break away.
For a moment Steel watched the cut stone being lowered into the new
hole and mortared into place. Then he nodded at the whitejackets in charge,
and walked on. The foundation holes continued right up to the walls of the
starship compound. This was the trickiest construction of all, the part that
would turn the castle into a beautiful snare. A little more information via
Amdijefri and he would know just what to build.
The door to the starship compound was open just now, and a whitejackets
was sitting back to back in the opening. That guard heard the noise an
instant before Steel: two of its members broke ranks to look around the side
of the compound. Almost inaudibly, there came high screams, then honking
attack calls. The whitejackets leaped from the stairs and raced around the
building. Steel and his guards weren't far behind.
He skidded to a stop at the foundation trench on the far side of the
ship. The immediate source of the racket was obvious. Three packs of
whitejackets were putting a team's talker to the question. They had
separated out the verbal member and were beating it with truncheon whips.
This close, the mental screams were almost as loud as the shouting. The rest
of the digger team was coming out of the trench, breaking into functional
packs and attacking the whitejackets with their mattocks. How could things
get so bloody screwed up? He could guess. These inner foundations were to
contain the most secret tunnels of the entire castle, and the even more
secret devices he planned to use against the Two-Legs. Of course, all of the
workers on such sensitive areas would be disposed of after the job was done.
Stupid though they were, maybe they had guessed their fate.
Under other circumstances, Steel might have backed off and simply
watched. Failures like this could be enlightening; they let him identify the
weaknesses in his subordinates, who was too bad (and too good) to continue
in their jobs. This time was different. Amdijefri were aboard the starship.
There was no view through the wooden walls, and surely there was another
whitejackets on guard within, but-- Even as he lunged forward, shouting to
his servants, Steel's back-looking member caught sight of Jefri coming out
of the compound. Two of the pups were on his shoulders, the rest of Amdi
spilling out around him.
"Stay back!" he yelled at them, and in his sparse Samnorsk, "Danger!
Stay back!" Amdi paused, but the Two-Legs kept coming. Two soldier packs
scattered out of his way. They had standing orders: never touch the alien.
Another second and the careful work of a year would be destroyed. Another
second and Steel might lose the world -- all on account of stupidity and bad
luck.
But even as his back members were shouting at the Two Legs, his forward
ones leaped atop a pile of stone. He pointed at the teams coming out of the
trench. "Kill the invaders!"
His personal guards moved close around him as Shreck and several
troopers streamed by. Steel's consciousness sagged in the bloody noise. This
was not the controlled mayhem of experiments beneath Hidden Island. This was
random death flying in all directions: arrows, spears, mattocks. Members of
the digger team ran about, flailing and crying. They never had a chance, but
they killed a number of others in their dying.
Steel backed away from the melee, toward Jefri. The Two-Legs was still
running toward him. Amdi followed, shouting in Samnorsk. A single mindless
team member, a single misaimed arrow, and the Two-Legs would die and all
would be lost. Never in his life had Steel felt such panic for the safety of
another. He raced to the human, surrounding him. The Two-Legs fell to his
knees and grabbed Steel by a neck. Only a lifetime of discipline kept Steel
from slashing back: the alien wasn't attacking, he was hugging.
The digger team was almost all dead now, and Shreck had pushed the
surviving members too far away to be a threat. Steel's guards were securely
around him only five or ten yards away. Amdi was all clumped together,
cowering in the mind noise, but still shouting to Jefri. Steel tried to
untangle himself from the human, but Jefri just grabbed one neck after
another, sometimes two at a time. He was making burbling noises that didn't
sound like Samnorsk. Steel trembled under the assault. Don't show the
revulsion. The human would not recognize it, but Amdi might. Jefri had done
this before, and Steel had taken advantage even though it cost him. The
mantis child needed physical contact; it was the basis for the relationship
between Amdi and Jefri. Similar trust must come from letting this thing
touch him. Steel slid a head and neck across the creature's back the way he
had seen parents do with pups down in the dungeon laboratories. Jefri hugged
him harder, and swept his long articulate paws across Steel's pelt.
Revulsion aside, it was a very strange experience. Ordinarily such close
contact with another intelligent being could only come in battle or in sex
-- and in either case, there wasn't much room for rational thought. But with
this human -- well, the creature responded with obvious intelligence -- but
there wasn't a trace of mind noise. You could think and feel both at the
same time. Steel bit down on a lip, trying to stifle his shivering. It was
... it was like having sex with a corpse.
Finally Jefri stepped back, holding his hand up. He said something very
fast, and Amdi said, "Oh Lord Steel, you're hurt. See the blood." There was
red on the human's paw; Steel looked at himself. Sure enough, one rump had
taken a nick. He hadn't even felt it till now. Steel backed away from the
mantis and said to Amdi, "It's nothing. Are you and Jefri unhurt?"
There was a rattling exchange between the two children, almost
unintelligible to Steel. "We're fine. Thank you for protecting us."
Fast thinking was something that Flenser had carved into Steel with
knives: "Yes. But it never should have happened. The Woodcarvers disguised
themselves as workers. I think they've been at this for days waiting for a
chance at you. When we guessed the fraud, it was almost too late.... You
should really have stayed inside when you heard the fighting."
Amdi hung his heads ashamedly, and translated to Jefri. "We're sorry.
We got excited, and t-then we thought you might get hurt."
Steel made comforting noises. At the same time, two of him looked
around at the carnage. Where was the whitejackets that had deserted the
stairs right at the beginning? That pack would pay -- His line of thought
crashed to a halt as he noticed: Tyrathect. The Flenser Fragment was
watching from the meeting hall. Now that he thought about it, he'd been
watching since right after the battle began. To others his posture might
seem impassive, but Steel could see the grim amusement in the Fragment's
expression. He nodded briefly at the other, but inside Steel cringed; he had
been so close to losing everything ... and the Flenser had noticed.
"Well let's get you two back to Hidden Island." He signaled to the
keepers that had come up behind the starship.
"Not yet, Lord Steel!" said Amdi, "We just got here. A reply from Ravna
should arrive very soon."
Teeth grated, but out of sight of the children. "Yes, please do stay.
But we'll all be more careful now, right?"
"Yes, yes!" Amdi explained to the human. Steel stood
forelegs-on-shoulders and patted Jefri on the head.
Steel had Shreck take the children back into the compound. Till they
were out of sight, all his members looked on with an expression of pride and
affection. Then he turned and walked across the pinkish mud. Where was that
stupid whitejackets?
The meeting hall on Starship Hill was a small, temporary thing. It had
been good enough to keep the cold out during the winter, but for a
conference of more than three people it was a real madhouse. Steel stomped
past the Flenser Fragment and collected himself on the loft with the best
view of the construction. After a polite moment, Tyrathect entered and
climbed to the facing loft.
But all the decorum was an act for the groundlings outside; now
Flenser's soft laughter hissed across the air to him, just loud enough for
him to hear. "Dear Steel. Sometimes I wonder if you are truly my student ...
or perhaps some changeling inserted after my departure. Are you trying to
screw us up?"
Steel glared back. He was sure there was no uneasiness in his posture;
all that was held within. "Accidents happen. The incompetents will be
culled."
"Quite so. But that appears to be your response to all problems. If you
hadn't been so bent on silencing the digger teams, they might not have
rioted ... and you would have had one less 'accident'."
"The flaw was in their guessing. Such executions are a necessary part
of military construction."
"Oh? You really think I had to kill all those who built the halls under
Hidden Island?"
"What? You mean you didn't? How -- ?"
The Flenser Fragment smiled the old, fanged smile. "Think on it, Steel.
An exercise."
Steel arranged his notes on the desk and pretended to study them. Then
all of him looked back at the other pack. "Tyrathect. I honor you because of
the Flenser in you. But remember: You survive on my sufferance. You are not
the Flenser-in-Waiting." The news had come late last fall, just before
winter closed the last pass over the Icefangs: The packs bearing the rest of
the Master hadn't made it out of Parliament Bowl. The fullness of Flenser
was gone forever. That had been an indescribable relief to Steel, and for a
time afterward the Fragment had been quite tractable. "Not one of my
lieutenants would blink if I killed all of you -- even the Flenser members."
And I'll do it, if you push me hard enough, I swear I will.
"Of course, dear Steel. You command."
For an instant the other's fear showed through. Remember, Steel thought
to himself, always remember: This is just a fragment of the Master. Most of
it is a little school teacher, not the Great Teacher with a Knife. True, its
two Flenser members totally dominated the pack. The spirit of the Master was
right here in this room, but gentled. Tyrathect could be managed, and the
power of the Master used for Steel's ends.
"Good," Steel said smoothly. "As long as you understand this, you can
be of great use to the Movement. In particular," he riffled through the
papers, "I want to review the Visitor situation with you." I want some
advice.
"Yes."
"We've convinced 'Ravna' that her precious Jefri is in imminent danger.
Amdijefri has told her about all the Woodcarver attacks and how we fear an
overwhelming assault."
"And that may really happen."
"Yes. Woodcarver really is planning an attack, and she has her own
source of 'magical' help. We have something much better." He tapped the
papers; the advice had been coming down since early winter. He remembered
when Amdijefri had brought in the first pages, pages of numerical tables, of
directions and diagrams, all drawn in neat but childish style. Steel and the
Fragment had spent days trying to understand. Some of the references were
obvious. The Visitor's recipes required silver and gold in quantities that
would otherwise finance a war. But what was this "liquid silver"? Tyrathect
had recognized it; the Master had used such a thing in his labs in the
Republic. Eventually they acquired the amount specified. But many of the
ingredients were given only as methods for creating them. Steel remembered
the Fragment musing over those, scheming against nature as if it were just
another foe. The recipes of mystics were full of "horn of squid" and "frozen
moonlight". The directions from Ravna were sometimes even stranger. There
were directions within directions, long detours spent in testing common
materials to decide which really fit the greater plan. Building, testing,
building. It was like the Master's own method but without the dead ends.
Some of it made sense early on. They would have the explosives and guns
that Woodcarver thought were her secret weapons. But so much was still
unintelligible -- and it never got easier.
Steel and the Fragment worked through the afternoon, planning how to
set up the latest tests, deciding where to search for the new ingredients
that Ravna demanded.
Tyrathect leaned back, hissing a wondering sigh. "Stage built upon
stage. And soon we'll have our own radios. Old Woodcarver won't have a
chance.... You are right, Steel. With this you can rule the world. Imagine
knowing instantly what is happening in the Republic's Capital and being able
to coordinate armies around that knowledge. The Movement will be the Mind of
God." That was an old slogan, and now it could be true. "I salute you,
Steel. You have a grasp worthy of the Movement." Was there the Teacher's
contempt in his smile? "Radio and guns can give us the world. But clearly
these are crumbs from the Visitors' table. When do they arrive?"
"Between one hundred and one hundred twenty days from now; Ravna has
revised her estimate again. Apparently even the Two-Legs have problems
flying between the stars."
"So we have that long to enjoy the Movement's triumph. And then we are
nothing, less than savages. It might have been safer to forego the gifts,
and persuade the Visitors that there is nothing here worth rescuing."
Steel looked out through the window slits that cut horizontally between
timbers. He could see part of the starship compound, and the castle
foundations, and beyond that the islands of the fjord country. He was
suddenly more confident, more at peace, than he'd been in a long time. It
felt right to reveal his dream. "You really don't see it, do you Tyrathect?
I wonder if the whole Master would understand, or whether I have exceeded
him, too. In the beginning, we had no choice. The Starship was automatically
sending some sort of signal to Ravna. We could have destroyed it; maybe
Ravna would have lost interest... And maybe not, in which case we would be
taken like a fish gilled from a stream. Perhaps I took the greater risk, but
if I win, the prize will be far more than you imagine." The Fragment was
watching him, heads cocked. "I've studied these humans, Jefri and -- through
my spies -- the one down at Woodcarvers. Their race may be older than ours,
and the tricks they've learned make them seem all-powerful. But the race is
flawed. As singletons, they work with handicaps we can scarcely imagine. If
I can use those weaknesses....
"You know the average Tines cares for its pups. We've manipulated
parental sentiments often enough. Imagine how it must be for the humans. To
them, a single pup is also an entire child. Think of the leverage that gives
us."
"You're seriously betting everything on this? Ravna isn't even Jefri's
parent."
Steel made an irritated gesture. "You haven't seen all of Amdi's
translations." Innocent Amdi, the perfect spy. "But you're right, saving the
one child is not the main reason for this Visit. I've tried to find out
their real motive. There are one hundred fifty-one children in some kind of
deathly stupor, all stacked up in coffins within the ship. The Visitors are
desperate to save the children, but there's something else they want. They
never quite talk about it ... I think it's in the machinery of the ship
itself."
"For all we know the children are a brood force, part of an invasion."
That was an old fear and -- after watching Amdijefri -- Steel saw no
chance of it. There could be other traps but, "If the Visitors are lying to
us, then there is really nothing we can do to win. We'll be hunted animals;
maybe generations from now we'll learn their tricks, but it will be the end
of us. On the other hand, we have good reason to believe that the Two-Legs
are weak, and whatever their goals, they do not involve us directly. You
were there the day of the landing, much closer than I. You saw how easy it
was to ambush them, even though their ship is impregnable and their single
weapon a match for a small army. It is obvious that they do not consider us
a threat. No matter how powerful their tools, their real fears are
elsewhere. And in that Starship, we have something they need.
"Look at the foundations of our new castle, Tyrathect. I've told
Amdijefri that it is to protect the Starship against Woodcarver. It will do
that -- later in the Summer when I shatter Woodcarver upon its ramparts. But
see the foundations of the curtain around the Starship. By the time our
Visitors arrive, the ship will be envaulted. I've done some quiet tests on
its hull. It can be breached; a few dozen tons of stone falling on it would
quite nicely crush it. But Ravna is not to worry; this is all for the
protection of her prize. And there will be an open courtyard nearby,
surrounded by strangely high walls. I've asked Jefri to get Ravna's help on
this. The courtyard will be just large enough to enclose Ravna's ship,
protecting it too.
"There are many details still to be settled. We must make the tools
Ravna describes. We must arrange the demise of Woodcarver, well before the
Visitors arrive. I need your help in all those things, and I expect to
receive it. In the end, if the Visitors are treacherous, we will make the
best stand that can be. And if they are not ... well I think you'll agree
that my reach has at least matched my teacher's."
For once, the Flenser Fragment had no reply.
The ship's control cabin was Jefri and Amdi's favorite place in all of
Lord Steel's domain. Being here could still make Jefri very sad, but now the
good memories seemed the stronger ... and here was the best hope for the
future. Amdi was still entranced by the window displays -- even if the views
were all of wooden walls. By their second visit they had already come to
regard the place as their private kingdom, like Jefri's treehouse back on
Straum. And in fact the cabin was much too small to hold more than a single
pack. Usually a member of their bodyguard would sit just inside the entrance
to the main hold, but even that seemed to be uncomfortable duty. This was a
place where they were important.
For all their rambunctiousness, Amdi and Jefri realized the trust that
Lord Steel and Ravna were placing in them. The two kids might race around
out-of-doors, driving their guards to distraction, but the equipment in this
command cabin must be treated as cautiously as when Mom and Dad were here.
In some ways, there was not much left in the ship. The datasets were
destroyed; Jefri's parents had them outside when Woodcarver attacked. During
the winter, Mr. Steel had carried out most of the loose items to study. The
coldsleep boxes were now safe in cool chambers nearby. Every day Amdijefri
inspected the boxes, looked at each familiar face, checked the diag
displays. No sleeper had died since the ambush.
What was left on the ship was hard-fastened to the hull. Jefri had
pointed out the control boards and status elements that managed the
container shell's rocket; they stayed strictly away from those.
Mr. Steel's quilting shrouded the walls. Jefri's folks' baggage and
sleeping bags and exercisers were gone, but there were still the acc webbing
and hard-fastened equipment. And over the months, Amdijefri had brought in
paper and pens and blankets and other junk. There was always a light breeze
from the fans sweeping through the cabin.
It was a happy place, strangely carefree even with all the memories it
brought. This was where they would save the Tines and all the sleepers. And
this was the only place in the world where Amdijefri could talk to another
human being. In some ways, the means of talking seemed as medieval as Lord
Steel's castle: They had one flat display -- no depth, no color, no
pictures. All they could coax from it were alphanumerics. But it was
connected to the ship's ultrawave comm, and that was still programmed to
track their rescuers. There was no voice recognition attached to the
general library on board. Original inventors don't know where they're going;
they're groping in the dark. Even the archaeologist/engineers of Nyjora had
to reinvent much. But we know everything about making airplanes and such; we
know hundreds of ways of going at it." Now faced with necessity, Ravna was
suddenly sure they could do it. "We can study all the development paths,
eliminate the dead ends. Even more, we can find the quickest way to go from
medieval to specific inventions, things that can beat whatever barbarians
are attacking Jefri's friends."
Ravna's speech tumbled to a stop. She stared, grinning, first at
Greenstalk and then at Blueshell. But a silent Skroderider is one of the
universe's more impassive audiences. It was hard even to tell if they were
looking at her. After a moment Greenstalk said, "Yes, I see. And rediscovery
being so common in the Slow Zone, most of this may already be worked out in
the ship's library."
That's when it happened: Pham turned from the window. He looked across
the deck at Ravna and the Riders. For the first time since Relay, he spoke.
Even more, the words weren't nonsense, though it took her a moment to
understand. "Guns and radios," he said.
"Ah ... yes." She looked back at him. Think of something to make him
say more. "Why those in particular?"
Pham Nuwen shrugged. "It worked on Canberra."
Then damn Blueshell started talking, something about doing a library
search. Pham stared at them for moment, his face expressionless. He turned
back to watch the stars, and the moment was lost.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
"Pham?" He heard Ravna's voice just behind him. She had stayed on the
bridge after the Riders left, departing on whatever meaningless preparations
their meeting had ordained. He didn't reply, and after a moment she drifted
around and blocked his view of the stars. Almost automatically, he found
himself focussing on her face.
"Thank you for talking to us.... We need you more than ever."
He could still see lots of stars. They were all around her, slowly
moving. Ravna cocked her head, the way she did when she meant friendly
puzzlement. "We can help...."
He didn't answer. What had make him speak just now? Then: "You can't
help the dead," he said, vaguely surprised at his own speaking. Like eye
focussing, the speech must be a reflex.
"You're not dead. You're as alive as I am."
Then words tumbled from him; more than in all the days since Relay.
"True. The illusion of self-awareness. Happy automatons, running on trivial
programs. I'll bet you never guess. From the inside, how can you? From the
outside, from Old One's view -- " He looked away from her, dizzy with a
doubled vision.
Ravna drifted closer till her face was just centimeters from his. She
floated free, except for one foot tucked into the floor. "Dear Pham, you are
wrong. You've been at the Bottom, and at the Top, but never in between. ...
'The illusion of self-awareness'? That's a commonplace of any practical
philosophy in the Beyond. It has some beautiful consequences, and some scary
ones. All you know are the scary ones. Think: the illusion must apply just
as surely to the Powers."
"No. He could make devices like you and I."
"Being dead is a choice, Pham." She reached out to pass her hand down
his shoulder and arm. He had a typical 0-gee change of perspective; "down"
seemed to rotate sideways, and he was looking up at her. Suddenly he was
aware of his splotchy beard, his tangled hair floating all about. He looked
up at Ravna, remembering everything he'd thought about her. Back on Relay
she'd seemed bright; maybe not smarter than he, but as smart as most
competitors of the Qeng Ho. But there were other memories, how Old One had
seen her. As usual, His memories were overwhelming; about this one woman,
there was more insight than from all Pham's life experience. As usual, it
was mostly unintelligible. Even His emotions were hard to interpret. But ...
He had thought of Ravna a little like ... a favored dog. Old One could see
right through her. Ravna Bergsndot was a little manipulative; He had been
pleased/amused(?) by that fact. But behind her talk and argument, He'd seen
a great deal of ... "goodness" might be the human word. Old One had wished
her well. In the end, He had even tried to help. Insight flitted past him,
too fast to catch. Ravna was talking again:
"What happened to you is terrible enough, Pham, but it's happened to
others. I've read of cases. Even the Powers are not immortal. Sometimes they
fight among themselves, and someone gets killed. Sometimes, one commits
suicide. There's a star system, Gods' Doom it's called in the story: A
million years ago, it was in the Transcend. It was visited by a party of the
Powers. There was a Zone surge. Suddenly the system was twenty light-years
deep in the Beyond. That's about the biggest surge there is firm record of.
The Powers at Gods' Doom didn't have a chance. They all died, some to rot
and rusted ruin ... others to the level of mere human minds."
"W-what became of those?"
She hesitated, took one of his hands between hers. "You can look it up.
The point is, it happens. To the victims, it's the end of the world. But
from our side, the human side.... Well, the human Pham Nuwen was lucky;
Greenstalk says the failure of Old One's connections didn't do gross organic
damage. Maybe there's subtle damage; sometimes the remnants just destroy
themselves, whatever is left."
Pham felt tears leaking from his eyes. And knew that part of the
deadness inside had been grief for His own death. "Subtle damage!" He shook
his head and the tears drifted into the air. "My head is stuffed with Him,
with His memories." Memories? They towered over everything else. Yet he
could not understand them. He could not understand the details. He could not
even understand the emotions, except as inane simplifications -- joy,
laughter, wonder, fear and icy-steel determination. Now, he was lost in
those memories, wandering like an idiot in a cathedral. Not understanding,
cowering before icons.
She pivoted around their clasped hands. After a moment, her knee bumped
gently against his. "You're still human, you still have your own -- ", her
own voice broke as she saw the look in his eyes.
"My own memories?" Scattered amid the unintelligible he would stumble
on them: himself at five years, sitting on the straw in the great hall,
alert for the appearance of any adult; royals were not supposed to play in
the filth. Ten years later, making love to Cindi for the first time. A year
after that, seeing his first flying machine, the orbital ferry that landed
on his father's parade field. The decades aspace. "Yes, the Qeng Ho. Pham
Nuwen, the great Trader of the Slowness. All the memories are still there.
And for all I know, it's all the Old One's lie, an afternoon's fraud to fool
the Relayers."
Ravna bit her lip, but didn't say anything. She was too honest to lie,
even now.
He reached with his free hand to brush her hair away from her face. "I
know you said that too, Rav. Don't feel bad: I would have caught on by now
anyway."
"Yeah," she said softly. Then she was looking him straight in the eye.
"But know this. One human to another: You are a human now. And there could
have been a Qeng Ho, and you could have been exactly what you remember. And
whatever the past, you could be great in the future."
Ghostly echoes, more than memory and less than reason: For an instant
he saw her with wiser eyes. She loves you, foolish one. Almost laughter,
kindly laughter.
He slid his arms around her, drawing her tight against him. She was so
real. He felt her slip her leg between his. To laugh. Like heart massage,
unthinking reflex bringing a mind back to life. So foolish, so trivial, but,
"I -- I want to come back." The words came out strangled in sobs. "There's
so much inside me now, so much I can't understand. I'm lost inside my own
head."
She didn't say anything, probably couldn't even understand his speech.
For a moment, all he knew was the feel of her in his arms, hugging back. Oh
please, I do want to come back.
Making it on the bridge of a starship was something Ravna had never
done before. But then she'd never had her own starship before, either. They
don't call this a bottom lugger for nothing. In the excitement, Pham lost
his tiedown. They floated free, occasionally bumping into walls and
discarded clothing, or drifting through tears. After many minutes, they
ended up with their heads just a few centimeters off the floor, the rest of
them angled off toward the ceiling. She was vaguely aware that her pants
were flying like a banner from where they had caught on her ankle. The
affair wasn't quite the stuff of romance fiction. For one thing, floating
free you just couldn't get any leverage. For another.... Pham leaned back
from her, relaxing his grip on her back. She brushed aside his red hair and
looked into bloodshot eyes. "You know," he said shakily, "I never guessed I
could cry so hard my face hurt."
She smiled back. "You've led a charmed life then." She arched her back
against his hands, then drew him gently close. They floated in silence for
several minutes, their bodies relaxing into each other's curves, sensing
nothing but each other.
Then: "Thank you, Ravna."
"... my pleasure." Her voice came dreamy serious, and she hugged him
tighter. Strange, all the things he had been to her, some frightening, some
endearing, some enraging. And some she couldn't have admitted -- even to
herself -- till now. For the first time since the fall of Relay, she felt
real hope. A silly physical reaction maybe ... but maybe not. Here in her
arms was a guy who might be the equal of any story book adventurer, and
more: someone who had been part of a Power.
"Pham ... what do you think really happened back on Relay? Why was Old
One murdered?"
Pham's chuckle seemed unforced, but his arms stiffened around her.
"You're asking me? I was dying at the time, remember.... No, that's wrong.
Old One, He was dying at the time." He was silent for a minute. The bridge
turned slowly around them, silent views on the stars beyond. "My godself was
in pain, I know that. He was desperate, panicked.... But He was also trying
to do something to me before He died." His voice went soft, wondering. "Yes.
It was like I was some cheap piece of luggage, and He was stuffing me with
every piece of crap that he could move. You know, ten kilos in a nine kilo
sack. He knew it was hurting me -- I was part of Him, after all -- but that
didn't matter." He twisted back from her, his face getting a little wild
again. "I'm not a sadist; I don't believe He was either. I -- "
Ravna shook her head. "I ... I think he was downloading."
Pham was silent an instant, trying to fit the idea into his situation.
"That doesn't makes sense. There's not room in me to be superhuman." Fear
chased hope in tight circles.
"No, no, wait. You're right. Even if the dying Power figures
reincarnation is possible, there's not enough space in a normal brain to
store much. But Old One was trying for something else.... Remember how I
begged Him to help with our trip to the Bottom?"
"Yes. I -- He -- was sympathetic, the way you might be with animals
that are confronting some new predator. He never considered that the
Perversion might be a threat to him, not until -- "
"Right. Not until he was under attack. That was a complete surprise to
the Powers; suddenly the Perversion was more than a curious problem for
underminds. Then Old One really did try to help. He jammed plans and
automation down into you. He jammed so much, you nearly died, so much you
can't make sense of it. I've read about things like that in Applied Theology
-- " as much legend as fact. "Godshatter, it's called."
"Godshatter?" He seemed to play with the word, wondering. "What a
strange name. I remember His panic. But if He was doing what you say, why
didn't He just tell me? And if I'm filled with good advice, how come all I
see inside is ..." his gaze became a little like days past, "darkness ...
dark statues with sharp edges, crowding."
Again a long silence. But now she could almost feel Pham thinking. His
arms twitched tight and an occasional shudder swept his body. "Yes ... yes.
Lots of things fit. Most of it I still don't understand, never will. Old One
discovered something right there at the end." His arms tightened again, and
he buried his face against her neck. "It was a very ... personal ... sort of
murder the Perversion committed on Him. Even dying, Old One learned." More
silence. "The Perversion is something very old, Ravna. Probably billions of
years. A threat Old One could only theorize before it actually killed Him.
But ..."
One minute. Two. Yet Pham did not continue. "Don't worry, Pham. Give it
time."
"Yeah." He backed off far enough to look her square in the face. "But I
know this much now: Old One did this for a reason. We aren't on a fool's
chase. There's something on the Bottom, in that Straumer ship, that Old One
thought could make a difference."
He ran his hand lightly across her face, and his smile was sad where
there should have been joy. "But don't you see, Ravna? If you're right,
today may be the most human I'll ever be. I'm full of Old One's download,
this godshatter. Most of it I'll never consciously understand, but if things
work properly, it will eventually come exploding out. His remote device; His
robot at the Bottom of the Beyond."
No! But she made herself shrug. "Maybe. But you're human, and we're
working for the same things.... and I'm not letting you go."
Ravna had known that "jumpstarting" technology must be a topic in the
ship's library. It turned out the subject was a major academic specialty.
Besides ten thousand case studies, there were customizing programs and lots
of very dull-looking theory. Though the "rediscovery problem" was trivial in
the Beyond, down in the Slow Zone almost every conceivable combination of
events had happened. Civilizations in the Slowness could not last more than
a few thousand years. Their collapse was sometimes a short eclipse, a few
decades spent recovering from war or atmosphere-bashing. Others drove
themselves back to medievalism. And of course, most races eventually
exterminated themselves, at least within their single solar system. Those
that didn't exterminate themselves (and even a few of those that did)
eventually struggled back to their original heights.
The study of these variations was called the Applied History of
Technology. Unfortunately for both academicians and the civilizations in the
Slow Zone, true applications were a bit rare: The events of the case studies
were centuries old before news of them reached the Beyond, and few
researchers were willing to do field work in the Slow Zone, where finding
and conducting a single experiment could cost them much of their lives. In
any case, it was a nice hobby for millions of university departments. One of
the favorite games was to devise minimal paths from a given level of
technology back to the highest level that could be supported in the
Slowness. The details depended on many things, including the initial level
of primitiveness, the amount of residual scientific awareness (or
tolerance), and the physical nature of the race. The historians' theories
were captured in programs whose inputs were facts about the civilization's
plight and the desired results, and whose outputs were the steps that would
most quickly produce those results.
Two days later, the four of them were back on the OOB's bridge. And
this time we're all talking. "So we must decide what inventions to shoot
for, something that will defend the Hidden Island Kingdom -- "
"-- and something 'Mister Steel' can make in less than one hundred
days," said Blueshell. He had spent most of the last two days fiddling with
the development programs in OOB's library.
"I still say guns and radios," said Pham.
Firepower and communications. Ravna grinned at him. Pham's human
memories alone would be enough to save the kids on Tines World. He hadn't
talked any more of Old One's plans. Old One's plans ... in Ravna's mind
those were something like fate, perhaps good, perhaps terrible, but unknown
for now. And even fate can be weaseled. "How about it, Blueshell?" she said.
"Is radio something they can produce quickly, from a standing start?" On
Nyjora, radio had come almost contemporary with orbital flight -- a good
century into the renaissance.
"Indeed, My Lady Ravna. There are simple tricks that are almost never
noticed till a very high technology is attained. For instance, quantum
torsion antennas can be built from silver and cobalt steel arrays, if the
geometry is correct. Unfortunately, finding the proper geometry involves
lots of theory and the ability to solve some large partial differential
equations. There are many Slow Zoners who never discover the principle."
"Okay," said Pham. "But there's still a translation problem. Jefri has
probably heard the word 'cobalt' before, but how can he describe it to
people who don't have the referent? Without knowing a lot more about their
world, we couldn't even describe how to find cobalt- bearing ore."
"That will slow things down," Blueshell admitted. "But the program
accounts for it. Mr. Steel seems to understand the concept of
experimentation. For cobalt, we can provide him with a tree of experiments
based on descriptions of likely ores and appropriate chemical tests."
"It's not quite that simple," said Greenstalk. "Some of the chemical
tests themselves involve search/test trees. And there are other experiments
needed to check toxicity. We know far less about the pack creatures than is
usual with this program."
Pham smiled. "I hope these creatures are properly grateful; I never
heard of 'quantum torsional antennas'. The Tines are ending up with comm
gear that Qeng Ho never had."
But the gift could be made. The question was, could it be done in time
to save Jefri and his ship from the Woodcarvers? The four of them ran the
program again and again. They knew so little about the pack creatures
themselves. The Hidden Island Kingdom appeared fairly flexible. If they were
willing to go all out to follow the directions, and if they had good luck in
finding nearby sources for critical materials, then it looked like they
might have limited supplies of firearms and radios inside of one hundred
days. On the other hand, if the packs of Hidden Island ended up chasing down
some worst-case branches of the search trees, things might stretch out to a
few years.
Ravna found it hard to accept that no matter what the four of them did,
saving Jefri from the Woodcarvers would be partly a matter of luck. Sigh. In
the end, she took the best scheme the Riders could produce, translated it
into simple Samnorsk, and sent it down.
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Steel had always admired military architecture. Now he was adding a new
chapter to the book, building a castle that protected against the sky as
well as the land around. By now the boxy "ship" on stilts was known across
the continent. Before another summer passed, there would be enemy armies
here, trying to take -- or at least destroy -- the prize that had come to
him. Far more deadly: the star people would be here. He must be ready.
Steel inspected the work almost every day now. The stone replacement
for the palisade was in place all across the south perimeter. On the
cliffside, overlooking Hidden Island, his new den was almost complete ...
had been complete for some time, a part of him grumbled. He really should
move over here; the safety of Hidden Island was fast becoming illusion.
Starship Hill was already the center of the Movement -- and that wasn't just
propaganda. What the Flenser embassies abroad called "the oracle on Starship
Hill" was more than a glib liar could dream. Whoever stood nearest that
oracle would ultimately rule, no matter how clever Steel might be otherwise.
He had already transferred or executed several attendants, packs who seemed
just a little too friendly with Amdijefri.
Starship Hill: When the aliens landed, it had been heather and rock.
Through the winter, there'd been a palisade and a wooden shelter. But now
construction had resumed on the castle, the crown whose jewel was the
starship. Soon this hill would be the capital of the continent and the
world. And after that.... Steel looked into the blue depths of the sky. How
much further his rule extended would depend on saying just the right thing,
on building this castle in a very special way. Enough dreaming. Lord Steel
pulled himself together and descended from the new wall along fresh-cut
stone stairs. The yard within was twelve acres, mostly mud. The muck was
cold on his paws, but the snow and slush were confined to dwindling piles
away from the work routes. Spring was well-advanced, and the sun was warm in
the chill air. He could see for miles, out over Hidden Island all the way to
the Ocean, and down the coast along the fjord country. Steel walked the last
hundred yards up the hill to the starship. His guards paced him on either
side, with Shreck bringing up the rear. There was enough room that the
workers didn't have to back away -- and he had given orders that no one was
to stop because of his presence. That was partly to maintain the fraud with
Amdijefri, and partly because the Movement needed this fortress soon. Just
how soon was a question that gnawed.
Steel was still looking in all directions, but his attention was where
it should be now, on the construction work. The yard was piled with cut
stone and construction timbers. Now that the ground was thawing, the
foundations for the inner wall were being dug. Where it was still hard,
Steel's engineers were injecting boiling water. Steam rose from the holes,
obscuring the windlasses and the diggers below. The place was louder than a
battle field: windlasses creaking, blades hacking at dirt, leaders shouting
to work teams. It was also as crowded as close combat, though not nearly so
chaotic.
Steel watched a digger pack at the bottom of one of the trenches. There
were thirty members, so close to each other that their shoulders sometimes
touched. It was an enormous mob, but there was nothing of an orgy about the
association. Even before Woodcarver, construction and factory guilds had
been doing this sort of thing: The thirty-member pack below was probably not
as bright as a threesome. The front rank of ten swung mattocks in unison,
carving steadily into the wall of dirt. When their heads and mattocks were
extended high, the ten members behind them darted forward to scoop back the
dirt and rocks that had just been freed. Behind them, a third tier of
members hauled the dirt from the pit. Making it work was a complicated bit
of timing -- the earth was not homogeneous -- but it was well within the
mental ability of the pack. They could go on like this for hours, shifting
first and second ranks every few minutes. In years past, the guilds
jealously guarded the secret of each special melding. After a hard day's
work, such a team would split into normally intelligent packs -- each going
home very well paid. Steel smiled to himself. Woodcarver had improved on the
old guild tricks -- but Flenser had provided an essential refinement
(actually a borrowing from the Tropics). Why let the team break up at the
end of a work shift? Flenser work teams stayed together indefinitely, housed
in barracks so small they could never recover their separate pack minds. It
worked well. After a year or two, and with proper culling, the original
packs in such teams were dull things that scarcely wanted to break away.
For a moment Steel watched the cut stone being lowered into the new
hole and mortared into place. Then he nodded at the whitejackets in charge,
and walked on. The foundation holes continued right up to the walls of the
starship compound. This was the trickiest construction of all, the part that
would turn the castle into a beautiful snare. A little more information via
Amdijefri and he would know just what to build.
The door to the starship compound was open just now, and a whitejackets
was sitting back to back in the opening. That guard heard the noise an
instant before Steel: two of its members broke ranks to look around the side
of the compound. Almost inaudibly, there came high screams, then honking
attack calls. The whitejackets leaped from the stairs and raced around the
building. Steel and his guards weren't far behind.
He skidded to a stop at the foundation trench on the far side of the
ship. The immediate source of the racket was obvious. Three packs of
whitejackets were putting a team's talker to the question. They had
separated out the verbal member and were beating it with truncheon whips.
This close, the mental screams were almost as loud as the shouting. The rest
of the digger team was coming out of the trench, breaking into functional
packs and attacking the whitejackets with their mattocks. How could things
get so bloody screwed up? He could guess. These inner foundations were to
contain the most secret tunnels of the entire castle, and the even more
secret devices he planned to use against the Two-Legs. Of course, all of the
workers on such sensitive areas would be disposed of after the job was done.
Stupid though they were, maybe they had guessed their fate.
Under other circumstances, Steel might have backed off and simply
watched. Failures like this could be enlightening; they let him identify the
weaknesses in his subordinates, who was too bad (and too good) to continue
in their jobs. This time was different. Amdijefri were aboard the starship.
There was no view through the wooden walls, and surely there was another
whitejackets on guard within, but-- Even as he lunged forward, shouting to
his servants, Steel's back-looking member caught sight of Jefri coming out
of the compound. Two of the pups were on his shoulders, the rest of Amdi
spilling out around him.
"Stay back!" he yelled at them, and in his sparse Samnorsk, "Danger!
Stay back!" Amdi paused, but the Two-Legs kept coming. Two soldier packs
scattered out of his way. They had standing orders: never touch the alien.
Another second and the careful work of a year would be destroyed. Another
second and Steel might lose the world -- all on account of stupidity and bad
luck.
But even as his back members were shouting at the Two Legs, his forward
ones leaped atop a pile of stone. He pointed at the teams coming out of the
trench. "Kill the invaders!"
His personal guards moved close around him as Shreck and several
troopers streamed by. Steel's consciousness sagged in the bloody noise. This
was not the controlled mayhem of experiments beneath Hidden Island. This was
random death flying in all directions: arrows, spears, mattocks. Members of
the digger team ran about, flailing and crying. They never had a chance, but
they killed a number of others in their dying.
Steel backed away from the melee, toward Jefri. The Two-Legs was still
running toward him. Amdi followed, shouting in Samnorsk. A single mindless
team member, a single misaimed arrow, and the Two-Legs would die and all
would be lost. Never in his life had Steel felt such panic for the safety of
another. He raced to the human, surrounding him. The Two-Legs fell to his
knees and grabbed Steel by a neck. Only a lifetime of discipline kept Steel
from slashing back: the alien wasn't attacking, he was hugging.
The digger team was almost all dead now, and Shreck had pushed the
surviving members too far away to be a threat. Steel's guards were securely
around him only five or ten yards away. Amdi was all clumped together,
cowering in the mind noise, but still shouting to Jefri. Steel tried to
untangle himself from the human, but Jefri just grabbed one neck after
another, sometimes two at a time. He was making burbling noises that didn't
sound like Samnorsk. Steel trembled under the assault. Don't show the
revulsion. The human would not recognize it, but Amdi might. Jefri had done
this before, and Steel had taken advantage even though it cost him. The
mantis child needed physical contact; it was the basis for the relationship
between Amdi and Jefri. Similar trust must come from letting this thing
touch him. Steel slid a head and neck across the creature's back the way he
had seen parents do with pups down in the dungeon laboratories. Jefri hugged
him harder, and swept his long articulate paws across Steel's pelt.
Revulsion aside, it was a very strange experience. Ordinarily such close
contact with another intelligent being could only come in battle or in sex
-- and in either case, there wasn't much room for rational thought. But with
this human -- well, the creature responded with obvious intelligence -- but
there wasn't a trace of mind noise. You could think and feel both at the
same time. Steel bit down on a lip, trying to stifle his shivering. It was
... it was like having sex with a corpse.
Finally Jefri stepped back, holding his hand up. He said something very
fast, and Amdi said, "Oh Lord Steel, you're hurt. See the blood." There was
red on the human's paw; Steel looked at himself. Sure enough, one rump had
taken a nick. He hadn't even felt it till now. Steel backed away from the
mantis and said to Amdi, "It's nothing. Are you and Jefri unhurt?"
There was a rattling exchange between the two children, almost
unintelligible to Steel. "We're fine. Thank you for protecting us."
Fast thinking was something that Flenser had carved into Steel with
knives: "Yes. But it never should have happened. The Woodcarvers disguised
themselves as workers. I think they've been at this for days waiting for a
chance at you. When we guessed the fraud, it was almost too late.... You
should really have stayed inside when you heard the fighting."
Amdi hung his heads ashamedly, and translated to Jefri. "We're sorry.
We got excited, and t-then we thought you might get hurt."
Steel made comforting noises. At the same time, two of him looked
around at the carnage. Where was the whitejackets that had deserted the
stairs right at the beginning? That pack would pay -- His line of thought
crashed to a halt as he noticed: Tyrathect. The Flenser Fragment was
watching from the meeting hall. Now that he thought about it, he'd been
watching since right after the battle began. To others his posture might
seem impassive, but Steel could see the grim amusement in the Fragment's
expression. He nodded briefly at the other, but inside Steel cringed; he had
been so close to losing everything ... and the Flenser had noticed.
"Well let's get you two back to Hidden Island." He signaled to the
keepers that had come up behind the starship.
"Not yet, Lord Steel!" said Amdi, "We just got here. A reply from Ravna
should arrive very soon."
Teeth grated, but out of sight of the children. "Yes, please do stay.
But we'll all be more careful now, right?"
"Yes, yes!" Amdi explained to the human. Steel stood
forelegs-on-shoulders and patted Jefri on the head.
Steel had Shreck take the children back into the compound. Till they
were out of sight, all his members looked on with an expression of pride and
affection. Then he turned and walked across the pinkish mud. Where was that
stupid whitejackets?
The meeting hall on Starship Hill was a small, temporary thing. It had
been good enough to keep the cold out during the winter, but for a
conference of more than three people it was a real madhouse. Steel stomped
past the Flenser Fragment and collected himself on the loft with the best
view of the construction. After a polite moment, Tyrathect entered and
climbed to the facing loft.
But all the decorum was an act for the groundlings outside; now
Flenser's soft laughter hissed across the air to him, just loud enough for
him to hear. "Dear Steel. Sometimes I wonder if you are truly my student ...
or perhaps some changeling inserted after my departure. Are you trying to
screw us up?"
Steel glared back. He was sure there was no uneasiness in his posture;
all that was held within. "Accidents happen. The incompetents will be
culled."
"Quite so. But that appears to be your response to all problems. If you
hadn't been so bent on silencing the digger teams, they might not have
rioted ... and you would have had one less 'accident'."
"The flaw was in their guessing. Such executions are a necessary part
of military construction."
"Oh? You really think I had to kill all those who built the halls under
Hidden Island?"
"What? You mean you didn't? How -- ?"
The Flenser Fragment smiled the old, fanged smile. "Think on it, Steel.
An exercise."
Steel arranged his notes on the desk and pretended to study them. Then
all of him looked back at the other pack. "Tyrathect. I honor you because of
the Flenser in you. But remember: You survive on my sufferance. You are not
the Flenser-in-Waiting." The news had come late last fall, just before
winter closed the last pass over the Icefangs: The packs bearing the rest of
the Master hadn't made it out of Parliament Bowl. The fullness of Flenser
was gone forever. That had been an indescribable relief to Steel, and for a
time afterward the Fragment had been quite tractable. "Not one of my
lieutenants would blink if I killed all of you -- even the Flenser members."
And I'll do it, if you push me hard enough, I swear I will.
"Of course, dear Steel. You command."
For an instant the other's fear showed through. Remember, Steel thought
to himself, always remember: This is just a fragment of the Master. Most of
it is a little school teacher, not the Great Teacher with a Knife. True, its
two Flenser members totally dominated the pack. The spirit of the Master was
right here in this room, but gentled. Tyrathect could be managed, and the
power of the Master used for Steel's ends.
"Good," Steel said smoothly. "As long as you understand this, you can
be of great use to the Movement. In particular," he riffled through the
papers, "I want to review the Visitor situation with you." I want some
advice.
"Yes."
"We've convinced 'Ravna' that her precious Jefri is in imminent danger.
Amdijefri has told her about all the Woodcarver attacks and how we fear an
overwhelming assault."
"And that may really happen."
"Yes. Woodcarver really is planning an attack, and she has her own
source of 'magical' help. We have something much better." He tapped the
papers; the advice had been coming down since early winter. He remembered
when Amdijefri had brought in the first pages, pages of numerical tables, of
directions and diagrams, all drawn in neat but childish style. Steel and the
Fragment had spent days trying to understand. Some of the references were
obvious. The Visitor's recipes required silver and gold in quantities that
would otherwise finance a war. But what was this "liquid silver"? Tyrathect
had recognized it; the Master had used such a thing in his labs in the
Republic. Eventually they acquired the amount specified. But many of the
ingredients were given only as methods for creating them. Steel remembered
the Fragment musing over those, scheming against nature as if it were just
another foe. The recipes of mystics were full of "horn of squid" and "frozen
moonlight". The directions from Ravna were sometimes even stranger. There
were directions within directions, long detours spent in testing common
materials to decide which really fit the greater plan. Building, testing,
building. It was like the Master's own method but without the dead ends.
Some of it made sense early on. They would have the explosives and guns
that Woodcarver thought were her secret weapons. But so much was still
unintelligible -- and it never got easier.
Steel and the Fragment worked through the afternoon, planning how to
set up the latest tests, deciding where to search for the new ingredients
that Ravna demanded.
Tyrathect leaned back, hissing a wondering sigh. "Stage built upon
stage. And soon we'll have our own radios. Old Woodcarver won't have a
chance.... You are right, Steel. With this you can rule the world. Imagine
knowing instantly what is happening in the Republic's Capital and being able
to coordinate armies around that knowledge. The Movement will be the Mind of
God." That was an old slogan, and now it could be true. "I salute you,
Steel. You have a grasp worthy of the Movement." Was there the Teacher's
contempt in his smile? "Radio and guns can give us the world. But clearly
these are crumbs from the Visitors' table. When do they arrive?"
"Between one hundred and one hundred twenty days from now; Ravna has
revised her estimate again. Apparently even the Two-Legs have problems
flying between the stars."
"So we have that long to enjoy the Movement's triumph. And then we are
nothing, less than savages. It might have been safer to forego the gifts,
and persuade the Visitors that there is nothing here worth rescuing."
Steel looked out through the window slits that cut horizontally between
timbers. He could see part of the starship compound, and the castle
foundations, and beyond that the islands of the fjord country. He was
suddenly more confident, more at peace, than he'd been in a long time. It
felt right to reveal his dream. "You really don't see it, do you Tyrathect?
I wonder if the whole Master would understand, or whether I have exceeded
him, too. In the beginning, we had no choice. The Starship was automatically
sending some sort of signal to Ravna. We could have destroyed it; maybe
Ravna would have lost interest... And maybe not, in which case we would be
taken like a fish gilled from a stream. Perhaps I took the greater risk, but
if I win, the prize will be far more than you imagine." The Fragment was
watching him, heads cocked. "I've studied these humans, Jefri and -- through
my spies -- the one down at Woodcarvers. Their race may be older than ours,
and the tricks they've learned make them seem all-powerful. But the race is
flawed. As singletons, they work with handicaps we can scarcely imagine. If
I can use those weaknesses....
"You know the average Tines cares for its pups. We've manipulated
parental sentiments often enough. Imagine how it must be for the humans. To
them, a single pup is also an entire child. Think of the leverage that gives
us."
"You're seriously betting everything on this? Ravna isn't even Jefri's
parent."
Steel made an irritated gesture. "You haven't seen all of Amdi's
translations." Innocent Amdi, the perfect spy. "But you're right, saving the
one child is not the main reason for this Visit. I've tried to find out
their real motive. There are one hundred fifty-one children in some kind of
deathly stupor, all stacked up in coffins within the ship. The Visitors are
desperate to save the children, but there's something else they want. They
never quite talk about it ... I think it's in the machinery of the ship
itself."
"For all we know the children are a brood force, part of an invasion."
That was an old fear and -- after watching Amdijefri -- Steel saw no
chance of it. There could be other traps but, "If the Visitors are lying to
us, then there is really nothing we can do to win. We'll be hunted animals;
maybe generations from now we'll learn their tricks, but it will be the end
of us. On the other hand, we have good reason to believe that the Two-Legs
are weak, and whatever their goals, they do not involve us directly. You
were there the day of the landing, much closer than I. You saw how easy it
was to ambush them, even though their ship is impregnable and their single
weapon a match for a small army. It is obvious that they do not consider us
a threat. No matter how powerful their tools, their real fears are
elsewhere. And in that Starship, we have something they need.
"Look at the foundations of our new castle, Tyrathect. I've told
Amdijefri that it is to protect the Starship against Woodcarver. It will do
that -- later in the Summer when I shatter Woodcarver upon its ramparts. But
see the foundations of the curtain around the Starship. By the time our
Visitors arrive, the ship will be envaulted. I've done some quiet tests on
its hull. It can be breached; a few dozen tons of stone falling on it would
quite nicely crush it. But Ravna is not to worry; this is all for the
protection of her prize. And there will be an open courtyard nearby,
surrounded by strangely high walls. I've asked Jefri to get Ravna's help on
this. The courtyard will be just large enough to enclose Ravna's ship,
protecting it too.
"There are many details still to be settled. We must make the tools
Ravna describes. We must arrange the demise of Woodcarver, well before the
Visitors arrive. I need your help in all those things, and I expect to
receive it. In the end, if the Visitors are treacherous, we will make the
best stand that can be. And if they are not ... well I think you'll agree
that my reach has at least matched my teacher's."
For once, the Flenser Fragment had no reply.
The ship's control cabin was Jefri and Amdi's favorite place in all of
Lord Steel's domain. Being here could still make Jefri very sad, but now the
good memories seemed the stronger ... and here was the best hope for the
future. Amdi was still entranced by the window displays -- even if the views
were all of wooden walls. By their second visit they had already come to
regard the place as their private kingdom, like Jefri's treehouse back on
Straum. And in fact the cabin was much too small to hold more than a single
pack. Usually a member of their bodyguard would sit just inside the entrance
to the main hold, but even that seemed to be uncomfortable duty. This was a
place where they were important.
For all their rambunctiousness, Amdi and Jefri realized the trust that
Lord Steel and Ravna were placing in them. The two kids might race around
out-of-doors, driving their guards to distraction, but the equipment in this
command cabin must be treated as cautiously as when Mom and Dad were here.
In some ways, there was not much left in the ship. The datasets were
destroyed; Jefri's parents had them outside when Woodcarver attacked. During
the winter, Mr. Steel had carried out most of the loose items to study. The
coldsleep boxes were now safe in cool chambers nearby. Every day Amdijefri
inspected the boxes, looked at each familiar face, checked the diag
displays. No sleeper had died since the ambush.
What was left on the ship was hard-fastened to the hull. Jefri had
pointed out the control boards and status elements that managed the
container shell's rocket; they stayed strictly away from those.
Mr. Steel's quilting shrouded the walls. Jefri's folks' baggage and
sleeping bags and exercisers were gone, but there were still the acc webbing
and hard-fastened equipment. And over the months, Amdijefri had brought in
paper and pens and blankets and other junk. There was always a light breeze
from the fans sweeping through the cabin.
It was a happy place, strangely carefree even with all the memories it
brought. This was where they would save the Tines and all the sleepers. And
this was the only place in the world where Amdijefri could talk to another
human being. In some ways, the means of talking seemed as medieval as Lord
Steel's castle: They had one flat display -- no depth, no color, no
pictures. All they could coax from it were alphanumerics. But it was
connected to the ship's ultrawave comm, and that was still programmed to
track their rescuers. There was no voice recognition attached to the