by Vernor Vinge
“That’s two of Godsgift,” said the Queen.
“These were the only ones left when Gannon got here.”
From behind Ravna, Jorkenrud said, “All the rest must have taken off at least an hour earlier. They took their sleighs, everything.”
Nevil glanced at Gannon. “Gannon didn’t know that at the time, but—I take full responsibility. I messed up. There was a chance the kids were here; we couldn’t wait for Woodcarver—”
Gannon interrupted. “Look. I didn’t do anything wrong. We busted in, chased what we thought was a whole pack up into the tower here. The critter said they had the kids, said he’d cut their throats. We could smell fire in here, so we busted in and he attacked. We just killed two of him—and then we realized that’s all he was!”
Ravna turned to look at him. “And there were no Children either?” she said.
Gannon glared at her and visibly bit back some angry retort. “No, nobody.”
She walked over to where Woodcarver was nosing around the corpses. Ravna had never liked Godsgift, but—“I really didn’t know packs could do this sort of thing.”
Woodcarver shrugged, but Ravna guessed she was trying to look unimpressed: the Puppy from Hell had a kind of dazed expression in its eyes. “Tropicals are crazy asses,” said Woodcarver. She nosed at the one lying in a pool of blood. “I think this was the pack’s verbal center; it was a fixed point in their recent swapping. And these two always paid more attention than the others to written materials.”
Nevil looked surprised. “I didn’t know that. Downstairs, there were several smaller fires—blubber oil tossed around and lit, though nothing spread far enough to bring the whole place down.” He looked around at the charred papers. “Maybe at the last moment they realized there were secrets left behind.”
Woodcarver’s heads turned toward him. She said, “Together, these two might have been bright enough to decide what to burn first.” She shook herself. “So Godsgift maimed himself to keep a secret.”
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A bit of good fortune: the cloud cover broke, and the next real storm was two days out to sea. Scrupilo’s great airship was still ten days short of its maiden voyage, but Scrup managed to get his little electric airboat into the search, circling out to the limits of its motor charge. Air search beyond that depended on the agrav skiff and the very-low-resolution pictures from the orbiter. Woodcarver’s Domain covered millions of hectares of snowfields, naked rock, and channel ice, but clues littered the bloody snows where Geri and Edvi and Timor had been taken, and not all the witnesses were dead. The best ground trackers searched all the nearby forest trails. Video from the orbiter guided them to the most likely places further out, where mountain farms were scarcely more than wilderness marked with property boundaries.
Meantime, Johanna and Pilgrim accomplished what no dirigible could: they shadowed the main party of fleeing Tropicals. They ghosted along within clouds and behind mountain walls, watching every move the Tropicals made. The mob had fled before any of the actual kidnappers could have made it to the embassy—but there might be a rendezvous.…
The main group mushed on along the East Forest Road, not pausing for any rendezvous. The embassy Tropicals had always looked so stupid, playing with their huge sleighs in the most inappropriate weather. Now for once, the weather and the terrain were ideal for a mad sleigh ride. When they got over High Knob Pass, they all hopped aboard and took a single long slalom, interrupted only by occasional overturnings and mayhem collisions. Even so, the next blizzard caught up with them as they came barrelling down upon the East Gate border garrison, their eight remaining sleighs crowded with all who had so far survived. They smashed through the Domain’s border garrison on the East Gate, causing casualties but no total deaths.
In principle, the Tropicals were now beyond Domain jurisdiction. In fact, that was where their pursuers finally moved to stop them.
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Within hours of the East Gate debacle, Johanna and Pilgrim were back with Ravna, up on the second floor of the town house. Outside, the blizzard was a roaring blow, white swirling just beyond the windows. Inside was snug and warm. On the table by the windows was the cargo Ravna had been waiting for from the Cold Valley, ten thousand adders fabricated on a fifty-centimeter disk of pressed carbon. These must still be delivered to Scrupilo for testing, but Jo and Pilgrim’s mission up north had delivered the images for the next step: true processors and memory devices. If these adders tested out, the way was clear for what Ravna and Scrupilo had worked ten years to create.
The delivery should have been the joyous high point of Ravna’s year. Instead, when Jo had presented her with the carbon black disk, Ravna had barely taken the time to tilt it in the light, to admire the nearly microscopic patterning. She would get the devices to Scrupilo soon enough; he would do his testing. Meantime, three of the youngest Children were gone. Three packs were mostly murdered.
Ravna sat with Jo and Pilgrim on that beautiful carpet, and felt as cold and miserable as if she’d been in the blizzard outside.
Maybe Johanna had been crying, but all that was left was the strain that showed on her face. “We would have let the Tropicals run right on into the wilderness, except that the storm had caught up with us.” She had reported most of this by radio. She’d be saying it again tomorrow morning when all the Children got together at the New Meeting Place. She punched angrily at the big pillow she held on her lap. Pilgrim was stretched out around her, also looking tired and unperky.
“We rescued no one,” Jo said. “We discovered nothing. The only good thing that came out of this was getting to work with Jefri. He handled the ground chase, and for the first time in years we really cooperated.”
“Jefri is the best of all the humans at woodcraft,” said Pilgrim. “He and Amdi came down from Smeltertop, watching all the way for signs of small escaping parties. They were just ahead of the main group of Tropicals when the storm hit.”
“So between him and Woodcarver’s troops, the Tropicals were boxed in?” said Ravna. She had followed the chase with most of the other Children, just watching the comms from Oobii.
“Yeah, we really had them trapped, and if we didn’t stop them, they could lose us in the storm.” Jo swatted her pillow again. “We should have captured a lot more of them, though. Damn that Gannon Jorkenrud. He just charged on through, whacking Tropicals. I’m gonna complain about that.”
Ravna nodded. In fact, Johanna had already complained loudly and publicly, and her complaints had been heard by almost one hundred Children on Oobii. Jorkenrud’s attack had been ineffectual, except as it forced a complete loss of coherence among the Tropicals. “Yes,” said Ravna, “we saw.” Via the camera carried by Woodcarver. “The Tropicals were hunkered down around their sleighs, almost clumped into rational groups. Then Gannon and company came in—”
“Yeah! And poof, the Tropicals ran off in all directions, as singletons.” Johanna glared at nowhere in particular for a moment. “No way could we catch many of them in the storm.” A shadow passed across her face. “Tropical singletons in a northern blizzard. I’ll bet they’re dead now.”
“Jefri and Amdi brought nets,” said Pilgrim. “They managed to snag a few.” He shook a head wonderingly. “What an unlikely team they make. Jefri is almost as good in the woods as a pack—and Amdiranifani is a pudgy, overly nice genius who doesn’t even like to eat live food. I’ll bet the nets were Amdi’s idea. Between them, they caught more Tropicals than Woodcarver’s troops and Nevil’s idiots.”
“What did you find in the sleighs?”
Johanna shook her head. “We’re gonna have to wait for Nevil’s big meeting to learn that. We were still in the air, and Amdi and Jefri were busy with their nets. It was mainly Gannon and company on the wagons.… I swear, even after ten years Down Here, they still seem to think that the world is built just for them. If objects don’t have intentional response, or at least voice command obedience, they figure they’re broken. These bozos
ended up using axes to make kindling of the sleighs and cargo boxes.”
“I saw some of what they spilled out on the ground. It was a jumble, but here and there I saw rainbows.”
“Big deal,” said Johanna. “For years, the Tropicals have been stealing tech items, mostly glittering garbage. I want some real clues. Where are Geri and Edvi and Timor? How can we get them back…” her voice became soft and sad, “… or can we ever get them back?” She looked up at Ravna. “I think Jefri is as upset as I’ve ever seen him, even when he was little. This takes us back to Murder Meadows.”
CHAPTER 17
A tenday passed. There had been no sign of Geri or Edvi or Timor, but something new happened up at the cemetery—hundreds of packs and all the remaining Children showed up and stood in snowy, windy twilight for the funeral of Belle and parts of Dumpster and almost all of Beasly. For better or worse, this looked like a new tradition among the packs. Nevil said just a few words, thanking the fallen Best Friends, and promising that the stolen Children would be found. Then various packs and humans spoke to remember the dead. They even found nice things to say about the ever-churlish Belle Ornrikak. The last of Beasly stood quietly beside his pack’s grave, looking sad and puzzled.
The murders and kidnappings brought the Children together as nothing had before. The growing complaints died, and everyone pulled together. Though there were no signs of the missing Children, there were clues. Along with the pilfered trinkets and toys, the Tropicals’ sleighs had contained food supplies, including syrup-grain bars that only humans could stomach. Someone had planned to take the stolen Children far away. Nevil confessed that his leadership had been terribly unprepared and that their best rescue efforts had been a botch.
So the Domain had an external enemy, someone who evidently was interested in learning more about two-legs. The names Vendacious and Tycoon were high on everyone’s suspect list. There was something very dangerous out beyond the Domain. This time it had used its puppets—but next time?
Nevil and Woodcarver were forced into closer cooperation. Both Tines and humans volunteered their time for special watches. The youngest Children were never without double guards. Jefri and Amdi stayed in town, working to devise a sustainable town patrol. Nevil appointed special committees to recommend new policies.
At twice-a-tenday meetings, Nevil summarized the results of the planning committees. The unsuccessful bioscience projects were swept away by the necessities of immediate safety.
It was such a perfect fit for Pilgrim’s warning of what a regime might do to stay in power. But now Pilgrim was less the cynic: “Events have worked in Nevil’s political favor, but I don’t see how he could have engineered this.”
“Not by himself,” said Johanna, “but if Nevil has fallen into Vendacious’ schemes, this is exactly the sort of thing that could happen.” She glanced at Ravna. “You told me Nevil looked overwhelmed in the embassy.”
“Yes.”
Jo nodded. “I think Nevil did a deal with the devil and now he can’t get out.” She was silent for a moment. “Or maybe he is totally innocent. I talked to Jefri again today. If he stays in town long enough, I really think I may learn what’s going on in his head. Jef and Amdi are desperate to keep this from happening again—but I’ll tell you, they’re whole-heartedly behind Nevil’s security schemes. Jefri says we really need those handcannons that Nevil mentioned at yesterday’s meeting. Jefri would never put up with the kind of dark-hearted alliance Flenser was claiming. And yet … Jef’s holding something back. Has Flenser had anything more to say to you?”
Ravna shook her head. “No. You know that.” They had had this conversation before. Flenser had shown up at the meetings, generally backing Nevil, and without his usual sly innuendo. The help he had promised Ravna was not forthcoming.
The Mad Bad Girl crossed her arms truculently. “I say Woodcarver should grab Flenser and put the bastards to the question.” She glared at Pilgrim. “How about it? You saw the Queen just this afternoon, right?”
Pilgrim looked around at himself. Embarrassed? “As a matter of fact, our latest chat was a bit more, um, intimate than any we’ve had in some time. I got some real insight. I fear she is going to become even more erratic than before.”
“It’s that puppy, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Sht is older now, but the situation hasn’t stabilized. Woodcarver knows he’s a problem, but he’s such a part of her now that she can’t deal with it. She’s bouncing around between some very different states of mind. I caught her in an affectionate mood.”
“Hmmph. You should tell her to ditch little Sht,” said Johanna, quite out of keeping with her normal soft-hearted attitude toward individual pack members.
“Heh, even in the midst of our loving, I suspect that suggestion would have provoked a very negative reaction. The Old Woodcarver would have never drifted this far. She knew she was giving up the stability of centuries when she started fooling around with me—but we never thought she’d lose it like this. The good news is, she knows she has a problem and she’s trying to cope with it. I think she’ll eventually be successful. In the meantime—well, there are several very different places her opinions dwell: She fully supports Nevil’s plans for tightening up security. Some of the time she sees Nevil as a proper ally in those plans. Sometimes she is as suspicious of him as we are, regarding him as a puppet of Vendacious—or Flenser. Of course, she can’t get her claws on Vendacious, but she’s toying with exactly your suggestion: putting Flenser to the question!”
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Fifteen days passed. Flenser-Tyrathect was holed up in the Old Castle down on Hidden Island, under unacknowledged house arrest. Ravna wondered if—considering all the secret exits—Flenser was really there at all. One thing was certain: he still wasn’t talking to Ravna!
She continued her covert surveillance of Nevil’s online activity. Nevil and Bili were as clumsy and cautious as ever. Their attempts to spy on her would be laughable even if she didn’t have Command Privileges. On the other hand, Nevil had true control of the orbiter and the commsets he had appropriated. There were data links she couldn’t snoop on.
Despite the tragedy and paranoia, Ravna found minor good news: the maiden flight of Eyes Above 2. The behemoth had the size and appearance of a small interplanetary freighter, and even though it was limited to the lower atmosphere and could hoist less mass than the agrav skiff, it was still a safe and relatively fast transport. Nevil was right when he said that EA2 would revolutionize the Domain’s rescue capability.
Meantime she worked on her Cold Valley project and did the gun designing that was officially assigned her. Both projects involved working with Scrupilo. When he demanded she visit him down on the North End, it was almost like the good old days before the Disaster Study Group and Nevil and the murders.
Ravna’s town house was less than five thousand meters from the North End, but to get there, she’d had to walk to the funicular and trundle down it to the Inner Channel. The channel was still mostly frozen, but rain had covered it with centimeters of freezing water. Getting across was an ugly combination of boating and sleigh ride. The rest of the trip hadn’t been much better, though Flenser’s packs had cut drainage channels in the icy piles along the streets. So an hour and a half after leaving home, here she was in Scrupilo’s office at the North End quarry. She was still drying out from the trip when Scrupilo trooped out from his glassware and electronics.
“Hei, Scrupilo, so why did you need to see me in person? Is it the guns or the Cold Valley project?” And I so hope it’s Cold Valley. If not for the present dangers, that’s where all her attention would be.
“Both and neither,” said the pack grumpily. “Let’s start with the fun things. Are you quite dried out? I don’t want you dripping on this.”
“I’m dry.”
“Okay, then.” He led her to a test stand at the side of the room. There were connectors and cables, locally made batteries and voltage regulators—prehistoric tech that ha
d taken Ravna and Scrupilo years to make. Almost hidden in the middle of the equipment was a one-centimeter-wide smudge of carbon on glass. Scrupilo and his helpers had carefully cut it out of the ten thousand array, then connected power and data leads appropriately. “We just finished the setup this morning,” said Scrupilo. “I’ve already done some testing, but I wanted you to see it.” He clustered around the equipment, tapping switches with his noses, then correcting his own mistakes. Parts of Scrup were getting very old. His White Head member was nearly deaf in the lower frequencies, and Ravna figured from the way it was always closely surrounded by its peers that it also had problems with the ultrasonic frequencies of mindsounds. Scrupilo claimed that if he messed around getting younger members, he’d just lose his dedication. Considering what had happened to Woodcarver, maybe he was right. “There! I got it right. See? Binary of twelve coded on the top leads, binary of seventeen on the bottom.” He waggled a nose at pattern of tiny lights, and then pointed at a third row of lights below the other two: the outputs. “Twelve plus seventeen is twenty-nine!”
“You did it, Scrupilo.” Ravna almost whispered the words.
Scrupilo preened, but then some honest core of him replied, “We did it. Me and you and Oobii’s design programs. We three and the teams up north and down here.” His heads were bobbing almost maniacally. “I’ve spent all day playing with this. I had Oobii sending down test settings at variable speeds, checking the results. Our little adder can reliably do one hundred thousand operations per second, second after second, for hours!” He looked up at her. “And the design we’re making at Cold Valley now,” —the one Johanna and Pilgrim had delivered just before the kidnappings— “that’s a giant step up from this, but I bet it’ll work too; it’s the same hundred-micron feature size. Imagine, we’ll have clock, and memory, and an instruction set all together.”