The Integral Trees - Omnibus

by Larry Niven

A tree should continue to grow if there is sufficient tide to pull water and nutriment into the treemouth and to work the internal veins within the trunk. Spin the log, Jeffer.

  “Tell them about the Wart,” Carlot was saying.

  “I didn’t want to. I guess…I’ve got to. It’d be better if I knew exactly what Hilar’s planning.”

  “He’ll spin the log,” Jeffer said.

  “What? What for?”

  “Spin tide. Clave. It’s a scientific thing. Here, pick up that pot or whatever and throw it round and round your head. Arm’s length…like that, stet. Feel the pull? Like tide, isn’t it? Belmy’ll use his steam rocket to start the log spinning, not enough to tear it apart, just enough to keep some pull inside the tuft. The tree needs tide to move its food around—”

  “By the State, I believe you’re right.”

  “But the, uh, growth patterns would still be screwed up, with Voy going round and round and weird Clump tides going every which way. I’ve never seen burl, but isn’t that what you want, Booce? Grain that doesn’t grow in straight lines? He’ll spin it just enough to keep water and fertilizer in the treemouth.”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  Losing contact.

  Hilar and Jonveev waited, wearing polite smiles, until Booce had finished talking. “Burl,” Hilar said. “It sounds interesting but risky.”

  “Hardly cost-effective,” Jonveev said.

  Booce said, “There are other values. It would be indecently lucrative if it worked. You’d have done something nobody else could.” They did not comment, and he went on. “Let’s assume, just for talking purposes, that you’ve been considering a burl tree. Who else would you let in on the secret?”

  The Belmys looked at each other.

  “You’d need masses of tree food. Mud, say, from deep in the Dark. Would you buy it from Zakry? Or haul it yourselves, with Woodsman?”

  Jonveev sighed. “All right, Booce. What have you got in mind?”

  “Logbearer could haul the mud to feed the tree. The whole Market knows that my last trip failed. They won’t be surprised when Logbearer becomes a Dark diver. Let them think I’m looking for fringe and blackbrain while I haul mud for Zakry.”

  “Mmm,” said Jonveev.

  “One thing more. I’ve got eight kiltons of metal buried under the termites.”

  Their faces were quite blank. After a moment Jonveev said, “That’s not portable money. You still can’t offer us a loan, not until you sell it.”

  “An excellent point. Hilar, Jonveev, what I want is this. First, you do your damnedest to turn that half tree into burl. Second, I need a loan—”

  Hilar was laughing.

  “A short-term loan to let me spend money like an old Dark diver while I wait for the Navy to buy my metal. I’ll pay twenty percent to the crossyear, and I need ten-to-third chits. I’ll pay part of it back in mud at the same price Zakry pays. The rest at the crossyear, and I’ll hand you another five times ten-to-third. That’ll save any project you had to shortchange. It’s not a loan, though. It buys me half the burl.”

  “Half!” Jonveev exclaimed.

  “So.”

  Caught! Jonveev Belmy laughed and said, “We hadn’t thought of spinning the tree. But can you really afford to risk that many chits? You’re moderately rich now. Why not stay that way?”

  “I like the odds. I’ve got some crew who think it might work, and they’re tree dwellers. I think you think it’ll work, and that helps.”

  “Two-fifths of any burl, and we want five times ten-to-third chits. We’ll get you your loan, but at forty percent to the crossyear. Mmm…I’ll hand you our cash on hand and give you the rest in ten days.”

  Booce said, “I’ll pay thirty percent to…to ten sleeps past the crossyear. The Navy might just hold me up for that long. And classify this. If the Navy knows I took a loan, they’ll know I’m still under pressure. I want them to move.”

  Hilar laughed. “Where else could it have come from?”

  “I’ll visit the house before I start throwing money around. They’ll think I had it in the house.”

  And all of this was reported in garbled form, through Clave and then Jeffer, who had never dealt with finance, to Kendy, who never had either. But Kendy had sketchy records of the capitalistic societies that had died with the formation of the State, hundreds of years ago.

  It was a hell of a way to run a civilization. These people needed him.

  Jeffer, seated before the CARM camera, asked, “Do you understand any of this?”

  “Yes, but it would be difficult to explain. What matters is that your citizens will have their earthlife seeds.”

  “Yeah.” Jeffer stretched unself-consciously. “That’s good. We’ll have to talk fast when we get back to Citizens’ Tree. The seeds’ll help, and we’ll carry fresh food too, something they can eat right then. Are you getting what you wanted?”

  What Kendy wanted was still beyond his reach. He said, “I’ve learned some things.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The Admiralty is self-sufficient. They’re a successful culture, but the crime rate must be high. Otherwise they would need fewer Navy ships, and the houses would have more openings.” Kendy displayed the picture the pressure-suit camera was sending from the Clump. Small green outlines flickered as Kendy pointed out ships, then the few but massive doors on nearby houses. “They’ve settled the outer shell of the Clump, but they only venture gingerly into the dark center. Their infant mortality rate must be as bad as yours. When they add up their population they don’t count children, any more than you do.”

  “I never noticed that. Hmm…London Tree didn’t either. Is it because so many children die?”

  “Yes. Wait a thousand years and the death rate will have diminished. There’s nothing else to be done.”

  “I never thought there was. While I’ve got your attention, Kendy, I found a listing on the Clump. Lagrange points, it’s called. What do these words mean? Equipotential, saprophyte—Something’s happening.”

  A steam rocket emerged from the fog and rain. It came to a halt fifty meters from the helmet camera. “Navy,” Jeffer said unnecessarily. “I wonder…that’s Booce. And a silver suit!”

  “I see them. An equipotential is the curve on which some force or energy level is everywhere equal. It might be gravity or tidal force or magnetic force. A saprophyte is a family of plants that don’t use light. We’ll see some if Clave can take the helmet into the Dark.”

  Four men flew toward the camera: two in Navy armor, one standard-issue pressure suit, and Booce Serjent. The pressure suit was better kept, cleaner and shinier, than the Citizens’ Tree suit. There were big Navy-style fins at the ankles. The design painted on the back was repeated on one shoulder and on the fins: a broad green ring with a blue dot at the center.

  Kendy tried to make contact with the suit radio. He found nothing. Either it wasn’t on, or the frequency had wandered over the centuries.

  The helmet was thrown back on its hinge despite the rain. The face inside was a rounded Anglo face, without the soft elfin look of most Smoke Ring citizens: a “dwarf” face, shaved, sprouting an Earth day’s worth of dark shadow.

  The “dwarf” looked around him. “This was clever, Booce. Do you have torches?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain-Guardian. We can make some up.”

  “No need. How do I get through this muck?” The dwarf had no accent.

  Kendy gloated. No accent! He spoke exactly as a State citizen would have. The officers must learn their speech from the Admiralty Library!

  They were drifting out of view. Kendy switched to the fish-eye lens. He and Jeffer watched the Captain-Guardian take his wings off and tether them to lines on his chest, shin-sticks uppermost. The two lower-rank Navy men pulled up an edge of the termite nest. The “dwarf” squirmed in. Sudden yellow light flashed through the hole.

  Jeffer asked, “Does that light come from the pressure suit?”

  “I’ll show you how to work the helmet
light. Later.”

  The “dwarf” popped out of the hole. “There’s a respectable store of metal here. We’ll have to wait for the Council to convene before we make an offer per kilton delivered. Unless you’re prepared to accept an immediate offer of, say, two times ten-to-fifth chits for the whole chunk?”

  “I can get two or three times that on the Market.”

  “Perhaps. If we come to an agreement I can give you payment within ten days.”

  “No, thank you, Captain-Guardian. I’ll wait. Maybe I can earn some money Dark diving. Can I offer you tea?”

  “You wouldn’t want to have to sell your new house. Two and a half.”

  “No. I should point out that you’ve been seen coming here. There’s a happyfeet jungle in dock, and they might guess what that means. Also I’ll be expected to hire an exterminator. I can’t hide the metal much longer.”

  The Captain-Guardian snorted and waved to his escort. They departed.

  Booce waited until they were well away. Then he moved face-on to the camera. “Jeffer?”

  “Here.”

  “That was Captain-Guardian Wayne Mickl. Officer by birth, but his effective rank is Guardian. Keeping him happy is a good idea.”

  “He didn’t look happy.”

  “If he’s too happy, we got robbed. Jeffer, how sure are you that spinning a tree will make burl?”

  Jeffer laughed. “I never tried it myself.”

  “Yeah. Are you all right?”

  “It isn’t too bad. Something like being young again, just old enough to hunt alone. I’ve got the cassettes when I get bored. I miss Lawri.”

  “Well, I’m going to move the silver suit. We can’t leave it here.”

  “Where, then?”

  “My house. I’ll set it up so you can see the commons room. We can talk any time, and when I have guests you’ll see them too.”

  “That’s good,” said Jeffer.

  Very good. Losing contact.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SERJENT HOUSE

  from the Citizens’ Tree cassettes, year 6 SM:

  Sharon Levoy speaks of the archetypal rebellious computer, HAL 9000, from Gillespie’s opera 2001. Carol Burnes claims Frankenstein and Faust to be older and more appropriate images. One-upmanship is alive and well in the Smoke Ring. One and all, they expect me to tell them How It Happened.

  For the record: I don’t know what’s wrong with Kendy.

  —Capability Jasper Gray

  Cyberneticist, Discipline

  Debby was in a hurry the next morning. It seemed she’d arranged something at Half Hand’s: she was to meet Grag Maglicco for flying lessons. Booce drilled her to make sure she wouldn’t get lost in the sky, then sent her on her way.

  The rest shared out the meal from Half Hand’s for their breakfast, then got to work. They fueled and fired Logbearer and set it steaming along the trunk. A half turn brought the rocket to a halt opposite the Wart.

  Clave, Carlot, and Rather swarmed out and attacked the termite nest with matchets. When Logbearer blocked the Market, and floating chaff and chips of bark and wood blocked most of the sky. Clave and Rather ducked into the nest. Clave retrieved the body of the silver suit. Rather the helmet. Booce had kept the rocket hot. He jetted water into it, and away they went.

  Secrets. Rather was starting to get the knack of it.

  Half the termite nest had been scraped away, not by a hired team but by amateurs. What would the Market think? Booce must be hurting for money. His crew has exposed damage to the log: a gaping, ugly hole behind the termite nest. They’ve quit in disgust. Unlikely that anyone else would pry into that bug-infested darkness.

  The house had drifted about the sky since its completion a year and a half since. Debby had relayed Grag’s message: it was fifteen klomters skyward and some degrees to spin from the Market. The house was closer than it had been when Grag spotted it, but it was still a three-day trip.

  The house was five cubes arrayed around a concrete core. A small puff jungle grew on the roof. The main door was a huge slab of wood five meters long by four wide, half a meter thick. Booce set massive triangular braces to lock it vertical to the doorway. Mountings covered the inner surface: tethers for wings and cloaks, and coils of line, and big knobs to serve as moorings for winches and pulleys.

  They tethered Logbearer to the door. In its shadow they moved the silver suit and helmet inside.

  Secrets. What has been seen? Logbearer flies to Serjent House. The crew stays for some hours while Booce inspects his new home and shows it off to visitors. Presently Booce will be spending money.

  Navy: Booce has retrieved funds from some hiding place. He can outwait the Navy to sell his metal.

  Belmy House: Booce came as misdirection.

  The Market: Any hiding place in Booce’s house must be empty now.

  “Where do we put it?” Rather held the helmet like a severed head.

  “Look around,” Booce said. “Something will occur to you.”

  The citizens smiled at each other. They began to tour the house.

  Doorways led from one section to another through the star-shaped concrete core. There were only two ways to move. Rather had to squeeze past Clave circling the other way.

  The house was roomy: as big as a Citizens’ Tree hut, though much harder to build. The public room was lined with handholds and with hooks for outer garments and weapons, and a rack for a teapot.

  The outer wall of the kitchen had long slots in it for ventilation, a concrete fireplace with a bellows attached, and racks for wood and cookware. Rather found Carlot making tea. He asked, “You already know?”

  She nodded brightly.

  The sleeproom: tethers and some wiry foliage padding four of the walls.

  What was this next room? Curtains fixed across both interior doors, handholds and tethers mounted next to small windows with hatches over them…

  Ah. This was the treemouth. And the fifth was a storage room, with another oversized door and moorings for tethers, but nothing stored yet.

  Rather returned to the public room.

  Debby was moving slowly around the perimeter. She seemed more cheerful than she had been lately. “Hi, Rather. Grag brought me back. I gather we’re looking for some secret hiding place. Any luck?”

  “Not yet. Booce, how do you get rid of the treefodder after you feed the tree?”

  Booce stared. “What?—Oh. The wind floats it away and fisher jungles gather it in. Now you know why everyone doesn’t just tether his house to the Market. Find anything?”

  “I didn’t see any hiding places. I’ve never seen a house before.”

  “You were all somewhere else, so I searched here,” Debby said. “Nothing. Booce, are there holes in the concrete?”

  Booce laughed. “I could have done that. Access through the walls? Well, any burglar could tear the core apart and all he’d find is concrete and two chunks of sporing fringe buried along the hub. Meanwhile, what do you think of my door?”

  “Thick. Like you’re afraid someone might kick his way through.”

  “We tend to make them massive. Not just for burglars. It has to stand up to rough treatment when you’re moving heavy stuff.”

  Clave shook his head in disgust. “We’d know who our thief is. We’d kick him into the sky. Booce, your trouble is, you’ve got too many people in the Clump.”

  Booce was taken aback. “I never thought of it that way. Anyway, let me show you what I did—”

  When the door was fully open, one could slide aside a panel in the edge that faced the hinges. The half-meter thickness of the wood had been hollowed out. The silver suit went in easily. The helmet was barely small enough.

  “Now we need a hole,” Booce said.

  “Kendy for the State. Jeffer, would you rather sleep?”

  “Mpf? No. Hello, Kendy.” Jeffer stretched. “If I didn’t want you waking me up I’d sleep outside.” He looked at the view in the bow window. “Oho!”

  It was dark, but Jeffe
r could make out Clave’s anxious face. His voice sounded faint, distant. “Jeffer? Talk to me, Jeffer.”

  “Prikazyvat Relay to pressure suit. Scientist here.”

  “What do you see?”

  “You. And a ragged border. What did you do?”

  “You’re looking through a hole in a door. Booce ripped a hook out. From here it looks like he just put too much tension on it.”

  “Good enough. I take it we can talk. Rather, you there?”

  Rather floated into view, smiled, and waved. Others joined, until five citizens floated in a star with their heads inward.

  Booce said, “I’ve made a deal with the Belmys. Jeffer, would you like to learn something about the Dark?”

  “You mean the Clump interior? Sure.”

  “That’s good, because I’ve agreed to bring back some mud for Belmy’s burl tree.”

  “You’re going? All of you? Logbearer?”

  “Ah…no. I think I’d better stay here. I’ve been weaving financial threads into one very complicated net. Carlot, you can handle Logbearer alone, stet? And I gather Raym Wilby is at liberty. He can guide you.” Carlot was nodding eagerly. “Oh, and Hilar hadn’t thought of spinning the burl log, but he’s going to try it.”

  “Sounds good. Carlot, will you take the helmet so I can see these marvels?”

  Carlot looked to her father, who said, “Why not?”

  “Good. Rather, tell me about the Navy. Take your time.”

  Rather talked. Kendy guessed that the boy wasn’t hiding anything, but he kept jumping back and forth. Kendy printed questions across the bow window; Jeffer solicited descriptions of Petty Wheeler, Bosun Murphy, Navy armor, the Navy ship, Murphy’s description of Navy life, Wheeler’s offer…

  “Is this standard, Booce? Anyone can join the Navy?”

  “Not just anyone. They wouldn’t have Carlot because of her legs. Otherwise…well, any savage could join, but he might not get beyond Spacer First until they’ve watched him for years. The Navy wants loyalty. They take more men than women, and they won’t take you if you’re too old to be trained.”

  “Loyalty?”

  “If you’re loyal to your tribe, you’re not loyal to the Navy. Navy above all, even family.”