by Vernor Vinge
Note 403
Amdi raced around the windswept side of the courtyard, dodging snowballs and keening frustration. Human hands were such wicked, wicked things. How he would love to have a pair — four pairs! He circled round from three sides and sprinted right at the human. Jefri backed quickly into deeper snow, but too late. Amdi hit him high and low, tipping the Two-Legs over into a snowdrift. There was a mock battle, slashing lips and paws against Jefri’s hands and feet. But now Amdi was on top. The human got paid back for his snowballs with plenty of snow stuffed down the back of his jacket.
* * *
Sometimes they just sat and watched the sky for so long that rumps and paws went numb. Sitting behind the largest snow drift, they were shaded from the castle torches and had a clear view of the lights in the sky.
At first Amdi had been entranced by the aurora. Even some of his teachers were. They said this part of the world was one of the best places to see the sky glow. Sometimes it was so faint that the torchlight glimmering off the snow was enough to blot it out. Other times it ran from horizon to horizon: green light trimmed with hints of pink, twisting as though ruffled by a slow wind.
He and Jefri could talk very easily now, though always in Jefri’s language. The human couldn’t make many of the sounds of interpack speech; even his pronounciation of Amdi’s name was a scarcely recognizable. But Amdi understood Samnorsk pretty well; it was fun, their own secret language.
Jefri was not especially impressed by the aurora. “We have that lots at home. It’s just light from—” He said a new word, and glanced at Amdi. It was funny how the human couldn’t look in more than one place at time. His eyes and head were always moving. “— you know, places where people make things. I think the gas and waste leaks out, and then the sun lights it up or it gets—” unintelligible.
Note 404
“Places where people make things?”In the sky? Amdi had a globe; he knew the size of the world and its orientation. If the aurora were reflecting sunlight, it must be hundreds of miles above the ground! Amdi leaned a back against Jefri’s jacket and made a very human whistling sound. His knowledge of geography was not up to his geometry, but, “The packs don’t work in the sky, Jefri. We don’t even have flying boats.”
“Uh, that’s right, you don’t…. I don’t know what that stuff is then. But I don’t like it. It gets in the way of the stars.” Amdi knew all about the stars; Jefri had told him. Somewhere out there were the friends of Jefri’s parents.
Jefri was silent for several minutes. He wasn’t looking at the sky anymore. Amdi wriggled a little closer, watching the shifting light in the sky. Behind them the wind-sharpened crest of the drift was edged with yellow light from the torches. Amdi could imagine what the other was thinking. “The commsets from the boat, they really aren’t good enough to call for help?”
Note 405
Jefri slapped the ground. “No! I told you. They’re just radio. I think I can make them work, but what’s the use? The ultrawave stuff is still on the boat and it’s too big to move. I just don’t understand why Mr. Steel won’t let me go aboard…. I’m eight years old, you know. I could figure it out. Mom had it all set up before, before …” His words guttered into the familiar, despairing silence.
Amdi rubbed a head against Jefri’s shoulder. He had a theory about Mr. Steel’s reluctance. It was an explanation he hadn’t told Jefri before: “Maybe he’s afraid you’ll just fly away and leave us.”
“That’s stupid! I’d never leave you. Besides, that boat is real hard to fly. It was never meant to land on a world.”
Note 406
Jefri said the strangest things; sometimes Amdi was just misunderstanding — but sometimes they were literal truth. Did the humans really have ships that never came to ground? Where did they go then? Amdi could almost feel new scales of reference clicking together in his mind. Mr. Steel’s geography globe represented not the world, but something very, very small in the true scheme of things.
“I know you wouldn’t leave us. But you can see how Mr. Steel might be afraid. He can’t even talk to you except through me. We have to show him that we can be trusted.”
“I guess.”
Note 407
“If you and I could get the radios working, that might help. I know my teachers haven’t figured them out. Mr. Steel has one, but I don’t think he understands it either.”
Note 408
“Yeah. If we could get the other one to work…”
That afternoon the guards got a break: their two charges came in from the cold early. The guards didn’t question their good fortune.
* * *
Note 409
Steel’s den had originally been the Master’s. It was very different from the castle’s meeting halls. Except for choirs, only a single pack would fit in any room. It was not exactly that the suite was small. There were five rooms, not counting the bath. But except for the library, none was more than fifteen feet across. The ceilings were low, less than five feet; there was no space for visitor balconies. Servants were always on call in the two hallways that shared a wall with the quarters. The dining room, bedroom, and bath had servant hatches, just big enough to give orders and to receive food and drink, or preening oils.
Note 410
The main entrance was guarded on the outside by three trooper packs. Of course, the Master would never live in a den with only one exit. Steel had found eight secret hatches (three in the sleeping quarters). These could only be opened from within; they led to the maze that Flenser had built within the solid rock of the castle’s walls. No one knew the extent of that maze, not even the Master. Steel had rearranged parts of it — in particular the passages leading from this den — in the years since Flenser’s departure.
Note 411
The quarters were nearly impregnable. Even if the castle fell, the rooms’ larder was stocked for half a year; ventilation was provided by a network of channels almost as extensive as the Master’s secret passages. All in all, Steel felt tolerably safe here. There was always the possibility that there were more than eight secret entrances, perhaps one that could be opened from the other side.
And of course choirs were out of the question, here or anywhere. The only extrapack sex that Steel indulged was with singletons — and that as part of his experiments; it was just too dangerous to mix one’s self with others.
After dinner, Steel drifted into the library. He relaxed around his reading desk. Two of him sipped brandy while another smoked southern herbs. This was pleasure, but also calculation: Steel knew just what vices, applied to just which members, would raise his imagination to its keenest pitch.
Note 412
… And more and more he was coming to see that imagination was at least as important as raw intelligence in the present game. The desk between him was covered with maps, reports from the south, internal security memos. But lying in all the silkpaper, like an ivory slug in its nest, was the alien radio. They had recovered two from the ship. Steel picked the thing up, ran a nose along the smooth, curved sides. Only the finest stressed wood could match its grace — and that in musical instruments or statuary. Yet the mantis claimed this could be used to talk across dozens of miles, as fast as a ray of sunlight. If true … Steel wondered how many lost battles might have been won with these, and how many new conquests might be safely undertaken. And if they could learn to make far-talkers … the Movement’s subordinates, scattered across the continent, would be as near as the guards by Steel’s den. No force in the world could stand against them.
Note 413
Steel picked up the latest report from Woodcarvers. In many ways they were having more success with their mantis than Steel with his. Apparently theirs was almost an adult. More important, it had a miraculous library that could be interrogated almost like a living
Note 414
being. There had been three other datasets. Steel’s whitejackets had found what was left of them in the burnt-out wreckage around the ship. Jefri thought that the sh
ip’s processors were a little like a dataset, “only stupider” (Amdi’s best translation), but so far the processors had been useless.
But with their dataset, several on Woodcarver’s staff had already learned mantis talk. Each day they discovered more about the aliens’ civilization than Steel’s people could in ten. He smiled. They didn’t know that all the important stuff was being faithfully reported to Hidden Island…. For now he would let them keep their toy, and their mantis; they had noticed several things that would have slipped by him. Still he damned the luck.
Note 415
Steel paged through the report…. Good. The alien at Woodcarvers was still uncooperative. He felt his smile spreading into laughter: it was a small thing, the creature’s word for the Packs. The report tried to spell out the word. It didn’t matter; the translation was “claws” or “tines”. The mantis had a special horror for the tine attachments that soldiers wore on their forepaws. Steel licked pensively at the black enamel of his manicured claws. Interesting. Claws could be threatening things, but they were also part of being a person. Tines were their mechanical extension, and potentially more frightening. It was the sort of name you might imagine for an elite killer force … but never for all the Packs. After all, the race of packs included the weak, the poor, the kindly, the naive … as well as persons like Steel and Flenser. It said something very interesting about mantis psychology that the creature picked tines as the characterizing feature of the Packs.
Steel eased back from his desk and gazed at the landscape painted around the library’s walls. It was a view from the castle towers. Behind the paint, the walls were lined with patterns of mica and quartz and fiber; the echoes gave a vague sense of what you might hear looking out across the stone and emptiness. Combination audiovisuals were rare in the castle, and this one was especially well-done; Steel could feel himself relaxing as he stared at it. He drifted for a moment, letting his imagination roam.
Tines. I like it. If that was the alien’s image, then it was the right name for his race. His pitiful advisors — and sometimes even the Flenser Fragment — were still intimidated by the ship from the stars. No question, there was power in that ship beyond anything in the world. But after the first panic, Steel understood that the aliens were not supernaturally gifted. They had simply progressed — in the sense that Woodcarver made so much of — beyond the current state of his world’s science. Certainly the alien civilization was a deadly unknown right now. Indeed, it might be capable of burning this world to a cinder. Yet the more Steel saw, the more he realized the intrinsic inferiority of the aliens: What a bizarre abortion they were, a race of intelligent singletons. Every one of them must be raised from nothing, like a wholly newborn pack. Memories could only be passed by voice and writing. Each creature grew and aged and even died as a whole. Despite himself, Steel shivered.
Note 416
He had come a long way from the first misconceptions, the first fears. For more than a thirty days now he’d been scheming to use the star ship to rule the world. The mantis said that ship was signaling others. That had reduced some of his Servants to incontinence. So. Sooner or later, more ships would arrive. Ruling the world was no longer a practical goal…. It was time to aim higher, at goals even the Master had never imagined. Take away their technical advantages and the mantis folk were such finite, fragile beings. They should be easy to conquer. Even they seemed to realize this. Tines, the creature calls us. So it will be. Some day Tines would pace between the stars and rule there.
Note 417
But in the years till then, life would be very dangerous. Like a newborn pup, all their potential could be destroyed by one small blow. The Movement’s survival — the world’s survival — would depend upon superior intelligence, imagination, discipline, and treachery. Fortunately, those had always been Steel’s great strengths.
Note 418
Steel dreamed in the candlelight and haze…. Intelligence, imagination, discipline, treachery. Done right … could the aliens be persuaded to eliminate all of Steel’s enemies … and then bare their throats to him? It was daring, almost beyond reason, but there might be a way. Jefri claimed he could operate the ship’s signaler. By himself? Steel doubted it. The alien was thoroughly duped, but not especially competent. Amdiranifani was a different story. He was showing all the genius of his bloodlines. And the principles of loyalty and sacrifice his teachers drilled into him had taken hold, though he was a bit … playful. His obedience didn’t have the sharp edge that fear could bring. No matter. As a tool he was useful beyond all others. Amdiranifani understood Jefri, and seemed to understand the alien artifacts even better than the mantis did.
The risk must be taken. He would let the two aboard the ship. They would send his message in place of the automatic distress signal. And what should that first message be? Word for word, it would be the most important, most dangerous thing any pack had ever said.
* * *
Note 419
Three hundred yards away, deep in the experiment wing, a boy and a pack of puppies came across an unexpected piece of good luck: an unlocked door, and a chance to play with Jefri’s commset.
The phone was more complex than some. It was intended for hospital and field work, for the remote control of devices as well as for voice talk. By trial and error, the two gradually narrowed the options.
Jefri Olsndot pointed to numbers that had appeared on the side of the device. “I think that means we’re matched with some receiver.” He glanced nervously at the doorway. Something told him they really shouldn’t be here.
“That’s the same pattern as on the radio Mr. Steel took,” said Amdi. Not even one of his heads was watching the door.
“I bet if we press it here, what we say will come out on his radio. Now he’ll know we can help…. So what should we do?”
Note 420
Three of Amdi raced around the room, like dogs that couldn’t keep their attention on the conversation. By now, Jefri knew this was the equivalent of a human looking away and humming as he thought. The angle of his gaze was another gesture, in this case a spreading and mischievous smile. “I think we should surprise him. He is always so serious.”
“Yeah.” Mr. Steel was pretty solemn. But then all the adults were. They reminded him of the older scientists at the High Lab.
Amdi grabbed the radio and gave him a “just watch this” look. He nosed on the “talk” switch and sang a long ululation into the mike. It sounded only vaguely like pack speech. One of Amdi translated, next to Jefri’s ear. The human boy felt giggles stealing up his throat.
* * *
In his den, Lord Steel was lost in scheming. His imagination — loosed by herbs and brandy — floated free, playing with the possibilities. He was settled deep in velvet cushions, comfortable in the den’s safety. The remaining candles shone faintly on the landscape mural, glinting from the polished furniture. The story he would tell the aliens, he almost had it now….
The noise on his desk began as a small thing, submerged beneath his dreaming. It was mostly low-pitched, but there were overtones in the range of thought, like slices of another mind. It was a presence, growing. Someone is in my den! The thought tore like Flenser’s killing blade. Steel’s members spasmed panic, disoriented by smoke and drink.
There was a voice in the middle of the insanity. It was distorted, missing tones that any normal speech should have. It howled and quavered at him, “Lord Steel! Greetings from the Pack of Packs, the Lord God Almighty!”
Note 421
Part of Steel was already out the main hatch, staring wide-eyed at his guards in the hallway beyond. The troopers’ presence brought a bit of calm, and icy embarrassment. This is nonsense. He tipped a head to the alien device on his desk. The echoes were everywhere, but the sounds originated in the far-talker…. There was no pack speech now, just the high-pitched slices of sound, mindless warbling in the middle range of thought. Wait. Behind it all, faint and low … there were the coughing grunts he recognized as mantis
laughter.
Steel rarely gave way to rage. It should be his tool, not his master. But listening to the laughter, and remembering the words…. Steel felt black bloodiness rising in first one member and then another. Almost without thought, he reached back and smashed the commset. It fell instantly silent. He glared at the guards ranged at attention in the hallway. Their mind noise was quiet with stifled fear.
Note 422
Someone would die for this.
* * *
Note 423
Mr. Steel met with Amdi and Jefri the day after their success with the radio. They had convinced him. They were moving to the mainland. Jefri would have his chance to call for rescue!
Steel was even more solemn than usual; he made a big thing about how important it was to get help, to defend against another attack from the Woodcarvers. But he didn’t seem angry about Amdi’s little prank. Jefri breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Back home, Daddy would have tanned his hide for something like that. I guess Amdi is right. Mr. Steel was serious because of all his responsibilities and the dangers they faced. But underneath he was a very nice person.
Note 424
Note 425
Crypto: 0
Syntax: 43
As received by: Transceiver Relay03 at Relay
Language path: Firetongue->Cloudmark->Triskweline, SjK units [Firetongue and Cloudmark are High Beyond trade languages. Only core meaning is rendered by this translation.]
From: Arbitration Arts Corporation at Firecloud Nebula [A High Beyond military[?] organization. Known age ~100 years]
Subject: Reason for concern
Summary: Three single-system civilizations are apparently destroyed
Key phrases: scale interstellar disasters, scale interstellar warfare?, Straumli Realm Perversion
Distribution:
War Trackers Interest Group
Threats Interest Group
Homo Sapiens Interest Group