The Children of the Sky

by VernorVinge

  Tycoon’s various pronouncements and directions were mainly directed at his crew. Vendacious paid a small amount of attention to that; mainly he was interested in any trouble the Ravna maggot might stir up. Abruptly, he realized that Tycoon was talking to him: “Where in hell are you, Vendacious? My lookouts have lost sight of you.”

  Damn you, I’m not being a perfect target in the sky. But aloud, Vendacious said, “Sorry, my lord, sorry. We’ve had a bit of mechanical trouble, unable to make much altitude.” In fact, mountain walls loomed on either side of their path, thousands of feet of rock between his precious members and the maggots’ beam gun.

  “Are you going to crash then?” said Tycoon. “I’ve told you to be more careful about repairs. It’s stupid to have your own maintenance crews.”

  “Not to worry, sir. My people have a solution. You’ll be seeing us soon.” Vendacious glanced at the dataset display in front of him. The position map showed that he was running out of mountains to hide behind. He must soon decide between trusting Nevil Storherte and dropping out of the game.

  “Very good then!” Their conversation was in Interpack and thus free of maggoty smart remarks. “Another thing,” continued Tycoon. “I need to talk to Nevil directly. There’s final planning—”

  “I believe I’ve covered everything, my lord.” Vendacious did his best to be the middlepack in all contacts between Tycoon and humans, even—and especially—Nevil Storherte. Fortunately, Storherte really didn’t like to talk to packs. Keeping Tycoon from chatting with Nevil had been much easier than keeping the eightsome from talking to the various surviving prisoners.

  Not today: “I’m sure you’ve done your best, Vendacious, but now you’re lagging and I’m less than an hour from landing. I want to ask Nevil some questions about just who is present, and the current status of the likes of Woodcarver and Flenser and—” Tycoon’s voice scaled up a couple of octaves as he spoke.

  “Yes, my lord! Have you used your ordinary radio? Nevil is listening all the time via the orbiter. Now—”

  “I’ve tried that! The two-legs is not replying.”

  “I’ll look into it, my lord. I have agents on the ground.” And other means of communication.

  “I need results on this quickly, Vendacious. As you know, the Ravna two-legs has been saying many harsh things about Nevil. Now is not the time to have her proven right.”

  “I agree, sir. I’ll get back to you directly.” In this, he was utterly sincere. “I’ll be out of communication with you for a few minutes.”

  “I understand. Use the cloaks network and whatever else is needed.”

  Vendacious waved at Ut to stop relaying with Tycoon’s ship. Damnation. Too many problems were suddenly piling up. He should prepare for one of those problems immediately. Vendacious glanced down from his platforms, “Cargomaster!”

  “Sir!”

  “Bring up our special prisoners. The four goes in its usual cage, but I want Amdiranifani shackled around the bow hatch.”

  The Cargomaster cowered slightly, then it hustled immediately off for the prison cells. The pack had been through this procedure before.

  As for the more difficult problems: How to get in touch with Nevil? Was that maggot playing some new game? He thought he had Nevil figured out, but the prospect of facing the beam gun made him want to rethink everything. Dekutomon is close to Oobii. I could have him take Fyr and visit the maggot. If there’d been more time, that would’ve been the best approach; let Nevil know that Vendacious’ agents were everywhere, even on Nevil’s doorstep.

  Or, he could use an ordinary radio to try to reach Nevil through his heavenly high orbiter. No, that was groveling, and it hadn’t worked for Tycoon. Besides, ordinary radio might be overheard by the radio sets Tycoon had aboard Pack of Packs.

  Vendacious glanced at his dataset. Right now it was displaying a map of his ground track, the ridges on either side of his ship marked with altitudes and proximity. In the early years of his exile, this dataset—Oliphaunt, Johanna had called it—had been his most precious possession, the true reason why he was so esteemed by Tycoon. Since his alliance with Nevil, the dataset had not been nearly so important an informational tool, and at the same time he had come to worry about the possibility that Nevil might be able to corrupt the device. Nevertheless, like his commset, the dataset was galactic technology, putting him on a par with the maggots. And now that Nevil controlled the starship, it was by far the most secret communication path between them.

  Vendacious reached out a couple of noses and tapped the sequence of instructions that should change Oliphaunt from an atlas to a commset. Johanna had always been more adept at this than he, but then she had used it all her human life; Vendacious took considerable pride in how adept he had become with the device. There, he was in commset mode and…He noticed the red light blinking at the bottom of the display. That was the special signal he had installed; Nevil was trying to call him!

  Vendacious startled into action. The parts of him nearest Ut pulled on cords that dropped heavy quilts on every side of the singleton’s perch. He checked it above and below. Now, properly pitched sounds would not be heard by Ut. Not that the Radio pack would dare to deliberately betray Vendacious, but stretched out as it was across the continent, the individual parts were scarcely more than relays. Vendacious had used that fact to snoop across hundreds of leagues—but he lived in horror that his innermost secrets might inadvertently be revealed to others.

  He tapped a snout at the dataset, initiating a call, but with the sounds shifted way up into frequencies so high that they came close to interfering with thought. Such squeaking would never penetrate the quilts that surrounded Ut; no chance that dear Tycoon would be bothered by inadvertent relays.

  “Vendacious here,” he said, squeaking soft and super-high himself. Oliphaunt dataset had Tinishly good hearing. Somewhere inside, it transformed Vendacious’ voice into digital (whatever that was) and boosted it out to Nevil. Vendacious’ heads hurt when he tried to imagine all the things the dataset did automatically. Somewhere out among the stars, there were things worth fearing.

  Some seconds passed. Was he going to have to leave a message?

  Then Nevil’s upshifted voice came from the dataset: “Why in hell are you flying so low, man?”

  Vendacious suppressed a snarl. Aloud, he made a noncommittal human noise.

  “Never mind,” the maggot continued. “We’ve got a problem. You told me Johanna was out of the picture.”

  “Of course. Torn to pieces.” But suddenly Vendacious had a very bad feeling.

  “She was on your frigging fleet!”

  “But I saw her die. You were listening yourself.”

  “Well, I just saw her alive through trusted video. Now we know why we haven’t had contact with the rafts. Powers on High, Vendacious! How could you?”

  Vendacious’ jaws snapped. If the maggot had been physically present, he would have lost his one and only throat. “You think I arranged this complication?” he said.

  “I, no.” Nevil’s voice was choppy, as if he were trotting or climbing stairs; humans were such simple animals that they couldn’t disguise that sort of thing. “Look, things are a bit dicey here. If we bring this off, Woodcarver will be so discredited that she won’t dare grab power. My sisters and brothers will be safe. We can make something of this miserable exile—with your help of course. You can have all this damn world when we are done with it, but—”

  Vendacious’ spies often reported that Nevil was wonderfully persuasive with his fellow larvae. That was very difficult to believe. The maggot had never sounded like anything but a crude manipulator to Vendacious.

  In a way, that was comforting. Vendacious let Nevil rattle on for a moment more. When the maggot came to a natural pause, Vendacious had something reasonable and constructive to say: “All agreed, of course. The question is, what should we do about this unpleasant surprise?”

  “Well, I’ve already done what was necessary. That’s one reason I�
�m so pissed.” Nevil explained how he had blasted Johanna and a crowd of maggots into superheated steam. “The beam killed six of my brothers and sisters. We Children count, Vendacious! I need every one of them to work with me.” He was silent for a moment.

  Was he inviting a reply? Vendacious couldn’t think of anything non-sarcastic; finally, he responded, “So this has damaged your credibility.”

  Nevil gave a sour laugh. “I’m not an idiot. Used this way, beam gun targets just explode. You know, like a bomb. I’ve made a big deal of the terrorist factions within the Tropicals—it’s what today’s ‘peace treaty’ meeting is all about. So the story is, Tinish dissidents on the barge fleet tried to sabotage Tycoon’s generous gift. There are rough edges, but I can make it work. If anything, this will strengthen our current position—but that’s not the point!”

  “Indeed not,” said Vendacious. “So you actually saw Johanna die?”

  “Ah…” the human had the grace to acknowledge the irony. “Okay, not exactly. It looked like the guys on the pier were walking someone toward shore. And the instant I fired, Oobii lost contact with that broken radio we’d been tracking.”

  “That sounds even less certain than what I managed in the Tropics.” Vendacious had hated Johanna Olsndot for so long. In a very real sense, she was responsible for the debacle of ten years ago. Tycoon might be surprised to learn that Vendacious hated Johanna even more than Tycoon did—and for much better reason. “Nevil, I think our problem may be more serious than explaining a little gunfire. At least we should plan for the possibility that Johanna is still out there, actively seeking allies.”

  Nevil was silent for a moment. It sounded like he had just moved out of doors or turned up one of his mechanical sound-dampers. Then: “Yeah…Bili made pretty much the same point. He thinks we should switch over to my backup plan.”

  Vendacious shrugged angrily and put a certain bluff irritation into his voice: “Nonsense. That’s defeatism.” Without Ravna’s technical support, and now with Woodcarver’s active opposition, Nevil’s position in the Domain had become steadily more difficult. In some ways that was good; it made the maggot easier to manipulate. Unfortunately, it also meant he had increasing interest in his “backup plan.” That scheme might make sense in the long run—for Nevil—but it would render him almost useless to Vendacious.

  “Nevil, I, um, beg you to stick with our grand plan. Let’s think on other options we can exercise if problems arise.”

  “Okay, suppose Tycoon lands and behaves even more the fool than usual. Suppose he insists that Bergsndot and Jo’s little brother accompany him on stage, in front of all the Children. And then—”

  “Yes, that would be bad, but—”

  Nevil’s voice rode over his words: “—and then suppose Johanna has miraculously survived and teamed up with Woodcarver? She could upstage us all—and I can’t kill everybody!”

  Vendacious gave a derisive hoot. “Johanna couldn’t speak a single syllable before Tycoon would rip her throat out.” Nevil simply didn’t understand Tycoon’s hatred for that particular two-legs.

  “Worst case, Vendacious, I’m talking worst case. I know the Ravna bitch is an idiot; she couldn’t convince a friendly audience that the sun is going to rise tomorrow. And Jefri Olsndot is just a follower. But they’ve had several days to chat up your idiot, right?”

  Vendacious ground his teeth as he replied, “I’ve been following that; I’m in control of the situation.”

  “You’re betting a lot on that assessment, my friend. What are we going to do if Tycoon gets turned?”

  Vendacious didn’t have to think too hard on that. “Ultimately, Tycoon is simply a tool, a very very valuable tool. If he ever figures out the full truth of things, then he must be immediately destroyed…Um.” And what would that mean in the present situation? “If you and I coordinate on this…we could cover all the possibilities. If I determine that Tycoon has gone bad, I will immediately tell you. So if your ‘worst case’ materializes—”

  “Then I would fry them both?…Okay. I could say I was trying to protect Johanna but that Oobii glitched. The weapons Down Here are so crude I might be able to make that story work.”

  “Fine. But remember, killing Tycoon is truly a last resort. We need him more than I think you know. Even if Johanna pops out in front of him, don’t just kill Tycoon. I’m confident he will quickly destroy her, but I’ll signal you otherwise.”

  “Ah. So you’re going to come out of hiding then?”

  Sigh. “Indeed. I’ll circle overhead in honor of this historic meeting of our races.”

  They briefly chatted about details, and Vendacious mentioned Tycoon’s demand to speak with Nevil.

  “Yeah, I noticed he was pinging me.” Nevil was silent for a moment. There were human-sounding voices in the background. Nevil continued: “I don’t want to talk to that shithead now. I’ve got to get on stage myself. What does he want to talk about anyway?”

  “I think he wants some kind of last-minute reassurance about the situation with Woodcarver and Flenser.”

  “The idiot! There is no last-minute reassurance; that’s why getting this meeting right is so important. Okay. I’ll talk to him when I get to the stage area.” And then Nevil signed off. At least that was what the symbol on the dataset’s display indicated. As far as Vendacious could tell, the dataset did not covertly transmit to the two-legs. Given that Oliphaunt was Johanna’s toy and it had never been in Nevil’s hands, Vendacious was inclined to think it was not corrupted by him. With the two-legs’ gadgets, you never knew for sure. When Vendacious did things Nevil must not know, he locked the dataset away and used the Radio Cloak network. He had ten years of evidence that the starship could not snoop on mindsounds.

  Speaking of which, he should talk to Tycoon to claim credit for Nevil’s upcoming call—

  The thought was interrupted by whistling cries of anticipated pain. The Cargomaster dragged Amdiranifani into the space below Vendacious, then fastened the pack’s neck collars to the garrote stands that ringed the bow hatch. As the Cargomaster left the area to bring in the other prisoner, Vendacious leaned down a head to inspect Amdiranifani. The eight heard him and shrank back.

  Vendacious smiled. Intelligent victims were always entertaining. They thought they could outwit their torturer—and after you broke them, their own imagination became your best ally. Without a doubt, Amdiranifani was the most brilliant victim Vendacious had ever had. This eightsome had come a long way down. In the first day or two, it had actually tried to suborn crew and radio with covert speech, echoing threads of sound that evaded Vendacious’ hearing. The arrogance of the eight, to think it could bring off such a scheme. Vendacious had let Amdiranifani hope for three full days. Apprehension had been sweet, the punishment tuned to the victim: Vendacious had gouged out two of Amdiranifani’s eyes. Just two, just eyes—and then he had called on his victim to imagine how much worse the punishment could be. For this pack, with its imagination, the effect was as devastating as cracking half its tympana, or killing a member outright. And the mild punishment left so much more for Vendacious to work with…

  Amdiranifani was making little squeaking noises, fighting within himself for the courage to speak.

  Vendacious raised the tip of one nose, a gesture that normally preceded harsh punishment during interrogation. Amdiranifani froze into terrified silence.

  “Ah, my dear Amdiranifani. So sorry for the poor view you have down there. Don’t worry, you may yet hear some interesting things. Here’s something very important: Think quietly. Remain speech silent, except where I give you leave to speak.” He raised a second nose, also a signal he had used during interrogations, when an absolute order was given. There was nothing this creature could say that would make any difference, but Vendacious wanted any screams of pain that leaked across the radio net to be under his own control. “If you disobey—well, I think you know where you’re standing.” Vendacious gestured at the bow hatch in the middle of Amdiranifani. “Take tha
t as your suspended sentence. I would just as soon have you be seven or six or even five. It would be a pleasure to throw some of you to the winds, and I could tell Tycoon you were trying to escape and overreached yourself. You have no doubt of me, do you?”

  Here and there, Amdiranifani’s heads dipped in trembling acknowledgment. Just last night, Vendacious had thrown one of his own crew’s members out that hatch—and made sure that Amdiranifani had witnessed the discipline. Whether dealing with a single member or a whole pack, Vendacious always enjoyed such punishment. Usually the victim was a prisoner, but killing an occasional malingering bit of crew did wonders to encourage good performance from the rest.

  Cargomaster was bringing in the foursome, all that was left of my lord Steel. This prisoner was not so manageable. It was enraged beyond fear, and not very intelligent—ordinarily not an entertaining combination. This remnant of Steel had become steadily more killing crazy as the days passed, perhaps recalling its old hatreds. Its insanity exploded whenever it came within ear- or eyeshot of Amdiranifani. The four bounced off the walls of its cage, searching for some way out, shrieking murder at the eightsome. Remnant Steel and Amdiranifani’s own imagination kept Amdiranifani forever at the edge of collapse.

  If only I had this strong a hold on the humans with Tycoon. Vendacious eyed Amdiranifani speculatively. Avoiding Nevil’s “worst case” might come down to whether maggots Jefri and Ravna would keep silent if the alternative was to see pieces of their dear friend raining from the sky.