The Children of the Sky (13 page)

“Um, nothing.”

“Yup, nothing,” said Amdi, nodding all his heads.

“Well then.” Ravna came up the stairs. Jefri was nineteen, an adult by the human standards of Sjandra Kei and Straumli Realm. It didn’t matter any more that Jef had been the nicest child, brave and well-meaning. It shouldn’t matter that in later years he was often the most rebellious of the pimply mob. Thank goodness that Johanna had pointed Nevil at him. Where even Johanna had not managed to talk sense into him, the level-headed, diplomatic Nevil had succeeded. With any luck, his current problem was just a temporary backsliding. “We just want to see how people are doing,” said Ravna. She waved at the entrance just beyond Jefri and Amdi. “The three of us can talk another time if you want.”

Jefri dithered a second, and then her mild words seemed to bring him around. “That’s okay. Let’s talk. The whole thing is, um, a bit strange.” He turned and held the pub’s door open for Ravna and his sister.

Inside the pub it was
warm
, a reminder that even the summer-day shadows could be cold. There was the smell of smoke and spice and the usual pack body odor. Jefri eased past Jo and Ravna, leading them along a low, narrow corridor, where the smoke was even thicker. Health and fire-safety regulations were still in this world’s future.

Ravna just followed along silently, bemused by the crazy carvings that lined the walls—Tines’ ideas about what life in the Beyond had been like—and wondering at the changes that even ten years had made in her Children. Funny. She had always thought of Johanna as being tall, even when she was only thirteen. But that was Johanna’s personality. Even now, Johanna was only one meter seventy, scarcely taller than Ravna. And Jefri? He had always seemed so small to her. He
had
been short, when Pham had landed and saved him from Lord Steel. She remembered the little orphan raising his arms to her. But now she noticed how much he had to scrunch down to clear the ceiling. The guy was nearly two meters tall when he stood straight.

The music was loudest straight ahead. There was a flickering colored light that must be one of those crazy mood candelabras. Jefri stepped through the opening, Ravna and Johanna and Amdi right behind.

The Mantis tavern had a vaulted ceiling, and space for padded alcoves all around the upper walls. Today, the clientele was mainly human. There were two or three packs up in the lofts, but the bartender pack was the only one on the main floor. All the music was—no surprise—coming from the bartender.

“Back so soon?” someone shouted at Amdi and Jefri. Then they caught sight of Ravna and Johanna, and there was nervous laughter. “Wow, we can’t talk treason for more than five minutes and the secret police show up.”

“I ran into them on the steps,” said Jefri.

“Just shows you should use the
exit
stairs, like decent folk do.” That was Heida Øysler. She was still laughing about her secret police crack. Some of the others seemed a bit pained by it, but then Heida’s sense of humor was her greatest enemy. At least here there were none of the closed expressions Ravna had seen on the stairs. Heida pulled over extra chairs and waved them to sit down.

As they did so, the bartender’s roving member was already bringing out more beer. Ravna glanced around the table, taking in just who was here. Ten kids—
no
. Ten adults. Jefri and Heida might be the youngest here. None of these were parents yet, though there was one recently married couple.

Johanna snagged a beer. She raised it to Heida in a mock salute. “So now that the secret police are here, consider yourselves under interrogation. What are you miscreants up to?”

“Oh, the usual mayhem.” But then Heida was out of clever responses. That could be a blessing. When Heida babbled, things could get marvelously embarrassing. There had been that mock adultery claim about Tami and Wilm—which then turned out to be essentially true. “We were just, you know, speculating about the Disaster Study Group.”

“Ah.” Johanna settled her beer back on the table.

“What’s that?” said Ravna. “It sounds terribly official. And I thought I was into all the terribly official things around here.”

“Well, that’s only because—” began Heida, but one of the other girls, Elspa Latterby, stepped on her wit:

“It’s just three big words covering up a lot of wishful thinking.” No one else said anything. After a moment, Elspa shrugged and continued, “You see, Ma’am—”

“Please, Elspa, call me Ravna.”
Oops, I always say that, and some, like Elspa, always forget.

“Sure, Ravna. Y’see, the thing is, well, you and the Tines have done your best to stand in for our parents. I know how much Woodcarver and Flenser-Tyrathect have spent on our academy. And now we’re doing our best to make something of ourselves—in this world. Some of us, the very youngest, are quite happy.” A smile flickered on her face. “My little sister has Beasly and human playmates. She has me—and she doesn’t remember our folks very well. To Geri, this seems like a wonderful place.”

Ravna nodded. “But for the older ones, life here is just the epilogue to a holocaust, right?” Certainly, that was often how Ravna saw it.

Elspa nodded, “It’s wrongheaded maybe. But there it is. Not all us feel this way, but we remember our parents, and civilization. It’s not surprising that some of us feel just a little bitter to have lost so much. Disasters have that effect even when no one living is responsible.”

Jefri hadn’t bothered with a human chair. He had set himself on one of the high perches normally used by the Tines. From there he looked down gloomily. “So it’s not surprising such people might call themselves the Disaster Study Group,” he said.

Ravna gave them all a smile. “I guess we’ve all been members of that club at one time or another—all of us who seriously look at the recent history.”

Now that the bartender’s member had retreated, Amdi had surfaced all around the two tables, a head here, a head there, some of him perched on the high stools. He liked to watch from all directions—and there were enough of him to do a good job of it. The two on the stools cocked their heads, but his voice seemed to come from everywhere. “So then it’s a little bit like me and some of Lord Steel’s other experiments. A lot of killing went into our making. I came out very well, maybe, but others are still a mess. Sometimes we get together and just moan and groan about how we’ve been abused. But it’s not like we can do anything about it.”

Elspa nodded. “You’re right, Amdi, but at least you have a specific monster to dump the hate on.”

“Well,” said Ravna, “we have the Blight. It was monstrous beyond the mind of any in the Beyond. We know that in the end, fighting that evil killed your parents and Straumli Realm, and indirectly killed Sjandra Kei. Stopping the Blight destroyed civilization in much of the galaxy.”

They were shaking their heads. One of the boys, Øvin Verring, said, “We can’t know all that.”

“Okay, we can’t be sure of that last; the destruction was so vast that it destroyed our ability to measure it. But—”

“No, I mean there’s very little we can know of any of it. Look. Our parents were scientists. They were doing research in the Low Transcend, a dangerous place. They were playing with the unknown.”

You got it, kiddo,
thought Ravna.

“But millions of other races have done that,” Øvin continued. “It’s the most common way that new Powers are born. My father figured that Straum itself would eventually colonize some vacated brown dwarf system in the Low Transcend, that we would transcend. He said we Straumers have always had an outward reach, we are risk takers.” Øvin must have noticed the look coming into Ravna’s face. He hurried on: “And then something went terribly wrong.
That
has also happened to thousands of races. Expeditions like our High Lab sometimes get consumed by what lives Up There, or are simply destroyed. Sometimes, the originating star system is destroyed, too. But what happened to us—what has forced us Down Here—that just doesn’t square with what we personally know about the situation.”

“I—” Ravna began, then hesitated.
How can I say this? Your parents were greedy and careless and exceptionally unlucky.
She loved these kids—well, most of them, and she would do almost anything to protect all of them—but when she looked at them, sometimes all she could think of was the destruction their parents’ greed had brought down. She glanced at Johanna.
Help me.

As often happened when the going got tough, Johanna came through: “I have a little more personal memory than most of us, Øvin. I remember my parents preparing our escape. The High Lab was no ordinary attempt at Transcendence. We had an abandoned archive. We were doing archeology on the Powers themselves.”

“I know that, Johanna,” Øvin said, a little sharply.

“So the archive woke. My parents knew there was the possibility that we were being led around by the nose. Okay, I guess all the grownups knew that. But in the end, my folks realized that the risks were much greater than was obvious. We had dug up something that could be a threat to the Powers Themselves.”

“They
told
you that?”

“Not at the time. In fact, I’m not sure quite how Daddy and Mom pulled off the preparations. There were originally three hundred of us Children. Somehow, coldsleep units were smuggled out of medical storage, put aboard the container ship. Somehow we were all checked out of our classes—you all remember that.”

Heads nodded.

“If a Power were coming awake, surely it would have noticed what your parents were up to.”

“I—” Johanna hesitated. “You’re right. They should have been caught. There must have been others working with them to set up our escape.”

“I didn’t notice anything,” said Heida.

“No,” said someone else.

“Me neither,” said Øvin. “Remember how we were living, the temporary pressurized habs, the lack of privacy? I could tell my folks were getting edgy—okay, frightened—but there wasn’t room to do things on the sly. It seems reasonable—and this is one of the Disaster Study Group’s points—that our escape was just a move in Something’s game.”

Ravna said, “We talked about Countermeasure at the Academy, Øvin. You children did get special help. Ultimately, Countermeasure—”
with Pham and Old One
—“was what stopped the Blight.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Øvin. “But all this illustrates how little we know about the good guys and the bad guys. We’re stuck Down Here. We older kids feel that we have lost everything. But the official history could just as well have the good guys and the bad guys switched.”

“Huh?
Who is peddling such crap?” Ravna couldn’t help herself; the words just popped out. So much for gracious leadership.

Øvin seemed to shrink back on himself. “It’s not anybody in particular.”

“Oh? What about those three I passed on the stairs?”

Jefri shifted on his high stool. “You ran into me on the stairs, too, Ravna. Those three are just gossips. You might as well be blaming all of us.”

“If it’s ‘just everybody’ then where did a name like Disaster Study Group come from? Somebody must be behind this, and I want to—”

A hand pressed lightly on Ravna’s sleeve. Johanna held the touch for an instant, long enough to shut down her spew of angry words. Then the girl said, “Something like this doubting has always been around.”

“You mean doubts about the Blighter threat?”

Johanna nodded. “Yes, in varying degrees. You yourself have doubts on that, I know. For instance, now that the Blighter fleet has been stopped by Countermeasure, will it have any further interest in harming Tines World?”

“We have no choice but to believe that what remains wants to destroy us.”
My dream—

“Okay, but even then there’s the question of just how deadly they can be. The fleet is thirty lightyears out, probably not capable of travelling more than a lightyear per century. We have millennia to prepare, even if they do wish us ill.”

“Parts of the fleet could be faster.”

“So we have ‘only’ a few centuries. Tech civilizations have been built in less.”

Ravna rolled her eyes. “They’ve been
re
built in less. And we may not have that much time. Maybe the fleet can build small ramscoops. Maybe the Zones will slip again—” She took a breath and proceeded a little more calmly: “The point is, the point of everything we’re teaching in the Academy is, we have to get ready as fast as we possibly can. We must make sacrifices.”

A little boy’s voice spoke from all around them. Amdi. “I think that’s what the Disaster Study Group disputes. They deny that the Blight was ever a threat to humans or Tines. And if it is, they say, Countermeasure made it so.”

Silence. Even the background music from the bartender had faded away. Apparently Ravna was the last to realize the monstrous issue under discussion. Finally she said, softly, “You can’t mean that, Amdi.”

An expression rippled across Amdi: embarrassed contrition. Each of his members was fourteen years old, each an adult animal, but his mind was younger than any pack she knew. For all his genius, Amdi was a shy and childlike creature.

Across the table, Jefri patted one of Amdi comfortingly. “Of course he doesn’t mean
he
believes it, Ravna. But he’s telling you the truth. The DSG starts from the position that we can’t know exactly what happened at the High Lab and how we managed to escape. Reasoning from what we
do
know, they argue that we could have the good and the bad reversed. In which case, Countermeasure’s actions of ten years ago were a galactic-scale atrocity—and there are no terrible monsters bearing down on us.”

“Do
you
believe that?”

Jefri raised his hands in exasperation. “… No. Of course not! I’m just spelling out what some people are too, ah, diplomatic to say. And before you ask, I wager none of us here believe it, either. But among the kids as a whole—”

“Especially some of the older ones,” said Øvin.

“—it’s a very attractive way of looking at things.” Jefri glowered at her for a moment, challenging. “It’s attractive because it means that what our parents created was not a monstrous ‘blight.’ Our parents were not silly fools. And it’s also attractive because it means that the sacrifices we’re making now are … unnecessary.”