by Vernor Vinge
The Rider clapped his fronds hard against his central stalk. Again a furious rattling. It was something Pham had never seen before. Rage? Terror? Blueshell’s voder voice was distorted with nonlinearities: “You ask? You ask? It’s monstrous to ask me to help you in this—” the voice skeetered into high frequencies and he stood mute, his body shivering.
Note 888
Pham of the Qeng Ho felt a stab of shame. The other knew and understood … and deserved better than this. The Riders must be destroyed, but they should not have to listen to his judging. His hand swept toward the communications cutoff, stopped. No. This is your last chance to observe the Perversion’s … work.
Ravna’s glance snapped back and forth between human and Skroderider, and he could tell that she understood. Her face had the same stricken look as when she learned about Sjandra Kei. “You’re saying the Perversion made the original skrodes.”
Note 889
“And modified the Riders too. It was long ago, and certainly not the same instance of the Perversion that the Straumers created, but….”
The “Blight”, that was the other common name for the Perversion, and closer to Old One’s view. For all the Perversion’s transcendence, its life style was more similar to a disease than anything else. Maybe that had helped to fool Old One. But now Pham could see: the Blight lived in pieces, across extraordinary reaches of time. It hid in archives, waiting for ideal conditions. And it had created helpers for its blooming….
He looked at Ravna, and suddenly realized a little more. “You’ve had thirty hours to think about this, Rav. You saw the record from my suit. Surely you must have guessed some of this.”
Her gaze dropped from his. “A little,” she finally said. At least she was no longer denying.
“You know what we have to do,” he said softly. Now that he understood what must be done, the godshatter eased its grip. Its will would be done.
“What is that?” said Ravna, as if she didn’t know.
“Two things: Post this to the Net.”
“Who would believe?” The Net of a Million Lies.
“Enough would. Once they look, most folk will be able to see the truth here … and take the proper action.”
Ravna shook her head. “No,” barely audible.
“The Net must be told, Ravna. We’ve discovered something that could save a thousand worlds. This is the Blight’s hidden edge,” at least in the Middle and Low Beyond.
She just shook her head again. “But screaming this truth would itself kill billions.”
“In honest defense!” He bounced slowly toward the ceiling, pushed himself back toward the deck.
There were tears in her eyes now. “These are exactly the arguments used to kill m-my family, my worlds…. A-and I will not be part of it.”
“But the claims are true this time!”
“I’ve had enough of pogroms, Pham.”
Gentle toughness … and almost unbelievable. “You would make this decision yourself, Rav? We know something that others— leaders wiser than either of us — should be free to decide upon. You would keep them from making that choice?”
Note 890
She hesitated, and for an instant Pham thought the civilized rule-follower in her would bring her around. But then her chin came up, “Yes, Pham. I would deny them the choice.”
He made a noncommittal noise and drifted back toward the command console. No point in talking to her about what else must be done.
“And Pham, we will not kill Blueshell and Greenstalk.”
Note 891
“There’s no choice, Rav.” His hands played with the touch controls. “Greenstalk was perverted; we have no idea how much of that survived the destruction of her skrode, or how long it will be before Blueshell goes bad. We can’t take them along, or let them go free.”
Ravna drifted sideways, her eyes fixed on his hands. “B-Be careful who you kill, Pham,” she said softly. “As you say, I’ve had thirty hours to think about my decisions, thirty hours to think about yours.”
“So.” Pham raised his hands from the controls. Rage (godshatter?) chased briefly through this mind. Ravna, Ravna, Ravna, a voice saying goodbye inside his head. Then all became very cold. He had been so afraid that the Riders had perverted the ship. Instead, this stupid fool had acted for them, voluntarily. He drifted slowly toward her. Almost unthinking, he held his arm and hand at combat ready. “How do you intend to prevent me from doing what has to be done?” But he already guessed.
She didn’t back away, even when his hand was centimeters from her throat. Her face held courage and tears. “W-what do you think, Pham? While you were in the surgeon … I rearranged things. Hurt me, and you will be hurt worse.” Her eyes swept the walls behind him. “Kill the Riders, and … and you will die.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, measuring. Maybe there weren’t weapons buried in the walls. He probably could kill her before she could defend. But then there were a thousand ways the ship could have been programmed to kill him. And all that would be left would be the Riders … flying down to the Bottom, to their prize. “So what do we do, then?” He finally said.
“As b-before, we go to rescue Jefri. We go to recover the Countermeasure. I’m willing to put some restrictions on the Riders.”
A truce with monsters, mediated by a fool.
He pushed off and sailed around her, back down the axis corridor. Behind him, he heard a sob.
* * *
They stayed well clear of each other the next few days. Pham was allowed shallow access to ship controls. He found suicide programs threaded through the application layers. But a strange thing, and reason for chagrin if he had been capable of it: The changes dated from hours after his confrontation with Ravna. She’d had nothing when she stood against him. Thank the Powers, I didn’t know. The thought was forgotten almost before he formed it.
So. The charade would proceed right to the end, a continuing game of lie and subterfuge. Grimly, he set himself to winning that game. Fleets behind them, traitors surrounding him. By the Qeng Ho and his own godshatter, the Perversion would lose. The Skroderiders would lose. And for all her courage and goodness, Ravna Bergsndot would lose.
Note 892
Chapter 30
Tyrathect was losing the battle within herself. Oh, it wasn’t near ended; better perhaps to say that the tide had turned. In the beginning there had been little triumphs, as when she let Amdijefri play alone with the commset without even the children guessing she was responsible. But such were many tendays past, and now…. Some days she would be entirely in control of herself. Others — and these often seemed the happiest — would begin with her seeming in control.
It was not yet clear the sort of day today would be.
Note 893
Tyrathect paced along the hoardings that topped the new castle’s walls. The place was certainly new, but hardly yet a castle. Steel had built in panicky haste. The south and west walls were very thick, with embedded tunnels. But there were spots on the north side that were simply palisades backed by stony rubble. Nothing more could be done in the time that Steel had been given. She stopped for a moment, smelling fresh-sawn timber. The view down Starship Hill was as beautiful as she had ever seen it. The days were getting longer. Now there was only twilight between the setting and the rising of the sun. The local snow had retreated to its summer patches, leaving heather to turn green in the warmth. From here she could see miles, to where bluish sea haze clamped down on the offshore islands.
By the conventional wisdom, it would be suicide to attack the new castle — even in its present ramshackle state — with less than a horde. Tyrathect smiled bitterly to herself. Of course, Woodcarver would ignore that wisdom. Old Woodcarver thought she had a secret weapon that would breach these walls from hundreds of feet away. Even now Steel’s spies were reporting that the Woodcarvers had taken the bait, that their small army and their crude cannon had begun the overland trek up the coast.
She descended t
he wall stairs to the yard. She heard faint thunder. Somewhere north of Streamsdell, Steel’s own cannoneers were beginning their morning practice. When the air was just right, you could hear it. There was to be no testing near the farmlands, and none but high Servants and isolated workers knew of the weapons. But by now Steel had thirty of the devices and gunpowder to match. The greatest lack was gunners. Up close the noise of firing was hellish. Sustained firing could deafen. Ah, but the weapons themselves: They had a range of almost eight miles, three times as great as Woodcarver’s. They could deliver gunpowder “bombs” that exploded on impact. There were places beyond the northern hills where the forest was gouged bare and slumping landslides showed naked rock — all from sustained barrages of gunfire.
And soon — perhaps today — the Flenserists would have radio, too.
Note 894
God damn you, Woodcarver! Of course Tyrathect had never met the Woodcarver, but Flenser had known that pack well: Flenser was mostly Woodcarver’s offspring. The “Gentle Woodcarver” had borne him and raised him to power. It had been Woodcarver who taught him about freedom of thought and experiment. Woodcarver should have known the pride that lived in Flenser, should have known that he would go to extremes his parent never dared. And when the new one’s monstrous nature became clear, when his first “experiments” were discovered, Woodcarver should have had him killed — or at the very least, fragmented. Instead, Flenser had been allowed to take exile … to create things like Steel, and they to create their own monsters, ultimately to build this hierarchy of madness.
Note 895
And now, a century overdue, Woodcarver was coming to correct her mistake. She came with her toy guns, as overconfident and idealistic as ever. She came into a trap of steel and fire that none of her people would survive. If only there were some way to warn the Woodcarver. Tyrathect’s only reason for being here was the oath she had sworn herself to bring Flenser’s Movement down. If Woodcarver knew what awaited her here, if she even knew of the traitors in her own camp … there might be a chance. Last fall, Tyrathect had come close to sending an anonymous message south. There were traders who visited through both kingdoms. Her Flenser memories told her which were likely independent. She almost passed one a note, a single piece of silkpaper, reporting the starship’s landing and Jefri’s survival. In that she had missed death by less than a day: Steel had shown her a report from the South, about the other human and Woodcarver’s progress with the “dataset”. There were things in the report that could only be known by someone at the top at Woodcarver’s. Who? She didn’t ask, but she guessed it was Vendacious; the Flenser in Tyrathect remembered that sibling pack well. They’d had … dealings. Vendacious had none of the raw genius of their joint parent, but there was a broad streak of opportunism in him.
Steel had shown her the report only to puff himself up, to prove to Tyrathect that he had succeeded in something that Flenser had never attempted. And it was a coup. Tyrathect had complimented Steel with more than usual sincerity … and quietly shelved her plans of warning. With a spy at the top at Woodcarver’s, any message would be pointless suicide.
Note 896
Now Tyrathect padded across the castle’s outer yard. There was still plenty of construction going on, but the teams were smaller. Steel was building timber lodges all over the yard. Many were empty shells. Steel hoped to persuade Ravna to land at a special spot near the inner keep.
The inner keep. That was the only thing about this castle built to the standards of Hidden Island. It was a beautiful structure. It could really be what Steel told Amdijefri: a shrine to honor Jefri’s ship and protect it from Woodcarver attack. The central dome was a smooth sweep of cantilevers and fitted stone as wide as the main meeting hall on Hidden Island. Tyrathect watched it with one pair of eyes as she trotted round it. Steel intended to face the dome with the finest pink marble. It would be visible for dozens of miles into the sky. The deadfalls built into its structure were the centerpiece of Steel’s plan, even if the rescuers didn’t land in his other trap.
* * *
Shreck and two other high Servants stood on the steps of the castle’s meeting hall. They came to attention as she approached. The three backed quickly away, bellies scraping stone … but not as quickly as last fall. They knew that the other Flenser Fragments had been destroyed. As Tyrathect swept past them, she almost smiled. For all her weakness and all her problems, she knew she could best these ones.
Note 897
Steel was already inside, alone. The most important meetings were all like this, just Steel and herself. She understood the relationship. In the beginning, Steel had been simply terrified of her — the one person he believed he could never kill. For tendays, he had teetered between grovelling before her and dismembering her. It was amusing to see the bonds Flenser had installed years before still having force. Then had come word of the death of the other Fragments. Tyrathect was no longer Flenser-in-Waiting. She had half expected death to come then. But in a way this made her safer. Now Steel was less afraid, and his need for intimate advice could be satisfied in ways he saw less threatening. She was his bottled demon: Flenser wisdom without the Flenser threat.
Note 898
This afternoon he seemed almost relaxed, nodding casually to Tyrathect as she entered. She nodded back. In many ways Steel was her — Flenser’s — finest creation. So much effort had been spent honing Steel. How many packs-worth of members had been sacrificed to get just the combination that was Steel. She — Flenser — had wanted brilliance, ruthlessness. As Tyrathect she could see the truth. With all the flensing, Flenser had created a poor, sad thing. It was strange, but … sometimes Steel seemed like Flenser’s most pitiable victim.
Note 899
“Ready for the big test?” Tyrathect said. At long last, the radios seemed complete.
“In a moment. I wanted to ask you about timing. My sources tell me Woodcarver’s army is on its way. If they make reasonable progress, they should be here in five tendays.”
“That’s at least three tendays before Ravna’s ship arrives.”
“Quite. We will have your old enemy disposed of long before we go for the high stakes. But … something is strange about the Two- Legs’ recent messages. How much do you think they suspect? Is it possible that Amdijefri are telling them more than we know?”
Note 900
It was an uncertainty Steel would have masked back when she had been Flenser-in-Waiting. Tyrathect slid to a seated position before replying. “You might know the answer if you had bothered to learn more of the Two-Legs’ language, dear Steel, or let me learn more.” Through the winter, Tyrathect had been desperate to talk to the children alone, to get warning to the ship. She was of two minds about that now. Amdijefri were so transparent, so innocent. If they glimpsed anything of Steel’s treachery, they couldn’t hide it. And what might the rescuers do if they knew Steel’s villainy? Tyrathect had seen one starship in flight. Just its landing could be a terrible weapon. Besides … If Steel’s plan succeeds, I won’t need the aliens’ goodwill.
Aloud, Tyrathect continued, “As long as you can continue your magnificent performance, you have nothing to fear from the child. Can’t you see that he loves you?”
Note 901
For an instant, Steel seemed pleased, and then the suspicion returned. “I don’t know. Amdi seems always to taunt me, as though he sees through my act.”
Poor Steel. Amdiranifani was his greatest success, and he would never understand it. In this one thing Steel had truly exceeded his Master, had discovered and honed a technique that had once been Woodcarver’s. The Fragment eyed his former student almost hungrily. If only he could do him all over again; there must be a way to combine the fear and the flensing with love and affection. The resulting tool would truely merit the name Steel. Tyrathect shrugged, “Take my word for it. If you can continue your kindness act, both children will be faithful. As for the rest of your question: I have noticed some change in Ravna’s messages. She seems much more
confident of their arrival time, yet something has gone wrong for them. I don’t think they’re any more suspicious than before; they seemed to accept that Jefri was responsible for Amdi’s idea about the radios. That lie was a good move, by the way. It played to their sense of superiority. On a fair battlefield, we are probably their betters — and they must not guess that.”
“But what are they suddenly so tense about?”
The Fragment shrugged. “Patience, dear Steel. Patience and observation. Perhaps Amdijefri have noticed this too. You might subtly inspire them to ask about it. My guess is the Two-Legs have their own politics to worry about.” He stopped and turned all his heads on Steel. “Could you have your ‘source’ down at Woodcarver’s ferret about with the question?”
“Perhaps I will. That Dataset is Woodcarver’s one great advantage.” Steel sat in silence for a moment, nervously chewing at his lips. Abruptly, he shook himself all over, as if to drive off the manifold threats he saw encroaching. “Shreck!”
There was the sound of paws. The hatch creaked open and Shreck stuck a head inside. “Sir?”
“Bring the radio outfits in here. Then ask Amdijefri if he can come down to talk to us.”
* * *
Note 902
The radios were beautiful things. Ravna claimed that the basic device could be invented by civilizations scarcely more advanced than Flenser’s. That was hard to believe. There were so many steps in the making, so many meaningless detours. The final results: eight one-yard squares of night-darkness. Glints of gold and silver showed in the strange material. That, at least, was no mystery: a part of Flenser’s gold and silver had gone into the construction.
Note 903
Amdijefri arrived. They raced around the central floor, poked at the radios, shouted to Steel and the Flenser Fragment. Sometimes it was hard to believe they were not truly one pack, that the Two Legs was not another member: They clung to each other as a single pack might. As often as not, Amdi answered questions about Two-Legs before Jefri had a chance to speak, using the “I-pack” pronoun to identify both of them.