The Smoke Ring t-2

by Larry Niven

  Rather made himself laugh. “I did it to myself. Debby, you fly better than me.”

  “I watched the crew when we went to Market. Keep up a steady kick. Don’t try too hard. If you kick with all your might the wings just bend and don’t take you anywhere.”

  “What I need is longer legs.”

  “Longer wings might do it. Try the Navy wings too. Now, what door did Carlot say?”

  “I can’t tell. Pick one.”

  “No, I—”

  “Debby, pick one at random. I don’t mind if Wheeler thinks I got lost.”

  “Oh. The one in the middle, with the guards. We’ll ask them.”

  It was big and round and rimmed in scarlet paint. The four guards wore helmets and torso and leg armor and carried harpoons. Debby backpedaled to stop within a meter of the harpoon points. She said, “Looking to join up.”

  One smiled and said, “I hope they take you, beautiful.” His harpoon pointed. “That one, just next to the rim.”

  “Thanks.” She rejoined Rather. Half blind, he’d been afraid to fly close to sharp spears. “It’s over there. — Lovely beard on that one. Like goldenwire plant, and clean. The .crew keep themselves cleaner than Carther States people ever did. Maybe I’ll see him again.”

  “Jeffer’d like that.”

  “He would, wouldn’t he. He probably likes my seeing Grag too. I wonder what they’re guarding?”

  The door they sought was a rectangle with curved sides, marked in print along one edge: RECRUITMENT.

  The room within was sizable, but of the same odd shape. A man made marks on thin white sheets fixed to a slab of sanded wood. His pants and tunic were blue with Navy markings. No armor. He ignored them for a bit, then looked around. “Yes?”

  Rather pointed to the wooden rectangle. There were clips along the edge, and stacks of paper leaves in the clips. “What would you call that?”

  The man frowned. “You never saw a desk before? What do you want?”

  “Petty Mart Wheeler wants to interview me for recruitment. I’m Rather Citizen.”

  “I’ll see if he’s available.” The man kicked against the table and disappeared down a corridor. Lack of wings didn’t hamper him: he touched the wall and disappeared into a doorway in one smooth flow.

  Debby smiled at Rather. “Easily distracted?”

  “That’s why I did it, but look at how the grain of the wood curls around! I think it must be burl. How did they get it?”

  “There had to be burl somewhere or Booce wouldn’t know it was possible.”

  When the desk man reappeared, Rather was mopping at his eyes with his tunic. The man said, “Come with me.”

  Debby said, “May I come too?”

  “I’m afraid not. Would you be his mother?”

  “Stepmother. I really think I ought to be with him.”

  “That’s not permitted.”

  The office was small, a cube with two curved walls. Petty Wheeler was at a desk, lightly gripping the rim while he talked to another man…and that one was Rather’s height.

  Their talk stopped. Wheeler said, “Rather, good to see you. This is Captain-Guardian Wayne Mickl.”

  Mickl nodded but said nothing. He seemed relaxed and disinterested. Wheeler said, “We want to ask you a few questions. You probably have questions too—”

  “A hundred. Um, whereabouts is Bosun Murphy?”

  “Mpf? Last I saw of her she was on her way to the Purser’s office. After that she’ll be on leave…Why?”

  “I thought I might see her before I go.” (Booce had told him, “Try to talk to Bosun Murphy.Your interest in the Navy comes straight from your seeds. If you see her, make a pass.”)

  (“What’s a pass? Do you mean propose marriage?”)

  (“No…yes. That’s got just the right touch. All seeds and no judgment.”)

  Wheeler asked, “Rather, is there something wrong with your eyes?”

  “They get this way sometimes.”

  “When?”

  “Lack of sleep. Dry air.” His eyes were clearing up now, but they still hurt. To Wheeler they must appear pink and weeping. He was sniffling too.

  Wheeler took writing implement in hand. “Where were you born?”

  “Citizens Tree, year 370. It’s a tree sixty klomters long, six or seven hundred klomters west of the Clump.”

  “What’s your height and mass?”

  “One point nine meters. I don’t know my mass.”

  “We’ll weigh you on the centrifuge. How did you know the year?”

  “The Scientist keeps track. Was I off? This is 384, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Put your arms straight forward, fingertips touching. Now your legs, big toes touching.” Wheeler made a note. “Symmetrical. How much do you know about the Admiralty?”

  “Not much. We tasted some of the food you grow and had a wild dinner at Half Hand’s Steak House.” Wheeler laughed at that. Rather went on, “The Serjents told us a lot. I’ve seen houses and the Market. The ride on the steam rocket was — well, I’ve never been through anything like it.”

  “Scary?”

  “No, not that.” He knew instantly that he should have said yes.

  “Why do you want to join the Navy?”

  “I came to find out if that was true. Petty. And you asked if I had questions.”

  Petty Wheeler stiffened a little. “Well?”

  “I’ve seen the ships. They’re all over the sky. I think I ought to ask, if I become a Navy man, will I in fact be riding one of those ships?”

  “More than one, I expect. Over the years you’ll fly every style.”

  “Will I be flying them, or just riding them?”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Yes sir. Once I thought I’d be a hunter for Citizens Tree.” No need to mention the silver suit. “When I joined Booce and went logging, that was a big jump. I didn’t know what I’d find here. The Market, it’s frightening to think such a thing could be built. So many people!”

  Wheeler was smiling, nodding. (In the corner of Rather’s eye, Wayne Mickl was clinging to a wall tether, merely observing.) “Daunting, is it?”

  Rather nodded.

  “The ships, the Market, Headquarters, we built them all. And more. We built a civilization,” Wheeler said gently. “Now that you’ve seen it, how can you not be a part of it? Yes, you’ll fly a ship before you’re much older.”

  “I want to know whether I’ll be able to visit Citizens Tree.”

  “Mph. The answer’s yes, but I don’t know how often. We’ll want to contact Citizens Tree at once. Set up some form of trade. There’ll be visits, and you’ll be useful as an intermediate.”

  It was the right answer, Rather thought, except for two things. The tree was in the wrong place; and if the Navy did find it, the citizens would have to hide the CARM every time the Navy came visiting.

  So Rather only said, “That’s good. I’d hate to be cut off from my family.” (Booce had said, “They want your loyalty. They won’t like it if you’re loyal to your family, your tribe, me — “)

  “How often do you get these allergy attacks?”

  “Usually just when the air’s too thin. I had them while we were moving the log; we were too far in. It’s like knives in my eyes. I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. It happens then too.”

  “Would you describe yourself as sickly?”

  Rather told himself that nobody would come to a recruitment office if he considered himself sickly, and said, “No. It’s just something that happens. A day later I’m fine. It’s almost over now.”

  “I see. All right, Rather. Go ask Able Jacks to put you on the centrifuge. We’ll get in touch with you through Booce Serjent.”

  Debby and the desk man were ignoring each other. Debby seemed nervous.

  “Rather! How’d it go?”

  “Fine. Are you Able Jacks?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re to take me to the centrifuge. What�
��s a centrifuge?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  The wicker structure resembled the treadmill that ran the elevator in Citizens Tree. It was wider: twenty meters across. Rather was instructed to cling to the rim and wait. Two ratings spun it up, timing it with a hand-held device. The wheel rolled eccentrically with his mass to throw it off. A rating measured the divergence of the hub. “Your mass is eighty-one kilgrams,” he said.

  They locked the centrifuge in place and made him run.

  Pushing himself round the rim gave him the sensation of tide. They had him run as fast as he could. It made him dizzy; the tide became fiercely strong. Then they made him slow down and run at a measured rate, until his legs burned and his eyes blurred. He would have stopped then if he had not noticed Bosun Murphy watching him.

  He waved. The motion almost sent him tumbling. She didn’t respond. But she watched, and he ran.

  It came to him that he was rolling around the centrifuge. He’d blacked out.

  A rating snatched at his ankle and pulled him out. “Take a rest. Here.” He handed Rather a towel, and Rather, gasping for air, mopped a sheath of water from his body.

  Murphy said, “That was quite a performance. I could win bets on you.”

  “I grew up in a tree.”

  “I know.”

  There was no animation in her voice, her face, her body language. Navy thinks they’re superior, Carlot had said; but that wasn’t it. “Bosun, are you all right?”

  “I’m a little down,” she said. “Call me Sectry, Rather. I’m not on duty.”

  “Does down mean something like miserable?”

  “Yeah. Guys, are you finished with him?”

  “He’s all yours, Bosun. No need to be careful, he ain’t fragile.”

  Sectry Murphy flashed them a fleeting smile. To Rather she said, “I can’t picture the Petty rejecting you after he hears about that performance.”

  Treefodder. Booce hadn’t thought to tell him to hold back on a stamina test. “What’s got you down?”

  “Not here, stet? I need someone to talk to, not Navy. I just came from the Purser’s and I’m ready to tie one on. Want to join me?”

  “I’m with Debby. My stepmother.”

  “Stet. Let’s go get her. How does Half Hand’s sound?”

  Rather was coming down the corridor. There was a woman with him.

  Once upon a time Debby had seen Rather and Mark talking in the Citizens Tree commons. Both dwarves, but they hadn’t looked at all alike: Mark’s face nearly square, Rather’s nearly triangular…She remembered it now, because Rather and the dwarf woman looked right together, though they were clearly from different branches of humankind.

  And both, in different fashions, looked worn out.

  Debby asked, “What happened to you?”

  Rather said, “Centrifuge. They ran me to death. I could have lifted an elevator all the way to Discipline. Debby, you remember Sectry Murphy—”

  Clasping toes felt odd: Sectry’s reach was so short, her toes so stubby and strong. “Hello, Sectry. I take it you’re off duty.”

  “Right. On our way to Half Hand’s. Join us?”

  “Sure.”

  Sectry led them in. “The place is nearly empty,” she said.

  It wasn’t. There were a good dozen people scattered around Half Hand’s. But windows were clear, and Sectry led them to one. “It’s nice to have a view,” she said over her shoulder.

  Rather flinched. Debby grinned; she’d seen Rather watching Sectry’s kicking legs.

  “Grab a pole, someone will come. You hungry?”

  When one of the women from the kitchen appeared, Sectry said, “Fringe tea and sausages for three, Belind. You two should try the sausage.”

  “Stet,” Rather said. “What’s got you down?”

  The false gaiety ran out of her, and Debby saw pain. “I’ve been trying on pressure suits. I don’t fit.”

  Debby said nothing. Rather said nothing.

  “They don’t let you try the suit till you qualify for Guardian in all other respects. So they got me into the small one and I couldn’t breathe.” Murphy wasn’t wearing armor now. Her breasts stretched her tunic tight.

  Debby had never had trouble feeding her children, but her own breasts didn’t have that vulnerable look. “I could have faked it, but the suits aren’t all quite the same size. So I tried the bigger suit. My feet wouldn’t reach the toes. There are controls in the boots. My fingers don’t quite reach either.”

  “That leaves one,” Debby said.

  “The large? It’s in use. It won’t fit. If my damn toes were longer! I’m out. I can’t be a Guardian.”

  Belind was back.

  Sausage was a tube seared around the outside, delicious inside: ground meat with bits of plants added. Fringe tea Debby knew from last night. She still had a trace of the morning headache.

  The situation felt uncomfortable, and Debby was rehearsing excuses to leave. She asked, “Are you going to stay in the Navy?”

  “I think so. I’ll never get further than Bosun, though.”

  “You’ll be flying. More exciting than guarding the Library.”

  “As a Guardian I could spend some time making a home! Get married, carry some guests!”

  “Don’t they mind Navy people making babies?”

  “You go to half pay when you’re showing, but you’ve got a mate working…and even if you don’t, Navy pay is good.” Sectry drank deep. She hadn’t touched her sausage.

  Rather asked, “Sectry? Why would someone like the Captain-Guardian be interested in a recruit?”

  “Wayne? That’s easy. If he can get enough dwarves at Guardian rank, he can move up to Captain. He’s got the rank but not the duties. Him, he’d be better off if he couldn’t fit a pressure suit.”

  Debby took the rest of her tea in two gulps. “I’ve got to be going. Thanks, Sectry. I shouldn’t have come in. I’m supposed to be buying stuff at the Vivarium, now that we’ve got money.”

  “Well, remember you’re on fringe,” the redhead said. “Watch the prices.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Outside, Debby let herself smile.

  How would Rather handle it? Let Sectry believe that he’d come to the Navy only to get close to a lovely dwarf woman?

  It might even be true.

  A sheet of rainwater clung to the window. A blurred puff jungle drifted past.

  Rather had finished his sausage. Sectry passed him half others. When Belind came past she ordered more fringe tea. She asked, “How do you like the Clump?”

  “It’s mostly strange. Too wet, for one thing. I think I could get tired of boxes. Huts in a tree aren’t like that. Sectry, why did they build Headquarters round?”

  “It was built to spin.”

  “Spin?”

  “The early officers, they thought we’d need tide to stay healthy. They gave that up early. They couldn’t dock a ship while Headquarters was spinning, and it tended to wobble. So they stopped the spin and they built the exercise room, centrifuge included. Those early Navy men must have been monstrously strong. But it turns out we don’t get sick. We still use the exercise room, though.”

  The fringe tea was fizzing in his blood. Sectry Murphy seemed to glow. His mind was trying to follow a dozen paths at once. It suddenly seemed very natural that the early men would move a tree into the Clump, spin it, try to settle the tufts, get the benefit of tide and the clustered resources of the Clump…and produce the burl that later generations hadn’t been able to duplicate.

  At the same time there was a strangeness in what Sectry had said…and then he had it. “How do you know all that? Booce told us about the Library. He said only officers’ children are taught there.”

  “Wayne told me.”

  “Oh.”

  “We were together for a while. I never thought he’d marry me, I’m not an officer, but when he…What I was saying, he told me a lot of history. The Library used to be part of a starstuff rocket. We’ve
never built anything like it.”

  “What does it look like? Where—”

  She shook her head; her hair spread around her like a flaming halo. “I never saw it myself. I’d like to. I wonder if I could talk my way past the guards…”

  Guards. That door.

  Voices and vision were turning strange. Sectry glowed; she was the Smoke Ring’s most beautiful living thing. Rather took a firm grip on his equilibrium. Offering to make babies with a high-ranking Navy officer now seemed presumptuous beyond insanity. Carlot had warned him: she might be badly offended. Yet he’d never seen a woman like her.

  “Then he married a woman three meters tall and thin as a feathersnake. She’s got a face that would scare away a drillbit, and when she carries a guest she looks like a line with a knot in it. But she’s an officer.”

  “Money.”

  “Mmm? No. Rank.”

  “Money,” Rather said distinctly, “is why Carlot is going to marry Raff Belmy.” He was losing control of his mouth.

  “Oh. The dark girl, Serjent’s daughter?” A smile flickered and vanished, but Rather caught it. “That’s rank too.”

  “You saw us.”

  “Yeah.” The smile was back.

  “Do you have rank?”

  “I’m a Bosun. Crew.”

  “Do I have rank?”

  “No. What’s this all about? If you want rank you join the Navy. Then you’re crew.”

  “Would you marry me then?” His mouth was running away with him. Fringe.

  She laughed. She was trying to stop, and ultimately she succeeded. “We just met. How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “I’m twenty-eight. Where do you want to live?”

  “Citizens Tree. Any tree.”

  “Carlot probably wants to live in the Admiralty.”

  “To the treemouth with Carlot.”

  “I do too.”

  “Make babies with me,” his mouth said.

  She thought it over, while Rather tried to think himself invisible. She said, “Right.”

  A score or so of puff jungles were in view. Some bore logos. They chose one that didn’t, and circled it to be sure. “Quietly now,” Sectry said.

  “Nobody here but us flashers.”

  “If we scare flashers out, some meat eater might come after them.”