by Vernor Vinge
They sat in silence for a moment. The most terrible thing was, Pham might not be lying. He might not even be rationalizing. Maybe they were just talking about one of life’s tragedies. In that case, Tomas Nau’s evil would ride Ezr for the rest of his life. Lord, this is hard. And even though Reynolt’s office was brightly lit, it reminded him of that dark time in the temp’s park, right after Jimmy was murdered. Pham had been there too, and giving comfort that Ezr couldn’t understand. Ezr wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Okay. So Trixia is free. Then she’s also free to change in the future.”
“Yes, of course. Human nature will always be beyond analysis.”
“I waited half my life for her. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for her.”
Pham sighed. “I’m just afraid you might do that.”
“Huh?”
“You’re one of the more dedicated types I’ve met. And you have a talent for people. More than most, it was you who kept the Qeng Ho going in the face of Nau’s thuggery.”
“No! I could never stand up to the man. All I could do was nibble around the edges, try to make things a little less hellish. And it still got people killed. I had no backbone, no admin ability; I was just an idiot that Nau could use to keep better people in line.”
Pham was shaking his head. “You were the only person I trusted for conspiracy, Ezr.” He stopped abruptly, grinned. “Of course, part of that was you were the only one clever enough to figure out who I was. You didn’t bend, and you didn’t break. You even jerked my chain…You know how far I go back.”
Ezr looked up. “Of course. So?”
“I’ve seen a lot of hotshots.” A lopsided grin. “Sura and I founded many of the Great Families in this end of Qeng Ho space. But you measure up, Ezr Vinh. I’m proud we are related.”
“Hmm.” Ezr didn’t quite think that Pham would lie about something like this, but what he was saying was just too—extravagant—to be true.
But the other wasn’t finished. “There’s a downside to your virtues, though. You had the patience to play a role for hundreds of Msecs. You stuck to your goals when lots of other people had started whole new lives. Now you’re talking about waiting for Trixia however long that may take. And I believe you really would wait…forever. Ezr, have you ever thought, you don’t always need the mindrot to get Focused? Some people can get fixated all by themselves. I should know! Their will is so strong—or their mind is so rigid—that they can exclude everything outside of the central fixation. That’s what you needed during the years under Nau and Brughel. It was the thing that saved you, and helped carry the rest of the Qeng Ho along. But think now, recognize the problem. Don’t throw your life away.”
Ezr swallowed. He remembered the Emergents’ claims that society had always depended on people who “didn’t have a life.” But, “Trixia Bonsol is a worthwhile goal, Pham.”
“Agreed. But you’re talking about a very high price, waiting the rest of your life for something that may never happen.” He stopped, cocked his head to one side. “It’s a shame you aren’t Focused with the Emergent bug; that might be easier to undo! You’re so fixated on Trixia that you can’t see what’s going on around you, can’t see the people that you are hurting, or the person who could love you.”
“Huh. Who?”
“Think, Ezr. Who engineered the rockpile stability system? Who persuaded Nau to loosen the leash? Who made Benny’s parlor and Gonle’s farms possible? And did it in spite of repeated mindscrubs? Who saved your butt when the crunch finally came?”
“Oh.” The word came out small and embarrassed. “Qiwi…Qiwi is a good person.”
Real anger showed in Pham’s face, the first time he’d seen that since the fall of Tomas Nau. “Wake up, damn you!”
“I mean she’s smart, and brave, and—”
“Yes, yes, yes! Fact is, she’s a flaming genius in almost every department. I’ve only seen a couple like her in all my life.”
“I—”
“Ezr, I don’t believe you’re a moral idiot or I wouldn’t be talking to you now, and I certainly wouldn’t be telling you about Qiwi. But wake up! You should have seen it years ago—but you were too fixed on Trixia and your own guilt trips. And now Qiwi is waiting for you, but without much hope since she’s so honorable she respects what you want for Trixia. Think about what she has been like, since we got rid of Nau.”
“…She’s been into everything…I guess I see her every day.” He took a deep breath. This was like deFocus—seeing what you saw before, in a totally new way. It was true, he depended on Qiwi even more than he did Pham or Anne. But Qiwi had her own burdens. He remembered the look on her face when she greeted Floria Peres. He remembered her smile when she said she was happy for his happy ending. It was strange to feel shame for something you’d been totally unaware of a moment before. “I’m so sorry…I just…never thought.”
Pham eased back. “That’s what I hoped, Ezr. You and I, we have this little problem: We’re long on high principles and short on simple human understanding. It’s something we have to work on. I praised you a second ago, and it wasn’t a lie. But, truly, Qiwi is the wonder.”
For a moment, Ezr couldn’t say anything. Someone was rearranging the furniture inside his soul. Trixia, the dream of half a lifetime, was slipping away…“I’ve got to think.”
“Do so. But talk to Qiwi about it, okay? You’re both hiding behind walls. You’d be amazed what can come from just talking straight out.”
Another idea that was like a new sun. Just talk to Qiwi about it. “I will…I will!”
SIXTY-SIX
Time passed, but Arachna still had a long way to cool. The last dry hurricanes still blew fitfully through the midlatitudes, edging ever nearer to the world’s equator.
Their flyer had no wings, no jets or rockets. It came down along a ballistic arc, and slowed to a gentle touchdown on the naked rock of the altiplano.
Two space-suited figures emerged, one tall and slim, the other low, with limbs spreading in all directions.
Major Victory Lighthill tapped at the ground with the tips of her hands. “Our bad luck that there is no snow cover here. No footprints to track.” She waved at the rocky hillside a few dozen yards away. There was snow there, caught in crevices, lying in the windshade of the moment. It glimmered ghostly reddish in the sunlight. “And where there is snow, the wind is always blowing it around. Can you feel the wind?”
Trixia Bonsol leaned into the breeze. She could hear it singing beyond her hood. She laughed. “More than you. I’ve got to stand up in it with only two legs.”
They walked toward a hillside. Trixia had her net-link audio turned way down. This was a place and a time she wanted to experience firsthand, without interruptions. Yet the buzz of sound and the displays at the upper corners of her vision kept her in tenuous contact with what was going on in space, and at Princeton. In the real world beyond her hood display, the light was barely brighter than Trilander moonlight, and the only movement was the low scudding of the frost dust beneath the wind. “And this is our best guess where Sherkaner left the helicopter?”
“It was, but there’s no sign of him here. The log files are all jumbled. Daddy was controlling Rachner’s aircraft through the net. Maybe he was going someplace special. More likely he was heading for random nowhere.” Trixia was not hearing Little Victory’s true voice. Those sounds were downshifted and processed in Trixia’s hood. The result was not a human speech and certainly not Spider sound, but Trixia could understand it as easily as Nese, and listening left her eyes and hands free for other things.
“But…” Trixia waved her arm at the tumbled land ahead of them. “Sherkaner sounded rational to me, even at the end when everything was coming apart.” She spoke in the same intermediate language she listened to. The suit processor took care of the routine shifting of sounds to what Viki could hear.
“Wanderdeep can be like that,” said Victory. “He had just lost Mom. Nizhnimor and Jaybert and the counterlurk center had j
ust been blown out from under him.”
At the bottom of her view, Trixia saw the twitch in Viki’s forearms. That was the equivalent of pursed lips, of a person confronting pain. In her years of Focus, she had always imagined herself talking to them head to head, on the same level. In free fall, that was more or less how things worked. But on the ground…well, human bodies extended upward, and Spider bodies sideways. If she didn’t keep a downward view, she missed out on “facial” expressions—and even worse, she might walk into her best friends.
“Thanks for coming with me, Trixia.” The cues in the intermediate language showed that Viki’s voice was tremulous. “I’ve been here and at Southmost before, officially, and with my brothers and sister. We promised each other we’d leave it alone for a while, but…I can’t…and I can’t face it alone either.”
Trixia waggled her hand in a way that meant comfort, understanding. “I’ve wanted to come here ever since I came out of Focus. I feel like I’m a person finally, and being with you I feel I have a family.”
One of Viki’s free arms reached up to rub Trixia’s elbow. “You were always a person to me. I can remember when Gokna died, when the General told us about you. Daddy showed us the logs, all the way back to when you first contacted him. Back then, he still thought you translators were some kind of AI. But you seemed to be a person to me, and I could tell you liked Dad very much.”
Trixia gestured a smile. “Dear Sherk was so sure of impossible things like AI. For me, Focus was like a dream. My mission was to understand you Spiders perfectly, and the emotions just came along with it. It was the side effect Tomas Nau never expected.” Personhood as a Spider had come slowly, growing with each advance in language knowledge. The radio debate had been the turning point, where Trixia and Zinmin Broute and the others had actually transformed and taken sides in the perfection of their craft. I’m so sorry, Xopi. We were Focused and suddenly you were the enemy. When we scrambled your MRI codes, we didn’t really know we’d murdered you. Any of us could have been the Pedure translator, any of us could have been in your place. And that had been when Trixia first reached down across the comm links and revealed herself to Sherkaner Underhill.
The smooth rock was broken now, rising into the hillside. Here there were patches of snow, and clefts shadowed from sun- and starlight. Victory and Trixia scrambled over the lower rocks of the hill, and peered into the shadows. This wasn’t a serious search; it was more an act of reverence. Air and orbit surveys had been completed many days before.
“Do—do you think we’ll ever find him, Victory?” During most of her years of Focus, Sherkaner Underhill had been the center of Trixia Bonsol’s universe. She’d been scarcely aware of Anne Reynolt or Ezr’s hundreds of faithful visits, but Sherkaner Underhill had been real. She remembered the old cobber who needed a guide-bug to keep from walking in circles. How could he be gone?
Victory was silent for a moment. She was several meters up the hillside, poking around beneath an overhang. Like all of her race, she was more than humanly good at rock climbing. “Yes, eventually. We know he’s not on the surface. Maybe…I think Mobiy must have lucked out, found a hole more than a few yards deep. But even that wouldn’t be a viable deepness; Dad’s body would dry to death in a short time.” She pulled out from under the rock. “It’s funny. When the Plan was coming apart, I thought it was Mom we had lost and Dad we could save. But now…you know the humans just made new sonograms of the bottom of Southmost? The Kindred nukes crushed Parliament Hall and the upper layers. Below that there are millions of tons of fractured bedrock—but there is open space, what’s left of the Southlanders’ superdeepness. If Mother and Hrunk made it alive to one of those…”
Trixia frowned; she had seen the news. “But the report says it’s too dangerous to dig, that it would just crush the open spaces.” And when the New Sun came, those millions of tons of rock would surely collapse upon the deepness.
“Ah, but we have time to plan. We’ll improve on the humans’ digging technology. Maybe we can come in from miles out and tunnel really deep, maintaining the balance with cavorite. Someday before the next New Sun, we’ll know what’s in those superdeeps. And if Mother and Hrunk are down there, we’ll rescue them.”
They walked northward, around the hillock. Even if this were the hill where Sherkaner left Thract, they were well away from where Rachner could have landed. Still, Victory peeped into every shadow.
Trixia couldn’t keep up. She straightened and looked away from the hillside. The sky above the southern horizon glowed, as if over a city. And it almost was. The old missile fields were gone, but now the world had a better use for the altiplano. Cavorite mines. Companies from all over the waking world had descended on it. From orbit, you could see the open pit mines stretching from the original Kindred operation, a thousand miles across the wasteland. A million Spiders worked there now. Even if they never figured out how to synthesize the magic substance, cavorite would revolutionize local spaceflight, partly making up for the lack of other bodies in this solar system.
Victory seemed to notice that Trixia’s pace had faltered. The Spider found a rounded knob of rock, shaded from the wind, and settled on it. Trixia sat down beside her, pleased that they could be on the same level. Across the plains to the south, they could see hundreds of hillocks, any one of which might mark Sherkaner’s final rest. But in the sky glow beyond the horizon, tiny dots of light drifted slowly upward, antigrav freighters hauling mass into space. In all human histories, antigravity had been one of the Failed Dreams. And here it was.
Viki didn’t speak for a time. A human who didn’t know the Spiders might think she was asleep. But Trixia could see the telltale movements of eating hands, and she heard untranslated keening. Every so often Viki would be like this; every so often she had to shed the image that she projected to her team and Belga Underville and the aliens from space. Little Victory had done very well, at least as well as her mother could have done, Trixia was sure. She had managed the final triumph of her parents’ Great Lurk. In her own huds, Trixia could see a dozen calls pending for Major Lighthill. An hour or two alone, that was all Victory could spare these days. Outside of Brent, Trixia was probably the only person who knew the doubts that lived inside Victory Lighthill.
OnOff climbed into the sky, turning the shadows across the tumbled lands. This was the warmest High Equatoria would be for the next two hundred years, yet the best that OnOff could do was raise a soft haze of sublimation.
“I hope for the best, Trixia. The General and Dad, they were so very clever. They can’t both be dead. But they—and I—had to do so many hard things. People who trusted us died.”
“It was a war, Victory. Against Pedure, against the Emergents.” That was what Trixia told herself now, when she thought about Xopi Reung.
“Yeah. And the ones who survived are doing well. Even Rachner Thract. He’s never coming back to the King’s Service. He feels betrayed. He was betrayed. But he’s up there with Jirlib and Didi now”—she jerked a hand in the direction of L1—“becoming a kind of Spiderish Qeng Ho.” She was quiet, then abruptly slapped at the rock of her perch. Trixia could hear that her real voice was angry, defensive. “Damn it, Mother was a good general! I could never have done what she did; there’s too much of Daddy in me. And in the early years it worked; his genius and hers multiplied together. But it got harder and harder to disguise the counterlurk. Videomancy was a great cover, it let us have independent hardware and a covert data stream right under the humans’ snouts. But if there were even one slip, if the humans ever guessed, they could kill us all. That corroded Mom’s heart.”
Her eating hands fluttered aimlessly and there was a choked hissing sound. Victory was weeping. “I just hope she told Hrunkner. He was the most loyal friend we ever had. He loved us even though he thought we were a perversion. But Mother just could not accept that. She wanted too much from Uncle Hrunk, and when he couldn’t change she—”
Trixia slid her arm across the other’s midback. It
was the closest a human could come to giving a multi-arm hug.
“You know how much Daddy wanted to tell Hrunk about the counterlurk. That last time in Princeton, Daddy and I thought we could manage it, that Mother would go along. But no. The General was so…unforgiving. In the end…well, she wanted Hrunk along on her trip to Southmost. If she trusted him with that, surely she would tell him the rest. Wouldn’t she? She’d tell him that it was not all in vain.”
EPILOGUE
SEVEN YEARS LATER—
The Spiders’ world had a moon; the L1 rockpile had been coaxed into a synchronous orbit on Princeton’s longitude. By the standards of most habitable worlds, it was a pitiful moon, barely visible from the ground. Forty thousand kilometers out, the lump of diamonds and ice glinted dimly in the light of the stars and the sun. Yet it reminded half the world that the universe was not what they had thought.
Fore and aft of the rockpile stretched a string of tiny stars, beads that grew brighter year by year: the Spiders’ temps and factories. In the early years, they were the most primitive structures ever to fly in space, cheap and overbuilt and overcrewed, hoisted on cavorite wings. But the Spiders learned fast and well…
There had been state dinners in the Arachnan Grand Temp before. The King himself had ascended to orbit for the departure of the fleet to Triland. That had been four starships, refurbished by the new capital industries of his empire and the entire world. And that fleet had carried not just Qeng Ho and Trilanders and former Emergents. Two hundred Spiders had been aboard, led by Jirlib Lighthill and Rachner Thract. They carried first implementations of the improved ramdrives and coldsleep equipment. More important, they carried the keys for the encrypted knowledge beamed earlier across the light-years to Triland and Canberra.