A Fire Upon the Deep (60 page)

Any time before now, the climb through the walls would have been fun. Even though it was pitch dark, Amdi was in front and behind him, and his noses gave him a good feel for the way. Anytime before now there would have been the thrill of discovery, of giggling at Amdi's strung-out mental state.

But now Amdi's confusion was simply scary. He kept bumping into Jefri's heels. "I'm going as fast as I can." The fabric of Jefri's pants' knees was already torn apart on the rough stone. He hustled faster, the stabbing beat of rock on knees barely penetrating his consciousness. He bumped into the puppy ahead of him. The puppy had stopped, seemed to be twisting sideways. "There's a fork. I say we ... what should I say, Jefri?"

Jefri rolled back, knocking his head on top of the wormhole. For most of a year, it had been Amdi's confidence, his cheeky cleverness, that had kept him going. Now ... suddenly he was aware of the tonnes of rock that were pressing in from all directions. If the tunnel narrowed just a few centimeters, they would be stuck here forever.

"Jefri?"

"I--"
Think!
"Which side seems to be going up?"

"Just a second." The lead member ran off a little ways down one fork.

"Don't go too far!" Jefri shouted.

"Don't worry. I ... he'll know to get back." Then he heard the patter of return, and the lead member was touching its nose to his cheek. "The one on the right goes up."

They hadn't gone more than fifteen meters before Amdi started hearing things. "People chasing us?" asked Jefri.

"No. I'm mean, I'm not sure. Stop. Listen.... Hear that? Gluppy, syrupy."
Oil.

No more stopping. Jefri moved faster than ever up the tunnel. His head bumped into the ceiling and he stumbled to his elbows, recovered without thinking and raced on. A trickle of blood dripped down his cheek.

Even he could hear the oil now.

The sides of the tunnel closed down on his shoulders. Ahead of him, Amdi said, "Dead end -- or we're at an exit!" Scritching sounds. "I can't move it." The puppy turned around and wiggled back between Jefri's legs. "Push at the top, Jefri. If it's like the one I found in the dome, it opens at the top."

The darn tunnel got narrow right before the door. Jefri hunched his shoulders and squeezed forward. He pushed at the top of the door. It moved, maybe a centimeter. He crawled forward a little further, squished so tightly between the walls that he couldn't even take a deep breath. Now he pushed hard as he could. The stone turned all the way and light spilled onto his face. It wasn't full daylight; they were still hidden from the outside behind angles of stone -- but it was the happiest sight Jefri had ever seen. Half a meter more and he would be out -- only now he was jammed.

He twisted forward a fraction, and things only seemed to get worse. Behind him, Amdi was piling up. "Jefri! My rear paws are in the oil. It's filled the tunnel all up behind us."

Panic. For a second Jefri couldn't think of anything. So close, so close. He could see color now, the bloody smears on his hands. "Back up! I'll take off my jacket and try again."

Backing up was itself almost impossible, so thoroughly wedged had he become. Finally he'd done it. He turned on his side, shrugged out of the jacket.

"Jefri! Two of me under ... oil. Can't breathe." The puppies jammed up around him, their pelts slick with oil.
Slick!

"Jus' second!" Jefri wiped the fur, smeared his shoulders with the oil. He extended his arms straight past his head and used his heels to push back into the narrowness. Then the stone closed in on his shoulders. Behind him, what was left of Amdi was making whistling noises. Jam.
Push. Push.
A centimeter, another. And then he was out to his armpits and it was easy.

He dropped to the ground and reached back to grab the nearest part of Amdi. The pup wriggled out of his hands. It blubbered something not Tinish and not human. Jefri could see the dark shadows of several members pulling at something out of sight. A second later, a cold, wet blob of fur rolled out of the darkness into his arms. A second more, and out came another. Jefri lowered the two to the ground and wiped goo away from their muzzles. One rolled onto its legs and began to shake itself. The other started choking and coughing.

Meanwhile the rest of Amdi dropped out of the hole. All eight were covered with some amount of oil. They straggled drunkenly into a heap, licking each another's tympana. Their buzzing and croaking made no sense.

Jefri turned from his friend and walked toward the light. They were hidden by a turn in the stone ... fortunately. From around the corner he could hear the marshaling calls of Steel's troopers. He crept to the edge and peered around. For an instant he thought he and Amdi were back inside the castle yard; there were so many troopers. But then he saw the unbounded sweep of the hillside and the smoke rising out of the valley.

What next? He glanced back at Amdi, who was still frantically grooming his tympana. The chords and hums were sounding more rational now, and all of Amdi was moving. He turned back to the hillside. For an instant he almost felt like rushing out to the troops. They had been his protectors for so long.

One of Amdi bumped against his legs, and looked out for himself. "Wow. There's a regular lake of oil between us and Mr. Steel's soldiers. I --"

The booming sound was loud, but not like a gunpowder blast. It lasted almost a second, then became a background roar. Two more of Amdi stretched necks around the corner. The lake had become a roaring sea of flame.

Blueshell had maneuvered the boat within two hundred meters of the castle wall, opposite the point where the packs had bunched up. Now the lander floated just a man's height off the moss. "Just our being here is driving the packs away," said Pilgrim.

Pham glanced over his shoulder. Woodcarver's troops had regained the field and were racing toward the castle walls. Another sixty seconds, max, and they would be in contact with Steel's packs.

There was a loud
brap
from Blueshell's voder, and Pham looked forward. "By the Fleet," he said softly. Packs on the ramparts had fired some kind of flamethrowers into the pools of oil below the castle walls. Blueshell flew in a little closer. Long pools of oil lay parallel to the walls. The enemy's packs on the outside were all but cut off from their castle now. Except for one thirty-meter-wide gap, the section they had been guarding was high fire.

The boat bobbed a little higher, tilting and sliding in the fire-driven whirl of air. In most places the oil lapped the sloped base of the walls. Those walls were more intricate than the castles of Canberra -- in many places it looked like there were little mazes or caves built into the base.
Looks damn stupid in a defensive structure.

"Jefri!"
screamed Johanna, and pointed toward the middle of the unburning section. Pham had a glimpse of something withdrawing behind the stonework.

"I saw him too." Blueshell tilted the boat over and slid downwards, toward the wall. Johanna's hand closed on Pham's arm, pushing and shaking. He could barely hear her voice over the Pilgrim's shouting. "Please, please, please," she was saying.

For a moment it looked like they would make it: Steel's troops were well back from them and -- though there were ponds of oil below them -- they were not yet alight. Even the air seemed quieter than before. For all that, Blueshell managed to lose control. A gentle tipping went uncorrected, and the boat slid sideways into the ground. It was a slow collision, but Pham heard one of the landing pods cracking. Blueshell played with the controls and the other side of the craft settled to earth. The beamer was stuck muzzle first into the earth.

Pham's gaze snapped up at the Skroderider. He'd known it would come to this.

Ravna: "What happened? Can you get up?"

Blueshell dithered with the controls a moment longer, then gave a Riderish shrug. "Yes. But it will take too long --" He was undoing his restraints, unclamping his skrode from the deck. The hatch in front of him slid open, and the noise of battle and fire came loud.

"What in hell do you think you're doing, Blueshell!"

The Rider's fronds angled attention at Pham, "To rescue the boy. This will all be afire in a moment."

"And this boat could fry if we leave it here. You're not going anywhere, Blueshell." He leaned forward, far enough to grab the other by his lower fronds.

Johanna was looking wildly from one to the other in an uncomprehending panic. "No! Please --" And Ravna was shouting at him too. Pham tensed, all his attention on the Rider.

Blueshell rocked toward him in the cramped space and pushed his fronds close to Pham's face. The voder voice frayed into nonlinearity: "And what will you do if I disobey? You need me whole or the boat is useless. I go, Sir Pham. I prove I am not the thrall of some Power. Can you prove as much?"

He paused, and for a moment Rider and human stared at each other from centimeters apart. But Pham did not grab him.

Brap.
Blueshell's fronds withdrew. He rolled back onto the lip of the hatch. The skrode's third axle reached the ground, and he descended in a controlled teeter. Still Pham had not moved.
I am not some Power's program.

"Pham?" The girl was looking up at him, and tugging at his sleeve. Nuwen shook the nightmare away and saw again. The Pilgrim pack was already out of the boat. Short swords were held in the mouths of the four adults; steel claws gleamed on their forepaws.

"Okay." He flipped open a panel, withdrew the pistol he'd hidden there. Since Blueshell had crashed the damn boat, there was no choice but to make the best of it.

The realization was a cool breath of freedom. He pulled free of the crash restraints and clambered down. Pilgrim stood all around him. The two with puppies were unlimbering some kind of shields. Even with all his mouths full, the critter's voice was as clear as ever: "Maybe we can find a way closer in --" between the flames. There were no more arrows from the ramparts. The air above the fire was just too hot for the archers.

Pham and Johanna followed Pilgrim as he skirted pools of black goo. "Stay as far from the oil as we can."

The packs of Mr. Steel were rounding the flames. Pham couldn't tell if they were charging the lander or simply fleeing the friendlies that chased them. And maybe it didn't matter. He dropped to one knee and sprayed the oncoming packs with his handgun. It was nothing like the beamer, especially at this range, but it was not to be ignored: the front dogs tumbled. Others bounded over them. They reached the far edge of the oil. Only a few ventured into the goo -- they knew what it could become. Others shifted out of Pham's sight, behind the landing boat.

Was there a dry approach?
Pham ran along the edge of the oil. There had to be a gap in the "moat", or surely the fire would have spread. Ahead of him the flames towered twenty meters into the air, the heat a physical battering on his skin. Above the top of the glow, tarry smoke swept back over the field, turning the sunlight into reddish murk. "Can't see a thing," came Ravna's voice in his ear, despairing.

"There's still a chance, Rav." If he could hold them off long enough for Woodcarver's troops....

Steel's packs had found a safe path inwards and were coming closer. Something sighed past him -- an arrow. He dropped to the ground and sprayed the enemy packs at full rate. If they had known how fast he was getting to empty they might have kept coming, but after a few seconds of ripping carnage, the advance halted. The enemy sweep broke apart and the dogthings were running away, taking their chances with Woodcarver's packs.

Pham turned and looked back at the castle. Johanna and Pilgrim stood ten meters nearer the walls. She was pulling against the pack's grasp. Pham followed her gaze.... There was the Skroderider. Blueshell had paid no attention to the packs that ran around the edge of the fire. He rolled steadily inwards, oily tracks marking his progress. The Rider had drawn in all his externals and pulled his cargo scarf close to his central stalk. He was driving blind through the superheated air, deeper and deeper into the narrowing gap between the flames.

He was less than fifteen meters from the walls. Abruptly two fronds extended out from his trunk, into the heat.
There.
Through the heat shimmer, Pham could see the kid, walking uncertainly out from the cover of stone. Small shapes sat on the boy's shoulders, and walked beside him. Pham ran up the slope. He could move faster over this terrain than any Rider. Maybe there was time.

A single burst of flame arched down from the castle, into the pond of oil between him and the Rider at the wall. What had been a narrow channel of safety was gone, and the flames spread unbroken before him.

"There's still lots of clear space," Amdi said. He reached a few meters out from their hiding place to reconnoiter around the corners. "
The flier is down!
Some ... strange thing ... is coming our way. Blueshell or Greenstalk?"

There were lots of Steel's packs out there too, but not close -- probably because of the flier. That was a weird one, with none of the symmetry of Straumer aircraft. It looked all tilted over, almost as if it had crashed. A tall human raced across their field of view, firing at Steel's troops. Jefri looked further out, and his hand tightened almost unconsciously on the nearest puppy. Coming toward them was a wheeled vehicle, like something out of a Nyjoran historical. The sides were painted with jagged stripes. A thick pole grew up from the top.

The two children stepped a little ways out from their protection. The Spacer saw them! It slewed about, spraying oil and moss from under its wheels. Two frail somethings reached out from its bluish trunk. Its voice was squeaky Samnorsk. "Quickly, Sir Jefri. We have little time." Behind the creature, beyond the pond of oil, Jefri could see ...
Johanna
.

And then the pond exploded, the fire on both sides sprouting across all escape routes. Still the Spacer was waving its tendrils, urging them onto the flat of its hull. Jefri grasped at the few handholds available. The puppies jumped up after him, clinging to his shirt and pants. Up close, Jefri could see that the stalk was the person: the skin was smudged and dry, but it was soft and it moved.

Two of Amdi were still on the ground, ranging out on either side of the cart for a better view of the fire. "
Wah!
" shrieked Amdi by his ear. Even so close, he could scarcely be heard over the thunder of the fire. "We can never get through that, Jefri. Our only chance is to stay here."

The Spacer's voice came from a little plate at the base of its stalk. "No. If you stay here, you
will
die. The fire is spreading." Jefri had huddled as much behind the Rider's stalk as possible, and still he could feel the heat. Much more and the oil in Amdi's fur would catch fire.

The Rider's tendrils lifted the colored cloth that lay on its hull. "Pull this over you." It waggled a tendril at the rest of Amdi. "
All
of you."

The two on the ground were crouched behind the creature's front wheels. "Too hot, too hot," came Amdi's voice. But the two jumped up and buried themselves under the peculiar tarpaulin.

"Cover yourself, all the way!" Jefri felt the Rider pulling the cover over them. The cart was already rolling back, toward the flames. Pain burned through every gap in the tarp. The boy reached frantically, first with one hand and then the other, trying to get the cloth over his legs. Their course was a wild bouncing ride, and Jefri could barely keep hold. Around him he felt Amdi straining with his free jaws to keep the tarpaulin in place. The sound of fire was a roaring beast, and the tarp itself was searing hot against his skin. Every new jolt bounced him up from the hull, threatening to break his grip. For a time, panic obliterated thought. It was not till much later that he remembered the tiny sounds that came from the voder plate, and understood what those sounds must mean.

Pham ran toward the new flames. Agony. He raised his arms across his face and felt the skin on his hands blistering. He backed away.

"This way, this way!" Pilgrim's voice came from behind him, guiding him out. He ran back, stumbling. The pack was in a shallow gully. It had shifted its shields around to face the new stretch of fire. Two of the pack moved out of his way as he dived behind them.

Both Johanna and the pack were slapping at his head.

"Your hair's on fire!" the girl shouted. In seconds they had the fire out. The Pilgrim looked a bit singed, too. Its shoulder pouches were tucked safely shut; for the first time, no inquisitive puppy eyes peeked out.

"I still can't see anything, Pham." It was Ravna from high above. "What's going on?"

Quick glance behind him. "We're okay," he gasped. "Woodcarver's packs are tearing up Steel's. But Blueshell --" He peered between in the shields. It was like looking into a kiln. Right by the castle wall there might be a breathing space. A slim hope, but --

"Something is moving in there." Pilgrim had tucked one head briefly around the shield. He withdrew it now, licking his nose from both sides.

Pham looked again through the crack. The fire had internal shadows, places of not-so-bright that wavered ... moved? "I see it too." He felt Johanna stick her head close to his, peering frantically. "It's Blueshell, Rav....
By the Fleet.
" This last said too softly to carry over the fire sound. There was no sign of Jefri Olsndot, but -- "Blueshell is rolling through the middle of the fire, Rav."

The skrode wheeled out of the deeper oil. Slowly, steadily making its way. And now Pham could see fire within fire, Blueshell's trunk flaring in rivulets of flame. His fronds were no longer gathered into himself. They extended, writhing with their own fire. "He's still coming, driving straight out."

The skrode cleared the wall of fire, rolled with jerky abandon down the slope. Blueshell didn't turn toward them, but just before he reached the landing boat, all six wheels grated to a fast stop.

Pham stood and raced back toward the Skroderider. Pilgrim was already unlimbering his shields and turning to follow him. Johanna Olsndot stood for a second, sad and slight and alone, her gaze stuck hopelessly on the fire and smoke on the castle side. One of the Pilgrim grabbed her sleeve, drawing her back from the fire.

Pham was at the Rider now. He stared silently for a second. "... Blueshell's dead, Rav, no way you could doubt if you could see." The fronds were burnt away, leaving stubs along the stalk. The stalk itself had burst.

Ravna's voice in his ear was shuddery. "He drove
through
that even while he was burning?"

"Can't be. He must have been dead after the first few meters. This must all have been on autopilot." Pham tried to forget the agonized reaching of fronds he had seen back in the fire. He blanked out for a moment, staring at the fire-split flesh.

The skrode itself radiated heat. Pilgrim sniffed around it, shying away abruptly when a nose came too close. Abruptly he reached out a steel-tined paw and pulled hard on the scarf that covered the hull.

Johanna screamed and rushed forward. The forms beneath the scarf were unmoving, but unburned. She grabbed her brother by the shoulders, pulling him to the ground. Pham knelt beside her.
Is the kid breathing?
He was distantly aware of Ravna shouting in his ear, and Pilgrim plucking tiny dogthings off the metal.

Seconds later the boy started coughing. His arms windmilled against his sister. "Amdi, Amdi!" His eyes opened, widened. "Sis!" And then again. "Amdi?"

"I don't know," said the Pilgrim, standing close to the seven -- no,
eight
-- grease-covered forms. "There are some mind sounds but not coherent." He nosed at three of puppies, doing something that might have been rescue breathing.

After a moment the little boy began crying, a sound lost in the fire sounds. He crawled across to the puppies, his face right next to one of Pilgrim's. Johanna was right behind him, holding his shoulders, looking first to Pilgrim and then at the still creatures.

Pham came to his knees and looked back at the castle. The fire was a little lower now. He stared a long time at the blackened stump that had been Blueshell. Wondering and remembering. Wondering if all the suspicion had been for naught. Wondering what mix of courage and autopilot had been behind the rescue.

Remembering all the months he had spent with Blueshell, the liking and then the hate --
Oh, Blueshell, my friend.

The fires slowly ebbed. Pham paced the edge of receding heat. He felt the godshatter coming finally back upon him. For once he welcomed it, welcomed the drive and the mania, the blunting of irrelevant feeling. He looked at Pilgrim and Johanna and Jefri and the recovering puppy pack. It was all a meaningless diversion. No, not quite meaningless: It had had an effect, of slowing down progress on what
was
deadly important.

He glanced upwards. There were gaps in the sooty clouds, places where he could see the reddish haze of high-level ash and occasional splotches of blue. The castle's ramparts appeared abandoned, and the battle around the walls had died. "What news?" he said impatiently at the sky.

Ravna: "I still can't see much around you, Pham. Large numbers of Tines are retreating northwards. Looks like a fast, coordinated retreat. Nothing like the 'fight-to-the-last' that we were seeing before. There are no fires within the castle -- or evidence of remaining packs either."

Decision. Pham turned back to the others. He struggled to turn sharp commands into reasonable-sounding requests. "Pilgrim! Pilgrim! I need Woodcarver's help. We have to get inside the castle."

Pilgrim didn't need any special persuasion, though he was full of questions. "You're going to fly over the walls?" he asked as he bounded toward him.

Pham was already jogging toward the boat. He boosted Pilgrim aboard, then clambered up. No, he wasn't going to try to fly the damn thing. "No, just use the loudspeaker to get your boss to find a way in."

Seconds later, packtalk was echoing across the hillside.
Just minutes more. Just minutes more and I will be facing the Countermeasure.
And though he had no conscious notion what might come of that, he felt the godshatter bubbling up for one final takeover, one final effort to do Old One's will. "Where is the Blighter fleet, Rav?"

Her answer came back immediately. She had watched the battle below, and the hammer coming down from above. "Forty-eight light-years out." Mumbled conversation off-mike. "They've speeded up a little. They'll be in-system in four-six hours.... I'm sorry, Pham."

-=*=-