A Fire Upon the Deep (55 page)

Even the executions were not helping. Day by day, Steel felt his rage growing. Alone on the parapet, he whipped back and forth upon himself, barely conscious of anything but his anger. Not since he had been under Flenser's knife had the anger been such a radiant thing.
Get back control, before he cuts you more,
the voice of some early Steel seemed to say.

He hung on the thought, pulled himself together. He stared down at bloody drool and tasted ashes. Three of his shoulders were streaked with tooth cuts -- he'd been hurting himself, another habit Flenser had cured him of long ago.
Hurt outwards, never toward yourself.
Steel licked mechanically at the gashes and walked closer to the parapet's edge:

At the horizon, gray-black haze obscured the sea and the islands. The last few days, the summer winds coming off the inland had been a hot breath, tasting of smoke. Now the winds were like fire themselves, whipping past the castle, carrying ash and smoke. All last dayaround the far side of Bitter Gorge had been a haze of fire. Today he could see the hillsides: they were black and brown, crowned with smoke that swept toward the sea's horizon. There were often brush and forest fires in the High Summer. But this year, as if nature was a godly pack of war, the fires had been everywhere. The wretched guns had done it. And this year, he couldn't retreat to the cool of Hidden Island and let the coastlings suffer.

Steel ignored his smarting shoulders and paced the stones more thoughtfully, almost analytical for a change. The creature Vendacious had not stayed bought; he had turned traitor to his treason. Steel had anticipated that Vendacious might be discovered; he had other spies who should have reported such a thing. But there had been no sign ... until the disaster at Margrum Climb. Now the twist of Vendacious's knife had turned all his plans on their heads. Woodcarver would be here very soon, and not as a victim.

Who would have guessed that he would really need the Spacers to rescue him from Woodcarver? He had worked so hard to confront the Southerners before Ravna arrived. But now he did need that help from the sky -- and it was more than five hours away. Steel almost slipped back into rage state at the thought. In the end, would all the cozening of Amdijefri be for nothing?
Oh, when this is over, how much will I enjoy killing those two.
More than any of the others, they deserved death. They had caused so much inconvenience. They had consistently required his kindliest behavior, as though
they
ruled
him
. They had showered him with more insolence than ten thousand normal subjects.

From the castle yard there was the sound of laboring packs, straining winches, the screech and groan of rock being moved about. The professional core of Flenser's Empire survived. Given a few more hours, the breaches in the walls would be repaired and new guns would be brought in from the north.
And the grand scheme can still succeed. As long as I am together, no matter what else is lost, it can succeed.

Almost lost in the racket, he heard the click of claws on the inward steps. Steel drew back, turned all heads toward the sound. Shreck? But Shreck would have announced himself first. Then he relaxed; there was only one set of claw sounds. It was a singleton coming up the stairs.

Flenser's member cleared the steps, and bowed to Steel, an incomplete gesture without other members to mirror it. The member's radio cloak shone clean and dark. The army was in awe of those cloaks, and of the singletons and duos who seemed smarter than the brightest pack. Even Steel's lieutenants who understood what the cloaks really were -- even Shreck -- were cautious and tentative around them. And now Steel needed the Flenser Fragment more than anyone, more than
anything
except Starfolk gullibility. "What news?"

"Leave to sit?" Was the sardonic Flenser smile behind that request?

"Granted," snapped Steel.

The singleton eased itself onto the stones, a parody of an insolent pack. But Steel saw when the other winced; the Fragment had been dispersed across the Domain for almost twenty days now. Except for brief periods, he had been wrapped in the radio cloaks that whole time. Dark and golden torture. Steel had seen this member without its cloak, when it was bathed. Its pelt was rubbed raw at shoulder and haunch, where the weight of the radio was greatest. Bleeding sores had opened at the center of the bald spots. Alone without its cloak, the mindless singleton had blabbered its pain. Steel enjoyed those sessions, even if this one was not especially verbal. It was almost as if he, Steel, were now the One who Teaches with a Knife, and Flenser were his pupil.

The singleton was silent for a moment. Steel could hear its ill-concealed panting. "The last dayaround has gone well, My Lord."

"Not here! We've lost almost all our cannon. We're trapped inside these walls." And the starfolk may arrive too late.

"I mean out there." The singleton poked its nose toward the open spaces beyond the parapet. "Your scouts are well-trained, My Lord, and have some bright commanders. Right now, I am spread round Woodcarvers rear and flanks." The singleton made its part of a laughing gesture. "'Rear and flanks'. Funny. To me Woodcarver's entire army is like a single enemy pack. Our Attack Infantries are like tines on my own paws. We are cutting the Queen deep, My Lord. I set the fire in Bitter Gorge. Only I could see exactly where it was spreading, exactly how to kill with it. In another four dayarounds there will be nothing left of the Queen's supplies. She will be ours."

"Too long, if we're dead this afternoon."

"Yes." The singleton cocked its head at Steel.
He's laughing at me.
Just like all those times under Flenser's knife when a problem would be posed and death was the penalty for failure. "But Ravna and company should be back here in five hours, no?" Steel nodded. "Well, I guarantee you that will be hours ahead of Woodcarver's main assault. You have Amdijefri's confidence. It seems you need only advance and compress your previous schedule. If Ravna is sufficiently desperate --"

"The starfolk are desperate. I know that." Ravna might mask her precise motives, but her desperation was clear. "And if you can slow Woodcarver --" Steel settled all of himself down to concentrate on the scheming at hand. He was half-conscious of his fears retreating. Planning was always a comfort. "The problem is that we have to do two things now, and perfectly coordinated. Before, it was simply a matter to
feign
a siege and trick the starship into landing in the castle's Jaws." He turned a head in the direction of the courtyard. The stone dome over the landed starship had been in place since midspring. It showed some artillery damage now, the marble facing chipped away, but hadn't taken direct hits. Beside it lay the field of the Jaws: large enough to accept the rescue ship, but surrounded by pillars of stone, the teeth of the Jaws. With the proper use of gunpowder, the teeth would fall on the rescuers. That would be a last resort, if they didn't kill and capture the humans as they came out to meet dear Jefri. That scheme had been lovingly honed over many tendays, aided by Amdijefri's admissions about human psychology and his knowledge of how starships normally land. But now: "-- now we really need their help. What I ask them must do double duty, to fool them and to destroy Woodcarver."

"Hard to do all at once," agreed the Cloak. "Why not play it in two steps, the first more or less undeceitful: Have them destroy Woodcarver,
then
worry about taking them over?"

Steel clicked a tine thoughtfully on stone. "Yes. Trouble is, if they see too much.... They can't possibly be as naive as Jefri. He says that humankind has a history that includes castles and warfare. If they fly around too much, they'll see things that Jefri never saw, or never understood.... Maybe I could get them to land inside the castle and mount weapons on the walls. We'll have them hostage the moment that they stand between our Jaws.
Damn.
That would take some clever work with Amdijefri." The bliss of abstract planning foundered for a moment on rage. "It's getting harder and harder for me to deal with those two."

"They're both wholly puppies, for Pack's sake." The Fragment paused a second. "Of course, Amdiranifani may have more raw intelligence than any pack I've ever seen. You think he may even be smart enough to see past his
childishness
," he used the Samnorsk word, "and see the deception?"

"No, not that. I have their necks in my jaws, and they still don't see it. You're right, Tyrathect; they do love me."
And how I hate them for it.
"When I'm around him, the mantis thing is all over me, close enough to cut my throat or poke out my eyes, but hugging and petting. And expecting me to love him back. Yes, they believe everything I say, but the price is accepting unending insolence."

"Be cool, dear student. The heart of manipulation is to empathize without being touched." The Fragment stopped, as always, just short of the brink. Steel felt himself hissing at the words even before he was consciously aware of his reaction.

"Don't ... lecture ...
me!
You are
not
Flenser. You are a fragment. Shit! You are a fragment of a fragment now. A word and you will be cut up, dead in a thousand pieces." He tried to suppress the trembling that spread through his members.
Why haven't I killed him before now? I hate Flenser more than anything in the world, and it would be so easy.
Yet the fragment was always so indispensable, somehow the only thing between Steel and failure. And he
was
under Steel's control.

And the singleton was doing a very good terrified cower. "Sit up, you! Give me your counsel and not your lectures, and you will live.... Whatever the reason, it's impossible for me to carry on the charade with these puppies. Perhaps for a few minutes at a time I can do it, or if there are other packs to keep them away from me, but none of this unending loving. Another hour of that and I-I know I'll start killing them. So. I want you to talk with Amdijefri. Explain the 'situation'. Explain --"

"But --" The singleton was looking at him in astonishment.

"I'll be watching; I'm not giving up those two to your possession. Just handle the close diplomacy."

The Fragment drooped, the pain in its shoulders undisguised. "If that is your wish, My Lord."

Steel showed all his teeth. "It is indeed. Just remember, I'll be present for everything important, especially direct radio communication." He waved the singleton off the parapet. "Now go and cuddle up to the children; learn something of self-control yourself."

After the Cloak was gone, he called Shreck up to the parapet. The next few hours were spent in touring the defenses and planning with his staff. Steel was very surprised how much clearing up the puppy problem improved his quality of mind. His advisors seemed to pick up on it, relaxed to the point of offering substantive suggestions. Where the breaches in the walls could not be repaired, they would build deadfalls. The cannon from the northern shops would arrive before the end of the dayaround, and one of Shreck's people had worked out an alternate plan for food and water resupply. Reports from the far scouts showed steady progress, a withering of the enemy's rear; they would lose most of their ammunition before they reached Starship Hill. Even now there was scarcely any shot falling on the hill.

As the sun rose into the south, Steel was back on the parapets, scheming on just what to say to the Starfolk.

This was almost like earlier days, when plans went well and success was wondrous yet achievable. And yet ... at the back of his mind all the hours since talking with the singleton, there had been the little claws of fear. Steel had the appearance of ruling. The Flenser Fragment gave the appearance of following. But even though it was spread across miles, the pack seemed more together than ever before. Oh, in earlier times, the Fragment often pretended equilibrium, but its internal tension always showed. Lately, it seemed self-satisfied, almost ... smug. The Flenser Fragment was responsible for the Domain's forces south of Starship Hill, and after today -- after Steel had
forced
the responsibility upon him -- the Cloaks would be with Amdijefri every day. Never mind that the motivation had come from within Steel. Never mind that the Fragment was in an obvious state of agonized exhaustion. In its full genius, the Great One could have charmed a forest wolf into thinking Flenser its queen.
And do I really know what he's saying to the packs beyond my hearing? Could my spies be feeding me lies about him?

Now that he had a moment away from immediate concerns, these little claws dug deeper.
I need him, yes. But the margin for error is smaller now.
After a moment, he grated a happy chord, accepting the risk. If necessary, he would use what he had learned with the second set of cloaks, something he had artfully concealed from Flenser Tyrathect. If necessary, the Fragment would find that death can be
radio
swift.

Even as he flew the velocity match, Pham was working the ultradrive. This would save them hours of fly back time, but it was a chancy game, one the ship had never been designed for.
OOB
bounced all around the solar system. One really lucky jump was all they needed. (And one really unlucky jump,
into
the planet, would kill them. A good reason why this game was not normally played.)

After hours of hacking the flight automation, of playing ultradrive roulette, poor Pham's hands were faintly trembling. Whenever Tines' World came back into view -- often no more than a far point of blue light -- he would glare for a second at it. Ravna could see the doubts rising within him: His memories told him he should be good with low-tech automation, yet some of the
OOB
primitives were almost impenetrable. Or maybe his memories of competence, of the Qeng Ho, were cheap fakes.

"The Blighter fleet. How long?" asked Pham.

Greenstalk was watching the nav window from the Riders' cabin. It was the fifth time the question had been asked in the last hour, yet her voice came back calm and patient. Maybe the repeated questions even seemed a natural thing. "Range forty-nine light-years. Estimated time of arrival forty-eight hours. Seven more ships have dropped out." Ravna could subtract: one hundred and fifty-two were still coming.

Blueshell's voder sounded over his mate's, "During the last two hundred seconds, they have made slightly better time than before, but I think that is local variance in Bottom conditions. Sir Pham, you are doing well, but I know my ship. We could get a little more time if you only you'd allow me control. Please --"

"Shut up." Pham's voice was sharp, but the words were almost automatic. It was a conversation -- or the abortion of one -- that occurred almost as often as Pham's demand for status info on the Blighter fleet.

In the early weeks of their journey, she had assumed that godshatter was somehow superhuman. Instead it was parts and pieces, automation loaded in a great panic. Maybe it was working right, or maybe it had run amok and was tearing Pham apart with its errors.

The old cycle of fear and doubt was suddenly broken by soft blue light. Tines' World! At last, a wondrously accurate jump, almost as good as the shocker of five hours before: Twenty thousand kilometers away hung a vast narrow crescent, the edge of planetary daylight. The rest was a dark blot against the stars, except where the auroral ring hung a faint green glow around the south pole. Jefri Olsndot was on the other side of the world from them, in the arctic day. They wouldn't have radio communication until they arrived -- and she hadn't figured out how to recalibrate the ultrawave for shortrange transmission.

She turned back from the view. Pham still stared upward into the sky behind her. "... Pham, what good is forty-eight hours? Will we just destroy the Countermeasure?"
What of Jefri and Mr. Steel's folk?

"Maybe. But there are other possibilities. There must be." That last softly. "I've been chased before. I've been in bigger jams before." His eyes avoided hers.

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