by Vernor Vinge
Not a single kidnapper had survived the capture; Thract implied that at least one had killed herself to avoid capture.
“The General needs to figure out who is behind this, and how it changes the way the Accord looks at its enemies.”
“It was the Kindred,” Viki said flatly. She truly had no evidence beyond the military bearing of the kidnappers. But Viki read the newspapers as much as anyone, and Daddy talked enough about the risks of conquering the Dark.
Underhill shrugged at her assertion. “Probably. The main thing for the family is that things have changed.”
“Yes.” Viki’s voice cracked. “Daddy! Of course things have changed; how can they ever be the same?”
Jirlib lowered his head till it rested limply on Brent’s perch.
Underhill seemed to shrink in on himself. “Children, I am so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt. I didn’t mean for…”
“Daddy, it was Gokna ’n’ me who snuck out of the house—Be quiet, Jirlib. I know you are the oldest, but we could always tweak you around.” It was true. Sometimes the sisters used their brother’s ego, sometimes his intellectual interests—as with the Distort exhibit. Sometimes they simply traded on his fondness for his little sisters. And Brent had his own set of weaknesses. “It was Gokna and me who made this possible. Without Brent doing his ambush at the museum, we’d all be dead now.”
Underhill gestured no. “Oh, Little Victory, without you and Gokna the rescuers would have been a minute too late. You would all be dead. Gokna—”
“But now Gokna is dead!” Suddenly her armor of unfeeling was broken, and she was swept away. Viki shrieked without words and raced from the room. She fled down the hall to the central stairs, weaving round the uniforms and the everyday inhabitants of the house. A few arms reached out for her, but someone called out from behind, and she was let past.
Up and up Viki ran, past the labs and the classrooms, past the atrium where they always played, where they first met Hrunkner Unnerby.
At the summit was the little gabled attic that she and Gokna had demanded and pleaded and schemed for. Some like the deepest and some like the highest. Daddy always reached for the highest and his two daughters had loved to look down from their lofty perch. It wasn’t the highest place in Princeton, but it had been enough.
Viki ran inside, slammed the door. For an instant, she was a little dizzy from the nonstop climb. And then…She froze, staring all around her. There was the attercop house, grown huge over the last five years. As the winters got colder, it had lost its original charm; you couldn’t pretend the little critters were people when they started sprouting wings. Dozens of them flittered in and out of the feeders. The ultra and blue of their wings was almost like a wallboard design on the sides of the house. She and Gokna had argued endlessly over who was the mistress of that house.
They had argued about almost everything. There by the wall was the artillery-shell dollhouse that Gokna had brought up from the den. It really had been Gokna’s, yet still they argued about it.
The signs of Gokna were everywhere here. And Gokna would never be here again. They could never talk again, not even to argue. Viki almost turned and bolted back out of the room. It was as though a monstrous hole had been torn in her side, her arms and legs ripped from her body. There was nowhere left for her life to stand. Viki sank down in a pile, shivering.
Fathers and mothers were very different sorts of people. From what the children had been able to figure, some of this was true even for normal families. Dad was around all the time. He was the one who had infinite patience, the one they could usually wheedle extra favors from. But Sherkaner Underhill had his own special nature, surely not the usual: He regarded every rule of nature and culture as an obstacle to be thought about, experimented with. There was humor and cleverness in everything he did.
Mothers—their mother, anyway—was not around every minute, and could not be depended upon to buckle to every childish demand. General Victory Smith was with her children often enough, one day out of ten up in Princeton, and much more so when they went on trips down to Lands Command. She was there when real rules had to be laid down, ones that even Sherkaner Underhill might hesitate to bend. And she was there when you had really, really screwed up.
Viki didn’t know how long she had been lying in a huddle when she heard steps ticking up the stairs to her room. Surely not more than half an hour; beyond the windows, it was still the middle of a cool, beautiful afternoon.
There was soft tapping at her door. “Junior? Can we talk?” Mother.
Something strange stirred in Viki: welcome. Daddy could forgive, he always forgave…but Mother would understand how terrible she really had been.
Viki opened the door, stepped back with her head bowed. “I thought you were busy until tonight.” Then she noticed that Victory Smith was in uniform, the black-black jacket and sleeves, the ultra and red shoulder tabs. She had never seen the General in that uniform up here in Princeton, and even down in Lands Command it had been reserved for special times, for briefings given to certain superiors.
The General stepped quietly into the room. “I—decided this was more important.” She motioned Little Victory to sit beside her. Viki sat, feeling calmness for the first time since this all began. Two of the General’s forearms draped lightly across her shoulders. “There have been some serious…mistakes made. You know that both your father and I agree about that?”
Viki nodded. “Yes, yes!”
“We can never bring Gokna back. But we can remember her, and love her, and correct the mistakes that allowed this terrible thing to happen.”
“Yes!”
“Your father—I—thought we should keep you out of the larger problems, at least until you were grown. Up to a point, we were right perhaps. But now I see, we put you at terrible risk.”
“No!…Mother, don’t you understand? It was me, a-and Gokna, who broke the rules. We fooled Captain Downing. We just didn’t believe the things that Dad and you warned us about.”
The General’s arms tapped Viki’s shoulders lightly. Mother was either surprised, or suddenly angry. Viki couldn’t tell which, and for a long moment her mother was silent. Then, “You’re right. Sherkaner and I made mistakes…but so did you and Gokna. Neither of you meant any harm…but now you know that’s not enough. In some games, when you make mistakes, people get killed. But think about it, Victory. Once you saw things turned bad, you behaved very well—better than many cobbers with professional training would have done. You saved the lives of the Suabisme children—”
“We risked little Birbop to—”
Smith shrugged angrily. “Yes. You’ll find a hard lesson there, daughter. I’ve spent most of my life trying to live with that one.” She was silent again, and something about her seemed very far away. It suddenly occurred to Viki that indeed, even Mother must make mistakes; it wasn’t just courtesy that she said so. All their lives, the children had admired the General. She didn’t talk about what she did, but they knew enough to guess she was more than the heroine of any dozen adventure novels. Now Viki had a glimpse of what that must really mean. She moved closer to her mother’s side.
“Viki, when the crunch finally came, you and Gokna did what was right. All four of you did. There was a terrible price, but if we—you—don’t learn from that, then we’ve really screwed up.” Then Gokna died for nothing.
“I’ll change; I’ll do anything. Tell me.”
“The outside changes aren’t so big. I’ll get you some tutors in military topics, maybe some physical training. But you and the younger children still have so much book learning to do. Your time will be pretty much as before. The big change will be inside your head and in the way we treat you. Beyond the learning, there are enormous, deadly risks that you must understand. Hopefully, they’ll never be the minute-to-minute deadliness of this morning—but in the long run the dangers are much greater. I’m sorry, this is a time more risky than any before.”
“And with more good
possibilites, too.” Daddy always said that. What would the General say to that now?
“Yes. That is true. And that is why he and I have done what we have. But it will take more than hope and optimism to achieve what Sherkaner intends, and the years until then will be more and more dangerous. What happened today is just the beginning. It’s possible that the deadliest times will come when I’m very old. And your father is a half generation older than I…
“I said you four did well today. More than that, you were a team. Have you ever thought that our whole family is like a team? We have a special advantage over almost anyone else: We’re not all of a single generation, or even two. We’re spread from Little Hrunk all the way up to your father. We’re loyal to one another. And I think we’re very talented.”
Viki smiled back at her mother. “None of us is near as smart as Daddy.”
Victory laughed. “Yes, well. Sherkaner is…unique.”
Viki continued, analytical: “Actually, except for maybe Jirlib, none of us is even in a class with Daddy’s students. On the other hand, me and G-Gokna, we took after you, Mom. We—I can plan with people and with things. I think Rhapsa and Little Hrunk are somewhere in between, once they settle down. And Brent, he’s not stupid, but his mind works in funny ways. He doesn’t get along with other people, but he’s the most naturally suspicious of any of us. He’s always watching out for us.”
The General smiled. “He’ll do. There’s five of you left now, Viki. Seven when you count myself and Sherkaner. The team. You’re right in your estimates. What you can’t know is how you compare to the rest of the world. Let me tell you my coldly professional assessment: You children can be the best. We wanted to postpone starting things a few more years for you, but that has changed. If the times I fear come, I want you five to know what is going on. If necessary, I want you five to be able to act even if everyone else is in a mess.”
Victory Junior was more than old enough to understand about service oaths and chains of command. “Everyone? I—” She pointed at the rank tabs on her mother’s shoulders.
“Yes, I live by my loyalty to the Crown. I’m saying that there may come times when—in the short term—serving the Crown means doing things outside the visible chain of command.” She smiled at her daughter. “Some of the adventure novels are right, Viki. The head of Accord Intelligence does have her own special authority…Oops, I have postponed my other meetings long enough. We will talk again, very soon, all of us.”
After the General was gone, Viki wandered around her little bedroom at the top of the hill. She was still in a daze, but no longer felt unrelieved horror. There was also wonder and hope. She and Gokna had always played at espionage. But Mother didn’t talk of what she did, and she was so far above the military of everyday that it seemed a foolish dream to try to follow her. Business intelligence, maybe with companies like Hrunkner Unnerby had founded, that seemed more realistic. Now—
Viki played with Gokna’s little dollhouse for a moment. She and Gokna would never get to argue about these plans. Mother’s team had suffered its first loss. But now it knew it was a team: Jirlib and Brent, Rhapsa, Little Hrunk, Viki, Victory and Sherkaner. They would learn to do their best. And in the end, that will be enough.
THIRTY-THREE
For Ezr Vinh, the years passed quickly, and not just because of his quarter-time Watch cycle. The time since the ambush and the murders was almost a third of his life. These were the years his inner self had promised would be played out with unswerving patience, never giving up the struggle to destroy Tomas Nau and win back what still survived. It was a time he had thought would stretch into endless torment.
Yes. He had played with unswerving patience. And there had been pain…and shame. Yet his fear was most times a distant thing. And though he still didn’t know the details, just knowing that he was working for Pham Nuwen gave Ezr the sure feeling that in the end they would triumph. But the biggest surprise was something that popped up again and again for uneasy introspection: In some ways, these years were more satisfying than any time since early childhood. Why was that?
Podmaster Nau made thrifty use of the remaining medical automation, and he kept critical “functions” such as translators on-Watch much of the time. Trixia was in her forties now. Ezr saw her almost every day he was on-Watch, and the little changes in her face tore at him.
But there were other changes in Trixia, changes that made him think that his presence and the passing years were somehow bringing her back to him.
When he came early to her tiny cell in Hammerfest’s Attic, she would still ignore him. But then, once, he arrived one hundred seconds after the usual time. Trixia was sitting facing the door. “You’re late,” she said. Her tone was the same flat impatience that Anne Reynolt might use. All the Focused were notorious about punctilio. Still. Trixia had noticed his absence.
And he noticed that Trixia was beginning to do some of her own grooming. Her hair was brushed back, almost neatly, when he arrived for their sessions. Now, as often as not, their conversations were not completely one-sided…at least if he was careful about the topics.
This day, Ezr entered her cell on time, but with some smuggled cargo—two delitesse cakelets from Benny’s parlor. “For you.” He reached out, bringing one cakelet close to her. The fragrance filled the cell. Trixia stared at his hand, briefly, as if contemplating a rude gesture. Then she waved the distraction away. “You were going to bring the Cur-plus-One translation requests.”
Sigh. But he left the confection tacked to the workspace near her hand. “Yes, I have them.” Ezr settled in his usual spot by the door, facing her. Actually, the list wasn’t long today. Focus could work miracles, but without a glue of normal common sense, the different specialist groups wandered off into private navel inspection. Ezr and the other normals read summaries of the Focused work and tried to see where each group of specialists had found something that was of interest beyond the zipheads’ fixation. Those were reported upward, to Nau, and back downward, as requests for additional work.
Today, Trixia had no trouble accommodating the requests, though she muttered darkly at some of them, “Waste of time.”
“Also, I’ve been talking to Rita Liao. Her programmers are very enthusiastic about the stuff you’ve been giving them. They’ve designed a suite of financial applications and network software that should run great on the Spiders’ new microprocessors.”
Trixia was nodding. “Yes, yes. I talk to them every day.” The translators got along famously with the low-code programmers and the financial/legal zipheads. Ezr suspected it was because the translators were ignorant of those fields, and vice versa.
“Rita wants to set up a groundside company to market the programs. They should beat anything local, and we want saturation.”
“Yes, yes. Prosperity Software Incorporated; I already invented a name. But it’s still too early.”
He chatted it back and forth with her, trying to get a realistic time estimate to pass on to Rita Liao. Trixia was on a co-thread with the zipheads who were doing the insertion strategy, so their combined opinion was probably pretty good. Doing everything across a computer network—even with perfect knowledge and planning—depended on the sophistication of that net. It would be at least five years before a big commercial market developed in software, and a little longer before the Spiders’ public networks took off. Until then, it would be next to impossible to be a major groundside player. Even now, the only manipulations they could do consistently were of the Accord’s military net.
Too soon, Ezr came to the last item on his list. It might seem a small thing, but from long experience he knew it was trouble. “New topic, Trixia—but it’s a real translation question: about the color ‘plaid.’ I notice you are still using that term in descriptions of visual scenes. The physiologist—”
“Kakto.” Trixia’s eyes narrowed slightly. Where the zipheads interacted, there was normally an almost telepathic closeness—or else they hated each other’s guts with
the sort of freezing hostility usually seen only in academic romance novels. Norm Kakto and Trixia oscillated between these states.
“Yes. Um, anyway, Dr. Kakto gave me a long lecture about the nature of vision and the electromagnetic spectrum and assured me that talking about a color ‘plaid’ could not correspond to anything meaningful.”
Trixia’s features screwed into a frown, and for a moment she looked much older than Ezr liked to see. “It’s a real word. I chose it. The context had a feel—” The frown intensified. More often than not what seemed a translation mistake turned out to be—perhaps not a literal truth, but at least a clue to some unrecognized aspect of the Spiders’ reality. But the Focused translators, even Trixia, could be wrong. In her early translations, where she and the others were still feeling their way across an unknown racial landscape—there had been hundreds of facile word choices; a good portion of them had to be abandoned later.
The problem was that zipheads did not take easily to abandoning fixation.
Trixia was coming close to real upset. The signs were not extreme. She often frowned, though not this fiercely. And even when she was silent, she was endlessly active with her two-handed keyboard. But this time the analysis coming back at her spilled from her head-up display to paint across the walls. Her breath came faster as she turned the criticism back and forth in her mind and on the attached network. She didn’t have any counterexplanation.
Ezr reached out, touched her shoulder. “Follow-up question, Trixia. I talked with Kakto about this ‘plaid’ thing for some time.” In fact, Ezr had all but badgered the man. Often that was the only way that worked with a Focused specialist: Concentrate on the ziphead’s specialty and the problem at hand, and keep asking your question in different ways. Without some skill and reasonable luck, the technique would quickly bring communication to an end. Even after seven Watch years, Ezr wasn’t an expert, but in this case Norm Kakto hadfinally been provoked into generating alternatives: “We were wondering, perhaps the Spiders have such a surplus of visual methods that the Spider brain has to multiplex access—you know, a fraction of a second sensing in one spectral regime, a fraction of a second in another. They might sense—I don’t know, some kind of rippling effect.”