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him with her soft hate. Normally she lurked around the edges of his
consciousness, tweaking a word here, a motive there. After the static, she
was much worse; on one occasion she'd held control for almost a dayaround.
Given a year without crises, Flenser could have studied Ty and Ra and Thect
and done a proper excision. Thect, the member with the white-tipped ears,
was probably the one to kill: it wasn't bright, but it was likely the
capstone of the trio. With a precisely crafted replacement, Flenser might be
even greater than before the massacre at Parliament Bowl. But for now,
Flenser was stuck; soul surgery on one's self was an awesome challenge --
even to The Master.
So. Careful. Careful. Keep the cloaks well charged, take no long trips,
and don't let any one person see all the threads of your plan. While Steel
thought he was seeking Rangolith, Flenser was talking to Amdi and Jefri.
The human's face was wet with tears. "F-four times we've missed
R-ravna. What has happened to her?" His voice screeched up. Flenser hadn't
realized there was such flexibility in the belching mechanism that humans
use to make sound.
Most of Amdi clustered round the boy. He licked Jefri's cheeks. "It
could be our ultrawave. Maybe it's broken." He looked beseechingly at
Flenser. There were tears in the puppies' eyes, too. "Tyrathect, please ask
Steel again. Let us stay in the ship all the dayaround. Maybe there are
messages that have come through and not been recorded."
Flenser with Steel descended the northern stairs, crossed the parade
ground. He gave a sliver of attention to the other's complaints about the
sloppy maintenance around the practice stands. At least Steel was smart
enough to keep the discipline scaffolds over on Hidden Island.
Flenser with Rangolith's troopers splashed through a mountain stream.
Even in high summer, in the middle of a Drywind, there were still snow
patches, and the streams running from under them were icy cold.
Flenser with Amdijefri edged forward, let two of Amdi rest against his
sides. Both children liked physical contact, and he was the only one they
had besides each other. It was all perversion of course, but Flenser had
based his life on manipulating others' weakness, and -- but for the pain --
welcomed it. Flenser buzzed a deep purring sound through his shoulders,
caressing the puppy next to him. "I'll ask our Lord Steel the very next time
I see him."
"Thank you." A puppy nuzzled at his cloak, then mercifully moved away;
Flenser was a mass of sores beneath that cover. Perhaps Amdi realized that,
or perhaps -- more and more Flenser saw a reticence in the children. His
comment to Steel had been a slip into the truth: these two really didn't
trust him. That was Tyrathect's fault. On his own, Flenser would have had no
trouble winning Amdijefri's love. Flenser had none of Steel's killing temper
and fragile dignity. Flenser could chat for casual pleasure, all the while
mixing truth with lies. One of his greatest talents was empathy; no sadist
can aspire to perfection without that diagnostic ability. But just when he
was doing well, when they seemed about to open to him -- then Ty or Ra or
Thect would pop up, twisting his expression or poisoning his choice of
phrase. Perhaps he should content himself with undermining the children's
respect for Steel (without, of course, ever saying anything directly against
him). Flenser sighed, and patted Jefri's arm comfortingly. "Ravna will be
back. I'm sure of it." The human sniffled a little, then reached out to pet
the part of Flenser's head that was not shrouded by the cloak. They sat in
companionable silence for a moment, and his attention drifted back to --
-- the forest and Rangolith's troops. The group had been moving uphill
for almost ten minutes. The others were lightly burdened and used to this
sort of exercise. Flenser's two members were lagging. He hissed at the group
leader.
The group leader sidled back, his squad shifting briskly out of his
way. He stopped when his nearest was fifteen feet from Flenser's. The
soldier's heads cocked this way and that. "Your wishes ... My Lord?" This
one was new; he had been briefed about the cloaks, but Flenser knew the
fellow didn't understand the new rules. The gold and silver that glinted in
the darkness of the cloaks -- those colors were reserved for the Lords of
the Domain. Yet there only two of Flenser here; normally such a fragment
could barely carry on a conversation, much less give reasonable orders. Just
as disconcerting, Flenser knew, was his lack of mind sound. "Zombie" was the
word some of the troops used when they thought themselves alone.
Flenser pointed up the hill; the timberline was only a few yards away.
"Farscout Rangolith is on the other side. We will take a short cut," he said
weakly.
Part of the other was already looking up the hill. "That is not good,
sir." The trooper spoke slowly. Stupid damn duo, his posture said. "The bad
ones will see us."
Flenser glowered at the other, a hard thing to do properly when you are
just two. "Soldier, do you see the gold on my shoulders? Even one of me is
worth all of you. If I say take a short cut, we do it -- even if it means
walking belly deep through brimstone." Actually, Flenser knew exactly where
Vendacious had put lookouts. There was no risk in crossing the open ground
here. And he was so tired.
The group leader still didn't know quite what Flenser was, but he saw
the dark-cloaks were at least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed
off humbly, bellies dragging on the ground. The group turned up hill and a
few minutes later were walking across open heather.
Rangolith's command post was less than a half mile away along this path
--
Flenser with Steel walked into the inner keep. The stone was freshly
cut, the walls thrown up with the feverish speed of all this castle's
construction. Thirty feet over their heads, where vault met buttresses,
there were small holes set in the stonework. Those holes would soon be
filled with gunpowder -- as would slots in the wall surrounding the landing
field. Steel called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to
Flenser. "So what does Rangolith say?"
"Sorry. He's been out on patrol. He should be here -- I mean, he should
be in camp -- any minute." Flenser did his best to conceal his own trips
with the scouts. Such recons were not forbidden, but Steel would have
demanded explanations if he knew.
Flenser with Rangolith's troops sloshed through water-soaked heather.
The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool
tongues partway under his wretched cloaks.
Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were
in a slight depression at the edge of a large summer pond. A hundred yards
away, a huge patch of a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond,
and kept the air pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight from below,
yet the site was so high in the hills that from the edge of the depression
there was a clear view across three points of the compass, centered on the
south. Resupply could be accomplished from the north with little chance of
detection, and even if the damn fires struck the forests below, this post
would be untouched.
Farscout Rangolith was lounging about his signal mirrors, oiling the
aiming gears. One of his subordinates lay with snouts stuck over the lip of
the hill, scanning the landscape with its telescopes. He came to attention
at the sight of Flenser, but his gaze wasn't full of fear. Like most
long-range scouts, he wasn't completely terrorized by castle politics.
Besides, Flenser had cultivated an "us against the prigs" relationship with
the fellow. Now Rangolith growled at the group leader: "The next time you
come prancing across the open like that, your asses go on report."
"My fault, Farscout," put in Flenser. "I have some important news."
They walked away from the others, down toward Rangolith's tent.
"See something interesting, did you?" Rangolith was smiling oddly. He
had long ago figured out that Flenser was not a brilliant duo, but part of a
pack with members back at the castle.
"When is your next session with Craddleheads?" That was the fieldname
for Vendacious.
"Just past noon. He hasn't missed in four days. The Southerners seem to
be on one big squat."
"That will change." Flenser repeated Steel's orders for Vendacious. The
words came hard. The traitor within him was restive; he felt the beginnings
of a major attack.
"Wow! You're going to move everything over to Margrum Climb in less
than two -- Never mind, that's something I'd best not know."
Under his cloaks, Flenser bristled. There are limits to chumminess.
Rangolith had his points, but maybe after all this was over he could be
smoothed into something less ... ad hoc.
"Is that all, My Lord?"
"Yes -- No." Flenser shivered with uncharacteristic puzzlement. The
trouble with these cloaks, sometimes they made it hard to remember things.
By the Great Pack, no! It was that Tyrathect again. Steel had ordered the
killing of Woodcarver's human -- all things considered, a perfectly sensible
move, but...
Flenser with Steel shook his head angrily, his teeth clicking together.
"Something the matter?" said Lord Steel. He really seemed to love the pain
that the radio cloaks caused Flenser.
"Nothing, my lord. Just a touch of the static." In fact there was no
static, yet Flenser felt himself disintegrating. What had given the other
such sudden power?
Flenser with Amdijefri snapped his jaws open and shut, open and shut.
The children jumped back from him, eyes wide. "It's okay," he said grimly,
even as his two bodies thrashed against each other. There really were lots
of good reasons why they should keep Johanna Olsndot alive: In the long run,
it assured Jefri's good will. And it could be Flenser's secret human.
Perhaps he could fake the Two Leg's death to Steel and -- No. No. No!
Flenser grabbed back control, jamming the rationalizations out of mind. The
very tricks he had used against Tyrathect, she thought to turn against him.
It won't work on me. I am the master of lies.
And then her attack twisted again, became a massive bludgeoning that
destroyed all thought.
With Flenser, with Rangolith, with Amdijefri -- all of him was making
little gibbering noises now. Lord Steel danced around him, unsure whether to
laugh or be concerned. Rangolith goggled at him in frank amazement.
The two children edged back to touch him, "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"
The human slipped those remarkable hands under the radio cloak and brushed
softly at Flenser's bleeding fur. The world blurred in a surge of static.
"No. Don't do that. It might hurt him more," came Amdi's voice. The puppies'
tiny muzzles reached out, trying to help with the cloaks.
Flenser felt his being pushed downwards, towards oblivion. Tyrathect's
final attack was a frontal assault, without rationalizations or sly
infiltration, and...
... And she looked out upon herself in astonishment. After so many
days, I am me. And in control. Enough butchering of innocents. If anyone is
to die, it is Steel and Flenser. Her head followed Steel's prancing forms,
picked out the most articulate member. She gathered her legs beneath her,
and prepared to leap at its throat. Come just a little closer ... and die.
Tyrathect's last moment of consciousness probably didn't last longer
than five seconds. Her attack on Flenser was a desperate, all-out thing that
left her without reserves or internal defense. Even as she tensed to leap
upon Steel, she felt her soul being pulled back and down, and Flenser rising
up from the darkness. She felt the member's legs spasm and collapse, the
ground smash into its face...
... And Flenser was back in control. The weakling's attack had been
astonishing. She really had cared for the ones who were to be destroyed,
cared so much she was willing to sacrifice herself if it would kill Flenser.
And that had been her undoing. Suicide is never something to hang pack
dominance on. Her very resolve had weakened her hold on the hindmind -- and
given The Master his chance. He was back in control, and with a great
opportunity. Tyrathect's assault had left her defenseless. The innermost
mental barriers around her three members were suddenly as thin as the skin
of an overripe fruit. Flenser slashed through the membrane, pawed at the
flesh of her mind, spattering it across his own. The three who had been her
core would still live, but never again would they have a soul separate from
his.
Flenser with Steel sprawled as though unconscious, his convulsions
subsiding. Let Steel think him incapacitated. It would give him time to
think of the most advantageous explanation.
Flenser with Rangolith came slowly to his feet, though the two members
were still in a posture of confusion. Flenser pulled them together. No
explanations were due here, but it would be best if Farscout didn't suspect
soulstrife. "The cloaks are powerful tools, dear Rangolith; sometimes a bit
too powerful."
"Yes, my lord."
Flenser let a smile spread across his features. For a moment he was
silent, savoring what he would say next. No, there was no sign of the
weak-willed one. This had been her last, best try at domination -- her last
and biggest mistake. Flenser's smile spread further, all the way to the two
with Amdijefri. It suddenly occurred to him that Johanna Olsndot would be
the first person he had ordered killed since his return to Hidden Island.
Johanna Olsndot would therefore be the first blood on three of his muzzles.
"There's one more item for Craddleheads, Farscout. An execution...." As
he spoke the details, the warmth of a decision well-made spread through his
members.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
The only good thing about all the waiting had been the chance it gave
the wounded. Now that Vendacious had found a way past the Flenserist
defenses, everyone was anxious to break camp, but....
Johanna spent the last afternoon at the field hospital. The hospital
was laid off in rough rectangles, each about six meters across. Some of the
plots had ragged tents -- those belonging to wounded who were still smart
enough to care for themselves. Others were surrounded by stranded fencing;
inside each of those was a single member, the survivor of what had once been
an entire pack. The singletons could easily have jumped the fences, but most
seemed to recognize their purpose, and stayed within.
Johanna pulled the food cart through the area, stopping at first one
patient and then another. The cart was a bit too large for her, and
sometimes it got caught in the roots that grew across the the forest floor.
Yet this was a job that she could do better than any pack, and it was nice
to find a way she could help.
In the forest around the hospital there was the sound of kherhogs being
coaxed up to wagon ties, the shouts of crews securing the cannons and
getting the camp gear stowed. From the maps Vendacious had shown at the
meeting, it was clear the next two days would be an exhausting time -- but
at the end of it they would have the high ground behind unsuspecting
Flenserists.
She stopped at the first little tent. The threesome inside had heard
her coming and was outside now, running little circles around her cart.
"Johanna! Johanna!" it said in her own voice. This was all that was left of
one of Woodcarver's minor strategists; once upon a time, it had known some
Samnorsk. The pack had originally been six; three had been killed by the
wolves. What was left was the "talker" part -- about as bright as a five
year old, though with an odd vocabulary. "Thank you for food. Thank you."
Its muzzles pushed at her. She patted the heads before reaching into the
cart and pulling out bowls of lukewarm stew. Two of them dug in right away,
but the third sat back for a moment and chatted. "I hear, we fight soon."
Not you anymore, but "Yes. We are going up by the dry fall, just east
of here."
"Uh, oh." It said. "Uh, oh. That's bad. Poor seeing, no control, ambush
scary." Apparently the fragment had some memories of its own tactical work.
But there was no way Johanna could explain Vendacious's reasoning to it.
"Don't worry, we will make it okay."
"You sure? You promise?"
Johanna smiled gently at what was left of a rather nice fellow. "Yes. I
promise."
"Ah-ah-ah.... Okay." Now all three had their muzzles stuck into stew
bowls. This was one of the lucky ones, really. It showed plenty of interest
in what went on around it. Just as important, it had childlike enthusiasms.
Pilgrim said that fragments like this could grow back easily if they were
just treated right long enough to bear a puppy or two.
She pushed the cart a few meters further, to the fenced square that was
the symbolic corral for a singleton. There was a faint odor of shit in the
air. Some of the singletons and duos were not housebroken; in any case, the
camp latrines were a hundred meters away.
"Here, Blacky. Blacky?" Johanna banged an empty bowl against the side
of the cart. A single head eased up from behind some root bushes; sometimes
this one wouldn't even do that much. Johanna got on her knees so her eyes
weren't much higher than the black-faced one. "Blacky?"
The creature pulled himself out of the bushes and slowly approached.
This was all that was left of one of Scrupilo's cannoneers. She vaguely
remembered the pack, a handsome sixsome all large and fast. But now, even
"Blacky" wasn't whole: a falling gun had crushed his rear legs. He dragged
his legless rear on a little wagon with thirty centimeter wheels... sort of
like a Skroderider with forelegs. She pushed a bowl of stew toward him, and
made the noises that Pilgrim coached her in. Blacky had refused food the
last three days, but today he rolled and walked close enough that she could
pet his head. After a moment he lowered his muzzle to the stew.
Johanna grinned in surprised pleasure. This hospital was a strange
place. A year ago she would have been horrified by it; even now she didn't
have the proper Tinish outlook on the wounded. As she continued to pet
Blacky's lowered head, Johanna looked across the forest floor at the crude
tents, the patients and parts of patients. It really was a hospital. The
surgeons did try to save lives, even if the medical science was a horrifying
process of cutting and splinting without anesthetics. In that regard, it was
quite comparable to the medieval human medicine that Johanna had seen on
Dataset. But with the Tines there was something more. This place was almost
a spare parts warehouse. The medics were interested in the welfare of packs.
To them, singletons were pieces that might have a use in making larger
fragments workable, at least temporarily. Injured singletons were at the
bottom of all medical priorities. "There's not much left to save in such
cases," one medic had said to her via Pilgrim, "And even if there was, would
you want a crippled, loose-bonded member in your self?" The fellow had been
too tired to notice the absurdity of his question. His muzzles had been
dripping blood; he'd been working for hours to save wounded members of whole
packs.
Besides, most wounded singletons just stopped eating and died in less
than a tenday. Even after a year with Tines, Johanna couldn't quite accept
it. Every singleton reminded her of dear Scriber; she wanted them to have a
better chance than his last remnant had. She had taken over the food cart
and spent as much time with the wounded singletons as she did with any of
the other patients. It had worked out well. She could get close to each
patient without mindsound interference. Her help gave the brood kenners more
time to study the larger fragments and the uninjured singletons, and try to
build working packs from the wreckage.
And now maybe this one wouldn't starve. She'd tell Pilgrim. He'd done
miracles with some of the other match ups, and seemed to be the only pack
who shared some of her feelings for damaged singletons. "If they don't
starve it often means a strength of mind. Even crippled, they could be an
advantage to a pack," he'd said to her. "I've been crippled off and on in my
travels; you can't always pick and choose when you're down to three and
you're a thousand miles into an unknown land."
Johanna set a bowl of water beside the stew. After a moment, the
crippled member turned on his axle and took some shallow sips. "Hang on,
Blacky, we'll find someone for you to be."
Chitiratte was where he was supposed to be, walking his post exactly as
expected. Nevertheless, he felt a thrill of nervousness. He always kept at
least one head gazing at the mantis creature, the Two-Legs. Nothing
suspicious about that posture either. He was supposed to be doing security
duty here, and that meant keeping a lookout in all directions. He shifted
his crossbow nervously about from jaws to field pack and back to jaws. Just
a few more minutes....
Chitiratte circled the hospital compound once more. It was soft duty.
Even though this stretch of wood had been spared, the drywind fires had
chased the bigger wildlife downstream. This close to the river, the ground
was covered with softbush, and there was scarcely a thorn to be found.
Pacing around the hospital was like a walk on Woodcarver's Green down south.
A few hundred yards east was harder work -- getting the wagons and supplies
in shape for the climb.
The fragments knew that something was up. Here and there, heads stuck
up from pallets and burrows. They watched the wagons being loaded, heard the
familiar voices of friends. The dumbest ones felt a call to duty; he had
chased three able-bodied singles back into the compound. No way such feebs
could be of any help. When the army marched up Margrum Climb, the hospital
would stay behind. Chitiratte wished he could too. He'd been working for the
Boss long enough to guess whence his orders ultimately came; Chitiratte
suspected that not many would be coming back from Margrum Climb.
He turned three pairs of eyes toward the mantis creature. This latest
job was the riskiest thing he'd been a part of. If it worked out he might
just demand that the Boss leave him with the hospital. Just be careful, old
fellow. Vendacious didn't get where he is by leaving loose ends. Chitiratte
had seen what happened to that easterner who nosed a little too close into
the Boss's business.
Damn but the human was slow! She'd been grunting at that one singleton
for five minutes. You'd think she was having sex with these frags for all
the time she spent with them. Well, she'd pay for the familiarity very soon.
He started to cock his bow, then thought better of it. Accident, accident.
It must all look like an accident.
Aha. The Two-legs was collecting food and water bowls and stowing them
on the meal cart. Chitiratte made unobtrusive haste around the hospital
perimeter, positioning himself in view of the Kratzi duo -- the fragment
that would actually do the killing.
Kratzinissinari had been a foot trooper before losing the Nissinari
parts of himself. He had no connection with the Boss or Security. But he'd
been known as a crazy-headed get of bitches, a pack that was always on the
edge of combat rage. Getting killed back to two members normally has a
gentling influence. In this case -- well, the Boss claimed that Kratzi was
specially prepared, a trap ready to be sprung. All Chitiratte need do was
give the signal, and the duo would tear the mantis apart. A great tragedy.
Of course, Chitiratte would be there, the alert hospital warden. He would
quickly put arrows through Kratzi's brains ... but alas, not in time to save
the Two-Legs.
The human dragged the meal cart awkwardly around root bushes toward
Kratzi, her next patient. The duo came out of its burrow, speaking
half-witted greetings that even Chitiratte could not understand. There were
undertones though, a killing anger that edged its friendly mien. Of course,
the mantis thing didn't notice. She stopped the cart, began filling food and
water bowls, all the time grunting away at the twosome. In a moment, she
would bend down to put the food on the ground.... For half an instant,
Chitiratte considered shooting the mantis himself if Kratzi were not
immediately successful. He could claim it was a tragic miss. He really
didn't like the Two-Legs. The mantis creature was a menacing thing; it was
so tall and moved so weirdly. By now he knew it was fragile compared to
packs, but it was scary to think of a single animal so smart as this. He
shelved the temptation even faster than he had thought it. No telling what
price he might pay for that, even if they believed his shot was an accident.
No altruism today, thank you very much; Kratzi's jaws and claws would have
to do.
One of Kratzi's heads was looking in Chitiratte's general direction.
Now the mantis picked up the bowls and turned from the meal cart --
"Hei, Johanna! How is it going?"
Johanna looked up from the stew to see Peregrine Wickwrackscar walking
along the edge of the hospital. He was moving to get as close as possible
without invading the mind sounds of the patients. The guard who had stopped
there a moment before retreated before his advance and stopped a few meters
further on. "Pretty good," she called back. "You know the one on wheels? He
actually ate some stew tonight."
"Good. I've been thinking about him and the threesome on the other side
of the hospital."
"The wounded medic?"
"Yes. What's left of Trellelak is all female, you know. I've been
listening to mind sounds and -- " Pilgrim's explanation was delivered in
fluent Samnorsk, but it didn't make much sense to Johanna. Brood kenning had
so many concepts without referents in human language that even Pilgrim
couldn't make it clear. The only obvious part was that since Blacky was a
male, there was a chance that he and the medic threesome might have pups
early enough to bind the group. The rest was talk of "mood resonance" and
"meshing weak points with strong". Pilgrim claimed to be an amateur at brood
kenning, but it was interesting the way the docs -- and even Woodcarver
sometimes -- deferred to him. In his travels he had been through a lot. His
matchups seemed to "take" more often than anybody's. She waved him to
silence. "Okay. We'll try it soon as I've fed everybody."
Pilgrim cocked a head or two at the nearby hospital plots. "Something
strange is going on. Can't quite 'put my finger on it', but ... all the
fragments are watching you. Even more than usual. Do you feel it?"
Johanna shrugged. "No." She knelt to set the water and stew bowls
before the twosome patient. The pair had been vibrating with eagerness,
though they had been quite polite in not interrupting. Out of the corner of
her eye, she noticed the hospital guard make a strange dipping motion with
its two middle heads, and --
The blows were like two great fists smashing into her chest and face.
Johanna fell to the ground, and they were on her. She raised bloody arms
against the slashing jaws and claws.
When Chitiratte gave the signal, both of Kratzi leaped into action --
crashing into each other, almost incidentally knocking the mantis on her
back. Their claws and teeth were tearing at empty air and each other as much
as the Two-legs. For an instant, Chitiratte was struck motionless with
surprise. She might not be dead. Then he remembered himself and jumped over
the fence, at the same time cocking and loading his bow. Maybe he could miss
the first shot. Kratzi was shredding the mantis, but slow --
Suddenly, there was no possibility of shooting the twosome. A wave of
snarling black and white surged over Kratzi and the mantis. Every
able-bodied fragment in the hospital seemed to be running to the attack. It
was instant killing rage, far wilder than anything that could come from
whole packs. Chitiratte fell back in astonishment before the sight and the
mindsound of it.
Even the pilgrim seemed caught up in it; the pack raced past Chitiratte
and circled the melee. The pilgrim never quite plunged in, but nipped here
and there, screaming words that were lost in the general uproar.
A splash of coordinated mindsound boomed out from the mob, so loud it
numbed Chitiratte twenty yards away. The mob seemed to shrink in on itself,
the frenzy gone from most of its members. What had been near a single beast
with two dozen bodies was suddenly a confused and bloody crowd of random
members.
The pilgrim still ran around the edge, somehow keeping his mind and
purpose. His huge, scarred member dived in and out of the remaining crowd,
clawing at anything that still fought.
The patients dragged themselves away from the killing ground. Some that
had gone in as threesomes or duos came out single. Others seemed more
numerous than before. The ground that was left was soaked with blood. At
least five members had died. Near the middle, a pair of prosthetic wheels
lay incongruously.
The pilgrim paid it all no attention. The four of him stood around and
over the bloody mound at the center.
Chitiratte smiled to himself. Mantis splatter. Such a tragedy.
Johanna never quite lost consciousness, but the pain and the
suffocating weight of dozens of bodies left no room for thought. Now the
pressure eased. Somewhere beyond the local din she could hear shouts of
normal Tinish talk. She looked up and saw Pilgrim standing all around her.
Scarbutt was straddling her, its muzzle centimeters away. It reached down
and licked her face. Johanna smiled and tried to speak.
Vendacious had arranged to be in conference with Scrupilo and
Woodcarver. Just now the "Commander of Cannoneers" was deep into tactics,
using Dataset to illustrate his scheme for Margrum Climb.
Squalls of rage sounded from down by the river.
Scrupilo looked up peevishly from the Pink Oliphaunt. "What the muddy
hell -- "
The sounds continued, more than a casual brawl. Woodcarver and
Vendacious exchanged worried glances even as they arched necks to see among
the trees. "A fight in the hospital?" said the Queen.
Vendacious dropped his note board and lunged out of the meeting area,
shouting for the local guards to stay with the Queen. As he raced across the
camp, he could see that his roving guards were already converging on the
hospital. Everything seemed as smooth as a program on Dataset ... except,
why so much noise?
The last few hundred yards, Scrupilo caught up with him and pulled
ahead. The cannoneer raced into the hospital and stumbled over himself in
abrupt horror. Vendacious burst into the clearing all prepared to display
his own shock combined with alert resolve.
Peregrine Wickwrackscar was standing by a meal cart, Chitiratte not far
behind him. The pilgrim was standing over the Two-Legs in a litter of
carnage. By the Pack of Packs, what happened? There was too much blood by
far. "Everybody back except the doctors," Vendacious bellowed at the
soldiers who crowded at the edge of the compound. He picked his way along a
path that avoided the loudest-minded patients. There were a lot of fresh
wounds, and here and there speckles of blood dark on the pale tree trunks.
Something had gone wrong.
Meanwhile Scrupilo had run around the edge of the hospital and was
standing just a few dozen yards from the Pilgrim. Most of him was staring at
the ground under Wickwrackscar. "It's Johanna! Johanna!" For a moment it
looked like the fool would jump over the fence.
"I think she's okay, Scrupilo." Wickwrackscar said. "She was just
feeding one of the duos and it went nuts -- attacked her."
One of the doctors looked over the carnage. There were three corpses on
the ground, and blood enough for more. "I wonder what she did to provoke
them."
"Nothing, I tell you! But when she went down, half the hospital went
after Whatsits here." He waggled a nose at unidentifiable remains.
Vendacious looked at Chitiratte, at the same time saw Woodcarver
arrive. "What about it, Soldier?" he asked. Don't screw up, Chitiratte.
"I-it's just like the pilgrim says, my lord. I've never seen anything
like it." He sounded properly astounded by the whole affair.
Vendacious stepped a little closer to the Pilgrim. "If you'll let me
take a closer look, Pilgrim?"
Wickwrackscar hesitated. He had been snuffling around the girl, looking
for wounds that might need immediate attention. Then the girl nodded weakly
to him, and he backed off.
Vendacious approached, all solemn and solicitous. Inside he raged. He'd
never heard of anything like this. But even if the whole damn hospital had
come to her aid, she should still be dead; the Kratzi duo could have ripped
her throat out in half a second. His plan had seemed fool-proof (and even
now the failure would cause no lasting damage), but he was just beginning to
understand what had gone wrong: For days, the human had been in contact with
these patients, even Kratzi. No Tinish doctor could approach and touch them
like the Two-Legs. Even some whole packs felt the effect; for fragments it
must be overwhelming. In their inner soul, most of the patients considered
the alien part of themselves.
He looked at the Two-Legs from three sides, mindful that fifty packs of
eyes were watching his every move. Very little of the blood was from the
Two-Legs. The cuts on her neck and arms were long and shallow, aimless
slashings. At the last minute, Kratzi's conditioning had failed before the
notion of the human as pack member. Even now, a quick flick of a forepaw
would rip the girl's throat open. He briefly considered putting her under
Security medical protection. The ploy had worked well with Scriber, but it
would be very risky here. Pilgrim had been nose to nose with Johanna; he
would be suspicious of any claims about "unexpected complications". No. Even
good plans sometimes fail. Count it as experience for the future. He smiled
at the girl and spoke in Samnorsk, "You're quite safe now," for the moment
and quite unfortunately. The human's head turned to the side, looking off in
the direction of Chitiratte.
Scrupilo had been pacing back and forth along the fence, so close to
Chitiratte and Pilgrim that the two had been forced back. "I won't have it!"
The cannoneer said loudly. "Our most important person attacked like this. It
smells of enemy action!"
Wickwrackscar goggled at him. "But how?"
"I don't know!" Scrupilo said, his voice a desperate shout. "But she
needs protection as much as nursing. Vendacious must find some place to keep
her."
The pilgrim pack was clearly impressed by the argument -- and unnerved
by it. He inclined a head at Vendacious and spoke with uncharacteristic
respect, "What do you think?"
Of course, Vendacious had been watching the Two-legs. It was
interesting how little humans could disguise their point of attention.
Johanna had been staring at Chitiratte, now she was looking up at
Vendacious, her shifty little close-set eyes narrowing. Vendacious had made
a project this last year of studying human expressions, both on Johanna and
in stories in Dataset. She suspected something. And she also must have
understood part of Scrupilo's speech. Her back arched and one arm fell
raised weakly. Fortunately for Vendacious, her shout came out a whisper that
even he could scarcely hear: "No ... not like Scriber."
Vendacious was a pack who believed in careful planning. He also knew
that the best-made schemes must be altered by circumstances. He looked down
at Johanna and smiled with the gentlest public sympathy. It would be risky
to kill her like Scriber's frag, but now he saw that the alternatives were
far more dangerous. Thank goodness Woodcarver was stuck with her limper on
the other side of the camp. He nodded back at Pilgrim and drew himself
together. "I fear Scrupilo is right. Just how it might have been done, I
don't know, but we can't take a chance. We'll take Johanna to my den. Tell
the Queen." He pulled cloaks from his backs and began gently to wrap the
human for the last trip she would ever make. Only her eyes protested.
Johanna drifted in and out of consciousness, horrified at her inability
to scream her fears. Her strongest cries were less than whispers. Her arms
and legs responded with little more than twitches, even that lost in
Vendacious's swaddling. Concussion, maybe, something like that, the
explanation came from some absurdly rational corner of her mind. Everything
seemed so far away, so dark....
Johanna woke in her cabin at Woodcarver's. What a terrible dream! That
she had been so cut up, unable to move, and then thinking Vendacious was a
traitor. She tried to shrug herself to a sitting position, but nothing
moved. Darn sheets are all wrapped around me. She lay quiet for a second,
still massively disoriented by the dream. "Woodcarver?" she tried to say,
but only a little moan came out. Some member moved gently around the
firepit. The room was only dimly lit, and something was wrong with it.
Johanna wasn't lying in her usual place. There was a moment of puzzled
lassitude as she tried to make sense of the orientation of the dark walls.
Funny. The ceiling was awfully low. Everything smelled like raw meat. The
side of her face hurt, and she tasted blood on her lips. She wasn't at
Woodcarver's and that terrible dream was --
Three Tinish heads drifted in silhouette nearby. One came closer, and
in the dim light she recognized the pattern of white and black on its face.
Vendacious.
"Good," he said, "You are awake."
"Where am I?" the words came out slurred and weak. The terror was back.
"The abandoned cotter's hut at the east end of the camp. I've taken it
over. As a security den, you know." His Samnorsk was quiet and fluent,
spoken in one of the generic voices of Dataset. One of his jaws carried a
dagger, the blade a glint in the dimness.
Johanna twisted in the tied cloaks and whispered screams. Something was
wrong with her; it was like shouting on empty breath.
One of Vendacious paced the hut's upper level. Daylight splashed across
its muzzle as it peered out first one and then another of the narrow slits
cut in the timbers. "Ah, it's good that you don't pretend. I could see that
you somehow guessed about my second career. My hobby. But screaming -- even
loud -- won't help either. We have only a brief time to chat. I'm sure the
Queen will come visiting soon ... and I will kill you just before she
arrives. So sad. Your hidden wounds were tragically severe...."
Johanna wasn't sure of all he said. Her vision blurred every time she
moved her head. Even now she couldn't remember the details of what had
happened back in the hospital compound. Somehow Vendacious was a traitor,
but how ... memories wriggled past the pain. "You did murder Scriber, didn't
you? Why?" Her voice came louder than before, and she choked on blood
dribbling back down her throat.
Soft, human, laughter came from all around her. "He learned the truth
about me. Ironic that such an incompetent would be the only one to see
through me.... Or do you mean a larger why?" The three nearby muzzles moved
closer still, and the blade in one's jaw patted the side of Johanna's cheek.
"Poor Two-Legs, I'm not sure you could ever understand. Some of it, the will
to power maybe. I've read what Dataset has to say about human motivation,
the 'freudian' stuff. We Tines are much more complicated. I am almost
entirely male, did you know that? A dangerous thing to be, all one sex.
Madness lurks. Yet it was my decision. I was tired of being an indifferently
good inventor, of living in Woodcarver's shadow. So many of us are her get,
and she dominates most all of us. She was quite happy about my going into
Security, you know. She doesn't quite have the combination of members for
it. She thought that all male but one would make me controllably devious."
His sentry member made another round of the window slits. Again there
was a human chuckle. "I've been planning a long time. It's not just
Woodcarver I'm up against. The power-side of her soul is scattered all over
the arctic coast; Flenser had almost a century headstart on me; Steel is
new, but he has the empire Flenser built. I made myself indispensable to all
of them: I'm Woodcarver's chief of security ... and Steel's most valued spy.
Played aright, I will end up with Dataset and all the others will be dead."
His blade tapped her face again. "Do you think you can help me?" Eyes
peered close into her terror. "I doubt it very much. If my proper plan had
succeeded, you would be neatly dead now." A sigh breathed around the room.
"But that failed, and I'm stuck with carving you up myself. And yet it may
all turn out for the best. Dataset is a torrent of information about most
things, but it scarcely acknowledges the existence of torture. In some ways,
your race seems so fragile, so easily killable. You die before your minds
can be dismembered. Yet I know you can feel pain and terror; the trick is to
apply force without quite killing."
The three nearby members snuggled into more comfortable positions, like
a human settling down for serious talk. "And there are some questions you
may be able to answer, things I couldn't really ask before. Steel is very
confident, you know, and it's not just because he has me with Woodcarver.
That pack has some other advantage. Could he have his own Dataset?"
Vendacious paused. Johanna didn't answer, her silence a combination of
terror and stubbornness. This was the monster that killed Scriber.
The muzzle with the knife slid between the blankets and Johanna's skin,
and pain shot up Johanna's arm. She screamed. "Ah, Dataset said a human
could be hurt there. No need to answer that one, Johanna. Do you know what I
think is Steel's secret? I think one of your family survived -- most likely
your little brother, considering what you've told us about the massacre."
Jefri? Alive? For an instant she forgot the pain, almost forgot the
fear. "How...?"
Vendacious gave a Tinish shrug. "You never saw him dead. You can be
sure Steel wanted a live Two-Legs, and after reading about cold sleep in
Dataset, I doubt he could have revived any of the others. And he's got
something up there. He's been eager for information from Dataset, but he's
never demanded I steal the device for him."
Johanna closed her eyes, denying the traitor pack's existence. Jefri
lives! Memories rose before her: Jefri's playful joy, his childish tears,
his trusting courage aboard the refugee ship.... things she had thought
forever lost to her. For a moment they seemed more real than the slashing
violence of the last few minutes. But what could Jefri do to help the
Flenserists? The other datasets had surely burned. There's something more
here, something that Vendacious still is missing.
Vendacious grabbed her chin, and gave her head a little shake. "Open
your eyes; I've learned to read them, and I want to see.... Hmm, I don't
know if you believe me or not. No matter. If we have time, I will learn just
what he might have done for Steel. There are other, sharper questions.
Dataset is clearly the key to all. In less than half a year, I and
Woodcarver and Pilgrim have learned an enormous amount about your race and
civilization. I daresay we know your people better than you do -- sometimes
I think we know them even better than we know our own world. When all the
violence is over, the winner will be the pack that still controls Dataset. I
intend to be that pack. And I've often wondered if there are other
passwords, or programs I can run that would actually watch for my safety --
"
The babysitter code.
The watching heads bobbed a grin, "Aha, so there is such a thing!
Perhaps this morning's bad luck is all for the best. I might never have
consciousness, tweaking a word here, a motive there. After the static, she
was much worse; on one occasion she'd held control for almost a dayaround.
Given a year without crises, Flenser could have studied Ty and Ra and Thect
and done a proper excision. Thect, the member with the white-tipped ears,
was probably the one to kill: it wasn't bright, but it was likely the
capstone of the trio. With a precisely crafted replacement, Flenser might be
even greater than before the massacre at Parliament Bowl. But for now,
Flenser was stuck; soul surgery on one's self was an awesome challenge --
even to The Master.
So. Careful. Careful. Keep the cloaks well charged, take no long trips,
and don't let any one person see all the threads of your plan. While Steel
thought he was seeking Rangolith, Flenser was talking to Amdi and Jefri.
The human's face was wet with tears. "F-four times we've missed
R-ravna. What has happened to her?" His voice screeched up. Flenser hadn't
realized there was such flexibility in the belching mechanism that humans
use to make sound.
Most of Amdi clustered round the boy. He licked Jefri's cheeks. "It
could be our ultrawave. Maybe it's broken." He looked beseechingly at
Flenser. There were tears in the puppies' eyes, too. "Tyrathect, please ask
Steel again. Let us stay in the ship all the dayaround. Maybe there are
messages that have come through and not been recorded."
Flenser with Steel descended the northern stairs, crossed the parade
ground. He gave a sliver of attention to the other's complaints about the
sloppy maintenance around the practice stands. At least Steel was smart
enough to keep the discipline scaffolds over on Hidden Island.
Flenser with Rangolith's troopers splashed through a mountain stream.
Even in high summer, in the middle of a Drywind, there were still snow
patches, and the streams running from under them were icy cold.
Flenser with Amdijefri edged forward, let two of Amdi rest against his
sides. Both children liked physical contact, and he was the only one they
had besides each other. It was all perversion of course, but Flenser had
based his life on manipulating others' weakness, and -- but for the pain --
welcomed it. Flenser buzzed a deep purring sound through his shoulders,
caressing the puppy next to him. "I'll ask our Lord Steel the very next time
I see him."
"Thank you." A puppy nuzzled at his cloak, then mercifully moved away;
Flenser was a mass of sores beneath that cover. Perhaps Amdi realized that,
or perhaps -- more and more Flenser saw a reticence in the children. His
comment to Steel had been a slip into the truth: these two really didn't
trust him. That was Tyrathect's fault. On his own, Flenser would have had no
trouble winning Amdijefri's love. Flenser had none of Steel's killing temper
and fragile dignity. Flenser could chat for casual pleasure, all the while
mixing truth with lies. One of his greatest talents was empathy; no sadist
can aspire to perfection without that diagnostic ability. But just when he
was doing well, when they seemed about to open to him -- then Ty or Ra or
Thect would pop up, twisting his expression or poisoning his choice of
phrase. Perhaps he should content himself with undermining the children's
respect for Steel (without, of course, ever saying anything directly against
him). Flenser sighed, and patted Jefri's arm comfortingly. "Ravna will be
back. I'm sure of it." The human sniffled a little, then reached out to pet
the part of Flenser's head that was not shrouded by the cloak. They sat in
companionable silence for a moment, and his attention drifted back to --
-- the forest and Rangolith's troops. The group had been moving uphill
for almost ten minutes. The others were lightly burdened and used to this
sort of exercise. Flenser's two members were lagging. He hissed at the group
leader.
The group leader sidled back, his squad shifting briskly out of his
way. He stopped when his nearest was fifteen feet from Flenser's. The
soldier's heads cocked this way and that. "Your wishes ... My Lord?" This
one was new; he had been briefed about the cloaks, but Flenser knew the
fellow didn't understand the new rules. The gold and silver that glinted in
the darkness of the cloaks -- those colors were reserved for the Lords of
the Domain. Yet there only two of Flenser here; normally such a fragment
could barely carry on a conversation, much less give reasonable orders. Just
as disconcerting, Flenser knew, was his lack of mind sound. "Zombie" was the
word some of the troops used when they thought themselves alone.
Flenser pointed up the hill; the timberline was only a few yards away.
"Farscout Rangolith is on the other side. We will take a short cut," he said
weakly.
Part of the other was already looking up the hill. "That is not good,
sir." The trooper spoke slowly. Stupid damn duo, his posture said. "The bad
ones will see us."
Flenser glowered at the other, a hard thing to do properly when you are
just two. "Soldier, do you see the gold on my shoulders? Even one of me is
worth all of you. If I say take a short cut, we do it -- even if it means
walking belly deep through brimstone." Actually, Flenser knew exactly where
Vendacious had put lookouts. There was no risk in crossing the open ground
here. And he was so tired.
The group leader still didn't know quite what Flenser was, but he saw
the dark-cloaks were at least as dangerous as any full-pack lord. He backed
off humbly, bellies dragging on the ground. The group turned up hill and a
few minutes later were walking across open heather.
Rangolith's command post was less than a half mile away along this path
--
Flenser with Steel walked into the inner keep. The stone was freshly
cut, the walls thrown up with the feverish speed of all this castle's
construction. Thirty feet over their heads, where vault met buttresses,
there were small holes set in the stonework. Those holes would soon be
filled with gunpowder -- as would slots in the wall surrounding the landing
field. Steel called those the Jaws of Welcome. Now he turned a head back to
Flenser. "So what does Rangolith say?"
"Sorry. He's been out on patrol. He should be here -- I mean, he should
be in camp -- any minute." Flenser did his best to conceal his own trips
with the scouts. Such recons were not forbidden, but Steel would have
demanded explanations if he knew.
Flenser with Rangolith's troops sloshed through water-soaked heather.
The air over the snowmelt was delightfully chill, and the breeze pushed cool
tongues partway under his wretched cloaks.
Rangolith had chosen the site for his command post well. His tents were
in a slight depression at the edge of a large summer pond. A hundred yards
away, a huge patch of a snow covered the hill above them and fed the pond,
and kept the air pleasantly cool. The tents were out of sight from below,
yet the site was so high in the hills that from the edge of the depression
there was a clear view across three points of the compass, centered on the
south. Resupply could be accomplished from the north with little chance of
detection, and even if the damn fires struck the forests below, this post
would be untouched.
Farscout Rangolith was lounging about his signal mirrors, oiling the
aiming gears. One of his subordinates lay with snouts stuck over the lip of
the hill, scanning the landscape with its telescopes. He came to attention
at the sight of Flenser, but his gaze wasn't full of fear. Like most
long-range scouts, he wasn't completely terrorized by castle politics.
Besides, Flenser had cultivated an "us against the prigs" relationship with
the fellow. Now Rangolith growled at the group leader: "The next time you
come prancing across the open like that, your asses go on report."
"My fault, Farscout," put in Flenser. "I have some important news."
They walked away from the others, down toward Rangolith's tent.
"See something interesting, did you?" Rangolith was smiling oddly. He
had long ago figured out that Flenser was not a brilliant duo, but part of a
pack with members back at the castle.
"When is your next session with Craddleheads?" That was the fieldname
for Vendacious.
"Just past noon. He hasn't missed in four days. The Southerners seem to
be on one big squat."
"That will change." Flenser repeated Steel's orders for Vendacious. The
words came hard. The traitor within him was restive; he felt the beginnings
of a major attack.
"Wow! You're going to move everything over to Margrum Climb in less
than two -- Never mind, that's something I'd best not know."
Under his cloaks, Flenser bristled. There are limits to chumminess.
Rangolith had his points, but maybe after all this was over he could be
smoothed into something less ... ad hoc.
"Is that all, My Lord?"
"Yes -- No." Flenser shivered with uncharacteristic puzzlement. The
trouble with these cloaks, sometimes they made it hard to remember things.
By the Great Pack, no! It was that Tyrathect again. Steel had ordered the
killing of Woodcarver's human -- all things considered, a perfectly sensible
move, but...
Flenser with Steel shook his head angrily, his teeth clicking together.
"Something the matter?" said Lord Steel. He really seemed to love the pain
that the radio cloaks caused Flenser.
"Nothing, my lord. Just a touch of the static." In fact there was no
static, yet Flenser felt himself disintegrating. What had given the other
such sudden power?
Flenser with Amdijefri snapped his jaws open and shut, open and shut.
The children jumped back from him, eyes wide. "It's okay," he said grimly,
even as his two bodies thrashed against each other. There really were lots
of good reasons why they should keep Johanna Olsndot alive: In the long run,
it assured Jefri's good will. And it could be Flenser's secret human.
Perhaps he could fake the Two Leg's death to Steel and -- No. No. No!
Flenser grabbed back control, jamming the rationalizations out of mind. The
very tricks he had used against Tyrathect, she thought to turn against him.
It won't work on me. I am the master of lies.
And then her attack twisted again, became a massive bludgeoning that
destroyed all thought.
With Flenser, with Rangolith, with Amdijefri -- all of him was making
little gibbering noises now. Lord Steel danced around him, unsure whether to
laugh or be concerned. Rangolith goggled at him in frank amazement.
The two children edged back to touch him, "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"
The human slipped those remarkable hands under the radio cloak and brushed
softly at Flenser's bleeding fur. The world blurred in a surge of static.
"No. Don't do that. It might hurt him more," came Amdi's voice. The puppies'
tiny muzzles reached out, trying to help with the cloaks.
Flenser felt his being pushed downwards, towards oblivion. Tyrathect's
final attack was a frontal assault, without rationalizations or sly
infiltration, and...
... And she looked out upon herself in astonishment. After so many
days, I am me. And in control. Enough butchering of innocents. If anyone is
to die, it is Steel and Flenser. Her head followed Steel's prancing forms,
picked out the most articulate member. She gathered her legs beneath her,
and prepared to leap at its throat. Come just a little closer ... and die.
Tyrathect's last moment of consciousness probably didn't last longer
than five seconds. Her attack on Flenser was a desperate, all-out thing that
left her without reserves or internal defense. Even as she tensed to leap
upon Steel, she felt her soul being pulled back and down, and Flenser rising
up from the darkness. She felt the member's legs spasm and collapse, the
ground smash into its face...
... And Flenser was back in control. The weakling's attack had been
astonishing. She really had cared for the ones who were to be destroyed,
cared so much she was willing to sacrifice herself if it would kill Flenser.
And that had been her undoing. Suicide is never something to hang pack
dominance on. Her very resolve had weakened her hold on the hindmind -- and
given The Master his chance. He was back in control, and with a great
opportunity. Tyrathect's assault had left her defenseless. The innermost
mental barriers around her three members were suddenly as thin as the skin
of an overripe fruit. Flenser slashed through the membrane, pawed at the
flesh of her mind, spattering it across his own. The three who had been her
core would still live, but never again would they have a soul separate from
his.
Flenser with Steel sprawled as though unconscious, his convulsions
subsiding. Let Steel think him incapacitated. It would give him time to
think of the most advantageous explanation.
Flenser with Rangolith came slowly to his feet, though the two members
were still in a posture of confusion. Flenser pulled them together. No
explanations were due here, but it would be best if Farscout didn't suspect
soulstrife. "The cloaks are powerful tools, dear Rangolith; sometimes a bit
too powerful."
"Yes, my lord."
Flenser let a smile spread across his features. For a moment he was
silent, savoring what he would say next. No, there was no sign of the
weak-willed one. This had been her last, best try at domination -- her last
and biggest mistake. Flenser's smile spread further, all the way to the two
with Amdijefri. It suddenly occurred to him that Johanna Olsndot would be
the first person he had ordered killed since his return to Hidden Island.
Johanna Olsndot would therefore be the first blood on three of his muzzles.
"There's one more item for Craddleheads, Farscout. An execution...." As
he spoke the details, the warmth of a decision well-made spread through his
members.
.Delete this paragraph to shift page flush
-=*=-
The only good thing about all the waiting had been the chance it gave
the wounded. Now that Vendacious had found a way past the Flenserist
defenses, everyone was anxious to break camp, but....
Johanna spent the last afternoon at the field hospital. The hospital
was laid off in rough rectangles, each about six meters across. Some of the
plots had ragged tents -- those belonging to wounded who were still smart
enough to care for themselves. Others were surrounded by stranded fencing;
inside each of those was a single member, the survivor of what had once been
an entire pack. The singletons could easily have jumped the fences, but most
seemed to recognize their purpose, and stayed within.
Johanna pulled the food cart through the area, stopping at first one
patient and then another. The cart was a bit too large for her, and
sometimes it got caught in the roots that grew across the the forest floor.
Yet this was a job that she could do better than any pack, and it was nice
to find a way she could help.
In the forest around the hospital there was the sound of kherhogs being
coaxed up to wagon ties, the shouts of crews securing the cannons and
getting the camp gear stowed. From the maps Vendacious had shown at the
meeting, it was clear the next two days would be an exhausting time -- but
at the end of it they would have the high ground behind unsuspecting
Flenserists.
She stopped at the first little tent. The threesome inside had heard
her coming and was outside now, running little circles around her cart.
"Johanna! Johanna!" it said in her own voice. This was all that was left of
one of Woodcarver's minor strategists; once upon a time, it had known some
Samnorsk. The pack had originally been six; three had been killed by the
wolves. What was left was the "talker" part -- about as bright as a five
year old, though with an odd vocabulary. "Thank you for food. Thank you."
Its muzzles pushed at her. She patted the heads before reaching into the
cart and pulling out bowls of lukewarm stew. Two of them dug in right away,
but the third sat back for a moment and chatted. "I hear, we fight soon."
Not you anymore, but "Yes. We are going up by the dry fall, just east
of here."
"Uh, oh." It said. "Uh, oh. That's bad. Poor seeing, no control, ambush
scary." Apparently the fragment had some memories of its own tactical work.
But there was no way Johanna could explain Vendacious's reasoning to it.
"Don't worry, we will make it okay."
"You sure? You promise?"
Johanna smiled gently at what was left of a rather nice fellow. "Yes. I
promise."
"Ah-ah-ah.... Okay." Now all three had their muzzles stuck into stew
bowls. This was one of the lucky ones, really. It showed plenty of interest
in what went on around it. Just as important, it had childlike enthusiasms.
Pilgrim said that fragments like this could grow back easily if they were
just treated right long enough to bear a puppy or two.
She pushed the cart a few meters further, to the fenced square that was
the symbolic corral for a singleton. There was a faint odor of shit in the
air. Some of the singletons and duos were not housebroken; in any case, the
camp latrines were a hundred meters away.
"Here, Blacky. Blacky?" Johanna banged an empty bowl against the side
of the cart. A single head eased up from behind some root bushes; sometimes
this one wouldn't even do that much. Johanna got on her knees so her eyes
weren't much higher than the black-faced one. "Blacky?"
The creature pulled himself out of the bushes and slowly approached.
This was all that was left of one of Scrupilo's cannoneers. She vaguely
remembered the pack, a handsome sixsome all large and fast. But now, even
"Blacky" wasn't whole: a falling gun had crushed his rear legs. He dragged
his legless rear on a little wagon with thirty centimeter wheels... sort of
like a Skroderider with forelegs. She pushed a bowl of stew toward him, and
made the noises that Pilgrim coached her in. Blacky had refused food the
last three days, but today he rolled and walked close enough that she could
pet his head. After a moment he lowered his muzzle to the stew.
Johanna grinned in surprised pleasure. This hospital was a strange
place. A year ago she would have been horrified by it; even now she didn't
have the proper Tinish outlook on the wounded. As she continued to pet
Blacky's lowered head, Johanna looked across the forest floor at the crude
tents, the patients and parts of patients. It really was a hospital. The
surgeons did try to save lives, even if the medical science was a horrifying
process of cutting and splinting without anesthetics. In that regard, it was
quite comparable to the medieval human medicine that Johanna had seen on
Dataset. But with the Tines there was something more. This place was almost
a spare parts warehouse. The medics were interested in the welfare of packs.
To them, singletons were pieces that might have a use in making larger
fragments workable, at least temporarily. Injured singletons were at the
bottom of all medical priorities. "There's not much left to save in such
cases," one medic had said to her via Pilgrim, "And even if there was, would
you want a crippled, loose-bonded member in your self?" The fellow had been
too tired to notice the absurdity of his question. His muzzles had been
dripping blood; he'd been working for hours to save wounded members of whole
packs.
Besides, most wounded singletons just stopped eating and died in less
than a tenday. Even after a year with Tines, Johanna couldn't quite accept
it. Every singleton reminded her of dear Scriber; she wanted them to have a
better chance than his last remnant had. She had taken over the food cart
and spent as much time with the wounded singletons as she did with any of
the other patients. It had worked out well. She could get close to each
patient without mindsound interference. Her help gave the brood kenners more
time to study the larger fragments and the uninjured singletons, and try to
build working packs from the wreckage.
And now maybe this one wouldn't starve. She'd tell Pilgrim. He'd done
miracles with some of the other match ups, and seemed to be the only pack
who shared some of her feelings for damaged singletons. "If they don't
starve it often means a strength of mind. Even crippled, they could be an
advantage to a pack," he'd said to her. "I've been crippled off and on in my
travels; you can't always pick and choose when you're down to three and
you're a thousand miles into an unknown land."
Johanna set a bowl of water beside the stew. After a moment, the
crippled member turned on his axle and took some shallow sips. "Hang on,
Blacky, we'll find someone for you to be."
Chitiratte was where he was supposed to be, walking his post exactly as
expected. Nevertheless, he felt a thrill of nervousness. He always kept at
least one head gazing at the mantis creature, the Two-Legs. Nothing
suspicious about that posture either. He was supposed to be doing security
duty here, and that meant keeping a lookout in all directions. He shifted
his crossbow nervously about from jaws to field pack and back to jaws. Just
a few more minutes....
Chitiratte circled the hospital compound once more. It was soft duty.
Even though this stretch of wood had been spared, the drywind fires had
chased the bigger wildlife downstream. This close to the river, the ground
was covered with softbush, and there was scarcely a thorn to be found.
Pacing around the hospital was like a walk on Woodcarver's Green down south.
A few hundred yards east was harder work -- getting the wagons and supplies
in shape for the climb.
The fragments knew that something was up. Here and there, heads stuck
up from pallets and burrows. They watched the wagons being loaded, heard the
familiar voices of friends. The dumbest ones felt a call to duty; he had
chased three able-bodied singles back into the compound. No way such feebs
could be of any help. When the army marched up Margrum Climb, the hospital
would stay behind. Chitiratte wished he could too. He'd been working for the
Boss long enough to guess whence his orders ultimately came; Chitiratte
suspected that not many would be coming back from Margrum Climb.
He turned three pairs of eyes toward the mantis creature. This latest
job was the riskiest thing he'd been a part of. If it worked out he might
just demand that the Boss leave him with the hospital. Just be careful, old
fellow. Vendacious didn't get where he is by leaving loose ends. Chitiratte
had seen what happened to that easterner who nosed a little too close into
the Boss's business.
Damn but the human was slow! She'd been grunting at that one singleton
for five minutes. You'd think she was having sex with these frags for all
the time she spent with them. Well, she'd pay for the familiarity very soon.
He started to cock his bow, then thought better of it. Accident, accident.
It must all look like an accident.
Aha. The Two-legs was collecting food and water bowls and stowing them
on the meal cart. Chitiratte made unobtrusive haste around the hospital
perimeter, positioning himself in view of the Kratzi duo -- the fragment
that would actually do the killing.
Kratzinissinari had been a foot trooper before losing the Nissinari
parts of himself. He had no connection with the Boss or Security. But he'd
been known as a crazy-headed get of bitches, a pack that was always on the
edge of combat rage. Getting killed back to two members normally has a
gentling influence. In this case -- well, the Boss claimed that Kratzi was
specially prepared, a trap ready to be sprung. All Chitiratte need do was
give the signal, and the duo would tear the mantis apart. A great tragedy.
Of course, Chitiratte would be there, the alert hospital warden. He would
quickly put arrows through Kratzi's brains ... but alas, not in time to save
the Two-Legs.
The human dragged the meal cart awkwardly around root bushes toward
Kratzi, her next patient. The duo came out of its burrow, speaking
half-witted greetings that even Chitiratte could not understand. There were
undertones though, a killing anger that edged its friendly mien. Of course,
the mantis thing didn't notice. She stopped the cart, began filling food and
water bowls, all the time grunting away at the twosome. In a moment, she
would bend down to put the food on the ground.... For half an instant,
Chitiratte considered shooting the mantis himself if Kratzi were not
immediately successful. He could claim it was a tragic miss. He really
didn't like the Two-Legs. The mantis creature was a menacing thing; it was
so tall and moved so weirdly. By now he knew it was fragile compared to
packs, but it was scary to think of a single animal so smart as this. He
shelved the temptation even faster than he had thought it. No telling what
price he might pay for that, even if they believed his shot was an accident.
No altruism today, thank you very much; Kratzi's jaws and claws would have
to do.
One of Kratzi's heads was looking in Chitiratte's general direction.
Now the mantis picked up the bowls and turned from the meal cart --
"Hei, Johanna! How is it going?"
Johanna looked up from the stew to see Peregrine Wickwrackscar walking
along the edge of the hospital. He was moving to get as close as possible
without invading the mind sounds of the patients. The guard who had stopped
there a moment before retreated before his advance and stopped a few meters
further on. "Pretty good," she called back. "You know the one on wheels? He
actually ate some stew tonight."
"Good. I've been thinking about him and the threesome on the other side
of the hospital."
"The wounded medic?"
"Yes. What's left of Trellelak is all female, you know. I've been
listening to mind sounds and -- " Pilgrim's explanation was delivered in
fluent Samnorsk, but it didn't make much sense to Johanna. Brood kenning had
so many concepts without referents in human language that even Pilgrim
couldn't make it clear. The only obvious part was that since Blacky was a
male, there was a chance that he and the medic threesome might have pups
early enough to bind the group. The rest was talk of "mood resonance" and
"meshing weak points with strong". Pilgrim claimed to be an amateur at brood
kenning, but it was interesting the way the docs -- and even Woodcarver
sometimes -- deferred to him. In his travels he had been through a lot. His
matchups seemed to "take" more often than anybody's. She waved him to
silence. "Okay. We'll try it soon as I've fed everybody."
Pilgrim cocked a head or two at the nearby hospital plots. "Something
strange is going on. Can't quite 'put my finger on it', but ... all the
fragments are watching you. Even more than usual. Do you feel it?"
Johanna shrugged. "No." She knelt to set the water and stew bowls
before the twosome patient. The pair had been vibrating with eagerness,
though they had been quite polite in not interrupting. Out of the corner of
her eye, she noticed the hospital guard make a strange dipping motion with
its two middle heads, and --
The blows were like two great fists smashing into her chest and face.
Johanna fell to the ground, and they were on her. She raised bloody arms
against the slashing jaws and claws.
When Chitiratte gave the signal, both of Kratzi leaped into action --
crashing into each other, almost incidentally knocking the mantis on her
back. Their claws and teeth were tearing at empty air and each other as much
as the Two-legs. For an instant, Chitiratte was struck motionless with
surprise. She might not be dead. Then he remembered himself and jumped over
the fence, at the same time cocking and loading his bow. Maybe he could miss
the first shot. Kratzi was shredding the mantis, but slow --
Suddenly, there was no possibility of shooting the twosome. A wave of
snarling black and white surged over Kratzi and the mantis. Every
able-bodied fragment in the hospital seemed to be running to the attack. It
was instant killing rage, far wilder than anything that could come from
whole packs. Chitiratte fell back in astonishment before the sight and the
mindsound of it.
Even the pilgrim seemed caught up in it; the pack raced past Chitiratte
and circled the melee. The pilgrim never quite plunged in, but nipped here
and there, screaming words that were lost in the general uproar.
A splash of coordinated mindsound boomed out from the mob, so loud it
numbed Chitiratte twenty yards away. The mob seemed to shrink in on itself,
the frenzy gone from most of its members. What had been near a single beast
with two dozen bodies was suddenly a confused and bloody crowd of random
members.
The pilgrim still ran around the edge, somehow keeping his mind and
purpose. His huge, scarred member dived in and out of the remaining crowd,
clawing at anything that still fought.
The patients dragged themselves away from the killing ground. Some that
had gone in as threesomes or duos came out single. Others seemed more
numerous than before. The ground that was left was soaked with blood. At
least five members had died. Near the middle, a pair of prosthetic wheels
lay incongruously.
The pilgrim paid it all no attention. The four of him stood around and
over the bloody mound at the center.
Chitiratte smiled to himself. Mantis splatter. Such a tragedy.
Johanna never quite lost consciousness, but the pain and the
suffocating weight of dozens of bodies left no room for thought. Now the
pressure eased. Somewhere beyond the local din she could hear shouts of
normal Tinish talk. She looked up and saw Pilgrim standing all around her.
Scarbutt was straddling her, its muzzle centimeters away. It reached down
and licked her face. Johanna smiled and tried to speak.
Vendacious had arranged to be in conference with Scrupilo and
Woodcarver. Just now the "Commander of Cannoneers" was deep into tactics,
using Dataset to illustrate his scheme for Margrum Climb.
Squalls of rage sounded from down by the river.
Scrupilo looked up peevishly from the Pink Oliphaunt. "What the muddy
hell -- "
The sounds continued, more than a casual brawl. Woodcarver and
Vendacious exchanged worried glances even as they arched necks to see among
the trees. "A fight in the hospital?" said the Queen.
Vendacious dropped his note board and lunged out of the meeting area,
shouting for the local guards to stay with the Queen. As he raced across the
camp, he could see that his roving guards were already converging on the
hospital. Everything seemed as smooth as a program on Dataset ... except,
why so much noise?
The last few hundred yards, Scrupilo caught up with him and pulled
ahead. The cannoneer raced into the hospital and stumbled over himself in
abrupt horror. Vendacious burst into the clearing all prepared to display
his own shock combined with alert resolve.
Peregrine Wickwrackscar was standing by a meal cart, Chitiratte not far
behind him. The pilgrim was standing over the Two-Legs in a litter of
carnage. By the Pack of Packs, what happened? There was too much blood by
far. "Everybody back except the doctors," Vendacious bellowed at the
soldiers who crowded at the edge of the compound. He picked his way along a
path that avoided the loudest-minded patients. There were a lot of fresh
wounds, and here and there speckles of blood dark on the pale tree trunks.
Something had gone wrong.
Meanwhile Scrupilo had run around the edge of the hospital and was
standing just a few dozen yards from the Pilgrim. Most of him was staring at
the ground under Wickwrackscar. "It's Johanna! Johanna!" For a moment it
looked like the fool would jump over the fence.
"I think she's okay, Scrupilo." Wickwrackscar said. "She was just
feeding one of the duos and it went nuts -- attacked her."
One of the doctors looked over the carnage. There were three corpses on
the ground, and blood enough for more. "I wonder what she did to provoke
them."
"Nothing, I tell you! But when she went down, half the hospital went
after Whatsits here." He waggled a nose at unidentifiable remains.
Vendacious looked at Chitiratte, at the same time saw Woodcarver
arrive. "What about it, Soldier?" he asked. Don't screw up, Chitiratte.
"I-it's just like the pilgrim says, my lord. I've never seen anything
like it." He sounded properly astounded by the whole affair.
Vendacious stepped a little closer to the Pilgrim. "If you'll let me
take a closer look, Pilgrim?"
Wickwrackscar hesitated. He had been snuffling around the girl, looking
for wounds that might need immediate attention. Then the girl nodded weakly
to him, and he backed off.
Vendacious approached, all solemn and solicitous. Inside he raged. He'd
never heard of anything like this. But even if the whole damn hospital had
come to her aid, she should still be dead; the Kratzi duo could have ripped
her throat out in half a second. His plan had seemed fool-proof (and even
now the failure would cause no lasting damage), but he was just beginning to
understand what had gone wrong: For days, the human had been in contact with
these patients, even Kratzi. No Tinish doctor could approach and touch them
like the Two-Legs. Even some whole packs felt the effect; for fragments it
must be overwhelming. In their inner soul, most of the patients considered
the alien part of themselves.
He looked at the Two-Legs from three sides, mindful that fifty packs of
eyes were watching his every move. Very little of the blood was from the
Two-Legs. The cuts on her neck and arms were long and shallow, aimless
slashings. At the last minute, Kratzi's conditioning had failed before the
notion of the human as pack member. Even now, a quick flick of a forepaw
would rip the girl's throat open. He briefly considered putting her under
Security medical protection. The ploy had worked well with Scriber, but it
would be very risky here. Pilgrim had been nose to nose with Johanna; he
would be suspicious of any claims about "unexpected complications". No. Even
good plans sometimes fail. Count it as experience for the future. He smiled
at the girl and spoke in Samnorsk, "You're quite safe now," for the moment
and quite unfortunately. The human's head turned to the side, looking off in
the direction of Chitiratte.
Scrupilo had been pacing back and forth along the fence, so close to
Chitiratte and Pilgrim that the two had been forced back. "I won't have it!"
The cannoneer said loudly. "Our most important person attacked like this. It
smells of enemy action!"
Wickwrackscar goggled at him. "But how?"
"I don't know!" Scrupilo said, his voice a desperate shout. "But she
needs protection as much as nursing. Vendacious must find some place to keep
her."
The pilgrim pack was clearly impressed by the argument -- and unnerved
by it. He inclined a head at Vendacious and spoke with uncharacteristic
respect, "What do you think?"
Of course, Vendacious had been watching the Two-legs. It was
interesting how little humans could disguise their point of attention.
Johanna had been staring at Chitiratte, now she was looking up at
Vendacious, her shifty little close-set eyes narrowing. Vendacious had made
a project this last year of studying human expressions, both on Johanna and
in stories in Dataset. She suspected something. And she also must have
understood part of Scrupilo's speech. Her back arched and one arm fell
raised weakly. Fortunately for Vendacious, her shout came out a whisper that
even he could scarcely hear: "No ... not like Scriber."
Vendacious was a pack who believed in careful planning. He also knew
that the best-made schemes must be altered by circumstances. He looked down
at Johanna and smiled with the gentlest public sympathy. It would be risky
to kill her like Scriber's frag, but now he saw that the alternatives were
far more dangerous. Thank goodness Woodcarver was stuck with her limper on
the other side of the camp. He nodded back at Pilgrim and drew himself
together. "I fear Scrupilo is right. Just how it might have been done, I
don't know, but we can't take a chance. We'll take Johanna to my den. Tell
the Queen." He pulled cloaks from his backs and began gently to wrap the
human for the last trip she would ever make. Only her eyes protested.
Johanna drifted in and out of consciousness, horrified at her inability
to scream her fears. Her strongest cries were less than whispers. Her arms
and legs responded with little more than twitches, even that lost in
Vendacious's swaddling. Concussion, maybe, something like that, the
explanation came from some absurdly rational corner of her mind. Everything
seemed so far away, so dark....
Johanna woke in her cabin at Woodcarver's. What a terrible dream! That
she had been so cut up, unable to move, and then thinking Vendacious was a
traitor. She tried to shrug herself to a sitting position, but nothing
moved. Darn sheets are all wrapped around me. She lay quiet for a second,
still massively disoriented by the dream. "Woodcarver?" she tried to say,
but only a little moan came out. Some member moved gently around the
firepit. The room was only dimly lit, and something was wrong with it.
Johanna wasn't lying in her usual place. There was a moment of puzzled
lassitude as she tried to make sense of the orientation of the dark walls.
Funny. The ceiling was awfully low. Everything smelled like raw meat. The
side of her face hurt, and she tasted blood on her lips. She wasn't at
Woodcarver's and that terrible dream was --
Three Tinish heads drifted in silhouette nearby. One came closer, and
in the dim light she recognized the pattern of white and black on its face.
Vendacious.
"Good," he said, "You are awake."
"Where am I?" the words came out slurred and weak. The terror was back.
"The abandoned cotter's hut at the east end of the camp. I've taken it
over. As a security den, you know." His Samnorsk was quiet and fluent,
spoken in one of the generic voices of Dataset. One of his jaws carried a
dagger, the blade a glint in the dimness.
Johanna twisted in the tied cloaks and whispered screams. Something was
wrong with her; it was like shouting on empty breath.
One of Vendacious paced the hut's upper level. Daylight splashed across
its muzzle as it peered out first one and then another of the narrow slits
cut in the timbers. "Ah, it's good that you don't pretend. I could see that
you somehow guessed about my second career. My hobby. But screaming -- even
loud -- won't help either. We have only a brief time to chat. I'm sure the
Queen will come visiting soon ... and I will kill you just before she
arrives. So sad. Your hidden wounds were tragically severe...."
Johanna wasn't sure of all he said. Her vision blurred every time she
moved her head. Even now she couldn't remember the details of what had
happened back in the hospital compound. Somehow Vendacious was a traitor,
but how ... memories wriggled past the pain. "You did murder Scriber, didn't
you? Why?" Her voice came louder than before, and she choked on blood
dribbling back down her throat.
Soft, human, laughter came from all around her. "He learned the truth
about me. Ironic that such an incompetent would be the only one to see
through me.... Or do you mean a larger why?" The three nearby muzzles moved
closer still, and the blade in one's jaw patted the side of Johanna's cheek.
"Poor Two-Legs, I'm not sure you could ever understand. Some of it, the will
to power maybe. I've read what Dataset has to say about human motivation,
the 'freudian' stuff. We Tines are much more complicated. I am almost
entirely male, did you know that? A dangerous thing to be, all one sex.
Madness lurks. Yet it was my decision. I was tired of being an indifferently
good inventor, of living in Woodcarver's shadow. So many of us are her get,
and she dominates most all of us. She was quite happy about my going into
Security, you know. She doesn't quite have the combination of members for
it. She thought that all male but one would make me controllably devious."
His sentry member made another round of the window slits. Again there
was a human chuckle. "I've been planning a long time. It's not just
Woodcarver I'm up against. The power-side of her soul is scattered all over
the arctic coast; Flenser had almost a century headstart on me; Steel is
new, but he has the empire Flenser built. I made myself indispensable to all
of them: I'm Woodcarver's chief of security ... and Steel's most valued spy.
Played aright, I will end up with Dataset and all the others will be dead."
His blade tapped her face again. "Do you think you can help me?" Eyes
peered close into her terror. "I doubt it very much. If my proper plan had
succeeded, you would be neatly dead now." A sigh breathed around the room.
"But that failed, and I'm stuck with carving you up myself. And yet it may
all turn out for the best. Dataset is a torrent of information about most
things, but it scarcely acknowledges the existence of torture. In some ways,
your race seems so fragile, so easily killable. You die before your minds
can be dismembered. Yet I know you can feel pain and terror; the trick is to
apply force without quite killing."
The three nearby members snuggled into more comfortable positions, like
a human settling down for serious talk. "And there are some questions you
may be able to answer, things I couldn't really ask before. Steel is very
confident, you know, and it's not just because he has me with Woodcarver.
That pack has some other advantage. Could he have his own Dataset?"
Vendacious paused. Johanna didn't answer, her silence a combination of
terror and stubbornness. This was the monster that killed Scriber.
The muzzle with the knife slid between the blankets and Johanna's skin,
and pain shot up Johanna's arm. She screamed. "Ah, Dataset said a human
could be hurt there. No need to answer that one, Johanna. Do you know what I
think is Steel's secret? I think one of your family survived -- most likely
your little brother, considering what you've told us about the massacre."
Jefri? Alive? For an instant she forgot the pain, almost forgot the
fear. "How...?"
Vendacious gave a Tinish shrug. "You never saw him dead. You can be
sure Steel wanted a live Two-Legs, and after reading about cold sleep in
Dataset, I doubt he could have revived any of the others. And he's got
something up there. He's been eager for information from Dataset, but he's
never demanded I steal the device for him."
Johanna closed her eyes, denying the traitor pack's existence. Jefri
lives! Memories rose before her: Jefri's playful joy, his childish tears,
his trusting courage aboard the refugee ship.... things she had thought
forever lost to her. For a moment they seemed more real than the slashing
violence of the last few minutes. But what could Jefri do to help the
Flenserists? The other datasets had surely burned. There's something more
here, something that Vendacious still is missing.
Vendacious grabbed her chin, and gave her head a little shake. "Open
your eyes; I've learned to read them, and I want to see.... Hmm, I don't
know if you believe me or not. No matter. If we have time, I will learn just
what he might have done for Steel. There are other, sharper questions.
Dataset is clearly the key to all. In less than half a year, I and
Woodcarver and Pilgrim have learned an enormous amount about your race and
civilization. I daresay we know your people better than you do -- sometimes
I think we know them even better than we know our own world. When all the
violence is over, the winner will be the pack that still controls Dataset. I
intend to be that pack. And I've often wondered if there are other
passwords, or programs I can run that would actually watch for my safety --
"
The babysitter code.
The watching heads bobbed a grin, "Aha, so there is such a thing!
Perhaps this morning's bad luck is all for the best. I might never have